A/N: warning slight ual content ahead lmao

I stagger into the library, zombie-like, the next day.

Nightmares. That’s all I got when I tried to sleep last night. At first, every time I closed my eyes, my mind would replay Sora’s emotional breakdown, and the night the cops found me at Myun Hyun Jae's birthday party and told me that my parents were dead. But then I started watching one scene over and over again: Heechul’s desperate pleading as I stood above him with a gun at his temple. The guilt, the regret, the anguish, everything swirling inside of me caused me to sob the entire night away.

I don’t have Joonmyeon to run to. I don’t have Sora to comfort me. Himchan’s already worrying enough about Sora, and Zelo’s worrying too much about me. To impose the additional burden of telling them that I am having terrible nightmares would be unfair to them.  

I am alone.

I throw my books down on a table and slump down in a chair. Better get to studying. My grades have been slipping lately- nothing noticeable, but I could jeopardize my high academic standing in school, or my position on the student council-

Why does it matter?, a bleak voice inside my head asks. Why does any of this matter? It’s all a facade. It’s not real.

.

I type “sleeping pills” into the search bar of my laptop. If my mind doesn’t want to cooperate with my body, I’ll ing force it to-

“Trouble sleeping?”

I grit my teeth and mutter, “Go away.”

Jimin laughs softly as he takes a seat next to me. “I wouldn’t recommend sleeping pills. If anything, they make your nightmares worse.”

My face reddens. “How did you know?”

    “Please. We’ve all been there. And we all have our different ways of coping. I’m guessing you’re trying to find yours?”

    I am too exhausted to argue with him. So I simply mumble, “I guess.”

    “Hmm.” Jimin rests his chin on his palm. “You could try sleeping with white noise, or people talking in the background. That’s what Namjoon does. Yoongi does this weird aromatherapy thing where he lights a bajillion scented candles and practically passes out while smelling all of them. We’ve all told him it’s a fire hazard and he’s going to burn the house down, but he doesn’t care.”

    Yoongi. I bite my lip. “How... how’s he doing?” I ask tentatively.

    Jimin looks at me in mild surprise. “He’s better. You saw him at, uh, Joonmyeon’s apartment. And I think he was at school yesterday-,”

    An image of Yoongi staring confusedly at me and Joonmyeon flashes through my mind, and I have to duck to hide my blushing face. “Yeah. I saw him. Uh. Sorry... about that. I guess. I mean, I still think I acted reasonably,” I quickly add. “You guys literally had me and Sora cornered- and I don’t care if you guys were just doing karaoke when you had Sora, but I got really freaked out-,”

    “It’s fine,” Jimin laughs softly. “You’re right. I was thinking about it, and I wondered how I would’ve reacted if one of my friends was captured. Thank you for asking about him, though. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

    I snort. “Uh, I don’t think he will. But sure.”

    Jimin simply gives me a kind smile. For the millionth time, I am struck with the question of why this boy belongs to a gang. He’s too nice. And genuine. And friendly. He doesn’t deserve to have to find a coping mechanism to deal with nightmares. He’s too good for this.

    “Jimin,” I say, “why are you in BTS?”

    His eyebrows shoot up. “Why?”

    “You just... don’t seem like the gang type.”

    “Well, I don’t know if anyone’s the gang type.” Jimin sighs. “Look, before Sora’s brother found us on the streets, all of us were... nothing. I was fighting with the rats for scraps of food to eat. Taehyung’s mother...,” A shudder runs through Jimin. “Point is, all of us would’ve probably died before the age of 16. And then KCC offered us a chance at a new life- one where we’d be well-fed, have a roof over our heads, have anything we asked for. All we had to do was learn to fight.”

    “Sora’s brother was the one who found you guys?”

    “Yeah. But before you ask, no, none of us liked him. He was a terrible person. We saw his brothels. The way he treated the girls...,”

    “That’s what I thought! I heard that Kim Byunghyun was an awful person. But V keeps giving me crap for killing Sora’s brother-,”

    Jimin guffaws. “Oh, V hated him more than the rest of us. He’d look at the way Byunghyun doted on Sora and then turned around and abused girls her age. Anything he says to you is just him trying to get under your skin.”

    “How’s he dealing with Sora’s disappearance?”

    Something flickers in Jimin’s eyes, but it disappears before I can identify what it is.

    “He’s not taking it very well,” he admits.

    “Huh. The terrifying gangster V actually has a heart.”

    Jimin and I exchange smiles, and for some reason, he starts laughing- and then I start laughing, too- and then soon my fatigue is forgotten as both of us are madly cackling together. What is it about him that makes me feel so... at ease?

    “Hey,” Jimin says after I have stopped giggling.

