— One more, please — said the boy, signaling the bartender in front of him to pour the cheap drink he had been drinking for a few minutes back into his glass. While he waited, Jimin stared at the countless paintings that decorated every corner of the bar, filling the old dark wood walls with memories of places that once existed in the world, pets, rock bands with their instruments on display, and motivational phrases that became sacred to the drunks who read them. The atmosphere smelled of stored alcohol, dust, mold, grease, cigarettes, broken hearts, shattered dreams, and empty hopes.

The Ipe wood tables, with their backs to the bench where Jimin was leaning, were home to some people who were looking for a way to forget or mask the reality they found themselves in. There were also those trying to find some entertainment, crowding around a rusty battery-operated radio and listening to the few songs it played. The End's Bar wasn't the best known in the area, nor the most attractive, as the structure gave the impression that it had been abandoned for centuries. However, it was the closest suitable place to his home to process the conflicting news he had just received.

— Here you go — the bartender approached, pouring a dark blue liquid into the glass and, with one sip, half the drink was gone. At the end of the day, Jimin received a letter thanking him for joining the PeaceArmy and announcing that he had been selected as a recruit for the army that managed the social life of the Cocoon, the space where those who survived the Awakening lived. The body was responsible for political, military, judicial, social and cultural decisions, taking care of planting, the distribution of food, medicine and housing, public security and other collective tasks. To live in the Cocoon was to coexist with the decisions of the PeaceArmy. The population loved the army and some idolized them, building churches that worshiped the figure of the Major, the leader of the organization. For most, humanity would not have survived if it hadn't been for the management of the PeaceArmy, which maintained order when only chaos and despair reigned.

From the age of 16, when teenagers choose the role they would like to play in society, Jimin decided to become a doctor and, after five years, he achieved his goal. The graduation, a collective and public ceremony that awards titles to everyone who graduates from something, took place a few weeks ago and Jimin was one of three students who reached the end of their studies. Although many imagined that his choice was due to the influence of his father, Jimin was guided by his own particular interests. His father, who died before he met him, dedicated his life to becoming a doctor and joined the army in order to save people and look after the population of Cocoon. At least, that's what his mother told him. However, the man's history didn't interfere with his decision.

In the Cocoon, the more useful a person was to the collective, the greater the rewards they earned, since the money had long ceased to be used. It was thinking of the benefits he could bring to himself and his mother that he became a doctor and, inspired by the same ideology, joined the PeaceArmy. The organization's employees had certain social advantages, such as priority access to medicines, food and special attention to the demands they made of the military government – applications to obtain a house in more privileged areas, for example.

Despite his free and conscious choice, Jimin carried with him a gigantic fear that he tried to silence with the alcohol he drank. He didn't know what to expect from the organization, what kind of life he would have as part of the army or how exposed he would be to risks. When he questioned his decision, he always concluded that there was nothing altruistic about enlisting. He just wanted to provide a better life for his mother, who regularly needed medication.

— Does the person responsible for breaking your heart have a name? — a stranger's voice snapped him out of his reverie and brought him back to harsh reality. Next to him, leaning on the bar counter, a young man with eyes as dark as a starless night and bright red lips, where a piercing rested in the right corner of his mouth, stared at him without discretion. His short straight hair was neatly combed back, except for a few unruly strands that fell across his face, his chin bore a small scar and the deep circles under his eyes showed that he probably hadn't slept.

— What? — Jimin had been drinking for a few hours and could already feel his focus and concentration dissolving into thin air — Sorry, did you say something? — The stranger straightened his posture, smiled gently and pointed to the glass on the counter.

— Drinking and love disappointments are the oldest couple in the history of mankind — he commented, running a hand through his hair as if there was something to be done. Despite his torn moss-green pants and faded black tank top, which showed off his almost defined arms and a few tattoos, the boy exuded confidence and wit, ready to deal with any situation that arose.

— If that was the reason, it would be easier to deal with — Jimin sipped his drink and turned to face the boy.

— Typical thought of someone who's never had a broken heart — His smile broadened, lighting up his face.

— I apologize for my lack of knowledge about the pain of tragic love.

— We've only known each other for a few seconds and this is the second time you've apologized for something. You're not in a dangerous situation to worry so much. At least not yet — The stranger's gaze dropped to Jimin's lips, lingered there for a few milliseconds and then returned to his eyes.

— Can I possibly know the name of the person who approaches me, makes comments about my personal life and still questions my way of speaking? — the words came out harsher than he would have liked, but the stranger was testing his patience with the way he acted. The young man in front of him raised his hands, as if a gun was pointed at his chest.

— I was just curious to find out what brought you to a place like this — He pointed to the old walls of the bar, still keeping a broad smile on his face. — My name is Jungkook.

— Hey, kid. Want a drink? — interrupted the bartender, a 60-year-old man who looked like he'd just stepped out of a quiet, dull story. Looking after a bar didn't seem to do him any good.

— The same as his, please — A few moments later, Jungkook's glass was full and the man was already on the other side of the bar, serving other people.

— Jimin — he extended his hand in greeting and the other man returned the gesture.

— Not a very common name for the Cocoon.

— I'd say the same about yours — Jimin had noticed the boy's wide eyes, but only paid them the attention they deserved at that moment. Since the Awakening, it has been very rare to meet people whose features, according to historical records, originated from a region called the Global East.

— I enjoy people's despair when they can't pronounce my name correctly in the first four attempts. If I could record the expression, I'd put it up in my room for a good laugh — the boy laughed and the sound of his laughter was at once simple, inviting and true. — Anyway, you still haven't answered my question, Jimin.

— I don't remember any of them.

— The reason you're here — they both took a sip of their drink at the same time.

— I underwent a selection process months ago and received the news that I'd been approved this evening. Tomorrow, the activities start — Jimin leaned his elbows on the counter and sighed, the feelings connected to that decision coming back to the surface. The drink was making him more sensitive. He didn't behave like that in front of someone he'd just met, revealing secrets and fears, but alcohol broke down his social locks and turned him into a diary without keys, open for everyone to read.

— From your reaction, I'm guessing you're not celebrating — Jungkook approached, leaned lightly on his shoulder a