There were lessons even stories could not teach, and Beom knew that well. Even so, he read tales about the gods who dwelled high on the mountain’s peak, hidden behind layers of fog some called a magicked barrier, others a wretched curse. He read and read and read—runic myths, cryptic legends, and dusty history tomes alike. But he learned nothing he didn’t already know.

Sometimes, he walked around the mountain, waiting for something he could not quite name. Still, he always had an excuse for his mother. 

Searching for rare herbs, he told her one day. Waiting for a friend, he said the next. His mother only scoffed. She saw through his lies. He had no friends. But preparing for the winter was a cause for greater concern. He could prance around all he wanted to—through the mountains, in the rivers, around all of Joseon and back—as long as he returned by nightfall.

Nothing could touch him in the mountains. At least, that was what his father always said, pointing to a talisman over the front door of their hut, the red runes seemingly glowing under the glare of the sun. 

When his father brought home rice from the village down the mountain or, even better, a boar from hunting, he would tell Beom stories by the fire. These were tales passed through generations, immortalized as warnings whispered around campfires and funeral pyres, reminders to even the strongest of men that they must heed the law of the gods. 

Beware the wrath of the mountain god, his father whispered, raising his arms above his head to mimic the height of a monster, letting out a mock roar. After hearing the tale for the hundredth time, Beom was unfazed.

There were no gods. Beom was certain. He had explored every inch of the mountain, survived the most dangerous circumstances. If there was a god, he would have seen one by now. 

And he still couldn’t see one. 

He was light on his feet as he passed the mound of pebbles he had stacked by a pine tree one summer when he was bored, the torn remains of his hanbok he had lost after falling off a tree, and the billowing silks and ringing bells encompassing the area he was never supposed to step foot in. 

On second thought, he hadn’t explored every inch of the mountain.

The brass bells rang in the swaying breeze, warding evil spirits and warning wanderers away. But Beom wasn’t afraid. Nothing could touch him in the mountains.

The night quickly swallowed him, and the last gleams of the sun were obscured behind the mountain. He should have turned around and found his way back home, brush this little journey aside, but he felt, inexplicably, down to his bones, that someone was waiting for him.

Winds blew like a tempest, howled like wolves. Every rustle was a warning, every whir of insects a threat, every low growl a death sentence. Nothing could touch him in the mountains. 

Now, standing at the mouth of a cave, listening to the drip-drip-dripping of water, it felt like a dirty lie.

He had never explored the cave—didn’t know it existed—but as he stared into it, goosebumps prickled over his neck. Something was staring back. He couldn’t discern it at first. It was a fragile creature with thin limbs twisted at awkward angles, a mask crooked on his face. 

Beware the wrath of the mountain god. 

Beom stepped back. The masked creature crawled closer, closer, closer—

Beom ran—down the mountain, through the trees, over the creeks and rocks and boulders. He didn’t look back, not even once. If that—that thing was chasing after him, then may the gods take pity on his stupid, stupid soul. 

In the end, he never told his parents what had happened that night. It was a secret for him and him only. And if the talisman hanging over the front door mysteriously tore, if he heard whispers when he traveled through the mountains, and if he glimpsed masked shadows with twisted limbs in his peripheral vision, then that was only for him, too.

Long, long ago, there was a village past the small prairies south of a great river. The residents of this village were humble farmers who spent their every waking moment laboring in the fields, planting potatoes, and raising livestock. Nothing unusual ever happened there, so much so that the village was known to have the most ordinary people in the southern prairies.

However, these sentiments did not deter the villagers from cultivating a loving, tight-knit community that adhered to the belief a small gift can bring joy to a whole family. To share sorrow and happiness was a rule of thumb, was for the community’s prosperity.

When a villager met an unfortunate end, it was a custom to send them away in a large gathering with sorrowful cries and shouts tailing the winds carrying their ashes somewhere beyond the green grass and the blue sky. When a villager had their birthday, the village would hold an extensive celebration for everyone to attend and feel the community’s love. But these celebrations did not compare to that of when a child was born.

The birth of new life came with a promise of a week’s worth of ceremonies that introduced the new villager to the community and implanted the wonderful mentality of the collective. It was one of the most important celebrations for every villager, so to hide a child’s existence and skip the tradition was a criminal offense worthy of being burned at the stake. And that thought haunted Adaline as she held her silent child close to her chest and ran from the village to the well situated in the nearby grove.

Her child was unnatural. It was a beast, a monster. The doctor had said it was born dead, but Adaline was quick to learn that was not the case. Her child had survived, but at a cost: it had an insatiable hunger. No matter how much she fed, it demanded more and more, and without the guidance of her late husband, Adaline feared being named the mother of the devil’s spawn. So eventually, to evade suspicion, she snuck her child out of the village and threw it into the well.

With fear blinding her, it was an easy task, and she did not return for a long time until the uncertainty of her child’s faith spurred her to check whether it still lived. 

The grove was dark the night she returned. Bars of moonlight breached the fissures of the trees and flitted over the wooden bucket hanging crookedly over the well. Adaline placed some leftover pork in the bucket before lowering it into deep darkness. After a moment, she raised the bucket, and when she saw it was empty, she had to clamp down on a scream. Her child was still alive.

