Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Something seizes inside your chest. That’s the only word your sluggish brain can muster to describe it: something, foreign yet familiar at the same time.

After so many days—days? hours? weeks?—of feeling nothing but drowned sensations, it feels like a sledgehammer to the gut.

The sheer force of it wrenches a choked gasp from your lips, and it’s the loudest sound you’ve heard in a long while. One hand reaches up to clutch at your heart, the other gripping your forehead where a violent throbbing pounds at your skull.

The intensity makes you scramble along the stone floor until your back hits the wall, the only other thing in the room that can be used to ground you.

This...thing, it grips you harder than the cold, tighter than the hunger in the pit of your stomach.

Stinging tears brim in your eyes. Even though you’re alone in the room, something else, a deep something, tells you to choke them back before someone sees them. Before the pain that always follows when you let them fall past your lids.

The thing feels like hope, desperate and burning white-hot. It feels like warmth and a sigh of relief.

It feels like something he would punish you for. Because things like you aren’t meant to feel things this good.

What sounds like an explosion reverberates through the thick concrete walls. The floor trembles. You can hear people screaming, guards shouting orders over the pound of footsteps.

The sensation in your chest continues to build, unbearably so, until the tendons in your lungs feel close to tearing.

The sound of shouting and fast footfalls begins to fade, moments later replaced by ones much louder, heavier, faster. Gunshots in the distance, one after the other. Then a deafening roar. A nonhuman roar.

It’s all so loud. The noise presses against you from all angles, closing in until you can almost feel its weight.

You cup your hands around your ears, squeeze your eyes shut, and curl into a pathetic ball but it still thuds in your head. Sharp and bruising and loud loud loud.

Not that you realize it, but you’ve been without light and sound for six days.

Your brain is slow to process what’s happening, struggling to make sense of the impossible. Because he always said that no one knew they were there, that the wards were impenetrable. Even if someone got through the wards, who would be stupid enough to attack them at their own home base?

No one is coming for you, his voice slices through your thoughts. Why would anyone ever come looking for you? You are nothing.

The heavy footsteps draw closer, along with the sound of doors banging open.

You curl further into yourself, trying to block it all out. One of those disgusting creatures from the outside must have gotten in. It’s in their nature to seek blood and destruction, after all.

Maybe you’ll be lucky enough for a quick death. But...you’re not sure you deserve it. You are nothing.

With a horrible creak of bending metal, the door is ripped off its hinges.

The sudden flood of light makes you flinch back and shield your face. The feeling in your chest thuds against your rib cage, like your heart is trying to escape your body.

You don’t move, can’t move. Not until a deep growl puts the fear of god in your bones.

It makes you peek through your fingers just enough to see what has caused the sudden flood of light.

The shape in the doorway is anything but human. Massive and powerful, it’s too big to be fully visible through the doorway. All you can see are four muscle-corded legs that end in clawed feet, trailing red behind them. The thing’s fur is matted with something dark and wet.

The creature bends down to peer into the room, exposing a skeletal head and sharp, dripping antlers.

You meet its black eyes, and something akin to recognition glints within the glassy surface. Your heart thuds almost painfully.

The creature tips its head back and howls, flashing several rows of wolf-like teeth.

It’s much too big to fit through the door, but it rams its head into it anyway. Distressed whimpers fall from its mouth as it bucks and charges at the wall. It dents the metal, desperate in its attempt to get to you.

Frozen. All you can do is shrink further into the corner of the room, closing your eyes and awaiting the inevitable. Hoping it’s quick, hoping that whatever happens afterward is better than staying here.

The metal groans, beginning to warp and buckle under the force of the creature’s antlers as it slams into it harder and harder.

A beat of silence.

You open your eyes to find the creature stepping back as much as the hallway allows. It stomps its feet, flexing its hind legs. Huffing out a grunt, it lunges forward to charge with all its might.

The metal finally gives out, tearing in jagged shards so the doorway is now a giant hole.

Your stomach drops as the creature lunges straight for you, too terrified to even close your eyes for the end of it all.

But the creature doesn’t rip you to shreds with its teeth, or maim you with its claws, or impale you with its antlers.

It nuzzles into the crook of your shoulder, a soft whine leaving its panting mouth. You feel its wet nose nudging you all over, sniffing like it’s searching for something. Wet against your cheek. You realize that the thing is licking your face like a dog that’s been reunited with its owner.

Frozen, still. You can’t make your limbs move an inch, icy fear still stiff in your veins.

The creature retreats from poking and prodding you, still panting and mewling like an excited puppy. It hops a little on its strong legs, nodding its head at you expectantly.

You...have no idea what’s going on. You should be dead by now. The beasts from the outside are supposed to kill anything and everything that crosses their path. They’re not supposed to yip playfully and nestle their huge forehead against yours.

The creature perks its great head like it senses something.

You assume that it must’ve realized that you’re prey, an enemy. Pinching your eyes shut, again, you wait for the end. Hopefully, it’s a merciful one.

A moment later, you feel cold hands cradling your face.

Your eyes pop open.

You can’t decide if the man leaning over you is a corpse or a god. At the same time, wondering how beauty and death can exist in the same face.

A god, from the way his brown hair is pushed back from his forehead, the way his eyes are slanted so prettily. A god because he’s tall and demands respect with his presence, those broad shoulders and sharp jawline.

A corpse, from the way his full mouth drips with blood, running down his chin and neck. Two sets of yellowed fangs peek over the plush flesh of his lips. Dark purple veins peek through his almost translucent skin, showing the shadow of his skeleton underneath.

You feel his thumbs stroking your cheeks. Tears pool in his red, bloodshot eyes.

“Oh baby,” he says sadly, looking down at your flimsy clothing, at the fresh wounds covering your body.

It makes something burn in your heart, something like pain and healing at the same time.

The corpse-like man draws you closer, hugging you to his chest as he whispers out soft hushes and sweet nothings that sound like cotton in your dull ears. And the more he touches you, the more the feeling flares. It’s close to unbearable, stealing away your breath, vision swimming.

The other creature shifts to the ground, curling around you in a way that’s almost...protective?

A name you don’t recognize falls from the man’s mouth, and just like that, your consciousness winks out like a flickering candle flame.

~~~

They found you. Months of desperate searching, following any and every lead, no matter how small or fleeting. Days at a time without sleeping, without eating. Weeks of Yoongi locking himself in his room, tearing apart his grimoires, carving runes into his skin, trying every locator spell he knew to get even a whiff of your location.

After months of feeling empty, feeling like a piece of them was dead, they finally found you.

Once Yoongi broke through the wards, storming the facility wasn’t difficult. They may have technology, firearms and sheer numbers, but they don’t have primal fury.

Because their person, their final piece, was stolen from them.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, they felt it. A sudden pain in their chest, sharp and heart-wrenching. She’s here, and she’s hurt.

They tore through the place in a feral rage, cutting down anyone that tried to obscure their path, because they did this. They’re the ones that kept you from them.

Jungkook plowed through the outer gates, the inner gates, the front doors. No one tried to hold him back as he sprinted through the storm of bullets.

Namjoon’s smoke shielded him, not that he needed it. The frenzy of finally being close to his mate after all this time would’ve made a few bullets feel like pinpricks.

He must’ve caught your scent, because the next moment he’s rearing his head back and roaring like an arrow has struck him.

Hoseok, Jimin, and Taehyung all hear it, shifted into their full forms throughout the facility.

The human part of them, the animal part of them, aches with the urge to seek you out themselves. But they have to take care of the ones who did this to you, because they’ll do it again if given the chance.

Jungkook will find you, he has the best nose out of all of them.

Bounding through the halls with renewed urgency, all that fills Jungkook’s head is she’s close she’s close where is she oh god where is she?

He can smell you, or he can smell your panic, and all he can think is don’t worry, I’m coming. Just hold on a little longer.

He comes to a hallway that reeks of pain and sorrow. It’s lined with bolted doors all the way down, each filled with prisoners that stink with lingering wounds. Tearing the doors away one by one, peering into each room, he doesn’t stop until he reaches the end of the hall.

When he looks into this room, he sees a lone figure huddled in the darkness. A wave of fear floods his nose, then the stench of infection.

He howls. A bitter, provoked howl. The sound of a creature whose mate is in danger.

Adrenaline pumps through his veins, fur bristling as he rears and charges at the doorway with all his might. It takes several tries, but eventually, he breaks through.

He doesn’t understand why wave after wave of fear is radiating off of you. He expected you to be relieved, to jump into his arms the second you saw him. You’ve been their mate for years. Why are you shying away like you’re afraid of him?

When he finally breaks through the walls, you shrink so far into yourself that it looks like you might disappear.

Jungkook crowds you, sniffing you all over, searching for injuries. He finds too many. Before he can let out another pained howl, he catches a whiff of another one of his mates.

Jin crashes into the room, looking furious and determined.

The same pleasant pain surges in the taller man’s own chest, stronger than it’s burned in months. The bite mark on his left wrist burns with it.

Jin drops to his knees in front of you, breathing in your scent for the first time in months.

Filth is smeared all over your skin. Your hair is shorter, much shorter. It looks as if it’s been cut with a blunt knife. He too smells the infection. And the blood, of course he smells the blood.

“Oh baby,” he breathes out. “I’m so sorry. We came as soon as Yoongi found you.”

You’re staring up at him with wide, terrified eyes. And it looks like there’s nothing behind them. No relief, no recognition. Just confusion and panic.

“Baby?” Jin whispers, giving your shoulders and gentle shake, but you look as if you didn’t even hear it. What the fuck did they do to you?

He hugs you close, your body feeling cold and weak in his hold. He mumbles out apology after apology. I’m so sorry it took so long. I’m so sorry for what they did to you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to stop them. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.

Something flutters in his lungs. When he looks down, he sees you take a sharp inhale.

He hangs onto that breath, waiting for you to say something, do something, anything other than sitting there shivering like you’re too scared to even flinch.

He calls your name, and you collapse in his arms.

Chapter Text

At first, there’s only soft warmth.

You’re surrounded by it, cradled in it like a kitten huddled close to the rest of the litter.

For as long as you can remember, warmth has been a stranger. You almost forgot what it felt like. But right now, it somehow feels familiar. Suddenly, warmth is an old friend.

Downy and delightfully drunk with sleep, you breathe out a content sigh and snuggle deeper into whatever is making you feel this way.

It’s so warm here, and comfy too. It makes it easier to ignore the deep ache in your muscles, the pounding in—

A jolt of icy dread hits you. Why are you so warm? Why isn’t your body lying on hard stone? It doesn’t feel right, it’s not right you’re not supposed to feel like this.

Peeling your eyes open with considerable effort, light floods your senses, making you want to shrink back to where it’s dark, back to where you belong.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, but once they do, you find yourself in a very strange place. Now you see with horror what was keeping you so warm.

The room you’re in is large, walls lined with curtained windows. The center of the room is dominated by a gigantic bed. It’s sunken into the ground, looking more like a huge fluffy pit piled high with blankets and pillows.

But the worst part is...you’re not alone.

Four other bodies are curled up against yours. One of them is pressed to your left side with an arm slung over your torso, head nestled into the crook of your neck. All you can see of him is his tan skin and few wisps of curly black hair.

The body at your right is a similar problem. They’re hugging you close with their legs intertwined with yours. A man’s body, lean yet padded with muscle.

When you look down, you see a head of silvery white hair cushioned on your stomach. And when you shift slightly, you realize that you’re using the person behind you as a pillow.

They’re all holding onto you like you might disappear.

Countless textures, the heat of their skin, the rub of their clothes, the tickling tips of their hair, it all swarms you with increasing pressure. A bombardment of scents fills your nose. Leather, cologne, a hint of tea leaves. Sweat, musk, and something heavy underneath.

It smells like the den of a hibernating animal. A scent that screams this is mine, don’t dare to touch it.

The intermingling smells seem to burn in your nostrils. Too many, so much all at once. There’s too much touching you. Too warm, too soft, too good.

And even though the curtains are drawn, the thin streams of fading sunlight that peek through bring moisture to your eyes.

All of this, on top of that same weighty feeling in your chest. It’s calmer than before, not so desperate and yearning. Still, it burns slow like the embers of a dull fire.

You wrench yourself free from the stifling embrace. Untangling your limbs, you squirm out from under them, half of you trying not to wake them and the other half desperate to escape from the suffocation.

You feel them stir. The man to your left tightens the grip of his arm, but you rip away like their touch burns. In a way, it does.

Stumbling over the mountain of pillows and stuffed animals, you distance yourself from the bed and the strangers in it as much as possible.

Something in your heart aches with the loss, but how can you miss something you don’t deserve?

Instinctively, your back hits the wall and slides along it until you find the nearest corner. Sinking down to the floor, you hug your knees to your chest and squeeze your eyes shut to block out the light.

Where are you?

The struggle to remember the events that brought you here hurts.

Memory has always been a slippery thing. It doesn’t come easy, especially when it’s always been less painful to forget. What memories do come are always fragmented, half-formed.

You can remember certain past emotions, an image here and there, maybe the shadow of a face. But never the events or places attached to them.

That is, all the memories before you were brought to the facility. Because everything that happened there...you remember vividly.

It’s all rushing back to you now. The dark, the cold, the damp. It was all you had to cling to. Why isn’t it here now?

You try again to remember how you got to this strange place, this place where there are light-bearing windows and soft, warm beds to sleep on.

Throbbing pain in your skull, tightness in your throat, but you push through it and reach into the corners of your mind.

Loud. Screaming, footsteps, gunshots. There was a creature, huge and powerful. And there was a man, beautiful but deathly.

They’d stumbled upon your room, but they didn’t hurt you. What were they doing there? And how did you end up here?

The rustle of sheets.

Your head whips up from between your knees, eyes popping open despite the too-bright light.

One of the men is shifting on the bed. It’s the one with the almost white hair. He rolls over with a sleepy groan, reaching out his arms like he’s searching for something.

When he doesn’t seem to find it, his head slowly rises from the mattress.

Don’t open your eyes, don’t open your eyes please.

But they do, just a crack. His head swivels, looking around the room.

Don’t look at me, don’t look at me, for the love of god—

He’s facing you now, shaking strands of pale hair off his face. His eyes are barely open, but you know he sees you.

You know it from the way the feeling in your chest pulses. Panic racing through your veins, breath quickening.

The man yawns and opens his arms in a welcoming gesture, something that puzzles you immensely.

“Come back to bed, babe.”

His voice is bright and sweet, but it still sends a wave of alarm through your body.

It’s a trap, your brain drills over and over. You know you’re not allowed on a bed. He must know it too, he has to. Because you’re dirty and disgusting and wrong. Beds are meant for people, for humans.

“Baby?”

You look up to find the man watching you with a strange expression. It’s concern, but you don’t recognize what that looks like.

You tear your eyes away from his, flinching with the realization that you just accidentally made eye contact. Damnit, no no no.

Curling in on yourself further, you wait for the consequences. A slap, a fist to the nose, a hand tight around your throat. Anything that hurts.

But it doesn’t come. Several beats of silence pass, your breathing picking up by the second.

You don’t dare look up again, that always makes it worse.

The man calls out a name. Then again, again, each time increasingly desperate.

The thing in the pit of your heart burns, pulsing painfully every time he says that name.

Why does he keep saying it? You don’t like it, it makes your chest ache.

Too hyper-focused on all the overlapping sensations, you don’t notice the man approaching you, panic across his face.

Dropping to his knees, his eyes search your distraught face, ducking his head to try to catch your gaze.

“_____? What’s wrong? Please, tell me what’s wrong, babe,” he says, hands creeping up your arms, giving your shoulders a squeeze to try to ground you.

Immediately, you recoil away from his touch.

It’s too much. The light, the smells, the contact, the pressure inside your rib cage. All you want to do it disappear, shrivel up until you’re even more nothing than you already are.

More voices, different yet all alarmed, sounding far away and muted in your ears. Your eyes must be closed again, because all you see is soothing darkness.

There are more hands touching you. The muffled voices are getting louder, more piercing.

It all makes your head throb. You wish it would stop, just make it stop please make it fucking stop!

Lungs feeling close to bursting, your ears suddenly perk up at the only string of words your stupid brain can process: a command.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes open, almost involuntarily.

Wide, warm eyes, high cheekbones, dark waves falling over bright skin. A man’s face hovering over you, his expression pinched with distress. Still, when your gaze meets his, a weak yet radiant smile blooms across his face.

“Good, good,” he says softly.

Momentary relief. You release a tight breath, focusing all your senses on the face in front of you, on the voice giving you delicious praise.

But then three more faces crowd your vision. They’re all looking at you so intensely, eyes wide and jaws clenched.

Panic like fireworks. Why are they all looking at you? What did you do?

The realization comes, a stab to the gut. Only one of them allowed you to look at him. And you just made eye contact with all of them.

No no no...It’s coming any second now. The pain.

They’re going to punish you for it, they’re going to hold you down and hurt you until you’re thrashing and screaming.

They know you were on the bed, they have to. They’re going to beat you bloody for it.

You can already taste the iron in your mouth. A violent swell of nausea ripples through your stomach. Can’t breathe, you can’t breathe.

They’re going to hurt you. The pain is coming again, there won’t be anything else.

Your heartbeat is thunder as you frantically scan the room.

The door isn’t far away, and it’s open.

A voice that isn’t your own says one thing in your head:

Run.

