All Of Our Lifetimes — Chapter Nine: The Truth Untold
Pairing — Taehyung x Reader
Tags — boyfriend!Taehyung, husband!Taehyung reincarnation au, lovers to strangers and to lovers again, established relationship, implied soulmate au
Genre — fluff, angst, crime (ish)
Word Count — 2.6k
Summary — Does love ever truly end, or does it simply take another form in a new life? The cycle is like clockwork: your lives end and you’re reborn again. You’ve lived it over and over. Each cycle, one of you loses your memories and is tragically unaware until the other finds and awakens their lover. After all these eons, all these lifetimes, is it possible to find each other again—even when neither of you awakens with your memories?
Part — 9 / 15
Warnings — discussion of violence/murder
Note — Sorry for the delays on this chapter, and for the format that it's being posted in. Unfortunately, between the hurricane and a broken computer, I won't be able to post in the exact format I usually do with all the pictures and everything. I also won't be able to link anything, update my master list, or put a breaker in this chapter unfortunately. For now, this is how it's going to go up. I do plan on going back and editing in the banners and the headers and all of that as soon as my computer is fixed. Hopefully that will be in the next couple weeks, so if this chapter looks different later this year, that's why lol. Thank you all for being so patient and so kind on the previous chapters, but I am finally back to writing again! Enjoy!!
Previous — Next
"Where are you going?"
"To find that curator."
"[Y/n], hold up—I'm coming with you."
Your stomach does somersaults as Taehyung grabs your hand and pulls you in the direction of the elevator. His stride is just as determined as yours, and you feel immense comfort with his hand in yours. As small a gesture as it is, it feels warm and helps subside the anxiety within you.
Despite the lack of film in the last few months of their lives, for whatever reason, you know exactly how your past lives' story ends. You've seen it your entire life. It ends in a bloodbath.
But you had no idea that they were being threatened for months before their deaths. You didn't realize the ins and outs of reincarnation, as [Y/n] told it. If what she said was true, then Taehyung should have gotten his memories back when he turned twenty-one in this lifetime. If you think back to your dream, you remember she'd said something along those lines.
"Come find me. In the next one: meet me there."
From his spot next to you in the elevator, Taehyung looks down at you with concern. "Are you okay?"
"Are you?" You turn and lock with his gaze. "Those were our past lives, and not only were they murdered shortly after those clips, but I now know that they were being stalked way before then. All of this, everything lines up with my dream. And god, I don't want to be skeptical or logical... I believe all of it."
"I do, too."
"You do?"
Taehyung nods, and his dark curls fall over his forehead, barely brushing over his eyes. "What I'm wondering is why didn't I get my memories back at twenty-one?"
Shaking your head, you sputter, "Maybe it's because we were murdered at the same time? From the way they were talking, that's a first. The cycle was messed up. I don't know how or why." You pause, and the elevator dings up another floor. "Do you remember anything at all? Have any memories come back?"
Taehyung bites his lower lip and turns his gaze away. "Something's there. It's like a word on the tip of your tongue. You're familiar. All of this feels...right? I don't know how to describe it."
"You said you believe it."
"I do. That film wasn't faked. Those people were us. Everything they said feels right in my heart. I just...I don't have proof to back it up."
Your hand tightens around his, fingers lacing together as you state, "Well, I know who can give us some of that."
The elevator doors open, and you pull Taehyung along as you head straight for Ms. Jwa's office. You might not know exactly where it is, but the wing of offices is just down the hall from the service elevator. She can't be far.
The middle-aged woman looks up from her computer as both of you enter without knocking. She seems surprised at the sudden entrance, but her shock dissipates quickly.
"I have to say, that was faster than I thought."
"Who were Kim Taehyung and Kim [Y/n]?" you ask, getting straight to the point.
Ms. Jwa sighs and leans back in her office chair. She gestures for you to close the door, then motions to the chairs across from her. "Have a seat." A beat of silence follows the closing of the door, and you both take your seats. "I assume you watched the film?"
"We did," Taehyung nods. "Have you?"
The curator nods. "I did."
"Then you know about reincarnation. You knew Taehyung and I might come back."
Another affirmative shake of her head. "Which is why I kept everything that belonged to you both, as you requested I do in late 1994. I was surprised, but now I see why." Her gaze shifts back and forth between you and Taehyung. "You really are mirror images of them. It's astonishing."
"You were their friend?" you inquire.
Ms. Jwa's face shifts to a small smile, but behind the expression, there's deep sadness. "I was. If you want, I can start at the beginning." When neither of you speaks up, she continues. "Taehyung and I went to the same art school in Daegu. We're both from the city and wanted to make it big in Seoul. He was kind of like the big brother I never wanted."
She flashes a grin at Taehyung. "No offense. When we moved to Seoul, we got jobs here as junior curators. I was more on the art history side, whereas Taehyung was the true artist. He always said he wanted his works to be displayed here someday." Her eyes drop to her hands, clasped in her lap. "Which is why I felt it was only right to put his memorial here and display his favorite photographs."
She shakes her head, pulling herself out of memory. "Your past selves met and fell in love very quickly. I thought it was strange. Taehyung was a...unique person. Always was, and he didn't often click with people right away. But [Y/n]? I don't believe in soulmates, but those two were the exception."
"Before they died, they were being stalked," Taehyung intervenes. "By who?"
Ms. Jwa shrugs her shoulders. "We don't know. We assume it's the same person that killed them, but there's no way to know for sure. He was practiced. He knew what he was doing. The evidence was inconclusive, and the cameras were blacked out. I have no idea how he got in after-hours, what his motive was, or how he got away."
Your breath catches in your throat at her words. Something in the back of your mind told you that he might've escaped. Your dream shows him injured, bleeding profusely, but stumbling out of sight. You'd hoped that he'd wandered off somewhere and died, and he might have—away from the Museum—but your stomach sinks regardless.
"It wasn't just stalking. Taehyung and [Y/n] received death threats for months before they died. It started with Taehyung, around the time he met [Y/n], and then she started getting them as well. Always anonymous. Even the police were baffled."
"So what you're telling us is that even after all this time, there are no answers?"
Ms. Jwa clearly sees your dismay, but can offer no condolences or closure. "I wish I had more to tell you, but that's the extent of what I know. I kept everything in that vault downstairs hoping that one day one of you would show up again and be able to tell me what happened to you. I figured Taehyung would be the one to get his memories first, based on the video footage, but when he showed up as a pop star with clearly no memory of his past, I thought..." She trails off and takes a pause before continuing. "I thought it best not to push the issue. I wasn't sure if the cycle had broken, or if he was merely trying for a different life this time. Either way, I wanted him to be happy. He looked happy to me, at least from the outside."
Taehyung heaves a deep sigh, shaking his head profusely. "How many times did I come to visit this place, and you said nothing? You must have seen me before yesterday. Why didn't you tell me anything?"
You're right." The curator's eyes drift downward as she says, "Maybe I should have said something. Perhaps that would have sped up the process. I did what I thought was right at the time. Maybe that was to quell my own guilt." She lifts her head and offers an apologetic smile to us both. "Now I can see that that was wrong. For that I apologize. All I can do now is make up for the lost time and offer you answers that I have." She gestures with a flourish of her hand to the doorway. "All of the things downstairs or yours, feel free to take any of it. But as for who killed you, or why, or what happened to them, I'm afraid no one has those answers."
You ride from your seat, take a step forward, and move closer to the curator to lower your voice. "Then tell us why were we here that night. If we knew we were being followed, I know what I would have done and it's not coming back to the one place that I knew we wouldn't be safe."
"You're correct," she says. "That is the only other thing I can tell you. You were about to leave the country that night. Like I told you, Taehyung and I were very close. He didn't have many friends, but Emelia Popescu and I were the only people he considered as such. It was fate that we all worked in the same office. Because of that, he wanted to see us one last time before you left. Both of you came here to say your final goodbyes to Emelia and I."
"And we didn't say anything that made you ask questions?" Taehyung inquires.
Ms. Jwa scoffs lightly. "I asked all the questions in the world. You wouldn't tell me anything more than the matter was urgent and leaving was necessary, and that you would send word for where you were when the coast was clear. To be honest, everything about that night terrified me even before...before the accident."
The name she mentioned moments ago brings back memories of a corpse at the base of a stone figure, crimson expanding along the tiles of the floor. "Emelia was the other girl that was killed, right?" You have no idea what the girl actually looked like; those memories have yet to resurface.
Ms. Jwa nods once. "Yes, I had left to take an urgent call after I had said goodbye. Emelia had offered to walk you both out. That was when you were attacked." She shudders, and Taehyung instinctively reaches out and places a comforting hand on her shoulder. At his touch, she steadies and flashes a watery smile. "Emelia was killed first as a distraction and lure, and then the both of you were..." Her sentence trails off, but you all know how that story ends.
That can't be it. This cannot be all that there is. All the memories, all the dreams, the flood of confusion and emotion that has wrapped you in a vice-grip the last few months -- it's all been leading to the moment of truth. Your heart was racing this morning, the thought of finally knowing what happened in 1995 sending you into an elated but terrified tizzy.
You never thought that the answers would be so close, yet slip between you fingers like the water from the Museum fountain where you and your lover were brutally masacred.
But you've seen the evidence yourself, all of your belongings, and spoken to someone who knew you both well. Every piece of truth she has is in her mind and in her vault below your feet. If the answers aren't there, where could they be?
How can that be all that there is?
You step back, leaning against the nearest bookshelf for support, gripping one of the shelves so tightly you know your knuckles are white. "There has to be something you can tell us about who he was," you murmur. "Something, anything."
Taehyung's gaze meets yours, and you can see for the first time that his desperation mirrors your own. Even if it wasn't obvious to you when you first arrived in South Korea, Kim Taehyung has been searching for his own answers just as fiercly -- if not more so -- than you. Whatever cycle you both have been in for god knows how many centuries has not been broken, but it is damaged. While he should have been the one to remember at twenty-one, there is a part of him that longs for rememrance. Something deep inside has been pushing him towards the truth and constantly reminding him that parts of his life are awry. Even if everything from the outside seems perfect, you can tell from those eyes that he needs this just as much as you.
"Did no one see his face, or a glimpse of anything?" he rephrases. "And how did he let you live when the only other three people in the building were murdered?"
The curator walks over to the bookshelf nearest you, searches the columns for a moment, and retrieves an old file. This one is a bright red color, different than the others on the shelves and easy to locate. She opens it and hands us a composite sketch notebook for that has Seoul Police Department written on the face.
"There was one witness that saw him in a dark alleyway. Not much detail was captured, but she did remember a few distinct details that she told the police. This is the composite sketch that was created based on her details. I'm not sure how much help it will be, but it's yours if you want it."
Taehyung joins your side, arm brushing yours as he God's affirmatively towards the notebook. He doesn't say a word, but his expression tells you everything: "Go ahead. I'm here. This might be the only answer we get."
In a burst of untethered courage, you open the pages to reveal the single composite sketch on the first page. It's merely charcoal on white paper, but the expression of a man you've seen in your nightmares stares back at you with a haunted hatred all over his face. Memories from the past flood back to you, not just from your deathly dream but further than that.
Decades.
Centuries.
You've known this man's face for as long as your soul has been a soul. The last lifetime, the one before that, all the way back to the very first one. The death in your dream from 1995 is only the beginning; this is a face you've seen in your very first life, the one you only started to remember when you came to Seoul.
Your hands begin to tremble, and a lump swells up in your throat. Taehyung steadies your grip, concern covering his features. He says your name, but your ears are ringing and his voice is drowned out by the panic racing through your body. The book drops from your hands, your knees buckle, and your eyes roll back into your head.
Never in any nightmare did you ever think you would the face of your first parent again, let alone with a smoking gun in his grasp and your blood on his hands.
Tags — boyfriend!Taehyung, husband!Taehyung reincarnation au, lovers to strangers and to lovers again, established relationship, implied soulmate au
Genre — fluff, angst, crime (ish)
Word Count — 4.2k
Summary — Does love ever truly end, or does it simply take another form in a new life? The cycle is like clockwork: your lives end and you’re reborn again. You’ve lived it over and over. Each cycle, one of you loses your memories and is tragically unaware until the other finds and awakens their lover. After all these eons, all these lifetimes, is it possible to find each other again—even when neither of you awakens with your memories?
Part — 8 / 15
Warnings — language, stalking
Previous — Next
The first item in the box a plastic bag. From the label of the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency on the surface, the Korean Eagle's wings spread over the mugunghwa flower, you sense that this item is from the very end of the story. The inside is full of clothing articles. Even without opening it, you see a suede trench coat, a dark sweater, and a purple scarf. Another bag has a pair of men's boots, dark slacks, and a button-down dress shirt. All of the items are covered in blood.
Taehyung takes the other bag, the one with the men's clothing, and closely inspects the label on the surface. Your eyes remain intent on the lavender scarf. Something about the item causes your heart to ache, and you replay your nightmare over in your mind in an attempt to identify it.
"Look here," he murmurs, pointing to one of the lines on the plastic. Glancing over, you see that a name is scribbled on the surface.
His name.
You should be shocked, but at this point, the number of odd coincidences that have come up the border on the insane. Instead, your gaze shifts to the bag in your lap. In your heart, you already know what name you'll see. The other Taehyung didn't reveal his wife's name in his portraits; he only referred to her as the sunlight through the rain.
Kim [Y/n].
Taehyung glances at the name, tilting his head slightly in the process. Heaving a sigh, he glances up to you. "I guess that settles it, then?"