Out of pity, for the next few months, she fed the child dead pigs and cows. One time, she tried to feed it potatoes, but when they remained untouched, she opted to bring only meat. Years passed this way, and for a time, Adaline truly believed her child could live off scraps before dying of natural causes. It was a solid plan—one that never came to fruition because a drought hit the southern prairies, destroying the farmland.

Without potatoes, the villagers and animals dropped dead one by one, and for the fortunate survivors came a plague from the outer lands. When most of the villagers died, the remainders fled, and though Adaline wished to leave with them, she could not bring herself to completely abandon her child—monster or not. Soon, she was the last villager, then the last human in the southern prairies. 

The animals were dead. The crops were ruined. The land was devastated. Adaline saw it as a sign from God, a punishment for giving birth to a hideous beast, and she knew how to repent for her sins. 

When her food stock depleted, she returned to the well in the grove once more. This time, she did not carry any meat. Using the rope, she lowered herself into the well, and once she reached the bottom, she saw her child curled up in the darkness. Embracing her child, she waited for it to grow hungry and eat her as punishment for bringing the devil to life.

She wept and prayed to God, begging for forgiveness for the havoc her child had wrought. When her child finally moved, she closed her eyes, fully expecting a slow and torturous death, but instead, it wrapped its arm around her and held her close.

“It is warm,” it said, speaking for the first time. “Mother, you are very warm.”

The lone deserted hallway had no one but the wind as its visitor. Trees rustled outside, and cheers and thunder roared with distant glees and applause from the school auditorium. 

The city had lightning caution the gloaming sky of an unpredicted storm invading its territory. Though, it wasn’t compatible with the one seething inside a desolated boy weeping to mend his broken heart in a confined cubical box of a restroom. 

His bloodshot eyes were sore, and the salty water trickling down his cheeks burned his inflamed skin. The excruciating pain constructing his insides hindered his efforts to level his labored breath.

He coiled his trembling fingers around the thin fabric covering his chest and caressed his thumping heart. It did not seize the anguish away but helped equalize its palpitations along with his ragged breathing slowly coming to ease.

His tired lids abruptly shut as he leaned back.

A sigh escaped his parted lips as he combed his fingers through his disheveled hair, then dragged them down to brush away his stray tears.

The eerie silence enclosing him invited his mind to wander to when he ran away like a weakling instead of facing the catastrophe.

He knew the girl he adored, for whom he was entitled as the knight in shining armor, would always belong to her prince in the end. But even the foresight of a happy ending could not give him the courage to endure witnessing his love being kissed by someone else. The constant reminders and the distance he kept for days all faded to dust when his heart ripped in two. Unable to bear the stabbing ache, he fled.

Tiny sniffs escaped him, and water drops blurred his vision as the pain returned and hit him tenfold, prompting rage to take over and scorn his cowardice.

A bitter growl resonated in the air as bile cramped the back of his throat. His knuckles that once turned white were now crimson red as he smacked loud bangs against the hard exterior before him. Landing one last punch, he screamed into the void until his senses twisted in agony.

Panting heavily, he slammed his face in his palms and let time lament his weeping scars.

He didn’t realize how long he shut the world out until he heard tap water seeping into a ceramic sink and the restroom door squeaking open.

Growing aware of his surroundings, he suddenly felt apprehensive and thought it was better to leave the room. But his anxious hand around the knob froze when a female voice screeched, “Don’t!”

He stopped dead in his tracks, contemplating the possibility of the word being directed toward him since the woman seemed familiar, but another man’s voice pulled him out of his stupor.

“Hear me out for once. Please.”

“I don’t need your explanations. The damage had been done long ago, and I’ve made terms with it over the years.”

He didn’t wish to pry, but with each statement, the woman unknowingly enticed him to unlock the door and take a peek.

“It’ll hurt no less to know if you yearned for me then or now.” Her harsh gulp and glistening eyes overshadowed the slight creak of the door’s wooden frame. “So it’s better for us—for you to let it go.”

A tug in his heart made his lashes flutter the first time his glance caught a speck of the white Hepburn dress he chose for the same woman back at home this afternoon.

He knew her.

Raising his gaze, he saw those vivid doe eyes he greeted every morning. But the mirth he usually carried was replaced with suspicion for the new person in the picture. The narrow gap between the door barely allowed him a glimpse of the stranger’s hands firmly gripping her arms.

The stillness that ensued for a moment had his stare zeroed on the black ink tattoo on the guy’s wrist—a beautiful heart with a semicolon sketched as its other half.

He blinked a few times to draw himself out of the haze the unique design compelled him into just to be welcomed by another pair of fragile wrists quivering their way towards his face.

Flabbergasted, he grabbed one and reached out to brush away her hair dampened by the pouring rain and the blood stuck on her forehead.

“H-How?” His pupils dilated at her delicate body lying on the road.

“Jungkook. . .” Choi Areum whispered, a single tear cascading down her pale cheek before she gasped and succumbed to nothingness.

His limbs grew cold as oxygen strangled his lungs, his untamed heartbeats going berserk until a gentle pat on his shoulder retrieved him from deep lethargic slumber and yanked him wide awake.