~~~

It’s been a long time since Jimin felt this content. He’s warm, he’s safe, he’s fed, and he’s got your heartbeat against his ear.

They’d made it home relatively unscathed, Jin still carrying you bridal style.

He’d refused to let go of you since you collapsed in his arms. Even when they were safely inside their own wards, even crossing the threshold of the house, he held you close to his chest and waved the maknaes off with a “go clean up” or “go eat something before you pass out.”

He finally surrendered you over to Namjoon to go fry up some meat while the rest of them washed up in the mudroom, knowing they’d be ravenous by the time they finished.

Namjoon managed to bandage your cuts and wipe your face with a wet cloth before Taehyung found him, trailing water droplets behind him, and dragged you into the den where he promptly fell asleep in a pile with the rest of the shifters.

Jin and Namjoon watched them fondly from the doorway, all of them utterly exhausted from the raid and from changing in and out of their full forms.

You were cradled in between Hoseok’s legs, Jungkook pressed to your right, Taehyung to your left, with Jimin resting his head on your stomach.

Namjoon put a hand on Jin’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. The gesture says you did good, we’re whole again.

When Jimin wakes up, he can feel the anxiety trembling in the air. The fine, sensitive hairs all over his body twitch with it.

He reaches for you, but you’re not there.

Opening his eyes, he finds you pressed into the corner, shaking.

He’ll never forget the way you looked at him. You’ve never looked so scared, never so much like a cornered animal.

But it’s not until he calls your name and you look at him with no recognition in your eyes that he knows something is very, very wrong.

You flinch away from his touch, sending a pang of hurt through his heart, covering your ears and burying your head between your legs.

Jungkook jolts awake, probably triggered by the stench of your fear. He’s by your side in an instant, quietly whimpering as he presses his nose to what’s left of your hair.

Taehyung and Hoseok follow soon after.

They all try to comfort you with soft touches and calming words, muttering “you’re safe now” and “nothing can hurt you” over and over.

But it’s like you don’t hear them. Or don’t believe it.

You can’t even look at them until Hoseok orders you to. He remembers that Jimin likes following simple orders when he’s overwhelmed, and when it works on you a spark of joy lights in his face.

Something similar lights in your eyes too, but the next second it’s gone. Replaced by more panic, your gaze darts around the room wildly.

Jimin’s teeth clench as he anticipates what’s coming next. He knows the signs of someone about to bolt.

He’s proven right seconds later when you lunge for the door, roughly pushing past them.

They’re all shocked still for a moment. Why would you run from them? They’re supposed to be your safe place, your comfort people. They finally got you back. Shouldn’t you be happy? Why would you run from your own mates?

Jungkook takes off after you, tearfully calling your name. Then Hoseok takes off after Jungkook, worried that he might scare you even more in his emotional state.

Taehyung and Jimin just sit there, deflated. When their eyes meet, they’re both thinking the same thing: helping you feel safe again is going to be a lot harder than they thought.

You can be pretty fast when you want to be, especially when you’re frightened, so you make it all the way down the stairs and into the living room before Jungkook gets to you.

He grabs your shoulders, trying to be as non-threatening as he can, anchoring you to the floor as he tries to meet your eyes.

Twitching violently and nearly hyperventilating, your breath catches when he finally manages to catch your gaze. Only to rip it away again as a strangled noise escapes your throat.

That rare sound that only leaves Jungkook when he’s distressed fills the air. Somewhere between a high-pitched trill and a harsh cry, it seems to echo all throughout the house.

It alerts the remaining hyungs, making their ears perk and their lungs hitch.

They feel that burning in their chest, a sign that one of their mates is in pain. And from the way it singes through their veins, they know that it’s not one of their mates, but several of them.

When Jungkook calls out your name, you break out of his grip and take a few unsteady steps backward, searching for the nearest exit.

By that time, the shifters have made their way into the living room, along with Jin and Namjoon. They all crowd around you, muscles tensing when they feel the air vibrate with your panic.

Whipping around, you realize that you’re surrounded and utterly outnumbered.

They watch as you crumble in on yourself, sinking to the ground again in an effort to shield yourself from an oncoming attack.

A string of jumbled syllables falls from your lips. They have to get closer to realize what you’re saying.

“Please...please,” you mutter. “Please don’t hurt me.”

It breaks their hearts.

Every time one of them touches you, you jerk back and let loose another stream of frenzied pleas.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I won’t run again. Just don’t hurt me, please. I’ll be good I promise just please don’t, don’t...”

Jungkook and Taehyung grasp your shoulders with tears in their eyes, Jimin running a soothing hand up and down your back.

“It’s okay, baby. Really, it’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you. Calm down for me, okay?” Taehyung says softly.

Your breathing slows just a little, maybe from hearing him say that he doesn’t plan on hurting you. Hesitantly, you look up at your surroundings, and the next second you’re thrown into another fit of shaking and begging.

“No no no, please...please,” you blurt out, voice trailing off at the end.

Too many touches, voices, scents. It all swirls in your brain and makes your heart and head thud rapidly. When will it stop, when will it just stop.

“Enough.”

Everyone freezes at the calm yet firm voice.

The boys turn towards it while you burrow further into yourself, waiting for a hit or command or insult, whichever comes first.

Yoongi stands at the other end of the room. His head and shoulders are drooped with exhaustion, no doubt still weak after breaking through the layers of wards single-handedly.

His eyes are zeroed in on only you, brows furrowed and fists clenched. This is the first time he’s seen you in months. The cuts and old wounds, the scars, your mangled hair, the way your body is shriveled with malnourishment. It all makes his skin crawl with quiet rage.

Yoongi takes step after slow step towards you, and something about his commanding presence keeps you still.

The rest of them step aside to let him pass, holding their breath in anticipation of his next words. He’s always been the most patient, the most level-headed when one of them is having a panic attack.

He drops down to one knee, tilting your chin up with one gentle finger.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” he says, masterfully controlling his fury at seeing the state of you so none of it is directed towards you.

Still shaking, you meet his even stare. His own dark eyes soften, darting over the damage visible on your face.

“Tell me,” he begins in that same composed tone. “Who did this to you?”

Chapter Text

“Who did this to you?”

Staring up into the eyes of the man leaning over you, a shiver runs through your body at the deep, even tone of his voice. For a long moment, you can’t speak, too distracted by the fact that his attention is directed entirely at you.

The dark piercing eyes, the delicate curve of his mouth, the black curly hair hanging over his forehead. It all shocks you still with something you can’t name. Not quite familiarity, but a sense that whoever this man is, it’s a good idea to listen to him.

You sit there choking on your own words as his eyes search your face.

“Are you afraid?” he simply asks.

You nod, tongue dry in your mouth.

His eyebrows furrow slightly. He seems to be staring even deeper into your eyes than before, searching for something.

“Joon,” the man calls, a touch of urgency in his voice.

One of the taller ones, the man with short brown hair, approaches you. And you can’t help but notice his build.

He’s broad with long, thick limbs, no doubt bulked with muscle beneath his many layers. It would be easy for him to overpower you. Hurt you.

Instinctively, you flinch back as he gets closer.

He drops to one knee to meet your eye level, softening his expression when you meet his gaze.

“Hey, hey,” he begins in a calming tone, seemingly sensing your rising anxiety at being confronted. “None of us are going to hurt you. It’s all going to be okay. I promise.”

You don’t believe him. Of course you don’t. But something about his warm eyes, the deep sincerity that lies behind them, makes you release a breath and nod anyway. Or maybe it’s the way that strange feeling in your chest quivers at the sound of his voice.

Offering a slight smile, he then holds up his hands cautiously.

“May I touch your forehead?” he asks.

As if the rhythm of your brain skips a beat, you reel at the question. He's...asking for permission?

You manage a slight nod, watching him closely as he lifts his hands and places one flat against your forehead and the other at the back of your neck.

The others are watching intently, making the air prickle.

Heat blooms under the man’s large hands, spreading down your spine and into your very bones.

Wisps of smoke dance along the edge of your vision. It seems to be coming from him, seeping from his hands, from his mouth, his eyes, which are now clouded over with a milky white film.

A tickling feeling, like the sensation of a string creeping down your throat, seizes your whole body and mind. It’s hot and cool at the same time, singeing your nerve endings yet soothing them as the sensation travels.

Too invasive, it’s too invasive.

It only lasts for a few seconds before you’re jerking out of his grasp. You huff smoke out of your own lungs, desperately trying to expel the strange force that’s permeated your whole body.

Several of the others flinch too. They all seem to be honed in on your every reaction, twitching when you twitch, breath hitching along with yours.

The man withdraws his hands with a placating expression, rising to his feet and backing away to give you some space.

You barely hear it, but he leans over and whispers in Yoongi’s ear.

“We all need to talk. Now.”

You see the smaller man’s jaw clench. His hands ball into fists at his sides, his entire face darkens.

One blink later, and it’s gone, replaced by an expression so heavy, so broken that it nearly brings a sting to your eye.

The only other person Yoongi can bring himself to make eye contact with is Jin.

His hyung understands immediately, letting his eyelids slowly close as all his suspicions are confirmed. He had an inkling, when he found you in that prison cell and you looked at him like he was a stranger. He supposes that now, he essentially is one to you.

It feels like a hit to the gut. He feels the deep ache in the pit of his chest, raw with the knowledge that what’s done can’t be undone. And it hurts like hell.

But he can’t break down now, not in front of the boys, and certainly not in front of you. Your understanding of the situation is extremely fragile right now, and he knows that he needs to lead by example so you can be as comfortable as possible, so you know that you’re safe here with them.

So Jin inhales a clear breath, swallows down his sorrow, and musters up the most composed expression he can manage.

“Alright,” he begins, the whole room looking at him after he breaks the silence, looking for guidance.

“Let’s get you fixed up, hmm?”

You don’t realize that he’s talking to you until he takes a step forward and gestures in your direction.

“Will you follow me?”

You’re realizing that no one is punishing you for making eye contact without permission, so you meet his gaze with a little less hesitation.

The man waits patiently, nothing but gentle concern in his eyes.

Your skin tingles with the feeling of everyone’s gaze on you again, and after your brain slowly processes the question, you rise shakily to your feet and follow him through a nearby doorway.

It’s only after Jin exits the room, after his back is turned, that he lets a few silent tears fall into his sleeve, quick to wipe them away. Because now he needs to do what he does best: heal his clan.

Exhaustion, hunger, and fizzling adrenaline buzz through your veins, your body burned out from running even a short distance. It’s a laborious task to just put one foot in front of the other, but you focus hard to keep up with the man leading you down the hall.

Every step makes your vision blurrier. You can hear your own struggled breathing, feel the burning in your limbs, but the only thing you know how to do is push on and mask how it feels.

Don’t express emotions. Don’t show your pain. It always makes it worse.

Jin pretends not to notice. He has to fight the urge to offer you his arm to lean on, knowing it probably wouldn’t do any good.

You have no idea how long you were asleep or how long you’ve been here, wherever here is. These men don’t seem like a severe threat, at least not now. They haven’t hit you, called you names, spit on you for making noise. But they could be putting on a front, trying to establish a false sense of security.

You’re not letting your guard down anytime soon.

The two of you come to a large, clean room. It’s well-lit, making you squint your eyes against the brightness.

It’s so bright here. And spacious too. Every room seems as wide as a football field.

The man directs you to a bed lined with paper, and you flinch as you sit down, making much more noise than you wanted.

But he doesn’t seem angered by it, he only turns to one of the many cabinets lining the walls.

The familiar squeak and snap of medical gloves. It puts a heavy pit in your stomach. Clenching your teeth, you try to ignore the swell of nausea.

You hear some shuffling, the clink of glass, and then the man is sitting down in a rolling chair next to the bed.

“Do you recognize me?” he asks, slipping a pair of black glasses out of his shirt pocket and putting them on.

A flash of the ashen, vein-mapped face ignites in your memory.

“Yes,” you reply softly, almost flinching at the sound of your own voice in the quiet room.

“Who am I?” He’s looking at you patiently, but there’s a hint of desperation behind it.

“You were in my cell. You’re a—”

Cutting yourself off immediately, you can’t help but recall all the names your captors used to refer to them.

Parasites. Bloodsuckers. Demon spawn.

The man seems to read your mind, but his eyes stay nothing but patient and kind.

“I’m vampiric, yes.”

He busies himself opening a gauze pad and dousing it with disinfectant. When he looks back up at you, it’s with a questioning gaze.

“May I clean your cuts?”

You sit there dumbstruck for a moment. You can’t remember the last time someone cleaned anything for you, let alone asked for permission to do it as if you have some kind of agency. Or spoke to you so...gently.

After a few seconds of silence, you manage a nod.

He offers a slight smile and starts with the shallow cuts and scrapes on your hands. They are overlapped with scars, dirt and dried blood caked under your fingernails.

His touch is warm. It almost makes you jump, the way his skin feels like human skin. You were always told that they were cold creatures, more dead than alive.

