This is one of my other one shots, or a previously separate fic, so this has nothing to do with the ongoing eight-chapter thing I'm working on.  This is a separate fic, and one I was insfired by while watching Teen Top's Missing, hence the title.  Please watch the video if you haven't already done so, and if you have... watch it again for me... pwease...

Just on a side note, the title can be interpretted in a multitude of ways, so feel free to comment below if you feel especially strong as to your theory; I live to respond and please my readers...

Missing

(BTS: Rap Monster)

The door slammed, the lock clicked, the handle jerked. Fists pounded on the wood; sobs could be heard on either sides of the oak slab dividing them; bodies shook.

"Let me in!" he cried, sobbed, pleaded; she couldn't.

"Please Tori, just open the door," he hiccuped; she ran fingers through her mop of hair.

"Oh god... please..." She wanted to. He needed her to. They both knew she would never be able to.

"J-just~" But her voice broke and curdled into a guttural exhale. For a moment, his heart-wrenching noises paused, dropping them into a pit of silence.

"Just what? Just what! Tell me what to do!" he choked, groping at the door as if by pressing himself close enough, she'd sense his determination, his eagerness to set things straight; maybe she'd open the door.

"Just... GO AWAY!" she shouted, harshly kicking the door with the toe of her boot. It flew off, and in frustration, she ripped the other one from her foot and sent it flying across the room.  He could only hear the snapping noise of something heavy colliding with something much lighter.

"Open the goddamn door!" he shouted, louder than before, oblivious to their surrounding apartment-neighbors.

She in a breath at the sound of his furious voice; she knew he had a temper.  Was that why this was happening?  Was that the reason for this madness?

Or was it the relationship itself, the terribly, perfectly dysfunctional bond that they labeled as love?  The connection was evident, undeniable, overpowering, a complete set of devil horns and angel wings.  Love is needless, they say; needy, they say; yet needed it is, they say.

Well they can shut up.

For the two lovers fuming dark and thick, sorrowful and furious smoke from their hearts, it mattered not what others thought of their love; they were content with the way it was.  The pros outweighed the cons, and small arguments were rarely uncommon.  But this was painfully real, shockingly loud, and terrifyingly nerve-racking.  He was scared that she would leave, and she was scared of him because she knew he was scared.  Namjoon was rarely terrified, and reminded her of a cornered animal when he was.

She could imagine how the potential of their split must be snarling and snapping at him, shoving him against the wall to reduce his growls to wimpers; only thing was, Namjoon never wimpered...  and cornered animals bite back...

Her primitive instincts told her to either flee or hide, confrontation was out of the question as soon as she had left the scene of their harsh words, and fear began to seep into her system, tainting her reason with their dangerous implications.

How mad is he?

Would he hurt me?

Can he get past that door?

Did I lock it right?

Before she could check though, the sound of the very door plaguing her mind, opening along with the jingling of keys, sent her scuttling to the bedroom.

He stumbled through the house, feet tripping over the smallest of things, hands grasping at walls and fixtures, desperate to hold onto his own sanity.  The keys dropped from his hand and clinked as they rolled over the floor tiles.  Tears had long since scorched burning hot trails down his cheeks, and the stinging in his throat from the endless wails was a mere shadow of the pain that stabbed his heart.

“Please,” he whimpered; “where are you?”  Perhaps he sensed the tension in the air, or smelled her fear, because he became silent, dragging his miserable form down the hall.  It was when he passed the door to their bedroom that the faint whispers of her ragged breaths reached his ears and brought him to a stand-still.

Leaning his forehead against the door frame, he debated whether or not to enter.  She would scream and shout, pout and whine, or cry and cry.  Could he convince her to drop the insane notion of their separation, convince her to at least take a moment to think?

Whatever speculation he had developed about her reaction, it was chucked out the window as soon as he stepped into the room.  For a moment he thought that she had retreated to the bedroom, for she was nowhere to be found, but then, with a heart-wrenching, choked gasp, he caught sight of her foot sticking out from beneath the bed, her feet bare and red.  Her whimpering only grew louder as he approached, and he could practically hear the tears hit the floor; or maybe they were his.

He lowered himself to the rug, peeking beneath the overhanging covers.  She stared back at him, afraid and crazed by the sight of his equally raw face.  Kim Namjoon outstretched a hand, begging her to cooperate and return to his arms, to his embrace, to his longing heart.

But she looked at him in fear, choking on fresh tears.  He could only rest his forehead against his arm in despair.

“Tori…” he managed to gurgle, but she hiccupped louder, awaiting his angry outburst; he broke down, knowing what she expected him to do.

“Tori, I’m not going to hurt you; you know that right?” he asked, and her curling into a ball was his only response.  “Damn it Tori; I’d never hurt you!” he sobbed, and she shed more tears.