I stand in a gray spectrum. On my right is black. On my left is white. At the center is a mirror.

Some days, I walk right. Other days, I walk left. Every day, I return to the center—the mirror. In the glass, there is no reflection, only color. Great, vibrant hues of magnificent blue, red, and yellow coalesce into a splatter that trumps the works of mother nature’s rainbows.

Looking at the grimed mirror, I cock my head. The colors morph into an outlandish reflection of me—sometimes horned, sometimes sharp-toothed, sometimes alien, sometimes beast, all times human—a colorful human, dimensional, layered. It smiles at me—a flat, monochrome block of cardboard—but I do not return the gesture. I can’t.

The reflection laughs and taunts, derides and ridicules, berates and scolds. “Who are you?” it incessantly sings. “I am emotion. I am personality. I am the world of my choosing, yet you are blank, flat, and chained to your spectrum.”

With indignation, I run right with no plans of returning, drowning in oceans of black, of waves of never-ending valor. Deception. Strife. Struggle. Bitterness. Selfishness. Complexity. Morality. Towards the end, with the last of my anger simmering away, I find myself back at the center, facing right.

My reflection beckons at me, goading, seducing, cajoling. Looking at the cracked mirror, I raise the corner of my lips in a mock imitation of a smile, and my reflection claps with glee. 

“Who are you?” it squeals again. “I am expression. I am culture. I am the person of my choosing, yet you are impassive, indifferent, and trapped in your cardboard form.”

In curiosity, I run left, basking in infinite skies of white, of clouds of wistful contentment. Happiness. Peace. Tranquility. Humility. Benevolence. Complexity. Morality. Towards the end, the final wisps of my curiosity answered, I find myself back at the center, facing left.

The mirror shatters, and colors reach beyond the frame. My reflection is still there, studying me with an amused grin. A lone finger points at me. 

“Who are you?”

Approaching the mirror, I stand before my reflection and answer, “I am you. I am emotion, personality, expression, and culture. I am the God of my own life and choosing.”

“Correct!” my reflection cries as it fades, the tails of its laughter echoing. I dare to touch the color seeping into the gray spectrum, to feel the onrush of striking emotion. My skin buzzes, my head throbs, and my heart bangs. Symphonies play in my ears, and emotions flare within me as vivid hues paint the gray spectrum, blessing it with distinctive culture and personality.

Joy reverberates through me. As the colors thicken, my narrow world expands into a vast universe, where trillions of lives combine and interact. Behind me, I feel the heat of my reflection’s attention on my neck. Wheeling around, I stare at myself, at my humanity. 

And I genuinely smile.

As most people believe, the beginning of the week can be a time of critically needed relief or a period where you’re the busiest. As for me, my school days sort of ran together in a huge train at full speed with no brakes and a half-conscious conductor. It was far from being the safest, but it was moving, nonetheless. It’s gotten to the point where I haven’t a clue about where on earth the train is heading anymore, and each Monday, it gets increasingly obvious.

Right now, as I planted my feet firm on the red concrete of my high school’s track, I couldn’t feel more exposed. Not only am I forced to wear gym shorts and an ugly gray T-shirt that people could spot sweat stains on from a mile away, but I’m also outside in the balmy spring sun and its near-deadly pollen-infused air with thirty-five other suffering students at no later than 10 AM. Our coach, Ms. Lee, who has a horrible habit of scaring people with her clumpy mascara and cakey foundation, likes to make us run at least 10 laps around the track at the beginning of our class.

As of today, this was the slowest and most cautious I’ve ever been outdoors. Considering the fact that I was nearly able to rob a house a few days back, the emptiness and shame harbored in my soul should be light work. The feeling of soreness in my legs, calves, and hips from a night of passion shouldn’t be such a bitch to endure. Yet I hadn’t gotten over it. The idea of my now-non-existing innocence—a snowflake in the whirlwind blizzard that was my life—stood out like bleeding ink on a perfectly penned poem. However, I underestimated the post-sex feeling by a long shot. So far, I’ve only been able to run two laps without my thighs submitting to a painful ache with every half-step that caused me to walk off to the side.

My silver strands were already pinned back with a headband, but the heat and redden hue that mulled my face and skin over wasn’t disappearing. I groaned, unbelievably exhausted, as I spectated from the sidelines and witnessed the try-hard athletes of the class sprint as if their lives depended on it. If I had even half the energy I would on a usual day, I’d slip out a knee-slapping laugh at their efforts. But I decided against it when the burning sensation of Coach Lee’s eyes struck me from across the track. Her short stature and ballerina-bun hairstyle may have seemed hilarious during freshman year, but as time told, she was no toy to fiddle with.

A rubber-band ball of sweat and fury, capable of snapping when yanked by the teasing fingers of gawking teenagers.

Inhaling with the intent to fan out my overheated mind, I made sure to stretch out my arms and legs properly before starting out on a light jog. Just as I progressed forward, my vision did the same. The closer my legs brought me to the opposite of the track, the more my gaze locked in. I had to do just enough to pass by, just enough to feel accomplished, and just enough to appear focused when Coach Lee was within arm’s length.