Then there’s the alcoholic sting of the disinfectant. That makes you actually jump, but you fight the urge to pull away in case it ends in more pain.

“I’m sorry, it’s going to sting,” he says.

Why is he apologizing? Why is he treating you like this? Like you’re a human and not a creature?

He moves up to the more deep gashes on your arms, applying cream to the worst of them and bandaging them up.

“My name’s Jin. It’s nice to be formally introduced,” the man says, smiling a little painfully.

It hurts him to say it, to admit that he needs to re-introduce himself to you. But at least you’re letting him tend to your wounds. Right now, that’s all he can ask for.

You sit there silently as he moves all the way up to your shoulders, avoiding putting pressure on the deep purple bruises that litter your skin.

“What’s your name?” He knows it, of course he does. And again it hurts to ask, but he knows that this is the best way to go about it, rather than overloading you with the fact that you’ve been here before, that you already know them all.

The question stumps you. You’ve been called many names. Mutt, beast, savage, monster. You don’t remember ever being called anything else.

The man—Jin—seems to sense your inner struggle.

“Can you remember it?” he asks.

With your eyes trained down at the floor, you shake your head.

“Hmm,” he replies, thinking. “Well that just won’t do. What would you like to be called?”

That stumps you even more. Your mind goes as blank as your memory.

Several minutes of silence pass as he tends to the wounds on your neck and face.

The more he looks, the more his blood boils. Your neck is badly bruised, with painful-looking red rub marks all the way around, as if it’s been abused with a number of different things. A tight fist, a ring of rope, a collar.

Your face is covered in scars and yellowing black bruises. Chunks of hair have been ripped from your skull, not to mention that fact that most of your hair has been sloppily cut.

It all makes him want to tear the throats of everyone even associated with that facility. Looking at your face, at the poorly hidden terror that resides in it, Jin tries his hardest to mask his anger so you aren’t frightened by it.

Jin checks for signs of infection while he dabs at the lesions. He notices that you barely flinch, even when it’s clear that you want to. He wonders, feeling sick to his stomach, what happened in that horrifying place.

“You’ve been through a lot of pain,” he says, and you can hear deep sympathy in his voice.

It’s unusual to you, hearing someone sound sorry for you.

You don’t reply, looking down at the floor again.

A few minutes pass, with him continuing to patch up your wounds while you sit there motionless. After Jin finishes the last bandage, he hesitates, looking at you with another question in his eyes.

“Wound you mind removing your shirt?”

It makes you turn cold, arms unconsciously wrapping protectively around yourself.

“No? Okay, we don’t have to do that,” he says almost immediately, shifting his attention to your legs instead.

“Any internal pain or other symptoms?”

You only answer with a dull shake of your head when he looks up at you expectantly.

He raises an eyebrow like he doesn’t believe you for a second.

“It’s okay to tell me. I’m a doctor.”

You still don’t say anything, despite the sharp pain in your stomach and the incessant pounding in your head. Too many times you’ve encountered doctors that did nothing but use their knowledge of your body against you.

The last thing you want to do is admit weakness.

For a very brief moment, Jin’s face flashes with disappointment, and you feel your gut lurch with guilt. The next second he’s gathering more equipment from the cart next to the bed.

“Would you mind if I did a few more basic checks?” he asks.

This time you indulge him with a slight nod, and you’re rewarded with a smile that plumps up his cheeks and makes that something in your chest jump.

He checks your heartbeat, your temperature, your blood pressure, among other things that you don’t recognize.

You accept it all with quiet compliance, still fighting the urge to flinch away with every touch. Because every time he touches you, your heartbeat stalls against your will, heat blazing across the spot where his skin met yours.

He always treats you softly and with compassion, making your eyes burn with the urge to cry.

He removes his gloves after he’s done, tossing them, along with the used gauze, into a bin.

“I’m going to give you some antibiotics to fight infection, and something for your pain,” he informs you.

Again, all you do is sit there silently, head tilted down towards the ground.

Jin fights off a sad frown as he turns to one of the cabinets and shuffles through the many pill bottles. Finding the ones he’s looking for, he empties a few into his hand, grabbing a stray water bottle from the counter.

When he hands them to you, you take them very hesitantly. Your heart rate picks up considerably when he continues to stand there, clearly intent on watching you take them.

Slowly, you take a swig from the bottle and raise your cupped hand to your lips. You feign tilting the contents of your palm into your mouth, swallowing as little of the water as possible in case it too is laced with something. You’ve gotten quite good at pretending to take pills, so he easily believes you.

When he turns around, you spit the water back into the bottle as quietly as you can and tuck the pills into your makeshift pants pocket.

