Chapter 5:

“Please deliver this with care.” Faith’s voice scrapes as she speaks. She hands me a brown paper bagful of lunch boxes with an address attached to it. “I would go myself but--” *cough cough* “I’m sick.” Faith, still wrapped in her white quilted blanket and without a word, totters back into her infested cave of springing germs.

I’m bundled up in my oversized red scarf as I stand outside an entrance of an empty elementary school. My feet hops from one foot to another to keep my body warm from the piercing cold weather surrounding me. I check the address on the paper, making sure I’m at the right place. I sigh, heavily, looking up into the glooming grey clouds. Soft white puffs huff out from my mouth, as if it wants to blend in with the rest of the sky. “Hey.” I stumble backwards—tripping on my own feet-- surprised by sudden sound of a low husky voice coming from behind me. The same man, s himself forwards and wraps his long arms around my waist, helping me to recover my stability. Rapmon, with a knitted white scarf wrapped up to his chin, tugs it down—revealing his shining bright smile at me. “Hahaha!” He laughs fully. Our close distance is enough to reveal his perfectly straight and white teeth. My fist are pressed against his chest—half to keep his distance away from me and the other half, to keep myself away from him. I swallow my spit, blushing at the thought of how close he is to me.

“Can you please let me go?” I whisper. Rapmon looks down at me, wrapped by his own embrace. I see his Adam’s apple move up and down before letting me go. We’re in the midst of our awkward silence when Rapmon points to the bags I have in my hands.

He sighs as he grabs the bags out of my icy cold hands and puts them down. “Take better care of yourself.” He says as he takes off his gloves. He grabs unto my hands and presses them against his warm palms. I swallow as I watch him rub my hands furiously in his. “They’re so cold.” He whispers. Then, he slips his black gloves unto my hands. His lingering warmth in the gloves sooth my hands. He picks the paper bags back up. “The studio is right over there.” He says, heading towards the crossing sign.

“What are you doing?” I ask, stopping him from crossing the street.  

“What do you mean? Aren’t these for me?” His eyes widen as his lips part open, slightly. “You said you wanted to show me your cooking skills...”

“Me?!” I scoff. He holds up his phone and starts to scroll through it, reading.

“Tell me where your studio is. I’ll bring you lunch. I want to spend more time with you. This is how I get inspired to write better stories—“

“I never said any of that.” Rapmon stares blankly at me as if no thoughts are running through his mind.

“Then, who did?” I blink twice, looking down at the dancing colorful leaves.

“My sister, Faith, was the one who told me to deliver this to this address. Oh! The phone that you transferred numbers to—it wasn’t mine. It was my sister’s.” I say.

“Why are you telling me this now?” He sounds slightly angry.

“You left before—“

“Wait a minute. Then the things we talked about—it wasn’t you?” His voice deepens almost into a hush.

I tilt my head to the side. “What things?” He stares blankly at me, again. Then, he chuckles and sighs into the coldness of the day light.  

“That’s good.” He looks at me and smiles with ease. “Come on. The studio is that way.” He points with his head.

“What things?” I ask, tottering after his manly body frame.

“Nothing.” He teases while bouncing away, happily.

The music studio is where mustiness and stench fills up the room more than music production, itself. One side of the room, there’s a garbage can overflowing with crushed up pieces of paper and tissue. There’s a dusty book shelf that’s been replaced with years of untouched toys and CDs instead of knowledgeable books. On the table, there’s a computer, monitor, and mixers surrounded by opened pieces of chocolate and candies. “This is where the composition and productions happens.” Rapmon says but I stare at him with my eyes wide open at how anything can be accomplished here in this room. He brushes past me to a black cotton couch that has been through he** from collecting crumbs to undeniable white and brown stains to all sorts of farts—Rapmon and I make it through to the dimly lit room. The recording room still has the stench of bitter sourness but the area itself looks clean with wooden flooring and clean open space with only a mic and music stand in the middle of the room. Rapmon turns off the lights and moves on. “And this is where we hang out if we have any time at all in between our schedules.” The room is white with a huge gray square table in the center of it. There are at least 10 foldable metal chairs surrounding it. More chairs are lined up against the wall. “Thanks for the lunch, Grace.” He says, finally putting the paper bags down on the table.

“I didn’t make them…” I whisper but he doesn’t hear me. Turning his big ear towards the rowdy and hustling footsteps coming past the door and closing in us, I turn around to see the rest of the BTS—dressed fully in suits, make their appearance before my eyes.

Jin, with his broad shoulders and thick, plump lips, smile as he sees the food resting on the table.

Jimin, with his tiny, arched eyes—still glisten as he sees a fellow Army fan standing before his presence.

V, with his stinging y glare, proves that he could stop the beating heart of roaring bear.

Jungkook, with his pretty face in general, comes in making his presence like a Golden King.

J-Hope, with his shining bright smile, could finally make the gaseous planet, Jupiter, explode from happiness.

And Suga. Suga! Suga!! He’s ing his white shirt with his long slender finger as he walks in through the God blessed doors. My breathing won’t calm itself down. I’m hyperventilating, in the corner, as the boys walk in closer and closer to me.