I hummed once I was halfway through my lap, only seconds away from passing the Coach. Of course, when I closed our gap, my calves strained to keep pace. I pushed past my will to collapse right there on that field, letting her piercing stare melt my plastic shell as I passed her. My chest is a charring furnace, rising and falling naturally, while I ground my teeth against one another. The hollowness within me was stuffed with the grit to finish my final lap in time. Somehow, I felt it would boost my energy if I at least made it to the limit.

At least.

But today wasn’t a usual Monday.

Today wasn’t a fresh start.

It was a continuation of last week’s episode.

A god-awful re-run.

The ear-impaling shrill of the Coach’s whistle blew behind me like the distasteful smoke of a missed train. The pit of my stomach plummeted as my legs were giving out, as my throat burned with severed determination. I hadn’t finished my lap; it shredded me like ripped notebook paper. I had the urge to fold in like origami, an art beautifully crafted but filled with creases and intersecting lines too confusing when unfolded. I was unraveled, where my bends and crinkles were under a microscope in broad daylight.

Glued in place, I had nowhere else to look but ahead as the rest of the class vacated the track and into the school building.

I was stuck with no choice but to throw my attempt in the trash as I exited the field along with my fellow classmates.

There was a distinct imbalance I felt as I ambled beside the others, this slithering and pestful shockwave of emotions circulating the mood on our embark to the gym doors. My skin prickled furiously with eyes stapling to my body as I travelled along. It was a strange sense I never thought to experience in my high school days—the feeling of shame and regret, once again, beginning to scissor itself into my conscience.

I was, by no means, proud of what I’ve done in my life, and I pondered about this endlessly. There was nothing more I wanted to do than grab another sheet of paper and begin again. The serene thought thrummed through my mind, a song that echoed the sweet feel of forgetting, the sound of freedom. A tune that transformed into background noise against the bustling sounds of reality; inside was the hardest thing to differentiate, imagination versus action.

Thinking, hoping, and praying to cross the finish line, cover up creases, and leave the past behind wasn’t enough.

I needed to bite the bullet instead of preparing for a dodge.

Of course, the people who may stare at me don’t know what I’ve done outside of the track, but sheering it temporarily would never erase the memory of the judgmental, dilating pupils when they landed their sights on my blotched thighs. The pale skin on my legs and stomach were covered in marks from a night of rued seduction and desperation of. . . something incredibly intangible and irreplicable. 

It was true. No one knew my virginity was gone. Although I willingly gave it away, there was something else missing from my configuration when I tried to fold myself back up.

As I set my eyes on the back of Coach Lee’s head, my line of vision unblurred.

I was deprived of more than a night of kisses and breathlessness that expelled such a dirty meaning but also beautiful, longing grace.

There was something written inside of my paper folds, a small list composed of pride, and pride only that had completely disappeared.

On the 21st of August in 1863, a massacre occurred in Kansas, causing the death of a large number of civilians including women, men and children. It left the city in terror and orphaned many children.

A noticeable number of those children went missing, and amidst the chaos, no one was in the right state of mind to look or even beware of the children’s absence.

A truck, covered with a thick dark greenish cloak, swallowed up the children, whose ages varied between eight and fourteen. After pushing the children inside, before they could break out a sob, the men threw a hypnotizing gas which made the children instantly fall unconscious.

“How many are they?” a man in his mid-forties asked as he drew his eyebrows in a straight line.

“Fifteen, sir.”

The well-suited man hummed in satisfaction as he ordered his men to start the journey to their base.

It took them a solid hour to arrive. As a big iron gate creaked open for the truck, the driver raised his hand to greet the gatekeeper and immediately increased the speed to deliver the kids.

The truck entered through the gate and moved through the large entrance leading to the main door. Six people were standing by the front door. Three of them wore white coats indicating their profession, while the other three wore military uniforms.

The uniform-suited men greeted their boss formally as he descended the truck. He hummed and shrugged them off, focused on getting the children he picked.

He unlocked the door and waited for the doctors to see what he caught as if he had returned from a hunt for humans. The doctors, one after the other, came closer. One said, “You did a great job this time, Daniel.”

Daniel smiled to himself and decided to take his leave because what came next was their job, not his.

The three uniformed men transferred the children, one by one, inside the building. The front door was a stairway underground. A whole place was built under the building, which looked like a normal residence when it was hiding everything that happened underneath it.

The place reeked of chemicals and medicine, and the only sound that could be heard was heavy footsteps. Many plain steel closed doors were lined up beside each other on both sides of the hallway, hiding whatever was behind them.

The uniformed men placed the children behind each of these doors, five children per room, while they were still unconscious. When the last child was placed along with the other four, one of the four stirred in his place uneasily.

He opened his eyes and rubbed them tiredly as he saw the only strip of light getting thinner and thinner. His eyes widened in fear as he made eye contact with the uniformed scowling man closing the door.

The child faltered on his way to the door and kept banging it to get it to open. He howled and cried, asking for help to no avail. Tears streamed down his petite face till he felt something weighing his shoulder down, making him flinch. He looked behind him and slowly lifted his head, seeing the other four children already awake.

“W-Where are we?” the sobbing child asked, but all the men just gave him a headshake. His sobs increased, doubled when another child began weeping, as well.