You push the crime scene bag further away on the table, motioning for the box instead. "Let's keep going."
Between the two of you, the rest of the contents of the box are divided and browsed through in less than a half-hour. The box has everything from personal items to jewelry to documents and all sorts of things in between. It's surprisingly little for what Ms. Jwa stated it was, the entirety of Taehyung and [Y/n]'s life.
Like everything in Seoul, there's a familiarity that envelopes you. It's more than just that, though. You feel as if these things belong to you. In some strange way, you feel like you've caught a little piece of home. As bizarre as it is, with Taehyung beside you and these belongings strewn across the table, you feel a sense of peace wash over you.
Peace and closure.
Closer to the bottom, you find a handful of items that appear much older than the 80s and 90s memorabilia. A silver hairpin with an intricate swan on one end and a key-like appearance at the other, a series of handwritten notes dated around the time of the Korean War, and a pair of tiny shoes that look like they once belonged to a small child. The bottom of the shoes have the inscription of the name Kim Sung-ki, and the dates 1905 — 1909. Surely, these items couldn't have been the Kim's. Maybe they belonged to their parents or grandparents?
As you're occupied with the tiny, children's shoes, Taehyung retrieved the last item from the very bottom of the crate. It's a smaller, metal box sealed with a lock. The brunet looks around for a key, mumbling to himself under his breath.
You shake your head slightly and place the shoes to the side. "Here," you reply, picking up the oddly-shaped hairpin and offering it to Taehyung. "Try this? It looks sorta like a key at the smaller end, doesn't it?"
He tilts his head, eyes glancing over the item in your hand before he takes it. He places the pin into the lock, gives it a slight turn, and watches in awe as the lock pops open.
The silence continues as Taehyung removes the metal lid. Inside, you see two distinct items: a photobook and a film reel. Reaching first for the photobook, you scoot your bench closer to Taehyung's so that you can both peer inside at the same time.
The first page says that the book belongs to Kim Taehyung. It gives his address, an apartment not far from where you are now, and his contact information at work, aka the Museum you're under right now. The second page gives the first date, only the year of 1975. The handful of pages that follow are filled with polaroid photographs. Some blurry and out of focus, but always of the beauties of daily life. There are even one or two of Kim Taehyung himself.
The man in 1975 is young, probably not even twenty. Despite the different era, it's clear to both of you that he's the same man as the one sitting beside you.
Half of the photobook is more of the same, covering the latter part of the 70s and most of the 80s. Daegu and the Korean countryside seem to have been his home for most of his childhood, teenage years, and early twenties. His art has a veil of innocence and peace about it.
As the years progress, Kim Taehyung's photography skills become more refined and his camera quality improves. The digital era of the early 90s is when you truly see him start to take off. From 1985 onward, there are images of downtown Seoul; he must have moved sometime in that year. A plethora of urban photographs follow, as well as images of his work for the Museum.
In 1994, the images slowly shift from everyday life and scenic landscapes to a woman. Pieces of her are everywhere this year. Like the Museum, this private gallery has mostly aesthetic snapshots that make it hard to tell who she is. However, every few pages, there's a full portrait of this person, this woman who's caught Kim Taehyung's attention.
And she is you.
The last photograph is once again a polaroid. It's of Kim Taehyung and Kim [Y/n] sharing their first Christmas together. Snow flurries everywhere around Taehyung as he struggles to hang the lights on the small apartment window. His face is hidden by a familiar purple scarf, and it's turned in the direction of the camera. A hand adorned with a wedding band reaches out to him.
"Is this the person you've seen in your dreams?" Taehyung inquires, pointing a slender finger towards the last image.
Biting your lower lip, you nod once. "That's him, exactly like that."
Taehyung glances at you, dark eyes focusing intently on your face. "I don't think there's any denying it anymore. Too many things have added up. The timeline, the appearances, your dream...even finding each other in Seoul, at the Museum of all places, no one can convince me those are all coincidences."
"So...what does that mean?"
Your companion flips the pages back to the clearest portrait of the other Kim Taehyung and Kim [Y/n]. "I think—I know that in another lifetime, you and I were these two people." There's a pause as he takes a deep breath, nervousness filling his baritone voice. "What about you? What do you believe?"
Despite your shaking hands and quiet voice, you clear your throat and muster the courage to turn and return his gaze. "I've known you my entire life—and I think before it, too—so this feels more like a confirmation than a discovery."
Taehyung's hand flinches, and for a second you think he's going to reach for yours, but he pulls away and diverts his attention to the photobook. "Where does that leave us?"
"Maybe...Maybe we can see what's on the film? Maybe the Kims left us answers."
The brunet hops up from his seat, hair hiding his face as he pulls the reel from the metal box. "There's no projector. Do you think the Curator has one somewhere around here?"
Following his lead, you go back to the cabinets in search of the device. Finding nothing in any of them, you venture back into the warehouse. In the back, next to the cases of historical films, you find exactly what you're looking for. A huge grin spreads across your face as you trudge back to Taehyung, the surprisingly heavy device in your arms.
"Will this—oof—ah shit, don't fall! Will this work?"
Taehyung chuckles as you try to balance the item in your arms, haphazardly trying to keep it from falling. "That's perfect." He quickly takes it from your grasp. "So long as you don't drop it."
Heat rises in your face, and you pat your chilly palms against your cheeks as Taehyung sets up the device.
"Hit the lights," he asks over his shoulder as he places the reel onto the side of the projector.
As darkness descends, the gears begin to turn. Images flicker to life, grainy and dim against the empty wall. Taehyung sits cross-legged on the floor, and you join him. The tiny date stamp in the corner marks December 8, 1993, 12:01 A.M.
A woman sits in front of the camera. Though the area around her is hardly lit, there's an obvious ambiance of a hotel room. There are two beds, and she sits on the one nearest to the large window. Travel guides are strewn across the bed, along with a small suitcase and purple scarf.
The lone figure appears to be distressed; her hair is in disarray and her clothes are rumpled. The bags under her eyes show her exhaustion, and the way the room is hardly set up tells that she's only just arrived. She bites her lower lip in anticipation, a small smile crossing her face as she stares ahead into the camera.
There's no possibility that anyone could miss the resemblance between you two. Her hair is styled in a typical 90s fashion, and her clothes would now be considered retro, but the face is the same. Even if a bit more aged.
"I made it to Seoul," she sighs. "Finally."
Her voice even sounds like yours. It has an American lilt that's unmistakable.
"Shit, what timezone am I in? What time is it?" She glances down at her watch, which is no help due to travel. With an eyeroll, she turns her head towards an unseen clock on a nearby wall. "And it's my birthday. Happy birthday to meee." Though she draws out the last word sillily, her voice is quiet and disparate.
"I'm thirty-seven today. Thirty-seven." The other [Y/n] stares up at the ceiling for a moment. "I don't know why I'm making this now. I just...turned on the camera and hoped for the best, I guess?" She turns back towards the camera. "I wanted—I was hoping to document my search in Korea. Going to Europe, to France, that did nothing. He wasn't there...he never is...but damn it. I was hoping something would be different this time around. And getting into South Korea was near impossible, and I'm only here for a few weeks at a time due to my job..." She trails off, then pats her cheeks in an attempt to get her to focus.
"I'm not making any sense. Let me start over." As she straightens, [Y/n] takes a deep breath. "I'm making this mostly for the one that comes after me. This means if you're watching this, then I've already died." A sad smile tugs at her lips. "Not a fun thought, but that's reincarnation for you. I wanted to film this lifetime as much as possible so that the next time around, you don't have to wait so damn long to find each other. Next time, it can be faster. Next time, you won't waste all these years looking for each other."
She adjusts her position on the bed as she continues. "Every time Taehyung and I die, we're reborn into new bodies and new lives. It's been this way for centuries, but I'll get into the origins and the why's later. For now, all you need to know is that when you—when we die, that's not the end. Never is for us. I don't know about others.
"The next thing you need to know is that it's never as easy as retaining your memories. When you're reborn, you forget everything. All about your previous life, all the lives you had before, they're all gone. That is, until one of you turns twenty-one. That day is special for reasons I won't go into; just trust me on this one.
"Every other lifetime, one of you will remember at age twenty-one. Taehyung and I have alternated this story for lifetime upon lifetime. Last time, he was the one that woke up and found me. He had to get me to remember who I was, who he was, who we were, and everything after that. Once you find each other, the memories will start to come back. Given time and self-discovery, you will both remember. And no, it's nothing as cliche as true love's kiss or some bullshit like that."
She laughs softly, and shakes her head. "Taehyung found me last time, so this time it's my turn. I got some of my memories back when I turned twenty-one, and they've been showing up in dreams ever since. Slow at first, always the same one—the events that led up to my death—and then they started piling up. I knew I had to find him; he won't reawaken without me. And if one of us dies without remembering?" She shivers at the thought. "I don't know what might happen. Will that break the cycle? What happens if we both die at the same time? I don't have those answers. All I know is that once I had a name a little over two years ago, I've searched the world far and wide. South Korea is the only place left to look. I have plans to get to Daegu one of these days, and Seoul is massive, but things are still tricky here so I can only stay for small spurts."
There's a long pause where she stares out the dark window, shoulders sagging and eyes downcast. "I have a name now. I can feel him so close. Everything about Seoul is terrifyingly familiar. He has to be here. He has to be. Otherwise..."
The camera turns black, and the film reel keeps rolling. New images appear, B-roll from [Y/n]'s travels around Seoul. The city in its late 20th Century splendor is a welcome sight.
The next lengthy shot is of [Y/n]. She's turned the camera towards herself, an awkward angle on such an old device. "I looked for two weeks. Didn't really come up with anything, but I'll be back next month. Maybe the new year will do me good." She forces a smile, and the camera turns towards Incheon International Airport. "Cheers to 1994."
The projector ticks on, and a black screen flashes before the next shot. The timestamp says January 15, 1994, 3:34 p.m. [Y/n] sits on the balcony of the same hotel. She turns the camera around to view the city before settling it on the table to film herself.
"I've decided to move to Seoul," she announces. "Quit my job last week. I'll be moving here permanently once my visa is approved. There's a much better chance of finding him if I stay for longer than a few days." She wags her finger in the direction of the camera. "Kim Taehyung, if you're watching this, you're damn near impossible to find. Maybe try making yourself easier to find next time?"
Both she and you give a small chuckle at the same time. Easier? That he most certainly did.
The montage that follows is of the Seoul Museum of Art—the exterior, the interior, and the people. From behind the camera, [Y/n] says, "This view might be familiar to you next time. I got a job as a curator. Finally, a way to put my art degree to good use!"
Cut to a week later. [Y/n] records from a new location, one you assume is her new home in Seoul. Her face is drained of color, and her eyes are wide and watery. She stares ahead, not focusing on anything in particular, letting a small laugh slip out.
"I...I finally found him. T—Taehyung. Holy shit, I can't believe it. After all these years, of all the places he could've been, he's been under my nose this whole time."
Shaking her head, she tries to get a semblance of focus back. "Sorry, I'm not making sense. Taehyung's a curator and artist at the Museum I started working at yesterday. I didn't meet him my first day because he was out, but when he came in today, I just about collapsed. I couldn't believe it. I still can't."
A tear slips from her eye, and she wipes it away quickly with the back of her hand. A smile spreads across her face, one of relief and joy and peace. "He doesn't remember me, but that's okay. I didn't expect him to. That'll come in time. At least...At least I have him back. The rest can work itself out."
The clips that follow are sporadic and unplanned. Clips of [Y/n] and her companion at the Museum, at cafes, on the streets of Seoul. You never quite see either of their faces, but from the voice, you know it has to be Taehyung. From the laughter and flirty-aura around the various conversations, you realize that these videos—which span the time from winter to spring—are the months that they fell in love.
Towards the end of the last small clip in the montage, [Y/n] is filming the skyline from her apartment. The night is dark, but the buildings twinkle like stars. "Look how stunning Seoul is," she murmurs.
A voice from behind her says, "Not as stunning as you, Jagi."
[Y/n] gives a hearty laugh. "If you keep saying cheesy things like that, I might just film you."
"Against my will?" Taehyung gasps playfully.
His companion turns the camera towards the interior of the apartment. Reclining in the chair across the space, Taehyung holds a book in one hand. His attention is split between it and the camera.
Once again, you're taken aback by the resemblance between both this person and your dreams, as well as with the man sitting silently beside you. Glancing sideways, you look at Taehyung for the first time since the projector came to life. He hasn't uttered a word, and his dark orbs are glued to the wall.
"You say you hate being filmed, but you're too pretty not to, Tae."
"I'm an artist. I prefer being behind the camera."
"But you're art, too!"
Taehyung scoffs, shaking his head as his gaze evades the camera.
Another cut to black, then [Y/n] appears again. It's a month after the previous scene, and she breathes a heavy sigh from her usual spot in front of the camera.
"I told him everything," she murmurs, running a hand through her hair. "I don't think he believes me. He's remembering some things, I can tell that much, but he's still not quite there. It might take time, but I—I don't want to lose him between now and then." She shakes her head and lowers her face into her hands. "Did I speak too soon?"
Another pair of scenic shots later, and [Y/n] is all smiles again. The date is June 21, 1994, 11:10 a.m. "Taehyung remembered something big," she states with joy. "He told me he's been having dreams of his past life, and he's seen me in them. The longer we're together, the more he's remembering. He says he's been putting things together since we met but that he didn't want to believe it. I think everything's going to be okay!"
The projector continues to roll. When you glance back at it, you see the film roll is more than halfway done. Nervousness fills your stomach. The summer of 1994 was the last your previous life had. Every filmed moment that passes only brings you closer to that death.
