JOON POV:

"It can't be possible. It's not just me that thinks that right?" Hobi's voice is hoarse and rough and when I lift my head to look at him his face is blotchy with tears and eyes brimming with more. I watch as they trickle over and spill down, his body shaking as he tries to catch them with his sleeves, head burrowed into his hands.

"I don't know how it's possible... but we all saw it. We all saw the sketch and her name... and Habaek as patron. It's too much to ignore." I say, hands curling into my hair, clutching tightly at it.

My eyes clench shut tightly at the image of her face crumpled with distress and pain, remember her body tilting and falling, remember the anguish in her words, poisoned agony dripping from her lips in every word.

"And you heard her... you heard them. There's... I couldn't even have begun to imagine that she's been dealing with something so big, so... so much for centuries." I add.

My eyes sting and I sniffle when I hear her words curl through my mind, a haunting echo that plays over and over. Condemning me. Damning me even though there had been this raw bitterness and hatred for herself as she'd said it, eyes flickering with pity and guilt for us and not her.

"We're figures of myth Namjoon, we're the very things you find scary. We're sirens."

It felt like an eon ago when I'd handed her that book. An eon ago when I'd scrawled that message for her, when I'd made that remark.

I'd thought it was harmless, I'd thought it was a small titbit, I didn't know how those very words would haunt her, plague her.

She'd looked at me, dead in the eyes, and looked as if she expected me to recoil and turn away. She'd looked at us expectantly, waiting for us to flee.

I'd said sirens were scary.

And those words had remained with her.

They'd remained with her and made her look at me as if what she knew of me, what she believed she would get from me was nothing but disbelief and horror.

I hated myself for that comment.

"We seem to know what we're doing. We seem to think we've finally got something right... but it's clear that the date made her feel backed up into a corner, she had to open up about something she didn't want to. She hated us being there. She hated having to tell us." Jiminie says, voice thick with misery, curled against the side of the couch, hands clutching tightly at a cushion.

"We made her confront something she wasn't ready to. We... she worked herself into a panic attack because she had to tell us. She's unconscious because she was terrified of us finding out." Kookie says, voice hysterical and trembling with held back tears and when I hear a muffled sob my head darts up, eyes brimming at the sight of him scrubbing furiously at his face, lips wobbling as he glares down at the floor. His arms go to curl around himself, body folding inwards as he lets the tears drip down, trickling down cheeks and splashing against fabric and the carpet; soaking up his pain and sorrow.

I couldn't get rid of the image even if I tried.

Couldn't forget that consuming blind terrified need to get to her when I saw her legs buckle, when her body began to shake and her eyes lost focus and fluttered shut. Couldn't forget how when Habaek had cradled her, when he'd curled over her it was a gesture to protect her from us. When he'd scooped her up and left, his body had shielded hers from our sight, body stiff and tense.

I'd worked with Habaek for months. I thought I knew about him, thought I knew about (Y/N)... thought that this was a trauma I was trying to help her overcome, that the research would help her grow and heal past the pain.

Every word I'd exchanged with him, every small piece of information he'd offered up about (Y/N)... all of it had been so blatantly there. This entire time the truth had been hiding in plain sight.

I'd asked him when he'd last heard her speak.

"It feels like forever. It feels like I've spent my entire life waiting for her to speak again. Ears yearning to just hear one word."

And to him... to him and Mi-sun it had been that long, that forever, that lifetime may well have panned across decades. And for decades she'd been silent, trapped in her own skin and words never able to get out. For decades she'd been silent to the world, mute for it and the two of them had to watch her, had to see her struggle and feel worthless and helpless; unable to do anything.

That was why Habaek researched so much.

It was why he'd sought me out and why he had endless streams of data and past research. This entire time he was looking for a way to help (Y/N) but it'd hadn't been for something we'd always considered to be years of hurt... it was endless cycles and lifetimes he was trying to help her overcome and grow past.

The trauma we knew to have happened when she was young... it had been the very incident that had caused her to remain stuck in an immortal loop, a cycle of living stuck at her age for 250 years. She felt a guilt much much more profound and deeper than survivor's guilt... she was stuck with the knowledge that she'd survived and lived lifetimes whilst her family had perished on the same night she'd made it out whole.

"The dancing." Hobi suddenly says. Voice low and defeated.

Eyes turn to him, see the miserable countenance of his face.

"The dancing. I always asked her why she'd hidden her talent. Why she'd been happy to remain stuck in a beginner's class. This was why. If we didn't know how well she could dance, we wouldn't ever have compared her dance to a past dancer, we would've never have taken her to see the performance... from day one she's been trying to shield herself." He says, voice cracking with dawning realisation that sinks in, pools into us and makes expressions heavier.

How many times had we pushed?