Three children out of five stayed quiet. They were a bit older, but that didn’t prevent their hearts from feeling sorrow and anxiety while the other two children kept sobbing until there were no more tears to shed. The last sniff resonated in the dim place, making it the last sound they heard that night.

They drifted to sleep and awoke to the sound of the creaking sound of the door opening. They slithered to the back of the room, hiding from the strong light that invaded their space.

Fear overtook them when they saw two people getting inside, one in uniform, the other in a white coat.

“I see we have twins,” the doctor said as he took careful steps toward the two children hugging each other in terror. He leaned down and softly asked, tricking them with his tone, “How old are you?”

“W-We are twelve,” the male twin stammered, tightening his arm around his sister, who fiercely closed her eyes with her head against his chest, scared to look at the man talking to them.

“Oh!” The doctor’s face turned into a smug smile that made the male twin squeeze his eyes shut in panic. But it didn’t last long as he suddenly felt the doctor move away from him.

For a second, the twins felt like they would be able to live for another day, but that hope was snatched away from them when they heard the doctor say, “Bring those two to lab 22.”

“No. N-No,” said the male twin, trying to sink into the wall behind him, whereas the girl kept crying and clenching onto her brother’s shirt, almost tearing it from the force.

The uniformed men walked toward the two children but halted when the other three children stood in front of them protectively.

“We will not let you take them,” said one of the children, glaring at the man in fury.

The twins quickly hid behind the other children as the girl stuttered and pleaded. “Flint, p-please, d-don’t let him take us.”

However, at that moment, red stained her dark brown eyes. She couldn’t comprehend the sudden warm feeling on her face, her body as stiff as a statue’s.

Her brain suddenly clicked when she saw the body before her collapse. Her pupils moved frantically as she felt her hand get soaked in liquid.

“F-Flint,” she stuttered, the name of the child now lying dead in front of her and her brother, who was in his own panic room.

Amidst the horror the children were facing, the doctor ordered, “Kill the other two. I only need the twins.”

It had been over a day, and Taehyung had never felt so alive until now.

Astra didn’t know where he was taking her, but after a nice rest and a warm shower at his home, she felt refreshed and recharged. His beautiful, ringed hands were on the steering wheel, turning it left and right through the small, narrow alleys.

He turned the indicator light towards the right and stopped by a bridge. Stepping out, he didn’t bother waiting and walked over the flowing water, stuffing his hands into his warm pockets.

Astra followed him, closing the door with a thud. City sounds, along with a few neon lights in the distance, made them feel as if they were far away from where they belonged. Her fluffy, long jacket covered her palms as she tried to rub them together and blow hot air between them. The sky smiled down on them, relieved after a harsh downpour.

Taehyung grabbed the steel railing, hissing about how freezing it was. The river currents below flowed along with the rising sun’s reflection. 

“Tae, how does this feel?” Astra asked.

He sighed. “Like—Like my happiness is all fake. Like this entire day is a joke and that at any moment, from some van, my mom, dad, and Aimee would surprise me. And Matt, too. And—And you’d scream, ‘It’s a prank!’ I wouldn’t even be mad. I’d just hug all of you.”

Astra chuckled. “That’s cute, but—” she walked closer and placed her hand over his shoulder “—stop doing this to yourself. You don’t have to suffer through this, Tae. Look back to your younger self. Look at how happy he was. You only deserve all the good things in this world.”

“Or maybe I could’ve done something to prevent all this. Maybe I could’ve stopped the members from splitting up. Maybe I could’ve still been out there, singing my emotions out with at least one person listening.”

“I—”

“But then, maybe I wouldn’t have met you. That’s the only drawback.”

“This was never your fault, man. And I’ll be that one person who’ll listen to you sing your emotions out. I’m all ears.” Astra patted his back and nodded. “I’ll give you a minute. Find me waiting in the car.”

To Taehyung, one minute was more than enough. He broke down, crying harder than he thought he would, and hit the railing with the bottom of his fist. He kept going and going, thinking about everything he had lost.

Hitting ’cause he and his friends were not together.

Hitting ’cause his best friend was alone out there, and there was nothing he could do.

Hitting ’cause his girlfriend was gone.

Hitting ’cause he felt like a nuisance to Astra.

He stopped and took in a deep breath as if he had finished a tiring dance. He turned around, keeping his poker face on as he saw Astra mindlessly fiddling with the steering wheel. She continued until the wheel couldn’t turn to the right anymore. Then, she let it move back to its original position and turned it towards the left.

“Hey, I’m hungry,” Taehyung said, walking up to the car. “Wanna eat something?”

* * *

“Have you ever had a date with someone?” Taehyung asked.

Astra sighed. “You’ve already asked that before.”

“Nah. I’m serious right now.”

“No. I’ve only had crushes.” Astra held in a burst of guilty laughter, missing Yeonjun already. She wished Taehyun got to him before something put him in more danger. “Was Sarah your first girlfriend?”

“Yeah. I did find many other beautiful people there, but my heart always ended up with her.” Taehyung placed his chopsticks down, cleaned his mouth, and picked up the glass of warm water. 

No one else was in the restaurant (it was too early for it to open) except the waiter, who looked as if he wanted them gone as soon as possible. Astra looked up from her plate. Taehyung’s eyes. She liked them. They were brown and tired. She turned on her phone, looking at the time ticking faster than she thought.