“Alright,” Jin says as he turns back to face you. “Now let’s get you something to eat.”

~~~

The air is heavy, sucked dry from the words out of Yoongi’s mouth. The six of them stand there silently, feeling gutted.

Hoseok is the first to string together a comprehensible sentence.

“I...I can’t believe it.”

None of them can. Almost ten years, gone. The years spent living with them, loving them, getting to know them better than anyone else in the world, all wiped away.

You can’t remember essentially growing up with the maknaes. You can’t remember studying spells with Yoongi, nearly surpassing him in knowledge and skill. You can’t remember all the times Jin nursed you back to health after protecting the others in a fight, or when you would explode laughing at one of Hobi’s jokes while still in recovery, Jin snapping at him to knock it off because you’d broken your ribs again.

And all the years spent earning your trust, earning their trust, building your confidence, carving your place in their souls, all gone from your mind.

“How?” Jungkook asks, voice thick with hopelessness.

“A riamemors spell,” Yoongi replies. His arms are crossed as he leans back on the counter, eyes trained on the ground. His expression is unreadable, but they all know that he’s been hit just as hard.

None of them know as much about casting as Yoongi does, not even Namjoon, but almost every Northerner knows what that spell does. It means “death of memories,” and it cannot be reversed.

The F&F has been abusing it for decades. First using it in weak doses on humanic people to keep them ignorant about the realities of atypicals, then using it full potency on atypicals to make them mindless slaves.

They don’t know what that facility was planning on using you for, but clearly they didn’t want you to have your memories to do it.

“How strong?” Taehyung asks. His eyes are glassy, chin wobbling despite his efforts to fight it.

They all look to Namjoon for the answer. One of the abilities of wraiths is delving into a person’s mind through touch, including their memories.

Namjoon’s face holds a deep sorrow. Your head is a very dark place.

“Nearly full strength,” he replies. “We aren’t there. Not at all.”

Half of them feel sick to their stomachs, the other half burn with rage.

“What does she remember?” Jimin asks, eyes glassy.

Namjoon’s jaw clenches.

“A bit from childhood, her parents, and...the facility.”

It looks like it physically hurts him to say it. A long, weighted moment of silence.

“Joon?” Yoongi says, looking up for the first time since they entered the kitchen.

The younger man meets his elder’s gaze, waiting in anticipation for what he will say next. The redness in Yoongi’s eyes makes Namjoon want to hug him.

“What happened there?” Yoongi finally brings himself to ask.

Namjoon’s throat bobs as everyone looks at him once again. It all comes back to him, the pain, the torture, the loneliness felt through your skin. The shadow of it, at least. The memory of it. The real thing must’ve felt much worse.

“Let us see,” Jimin suddenly says, taking an eager step forward.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jimin,” Namjoon replies, gravely serious.

“It would help us get inside her head, see what she’s dealing with,” he argues, looking around for support.

Taehyung and Jungkook look just as eager, while Hoseok looks tempted by morbid curiosity. Yoongi’s trying not to make eye contact, worried that it might give away the fact that he secretly agrees with Jimin.

Seeing that he’s clearly outnumbered, Namjoon lets out a defeated sigh.

“Alright, but just a glimpse,” he says.

They begin to gather closely around Namjoon, until he holds a hand up.

“Not you, Jimin,” he says sternly.

“Why?” the shorter man whines, upset at being the only one left out.

“I really don’t think you should see this. For your own good.”

Everyone knows that Jimin was briefly imprisoned at one of the same facilities, and every so often he gets triggered and descends into a rapid downward spiral plagued with nightmares and flashbacks.

He looks around and finds the rest of them looking at him imploringly. When he looks at Hoseok and Yoongi, they both give him a silent nod.

Jimin sighs and lets his shoulders sag. Despite the itch of not knowing, he trusts his partners to take care of him.

“Okay, hyung,” he says, stepping away to stand at the edge of the room.

Namjoon takes a deep inhale when they’ve all huddled in a semi-circle around him. Smoke begins to unfurl from his hands, his eyes clouding over. When he opens his mouth, a thick stream of gray vapor pours from his lips.

Everyone leans over to breathe it in while Jimin covers his mouth and pinches his nose.

They feel it burn down their throats and warm their lungs, singeing all along their veins until it reaches the depths of their minds.

Then their vision goes dark, eyes clouding over just like Namjoon’s. Cold fear crawls up their spines, the ghost of hunger sitting in their bellies.

A thousand images, feelings, and sensations flash through them.

Countless miserable nights sleeping on hard, wet stone. Being wakened with a bucket of freezing water. Gagging on rotten food scraps to soothe the never-ending ache of starvation.

A slap to the face every time you looked at an overseer without permission. Because you are beneath them, not even worthy to see the color of their eyes.

A kick to the ribs every time you made a single sound, every time you even breathed too loud.

The sting of needles, the heat of an iron brand. Electric shocks right to the nerve endings when you fell asleep without permission. Cigarettes stubbed out on your skin.

A spit in the face. Spit in your food, then being forced to eat it because it’s all you have. Having to lick water droplets off the rusted pipes.

Open wounds, tender bruises. An ache so deep it feels like you were born with it. Chained in awkward, uncomfortable positions for hours on end.

Disgusting thing. You are nothing. You will never leave this place. You disgrace the ground you walk on. I wish I could kill you myself.

Jungkook rips away first. He heaves the smoke out with violent, forceful breaths, stumbling back like it will distance him from what he’s seen.

Hoseok and Taehyung follow soon after, jerking away as they try to cough the memories out.

Yoongi lingers the longest. When he finally pulls away, his eyes are brimming with moisture.

None of them can hold it in any longer. Taehyung bursts into tears, face scrunching up with the weight of it all. He turns to the one closest to him, which is Jungkook, and lets his head fall on his shoulder.

Jungkook automatically puts a comforting hand on his head, fighting back tears himself.

Seeing someone they love go through all that, seeing them get treated like dirt, it hurts it hurts it hurts.

Hoseok nearly bites through his tongue. All he can think about is revenge, making the ones who did this to you regret it more than they’ve ever regretted anything in their lives.

Jimin feels like he might throw up. Not because he’s in pain, but because he’s seeing his mates in pain, so much pain. And their pain pales in comparison to yours.

He’s grateful to Namjoon, grateful that he didn’t let him see inside your head.

Jungkook’s chest hiccups with sobs, and Jimin takes hold of Taehyung so Jungkook can fold up against Hoseok.

Tae buries his head in the fold of Jimin’s neck. Hoseok wraps Jungkook in a bear hug to soothe his hitching breaths.

Yoongi, who’s held strong up until this point, finally succumbs and lets himself go limp in Namjoon’s hold, who was right behind him in case he should need him.

For several minutes, the air is filled with nothing but heart-wrenching cries and quiet snivels.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, she’s safe now,” Namjoon says to no one in particular, still supporting Yoongi’s weight.

Jungkook’s gaze has gone foggy. The hell of that place won’t get out of his head. All he can think of is how he wasn’t there, he wasn’t there to take the pain instead. It should’ve been him.

Taehyung’s balling like a baby, he couldn’t speak if he tried to. His chest is close to bursting, swollen with so many emotions that he can’t decide which ones hurt the most. The pain of knowing what you went through, the rage towards the ones responsible, the guilt of not being there to protect you, the sorrow of knowing that he’s a stranger to you now.

Jimin is torn between breaking down himself and being strong for his mates. He feels the pressure behind his eyes, but he blinks it away and holds Taehyung tighter, rubbing soothing circles on his back.

“Why?” Tae asks in a broken voice, finally saying what they’re all thinking.

Why would anyone do this?

“They must’ve not wanted her to know what she was capable of,” Namjoon answers.

It makes sense. You were a skilled caster along with Yoongi, the spells you and him collaborated on were some of the most powerful they’d ever seen. You were incredibly knowledgeable after spending years studying alongside Namjoon, partnering with him during many of his research projects.

You were always sharp, strong, and absolutely deadly in your final form.

“What are we going to do?” Jungkook asks, barely above a whisper.

“What we’ve always done,” Yoongi replies almost instantly, shifting to fully support his own weight. “We’re going to do what’s best for her.”

Seeing him regain his quiet composure gives the rest of them the strength to wipe the last of their tears away.

“She’s been kept in isolation, starved...tortured.”

They all hear the catch in Yoongi’s voice at the word.

“Her trust in people has been completely broken. It will take some time before she feels safe again, before she can handle a normal diet, before she’s comfortable with being touched.”

That part is going to be difficult for most of them. After all the years of hand-holding, cuddling, all the comforting embraces, it’s going to be hard to refrain from trying to soothe you with physical touch.

“No doubt she’s overwhelmed and confused as it is,” Yoongi says, then he pauses like he’s gearing up to say something difficult.

“So I think it’s best if we don’t overwhelm her further by telling her who we are. At least not now.”

Silence. Uncomfortable, choking silence.

“Just...pretend we haven’t met before?” Hoseok says, disbelieving.

“Not pretend, just...don’t acknowledge it,” Yoongi says. “Right now, we’re just a group of strangers that whisked her away from everything she ever knew.”

“We don’t even know how much she knows about what we are. Everyone knows the standard protocol for those places is extended brainwashing,” Namjoon adds.

That makes them stop and think. What does she know about atypicals? Did they make you despise them like Southerners do? Do you even know about the soul bond? Do you even know what you are?

“Won’t that make her feel lied to?” Jimin asks.

“I assume she’d feel more lied to if we tried to convince her that she’s known us for years. It might make her feel like we’re trying to trick her into trusting us,” Namjoon explains.

“It might pressure her into trying to remember things she can’t, to be the person she used to be,” Jungkook says, eyes still glazed over.

And all of them know that you’ll never be the person you used to be.

“She has to trust us on her own, not because we tell her that she should,” Yoongi asserts.

Another stretch of silence.

“For how long?” Tae asks.

“Not for long, just until she feels safe here. Until she decides that she wants to stay here, Yoongi continues.

“I don’t know,” Taehyung says. He doesn’t know if he can pretend that you’re not his mate, like you aren’t a vital piece of him.

“We’ll just take it day by day,” Hoseok begins, seeming more convinced by the whole idea. “Right now, our biggest priority should be making her feel safe.”

Nods all around.

“What...” Jimin starts, voice trailing off with uncertainty. “What if she wants to leave?”

None of them can think of a reply to that.

The next second, footsteps sound from the hallway. The shifters can smell you coming, and you no longer stink of dried blood.

Jin rounds the corner, closely followed by your sluggish form, looking exhausted and shaky.

A jolt of fear in your chest from being confronted by all of them again, and the rest of them feel it in the pit of their hearts. The fact that their own mate feels endangered by them, in your own home, elicits a fresh sting.

There’s a moment of dull quiet where nobody moves, too afraid to make a wrong move.

Yet again, their leader guides them in the right direction.

Namjoon steps forward with a warm smile on his face, slouching his shoulders to look less tall and threatening in your eyes.

“You must be hungry.”

Chapter Text

“You must be hungry.”

The man called Joon says with a warm smile.

You're reminded of the intense pit in your stomach, heavy despite being painfully empty. The prospect of food makes your attention sharpen, but you still look around the room to gauge the other's reactions in case it’s some kind of trick question.

Through your hazy vision, you can feel everyone staring, and somehow the atmosphere seems heavier. Some of their eyes are red and puffy, you even think you hear stifled sniffling.

And they're all looking at you so strangely.

The man who spoke to you earlier, the shorter one with dark hair, his eyes hold both sorrow and the light of something hopeful. The man with the silvery-white hair is looking at you like there's a million things he wants to say, but every single one of them is stuck in his throat. And the one with the curly black hair can only look at you for a few seconds before he has to rip his eyes away.

Something doesn't feel right here.

The tall man is still looking at you, probably waiting for a reaction, so you muster up enough energy to shake your head.

A look of confusion crosses his face.

“You’re not hungry?” he says as if he doesn’t believe you for a second.

The rest of them exchange a look, making you anxiously shift your weight between your feet.

Again, Jimin recognizes the look on your face. It’s the look of someone who wants to run, someone who wants to hide and never be found.

He feels another sad lurch in his heart, but tells himself that you won’t feel like this forever, like your own home holds danger around every corner.

You won’t feel this way for long, hopefully.

Even though your body is swaying with exhaustion, throat dry and mind foggy, you finally direct some of your focus to your surroundings. For the first time, you ignore the strange men and look around the room.

It appears to be a large kitchen, lined with dark wood and jade-green cabinets. Brass pots and pans hang from hooks above your head, along with several potted plants with draping, vine-like branches.

The countertops hold baskets overflowing with ripe vegetables and bundles of greens, an abundance of shiny appliances, and what looks like a rack of freshly baked bread.

“Just a little something, then,” Jin says from behind you. “You need the nutrients, I’m afraid.”

You flinch so hard you almost bump into him, far too distracted to realize that he was standing so close.

But he doesn’t punish you for your reaction. Instead, all he responds with is an understanding smile.

“I’ll whip something up,” the shorter man with dark hair says. Eyes suddenly gripped with determination, he crosses the room to stand behind one of the marble counters.

“Kook, Jimin, will you give me a hand?” he asks, pulling utensils and ingredients out of the cupboards.

The muscular man and the silver-haired man immediately hurry over and eagerly assist him. They start to debate over the best thing to make, whether it’s something light or something hearty or something filling.

“Nothing too heavy, we don’t want to upset her stomach,” the small dark-haired one says as he fills a small pot with milk and sets it on the stove.

Maybe it’s the fog in your brain, but it takes you a few moments to realize that they’re talking about you, they’re concerned about you. Not only about what to feed you, but what will potentially cause you discomfort.

It’s a strange thought, after being on your own for so long.

“Kook, can you grab my kit from the apothecary,” the dark-haired man says.

The muscular man, Kook, nods vigorously and breaks out in full-on sprint from the room.

“And the blorebush extract!”

“Got it, hyung!”

He returns in a few short moments, carrying a weathered leather case and a bottle of green oil.

The dark-haired man opens the case and begins to crush a handful of herbs in a mortar and pestle while the silver-haired man chops blocks of chocolate into chunks.

“Let’s go sit down, okay?” Jin says, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder and guiding you out of the room.

The room you settle into next is even bigger than the kitchen. A living room, by the looks of it, with wood floors and high ceilings. The majority of the walls are made of glass, offering a bright view of the surrounding landscape. All you can see is miles of thick trees and gray skies.

You follow them down a few steps to the sunken semi-circle of couches, cautiously sitting down after the rest of them do so first and look at you like they’re waiting for you to follow suit.

You can’t help but brush a hand over the soft, deep green material, trying to remember the last time you were allowed to sit on something so comfortable.

“How are you feeling now?” The man called Joon asks, leaning over with his elbows on his knees.

One quick look around and you realize that everyone is looking at you again, waiting for your reply.

But it’s like your throat has closed up, unable to produce words after so long in disuse. So all you offer is a slight nod.

“That’s good,” he says, seemingly content with your lack of words. “You can let any of us know if you need anything. Jin here is our resident doctor, so we’re equipped to deal with almost anything.”

Another pause of anticipating silence. You nod again.

They all exchange another look.

“I’m Namjoon, by the way,” the man says, gesturing to himself, then looking to his right.

The man at his side clears his throat and grins at you. He’s thin with angular features and dark brown hair, smile big and blinding.

“I’m Hoseok, but you can call me Hobi if you like.”

The man to his side, the one with curly black hair, has an uncomfortable look on his face.

“Taehyung,” he says like it pains him to say it.

You avert your eyes from him quickly.

“She can’t seem to remember her name,” Jin says suddenly, giving them a meaningful look.

A mix of confusion and sadness flits across their features.

“Well,” Namjoon begins, sounding a little breathless. “That’s...that’s quite a shame.”

A weighted stretch of silence.

“What...what should we call you?” Hoseok asks cautiously.

Shifting in your seat from the attention, you fidget before shrugging your shoulders.

If you could speak, you would say that you don’t care what they call you. It can’t be worse than all the things you were called before. You’re not sure you’ll even be here for long anyway.

“We can figure that out later,” Namjoon says, seeming to sense that you don’t plan on answering anytime soon.

“Can you tell us what you remember about the facility?” he asks instead.

It’s you who looks up in confusion now.

Facility? You’ve never heard anything about a facility.

He seems to notice your hesitation.

“The place we found you in. How long were you there?”

Brows furrowing, you wrack your brain for some kind of estimate. It’s difficult considering that all of it was spent in a windowless room, in darkness, or so out of it that the spectrum of time became completely warped.

They know all too well that you were taken about six months ago, but were you imprisoned in just one place, or were you moved around to better hide the location?

You remember the overseers, sometimes coming in regular intervals, sometimes leaving you to rot without food for days at a time.

Namjoon can see the frustration building in your expression.

“Do you remember being moved to another location?” he asks.

You shake your head, eyes trained on the ground in thought.

“Do you remember being asked for any information?”

You shake your head again. All they seemed to be interested in was hurting you.

“Were you ever involved in any experiments?”

For a minute, your eyes flick over the hardwood floor. Then you remember the serums.

When you look up with a new sense of alertness, Namjoon looks both horrified and interested.

It’s then that the other three men return. One of them places a bowl of chopped fruit on the coffee table in front of you, another sets down a plate of hot buttered toast, and the thin dark-haired man begins to ladle a creamy mocha-colored liquid into a mug, steam rising in fragrant tendrils.