How many times had she been terrified to take a step and we'd made her take one regardless?

There had been clues all along, we'd all just been woefully ignorant.

And it's with no little amount of wonder and guilt I realise that every time I'd wondered whether she used the past as a form of escapism, every time she wore different clothes from different historical periods, tended to older music... every time she'd felt that connection to the past; it was her past, her history she'd been leaning back towards. It had been her past she'd chased comfort from. It hadn't been displacement, it hadn't been projecting her need to forget her trauma, it was her remaining connected to the lifetimes she'd lived.

Tae reaches the same conclusion when he speaks.

"That date. We dressed up for different eras. And she said... she said..." he says, voice cracking as his eyes flutter shut, a hand tugging at his curls.

He looks pained as his body curves in, looking small pressed against Jin hyung's side.

"She said?" Jin hyung prompts gently.

"She said... she said it felt like she'd waited forever to find me. That she wanted to make up for lost time, to make up for centuries. But all this time... all this time she had been hurting, she had been alone and waiting." He says, voice agonised as he hunched over, Jin hyung's arm curls around him even as he blinks quickly, trying to dispel the wateriness to his eyes, lips trembling.

We'd taken every literal clue, every literal fragment of truth she'd given us, constantly and continuously it seemed, and we hadn't taken anything from them, we hadn't realised how much of the truth was in front of us the whole time.

"Have we just been blind this entire time? Have we just ignored everything?" Kookie asks, voice aching.

His words cause a silence, broken only by shaky sighs and Tae's muffled sobs, Jiminie's sniffles as he tries to keep himself quiet, unable to meet anyone's gaze, body curved vulnerably.

Had we just been ignorant?

Had we made her feel like the truth was something we wouldn't accept?

"I...I don't think so. I think she's been scared. Of life, of what it's taught her, made her endure." Yoongi hyung says quietly.

I look at him, see the way his fingers press tightly into his legs, mulling it over slowly.

"She asked me whether the past and future should be able to mix. Whether the past and present should remain strictly apart." He says softly.

"But she was just wondering. Wondering whether the past is allowed to have a place today, she's asked what sort of things I believe in... whether I'd believe in something unexplainable." He adds.

It's as if he's lost in thought, trying to filter and sort through every interaction, every moment together, trying to recollect anything else she'd said.

"I think... I think the reason she'd been so hesitant, the reason why she expected us to leave, to turn away... I think they've met people who've hurt them for being the way they are. I think they've been forced to be so cautious and hesitant in trusting. I think their experiences have made them closed off... they can't afford to trust just anyone." He says.

My heart aches at the thought.

250 years.

The sentence clanged in my head, loud and grating.

250 years.

How many lives was that? How many times had they moved to prevent detection? How many times had they uprooted themselves from everything they knew? How many times did they leave the people they'd formed bonds with behind because they didn't age?

How many times had the wounds been made fresh and raw and agonising once more?

"She clearly hasn't had an easy life... she's been alive for centuries. She's seen the worst of life and the worst of what the world has to offer." Jin hyung says, lips twisted into a frown, eyes seared with hurt and pain for her.

The worst.

She'd seen the worst.

And she'd called herself selfish and a monster for wanting something good.

She'd seen us as that something good.

And suddenly all those letters I'd written to her, all those letters for when she'd vanished with pain crumpling her body and agony silently searing her eyes, all those letters seemed insignificant in comparison to the vastness of how much she felt, how much she'd given.

Suddenly it made me feel sick and worried that I'd crossed a line when I'd asked Habaek and Mi-sun exactly what (Y/N) had had to give up. it made me wonder whether the price we knew she paid, the debt she owed back to the ocean for protecting us from it, it made me wonder whether that was a secret she'd wanted to take to the grave and I'd pushed it out.

It hasn't stopped running through my head that she'd pushed me aside knowing the fate that awaited me. Habaek and Mi-sun's voice pained and grieving for her still rang in my ears and the image of her body teetering and tilting off the boat, falling through the water with that resounding splash flashed through my eyes every time I shut them, burning across my vision over and over.

My hands grip tightly at my knees, fingers digging in as I think about that moment over and over.

I'd been the catalyst to that incident.

I'd been the one unharmed at the end of it.

She'd sacrificed thirty years to make sure we got off the water safe.

We didn't even know... we perhaps never would've known.

Thirty years.

Without hesitation, without thinking she'd given thirty years up. She's given up freedom when she'd gotten so close to finally being free.

And even now... even with the others sharing the sentence with her it left a bitter taste in my mouth. Five years. Five years she was stuck because she'd made a decision unflinchingly. She'd made the decision to protect us without care for consequence.

And right now... right now she was hurting and in pain. Right now she was suffering and so, so terrified. Fearful of our reactions. Of the same people she'd sacrificed her life for.

