Blinding white light.

That's the first thing Chou saw.

One of her initial reactions was one of Oh, come on! Don’t judge her too harshly, her day hadn't been going well. She didn’t want to say she had a “bad” day, because, of course, after her relatively short visit in a prison for the insane the year previous, she was hesitant to say anything about her life was “bad”. Her life in its entirety was positively cushy in comparison to the lives of the people there.

That's funny, she was digressing. Funny in that she was a journalist, she wasn't supposed to digress. When she wrote, it was supposed to be cold hard facts, succinct, concise, to the point, blah, blah, blah.

In case you can't tell, it was her work that had caused her to have a not wonderful day. She was seriously considering quitting the job. Just because she had written an award-winning article about her experience in the now-infamous BTS Psychiatric Hospital for the Criminally Insane that had sold internationally didn't mean she was now some sort of journalism guru. She would be fine if she quit, anyway. After the article had been published and gained front-page status she had written a much longer and more intimate book about the experience.

It had been an instant bestseller. There were reviewers with extravagant comments ranging from “An incredible retelling of the true horrors of mental diseases” (J.S. Lee) to “[Tsushima] expertly paints a crimson - dyed picture of the terrible lives of seven young men that will bring shivers down your spine.” (South Avenue Journal).

Funny how people only seem to care when someone's dead.

No one cared about those “seven young men” when they were still intaking oxygen.

And the real kick to the teeth was that even for some of the people that had read the book, there was still a stigma about mental diseases. She’d tried so damn hard. Awards and accolades meant nothing to her anymore; she just wanted to feel like the boys died for something meaningful.

Maybe part of her anger was the fact that after the hospital, Chou’s life was now… vapid. Dull. Boring. Lifeless. Lifeless in every way, the exception being the malaise that now permanently held her in its taloned clutches.

Oh yeah, that book had been written completely while Chou was drunk.

Anyway, cut back to the scene.

There was a white light that felt like it exploded every cone and rod in her eyes, causing pain to crackle through her brain all the way to the occipital lobe.

I'm blind! she thought in panic. I'm blinded!

Soon, though, she revised that statement, which is where the Oh, come on! part came into play. She must have gotten into a car accident, or been shot, or something like that, and now she was dead. Or dying. Or whatever happens after death, after all, she was never really religious, which probably explains why -

“Wow, you talk a lot.”

Chou’s heart malfunctioned as she jumped in utter surprise to the sudden voice that had cut off her mental tirade. She nearly fell over - wait, she was standing? -  trying to locate the voice.

As soon as she turned around, the white light faded into warming sunlight.

And wouldn't she just be damned, standing before her was one face she'd never forget. His face was still impressively pale, but the dark violet circles that once surrounded his eyes were no longer there.

And his hair was no longer mint. Or pink, for that matter. Which was something that still boggled her mind.

Yoongi smiled. “Hey, butterfly.”

Chou stared at him. Her ears picked up the sounds of birdsong and of wind rustling tree leaves, but all her attention was on Yoongi’s face.

“What the .”

That was the most eloquent combination of words that came to her wonderful writer’s mind. All things considered, they were fitting.

His smile widened. “Good to see ya.”

Chou felt a comfortable warmth on her skin. In curiosity, she looked around and was shocked by where she was.

Memories overtook her.

“If you go through here, you’ll get to a service chamber. Walk to the end, there’s a door. Go through it, you’ll be outside the back of the building.”

Chou sobbed as she climbed through the tunnel, hearing the gunshots signaling the deaths of the boys she had come to care for.

For some bizarre reason, she was standing where the tunnel leading to the back of the hospital was. This was where it all ended. Right. Here.

The day had been sunny, ironically. Usually in movies or television shows when everything goes wrong and the main characters all die the weather is dark and stormy. But no, that particular day the sun had been shining, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the birds were chirping. Chou had at first been blinded by the sunlight, having not seen the sky in weeks.

Exactly like it was in that moment.

She looked at Yoongi again. He had a small smile on his soft face. His clothes were multicolored and fashionable. His hair was a dark color, and the tips of the strands were a frosted blue.

She thought about what to do or say for several seconds. There was a twinge of feeling inside her that had been growing for nearly a year and made her really want to do something she’d probably regret, but she probably shouldn’t…

it.