“I~I know~” she cried, and uncovered her face hesitantly.  opened and closed like a fish, gulping air, and her hands reached up to dry her tears.  “I know,” she said more confidently, scooting closer; every inch she moved helped clear her head, and suddenly the image of his large hands beating her seemed almost as crazy as she must've looked like.  He glanced up hopefully and slid halfway underneath their bed.  Their hands never met, only his strong arms and her aching sides.

He pulled the quaking body in his grasp out from underneath the mattress and wrapped himself around her.  Their tears mingled, limbs entangled, breath mixed.  He sat on the ground next to the bed, leaning on it, and hugged her tight against him.  She clung to the shirt pressed against her face and curled into the fetal position, safely supported by his lap.  They cried together.  They stuck to each other.  They realized that they didn't remember what had began the earlier argument.

No words were needed, only silence; no light was required, they liked the darkened room; no fresh air was wanted, they needed the warm, stagnant breaths to connect them.

“You’re not leaving?” he whispered in question.

“Namjoon…” she began, and he tensed; she never called him by his full name.  "I don't think-"

"Stop!" be begged, pulling away to look into her now dry eyes.  "Don't ever say that!"  Since when did she soley command their relationship?  Since when did he stop being the man?  Since when did she get to freely decide their fate together?

Since never.

He leaned forward to capture her lips in a sweet, salty kiss, hoping to change her mind; but she pushed him away.  Before she could break away though, he picked her up and swung the two of them around, supporting her on the bed, and slammed his mouth on hers.  This time, it took longer for her to shove him away.

"I can't be bought with kisses...  Or !" she shouted as an after-thought, but he already knew that.  So he resorted to plan B, and plopped on the bed next to her.  She glanced at him before trying to slide away, but he draped an arm around her waist and dragged her close, pulling them both up to the pillows.

He just held her for a moment, hoping for her to relax in his arms and calm down.  He needed her to know that she wasn't something for him to mess with, that she was beyond important to him.  When she finally melted in his arms, hesitantly, he pulled away.  His fingers grasped the bed covers and yanked them down, all the while hoping that she wouldn't try and run while he wasn't holding onto her; she didn't.

So carefully, softly, gently, he firmly gripped the blankets and covered her with them.  He climbed in after, throwing the warm sheets over them and arranging the pillows.  HIs body found its way to hers, and she let herself be pressed against his chest, still facing away.

They laid there, her back and his front the convergent boundary of two massive tectonic plates, the site of two internal wars.  His arms were securely fastened around her torso, his leg draped over hers; his breath trickled down and along the back of her neck, and she unconsciously shivered.  Thinking she was cold, he pressed closer, tucking his face into the crook of her neck, which in turn released another wave of goose-bumps to travel down her spine.

This time he knew why, and so he let his lips graze her skin lightly before deliberately landing a kiss on the nape of her neck.

"I love you," he whispered, and she tensed once more.  "You don't have to say it."

"But, you know...  How I feel...  Right?"  Her question brought silence, and she could practically hear the gears clicking in his head; she began to worry, silence meant he was unsure.

And he didn't know; questioning her actions, words, and isolation, he wasn't anywhere close to knowing what she felt.  He knew he loved her, needed her, wanted her; but she was a dreaded mystery, and secret he almost didn't want to know.  So he was content to plop another sloppy kiss on her shoulder and and tuck her even closer against him.  She was content as well, reveling in the feel of his skin against her bare legs and shoulders.

Late into the night they stayed immobile, motionless, hoping for dawn to never arrive, praying to fall asleep and dream each other's dreams.  At around three in the morning, she turned slowly, trying not to wake him.  His face practically glowed in the dim light, casting a shadow to coat the wet pillow below their heads.  She slid closer, letting foreheads touch and noses brush.  Her fingertips ghosted over the side of his cheek, caressing his face gingerly.  His hair seeped through her fingers as she brushed it back, and she smiled.

"I love you."  Her whisper barely reached her own ears, and she leaned closer.  "So damn much."  And she kissed his lips lightly, just enough to prove to herself that this was where she wanted to be for the rest of her life.

Suddenly, he kissed her back, fingers gripping her arms.  She was surprised for but a moment, knowing that Namjoon, her Namjoon was beautifully unpredictable and yet so much of an open book in her eyes.  He was the kind of man that would never have been able to fall asleep with such distraught between them, and that he would've went several sleepless nights if he had to, or until things had worked out for the both of them.

His lips moved eagerly, but slowly, pouring love and passion into every motion, every tilt of the head.  He advanced forward, his tongue barely asking permission before slipping into and traversing her teeth, tongue, and lips.

This time, she didn't push him away.

Aww..  Did you like it!  Did you hate it!  Luckily for me (and you), you all can post a comment without me ever knowing who you are in "the real world," so don't be afraid to speak your mind.  Was there an issue that bothered you, a repeated offense that I should fix, or, if I'm REALLY lucky, YOU LIKED IT!  And you want to tell me how great it was...  Well that's just as grand!

Have a lovely day, or night, and keep calm, live long, and read on...