"At first, these films were to create a shortcut for my next self," [Y/n] states with a grim demeanor. The date is July 2, 1994, 11:23 p.m. "But now I think I need to film this because I want to preserve this life, this love. It's been over six months since I met Tae, and we started dating shortly after that. It's been the greatest half-year of this lifetime, but I'm terrified it's all going to come to an end."
She clears her throat and shifts her eyes away from the camera. "There was an incident at the Museum yesterday evening. A guy showed up with a knife. I don't know how he got it through security, but he went to Taehyung's office and threatened him, screaming something about the order of things and how off-balanced the universe was. I wasn't there. I didn't see it, but Tae looked shaken. He's tried to hide it, but I'm too good at reading him. He's sleeping here, at my place, for now. Just to be sure. I had to hold him to get him to sleep."
She glances back at the door behind her, one you assume leads to the bedroom where Taehyung slumbers. "It was such a great day up until that happened. We went out, Taehyung only had to run by the Museum to grab something, and..." She sighs, then holds up her left hand. There's a glittery addition to her ring finger. "It was the best day."
The next several minutes show a montage of scenes. A rehearsal. A wedding. A dance. A view of Paris from the air. A pair of newly-weds exploring the city that they both remember from lifetimes ago. For a moment, there's an aura of pure joy and happiness and hope.
Then the shot changes. The camera shakes in [Y/n]'s hands as she aims it towards the window of the Parisian apartment. From the second story, the silhouette of a man can barely be seen. He stands across the street, clothed in darkness, veiled in an ominous aura. Between the shaking hands and pitch-black darkness, you can't quite make out his face.
You don't need to. You know exactly who that man is.
And from the way Taehyung draws in a sharp breath, you sense he's starting to put things together as well.
"Get away from the window, [Y/n]," the other Taehyung whispers from a place behind the camera.
"He can't see me," she retorts, voice trembling. "I wanna get him on camera."
The man walks away, heading in the direction opposite the apartment, and [Y/n] drops the camera onto the nearest table. It doesn't turn off, continuing to film as the woman stumbles into her husband's arms. Her breathing is erratic as she buries her face into his shoulder.
"He—He followed us to France," you murmur into his sleep shirt. "Why does he always find us? W—Why does he keep showing up all the damn time, and why us? Why you? Why—Oh, god."
Taehyung holds her tight, pressing constant butterfly kisses against her hair. "Shhh, love. You've gotta calm down. Just breathe. I got you." To put emphasis on his words, he clasps one hand on the small of her back while the other tangles in her hair. "You're safe; we're safe. He's gone. You're safe."
"Are we? Are we really, Tae? He could've killed you in June. He's been shadowing us for months. I never thought he'd follow us on our honeymoon, but he—shit, he was right outside!"
"I won't let anything happen to you," he reassures in a soft timbre. "Neither of us."
"You can't promise that," she whimpers, clutching him tighter. "Time has told me that. What happens if he finds you again? Or worse, what if he finds us both? What happens if we both die at the same time, Tae? Would—Would that be the end?"
A remorseful expression crosses Taehyung's face, but he quickly hides it as to not risk his wife seeing it. "I know I don't have all the answers. There's still a lot I don't remember, but I know this: I will protect you. My memory is getting stronger every day. I love you and it feels like we wasted so much time already, trying to find each other in a world that feels too big. And me putting up such a fight against the whole idea of past lives. We got through all of that. I won't lose you now. Not ever. Not in this life or the next. You hear me?"
[Y/n] offers a small nod as she pulls away slightly. Her eyes evade his, but when he cups her face in his hands, their gazes meet. Taehyung offers her a small smile, and she returns it.
"I love you, too," she murmurs.
Taehyung brushes his thumbs across her cheeks as his grin widens into a signature boxy smile. "That's my girl." Another kiss to the forehead, and he nods to the dresser. "Grab your things. We're leaving for the airport."
You hear a clicking as the last frame freezes. Both you and Taehyung look over your shoulders, seeing the film reel spinning to its end. He hops up to stop the machine, and the last picture disappears from the wall.
Tags — boyfriend!Taehyung, husband!Taehyung reincarnation au, lovers to strangers and to lovers again, established relationship, implied soulmate au
Genre — fluff, angst, crime (ish)
Word Count — 1.9k
Summary — Does love ever truly end, or does it simply take another form in a new life? The cycle is like clockwork: your lives end and you’re reborn again. You’ve lived it over and over. Each cycle, one of you loses your memories and is tragically unaware until the other finds and awakens their lover. After all these eons, all these lifetimes, is it possible to find each other again—even when neither of you awakens with your memories?
Part — 6 / 15
Warnings — none
Previous — Next
The last thing you expected to hear, the last thing you expected him to say, was exactly what Taehyung muttered. He'd cut you off before you could finish your sentence, but that alone wasn't what caused you to stutter and stumble over a response. Here you were, trying to figure out how to put into words the idea that he could've been in your dreams since you were young.
And he beats you to the punch.
"It's me, isn't it?" he repeats, seeing your flabbergasted expression. "The man you're with, in your nightmares."
You swallow the dry lump in your throat, offering a tiny nod. "H—How did you know? I hadn't told anyone that. Not my family, not Milo, no one."
Taehyung bites his lips. "It's like you said: a gut feeling."
"There's gotta be more than that. I—I couldn't have come all this way just to have you have a gut feeling about it, too."
Instead of responding, the brunet stands and gestures for you to follow him. His chin jerks towards the smaller hallway off to the side of the fountain, leading to an area you hadn't yet explored.
"C'mere, there's something I want to show you."
You rise and follow him, keeping close enough to hear him speak softly.
"I came to this museum for the first time when I moved to Seoul to join Big Hit and BTS. That was around seven years ago. And like you, I felt an urge to come here. I couldn't explain it at the time. Everything about this place felt...familiar, like I had been here before. Like I knew it. It's the same way I felt when I first saw you."
"So I'm not crazy?" you murmur, half to yourself.
Taehyung shakes his head, keeping his eyes straight ahead. "But it wasn't just the familiarity that kept me coming back. That was part of it, but I have to show you the other half."
Around the corner, tucked into a small corridor of the museum, there's are walls of hidden portraits. Lining both sides of the walkway, beautiful pieces of art hang in minimal frames against the stark white. Each of them tells a story, and most are in black and white. Some are of inanimate objects, while others are of striking scenery.
But the focus of half of the photographs, if not more, is a woman. Taehyung stops in front of the center portrait, eyes locking on the semi-blurry, candid image. Though the object of this artist's fascination wasn't crystal clear, it showed her in as real as could be, right in the middle of a life in motion.
This portrait catches your attention for another reason, one that drops your heart into your stomach. Though the hair is different, though the era wasn't your own, you've seen this woman many, many times throughout the years. She's nearly identical to your own reflection.
In another place, another time, another life—this woman was you.
"That's...That's..."
"You," Taehyung finishes when you are unable. "So not only did I think you recognized me earlier but when I saw you...I saw her." He points to the portrait, eyes remaining transfixed on you. "Look at the artist's name on the title plate."
Stepping closer, your gaze shifts from the image to the small, golden plate below it. You run your fingers along the engraved Hangul characters, reading it aloud so you can start to believe it yourself.
"'Yeoubi' by Kim Taeh—Taehyung."
"You remember what I told you about a murder here, at the museum over twenty years ago?"
You continue to stare at the art and it's artist, wondering how in the world this all makes sense. Managing a nod of affirmation, you prod Taehyung to continue.
"These were his," he murmurs. "They put up the display shortly after he was killed."
Turning to glance back at him, you ask, "When was he killed?"
"February 28th, 1995." There's a pause, and Taehyung runs a hand through his dark hair. "It's not something you'll see on any display or in a brochure, but I was here late one day a year or so ago and overheard the caretakers talking about him. I got curious, so I hired an investigator to find out what happened. There was next to nothing, but I did figure out that this Kim Taehyung was the murdered artist. He...and his wife."
"What was her name?"
The brunet shrugs, his lips forming a firm line. "I wasn't able to find that out. The police report was sealed, and all evidence of their existence is just...gone. No friends, family, possessions: everything disappeared shortly after their deaths." He nods his chin towards the pictures around you. "Safe to say it's her, though. The one he's always photographing."
"Who looks exactly like me," you sigh, burying your face in your hands. "God, I thought I was coming here to get answers, but now I feel even more lost. What if...What if my nightmare is real? What if it really happened?"
"You think this Taehyung and this woman were the people in your dream?"
Your hands slip down your face, and you swallow hard, throat contracting at the thought of it all coming to pass. "I mean, an artist named Kim Taehyung died with his wife in the exact same way as my dream. Same people, same place, same circumstances. I don't know what else it could be..."
"If that's the case, then you're dreaming of events that happened before you were born," Taehyung concludes, tilting his head to the side out of curiosity. "When were you born?"
"December 8th, 1995. You're December 30th, 1995, right?" He nods. "And you've never had this dream?"
He shakes his head. "Never."
You shake your head violently, trying to clear your mind as you pace the length of the small corridor. "Okay, say that my nightmare was real, that I see the events of the artist's and his wife's murder. That does not explain why he has your name and face." Looking up at your companion, you're awestruck by the similarities between the man in your dreams and the one standing in front of you. "I mean, it's uncanny. You're the same person, even if you're slightly younger right now."
Taehyung gnaws on his lower lip, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, if you're dreaming of the artist's death, and that artist is me, then the artist's wife who dies in your dream is her." He points to the portrait for reference. "And she is you."
You spend a few seconds of silence putting the pieces together. Your nightmare, the artist and his wife, the Kim Taehyung in front of you and the one that died twenty-five years ago. Everything slips together, like pieces of a perfect puzzle.
And like magic, an idea clicks in your head, one that you would never have considered before tonight.
"Taehyung...do you believe in reincarnation?"
Taehyung cracks a tiny smile, and says, "I mean, reincarnation is as part of Korean culture as kimchi. In a way, I think we all believe it."
"That doesn't answer my question. Do you, Kim Taehyung, believe in reincarnation?"
His smile fades, and his gaze shifts sideways. "Before seeing this place and you, I don't think I could've said yes. But now?" He shakes his head slightly. "How can I not?"
The conversation is cut short by another person entering the corridor. She's a tall and thin woman, probably in her early fifties, wearing a brown two-piece suit and pearl jewelry. She's the epitome of class.
When she spots you and your companion, her eyes grow large and she freezes mid-step. Her attention shifts back and forth between the two of you, and her hand covers her mouth. If you didn't know better, you'd say the woman had seen a ghost.
"Oh...my god," she breathes, eventually finding her legs again. They take her further into the hallway. "Unbelievable."
"If we're not supposed to be in here, we're sorry," you state, trying to cover for you both. "Taehyung wanted to show me a photograph here and—"
"—No, it's not that," she replies, cutting you off. "Not at all. God, it's just...when I heard your names, I had to see for myself. The resemblance is uncanny, truly."
Taehyung's brows pull together, creating a crease between them. "Who are you?"
"You don't recognize me, do you?" When you shake your heads, the woman blinks quickly. She bows and introduces herself. "My name is Jwa Ji-yeong. I'm the art curator at this museum."
Taehyung returns the greeting gesture, and you follow suit, still off-put by the situation.
"Do you know us?" you inquire as you rise.
"She obviously does," Taehyung interjects. "The question is how? I've never met you before."
There's a pause, and Jwa Ji-yeong sighs heavily. Dark brown eyes move past you to the portraits on the wall. "Before I answer your question, might I ask which picture caught your attention?"
You point to the image directly behind you. "The one with my face and his name."
A flickering of a smile appears on her face, but it's soon disguised by a monotone exterior. Footsteps and shouts echo down the hallways; the boys and filming crews are getting closer.
Jwa Ji-yeong hands you a small piece of paper before she whispers, "You have questions. I can see that. Now is not the time or place, but if you both have time tomorrow morning, come by this address. I can show you the answers...if you want them."
Looking down at the paper, you see an address for an office at the other side of the museum. You can only guess that this is where the staff is located, somewhere nearby.
Just as quickly as she came, the woman in brown is gone. With her goes the truth to a history you have only in pieces. Taehyung glances at the card over your arm, and you tilt it so he can see easier.
"I'm going," you announce, knowing that time is short by the louder sounds of Run BTS closing in. "Are you?"
Taehyung nods eagerly. "I might not have one constant nightmare, but that's my name on the wall. You see my face when you dream. That woman recognized both of us." When his dark brown irises meet yours, you see his intense resolve. "I'm as much a part of this as you are."
You take a picture of the card and save it for later. Offering him the original, you say, "Meet me here at ten tomorrow morning, okay? We go together."
The brunet takes the card with a grateful nod. You turn towards the photograph, taking it in for the last time before you depart. Everything about it is so familiar: the woman, the artist, the title. It's all too close for comfort.
"What does 'yeoubi' mean? I don't know that word."
"It doesn't have a direct translation to English," Taehyung says softly, eyes on you and not the image. "Roughly, it means 'the sun shining through the rain.'"
Tags — boyfriend!Taehyung, husband!Taehyung reincarnation au, lovers to strangers and to lovers again, established relationship, implied soulmate au
Genre — fluff, angst, crime (ish)
Word Count — 2.5k
Summary — Does love ever truly end, or does it simply take another form in a new life? The cycle is like clockwork: your lives end and you’re reborn again. You’ve lived it over and over. Each cycle, one of you loses your memories and is tragically unaware until the other finds and awakens their lover. After all these eons, all these lifetimes, is it possible to find each other again—even when neither of you awakens with your memories?