All this time... all this time. She'd been cursed and damned with lifetimes. With living through eras, stuck at the state the ship had sunk in and she'd been changed in. And the lifetime she said she'd wanted, she was selfishly living and trying to be happy in... that all hung precariously at the moment, teetered over an edge.

And the worst thing was (Y/N) didn't know whether she could trust us, expect us to be there for her when she fell.

(Y/N) POV:

Letters.

Meaningless until strung together to make words and sentences.

And it was letters that sat in my lap now. A small stack of letters addressed to me, each in their own envelope, each one in an array of coloured inks.

And all on different papers, different textured styled papers when I opened them, fingers carefully brushing over every inked word intended for me as I opened them.

With an aching heart I read them.

Read every letter.

Read every word.

Read them over and over, fingers brushing and tracing over the shape of them, imagining Namjoon's hand careful and steady as he penned each and every letter, strung word after word together for me.

The letters are blotted now, stained with dried tears, crumpled from where my fingers had clutched tightly at them, had cradled them to my chest even as my lungs burned and breath wavered.

You're someone worth waiting an eternity for. You're someone who made us realise that there was always something missing. There was a place in our lives that was waiting for you to fill it.

I didn't know whether they'd feel the same way now.

Whether ironically I was worth waiting for. I didn't know whether that place, that absence was something they'd felt or a place I'd scoured out for myself forcefully; deluding myself when I thought I belonged in seven lives so beautifully mundane and untouched by my curse.

I don't have the words for love letters, don't have enough ways to sufficiently express what I feel. I don't have enough time or enough paper to pen how much you've grown to mean, how much you've not intertwined with our lives but become it.

I don't have enough words either. All the languages, all the words in each language wouldn't be sufficient to apologise, to say sorry for every moment of being in their lives. It's not enough to say how much I cherished and loved every moment even if regret curls through each memory now, threatens to poison it.

I don't know how to say you've become my life even if it's clear you want out and to be far, far from it.

I woke to the feeling of a deep gaping cavity inside me, feeling empty and drained when my eyes fluttered open and I woke to the sight of Habaek oppa's ceiling, eyes drifting with a misery over the photos of us through the ages, finding a new sense of pain in seeing the ages photographs, in remembering that I belonged and existed in a timeline different to the seven of them, that I didn't deserve to drag them into my own messy history.

That they were better off.

Sirens were creatures of the sea. Cursed with song to allure people to watery graves.

How many others had I lured without voice? How many others had I had to escape from? How many people had I met who wanted to take and take? Why was it so bad that I'd found happiness in people who wanted to give and give?

Why was it so selfish to want to feel safe and loved?

I'd clambered out of bed, steps shaky, hearing the sound of footsteps in the hallway and had peered down, heart aching to see them slip out, to see them leave, eyes lingering on them; silently wondering if this was it, if this was the last time I'd see them.

I remember a head turning, tilting up and my body pressing back, hands snatched away from the railing, head spinning and eyes stinging as I moved away.

It was a shakiness that seemed to settle within me, body feeling unsteady and wobbly as I moved about the house, wanting something to do... anything to ease that restlessness.

I didn't go to the baking session.

Didn't want to go on the off chance that Jin did and needed that outlet. So the counters spilled over with trays, with endless batches, hands fidgeting and needing to keep themselves busied.

I wanted to dance. Wanted to dance even if dance had been the thing to damn me, to give me away. Even if ironically the one thing that had given me solace had wrenched my world out from under my feet, had made me lose balance.

I wanted to dance. But I couldn't return to the studio.

So I returned to the theatre.

Returned to the small dance studio I'd fled to, to the same studio I'd danced in a century ago. Returned there and went through every dance I remembered, unravelled the layers of history and danced to every song that I'd performed under every changed name and alias. With each curl of the ribbon, with each twist and arch of my body I remembered the two pair of eyes that had always watched, always known who I was and had always kept me rooted.

And now, curled under the shade of the tree, leaning against the bark I was reminded of two instances.

Reminded of how I'd met Jimin at the same park, how he'd been there when it felt like I was going to drown and shatter under those names, their lives, their worlds torn apart and submerged in merciless waters at our hands, at my hands stained a permanent poisoned blue.

I also remembered another tree in another park, another face peering up at me, eyes soft as his fingers laced with mine, bringing it to his lips to brush a tender soft kiss to my knuckles. I remembered someone with slender fingers, strong despite his illness and remembered his voice soft as he brought me back, as he caught each tear and kissed away every insecurity.

I remembered his acceptance, his openness even when I couldn't accept myself.

"We live in a world where our fates are assigned, we live in a world where the wheel of fortune brings us to our lows before raising us to our highs. And I will be there when you stand, when you find solid ground just as much as how I'll be there when you're struggling and when you're at your low."