You feel your stomach clench.

“This should help you feel better,” he says as he fills the cup to the top.

Even after the rest of them sit down, you make no move to reach for it.

It’s strange, but now that they’re all here together, the feeling in your chest is starting to ache again.

Sitting to your right is the silver-haired man, and something about his proximity makes warmth bloom across your skin. You can feel him sneaking glances at you.

Breaking the silence, he shifts in his seat to turn in your direction.

“Hi,” he says softly, voice light and airy. “I’m Jimin.”

You take the risk of looking up at him, and it’s worth it.

His eyes are a warm brown, brimming with kindness. Plump, pink-tinged cheeks puffed up in a smile. He has a trustworthy face, one that makes the feeling in your chest flutter like you’re greeting an old friend.

“This is Jungkook,” he says, gesturing to the muscular man who’s starting at you with wide, doe-like eyes. Dark, intricate tattoos are mapped over his right arm, one silver ring piercing his eyebrow. He flashes you a smile too, and it’s unexpectedly boyish and innocent despite his intimidating appearance.

“And I’m Yoongi,” says a voice off to the side.

You turn towards it, and you’re met with the face of the thin dark-haired man looking down at you. His jaw is clenched, eyes hard-focused. But once you meet his gaze, his expression softens.

He smiles for the first time, eyes creasing into crescents.

This time your whole torso seems to ignite.

Heat flares in your cheeks, and you avert your gaze back to the floor.

“Eat, please,” Yoongi says. “It’s for you.”

Silence as you survey the food in front of you, skeptically.

They try to hide their sadness, the ache they feel at the fact that you don’t feel safe enough to take food even though you’re starving.

“Kook, can you get me a cup?” Jimin asks.

Jungkook shoots up from his seat, more than ready to be of help. He returns in a few seconds with a mug and hands it to him.

Jimin begins to ladle some of the frothy liquid into his cup, blowing the steam away. He takes a big sip, then looks right at you.

Jimin knows what it feels like to have his food or drink drugged, and the lingering fear that sticks with afterwards.

He tries to communicate with his eyes, a look that says see? it’s okay. nothing’s going to hurt you.

He swallows with emphasis, letting you know that he hasn’t faked it.

You glance back and forth between him and the food, looking conflicted.

The fruit looks clean and fresh, with nothing to indicate that something has been sprinkled on it, and the toast is perfectly golden with an even spread of butter.

Another growl erupts from your stomach.

There’s still a possibility that the food has been drugged, but you decide that you’ll take the risk if it means getting to eat something. And even if it is, at least you’ll know for sure not to trust these people.

Everyone lets out a silent sigh of relief when you grab the mug and cradle the bowl of fruit in your lap like it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever held. Nibbling at the corner of the toast, your eyes drift closed for a moment in barely suppressed bliss.

From what you can remember, it’s the best thing you’ve ever eaten.

You barely pay attention to the rest of what they’re saying, too engrossed in the way the drink warms your whole body. The salt from the butter invigorates your dull taste buds, and the cool fruit down you throat refreshes your senses.

By the time you’ve cleaned both plates, your stomach feels less cavernous and your brain is functioning much better.

You don’t realize that one of them has asked you a question until you feel them all staring again.

Namjoon smiles patiently, looking pleased that you accepted the food.

“Feel better?” he asks softly.

You give a slight nod, telling yourself that the heat in your face is from the drink.

“What kind of things did they do?” he presses.

You remember the sting of needles, the haze of drug-induced fever. Passing out on the cold, hard floor. Feeling like your skin was peeling off your bones. An ache so deep it nearly drove you mad.

Another long stretch of silence as the memories flood back.

“Whatever you can remember.”

You can remember a lot of things about that place. The problem is convincing your mouth to obey your mind.

You nervously lick your lips, the boys hanging onto your every move.

A dry, strangled sound leaves your throat.

Jungkook jumps out of his seat, making you flinch, and runs to the kitchen. He returns with a glass of water and puts it in your hand.

This time you down the whole thing with little hesitation.

“Injections,” you croak out.

They all feel a burst of joy from hearing you speak, but hide it behind a mask of nonchalance.

“Injections?” Namjoon says. “What kind of effect did they have?

You remember sweating until your skin was slick, vision blurring to near blindness.

“Weak,” is all you can say.

They all exchange a look. The F&F has been known to conduct experiments on atypical prisoners, some of them too horrific to mention.

The cogs in Jin’s mind begin to turn, thinking of all the ways he can test to see if these “injections” have any long-term effects. And all the ways he can make the people who did this to you suffer.

“You—” the rest trails off.

All of them look up at your attempt at speaking, hearts pounding.

“You should have left me there.”

And just like that, their hearts break all over again.

“What?” Jungkook says, voice sounding like he’s about to cry.

“They’ll be looking for you, they’ll hurt you.”

They almost feel sick to their stomachs. If only you knew that they’d risk even more for your sake. But they have to remember that you don’t know who they are, you don’t remember all the things they’ve done for you.

Jin discreetly clears his throat and blinks away the moisture in his eyes.

“They won’t find you here,” he says with as much conviction he can muster.

You look up at him, face full of fear and disbelief.

“There’s three levels of wards around the house,” Yoongi adds. “They would need an army of casters to break through.”

“Caster?” you say hesitantly.

None of them look displeased at your questions. Their expressions remain open and friendly.

“A spell caster,” Yoongi clarifies.

The fact that he has to explain it to you hurts his heart a little. Maybe it’s a selfish feeling, but he can’t help but remember all the times the two of you would spend hours in the apothecary, sometimes all night, playing around with different spells and runes.

“They’ll be looking for you, they’ll find you. They—”

“Listen,” Jin interrupts you gently.

You immediately go silent and lock eyes with him.

“We protect people like us. No one is going to hurt you anymore. I promise.”

He says it all with strong conviction, keeping his eyes trained on yours.

Again, your brows furrow in confusion.

“People like us?” you say in a near whisper, afraid of the answer.

Now they look just as confused as you.

“You don’t know what you are?” Namjoon asks.

You shake your head.

They all look at each other sadly. For a while, they say nothing.

You don’t know what to think. Panic starts to build in your chest again, breath quickening as Yoongi rises to his feet and leaves the room.

Blood pounding in your ears, you twitch in your seat.

They’re going to hurt you, they’re going to lock you away and beat you because you’re an abomination. Whatever you are, it isn’t right.

Yoongi returns just as the nausea resurfaces in your stomach. He has a leather-bound book in his arms, and he sets it down on the coffee table in front of you.

Flipping open the front cover, he turns to one of the bookmarked pages.

“This...” he starts, sounding unsure of how exactly to phrase it. “This is you.”

Chapter Text

“This is you.”

The man is pointing at a detailed image drawn in faded ink. The rest of the page is filled with scripted text and anatomical diagrams.

You can’t look at first, scared of what you’ll find.

When you finally do, you don’t know what to think. There’s the thought that he’s kidding, he’s lying. He can’t be serious.

The drawing is of a creature with tawny-feathered wings extending magnificently in the air. It has the body of a powerful big cat, muscular yet elegant. Its four legs end in sharp-taloned feet. Its neck is framed by a golden mane, looking like a big frilly collar. The mane’s trail travels down the creature’s chest and back, ending in a flowing tail. It has the face of a lion, with white whiskers and deep yellow eyes, yet the regal posture of an eagle.

A diagram off to the left shows the inside of its mouth, lined with row upon row of sharp teeth and protruding fangs.

Looking back up, you search the faces of the men around you. None of them appear to be joking.

You can’t speak.

You’re one of them, one of the creatures they all despised. The creatures that roam the wild lands for easy prey, spreading carnage wherever they go.

No wonder they hated you so much. You’re not even human.

A few silent, involuntary tears fall from your eyes, which are locked back on the page. You wipe them away hastily.

The boys don’t know how to react, all looking at each other with concern.

“What...” you squeak out, voice choked. “What is it?”

“A gryffin,” Yoongi replies. “You’re a shifter.”

Something gurgles in your stomach. You clench your teeth, nails digging deep into the meat of your thighs.

You believe him. You don’t want to, but you believe him. You’ve always felt less than human, like something wasn’t right about you. Like something was just beneath the surface, clawing its way up.

Now you know why.

Jungkook, who’s sitting closest to you, slowly, cautiously puts his hand on your shoulder in an effort to comfort you.

But you flinch at his touch, jerking away.

You don’t catch the look of hurt that flits across his face. He knows you can’t help it, but it still stings to think that his touch physically repels you.

“What did they tell you about atypicals?” Namjoon presses, trying to shift your attention so you won’t look so disheartened by the reality of what you are.

From the way you look at him, he knows that you’ve never heard that word before. Or at least you don’t remember it.

“Atypicals are anything that falls out of the humanic species,” he explains patiently.

Your face scrunches in confusion.

“Humanic as in human,” he elaborates.

You don’t understand why he’s talking like that. You’ve never heard these terms before. In the place you came from, the “facility,” anything that wasn’t human was an abomination, a mistake in the eyes of nature.

Simple as that.

But here, things seem to be a bit more complicated.

Nausea is starting to bubble in your gut. You breathe carefully through your nose as you consider Namjoon’s question.

“They said...” you begin hesitantly.

They’re all on the edge of their seats, desperately wondering what those bastards brainwashed you to believe about their kind, your own kind.

“They said that they were monsters.”

Another pang of hurt thrums through their hearts.

“That...that they deserved to be hunted down like dogs.”

They can hear the pain in your own voice, either from witnessing their cruel behavior, or from realizing that you’ve been the target of it this whole time.

Your stomach churns.

“They said I wasn’t even worthy to lick the ground they walked on.”

They can all hear you choking on your tears, despite your attempts to hide it.

Jimin and Jungkook feel like their chests are going to burst from holding it in, both the sorrow they feel for you and the urge to rush forward and drown you in affection.

Jin and Namjoon have storms raging inside their heads. Namjoon is calculating, trying to decode what exactly their motive was and how to use it to track down the ones in charge of it all. Jin’s mind is reeling with ways to undo the damage they’ve done, mentally and physically.

Yoongi is swimming waist-deep in despair. He can’t help but think of what’s to come. You’ll have to relearn everything. How to shift, how to fight, how to cast. That is, if you even want to.

You feel the newly strung tension in the air, looking like you just realized you said all of those things out loud.

One look around the room, and your newly found voice retreats deep into your throat.

The man called Namjoon, his eyes have darkened, jaw clenched and ticking like he’s grinding his teeth.

The one who tended to your wounds is sitting stiffly in his chair, staring ahead with a new sharpness in his face.

The small dark-haired man has his hands clenched, prominent veins crawling up his arms.

You duck your head down, body stiff with nerves.

“You have to know,” Yoongi begins, voice calm as ever despite the rage just below the surface. “That’s not how most people think. Especially not here.”

Here in the North Regions, atypicals make up the majority of the population. Law enforcement, government, and public works are largely run by them, and prejudice is rarely an issue.

But how could you know that now?

They can all see the change. It’s almost instantaneous, the way your face shifts and loses all semblance of emotion. Just like that, the mask is back up.

Then there’s something else. A slight twitch from your nose, a well-hidden shudder. They can see your throat bobbing.

For a few seconds, it looks like you’re about to say something. Your tongue is moving inside your mouth, and you’re blinking rapidly.

Namjoon is about to utter some gentle encouragement, but a jolt racks through your body, making you hunch over.

All of a sudden you’re vomiting up everything you just ate.

Hoseok, Jungkook and Jimin can’t help but jump to their feet, panicked noises filling the air.

Taehyung’s eyes widen. All his limbs go rigid, paralyzing him in his seat. He feels sick himself.

Jin, Namjoon, and Yoongi all look at each other.

Yoongi thrusts into action, heading to the kitchen with Jungkook in tow since he isn’t good around pungent-smelling things.

Namjoon starts giving instructions. Jimin, paper towels. Hobi, get the mop. Said men jolt into action, scrambling to do whatever they can to help.

Jin’s eyes have been fixed on you for some time now, catching your every move, including all the suppressed flinches and tremors.

He’s at your side in an instant, on his knees to try to catch your eyes. But it’s no use, you’re squeezing your eyes shut like you’re expecting to be hit.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he mutters in his gentlest voice. “It’s no big deal. No one is upset with you.”

As much as he wants to, he refrains from touching you right away.

Eyes still tightly shut, you flinch away from the sound of his voice, twitching with anxiety.

Jin can see you start to spiral, so he does the only thing he knows will work.

“Hey,” he begins, voice firmer than it was before. “Look at me.”

Your eyes snap open, shining with moisture.

“That’s my girl,” Jin says before he can help it. “You’re going to calm down for me, yeah?”

Your eyes desperately search his face, looking for any sign of anger or deception. You find none, not even a hint of disgust, and your breathing starts to slow.

All that’s there is the man who tended to your wounds, watching you with those patient eyes. His handsome face is calm, attentively anticipating whatever you need right now.

Sweat gathers on your skin. That same sensation crawls up your throat, saliva pooling in your mouth.

Jin notices the signs immediately.

“Come with me,” he orders softly, putting a light hand on your back and leading you to the nearest bathroom.

You don’t know what to do with yourself.

You remember vomiting a few times at the facility. Once from eating a rotten vegetable, the mold making it impossible to identify. And once when a handful of keepers had held you down, repeatedly punching you in the stomach, until you gave in and called yourself a mutt.

Both times you were severely punished for making a mess. You learned to hold it in your mouth and swallow it down after that.

Jin guides you to kneel over the toilet. He keeps talking to you, but you only process half of what he’s saying.

“Go ahead, let it out,”

You can feel it creeping up, burning and sour. But something deeper, something almost instinctual, tells you to keep it down.

“Stop holding it in, sweetheart,” he says, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “It’s not good for you. It’s okay to let go.”

Before you can think to suppress it, another wave of nausea surges through your body. The crescendo of it makes you wretch, emptying the last of your stomach’s contents.

“Good, good, just get it all out,” he encourages instead of beating you until you can’t breathe.

The bile is bitter in your mouth, but not more bitter than the dread clinging to your entire being.

He’s not going to punish me, you finally realize. It’s almost an impossible thought.

For a moment, you stay hunched over, frozen. Not sure what to do next.

“Here, come wash your mouth out,” Jin says, helping you stand up on shaky legs.

The sound of running water rings in your ears. You feel the coolness against your tongue, but barely register that you’re the one cupping it to your lips. Numb. You feel like you’re controlling your body from the outside rather than the inside.

“Now, let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

You look up at him for the first time in a while. His face is as kind as it was before, with the same full-lipped smile and warm brown eyes.

The man starts to lead you out of the room, that same gentle hand resting on your back.

It isn’t until then that you realize you’re still in the grimy clothes they found you in. And now the entire front of your shirt is stained with even more filth.

You glance into the living room as you pass through the hallway.

The other men are diligently cleaning the area you just soiled. The small dark-haired man and the muscular man are missing, though you can hear rustling from the kitchen.

The one with the jet black hair and bright face catches your eye, flashing a reassuring smile. It makes you rip your eyes away.

Jin guides you into the living room, and everyone immediately looks your way.

Shrinking, you’re shrinking into yourself as much as your body will allow.

“Someone run a bath,” Jin announces. “I think it’s time our little guest got some sleep in clean clothes.”

The fair-haired one steps forward and exchanges a subtle look with Jin, who’s standing slightly behind you.

“Would you follow me?” the shorter man says, holding out his hand.

It’s the one with the silver-gray hair and warm eyes. You think his name is Jimin. His face is soft and friendly. It asks a silent question: will you trust me?

You don’t take his hand, but you do take a step up the stairs in the direction he’s leading you.

You don’t catch it, but Jimin and Jin exchange a heartfelt glance, nearly ecstatic at the fact that you’re beginning to trust them.

Jimin leads you up the stairs as the rest of them settle things downstairs.

When you reach the top, he guides you down a spacious hallway that’s filled with potted plants and window light.

Every single door, down to the very end of the hall, is open. Whether it’s open wide or just a crack, not one of them is closed or locked. You’re not used to it.

The man, Jimin, stops at a door halfway down the hall and looks back to check if you’re still following him.

You stop a few feet away from him, still keeping your distance, but your expression is open and neutral, waiting on his next move.

He gives you a calm smile, and continues into the room with you behind him.

This room is just as bright and inviting as the rest of the house. White walls and clean tile floors, but this time with a large porcelain tub and a sink with marble countertops.

The man turns to look at you with a question in his eyes.

“Shower or bath?” he asks.

It’s a harmless question, a considerate question. But your mind is yanked back to that place.

Shower. A torrent of fire raining down on you, vision blinded by steam. It comes from every angle, unrelenting no matter how much you scream.

They would strip you down and lock you in a metal stall the size of a coffin. Then the dotted ceiling would unleash a downpour of near-boiling water.

You would bang on the walls, but the water made the metal surface just as hot, the floor burning the bottom of your feet. Minutes or hours they kept you in there, not letting you out until your body was covered in burn marks.

Bath. The most intense cold you’ve ever felt. It’s everywhere, submerging you up to the neck, seeping down to your very bones.

They would chain you down in a tub full of ice, nothing but your head poking out of the frigid water. The cold chains cut into your skin the more you struggled. Your lungs would heave from the shock of it, your whole body shivering violently.