    “Yeah?”

“We’re friends, right?”

I let out a loud pfft! “What would BTS say if they heard you say that?”

He huffs. “It doesn’t matter what BTS thinks. Our friendship would only be between the two of us.”

“Uh, okay. The problem is that friends aren’t really enemies.”

“Isn’t that what a frenemy is?”

“You want to be my frenemy?”

“Sure.”

I wearily rub my temples. Oh, god, my headache has intensified. “Jimin, what the hell are you playing at?”

“Nothing. I mean, I like talking to you. You’re pretty cool. So I want to be friends. Or frenemies,” he quickly adds. “Whichever one you prefer.”

I stand up, gathering my things. “Fine. We’re frenemies. Okay?”

The wide grin on Jimin’s face tells me that yes, he is happy, for some strange reason. There’s something bizarre about this boy; but oddly enough, it’s nothing... bad. When I look into his eyes, all I can see is kindness. He’s so earnest.

Guilt wells up in my stomach. Why? What did I ever do for him?

I sigh. “I’m leaving. I’ll see you around.”

“Bye, Hyo!”

Oh, man.

Caffeine. Caffeine is the only reason why I am able to power through my schoolwork, finish everything that needs to be finished. There’s still no word from Zelo and Himchan. My eyes dart to Sora’s empty bed every few seconds. Worry gnaws at my stomach.

So her father doesn’t know where she is. Neither does BTS. Does Joonmyeon know? Probably not.

Then again, he seems to know everything.

I slump back down on my bed. It’s getting to those late hours again; the clock ticks past midnight, followed by 1 AM, and then 3 AM. My mind is in a state that can only be described as feverish. I have gotten about three hours of sleep in the last 48 hours. Fluorescent figures dance up at me from the dark corners of the room, taunting me, calling me to sleep, where I know I will be haunted by terrifying nightmares.

I am alone.

I am so alone.

My fingers absentmindedly tug at the plushy polka-dotted ladybug sitting on my dresser- the one that Joonmyeon gave me-

Joonmyeon.

A cold tremor runs through me. I jerk away from the stuffed animal like it has caught aflame.

Oh my god. I can’t go on like this.

And this is rock bottom. Standing outside the door to his penthouse at 3 in the morning, clad in nothing but a baggy, oversized tshirt that goes down to my knees and a pair of fuzzy socks. My hands are gripping a heavy cardboard box. I knock on the door and half-hope that he won’t answer. I hate how Doorman Lim recognized me as I walked in and waved me up without a second glance. I hate how I’m this desperate to see him- so desperate that I find some excuse to find him. I hate how I’m leaving myself vulnerable and how my heart is pounding and there’s a lump in my throat and god, this, I’m leaving, I don’t need this-

    The sound of the doorknob unlocking clicks through the air. I stiffen.

    “Well, this is a new way of trying to kill me,” Joonmyeon says in a snarky voice, leaning against his doorframe. He is wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants that sits low on his hips. “What’s in the box, Hyo? Anthrax? Explosives?”

    “Just take it,” I whisper, shoving it at him. His eyes scan me from top to bottom, from my tired eyes to my ragged, chewed up nails, to my face, which is, for once, devoid of spite and anger.

    “What is this?” Joonmyeon utters tonelessly, ripping open the box. “Did you-,”

    And then he realizes what is inside.

    He freezes.

“I just thought you’d want this stuff back,” I say in a small voice. “Your copy of the Prizoner of Azkaban is in there. And the holiday sweaters you gave me for Christmas. And your tshirts and your Chem notes and- and the CDs you made me.”

    Joonmyeon does not say anything. His eyes are affixed to the collection of items he is holding.

“And- oh, dammit. I think this shirt is yours, too.” My hands clutch at the faded white tshirt I am wearing that reads 2013 Seoul Soccer Showdown and I absolutely want to die. “Sorry. I- I’ll return it later. I... force of habit.”

Holy , I’m weak. I’m so ing weak. How does this man- this twisted man, who loathes me with all his heart, whose friends I murdered- manage to ruin me like this? He is staring at me with an unreadable look, confusion and anger and something else- something that I can’t place- and I have to look away. It is guilt that dominates my heart; the guilt that I murdered his best friends when they were innocent all along; the guilt that I feel every time I shut my eyes- oh my god, I wrecked him, I turned him into this, this is my fault-

I turn around, blinking back tears.

I deserve this.

Suddenly, I hear the thump! of the box hitting the floor. Joonmyeon strides to me, grabs my wrist.

“Keep it,” he says in a low voice.

“No,” I say. “Take them back. Give those things to your real friends.”

Joonmyeon’s eyes widen for an instant, but his features quickly snap back into one of stormy impassiveness. “Those things were for you. Keep them.”