"And when life takes you away? When you go and I remain?" I'd asked.

His hand had been gentle, curving around my cheek and eyes soft as I leaned into the touch.

"Then I'll wait until fate aligns our lives once more. I'll wait to be born into a world where you're free and I'm not sick." He'd whispered.

Every touch had been yearning and longing, had been that want for that future life, for that wheel of motion to turn and bring us together in another lifetime. I'd lived damned and cursed in this lifetime, greedy for the chance of survival. And the next life, the next time it would align our souls together I wanted to be selfish and live it together, to take and take what we couldn't get in this life.

I wanted time with him. We wanted a life, a world where we had time.

And after him. After him I hadn't found someone worth wanting time with, time for, not until now.

And now when I had time awaiting, when I had a lifetime stretched out, it was tauntingly rather than inviting and now that the truth was out that glimmering hope began to dim and fade away.

Ironically enough it's not rain that has me stilling and body freezing. It isn't rain that has me scrabbling up to my feet, letters clutched protectively and tucked away to a bag I hold towards my chest. It's the sound of my name.

Spilling past plump lips that tremble and soft brown eyes that seem aged and so so worn out.

It's been days since I've seen those eyes, nights since I've been haunted by them.

And yet nothing equates for how I feel looking at them in this instant, soul tearing apart more and more as I look towards the person who calls for me.

I stand there, body cemented to the ground and eyes unblinking as I look at him, the sound of an excited smatter of barks and the small fluffy pup beside him to dart forward, leash sliding out of a slack grip.

But this time I don't move forwards, don't lean towards a comfort I can't have.

I move away from it.

Feet staggering back as I move away, eyes stinging furiously as I move away from Jimin.

Eyes clenching shut at the small tug I feel to the hem of my trouser, the small swishing sound of a tail wagging quickly and the small, confused whine that follows at the lack of response.

"(Y/N)...." I hear my name called again, step back as my head pounds from it, from one mere call. From the way it threatens to cave and slump, to the way endless streams of memories flow just because of it.

"(Y/N) please... please don't go." Jimin whispers, voice aching and wavering.

I try to clamp down the way my heart just wants. Wants to go back, to move towards the voice.

"I can't stay..." I whimper, hands curling into the bag as I take a staggering step back.

Back hitting rough bark, a small patter of paws following, a soft yip.

"Please (Y/N)... please..." he pleads, voice soft and carrying through the air.

My heart aches when a pair of hands cup my face, thumbing at tears that seep out under tightly clenched eyelids.

My hands tighten, refusing to open, to open and reach out desperately.

It's all over.

I don't want to lean into the touch. Don't want to chase after a comfort I don't have anymore.

"(Y/N)... angel please." He pleads, voice shaking.

My heart crumples at the nickname.

"Please don't go. Please look at me." he begs.

My eyes sting, head dipping forward to hide the shameful trail of tears coursing down my cheeks.

I shake my head.

I can't.

"Angel.... (Y/N).... Don't leave us." Jimin whispers, voice a beseeching hush.

I don't want to leave.

Don't want to go.

And when my eyes hesitantly blink open, the sight of him blurs, earnest and warm and loving melding into one.

I don't want to leave.

And with his hands cradling my face, eyes sparkling with tears, he looks as if he doesn't want me to either.

(THERE WE GO! SUPER SORRY FOR EVERYONE WHO'S BEEN WAITING FOR THIS UPDATE, WITH EVERYTHING FINALLY OPENING UP IT'S JUST BEEN A BIT HECTIC AND NOW I CAN FINALLY GO OUT AND ABOUT SO! TAKING CAREFUL USE OF THAT NEW FREEDOM ONCE MORE! I HOPE THIS CHAPTER HAD THE FEELS IN IT... I REALLY WANTED THE BOYS TO KIND OF UNPACK ALL THOSE SENTENCES THAT HELD MEANING AND REALISE JUST HOW TRUE THEY HELD... HOW ESSENTIALLY THIS ENTIRE TIME SHE WAS TELLING THEM HOW MUCH THEY HELPED HER! LET ME KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS AND NEXT CHAPTER WE WILL HAVE SOME ANGSTY HEALY REUNION SO KEEP TUNED FOR THAT! HOPE IT WAS GOOD TO READ, TAKE CARE AND STAY SAFE LOVES!)

Midiiplier love whenever you get to reading this I hope I did that so long ago conversation justice and thank you for sharing your beautiful mind as we talked about this.

QUESTION... ANY SORT OF THING YOU WANT TO SEE FROM THE SIRENS' PAST? INTERESTED IN KIND OF THE ORIGIN SCENE? OF WHEN THEY WERE REBORN?

Borahae! 💜💜💜

PurpleQueenie <3