 

30 DECEMBER 2026

7:20 AM

 

How many hours did he still have?

This time, as they prepared to leave, Taehyung placed his money on the counter before Astra could make a move. She glared and scoffed at him. “I’m the one who asked to join you, so I’m the one who’s supposed to pay.”

He smiled. “No. You’ve already done so many wonders for my life. I can’t pay you back for that, but let me at least do this.” 

The waiter sighed, not even counting the money. He just pushed it into the cash register and waved them out.

“Since when were you and Sarah dating?” Astra asked, heading towards the parking lot. “You both must’ve been in some real bad shit.”

Before Taehyung could reply, car windows shattered. A pressure suddenly threw them back, and fire engulfed the screaming people around them. Astra was slammed against the driver’s side of a car, her shoulder banging into the rearview mirror. Her vision started blurring, darkness spreading despite the bright fire. She shifted her gaze to her left. Taehyung’s beautiful brown eyes were closed.

She didn’t want him to die yet—at least not in this chaos. She needed to tell him the truth and say a proper, peaceful goodbye. She shook her head and got on her knees, trying to crawl to him. Her hands were tense as she dragged him away from the mess.

His heartbeat seemed too loud to her as if it wished not to stop beating, just like her heart did. His breathing was disturbed, erratic. As Taehyung struggled to open his eyes, Astra desperately looked at the unfolding scene around her. 

Glass shards littered the parking lot, glinting under the light of the flames. People were screaming and crying save for a few. Astra shook her head, her fingers trembling. Those people were on the ground, a puddle of blood around their heads. Those people were dead.

It was a cosy day, and I was sipping my coffee while watching K-Dramas in bed. Everything was peaceful until my bloody brother came into my room and spoiled the wholesome mood.

He was always a pain in the ass since childhood. Like people say the one who loves you, always teases you, but in my brother’s case, it was different. For him teasing was harassing someone that the person ends up crying, but I didn’t give a damn about him these days because the K-dramas gave me strength.

“Park fucking Jimin, how many times do I have to tell you that you should knock the door before moving your ass into my room,” I said in an irritated tone.

“My pretty ugly sis, I came here to give you an ugly ass invitation that you have to come downstairs to eat dinner,” he replied, being all calm before leaving.

He never acted calm or nice in front of me, but today was different. I did not think about it much and headed downstairs to eat my food.

As I was heading down, I saw Jimin’s beautiful girlfriend, Oh Chaerin. Since childhood, Jimin had a crush on her, but he never dared to confess. One day, one of their classmates tried to do something inappropriate with Chaerin, and then suddenly Jimin hopped into the classroom to save her. He was injured badly, but he did not regret it. He was happy that he saved Chaerin, and all of a sudden, a crying Chaerin hugged Jimin. From that day, they became close and ended up being each other’s bae.

“Hey Y/N, what’s up?” Chaerin asked, jubilant.

“I am fine, but I think Jimin is really happy after seeing you,” I said before darting my eyes towards Jimin, a blush crept on his cheeks.

“Ch-Chaerin and Y/N, dinner is ready. Get to the dining table,” Jimin chirped joyfully, childishly changing the topic.

We three were enjoying our meals with Mom and Dad. Since Mom was stealing glances at me, making me feel a bit uncomfortable, I finally asked her, “Mom is everything alright?”

She nodded, but still, I was stunned by her sudden behaviour.

“So Y/N when are you going to marry? All of your friends are married. Moreover, Jimin is going to marry after a few months,” Dad asked. I was confused, so I carelessly shrugged my shoulders.

My interest in boys was null since childhood. I never had a boyfriend. That was why my parents were always stressed about my marriage, but today they were calm, and I noticed they were smiling. I was not in a mood to start a conversation so I just focused on my food.

After dinner, Chaerin was about to leave, but my dad suddenly stopped her and told her to start packing. She agreed.

“Where are we going, Dad?” I asked out of curiosity.

“We all are going to Busan for a vacation, and Chaerin is also coming with us,” Dad replied.

Everyone was excited, but on the other hand, I was emotionless. I was an introvert and getting out of my comfort zone, also known as my room, was just like climbing Mount Everest, but the happiness of my loved ones was my priority, so I gave in and started packing my stuff.

While packing my luggage, I got a notification.

 

ChimChim
I am too lazy to come to your room that’s why i’m messaging you.
Dad said we will be going tomorrow at 2:00 p.m. by train.

Me
Okay!

ChimChim
And make sure to sleep well

Me
Why do you care?

ChimChim
Because when you were born mum and dad said that
I have to take care of you as a big brother

Me
Pffft! You never cared but why do you care today anyways bye.
Good night ChimChim.

ChimChim
Night Sista!

 

After this cute chat with Jimin, I continued packing for tomorrow’s vacation. Later I got ready for bed, but before drifting to sleep, a thought lingered in my mind: How will tomorrow go?

* * *

“Y/N dear, wake up,” Mom shouted, removing my sheets.

“Yes Mom, I am awake don’t shout,” I blurted.