“I don’t want to,” I breathe, yanking my hand from his grasp. “I- I hate having that stuff around me. You must have been disgusted, having to give me all this stuff and pretend like we were best friends when you hated me all along. Take it, Joonmyeon. You can burn it, or throw it away, but just- just take it.”

He clenches his teeth and suddenly raises his hand, presumably to run his fingers through his hair, but for an instant I think he’s going to hurt me and I flinch away, my features involuntarily flitting into a look of fear.

(soundtrack: listen to this while reading)

And it is at that moment that something breaks inside Joonmyeon. His mask of cool indifference cracks, revealing worry and hurt and longing underneath and before I can process what is happening he wraps his arms around me and hoists me up onto his body. My legs involuntarily wrap around his waist and he pulls me toward him and kisses me. Our bodies literally melt into each other and holy , everything feels so right, like this is where I’m meant to be, my skin pressing against his, the heat of his body radiating through my- his- shirt, his lips moving against mine tenderly- not angrily, like I would have expected- but like he actually cares about me. I can lose myself for just a little bit; I can delude myself just a while longer.

Joonmyeon carries me into his penthouse, nudging the box of his things inside with his foot, and takes me to his bedroom. A shudder runs through my body as he gently sets me down on his duvet. I open my mouth, about to say something- but he shakes his head.

“Just one night,” he whispers, tucking himself in next to me.

And then it hits me: it’s like Joonmyeon needs me as much as I need him. For a moment, I wonder if that’s the truth. But the voices of logic and reason inside my head tell me no, of course not, that could never be true-

“We can’t hold this against each other,” I murmur as he spoons me, slides his hands under his shirt, along the bare skin of my stomach. “After this- we forget it ever happened.”

“Understood,” he says throatily. I slide my hand over his- how had I never noticed how large it was in comparison to mine?- gently guide it downwards, past my stomach, under the lacy fabric of my . His breath hitches; he utters, “You came here with no pants on?”

“Your shirt was big enough to cover everything.”

A laugh escapes his lips and there is something glowing in his eyes: affection, perhaps? He softly presses his lips into my hair. “Of course. Typical Park Hyolin.”

My shirt is riding up, exposing my black , and Joonmyeon’s cold white fingers are resting in the creases inside my upper thighs; I can feel him pressing against my core. My mahogany locks are fanned out over his bare chest, which is currently pressed flush up against mine. A feeling of desire courses through my veins; I suddenly have the desire for Joonmyeon to take me, take me right now in his own turf in the most sinful, brazen way possible, make me forget about everything and everyone. One look at Joonmyeon’s darkened eyes and I know he feels the same.

But he is waiting. Waiting for me to make the first move. Waiting for me to consent to what he will do to me.

As if in response, I yank him back down to my lips in a rough kiss. My tongue harshly invades his mouth as I possessively thread my fingers through his hair.

Joonmyeon seems taken aback by my intensity, but he quickly recovers; he positions himself between my legs and his hands travel up my- his- shirt, skimming over my skin like I am porcelain and he is afraid of breaking me; anger floods through my every vein- stop it, stop being so gentle, you’re supposed to hate me, I hate you-

And then suddenly, he freezes.

    Slowly, I open my eyes.

    Joonmyeon is staring down at me with a stormy expression. His eyes are blazing- not in fury, but with some powerful emotion that causes a shudder to run through my body.

    “You’re crying,” he utters.

    I grit my teeth and sniffle angrily. “I’m not.”

    “You clearly are.”

    “Just forget it, okay? Keep- keep going.”

    Joonmyeon rises. The band of his black boxers is visible under his sweatpants.

    “I’m not doing this,” he says.

    “Joonmyeon.” I shoot up, grab his arm. “Stop it. Don’t out like this.”

    “I’m not pussying out,” Joonmyeon growls with such intensity that I shrink back a little. “What are you doing, Hyo? What do you want? Why did you come here?”

    I blink up at him. My vision is starting to blur from the tears in my eyes.

    “I don’t know,” I whisper.

    He looks down at me for a long, long moment that seems to stretch out into eternity.

    And then he quietly wraps his comforter around me, pulls me toward him, wraps his arms around my waist.

    “Sleep,” he whispers. “You don’t have bad dreams when I’m with you. Just sleep.”  

    My eyes widen in shock.

    For a moment, I am about to bolt.

    And then Joonmyeon rests his head in the crook of my neck and something in me just relaxes. I close my eyes and all I can feel is his warm breath on my skin, the soft blankets enveloping the two of us, cocooning us in our own private place, away from the rest of the dark, miserable world.

    We are alone.

    We are alone.

I sleep.