Part — 5 / 15
Warnings — language
A/N — Taglist is open! Comment, message, or ask and I’ll add you to the roster :) (Also I’m a freakin’ moron and forgot to post on Wednesday night like usual, which was yesterday. So enjoy this late chapter lol!)
Previous — Next
The first person you text is Namjoon. To you, he was the obvious choice. Friendly, open, and the first of the members to accept you into their enclave. It wasn't anything in particular, just saying hi and reminding him of who you are and that you were looking forward to tomorrow.
Not two minutes later, he replies and invites you to join a group chat he'd just created for you and all seven members.
"This way, we can all keep in touch!" he says. "DMs are fine, of course, but if we all wanna get to know each other, group chats can be a lot of fun."
He wasn't wrong. The remainder of Sunday evening is spent texting the members. On the way home, while you cook a quick dinner, and when you're relaxing before bed. They're flooding your messages with all kinds of hilarity. Jungkook and Hoseok are a fan of memes, while Yoongi seems to prefer the straightforward communication that gifs provide. Jimin and Namjoon adore emojis, and Jin sticks to his usual bad dad jokes. Taehyung replies to a question every now and then, but for the most part, he's absent from the conversation.
"You're awfully quiet, Taehyung-ssi," Jimin teases half-way through a conversation on whether or not mint ice cream is edible.
"I'm working, but you guys are blowing up my phone so it's hard to concentrate."
A sigh slips out as you reply, "You can put your phone on vibrate, Taehyung. Really, we won't mind. Or at least I certainly won't."
His response is speedy. "Okay. I'll talk to you all tomorrow."
Namjoon sends you a private message. "Don't let him bother you. He can get like this when he's focused. He doesn't do well with things distracting him."
"Yeah...you're probably right."
"Oh, I definitely am!"
"Hey, thank you again for everything. Except for Kim Taehyung, I really feel at ease with everyone. I feel like we're going to get along great at the set tomorrow."
"My pleasure, [Y/n]. I really wanted to avoid you feeling like more of an outsider than you probably already do. Being in a new country, even if you speak the language, can be scary. I've been to enough of them to know that there's no place like home...but maybe we can make it a bit easier."
A smile spreads across your face at his genuine spirit and pure kindness. "You have, big time! Each of you is really fun to be around. Honestly? I can't wait for 'Run' tomorrow! Can I ask where we're going? I didn't see a production report yet, and Director Hyeon hasn't responded to my email."
"We'll probably knock out a few episodes in one night, and I think we're closing down the Seoul Museum of Art. They're going to close a bit early so we can have it to ourselves. The games we have planned will happen there!"
You turn your eyes away from your cell phone at the mention of the museum. Recalling what happened over the weekend, returning to that place doesn't seem like a terrific idea. But then again, if you are there with Taehyung, maybe the two of you can finally talk about what you see in your dreams.
Maybe, just maybe, you can get those answers.
Your resolve strengthens a little bit, and a new message comes through, one not from the group chat or Namjoon. You click out of your conversation with the leader and check the notification.
"Who are you?"
The question is blunt and straightforward, coming from the second-youngest member via a private chat. You open the message, and your fingers hover above the keyboard for a few moments.
"Hi Taehyung. What do you mean?"
"I know we've met before. I can't remember where."
You bite your lip at his statement. So you were right; he does have some sort of familiarity with you, too. Now, to figure out just how much.
"Have you been to a concert before? Or a fan-sign? Maybe you worked on the set of Hwarang?"
"None of those. I actually didn't listen to much of your music before recently, and I've never been to a concert or fan-sign. And I've never worked on any set before."
"You weren't a fan of BTS? Even though you applied to Big Hit?"
"Nope. Actually, my roommate Milo was the Bangtan superfan. I heard of you guys through her, and then of Big Hit. I applied because I wanted to live in Seoul. It's been my dream all my life. Big Hit just happened to have the job I wanted in the ideal location. Call it fate, I guess."
A half-truth, but it will have to do for now.
"I know. I remember. Your gut feeling."
You pause, your fingers halting mid-type. How did he already know about that? You hadn't mentioned it in either the group chat or in the earlier conversation. In fact, the only person you'd mentioned the gut feeling about Seoul to was—
"I have to go, sorry. I'll see you at the museum tomorrow. I think you know the way."
The museum looks almost spooky after the sun begins to set over the buildings that touch the sky. Downtown Seoul is as beautiful as ever as the bright oranges and pastel pinks bathe the exteriors of each in brilliant colors. If it weren't for the thirty or so Big Hit employees rushing about, you might've stood at the entrance for much longer than thirty seconds.
But the moment you're on-scene, you go to work. One of the producers flags you down, offers a brief introduction, and tells you where to hide the English words.
"Have you seen what we did a few episodes back, eighty-seven and eighty-eight?" he asks, shoving a stack of stickers into your hands. "When we put Hangul all over the Oil Tank Culture Park?"
You shake your head, offering a sheepish smile. "I haven't...exactly watched too much 'Run.'"
The producer waves it off. "Just run around the building and stick these wherever you think seven boys may or may not find them. Feel free to go crazy. We have fifteen minutes to get everything set before filming starts. The boys should be here soon. So, go! Once you're done, come back here. While they're running around, you can help me with the grading system."
"Grading system?"
"They're going to make sentences with the words they find. Since you know English the best, you can award points to each word based on difficulty in using."
A smile spreads across your face. "Got it! Sounds fun."
You speed off into the museum, weaving past the sound and lighting crew that are attempting to set up. Several of the museum staff have also stayed behind to give guidance, and you're relieved that the boys and company have the entire building to themselves. This wouldn't be possible during daytime hours when the public is here.
You begin sticking several dozen stickers along the walls, on the frames of pieces of art, on the marble floor. Basically, anywhere you can reach. You cover the Van Gogh exhibit with difficult words like "effervescence" and "halcyon," along with colorful words like "lilac" and "vermilion."
The further into the building you move, the fewer and fewer people you see. Once you've passed the room of modern art and approach the Winged Victory of Samothrace, there's no one in sight. Down to your last few words, you slip into the dimmed hallway and turn the corner.
Winged Victory is just as you remember. Tall and beautiful and haunting. The statue is still so familiar to you. Looking at the base, you can almost see the body of the woman from your dream. Right before you and Taehyung started running for your lives, this was where a murder occurred.
You flinch at the memory of the blood, but something else inside you is pulling you out of the room and towards the fountain. Last time you saw it, you ran from the room and left the friendly acquaintance behind. Part of you wonders what he must've thought. Surely, you looked like you'd seen a ghost.
But you might as well have.
Your feet tip-toe on the marble. The boys have most certainly arrived, and the filming has started from the sound of it. Their crazed and excited laughter fills the echo-y halls. Seeing as there aren't any stickers this far into the museum, you take your chances and continue moving deeper in. The producer could wait just a few more minutes, couldn't he?
The last of the sunlight ricochets across each panel of glass in the dome ceiling, greeting you with shards of light skewed in every direction. Like fireflies dancing together, they bring an almost magical aura to the open space, one very different from the horrors of your nightmares. The columns are made of ever-moving fire, and the fountain is made of glittery stars.
As you stand in the doorway, your throat drys and tightens. Seeing this place again, no matter how different, brings back the memories you can't explain. Are they even memories? Surely, that has to be what they are. But from when or from whom, you can't explain. They're a requiem for someone you hardly know.
Does Taehyung know the answers? Does he know more than you about this event you keep playing over and over in your mind? He's been in your dreams ever since you were a child, as a version much older than you were then and even older than you are now. Who has just one dream their whole lives, unless the explanation is that he has that dream, too?
You shake your head at the absurdity of it all. "What am I doing here?" you murmur, running your hand through your hair.
"Are you okay?"
The deep voice behind you causes you to jump and spin, eyes wide as you spot a familiar face at the entrance to the fountain. Taehyung stands with his hands in the pockets of his pants, his head tilted as he observes you.
"Holy shit, don't sneak up on people!"
The brunet smirks a little and shrugs. "Didn't mean to, sorry. You were staring off into space and didn't even hear me walk down the hallway. And it's hard to be quiet on marble floors."
"God, sorry, I didn't mean to snap." You run your hands over your face. "This museum has...some strange memories for me. I thought coming back here would help, but I think I've made it worse."
"How do you mean? I thought you hadn't been to Seoul before?"
"I haven't. It's complicated." Your eyes flicker to the corridor behind him. "Where's your cameraman?"
"I ditched him, told him I was running off to the restroom. But I didn't see you anywhere, so I figured you'd be back here."
Eyebrows pulling together, you reply, "How'd you figure that?"
"Well, you seemed really freaked out last weekend. You ran out of here like a ghost was chasing you. I was honestly worried until I saw you at Big Hit the next day, and you seemed fine, so..."
He trails off, and the realization of his words hits you. "Wait...shit, were you the one I was talking to both times I visited here this week? The one in the hoodie and mask?"
Taehyung nods, though there's a tiny line between his brows that shows he's as confused as you are. "Yes? I thought you knew that from day one, when you spoke to me at the Van Gogh exhibit."
Shaking your head fervently, you spout, "No! Not at all. I had no idea, honest to god. I just thought you were shy or introverted or maybe had a tough time talking to girls. I never, ever thought you were..." You gesture to all of him.
His brown eyes widen as he steps closer and out of the doorway. "Wait, really? You had no idea."
"None!"
He chuckles softly, turning to gaze at the fountain as the sunlight fades to soft blues of night. "I'd assumed you knew who I was. You were so open and friendly to a perfect stranger. I thought you'd recognized me."
"Not at all," you retort. "I was being nice and friendly because there was something about you that was so damn familiar. Kind of like this whole place, actually. I don't know. I can't explain it."
Taehyung nods and runs a hand through his curly locks. "I won't lie, there's something off about this place for me, too." He shifts his attention from the fountain to you. "You weren't lying about anything you said before, were you? About you being called to Seoul and not knowing why?"
You lock eyes with him as you reply, "I promise, everything I said was true."
"Then why did you run away?"
A heavy sigh slips out, and you sit down on the water fountain's edge. Looking into the water to your side, you run various ways to go about this disclosure. Blunt truth? A comforting lie? A bit of both?
"[Y/n]?"
"I've had this...nightmare, ever since I was a little girl. Ever since I could remember. It's always the same. I'm running for my life with someone I know that I care deeply about. We're trying to escape a murderer who's closing in behind us. He's just slaughtered one of our friends and he's coming for us."
You pause to take a breath, and Taehyung takes that pause to sit beside you. He doesn't say a word, only waist patiently for you to continue.
"We're eventually trapped. The man with me tells me to run while he distracts the murderer. Of course, I don't listen. There's a fight. We're both injured. And we both die."
There's a pregnant pause in the air before Taehyung hangs his head and murmurs, "That sounds horrible."
"I haven't told you everything," you reply. "I'm afraid I shouldn't...but what the hell." You gesture to the space around you. "In my dream, the entire thing is set here, in the Seoul Museum of Art. Our friend was killed at the base of Winged Victory. The fight happens among these columns. And the man and I, we die in this very fountain, bleeding out from gunshot wounds."
You turn to face the man beside you, seeing his eyes shift from his feet to yours as his head tilts slightly. "And every time, it's the same three people besides me. The same woman at the base of Winged Victory, the same murderer with a gun, the same man that this nightmare-version of me loves. I have no idea who the first two are..."
In your hesitation, Taehyung says, "But you know the last one."
Nodding, your knuckles turn white as you drip your knees. Here it goes. All or nothing. No turning back now.
Tags — boyfriend!Taehyung, husband!Taehyung reincarnation au, lovers to strangers and to lovers again, established relationship, implied soulmate au
Genre — fluff, angst, crime (ish)
Word Count — 3.4k
Summary — Does love ever truly end, or does it simply take another form in a new life? The cycle is like clockwork: your lives end and you’re reborn again. You’ve lived it over and over. Each cycle, one of you loses your memories and is tragically unaware until the other finds and awakens their lover. After all these eons, all these lifetimes, is it possible to find each other again—even when neither of you awakens with your memories?
Part — 3.5 / 15
Warnings — relatively none, minor language, brief mention of death in childbirth
Previous — Next
{Paris, France — 1789 a.d.}
If there's one place on earth that you feel safe in, it's the garden surrounding the Chateau. With the large trees giving shade from the afternoon heat, the overgrowth of flora that attracts a variety of birds and insects, and the expansive maze of roses that covers the remnants of the grounds, it's a magical wonderland that's kept private for your family alone. When your father is away on his lengthy excursions around France, and the staff is busy keeping up with his home, you're left in utter peace to recline amongst nature and contemplate the state of the world.
You've concluded that there are a lot of things that have gone terribly awry in recent years. The citizens of Paris go hungry every day. Children are left without parents. Families are torn apart by famine and war. Endless war. Fear, anger, and hopelessness run rampant through the streets like gutter rats.
Even in the modern year of 1789, the aristocracy to which your family line belongs has refused to do anything but suck the lifeblood of your country dry. They consume and destroy and tear the meat off the bones of your beloved France.
And your father is one of the worst there is. Your grandmother, the one who raised you, always told you to trust in yourself and in her family's power. She promised you that no matter how cruel or unkind your father, or the world, might be, you can always count on yourself.
"You have magic inside you, mon cherie," she would tell you every night. "One day, that magic will lead you to love."
"Why didn't it lead Mère to love?" you'd asked one day.
Your grandmother merely stopped what she was doing and laid her leathery hand on your head. "It led her to you, did it not? To you...and the garden outside your window."