Then they would hold your head underwater until you were bucking like a stuck pig. This went on until you were utterly exhausted, falling limp against the freezing porcelain with nothing but the tight chains holding you up.

You’re snapped back to reality when the man takes a step closer. He’s watching you closely, trying to read your face.

Finally remembering that he asked you a question, you shrug your shoulders and shake your head.

You don’t want either. You don’t want to be anywhere near that tub. You want him to leave you alone.

Jimin guesses that the gesture means you don’t care which one. He figures you’re most likely still weak from malnourishment, and he doesn’t want you fainting and hitting your head.

So he opts for a bath, turning on the faucet. He sits on the edge of the tub, hand under the spout to monitor the temperature.

The sound of running water makes every muscle in your body tense up. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

It’s going to hurt, it’s going to hurt. The fire, the ice, it’s going to burn and sting and cut into your flesh. You won’t be able to escape it.

Jimin doesn’t notice it at first, too focused on adjusting the knobs to get the water not too hot and not too cold, but your breathing has picked up again.

You can already feel it filling your ears, your mouth, rushing down your throat as your head is held down. Your skin prickles from the heat, it quivers from the cold.

The water in the tub continues to rise, and you can’t move. Your body is frozen, feet rooted to the floor as the sound of sloshing roars louder and louder in your ears.

Halfway full, now. It’s coming any second. He’s going to turn on you, throw you down and hold you under.

Burning, freezing. It’ll hurt and hurt and hurt.

Jimin turns his head, and his stomach drops.

Your eyes are squeezed shut, lips pursed like you’re trying to bite back a scream. Fists clenched at your sides, shoulders trembling, as your chest heaves up and down.

Immediately, he jumps to his feet and rushes over to you.

“What is it, babe? What’s wrong?”

Then he makes a big mistake. He puts his hands on you.

His touch is gentle, nonthreatening, nothing but two hands on your shoulders. But you don’t want it, you’re repulsed by it. Because touch always comes before the pain.

On instinct, your body jerks away, arms moving to push the unwelcome touch away, just get it away. Your hands collide against something, hard.

When you open your eyes, the man is on the floor. Sprawled on his back, looking up at you with wide, slightly watery eyes.

There’s shock plastered on both of your faces.

Jimin’s soft heart hurts a little, he can’t help it. In all the years he’s known you, loved you, you’ve never ever been repelled by him. But that hurt is soon drowned by guilt.

He scared you, he made you feel unsafe. You felt the need to protect yourself and it’s his fault.

You’re staring at your hands in horror, completely floored by what you’ve done. You’re in for it now. He tried to help you and you hurt him. Now they’re going to hurt you even more.

Several sets of pounding footsteps draw near. The others must have heard the thud from downstairs and rushed up to see what was wrong.

What they don’t expect to find is Jimin crumpled on the floor and you standing over him in a braced position, but that’s exactly what they see when they peer through the doorway.

They’re all a little astonished, Jin and Namjoon are thinking deeply, and something in Taehyung’s eyes shifts.

He isn’t proud of it, but a surge of protectiveness washes over him, for his Jimin. He knows it’s unreasonable, unfair even. But it’s still there. And he can’t snuff it out.

A new fear consumes you. You were insubordinate, you resisted. You know what comes next.

A sob gets trapped in your throat as you sink down to the floor, burying your head in-between your knees and using your arms to shield yourself.

Immediately, the same way Jimin did, they all rush forward to comfort you.

“No!” Jimin blurts out, making you flinch and shake violently. “Don’t touch, give her some space.”

They all obey, keeping their distance with concern flooding their features.

Jimin shifts onto his knees, scooting a little closer but still keeping enough away.

“I’m sorry,” he nearly whispers, like he’s talking to a wild, cornered animal. “It was my fault entirely. I shouldn’t have touched you. I’m truly sorry.”

Jimin’s voice has always been soothing, even in the darkest times, and your breathing slows a little.

Jimin realizes that the faucet is still running, and he reaches over to switch it off. Then it comes to him.

He turns back to your trembling form, still waiting for the pain to come.

“You’re scared of the water, aren’t you?” he asks gently.

He doesn’t expect you to reply, he just wants to let you know that he’s trying to understand you, to help you.

You nod slightly.

It shocks them all again. You’re becoming more responsive.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Jimin says with all the sincerity he can muster. “It’s not your fault. I promise I won’t do that again.”

Your shoulders gradually stop trembling, breath coming evenly now.

Jimin looks at his mates and gestures for them to give you some more space so you can calm down.

They all do as he says, except Tae. He lingers in the doorway, his piercing eyes flickering between you and Jimin, thinking.

The two men exchange a meaningful glance. Jimin gives him a reassuring smile and nods his head as if to say “There’s nothing to worry about. I got this.”

Tae gives a slight nod back and turns to leave, throwing one last look at you.

Jimin sees the hint of distrust hidden in that look. He files it away for later.

Turning his attention back to you, Jimin looks at the tub and thinks of a solution.

“You don’t have to get in the tub, okay? We can just...” Jimin opens the cupboard under the sink and takes out a handful of washcloths.

“Like this, see?” He dips one of the cloths in the water, using it to wipe down his face.

“Is that okay?” he asks.

You scan his face. Those big brown eyes are full to the brim with kindness, as if you didn’t just hurt him moments ago.

You nod.

Jimin smiles so big it almost hurts his cheeks, heart swelling as you hesitantly hold your hand open. He puts another cloth in your waiting palm.

“Okay, here’s the soap, shampoo, conditioner. You can wash your face with this. Use whatever you want, okay?”

You look at him, trying to convey with your eyes what your mouth can’t say. He stays there for a moment, sitting with you on the tile, answering your every question with just his expression.

It’s okay. You’re safe here. No one is going to hurt you. You can trust me. I understand you.

Breaking from his reverie, Jimin gets up and moves to leave.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” he says, swinging the door closed.

You shoot forward and grab the knob just before it shuts.

Jimin jumps a little, whipping back around. There’s confusion on his face, then understanding.

“Okay, we’ll leave it open just like this. I’ll be just outside if you need anything, okay?”

You feel the tension release from your chest, and nod back.

Another warm smile, and then he disappears into the next room.

He’s not going to lock you in. Another impossible realization.

Turning around, you stare at the full tub. Your heartbeat skitters a little, but you take a step towards it anyways.

When you dip your fingertips in the clear water, you expect it to be scalding, or cold enough to numb, but it’s neither. The water is warm and calm, it doesn’t burn, it doesn’t sting.

Another breath releases from your lungs.

You use the cloth and soap to wipe down your whole body, shedding your dirty clothes and tossing them aside. Soon the tub is cloudy from the dirt on the washcloth. You even dip your hair into the water and use a little shampoo to get some of the grime out.

You sit there and wash yourself until the water turns cold. Using the counter to steady yourself, you slowly come to a stand, even though your legs are aching.

The sight in front of you is enough to shock you into silence again.

You can’t remember the last time you saw your reflection. You wish you weren’t seeing it now.

The person in the mirror is ugly and pathetic. Her short hair is a mangled mess. Haphazardly cut with a pair of dull scissors, it sticks out in all different angles. Her eyes are blank and lifeless, red-rimmed and surrounded by dark circles. There’s a large, hideous scar across her left cheek, deep and forked like a flash of lightning.

Her body is weak and repulsive. Slouching forward, she’s barely able to hold herself up. She’s covered in scars and marks, all over her legs, her arms, her torso.

You know there are worse scars behind you.

Horrifically entranced, you slowly reach up to touch the scar across her face, your face. Your fingertips meet the textured tissue, and then there’s the pain.

It’s not a physical pain, it doesn’t originate from the scar itself. It’s a pain deep in your chest, spreading and infecting the rest of your body. It maims you, twists your insides, disfigures your soul.

You muffle the silent scream with a hand over your mouth. Knees buckling, you barely have any strength left to keep yourself upright.

You’re barely you. You don’t remember who you were before, but you know it wasn’t this.

A gentle knock on the door.

You immediately stifle any signs of discomfort, snapping the mask back on with frightening accuracy.

Jimin’s arms poke through the gap in the door. He sets a bundle of clothes on the counter.

“Here you go," his pleasant voice says. “Please let me know if they’re comfortable enough.”

You wait a good twenty seconds before you reach for them. A warm green sweater and soft cotton pants.

You hurriedly slip them on to hide your disgusting body.

Leaning closer to the door, you try to hear beyond the wood. Hushed voices, muted footsteps.

“Ready, love?” a smooth voice sounds from just behind the door.

You flinch away, trying your best to make your hair look less unkempt.

It’s Jin who cautiously swings the door open, greeting you with an affectionate smile.

“Much better, hmm?” he says.

You manage a curt nod, following him with your head down to another room.

It’s the room from earlier, the one with the massive bed. The rest of them are here waiting, muttering quiet words until you arrive. Then they go silent and set their eyes on you, asking a question you can’t understand.

Why are they all looking at you? You don’t like it, not at all. People who look like them shouldn’t look at someone like you. You’re wrong, inside and out.

They all notice the change. Now your eyes are trained on the ground, head bent and shoulders folding in on yourself like you wish you would disappear.

Jin ushers you towards the humongous bed, encouraging you to settle in under the covers. He tucks the comforter around your body, fluffing the pillows behind your head.

“There, nice and cozy,” he says, sounding satisfied for the time being. “Rest up, okay love? You’ve been through a lot.”

Why are they talking to you like that? You’re disgusting. They should be throwing you out on the streets to fend for yourself like a common rat.

The small dark-haired man kneels down next to you. He hands you a mug of steaming amber liquid, using the bed sheets to shield your hands from the hot surface.

“This should settle your stomach,” he says.

While Jimin was getting you cleaned up, Yoongi and Jungkook were hard at work cooking up a tincture for your nausea. Essence of lavender to help you sleep, peppermint to refresh your throat, a little ginger to ease your stomach, and some of Yoongi’s highest-quality potions to replenish your nutrients. And, of course, Jin stirred in a copious amount of honey to sweeten it up.

You hold the cup in your hands like it’s a ticking time bomb.

Yoongi looks at his mates in confusion and concern, not sure what to do. Jimin catches his gaze, and gestures wildly with his hands. He exaggeratedly mimics holding the cup and taking a sip, and then Yoongi understands.

He gently takes the mug from your hands and holds it up to his nose.

“Let me check if it’s too hot for you,” he says, blowing off some of the steam and taking a long sip. He makes sure to swallow with audible emphasis.

“Okay, it should be good,” he says, handing it back to you.

This time you hold it close to your chest like it’s a precious gem, slowly sipping away at the frothy liquid.

They all look at each other with a relieved, triumphant expression.

Namjoon steps forward and leans down to level his face with yours.

“There’s water for you over there,” he gestures to a table in the corner, complete with a pitcher and cup. “And the bathroom is the next door over.”

You nod to show your appreciation, still avoiding eye contact.

Jin enters your field of vision again.

“Do you think you can hold down some meds?” he asks. It’s sincere, no seeming deception behind it.

But you still shake your head vehemently. You don’t want anymore pills. In fact, you don’t want to see another pill ever in your life.

“Okay, love,” he says, smiling again. “Just rest up for me. For us.”

You have no idea what he means by that, but you sink into the pillows anyway.

One by one they filter out of the room, casting a last look at you before they leave.

You wish they wouldn’t. Their eyes seem to leave even more marks on your skin.

The door starts to swing shut. Then someone mutters something, and it stops just before it closes completely.

Footsteps recede, silence settles upon the room.

You manage a few more sips from the steaming mug, eventually setting it aside. The bed is soft and comfortable, but you can’t bring yourself to lie down.

You sit there, watching shadows dart across the wall, for hours.

Chapter Text

The last thing you want to do is sleep. Bad things always happen when you fall asleep.

You remember all the times you were strapped to the chair, headphones taped onto your ears, blindfold blocking out every bit of light, completely devoid of all outside stimuli. They would keep you there for hours, waiting until your head lolled or your body sagged, any indication that you weren’t wide awake.

Then came the electricity, flowing through your veins like liquid fire, shocking you awake. Again and again and again, until the mere thought of sleep made a jolt run through your body.

All the times they drugged your food, sinking you into a deep state of unconsciousness, then waking up with whip marks and bruises that felt bone-deep.

Then there was the nightmares. Unspeakable nightmares.

No, you can’t sleep. You don’t care how safe this place may seem, you still can’t let yourself slip.

You sit there in that massive bed for what feels like hours, feeling the strange sensation of a cushioned mattress and soft sheets. To feel warm and comfortable is still completely foreign to you.

You don’t dare lie down or rest your head on the plush pillows in case you fall asleep. Or worse, someone sees and punishes you for being on a bed and not on the floor where you belong.

The men here don’t seem bothered by it, but something deep in your mind tells you it’s all a lie. They’re only pretending to be so kind, so generous. It will all come crashing down soon enough.

So you shuffled off the bed and pressed your back to the wall, wrapping your arms around your legs with your knees tucked under your chin.

The strange feeling in your chest is back, and you don’t like it.

You watch as the moonlight seeps through the curtains and crawls across the walls, shifting with the changing hours. All throughout the night, the feeling in your chest blooms and dulls, like a pulsing radar that senses something random and unknown.

This whole thing is so strange. You haven’t decided what you’re going to do yet. Stay or leave, run or linger. There’s no guarantee that you’ll find someplace as accommodating as this one. There’s also no guarantee that the men here are exactly what they seem to be.

You don’t know how long you sit there, eyeing the smooth cool linen you were just surrounded by.

They didn’t show any sign that they were bothered by you using their bed, dirtying their sheets with your non-human skin. But you still don’t want to risk it.

Sleep tugs at your resolve, it makes your eyelids flutter and your mouth hang open. You have to fight it off, rapidly blinking your eyes back open and straitening your posture so you don’t go limp.

You can’t be asleep, you just can’t.

After the moonlight fades, you busy yourself inspecting the rest of the room, crawling on the ground so no one will hear you snooping around. Even the carpet is plush and pillowy. This place is so soft, it doesn’t make sense.

Almost the entirety of the room is lined with floor-to-ceiling windows covered by gauzy curtains. The ceiling too has a large skylight that shows the dark sky above.

You can’t remember the last time you were in a room as open and airy as this one.

There’s the massive bed with all its fluffy pillows and plushies, like the giant stuffed bear and cute yellow duck tucked in the corner. Along the edges of the bed are some little tables with softy-lit lamps and candles.

There’s a simple fireplace against the opposite wall, surrounded by two large bookshelves. Overhead is a projector mounted to the ceiling, pointing to the blank wall directly across from it.

By the time you’re done inspecting the room’s every nook and cranny, the first few rays of pale sunlight are starting to peek through the clouds.

You crawl over to the closest window and gently draw back the curtain.

Morning mist drapes over the dense forest and rolling hills. The sky behind it is gray and cloudy, showcasing the chill of the outside air.

It’s then that you decide to stay here another day. You’d rather take your chances here for just a bit longer than venture out into that wilderness. Because by the looks of it, this place isn’t near any obvious civilization.

Curiosity stirs within you. Your hand hovers over the latch to the window, asking a silent question you’re not sure you want answered.

A flick of your fingers, and the latch comes undone without protest. The window slides open with ease, and a gust of fresh wind hits your face.

You aren’t locked in. You aren’t trapped.

The wind is sharp and refreshing. There’s the faint smell of pine, then a brisk slightly floral scent that makes the breath in your chest hitch slightly.

It’s a luxury you’ve dearly missed.

You stay there for a while, just breathing in the outside air, until a deep growl from your stomach makes you realize that you haven’t actually digested a proper meal in a long time.

Then the empty glass and pitcher of water on one of the side tables catches your eye. Another luxury you haven’t known for a long while: clean water.

You grab the glass and shakily fill it to the top, tipping your head back to down the entire thing in a few gulps. The thought that it might be spiked does cross your mind, but you figure that if they wanted to drug you they would’ve done it by now. So you drink until the dry ache in your throat has subsided.

The door is still open a crack. Holding your breath, you push it open a little more and peer through the gap.

The hallway is empty. You poke your head out, cautiously looking around before stepping out of the room.

You don’t know where you’re going, but there’s an appetizing smell tugging you in the direction of the grand staircase.

Slowly placing your foot on each wooden step to make the least amount of noise, you enter the living room. It’s empty too, and also lit up by morning light from the tall windows lining the walls.

The smell draws you into the kitchen, where Jin is standing over the sizzling stove.

He doesn’t turn around when you enter the room, but he knows you’re there. His heightened hearing picked up on your soft footfalls from upstairs.

“Good morning,” he says warmly.

It startles you a bit, shocked that he noticed let alone acknowledged you.

Jin gives you a smile over his shoulder.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, his expression open and nonjudgmental as he waits for your answer.

You nod after a hesitant pause.

Jin’s chest lights up with pride at the fact that you’re starting to feel comfortable expressing your wants and needs.

You feel the shadow of it in your own chest, but to you it just feels like a strange dull ache. It’s confusing and slightly alarming, but you keep your face expressionless.

“Have a seat at the table if you want and I’ll get you something to eat,” he says, setting a large kettle on the stove and turning on the burner.