I moved from the bed to do my routine and went downstairs to have breakfast with my family. While coming down, I saw that my parents and Jimin were looking happy, and they were discussing our getaway to Busan. I just plastered a fake smile on my face and sat beside Jimin.

“Hey sister, after a few hours we will be in Busan,” Jimin chirped enthusiastically.

“We will have fun because Busan is a calm city,” I said optimistically and ate the mochi from Jimin’s plate.

“Being calm is boring and you are also boring. Hey, it’s a great bond right?” Jimin blabbered while laughing like a maniac, and I rolled my eyes at his lame comment.

“Kids, we have a few hours left, so do whatever you want except wasting your energy,” Dad said before standing from the dining table.

“I am going to Chaerin’s house because she asked me to recommend her clothes for today,” Jimin said before leaving the house.

Mom was doing the dishes, while I was searching for a good book to read on Wattpad. After finding a great FanFiction, I headed towards my room to feel comfortable vibes.

The wind heaved a gentle breeze, making his jet black hair slightly dance in the air and fall over his eyes. He inhaled softly. The weather was fresh, something he enjoyed.

He ran his brown eyes over the city in front of him. It was late at night, and everything was sunk in darkness, but the neon lights gave the world a new type of glow.

He sighed. It had been a while since he’d felt a slight lump in his throat, like an unknown weight heaving on his shoulders as if he’d lost something. Lost a part of his heart.

He thought hard about what it could be, but there was nothing he could recall. It was a strange feeling, something close to emptiness. Even though he had everything—the things he could ask for—in his life, he still felt hollow sometimes. As if his soul was a puzzle and one piece of it was missing.

Frustration inched inside his body, making tears run in his eyes. He was tired, tired of feeling lost, tired of not knowing what the root of his desperation was. He was drained by all these unknown feelings.

He lost it when a single tear rolled down his cheek. His silent cries turned into hopeless sobs. And the fact he didn’t know what he was so sad about made him even more irritated. He wanted to scream in the wish of maybe someone hearing him, helping him.

He looked up at the indigo sky. It seemed like the moon was the only comfort in this forsaken night. The stars were the only hope in this dark world.

As if the sky had heard his lonely thoughts, she sent a gentle wind. Passing by his face, the soft breeze brushed away the tears from his pink-tinted cheeks like a warm hand of a lost friend. The breath of wind whispered the message of a star in his ear, “What’s the matter, love?” The voice sang the words as if they were some notes to an unknown melody.

Was it odd he heard the words? Was he supposed to be afraid? He didn’t know, but what he knew was the sudden sense of comfort in his heart, as if he finally found someone to talk to, even if no one were there but the infinite sky.

Shaking his head in response, he whispered, “I don’t know.” He looked down as though the ground was suddenly the most interesting thing. A slight feeling of shame crept inside him. Being unaware of his own problem made him feel dumb.

“Don’t be abashed,” she said. “Look up, Jungkook.”

Following the words he heard, Jungkook raised his head and looked at the empyrean. His eyes landed on a star so bright that, for a second, he doubted if it was real. It was the closest to the moon, the brightest of all others. It felt so alive as if Jungkook could hear the star’s soft breaths through his ears. A sudden warmth bloomed in his body, his heart. He closed his eyes at the pleasing solace.

“When you feel like the grief of the world is heaving on your chest, look up at the starlit sky. Somewhere in the corner of this hidden heaven, you’ll find me. I promise to be your eternal comfort.”

The words were so light as if a feather was carrying them. So melodic that Jungkook thought someone was playing them with the instruments of the universe.

Even though a tear escaped the corner of his eye, he smiled. It was sudden and unexpected, but there was no other response he could give to the words he heard. They were beautiful, promising. For the first time, he felt like someone was finally seeing him, taking care of him, protecting him. He felt. . . love. That was what he could name it. The star was shining brighter than before as if now she was the source of light in the darkness of  the sky.

His smile slowly vanished. He was afraid all this would be just a beautiful dream. “What if none of this is real?” he whispered.

Another gentle wind brushed against his body, “What makes it real is not what you see, love. It’s what you feel.”

“What if I stop feeling like this? What if I lose you?” he argued.

He heard heaven’s sigh, “I promised you comfort, Jungkook. Trust me one more time.”

When he observed the sky carefully, he could see the feeble ray of sunlight. It was almost dusk. He was amazed that time had passed so quickly. The stars would soonly disappear in the warmth of the sun.

“Where should I find you again?” he asked urgently as if every single star would vanish in an instant second. And he wasn’t wrong.

“I’m always here, love,” said the star, slowly fading into the pink-tinted sky colored by the sunbeam. “Leaving you will never be a choice I make.”

Sunrise with you on my chest

No blinds in the place where I live

Daybreak open your eyes

‘Cause this was only ever meant to be for one night.*

* * *

SUMMER

Somewhere in the Ionian Sea

“Another Rosé, ma’am?” the bartender asked the young woman after she downed her third glass of fizzy pink goodness.

“Just leave the whole bottle here. I’m in the mood to celebrate.” She flashed him a smile, twirling her half-empty flute of champagne around by the rim. She had no idea why, but she was happy, exhilarated even. The workaholic hadn’t felt like this in years. Heck, she didn’t even remember what it felt like to be absolutely free. She guessed it was because of the beauty of Ithaca, the glowing fairy lights, crystal clear teal water now black in the moonlight.