Ever since then, the garden has been the place where you feel your mother's presence, but it's also the place where you harness her family's magic. The power that flows in your bloodline grows stronger every day, and when you reach your early twenties, it multiplies ten-fold.
Without control, your grandmother warns that your only escape will start to wilt and wither. And though you never intended, she's right.
One morning, you awake to a shriveled garden outside your balcony.
And a very angry father.
"What the hell happened here!" he shouts, storming out of the doors below your perch and into the supposed greenery. His eyes are wild and angry, nostrils enlarged as he fumes at the groundskeeper for not doing his job properly for a full five minutes.
You'd been on the end of that rage yourself. Not wanting to be caught in the cross-fire, you pull back the curtain and shield yourself from his view.
"Sire, it's become a terribly dry year," the groundskeeper says, giving one last attempt to console your father. "Everyone is suffering. It's part of the reason that the Third Estate is so restless."
"I don't care about the peasantry!" he bellows. "The Third Estate is the scourge of France. The only reason they exist is to keep the wheels greased and the treasury full. Drought or not, my garden should be blossoming. You find someone else that can properly do your job and you make yourself scarce! I never want to see your face again!"
Your grandmother finds you on the floor next to your balcony window, partially shielded by the curtains. She gives you a soft expression, extending her hand to you to help you to your feet.
"It's growing again, Grandmère," you whisper. "My spells are getting more powerful. I—I almost killed the garden this time. If Père ever found out..."
Your sentence trails off, and Grandmère puts her palm against your cheek. "Mon cherie, if you ever get the chance to leave this place, promise me that you'll take it and never look back."
"But I wouldn't leave y—"
The elderly woman shakes her head, moving a single finger to your lips. "—Never look back. Promise me."
Despite yourself, you nod once, and your grandmother places a kiss on your forehead.
True to his word, before the week is over, the usual groundskeeper is nowhere in sight and a new one has taken his place. You meet him while in the garden, though the last thing you expected was for a boy your age to sneak up on you while you were collecting a few herbs for your next spell.
"You must be Princess [Y/n]?"
Jumping back, you turn and face the strange man with wide eyes and hands clasped tightly around a handful of Mimosa blossoms, Yucca leaves, and Life Everlasting blooms.
The person standing in front of you isn't bad looking. Quite the opposite. He has an alluring aura about him that goes beyond the wavy black hair and honey skin. Behind his warm eyes and boxy smile, there's a uniqueness to him that you've never seen before. Even with a mother that wasn't French, you'd never seen someone like him.
"Who the hell are you?"
The man smirks a little before responding. "I'm the new groundskeeper? Your father hired me this morning. I hate to think of what happened to the other one. I saw him leave through the front gate when I arrived. He didn't look the best."
Your eyes soften, and your guard drops. "If you knew this job was going to be hard, if you knew my father was cruel, why did you take it?"
"We all have our reasons, right?" He gestures to your hands. "Such as why you're holding all of the living things left in this place?"
You shove the flowers and herbs into the pocket of the white apron, laid over your casual dress. "This is my garden, Monsieur..."
"Kim. Kim Taehyung."
"You're not from France, are you, Monsieur Kim?"
"What gave it away?" You gesture to all of him, which makes Taehyung laugh.
"Well, if we were going by appearances, I never would've known you were the lord's daughter. You're dressed like a servant."
"You called me 'princess.'" Your head tilts to the side, eyebrows pulling together. "I have no such title...but how did you know I was his daughter?"
Taehyung shrugs and nods to your open balcony door. "I saw you this morning while you were reading on the balcony."
Your face pulled into a scowl. "Why you—"
Taehyung raises his hands in mock surrender, the smile never faltering. "Calm down, Princess. All I'm saying is that you might want to keep your doors closed. You never know when someone might be peaking in."
From that day onward, an unlikely friendship blossoms between you Taehyung. The man is odd, there's no doubt about that, but he's just about the only normal person in your life. The only one you've ever known, actually. He's real and kind and lovely in every possible way.
He comes to the Chateau several times a week for the next several months in an attempt to get the garden back to normal. The winter had been cruel, and the drought unforgiving, but Taehyung brought with him knowledge from other lands, especially from his homeland of Korea. If you hadn't had him explain the science behind his tricks of the trade, you would have thought he had magic in him, too.
"You have to irrigate them well, starting at the upward slopes so that the water can drain back down. Use gravity to our advantage. Then the new system I created will take the excess and bring it to the herbs, which tend to be more resilient than Mimosa, Yucca, or Life Everlasting."
You stare at him with wide eyes of curiosity, watching him as he takes water from the well and pours it into the starting container of the extensive irrigation system. The pipeline crawls all over the garden, out of sight as to not distract the eyes from the beauty. The precious liquid flows and forks into the various braches, giving lifeblood back to the garden.
"I've also been adding phosphorus to the soil," he tells you, placing a hand on his hip with a pleased expression. "That should aid the root systems so that water can be absorbed easier."
You shake your head, amazed and awestruck at what he'd accomplished in a short few months. Turning to Taehyung, you throw your arms around him and hold him tight.
"You're magic, Taehyung. Just magic!"
He laughs at your sudden outburst and embraces you tightly to him. "It helps when you're from a family of farmers. Not magic, Princess, just practice."
Spring comes with thunderous applause and unconfronted feelings. The rain stays, but Taehyung's ingenuity has all but brought the Chateau's surroundings back to life.
Your beloved garden blooms, as does your love for its savior—both of which despite your magic, not because of it.
As spring marches forward, you find yourself spending more and more time together. And while it was as friends or mutual curiosity before, these days you spend in the garden are more than that. There's an underlying yearning for each other, but for reasons you both know, neither of you moves on it.
"Isn't your birthday coming up?" Taehyung asks, out of the blue, one afternoon. He's sorting through the various seeds that he'd purchased using the allowance your father gave him, kneeling down beside the arrangements on the ground.
Reclining against one of the Mimosa trees, you place the pen and paper on your lap. You'd been messing around with a spell idea for a few weeks now, but it's been difficult to get it onto paper. Being with him in the garden aways brought about inspiration, so you came prepared today.
"I overheard some of the staff discussing it," he adds, seeing the question on your face before you verbalize it. "How old will you be?"
You sigh, "Twenty-one."
Taehyung sorts the rose seeds from the marigolds, ensuring that the two plants don't end up in the same soil, which he says will ensure both of them die early on. "Why do you sound so glum about it? Isn't your birthday worth celebrating?"
The side of your mouth tugs into a tiny smile at the sweetness of his last sentence. "Not when your father's insisting that he find a suitable groom for you once you turn twenty-one."
The dark-haired man's hands halt suddenly, his eyes transfixed on the layout in front of him. He slumps back, resting his weight entirely on his knees and lower legs. "And you're not happy about that."
You shake your head and wrap your arms around yourself. "Not at all. Especially since I have a sinking feeling I know who his selection will be. He's a son of a wealthy lord on the other side of the Seine. It would be a strategic marriage, completely in my father's favor."
"You don't love him." His observation is not a question.
"Of course not," you scoff. "I hardly know him. I've only met him a few times. He's the last person on earth that I would pick to marry."
Taehyung finally shifts his gaze from the seeds to your face, meeting your eyes. "Who's the first then, Princess?"
His question catches you off-guard and brings heat into your cheeks. "I—I hadn't thought about it, didn't have anyone in particular in mind. Only for love. That's my only requirement."
The foreigner nods once then relinquishes his intense gaze, seemingly satisfied with your reply.
There's a pause before you continue. "This is exactly what happened to my mother. She wasn't French, a foreigner who married my father because it was beneficial. She was forced into this marriage and died in childbirth."
"That's terrible," he murmurs. "I'm so sorry."
You offer a grateful nod, turning your eyes to the clear blue sky. "Taehyung...have you ever thought about running away?" The question comes out of you, surprising you with your honesty. It's as if it has a mind of its own.
Taehyung cracks a smile. "Princess, I've been running my whole life. I ran away from my hometown to travel the world, to see it all. Never thought I'd end up stuck in France, in Paris of all places, and yet I'm still trying to run towards the New World."
You turn to stare at him in awe. "You're so brave. I don't know if I could do that."
"Do you want to?"
"Of course. I want to be free from this place, free from the future my father has set up for me. My greatest fear is becoming my mother, engaged to a man I don't love and dead after giving birth. My mother wanted the same thing, but she died before she could arrange it. I was lucky to survive being born. Grandmère tells me that I lived because of—"
You catch yourself before you continue, knowing that this story goes into a secret that only you and your grandmother carry with you. You've never told another soul about your magic, not one. Not even your father knows. What would he think if he did? Or worse, what would Taehyung think? Would he think you a freak, something wicked, a pawn of the devil?
"Because of...?" Taehyung prompts. He sees your hesitation in your bit lower lip and shifting gaze. "You can tell me, [Y/n]. Whatever it is, you can trust me."
Taehyung almost never calls you by your real name. It's almost always "Princess." That little bit of reassurance pushes you to continue your story. If this relationship is going to go forward at all, it's time.
Now or never.
"Grandmère tells me that I survived because of my mother's final...final spell. A spell of love."
The brunet tilts his head curiously, obviously not expecting that continuance. "A spell?"
You nod, trying to keep your nervous voice even and controlled. "My mother's family has a secret, one that's passed down from generation to generation. We're witches. Magic runs in our veins. I've been magical all my life, but the past year or so, my power has grown a lot. I've been practicing and trying to get a handle on it, and Grandmère has been teaching me, but sometimes that power is...too much."
His gaze softens as a smile of realization tugs at his mouth. "Hence the garden suddenly wilting overnight. I thought there was more involved than the drought."
Your breath catches in your lungs as Taehyung puts the pieces together. "You're not freaked out? You don't think I'm evil?"
"No," he laughs, scooting closer as to sit in front of you. "Why would I think that? Back home, we have soothsayers and card readers and all kinds of magically-inclined people. I don't think you're evil or anything of the sort."
A wave of relief washes over you, and you slouch back against the tree. Your companion gives an amused chuckle at your state, but you're too drained to make a comment."But if there was magic involved, then the garden shouldn't have come back on its own, even with my help. Did you, I don't know, cast a spell to heal it?"
You shake your head and sit straight once again. "Nothing of the kind. I think...I think it had something to do with you."
"Me?" he asks, surprised.
You nod. "The more time I spent with you, the better you made me feel, the more of a friendship bond we created, the more I felt my magic wane. In a good way! I felt balanced, for the first time in my entire life, and then the garden started to bloom again. I can't explain it. It's like you made me feel like I was safe enough to express magic in a healthy way, not just in a way that could destroy."
Your heartfelt confession makes Taehyung lift his hand to your cheek, cradling your face in a tender way that only your grandmother has. "And you said I was the magical one. Princess, I've got nothing on you." He leans in closer, his warm breath brushing against your face. "Can I kiss y—"
"—Yes."
Taehyung chuckles and closes the distance between you. His lips graze yours, hesitant at first. His are soft and delicate, just as you'd imagined they would be. The hands cupping your face pull you closer, and yours move to his shoulder to balance yourself. Though gentle, the gentle push and shove causes you to smile into the kiss.
It doesn't take long for the gesture to shift from shy to needy, from sweet to passionate. All the pent up emotions you'd both kept inside these past few months come pouring out in the form of hands on waists and hips, fingers desperately gripping clothing and grazing skin, teeth greedily nipping at lips and elsewhere on the face. Taehyung is a passionate individual, but you never really knew how much until now.
Moving closer to you, he pulls you into his lap, adjusting your dress as to let your legs slide to either side of his hips. Pulling you ever closer, he continues to fight for dominance. One hand shifts from your waist to your neck, tangling in the hair at the base of your neck. You slide your fingers through his hair, inadvertently tugging at a few curls and dragging an unconscious sigh from Taehyung.
After a few moments, the brunet pulls back. Both of you come up for air, breathing heavily and feeling dizzy. A euphoric feeling rushes through your body, something much closer to magic than you've ever felt. All around you, new flowers begin to bloom. Taehyung's gaze flickers from you to the new flora around you, watching in awe as the flowers grow taller to encase you both in a cradle of spring.
And it's there—in Taehyung's arms, sitting in the middle of a revived garden—that you realize you've fallen in love with him.
His next words come out softer and more tender than anything you've never heard. "Come with me."
"Tae..."
He shakes his head, resting his forehead against yours. "Don't do that."
"Where could we go?" you reply. "France is falling apart. The Third Estate is going to rebel before summer's end; it's all anyone can talk about. There's not a place on earth that my father won't find me. Find us. You know what becomes of us both if that happens."
Taehyung brushes the tears away from your eyes with his thumbs. "He can't follow us across the sea."
The weight of his offer hits you. The sea. The New World. America. Could it really be true? Could it really happen? Freedom and love and life, all at once?
"What about Grandmère? I couldn't just leave her here with that monster."
"Then we'll take her, too!" He presses another kiss to your mouth, pulling back after a brief moment. "I'll have the money by the end of July. That's not too far away. I will do anything to keep you safe, Princess. Anything. Run away with me. We can start over. I've fallen in love with you over these past months, and I know you feel the same."
You nod fervently. "I do, but..."
"But what? But nothing. You said it yourself: if you stay here, your future is that of your mother's. Wouldn't she want you to spare yourself of it?" His hands cupping your face tighten ever so slightly as he sees his argument making an impact. "Come with me. I can protect you. I love you, magic or none. Don't make me lose you."
"I love you, too."
"Say you'll come. Say you'll run away with me."