For a minute, you just stand there watching him, almost mesmerized. He has broad shoulders that add to his naturally commanding aura, but the way he moves is nothing but calm and steady. There’s a fluidity to everything he does, and a timeless grace that’s somehow just as firm as it is gentle. Maybe it’s because of his vampiric blood.

He’s dressed in slacks and a white button-down, polished black dress shoes on his feet. His hair is neatly styled, bangs pushed back from his forehead.

There’s no denying that he’s a very attractive man.

The feeling in your chest starts to burn again, and you hurriedly make your way to the large dining table before he notices your discomfort.

You shift your attention to the details of your environment.

The table occupies the open space between the kitchen and living area, so you can easily see into both rooms. Dried herbs and hanging plants drape from the kitchen ceiling, along with the modern yet elegant light fixtures.

You almost can’t fathom the sheer size and quality of this house. You suppose seven men would need a lot of space, but you can’t help but wonder how they maintain it all.

Because something deep in your memory tells you that you came from humble beginnings. You don’t belong in a house like this.

The next second, a small bowl is being set down in font of you. A scoop of vanilla yogurt, fresh blueberries, a sprinkle of granola, and a drizzle of honey.

“Let’s start with this,” Jin says. “And if you can keep it down I’ll get you some else, okay?”

You nod, briefly meeting his eyes before looking down at the table again.

He steps back into the kitchen as the kettle begins to whistle and release a swirling tower of steam into the air.

You bring a spoonful to your lips and swallow it down, pausing for a few minutes to see if it will crawl back up in a fit of nausea. After nothing bad happens, you quickly shovel the rest of it down. It’s sweet and juicy and smooth down your throat.

Footsteps sound from the hallway. The man called Yoongi enters the room, looking half-asleep. His dark hair is tousled, eyelids drooping as he waddles over to the kitchen counter. He’s dressed in an oversized t-shirt and pajama pants. The clothes are so big they make the man seem small and even...cute. Despite the fact that he seemed so intimidating before.

Jin doesn’t look up at the sound of the younger man’s bare feet padding against the tile, but he does extend his arm to brush against Yoongi’s back as he walks past him.

“Go sit down, love. I’ll make the coffee,” Jin says, carefully spooning dark powder into a stovetop espresso pot.

The dark-haired man blinks sleepily, looking like he wants to protest, but he eventually stumbles over to the table and sinks down across from you.

Jin knows that Yoongi is probably still drained from the effort it took to break through the wards of the facility. A spell of that magnitude takes an immense amount of strength, especially for a single caster.

Under any other circumstances, Yoongi would’ve stayed in bed to rest, but he felt the same twinge in his heartstrings that Jin felt when you responded to his offer for food. He dragged himself out of bed to see how you were doing.

He doesn’t doubt that the others felt it too, they’ll probably be joining them any minute now.

Yoongi tries to give you a warm glance, but all your attention is directed down at the table.

By the time Jin sets the freshly packed espresso pot on the stove, you’ve practically licked the bowl clean.

He’s quick to notice, at your side the moment you set down your spoon.

“Ready for more?” he asks with another calming smile.

He thought of simply bringing you more food, but he didn’t want you to think that they expected you to finish everything they put in front of you. He wants you to know that you have choices here, and hopefully it will make you more comfortable expressing yourself.

You nod, and both Jin and Yoongi feel their chests swell.

Jin glides back into the kitchen to grab the still-sizzling pan and steaming kettle from the stove. He pours the boiling water into a large white teapot on the table, already prepped with tea bags, and slides the cooked meat onto a large tray.

It’s then that you notice that the table is set with enough plates, glasses, and mugs for eight people. There’s a pot of fresh rice in the center of the table, along with a platter of cut-up fruit and a plate stacked with some kind of fluffy pastry.

The next moment, two more sets of footsteps sound from the stairs. It’s the fair-haired man, Jimin, and the muscular one. Both of their faces are puffy, their eyes half-closed as they stagger down the stairs. Jimin’s form is dwarfed by an oversized hoodie, while the muscular one is wearing a white tank top and sweatpants that hang low on his hips.

Usually Jungkook would forgo the shirt and sometimes the pants, walking around the house in just his boxer-briefs. But then he remembered that even though you’ve seen his body thousands of times, you’re essentially a stranger to them now.

Jimin looks at you from under his hood with sleepy eyes, through the tufts of fluffy hair, and waves with a smile.

The chest-feeling is getting more distracting.

He sinks down beside Yoongi, who is sat directly across from you, and Jungkook moves to sit next to you on the other side of the table, but chickens out at the last second and sits in the chair one space over.

“Did you sleep well?” Jimin asks, tearing open one of the pastries and spreading jam onto the flaky layers.

A beat of silence passes before you realize that he’s talking to you.

Looking, they’re all looking at you. Lungs hitching, you fix your gaze on the wood of the table and clench your teeth.

You didn’t sleep at all, but you’re not about to tell them that.

You probably couldn’t get your voice to work if you wanted it to, so you sit in the awkward silence, praying that their eyes fall on anything but you.

“I slept pretty well. You, hyung?” Jimin replies to his own question nonchalantly, quick to dissolve the tension.

“Like a drunk rock,” the older man answers just as casually.

Jin glides back into the room, placing the now steaming espresso pot in front of Yoongi and adding more cooked meat to the tray in the center of the table.

“Like a tranquilized rock. I could hear you snoring from across the hall,” Jin quips before practically floating back to the kitchen. His steps barely even make noise as he walks.

They all know that Yoongi only snores when he’s in the deepest of sleeps. People of Yoongi’s kind don’t technically need sleep, but after the effort it took to break down those wards, he definitely needed it.

“I think it’s going to rain today,” Jungkook says as he plucks pieces of fruit from the platter and pops them in his mouth.

It’s a pretty obvious statement. It’s early spring, so it rains almost every day here. They can all see the dark clouds and brisk, cutting wind through the windows, but it’s an attempt at small talk. Because JK can hardly stand how uncomfortable you look. It makes him want to snatch you up and hide you in his room and smother you in all the affection you missed out on while you were gone.

But he knows he can’t, and it makes his heart sag as you shift uneasily in your seat, eyes downcast.

Because you can’t help but wonder how can they just sit there rattling off pleasantries when you’re a stranger in their beautiful house.

You’re an outsider, a charity case. You can’t even tell them your name, and they’ve let you invade their peace without so much as a unfriendly glance.

Just as a burning question starts to crawl up your throat, another set of footsteps enters the room.

Hoseok, the lean dark-haired man, shuffles to the table. His eyes are barely open and his lips are puffed up in a groggy pout.

“Morning,” he mumbles, voice tinged deep and thick but still cheerful.

Jimin pulls him into the seat next to him, playfully ruffling his already messy hair.

Namjoon is right on his heels, sauntering into the room with his nose in his notebook. He’s already dressed in a gray suit, glasses perched on the tip of his nose, pen twirling in his right hand.

He takes a seat at the left end of the table, looking up to give you small smile. You would’ve missed it if his presence wasn’t so demanding of your attention.

“Lovely sight first thing in the morning,” his husky voice calls, and it seems to send warm sparks of...something throughout your chest cavity.

Jin appears again, coffee pot in hand, circling around the table and filling everyone’s mugs. He then takes a seat at the right end of the table, so him and Namjoon can survey the rest of them.

They’ve all started loading their plates, sweetening their coffee with milk and sugar and caramel drizzles.

Jin pours himself a cup of tea from the large white teapot, spooning an almost ridiculous amount of honey into the amber liquid. But the honey suits him. Warm-tinged, naturally sweet, heavy on your tongue. He seems to leave a trail of it wherever he goes, along with the tangy scent of citrus.

Namjoon looks up from his notebook, scanning the table.

“Where’s—” He’s answered a second later when the curly-haired man descends down the staircase. He looks just as sleepy as the rest of them. Well, maybe not Jin and Namjoon, but his eyes are dark-rimmed and his mouth is set in the same half-awake pout.

But all of that seems to flicker away in an instant when he catches sight of you. It’s like your face is a bucketful of ice water, chilling him into a strange sense of alertness.

He surveys the table, noticing that the only open seat is the one directly next to you.

You look away before you can see the realization play out on his face. Reading people isn’t exactly your expertise, but you can tell when someone looks at you with disdain. Of course you do, it’s all your scattered memory can recall. And you know that Taehyung doesn’t like you.

He ducks his head as he reluctantly sits down at the table, stiff in the limbs.

If the others notice, they don’t show it.

Jin is busy making a plate for you: seared meat on a bed of rice, a side of sliced fruit, and a pastry smothered in butter.

He places it in front of you with that same nonchalance. It says eat what you want, no one here is going to judge you.

It’s a little surprising how easily you believe him.

You hesitantly pick up the fork beside your plate, eyeing the others to see if they react negatively. None of them do, there’s only slightly curious and attentive expressions thrown your way.

They’re trying hard not to stare, trying hard not to look hopeful as you survey the food.

You poke at the meat, mouth watering at its savory aroma.

You bring a forkful to your mouth. Just chewing the protein makes you feel more full than you have in months.

The boys try to contain their joy when you start to eagerly eat mouthful after mouthful.

Jin and Namjoon exchange a near ecstatic glance across the table. The others look at each other too, endeavoring to suppress their excitement.

You don't know it, but this is a significant moment. Breakfast has always been important to all of you. Jin and Namjoon leave for work early in the morning. The rest of them are freelancers, but they wake up early so you can all eat together at least once a day, in case Jin and Joon aren't home in time for dinner.

This is the first time you've all been together to share a meal like this since your disappearance.

A comfortable hush falls over the room as everyone eats and sips at their coffee, with the occasional comment or question tossed into the air.

You barely hear it, too focused on the food. It's all so luxurious, the well-seasoned meat, the fresh fruit. You can't remember, no matter how hard you try, the last time you had a meal like this.

Your mind starts to clear once your plate is licked clean, and thank heavens it seems to be staying down.

The men, they're talking about the weather. Here you are, a stranger, a nuisance, at their table. And they're talking about the weather, treating you like you're one of them, when everything inside is screaming that you are anything but.

The slam of silverware, and everyone looks up in slight shock. It's only after a few seconds that you realize it was you who made the noise.

Everyone's eyes on you, but you don't care. The questions itch too bad.

"What now?" you say, voice shaking despite your best efforts.

They all look at each other.

"What do you mean, love?" Jin replies, his expression calm.

You scan each of their faces, trying to answer the indefinable question floating in your mind. They're all looking at you with something heavy and strange in their eyes.

"What happens now?" you say, trying to keep your hands from shaking.

"Well, you're still getting used to things. I'd say the next step is a brain scan, to see if there's any more damage, and maybe if we can recover some of your memories," Jin answers.

You want to ask how he knew that you were missing your memories, but Yoongi interrupts the thought.

"Today we can show you around the house, maybe you can meet the pets if you'd like," he says.

They'd kept the animals separate from you, knowing that they'd all rush to jump all over you after your absence, especially the dogs.

You look down at the table.

"What other questions do you have?" Jin asks kindly.

You can still feel their eyes on you, but your gaze is fixed down at your empty plate.

"Why were you there?" you ask in a voice barely above a whisper.

A pause, and you look up to find a mixture of confusion and hesitation on their faces.

"At the facility. Why were you there?"

You remember them busting down the walls, mowing down guards, Jin cradling you in his arms like you were a long lost lover.

"The F&F has a reputation for taking atypical prisoners. We were hoping to rescue them," Namjoon says. It's not a lie, they did free all the other atypicals in the building, but he left out the fact that they were there looking for you.

"Why?" you ask. There's a heavy sensation in your chest.

"Because the F&F deserves to rot in hell for what they've done," Taehyung blurts out before he can help it. Jungkook puts a hand on shoulder, a gentle warning not to scare you.

Namjoon sighs when confusion clouds your features.

"Because we look out for people like us," he says.

You don't know what to say to that. A moment of silence falls upon the room.

"Well," Jin says, wiping the side of his mouth with a napkin and getting up out of his seat. "I think it's high time we show you around."

Chapter Text

This house is bigger than you thought. 

You start in the living room, with the large semicircle of couches and the wraparound windows showing the lush greenery outside. There’s an abundance of houseplants and tall, full bookshelves, with comfy looking chairs to match.

Then they lead you through the hall to the various rooms on the ground floor. There’s the infirmary room where Jin took you when you first arrived, and an open yet warm bathroom.

At the back of the house, there’s a room completely full of bookshelves and papers, with a desk and a few plush armchairs.

Then there’s a very large room filled with all sorts of strange objects: jars and beakers of all sizes, racks of dried herbs, cauldrons and vials of shimmering liquid, odd plants that you don’t recognize, leather-bound books scrawled with swirling runes. And connected to that room, a sizable greenhouse with crawling vines clinging to the walls.

It’s all so overwhelming, you can’t process all of it.

They lead you up the wide, curling staircase in the main room, and down the long hallway to a number of bedrooms. They all look completely different. One is warm, cozy, and cluttered, while another is sleek and modern and clean.

There’s a room painted all green and gold, plants crowding the space like a small jungle. And a bedroom at the end of the hall that’s almost as large as the living room. There’s a number of bathrooms, all as different as the bedrooms, and a home gym.

They all hesitate at one room, though. It’s near the end of the hall, the door closed. They look at each other, expressions unreadable, and skip over it. Jin has told you that you’re welcome in all the rooms, but you take it that you’re not allowed in that one.

You already know that you’re going to get lost here, barely remembering what each room looks like let alone where it is. But you doubt that you’ll be here long enough for it to matter.

They tell you that they have a number of pets, and they ask if you want to meet any of them.

Hesitant, all you do is nod, not sure what else to respond with.

It earns a smile from all of them, even Taehyung.

Back in the living room, Jimin leaves and returns with a ginger cat in his arms. Tail swishing, the cat perches in the crook of his elbow as its amber eyes scan the room. Its nose twitches, face upturning to sniff the air.

Then its eyes land on you, and the cat jumps out of Jimin’s arms and scurries across the room.

The men blurt out a handful of warnings, either to the cat or you, it’s hard to tell. But the next second the cat is jumping up your leg and clinging to your chest.

There’s the pinprick of its claws, but you hardly notice it. Because some instinct makes your arms curl protectively around the animal. The rumbling of its purring reverberates through your chest. The cat nuzzles into your neck, paws clinging to the sleeves of your sweater.

A strange feeling floods your brain. Warm and tingly, it makes something burn behind your eyes.

You nuzzle into the cat's soft fur with only the slightest hesitation. Something nags at the edge of your mind, something that you can't grasp no matter how hard you try.

Jimin appears at your side, a near-blinding smile across his stunning face.

"His name is Fish Sticks," he says with a slight chuckle, scratching behind the cat's ears.

You’re fairly certain you would die for Fish Sticks.

The cat doesn’t let go, claws attached to the arms of your sweater but you don’t care. The rumble of his purring is the most soothing sound you’ve heard in a while. 

The men exchange a few words, but you miss them, too focused on the cat and the pleasant feeling that its presence produces. It's almost like this little creature is a beacon of warmth, radiating throughout your entire being.

All of a sudden, you get the sense that one of the men is addressing you, judging from the silence in the air.

A quiet, hesitant noise comes out of your throat, a sound somewhere between questioning and apologetic.

But the man called Namjoon just smiles in response.

"I said that our next step is probably a comprehensive exam at the clinic. Is that alright with you?"

His voice is nothing but calm, eyes watching you with a seemingly infinite amount of patience.

"Joon, she might want to take it easy for a few days," the thin dark-haired man says, you think his name is Hoseok.

"Yeah, there are still a lot of things to get used to," Jimin supplies helpfully, sending you a concerned glance.

You turn to Jin, unsure of what to do next.

"It's entirely up to you, love. Whatever you're the most comfortable with," he says, and his eyes look like pools of honey.

The cat seems to have calmed you significantly, because you look around the room and meet most of their eyes, trying to assess their expressions. They're all a mixture of tension, concern, friendliness, and some unknown emotion that you can't pin down.

"Exam?" you say to no one in particular, an uncertain question hanging in the air.

"Yes, it would just be a standard checkup at my main office. And then a few basic tests, just to see where you're at. I would facilitate everything, and you won't have to do anything you're uncomfortable with," Jin says. 

"So, it would..." you start, trailing off.

"It would see if we can possibly restore some of your memories," Namjoon finishes.

You don't know how to feel about that. Memory has become a very strange thing. You don't have many, and you're not sure how many you want to regain.

Another look around the room. Jimin has that same warm, calm expression on his face. You don't know why, but you trust him. The muscular one, Jungkook, is watching you with those wide brown eyes, his face a complete contrast from the rest of his body. Hoseok and Yoongi have stern expressions, but when your gaze meets theirs, it softens. And Jin and Namjoon are waiting patiently for your answer.

These men have show you more kindness that you've ever known. The least you can do is speed up the healing process so you can get out of their hair.

You look at Jin and nod. He smiles and nods back.

You sit in the living room as they all make preparations to go into town. The cat shifts out of your arms but lingers at your side, nuzzling against you every so often.