“Now, now. Planning to get tipsy off of a single bottle of champagne, are we?” A smooth voice interrupted her blissful solitude. She nearly scoffed at his tone, his manner of ridiculing her.

“Why? Do I look like a lightweight to you?” She raised an eyebrow, deeply offended by this stranger’s mocking. She kept her eyes trained on her flute of Rosé.

Slowly turning towards the source of cacophony, she looked down upon his amused figure with an upturned nose. The speaker, a dashing man of about her age, bit his lower lip. His narrow eyes seemed to be performing a detailed apodyopsis of her scantily clad frame, mentally undressing her as they travelled up and down her body.

She smirked, accustomed to enchanting men with her half-Greek, half-Korean looks. As a child, she was nicknamed Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty, by her European mother. Now, at the age of twenty-four, she’d surely proven that name as apt. Wearing a tiny silver strap dress surely took away from her goddess-like appeal but made her look more alluring than usual.

He finally spoke, his eyes leaving her body to meet hers. “Can’t say you don’t look like one.”

She blamed his sensual eyes and infuriatingly plump lips pulled up into a judgemental smirk for what she said next. It was either that or the alcohol, but what were three glasses of champagne to her anyways? 

Barely an appetizer.

“I’d love to prove you wrong.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, turning to the bartender again. “I’d like six shots here, please.”

“Just six? That sounds easy—”

“Make that twelve.”

Raised in a poor family living in the middle of Asia’s largest slum, Dharavi in Mumbai, she’d practically brought herself to the top from nothing. Along with large encompasses of money came a vicious competitive streak.

She couldn’t stand it if anyone told her she wasn’t capable of doing something.

Especially if the imperious preacher was a man.

And that was probably why her reticent and guarded facade shattered to pieces the second she downed the first shot.

Her stranger-turned-nemesis sniggered. “If you’re going to down them that fast, you might as well be asking to get drunk.”

The string of curses that escaped her mouth surprised her. A reserved personality, she rarely abused. Now, she didn’t just swear, she breathed life into the uncountable slurs she’d learnt in her childhood spent on the streets.

Out of all four languages she’d mastered, nothing beat the expletives of Hindi. The intruder of her seclusion was taken aback by the crudeness of her words. Wide-eyed, he shifted in his barstool, adjusting the barely buttoned blue and white striped button-down he was clad in.

He raised his hands in surrender. “If you wanted me to drink with you, you should’ve just said so.”

She couldn’t help but notice the bracelet on his wrist. It was a thin silver band with tiny interlocking loops, forming a delicate chain. Its presence was barely noticeable, especially when it matched his iridescent honey-toned skin.

Passing him six shot glasses, she turned her entire body towards him. If he ever thought she was a lightweight, he was going to have to eat his words.

Twelve shots later, her handsome contender was face down on the wooden bar. She wasn’t far from his state, but she surely had a lot more tolerance than him.

“How in God’s name did you—” The man who remained unnamed got up, slurred and slammed his head back down. He groaned loudly, his voice clearly showing he wasn’t used to being embarrassed in such a profound manner. He was well-reputed for being able to hold his alcohol, but losing to such a gorgeous woman deeply unsettled him.

She wasn’t just the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She was probably the most beautiful woman any given man had ever seen. Simply sitting with her tan legs crossed and full lips pulled up into a blissful smile, she looked candid yet absolutely breathtaking. He didn’t understand how she could sit alone at a bar without having a herd of horny men flocking around her like moths to light.

She was drinking Rosé champagne, something people with very low tolerance preferred. He took that as an opportunity to challenge her and eventually end up impressing her. But now, he was groaning in agony of being crushed by the very girl he wanted to romance. She, on the other hand, was staring at the griping man in awe.

Nothing amused her, but seeing a fully grown man embarrass himself by getting absolutely wasted with six shots of vodka pushed her over the edge. She began to giggle and soon was cackling loud enough for the tourists at the far end of the atrium to glower at her.

Upon receiving severe glares from the bartender and the surrounding customers, she tried to wake the man up. Not knowing quite what to say, for she didn’t even know his name, she decided to pat him lightly. Reaching a hand out, she brushed his silver-dyed hair gingerly. She was amazed at how soft it was. His face was turned towards her, his cheek pressing to his now empty plate of peanuts. 

Annoyed of being apprehensive with a man she couldn’t care less about, she grabbed his shoulder and shook him vigorously. “Wake up, idiot,” she hissed. Her speech and mannerisms had deteriorated, too, for a dozen shots of vodka after a few glasses of champagne was probably all even she could take.

He woke up with a start, met her striking chocolate eyes. He felt his stomach rumble and mouth fill with saliva, indicating he was about to throw up. Mentally bashing himself for taking the very last shot, his eyes bulged as he tried to speak. “Uh, lady, can you please—”

“Oh, hell no. If you’re going to spew, get the hell away from me.” She raised her hands in surrender, scooting her barstool away from him.

Unfortunately for the brunette in an expensive dress, she’d barely gotten out of hurl-shot before her unknown companion emptied his guts on her lap.

*Lyrics from Shawn Mendes’s “Falling All In You”