Heaving a heavy sigh, your place your hands over his and look him in the eyes. "I'll go anywhere with you."
Tags — boyfriend!Taehyung, husband!Taehyung, reincarnation au, lovers to strangers and to lovers again, established relationship, implied soulmate au
Genre — fluff, angst, crime (ish)
Word Count — 2.7k
Summary — Does love ever truly end, or does it simply take another form in a new life? The cycle is like clockwork: your lives end and you’re reborn again. You’ve lived it over and over. Each cycle, one of you loses your memories and is tragically unaware until the other finds and awakens their lover. After all these eons, all these lifetimes, is it possible to find each other again—even when neither of you awakens with your memories?
Part — 2 / 10
Warnings — language, brief mention of murder
Previous — Next
The Friday after your application is sent, you receive a response from Big Hit. Never in your wildest dreams did you ever think you would get a response this quickly, let alone with the contents therein.
"What the fuck!" you scream, nearly throwing your laptop across your bedroom.
Milo storms through the door, eyes wide with panic as she scans your bedroom for signs of an emergency. "What the fuck?"
"Exactly! Look at this!" You shove the laptop in her direction, biting your nails in anticipation.
Though trepid, Milo takes the computer from your grasp and begins to scan the screen. As her eyes reach the bottom of the email, she begins to mirror your exact expression as her jaw drops and curses fly from her lips—in multiple languages.
"Oh my—What the hell, [Y/n]!"
"I know! I know," you laugh, giddy beyond what you can control. "Read further!"
"We'd love to conduct a phone interview with you at your earliest convenience. After which, if both parties choose to go forward, we would like to do an in-person interview in Seoul. [Y/n]! This is practically a yes!"
"Not quite...but it's a start!"
Milo giddily shoves the laptop back towards you, practically bouncing in place. "Call them, call them, call them!"
Two days later, you find yourself alone and on a plane bound for Seoul. The initial interview with Big Hit went extremely well. You were able to converse with a representative in both Korean and English, and went over your resume and other various technical aspects of the position.
"I have to get this out of the way," the woman spoke with a serious tone. "You're not applying for this job because you're Army, right?"
"No," you answered immediately, your voice assured. "Not at all. It's always been my dream to live in Seoul. My roommate can tell you, we've been looking for jobs for a few weeks, ever since graduation."
"Good, because I can tell you right now that we try to screen for that kind of behavior as best as we can. It's part of the interview and background check process. It has to be. I mean, it’s fine to be a fan, but for the safety of the members, we have to make sure that no fanatics are hired and get close to them. A very small percentage of the company interacts with them at all, let alone regularly, but I had to ask."
She seemed overly concerned about that part, and you're not quite sure she believed you. Other than that, you feel that it couldn't have gone better. In fact, you were certain. Why else would they pay for you to fly to Seoul for an in-person interview, which she described as the final part of the hiring process?
You can't help the nervous tingles that travel along your neck and down your spine. The excitement fills your fingers and toes, and you struggle to keep still in your seat. Things are finally moving forward. The dream you've had since you were a child is finally coming to fruition. Everything is falling into place.
But another part of you recalls the literal dream that's occupied your mind for just as long, a subconscious memory or recollection that hasn't left for years. How much longer can you take this nightmare? Isn't it normal for people to have other dreams, not just the same one over and over and over?
The man with the dark, curly hair. The murderer with a gun. The museum halls and flowing blood and untimely demise.
This Taehyung, this member of BTS, what will happen when—or if—you meet? Will he recognize you, too? Will he tell you he has that same nightmare? Will he know why you are connected, despite having never met or heard of each other?
You shake your head, trying to focus on what lies ahead as the plane starts to descend through the air. If you do land this job at BigHit, then you can look for the answers you so desperately seek. If this is meant to be, you'll get what you're looking for. One way or another. Of that, you are sure.
That same part of you is terrified of what you might find when you do.
Or what will become of you if you don't.
You're the first to grab your overhead luggage and exit the plane. After navigating security and international check-ins, you spot a short-haired woman in a suit holding a sign over her head. Your name is written in big, bold letters.
As you approach, the woman smiles and greets you with a bow. "You must be Ms. [Y/l/n]?"
You nod eagerly, offering her the same greeting. "Lovely to meet you...?"
"I am Director Hyeon, I head Human Resources for Big Hit Entertainment. We spoke on the phone earlier this week. Please, follow me."
Doing as Director Misun Hyeon asks, you're escorted to a car parked along the sidewalk outside the airport. The Director tells the driver to take your bags and return to Big Hit HQ. Along the way, she makes small talk about your trip and the life you have in America. She's very professional and reserved, but also very sweet, instantly putting you at ease for your interview.
When the car drives up to the enormous, glass building in downtown Seoul, you're taken aback by the monstrous size of Big Hit headquarters. You knew they were a large company, staffing over five hundred people from your research, but seeing the sight in person has an entirely different effect.
"We just moved into this building this year," Director Hyeon states with a hint of pride. The car turns the corner and descends into the private underground garage. "The company has outgrown the last building, so when our contract was up, we knew we would need to expand."
"How many floors does it have?" you say, gawking at the many floors, both above and below you.
"Nineteen above, seven below," she replies, exiting the car. "Out interview will be on the top floor, so you can have a look at the view."
Director Hyeon wasn't kidding when she said there's a view. The entire penthouse level of the new Big Hit office is lined with floor-to-ceiling windows. Light streams in, ricochetting off the glassy surfaces to toss rainbows across the room. Peering down from the walkway, you see the expansive Seoul City spread out below. Everything looks so much smaller from two-hundred feet in the air. So beautiful, it's enough to take your breath away.
You have to get this job. After seeing this place, there's no other path you can see ahead of you.
The Director escorts you to her office, a room encased by another series of glass panels to give the illusion of privacy. Across from her, you can see several other offices of similar design. She asks you take a seat, getting you a cup of coffee as you make yourself comfortable.
In your mind, the interview couldn't have gone better. You were confident and assured of your abilities, and you have the grades and some experience to back it up. And the fact that you hit it off well with Director Hyeon doesn't hurt either.
As you finish up, she hands you the official memo on the position. "These are some of the tasks you'll be asked to do," she states, then continues to briefly overview what's on the page. "Your position would be Production Assistant, but that can mean doing just about anything, either in office, on tour, or on scene with one of the shows. You would do translation work, both ahead of time for press releases and social media as well as on the spot translations during events or interviews. And as I mentioned, you would handle the BTS official social medias for the English audience. They can post what they want, but they have been told to work with you on captions, tags, content, and the like."
She continues, "We're about to start work on a new album after the boys take a few weeks off from all the work they did on the last tour. When that happens, you might tag along in the studio and assist in various things there. When Bon Voyage or Run BTS begins shooting, you'll assist there. I know that word is vague, but I can promise it'll be more than just doing coffee runs or cleaning up after the boys." She laughs at that last part. "We have other people for that. What we need is someone that can really get into the trenches of the boys' work and help where needed, especially when it comes to the language barrier."
"Hence the bi-lingual requirement," you add.
Director Hyeon nods. "Exactly! So, I know this is a lot to take in, but we really are interested in you. We wouldn't have flown you all the way out here if we weren't. I do have a couple of other candidates I want to interview over the next day or so, but I have a feeling that you're our top pick. If you're willing to hang around Seoul for the next, say, forty-eight hours—all expenses paid, of course—I can give you a definite answer. Are you interested, Ms. [Y/l/n\?"
With a determined smile and eager nod, you reply, "More than you can imagine."
Finding things to do in Seoul isn't difficult at all. In fact, the rest of the day goes by pretty quickly. After the Big Hit driver takes you to your hotel and helps you carry your bags to your room, you take the rest of the evening to go out and explore the city. The food, the festivities, the feelings: if this is going to be your new home, you want to see it all.
The next day, knowing that you probably won't hear from Director Hyeon until the following day, you set back out into the city with a plan to see as many of the sights as possible. The night before, you'd laid in bed and made a plan of attack to take on Seoul. While knowing you wouldn't get to nearly all the spots you wanted, you made a list of the ones closes to your hotel, within walking distance.
The day was absolutely beautiful. Whether or not you got this job, you weren't going to waste your forty-eight hours in South Korea.
In the morning, you visit several historic sites—such as the green space and onetime royal burial ground at Hyochang Park, the architectural and sightseeing wonders of Seoullo 7017, and the restored 1300s fortress wall and the pedestrian gate of Sungnyemun. After grabbing lunch at a local restaurant, you turn towards some of the other sights.
As you pass by City Hall, the building around the corner catches your eye. It's a large, old building crafted from concrete and bricks. It stands out from some of the more modern sights in the area. Edging closer, moving through the greenery around it, you see the name of the building come into perfect view.
서울시립미술관. Seoul Museum of Art.
Without thinking too hard about it, your feet take you towards the museum. You can't put your finger on it, but like the city itself, there's something so alluring and familiar about it. This whole trip has been one big, "Haven't I been here before?" This place, however, gives you heightened feelings. Both positive and negative.
You brush it off, convincing yourself they've arisen due to jetlag and job-related nerves.
The museum is even more awe-inspiring on the inside. The expansive interior is painted white to create more of a contrast between the walls and the art. Galleries stretch out in different directions, but you're drawn to one of the open rooms a little further in.
People flutter about, quietly chatting in various languages about the temporary exhibit that takes up little space but all the focus. It's a set of several still life oil paintings by Vincent Van Gogh on lend from the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam. They're displayed along temporary glass walls that circulate the wing. A tour guide leads several visitors to each painting.
Your eyes trail from one to the next, but when you catch sight of a piece covered in shades of brown and orange, you halt mid-step. The painting looks so familiar to you, more than anything you've seen so far. If there is anything calling you to this place, this painting has to be it.
The card below the piece says that the name is "Vase with Honesty." Painted in autumn of 1884, it was one of Van Gogh's first still lifes.
"The name 'honesty' may refer to the translucence of the round seed pods, which turn a silvery-white colour in the autumn," the plaque reads. "They then resemble silver coins, and in Dutch this plant is called the judaspenning, 'coin of Judas'. This is a reference to the apostle Judas, who betrayed Christ for 30 pieces of silver. He is said to have thrown the coins to the ground when he hanged himself. Where they landed, the honesty plant later grew."
Minutes later, after the tour guide and most of the patrons have moved on to other exhibits, you're left alone with "Vase with Honesty."
Almost alone.
Another person remains to your right, a few feet between you. Out of the corner of your eye, you see that it's a figure dressed in black sweatpants and a grey hoodie. His face is hidden by the hood, as well as a face mask that covers everything from his jaw to just under his eyes. This man is a half-foot taller than you, you estimate, and while you can't see his face, he also feels inexplicably familiar.
Like you, the art-loving, stranger's eyes are glued to this one particular painting. And like you, his gaze is that of both confusion, realization, and familiarity.
"I feel like I've seen this somewhere else," you murmur, trying to break the silence. Normally, you would've kept quiet, but there's something about this person that leads you to speak up. "It's familiar, isn't it?"
The man nods once, not replying verbally.
"Have you ever seen it before?"
"No," he responds in a quiet whisper, then gestures to the brochure in his hand. "This painting hasn't been here since 1995. It's come back for the first time in twenty-five years."
"Wow, really?"
He nods again. "The brochure says that the Van Gogh Museum hasn't lent out most of its art since then. I overheard one of the tour guides saying something about an accident at this Musem that caused them to recall all their temporary exhibits."
You shift your eyes from the stranger to the painting. "Then how could I know this one so well? I was born in 1995 for god's sake."
"I was, too, so I don't know...maybe we saw it online or something."
"It feels stronger than that," you insist, wrapping your arms around yourself to ease the chill crawling up your spine at the thought of whatever might have happened here in 1995. "Do you know what happened twenty-five years ago?"
"One of the artists working at the Museum was murdered."
Your head jerks back around to stare at the man, wide eyes locking briefly with his dark irises. "Murdered?"
He nods and gestures to the exhibit with the brochure. "That's why they started showing them in glass casings. If you look close to the corner, you can see a tiny, bloody fingerprint."
Turning back to the Van Gogh piece, you step closer, squinting your eyes at the bottom left corner where the man gestured. Sure enough, at the very edge, a smear of crimson in the shape of a fingerprint can be seen.
"What the hell?" you gasp, eyes widening again. "Hey, do you mind if I see that broch—"
Your sentence falls off at the end as you turn. The space behind you where the stranger once stood is empty. He is nowhere in sight, and his familiar aura has gone with him.
Tags — boyfriend!Taehyung, husband!Taehyung reincarnation au, lovers to strangers and to lovers again, established relationship, implied soulmate au
Genre — fluff, angst, crime (ish)
Word Count — 2.5k
Summary — Does love ever truly end, or does it simply take another form in a new life? The cycle is like clockwork: your lives end and you’re reborn again. You’ve lived it over and over. Each cycle, one of you loses your memories and is tragically unaware until the other finds and awakens their lover. After all these eons, all these lifetimes, is it possible to find each other again—even when neither of you awakens with your memories?
Part — 3 / 15
Warnings — language, mentions of murder (no description)
Previous — Next
On your way to breakfast the next morning, you get the call from Director Hyeon. What she tells you in the next few seconds nearly causes you to drop your phone and shout for joy, right in the middle of the sidewalk.
"We're offering you the job, [Y/n]. You're the most qualified and capable, by far. Everyone in the leadership has agreed that we can trust our boys to you. If you're interested...the position is yours."
Without giving your lungs a second to catch up with your erratic, excited breathing, you're exclaiming a vibrant, "Yes! Yes, I am very interested."