Jin and Namjoon came to breakfast dressed in suits, looking ready for work. Now they shuffle in and out of the room, packing papers into leather cases. The rest of the men disappear into the kitchen or down the hallway.

A few moments later, Yoongi approaches you with a pile of clothing in his arms.

"It's cold outside, you should bundle up," he says, sounding a little shy in spite of himself. He helps you shrug on a wool cardigan and then a rainproof jacket on top, given the dark clouds outside.

He sets down some thick socks and a pair of fur-lined boots by your feet, and he drops to his knees just as you're reaching for them. 

Taken aback, you freeze as he gently takes your right foot and slips the sock on, then the left, then the boots.

You're almost too stunned to move, completely shocked by the act of humble kindness. In the facility, some of the guards used to force you to lick the underside of their boots, and now this man, who is almost too beautiful to look at directly, is touching your feet.

He even ties the laces for you, looking up at you with a quiet smile after he's done.

A few moments later, Jungkook approaches and hands you a colorful handheld bag.

"It's a bit of a long drive, so we packed you some snacks in case you get hungry," he says.

Again, you're stunned into silence, the lunch pack hanging limp in your hand.

You mutter out a "thank you." It comes out squeaky. 

Jin slings his leather bag over his shoulder and runs a hand through his hair.

"Alright, we're all set. Ready to go?" he asks, holding out a hand.

You swallow down the fear that comes with a new environment, nodding as you take his hand. He rewards you with a radiant grin, leading you to the door.

Just before you reach the front entrance, a voice breaks through the silence.

"You'll come back, right?"

Turning around, you don't realize that it was Taehyung who said it until you meet his strangely desperate expression from across the room. And you realize that he's speaking to you directly.

Something seizes in your chest when you see the urgency in his face, the hidden sadness in his eyes. It makes you want to reassure him.

"Yes," you reply, and this time your voice comes out strong. 

It seems to soothe him, for some reason, because his shoulders visibly relax and something unspoken passes between the two of you.

"We won't be gone too long," Namjoon says to the rest of them, opening the front door and letting in a gust of chill air.

The front door is massive, yet it swings open easily. A stonework pathway extends beyond it, winding under a wooden trellis draped with vines.

Entering into the yard, you realize that this is the first time you've been outside since...longer than you can remember. The two men lead you down the walkway to a driveway lined with a handful of cars.

Jin opens the backdoor to a sleek black car, gesturing you inside. You slip into the backseat as Jin slips into the driver's side and Namjoon in the passenger's side. 

Jin starts the car and pulls out of the driveway, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on Namjoon's thigh. The few pale rays of sunlight peeking through the thick cloud cover catches on his watch.

The car weaves through a twisting road downhill, lined with lush trees that create a dark green canopy overhead.

"I'm sure you have questions," Jin says, expertly navigating the vehicle down the steep road in the rainy weather. "Feel free to ask away."

You do have questions, a million of them, but you're not sure where to start. But your curiosity snags on their professional clothes.

“What do you do?” you ask hesitantly, hoping it isn’t too invasive of a question. Little did you know, they would let you live inside their brains like a parasite if you asked. 

“I’m a trauma specialist,” Jin answers humbly, as if being a doctor is commonplace. “And Namjoon teaches at Duchanne University. He's working on his second book now, too."

He throws a proud glance in Namjoon's direction, and the other man rolls his eyes with a shy smile that you never could've pictured on his face.

The car is approaching the mountainside, with all its moss-covered rocks and lush trees hanging overhead, and the three of you plunge into a tunnel carved into the dark rock.

There's a few moments of darkness, and then a strange tingling sensation through your entire body. You wouldn't be surprised to find that this cave was laced with magic.

Then, you're emerging from the tunnel with a burst of pale light. Fog rolls over the hills in thick blankets, and you can see the road winding down the mountain.

In one way, it reassures you that this is a safe place, protected by the magic in the caves and the privacy of the forest. In another way, it would make it a lot harder if you ever needed to flee on foot.

"Where are we going?" you ask.

"To a clinic in Burkwood, it's the closest city. If there's anything else you want, we can pick it up there too," Jin says, smiling at you through the rearview mirror.

You can't imagine what else you could possibly want. They've already shown you more kindness and generosity than you've ever known.

The drive proceeds in comfortable silence, the car rocking as it slopes down the winding roads. You have more questions, but you can't seem to think of what to start with. Your body feels heavy, and your eyelids are starting to disobey you.

They mentioned that it was a bit of a long drive, but you are too focused on keeping awake to notice much. 

You vaguely register the outskirts of a town that give way to brick streets and old-looking buildings, all enrobed in thick ivy. In fact, the whole area seems to be enveloped in greenery, probably thanks to the frequent rain.

And the rain is picking up now. It makes the sidewalks, littered with fallen leaves, slick with it. Passerbys open up their umbrellas as the lampposts light up to illuminate the foggy landscape.

You're fighting the urge to drift off into sleep as Jin drives on.

Soon, you come to a wide square of cobblestoned streets, lined with grand domed buildings with rich architecture. You can still see people riding their bikes along the rain-slick streets.

Jin pulls over, sneaking a peck on Namjoon's cheek. Namjoon has gathered his bags, his glasses on, and he beams at the gesture.

"See you later, honey," Namjoon says as he glances at both you and Jin, and it's unclear who he's directing the pet name to.

He opens the door and exits with his bag in tow. You watch him walk towards one of the beautiful old buildings and disappear inside.

A short while later, Jin parks the car beside a large sleek white structure, opening the door for you and offering a hand. He stops to look at you before you enter the building.

"There will be a lot of people inside," he begins. "I won't let anyone hurt you. If you want to leave at any point, just let me know, okay?"

You manage a nod.

"Would you like me to hold your hand?" He asks, and this time you shake your head. Because no, that would be pathetic, and you hardly know him.

He justs nods in understanding, offering a small smile before leading you inside.

The smell of disinfectant immediately hits you. Gloves, plastic, metal. Needles. Doctors.

It screams the same thing in your brain: pain is coming.

And Jin was right, there are a lot of people in here. Too many bodies, too many movements and smells.

Before you even realize what you're doing, you've grabbed Jin's hand.

He stops in his tracks, looking at you in shock, and you look almost as shocked as him.

You're about to rip your hand away, but he gives you a comforting squeeze and this time he smiles so warmly his eyes crease.

Somehow, the feel of his skin feels good, despite everything. It grounds you.

The feeling in your chest hitches.

You're able to ignore the countless sights and smells around you with Jin's hand in yours, even as you hear him talking to other people and leading you down hallways.

Probably because the sleep deprivation is making it hard to even keep your eyes open.

You're shuffled through exam rooms, allowing them to check your vitals, answering the questions directed at you, though all you're able to offer is a nod or shake of the head. Jin catches on to it and reframes all questions towards you as ones that can be answered with yes or no. 

You're hooked up to electrodes and wires, undergoing multiple scans in different machines.

It makes you think that you wish you were a machine. Things would be much easier that way.

You can see several nurses talking to Jin in hushed tones, glancing in your direction every so often. Jin replies, though you can't hear it, and then the nurses look at you with pure pity in their eyes.

You remember what Jin said earlier. We protect people like us.

Sometime later, after using a considerable amount of your energy to keep from falling asleep standing up, you and Jin are led into a room with x-ray prints all along the walls.

It takes you a long time to realize the scans are of your brain, and that they're talking about you .

The doctor is pointing to different sections of the brain on the scans, but her words are muffled in your ears.

All you can register is the look on Jin's face. It's a mixture of sorrow, pain, and regret.

The only sense you can make of it is to assume that he's disappointed that you won't be out of his hair faster.

Maybe you're too far gone to be fixed. Maybe all the goods part of you died in the facility.

You're silent in the car, staring out at the darkening skies. The clouds have gotten thicker, unleashing a heavy rain. As you return to the old buildings from earlier, people hurry by under their umbrellas.

Namjoon open the passenger door, using his suit jacket as a shield. He greets Jin with a kiss, offering you a smile.

But you don't have the energy or will to even try to mirror it.

As you drive back up the mountainside, trees whizzing past the window wet with rain, you drift in and out of sleep. Jin handles the car so smoothly even through the winding roads, one hand on the wheel with the other resting somewhere on Namjoon.

You don't notice them both sneaking glances at you through the rear-view mirror, glad to see that you're getting some sleep.

When you arrive at the house, the sun is half set. You trudge up the path lined with plants, now lit by outdoor lights, reaching the massive wooden slab that is the front door. 

Even in your sluggish state, you can't help but think that you'd like your home to have the same thing, if you had a home. A big sturdy door to keep others out. But this is isn't your home.

Jin and Namjoon lead you inside, and the sound of soft chatter sounds in the distance. You can smell food cooking too.

The house is darker now that the sun has set, lit up by warm ambient lighting from the lamps and elegant light fixtures all around.

You follow Jin and Namjoon into the kitchen area, spotting the bodies crowded inside. The room is bustling with activity, jazz music playing in the background.

Yoongi is standing over the stove, shifting his attention between a great big pot of boiling water, a pan full of bubbling red sauce, and a pan filled with sizzling meatballs. Jimin is chopping lettuce, Taehyung is slicing a loaf of french bread, and Jungkook is shredding cheese.

All of their eyes immediately find yours when you enter the room, Jimin and Yoongi offering a smile, Jungkook and Taehyung looking at you with a hopeful expression.

"Welcome home," Jimin says, eyes crinkling.

It makes a very weird sensation bloom in your lungs. The idea of home is bitter.

Jin and Namjoon set down their coats and briefcases, greeting the others warmly.

You stand there awkwardly, not sure what to do. Yoongi and Jimin pick up on it almost immediately.

"Do you want to come and sit here?" Jimin says (cutting himself off from saying your name), gesturing to the row of stools along the opposite side of the kitchen counter.

You take him up on his offer, eager to have something to do.

The kitchen is flush with heat from the cooking, but you can still hear the rain pounding outside from the cracked window above the sink.

Jungkook pauses his cheese-shredding to provide Jin with a glass of red wine and Namjoon with a whiskey cocktail of some kind, giving each of them a kiss on the cheek as he does so.

You sit there and watch it all unfold.

Yoongi boils the pasta as he watches the sauce and meatballs simmer. Jimin prepares a ceasar salad with grilled chicken, croutons, and freshly shredded cheese (thanks to Jungkook). And Taehyung spreads butter, herbs, garlic, and cheese on the bread slices and places them in the oven.

At some point, Hobi comes down the stairs and into the room, slick with sweat and panting slightly. He sends a radiant smile your way when he sees you.

Soon, the table is set and everyone's gathering around, Yoongi gesturing for you to sit with them.

Jin and Namjoon sit at either head of the long table, you falling into the seat in-between Jimin and Jungkook.

Bowls of pasta and meatballs are served, garnished with fresh herbs and grated cheese. Jungkook helps load a side of salad and garlic bread onto your plate like it's the most natural thing in the world. 

This time, you don't hesitate to dive into the food. Everyone notices, but they just exchange happy glances between themselves to avoid making you feel uncomfortable.

The food they make is ridiculously good. The pasta, tomato sauce, and savory meatballs warm your insides, providing ample protein to help you feel stronger. The salad is crisp and refreshing, the bread soft and salty.

The men around you are chatting pleasantly, every once in a while attempting to lure you into the conversation, but you have absolutely no interest in that. Your brain is still sluggish with exhaustion. Right now you’re just glad the food isn’t upsetting your stomach.

You don’t see it, of course, but a steady stream of warmth fills their hearts whenever they look up and see you sitting at the table, eating as much as you want.

After dinner, Hoseok and Jungkook start on the dishes while you follow the rest of them to the living room. The soft jazz is still playing, some of them refilling their wine glasses before they settle on the couch.

They’re still trying to talk to you.

“How’s your stomach?” Jin asks. You nod as if to say alright .

“Did you get some sleep on the drive home?” Yoongi asks. You nod again, even though you know this isn’t your home.

“Would you like to meet more of the pets?” Jimin asks. You nod more firmly this time.

He rushes off to another room with a big smile.

You reacted well to Fish Sticks, so they decide to let the rest of the cats out. There’s Hepburn, a regal-looking fluffy white cat with iridescent blue eyes. She looks up at you from the floor and rubs against your legs. Then there’s Grease, a black cat with very large green eyes and fangs that poke out from his mouth. He tries to crawl up your pants, but after a stern word from the men, he settles to just hop around your ankles. Finally there’s Potbelly, clearly a little bit older and slightly chunky, with a smattering of brown, orange and white fur. He nuzzles against your hand briefly before sauntering away, disinterested.

You react very fondly to all the cats, stooping down to scratch behind their ears.

“Would you like to meet the dogs?” Jimin asks next, watching your face closely for your reaction.

They’re not sure if you encountered any guard dogs at the facility.

Unlikely, because your face only turns more interested, and you give an eager nod.

They bring them out one at a time. The smallest first, Yeontan, a dark fluffy Pomeranian who yips happily at the sight of you.

You notice a very strange expression come across Taehyung’s face.

Then there’s Mickey, a small brown and white dog that approaches you excitedly yet gently. Then Holly, a brown curly-haired dog that tries very adamantly to sit in your lap. Then Bam, a sleek Doberman that jumps and runs circles around your form when he sees you.

“Gentle, gentle,” Jungkook instructs the dog when he almost tackles you.

Then Jimin brings in a fluffy golden retriever, who is yanking desperately on the leash in both Jimin’s hands.

“Toast, calm down, girl!” Jimin says as he gets dragged along.

But when the dog sees you, she lets out a sharp whimper, shooting towards you like a bullet. The leash is yanked out of Jimin’s hands as she barrels into your legs, letting out little whines and happy-sounding barks.

Something makes you sink to your knees and wrap your arms around the dog, some deep and heavy urge that grips you like a clenched fist. You gulp an inhale of the dog’s somehow familiar scent, and tears nearly spring into your eyes.

Everyone around you is about to cry too. Toast is your dog. She smelled you almost as soon as you entered the house. It broke their hearts to keep her separated from you, since they had no idea how you’d react. She nearly broke the door down trying to get to you.

She’s panting as you pet her head, her tongue hanging out of her grinning mouth, tail wagging rapidly.

If you’d die for Fish Sticks, then you’d go to war for Toast.

You stay on the ground petting her for a while, the boys watching you fondly. At some point, you find your eyelids drooping again, belly full and worn out from all the interaction.

“Are you ready to wash up and settle in for bed?” Jimin asks you, very much fighting the urge to coo at how cute you look while comfortably half-asleep.

You nod and follow him upstairs. He gives you a set of striped pajama pants and matching button-up as you wash off with another wet washcloth, Toast sticking to your side like Velcro the entire time.

Downstairs, everyone crowds around Jin and Namjoon, asking how the tests at the clinic went, barely concealed hope in their eyes.

But they shake their heads solemnly.

“The spell was at nearly full strength. Nothing can be recovered,” Jin says. “But otherwise she’s healthy.”

Their faces fall a bit, but they figured that it would take a miracle for your memories to get brought back. Even if it were possible, the process would no doubt cause you extreme pain, and none of them want that.

Taehyung, though, has tears in his eyes again. He brings his hand up to his forehead.

If only you knew, Tae thinks. If only you knew just how much they love you, how much he loves you. But he knows that you’re uncomfortable around him. And the awful thought did cross his mind: what if you never love him again?

Jungkook rubs Taehyung’s back as more tears fall. He can see the pain in Taehyung's face, the pain that screams please don't forget me and all the things we shared.

But it can't be helped. All they can do is help you as much as they can.

"She's just...gone," Taehyung chokes out.

Namjoon swoopes in right away.

"She's still her, just a little lost," he says.

"But she recognized Toast," Taehyung mumbles, dejected. Because why didn't you react that way to any of them?

"It's instinctual, muscle memory," Yoongi cuts in firmly. "You can erase the memories, but you can't completely erase the feelings that come with them."

Jin places a hand on Taehyung's shoulder, leaning into him.

"I'm sure she recognizes us, in a sense. She just can't express it because we're...people. Animals are easy, they don't judge. But people...it's people that hurt her," Jin says, rubbing soothing circles across Tae's shoulders.

The younger man nods, wiping his tears. He's gone silent, now. Jungkook helps him up the stairs to get ready for bed.

Later that night, Namjoon brings a half-empty bottle of rosé and two glasses up to his and Jin's shared bedroom.

Jin is fresh out of the shower, wrapped in a bathrobe, hair still wet, a medical newsletter in his hand.

Namjoon puts the glass in his empty hand and fills it up. Jin smiles at him gratefully.

"Quite a day, huh?" Namjoon says as he pours a glass for himself.

Jin looks lost in thought.

"I'm worried about Tae," he says solemnly.

Namjoon pauses, then comes to perch on the armrest of the chair Jin is sitting in.

"He's still in denial. It's a hard pill to swallow," Namjoon says, wrapping an arm around his other half.

"Indeed it is," Jin replies, sipping at his wine.

"He'll come around," Namjoon insists.

"I know he will. It's just..." Jin trails off.

"Yes, love?" Namjoon prompts.

"There's this tension between them that I don't understand," he says. "I think Tae is mourning her old self because he doesn't think her new self will connect with him."

"Hmm," Namjoon says, thinking. "I think you're right. But we'll be there, to help both of them. That's what they need right now, for someone to guide and support them into a new state of being."

Jin downs the rest of his wine, beaming up at his partner.

"I love you, you know that?" he says, grinning.

"Of course I do," Namjoon replied, grinning back.

"Now come on, let's get in bed."