Chou raised her hand and slapped Min Yoongi across the face.

He was obviously unprepared for the hit as he practically fell over. “Yow!” he shouted, putting a hand against his now red-toned skin. He looked at her, actual (okay, probably faked) hurt written on his face. “What was that for?”

Chou was about to answer when she was cut off by various cheers. She looked past Yoongi and was even more amazed to see the missing six boys all there - looking completely different than what she remembered them to be. Their hair was all different than before. Their bodies were no longer malnourished. On the contrary, their bodies were actually muscular and toned. They were still pale, but it was a fashionable pale rather than an unhealthy one.

They were also all cheering for Chou to slap Yoongi again.

Her eyes landed on Jungkook.

Jeon ing Jungkook.

She glanced at Yoongi. “You felt that, right?” she asked.

He looked insulted. “Obviously. Ow. Why do you ask?”

“‘Cause I need to make sure I make Jungkook feel it even more!”

The boys, Yoongi included, again cheered when Chou was chasing after a terrified Jungkook.

“Butterfly, what the heck did I do to you? Lemme ‘lone!” Jungkook shrieked.

“No!” Chou shouted. Despair then filled her. She realized that the anger, the rage that she had been feeling over the year had overcome her. She had been so inconsolable about what had happened that she never noticed the anger that had been threatening to bubble over. Chou stopped running, falling to her knees on the soft grass. “You guys ruined my life!” she shrieked, loud enough for them all to hear. She knew it was a diatribe, but she couldn’t stop herself.

“We did?” Jin asked.

“We weren’t trying to!” Yoongi yelled. “It just sorta happened!”

Namjoon spoke up. “And hey, all factors considered, we didn’t ruin your life nearly as much as we ruined other people’s lives, ‘cause…” his voice trailed off as Chou glared at him. “I’ll shut up now.”

Chou put her hands over her face, pressing her fingertips to the corners of her eyes. The rage faded, leaving her empty, overcome by macabre memories.

Someone was smiling.

A concrete butterfly.

Singing.

Screaming.

Blood.

Gunshots.

Crying.

“And now…” she stammered, starting to sob, “and now I’m dead and stuck here with all of you, knowing that no matter what I couldn’t help any of you! All I did was guarantee your death! I helped them kill you!”

There were a few seconds of the only noises being the wind and the birds.

Calm.

Chou’s heaving breaths calmed with the silence. There was the soft sound of feet walking on grass, then hands were gently grabbing her wrists. Her hands were pulled away from her face, then she was met with the sight of Jungkook kneeling in front of her, a hint of a genuine, true smile on his face.

She sighed and allowed the boy to pull her back into standing. The two walked back to the rest of the odd assemblage slowly. They all bore various looks of concern. Hoseok looked like he really wanted to give Chou a hug but was easily being held back by Yoongi. Taehyung was avoiding looking in the girl’s general direction. Namjoon looked completely uncomfortable. Jimin was nervously tugging on his (pink?) hair. And Jin…

“Why do you think you’re dead?” he asked softly.

Chou laughed at the incredulity. “You’re all dead,” she said.

“An astute observation,” Yoongi said sarcastically. “What does that have you do with you?”

“Since when do alive girls talk to dead boys?”

Jungkook laughed. “Since when do journalists go and hang out with a bunch of crazy murderers? Is the concept of the alive and dead talking so crazy?”

Chou laughed at the irony of his words. “Fine, I’ll humor you.” She stepped back, looking at all of the boys and the gray brick wall behind them. “But if I’m not dead, then what the hell am I doing here?”

Just then, a strange sensation filled her. She felt something in the air above her. She looked up and saw a small, dark blue butterfly gently floating on the wind. The creatures’ wings dusted her skin and her hair. She watched it flutter in the air, her eyes wide with wonder. It floated like an angel through the air before settling on the palm of Taehyung’s open hand. The expression on the silent boy’s face changed dramatically: he stared at the creature in shock, then looked up at Jin with wide eyes.

Jin smiled, his eyes wide with endearment. “Be gentle with it, Tae,” he said. “A butterfly’s wings are easily damaged.”

Taehyung looked back at the butterfly, its wings moving. He smiled.

Chou watched it as it stilled, and marveled at the beauty of the moment. She allowed her eyes to close and pi