The details are finalized over the following week, which gives you just enough time to fly back home and pack up your belongings to ship overseas. Milo is a huge help, despite the fact that she's so jealous. While she has several interviews scheduled via telephone or Skype over the next few weeks, it will be a month or possibly more before she will join you in Seoul.
"I'm so jealous!" she tells you over and over. "So happy for you...but damn! I'm the one in the BTS army over here!"
"I'll see if I can snag you an autograph or something," you reply, half-joking.
Milo looks at you like you hold the world in your hands. "I would fucking marry you if you did."
"You'd marry me anyway."
At that, Milo merely flashes a wink and giggles to herself.
After your clothes and transportable belongings are packed and shipped overseas to your new apartment, the two of you drive to the airport in unusual silence, only a few items in your overhead luggage. It's not uncomfortable, but along the way, you both realize that this will be the last time you'll see each other for at least a month.
Milo has been your best friend since middle school, and you've lived together since college. To be without her for that long, after all you've been through together, it's hitting you hard as the airport draws near. You reach for her hand over the armrest, lacing your fingers through hers.
"You're not gonna go run off and find some boy that keeps you in America, right?" you ask in a semi-joking tone.
Milo tilts her head as she stares at you from the passenger's side. "Only if you don't find a cute K-pop boy to fall in love with and forget all about me."
You make a faux gagging sound, drawing a smirk from your best friend. "Not a chance."
"Then don't test me, [Y/n]. I'll get a job and be with you in Seoul before we know it. A month isn't too long, and then we can be roomies again!"
Your hand tightens as you flash a genuine smile. "Wouldn't change it for the world."
You remain attached to each other until you get to the security check-in. Turning to Milo, you pull her into a tight embrace, one that she whole-heartedly returns.
"Don't make me wait too long, okay?"
"'Course not," she chimes back, trying to keep her voice it's usual happy-go-lucky. "We're Siamese twins, you and me. Not gonna separate us!"
You say your temporary goodbyes—the only reason you don't break down being that you constantly remind yourself that it is only temporary—and depart for the security line. Passport in one hand, the other waving back to Milo, you hold tight to the shred of the past while running headfirst into your future.
One thing is for certain: things are going to change.
The first few days as a permanent resident of Seoul are spent settling into your new job and new apartment. And, as per usual in a major life change, there are things that go wrong that you couldn't have anticipated. You get lost on your way to work on your first day and end up being a few minutes late, one of your packages of clothing has not shown up yet despite everything else has arrived, and the office space at Big Hit evidently used to be occupied by someone who never cleared out their shitstorm of a file cabinet.
Needless to say, by the time the weekend arrives, you want to do nothing more than relax and recuperate and do something other than stare between two monitors. If you have to translate another word from Hangul into the English alphabet, you're going to chuck something out the window.
But, understandably, your apartment isn't in the best shape. Boxes are half-way unpacked, and plenty of furniture still needs to be bought. What has been unpacked is haphazardly tosses on any clean surface you can find. It's not exactly a den of peace and serenity, and probably not the ideal place to relax.
So, after doing some online shopping for said furniture and organizing as best you can, you decide to take the rest of the Saturday afternoon and do something you genuinely want to do. An idea pops into your head, and you grab your coat from the counter as you head for the door.
You never finished your tour of the Seoul Museum of Art, knowing for a fact that you haven't gotten to the architecture wing or portrait gallery. You feel your heart longing to go back and explore the remaining spots of the building, knowing in your soul that you need to be there.
What better time than the present?
You find your way easily, enjoying the brisk air that catches your skin and under your coat. The seasons are changing, shades of winter like white and grey settling into post-New Year's hues of mocha and beige. The city smells like green tea and feels like an ever-changing living organism.
Something tells you that more than just the seasons will be changing this year.
Enter the museum, you find your way back towards the gallery where you left off. After the conversation with the stranger from yesterday, you were a bit too weirded out to really enjoy any of the other exhibits. Wandering for another hour, you hardly remember any of it. The story he told, the bloody fingerprint at the corner of "Vase with Honesty," it was all a bit too eerie for your liking.
But something in the back of your mind keeps prodding at you, and you desperately wish who that man was so that you could ask him more questions. How did he know about the murder? Why was he as drawn to the painting as you were? Why did he leave so abruptly?
All these questions circulate your mind as you round the corner, passing by the Van Gogh exhibit to your right. Just as you pass out of the entrance, you stop mid-step and turn on your heel, peaking back into the open space.
Standing in front of "Vase with Honesty," the stranger from yesterday wears the beige hoodie and a white facemask. You might've missed him if it weren't for the way his eyes followed you from the entrance to the exit of the temporary exhibit, dark eyes dusted by curly hair. You think it unusual to recognize a stranger just from a few minutes of interaction, but your life has been anything but usual the past two weeks.
Instead, you offer a tiny smile and wave, stepping out of the arched entrance and towards the man. "Hi...again."
His eyes avert yours, shifting to the wall behind you, the paintings, the ceiling. Anywhere but at you. "Hi."
"Seems like we keep running into each other, hm?" you offer in a friendly tone. "Come back to see 'Vase with Honesty'?"
The stranger nods. "I'm a...big fan. Van Gogh's art is comforting. I've never known why."
His confession causes a genuine smile to spread across your face. "That's what art's for, silly. Van Gogh was a tortured soul, but I think he'd be happy to know that his life's work gives comfort to people, even..." You glance at the description card in front of the piece, searching for the date. "Even 136 years later."
His brown eyes flicker to yours again for a brief moment, and it's long enough for you to nod your head towards the expansive hallway. "Wanna walk with me? I got a few rooms in the museum yesterday, but not much more than that. Always nice to explore with others, don't you think?"
The shy man nods once and joins your side as you turn towards the interior, keeping a couple of feet between you.
As you make your way to other wings, you and the stranger make small talk to pass the time. Well, you do most of the talking. You're not sure if this person doesn't trust you or if he's just catatonically shy, but he's refused to lower his hood or raise his head enough for you to get a good look at his face. His features are still obscured by his clothing and hair, but his voice is soothing the few times he does reply. His presence is calming. Something about the man puts you instantly at ease, and you find yourself being more friendly than you might be to any other stranger.
"Is Korean your first language?" he inquires, as you step into the empty room full of 20th-century modern art.
You shake your head, a slightly embarrassed heat rising in your cheeks. "That obvious, huh? I mean, I know I don't look Korean, but I was hoping I was passing all right."
He stops in front of a work by Georgia O'Keefe. "Not that obvious. I just heard a bit of an American lilt in a few of your words just now. You're very good."
"Oh...then, thanks."
"Why are you in Seoul, then? Visiting?"
"Working," you respond, moving to the other side of the room to view the other works of modern art. "I got a job in Yongsan. I just started this week."
The stranger's head perks up at your response, turning his face slightly towards yours. "How's that going?"
You shrug, making a non-committal noise. "I mean, it's a great job, don't get me wrong. It's just a lot. I moved away from America, from my long-time best friend and roommate, from everything I'd ever known for this job. And it's been a long first week full of things I didn't realize I was going to have to handle."
You shove your hands into your jacket pockets as the two of you turn to leave the room, enter back into the stark white hallway, and turn towards the next expansive opening.
"I shouldn't be complaining," you laugh. "The job is so much more than I could ask for, and I haven't even met a few of the people I'm supposed to work with. One of which I know I have a ton of questions for..." You shake your head. "I've have had this...let's call it a gut feeling, for a long time now. Go to Seoul. Go to South Korea. I knew my fate would bring me here one day, just didn't realize life would be so..."
"Hard?"
You turn towards your companion with an understanding sigh. "Yeah, hard."
A few moments of silence pass, and just as you're about to ask him about the bloody fingerprint and how he knew about the artist being murdered, you feel a chill run down your spine at the sight of the object in the room to your left. Not a chill from the cold or from nerves, this is a chill of familiarity. You turn your head slowly towards the object of your subconscious horror.
"Winged Victory of Samothrace," or a copy of the one in the Louve, stands high and mighty, the lone object in the fluorescent-lit room.
"What is it?" the stranger asks, voice low and muffled by his mask.
You stare at the statue, unmoving for a full thirty seconds. "I—Does that statue look familiar to you at all?"
There's hesitation in his response, though you can't see his face. "I—I've seen it in Paris. That must be it."
You shake your head, clenching your trembling fists at your sides. "I've never been to Paris. I've never seen it before, not in person."
The stranger reaches out towards you, asking, "Are you okay? You're trembling."
In an attempt to clear your head, you drag your gaze away from Winged Victory and turn back towards the hallway. Visions from your nightmare force their way into your mind, but you shove them out, trying your hardest to keep them at bay as you walk ahead of your confused companion.
"Just a coincidence," you whisper to yourself. "Just a coin—"
Your sentence falls flat as you raise your gaze from the marble floors to the open space ahead. The chill returns, and your knees feel even weaker than before.
Pillars stretch up, cradling a spectacular glass ceiling, surrounding a spherical water fountain.
Your heartbeat races, and your throat closes up. The door you'd tried to lock in your brain crashes open, releasing all the terrible things your brain keeps replaying over and over and over. Doesn't matter if it's day or night, these visions never end.
An artist murdered. Two lovers on the run. A mad-man with a thirst for blood.
And the death of you both in that very water fountain.
You stumble back, bumping into the stranger as you do. His eyes are wide and locked on the fountain, but you're too panicked to stop and investigate further. Every fiber of your being is telling you to run. To run as fast and as far as you can.
Without explanation and without fail, you let your fear take you the mile's distance from that spherical fountain to the nearest metro station.
If you could physically go any faster or longer, you're sure in your heart that you would still be running.
Tags — boyfriend!Taehyung, husband!Taehyung reincarnation au, lovers to strangers and to lovers again, established relationship, implied soulmate au
Genre — fluff, angst, crime (ish)
Word Count — 3.5k
Summary — Does love ever truly end, or does it simply take another form in a new life? The cycle is like clockwork: your lives end and you’re reborn again. You’ve lived it over and over. Each cycle, one of you loses your memories and is tragically unaware until the other finds and awakens their lover. After all these eons, all these lifetimes, is it possible to find each other again—even when neither of you awakens with your memories?
Part — 4 / 15
Warnings — language
A/N — Taglist has been added to the bottom of the post. It’s open for anyone who wants to be added! Comment, message, or ask and I’ll get you on there :)
Previous — Next
That night, you dream a different dream.
It's not full of death or murder, of the art museum or the crimson fountain, of fear and loss. This dream is full of new love and wishes, of magic and freedom, of Paris and the Chateau. It ends with a kiss instead of blood. It leaves you feeling rested instead of exhausted.
And it's the first time it's happened in this lifetime.
You wake, not in a cold sweat but in a hazy daze, with a tingling sensation on your lips. And despite the justifications you try to use to make sense of it all, that feeling remains there the whole morning.
It's enough to distract you for hours. From brushing your teeth to crossing the street to grabbing coffee, you're frazzled and dreamy all at once.
"Say you'll come. Say you'll run away with me."
His words echo over and over in your mind. The boy in last night's dream, though younger than you've seen him, is the exact same one as you usually see. And he's Kim Taehyung. You might've been doubting yourself before, but this time you're sure of it.
"I'll go anywhere with you."
Your resolve strengthens as you enter Big Hit HQ, scanning your employee badge to gain access to the elevator. You did make the right choice to move to Seoul, to get this job, to risk it all for answers. Half of you had started to believe you were going insane...but after that dream?
You haven't lost your mind. In fact, you're closer to having a full grasp on the truth than you've ever been.
The morning passes quickly, and eventually, you're able to muster enough focus to get some of your to-dos handled early on. The office is almost completely bare on Sunday. You weren't surprised; most of your coworkers were probably at home relaxing, enjoying their last day off before the Monday madness. But you knew this coming week was going to pick up due to Map of the Soul: 7. If you could go down the list and get ahead of the curve, you knew that future-[Y/n] would thank you by Wednesday.
What you don't expect is to have Director Hyeon pop her head into your office just as you settle back into your chair with a cup of instant noodles.
"Knock knock!" she announces cheerily, eying your lunch. "Sorry, didn't realize you'd taken lunch. I can come back—"
You shake your head and put your chopsticks down. "—No, please! What can I help you with, Director?"
"You're part of the Big Hit family now, call me Misun," she insists with a smile. "I was actually hoping I might find you here. I have a few people I want you to meet, and the baren weekend office is absolutely perfect. Can you spare a few minutes?"
"Um, sure!"
You push away from your desk and follow the petite woman to the common area down the hall. It's a space with cafeteria tables, lounge chairs, and a full kitchen for staff to use on their breaks. Usually, it's packed full of people for the two hour period around which most people take their lunch. However, due to the weekend, it seems that only a handful of people are using it.
But today's handful isn't your usual coworkers. You recognize most of them, but not from work. Well, not exactly.
Your legs freeze and your eyes go wide, realizing that the entire band has decided to make themselves at home in the lounge and prep for a mid-day meal. Jin and Jungkook are puttering on the other side of the counter, searching the cabinets for pots and pans. Jimin and Taehyung are unloading a few bags worth of groceries onto the island. Namjoon is talking with two older men, whom you assume are their mangers. Hoseok and Yoongi are sitting on the bar stools at the island, laughing abut something on Hoseok's phone.
The entire group is oblivious to your entrance, but Misun waves down one of the older men and pulls him from his conversation with Namjoon. She gestures to you as he approaches.
"Sejin, this is [Y/n] [Y/l/n]," she introduces. "She's our new production assistant. [Y/n], this is Kim Sejin. He's the band's primary manager."
Sejin flashes a smile and casually bows as a greeting. "Nice to meet you, [Y/n]."
You mirror his polite gesture. "Likewise, Manager Sejin."
"I was hoping that Sejin might be able to introduce you to the boys," Misun explains. "That way you can get to know them before we start filming next week."
"I saw that on the schedule," you add. "That's for 'Run,' right?"
Misun nods. "I know it's only your second week, but it would be good for you to get a feel of the production side. No better place to do that then in the chaos that is 'Run BTS!'"
"I agree," Sejin says. "Especially since we all have to fly out on the 18th to go back to the U.S. for the Grammys and their various public appearances. Fallon, Corden, it's going to be a busy few weeks. And I just found out that a couple of the assistants we usually take are unavailable. I was hoping, if you think you're ready, you might be willing to come to America with us?"
He ends it as a question, clearly giving you the option to say no. Realizing this is the best chance to get the answers you're searching for, you smile confidently and give an assured nod.
"You can count on me. Besides, I speak both languages fluently. I could be more than just a production assistant."
"Then it's settled!" Misun claps her hands, catching the attention of some of the boys, who give various looks of intrigue. "Sejin, get everyone acquainted. Even if it's just for a half-hour if your schedule allows nothing else. I have a committee meeting to get to, so I'll leave you with that."
As Misun exits the room, Sejin nods his head towards the rest of the group, a polite smile on his face. "C'mon. I'll introduce you."
You swallow visibly, your gaze shifting from the manager to the boys in the background. Particularly to the one already looking intently your way. Curly dark hair and deep brown eyes, you'd know this particular face anywhere.
"Everyone," Sejin calls, getting the attention of the others, particularly to Jungkook and Jin who are bickering over how to properly cook ramen, "I have someone I want you to meet." He gestures to you. "This is [Y/n] [Y/l/n]. She was hired last week as a production assistant. She's going to be on-scene for tomorrow's Run filming, and she's going to come with us to the States."
He turns back to you and gestures to each of the boys in turn. "[Y/n], these are Kim Seokjin, Jeon Jungkook, Min Yoongi, Kim Namjoon, Park Jimin, Jung Hoseok, and Kim Taehyung. And the wonderful man behind them is Song Hobeom, another of the band's managers. You'll be working with him a lot as well."
Each of the boys waves politely, and some say hello aloud. They seem a bit shy and reserved, which isn't something you expected from them—if you expected anything at all.
You return the gesture, flashing a small smile and saying, "Nice to meet you all," in your best natural, Seoul dialect. God, you wanted to make a good first impression.
"Are you American?" Seokjin asks abruptly.
Jimin turns to the eldest member with wide eyes, muttering something along the lines of, "Don't be so rude." Yoongi merely rolls his eyes at his hyung, and Hoseok gives an apologetic look in your direction.
"No, it's okay," you reply, knowing that you probably were going to get this question at some point, despite your efforts. "I am. I only moved to Seoul a little over a week ago, but don't let my looks fool you. I've been speaking Korean for years."
"She's fluent in both languages," Sejin nods. "I see her being a huge help, especially to you, Namjoon."
Namjoon is the first to walk over and greet you with a wide grin, showing off his dimples in the process. He extends his hand in an American-style greeting, obviously happy to meet you half-way.
"Welcome to Seoul," he states in perfect English, his accent slightly lilted in a region you can't quite specify. "I hope we haven't put you off too badly already, but if you can forgive our—" he nods over his shoulder towards Seokjin, "—brashness, then I have to say: you and your bilingual skills are more than welcome here."
His comment makes you chuckle as you retract your hand. Seeing that everything is going well, the managers take their leave to their respective offices, telling them they need to work out a few more details for the shoot tomorrow.
Already feeling more at ease, you change your language to his as to reciprocate the same respect. "I'm sure you get pretty damn tired translating all the time."
The lilac-haired man groans and slouches his shoulders. "You have no idea!" Turning towards the group, he waves you over. "Misun mentioned something about interrupting your lunch break as she left. Jin and Jungkook make the best ramen. As an apology, join us for lunch?"
"Hope she can take the heat," Seokjin chuckles, wiggling his eyebrows. "I've found that most Americans aren't used to Korean-level spices."
You cross your arms and flash a confident look. "Is that a challenge?"
"It is if you want it to be."
Jungkook groans, "Hyung, be nice!"
At that, Seokjin merely rolls his eyes.
"Keep rolling your eyes," Yoongi chimes in with a smirk. "Maybe you'll find a brain up there."
Before the eldest can muster a sarcastic response to the next-oldest member's comment, you shake your head. "No, no, I got this. My best friend at home is Korean-American, so I basically grew up with Korean food through her. I'm used to it."
Both Jimin and Hoseok give cheers of approval, the latter pulling out a stool for you to sit on between him and Taehyung. You gladly take the chair but are off-put by Taehyung's continued silence and apprehensive aura. He continues to throw glances your way, the odd expression never quite leaving his face, though he attempts to mask it.
"She's got more balls than you when it comes to spicy food, Seokjin," Hoseok laughs.
Looking offended, Seokjin places his hands on his hips in a sassy manner. "Oh, really? I'll bet you 100,000 won that I can outdo the new girl. You and me, Jagiya: a competition of who can eat the spiciest ramen. You in?"
The other boys turn and stare expectantly in your direction, even Namjoon who is clearly apprehensive about the first impression they're giving you.
You rest your elbows on the counter and your chin on your folded hands, giving off an aura of confidence and ease. "Bring on your worst, Kim."
"Oooh, you're going to wish you hadn't said that." Seokjin grabs the large cooking spoon from the counter with a sly grin, waving it at the youngest member. "Step aside, Kookie. This is a job for Worldwise Handsome Master Chef."
Jungkook raises his hands in defeat and scurries back to the group, perching on the stool nearest the oven.
"Dear god, what have you done?" Yoongi asks.
"You've awakened the competitive monster inside Jin," Hoseok states, turning to you. "There's no stopping him now. Start praying to the Scoville gods, [Y/n]!"
Namjoon looks completely done with his members, especially Jin, as he runs a hand through his colorful hair with a groan. "Seokjin, this was supposed to be an apology for being abrasive and standoffish, now you're making things worse."
Seokjin shrugs, giving an innocent look as he begins boiling the noodles on the stove. "She, quite literally, asked for it. And who am I to deny a pretty lady what she wants?"
The youngest member, along with Jimin and Yoongi, groan at Seokjin's attempts to be suave, making you chuckle all the more.
"You're quite the charmer, aren't you?"
The brunet gives you a playful wink. "You haven't seen anything yet, Jagiya."
Taehyung shifts in his chair at Seokjin's words, and Hoseok turns to face you as pots and pans clatter in the kitchen. "Well, since he's in the middle of losing his mind, tell us a bit about yourself?"
You do just that. You share a little bit about where you're from, what you studied, your home, friends and family, interests outside of work and the like. A bit of everything is covered. Most of the group reciprocates throughout the conversation. You end up learning just as much about them as they do about you. You might've started out nervous and shy, but the more you converse and the more time you spend with them, you realize they're just normal twenty-somethings. Sure, they're famous and on another level creatively, but in the end, they're ordinary guys.
"Why are you putting the beef in the oven?" you inquire of the oldest a little while later. "There's no part of ramen that requires an oven. At least, not that I've seen."
"Because if I bake the beef with the spices, the heat goes up by a thousand!" Seokjin raises his chin triumphantly as he slides the pan into the oven. "It's my secret, and I am the chef, so don't question my genius."
Yoongi snickers, "I think we can agree there's only one true genius in this group, and that's Namjoon."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Which one of us is the only one to have a bachelor's degree and is currently working towards a master's?"
Your eyes widen. "Wow, that's actually really impressive!"
Seokjin looks like a showy bird at the compliment. "See? Impressive. I like you. You can stay."
"But you're still going to make her eat your noodles of pain?" Jimin laughs.
"Absolutely! I have my honor to protect. No going back now." He leans down to see the selections on the oven. "So, I can either bake it at 200 degrees Celcius for 10 minutes or 2000 degrees for 1 minute."
The youngest's eyes bulge with concern. "No, that's not how you use the oven."
"Floor it?"
"No!"
"How about 2,000,000 degrees for one second?"
"Kim Seokjin, you are going to burn the entire office down!"
"Relax, it won't work, you idiots."
"I'm going to harness the fucking sun to make this ramen!"
"Annnd there goes any form of a good first impression, down the drain with Seokjin's dignity."
You burst into laughter, nearly falling off your stool in the process. Taehying grabs your arm before you fall, and Hoseok stabilized your chair. Wiping the tears of laughter from your eyes, you thank them both.
"I haven't had this good of a time in a while," you giggle as Seokjin finishes the last details of the ramen.
"At least we can provide entertainment," Yoongi states sarcastically. "We're not usually this bad, I swear."
Namjoon agrees, "We're all a bit tired from New Year's Rockin' Eve and the Golden Disk Awards."
"Not to mention both before and after that has been non-stop work on the comeback," Hoseok adds.
"Even if you were, I wouldn't mind," you reply, placing your palms against your cheeks. "My face hurts from smiling and laughing for so long."
"Well get ready for another level of pain, because voila!" Seokjin slides a bowl of ramen in front of you, handing you a soup spoon and a set of chopsticks. "Get ready to hurt, [Y/n]. You're going down."
Less than half an hour later, you're beaming with pride and 100,000 won richer than before. Seokjin has raised his white flag of surrender in the form of a napkin, his face flushes scarlet from the spice. It seems he'd overdone it while trying to ensure your defeat. Needless to say, he completely underestimated your ability to eat—and enjoy, to his horror—the so-called "noodles of pain."
"Thanks for lunch, Jin!" you cheered after finishing your second helping. "That really hit the spot."
Seokjin leans against the counter and continues to press a small bag of crushed ice to his face. "You're not human."
The afternoon wraps up as the others finish their portions. Luckily for them, they'd all been given ramen made with a normal recipe instead of Seokjin's deathwish version. Manager Sejin returns after a couple of hours and tells the boys that they have to get a few more hours of practice in before the day's over.
"I need to get a couple of things wrapped up, too, so no worries," you say nonchalantly. "You guys go have fun."
"We need to do this again," Jungkook says cheerily, nodding a shy goodbye before following Sejin.
"I agree, this was a blast! Especially seeing Seokjin actually lose when it was his own cooking," Jimin chuckles. "See you tomorrow, [Y/n]!"
You wave after them, and Yoongi shakes his head as he turns to Seokjin. "You just had to go and try to show off, didn't you?"
"Shut up."
You put some new crushed ice into another bag and offer it to the oldest member with an apologetic smile. "One for the road?"
He takes it with a grateful expression, eyes soft despite the playful bickering going around. "You're all right, [Y/l/n]. You can stay."
Yoongi claps his hyung on the shoulder, nodding in agreement. "Jin's right. You sure you still want to travel with us?"
Nodding fervently, you reply, "Wouldn't miss it for the world!"
Hoseok walks towards you, arms opened slightly. "Are you okay with hugs?"
"Of course!"
Hoseok eagerly wraps his arms around your shoulders, and you can feel the infectious giddiness that fills him like sunshine personified.
"Hobiii!" Jimin calls from down the hall.
"The third-oldest pulls back, flashes a smile, then turns towards the others while shouting, "Hobi coming, Hobi coming!"
Namjoon walks over to you as Hoseok slips down the hall. The only other person still in the room is Taehyung, who lingers by the door. His eyes shift between the other member and you, a torn expression on his face. You'd be lying if you said you don't feel similarly on the inside. There will be a time to ask the questions you so desperately want answers to, but today isn't that day. It might ruin what you've created with the band, and that's the last thing you want to do.
The leader extends a hand, a piece of paper in his palm. "In case you need to get ahold of any of us, or if you just want to talk. I think I can trust you not to put these on social media."
You take the note and unravel it, seeing nine sets of telephone numbers with corresponding initials beside them. "Oh, wow! You trust me that much already?"
He nods. "We all got a good vibe from you, and Sejin says we'll need to work with you on socials and whatnot. It'd be easier to just give you our directs instead of working through him or Manager Hobeom every time, although I did include their numbers as well."
"All of you?" you clarify, eying the figure still lingering by the door, attention now on his cell phone. "I don't think he likes me very much. He hasn't said a single word to me."
Namjoon knows exactly who you're referring to, even without looking behind him. His voice lowers as he responds, "Taehyung has been dealing with a lot lately. We all have, but he's been exhausted and hasn't been sleeping well. And..."
He trails off, shaking his head. "Nevermind. My point is, don't take his reclusive behavior too seriously. Taehyung is as kind as they come, but he might take a little while to warm up to you. That's just his nature, and his resting face is pretty intimidating." Namjoon taps the piece of paper. "Maybe try texting him. He's usually pretty good about responding there. Might feel more comfortable."
You fold the paper and slide it into your pocket, giving the lilac-haired man a nod and smile. "Thanks, Namjoon. And thank you for being so open to a newcomer. I know it can't be easy, letting someone else close to such a tight-knit group."
His dimples reappear at your words of gratitude. "I don't know what it is about you, but I feel we can trust you. So don't thank me." As he turns, he glances over his shoulder and murmurs, "Give Taehyung time. He'll come around."
Heaving a sigh of relief, you nod back at him. God, you hope he's right.
When your eyes shift towards the exit, you see Taehyung slipping into the hallway ahead of Namjoon, disappearing into the dark.
