(Y/N) POV: 

The rush that sears through my veins is one that lingers even after step off the stage, step off with the mask clutched in a hand that’s not mine with lips tingling, swollen and bruised red. Feet aching with the familiar strain of dancing, with the tingling sensation and weightless feeling of not knowing whether the next tread would be floor or cutting through air. 

See eyes shine with elation and emotion, tears pearling on his waterline, watch as the camera comes to rest, hands falling away from it and hurrying forward to the stage, immediately curving around my calves as he peers up at me when we sit. Chasing my lips with the feverish brush of his own, grin felt pressed against my mouth as his fingers trace nonsensical shapes and patterns against leggings. 

“You did so well… you dance so beautifully that no-one can look away even if they want to. You’re mesmerising and I know the camera didn’t do you justice.” He says, lips pecking mine, lingering longer and longer until his hands slide up, skimming across my thighs and waist and torso to cup my cheeks, nose brushing against mine and giddy smiles pressed to my own that curves wider. 

“Liar. But such a pretty one.” I whisper against his lips, hands winding around him, curling around his nape and chasing the gentle, sweet touch of his lips. 

Hear Minnie’s soft laugh, hand trailing up and down my spine, coming to settle around my waist. 

“He is pretty.” He echoes in agreement, voice a soft hush and lips pressing to my cheek, to my jaw, head tilting towards mine and leges swinging with endearing excitement as he motions for the camera. 

“Let’s see then. Are you going to get any displayed?” he asks, tugging Tae forward by the camera strap, drawing it over his neck and monitoring the photos. 

The three of us gravitate close, Tae’s eyes shining with excitement and sweet nervousness as he looks at the two of us looking, heads bent over it. 

Slowly flicking through beautiful shots captured mid-movement, suspended in time and air, bodies arched and positioned against each other. 

In dance you don’t see it as much as you feel your partner’s connection, feel the strength of Jimin’s touch in his every movement, in the grip of his palms and the unwavering confidence he lifts me with. I feel his movements as invisibly entangled with my own, reeled to me as I am to him as if a tether binds us, gravitating closer and closer until by the end of it, two dancers exist as one body, one thudding pulse and one shared breath. 

And Tae… Tae in his photos has captured that. 

And from Tae’s photos I can see what he sees, can see moments of raw emotion captured, of our faces tilted close and Jimin’s arm a firm bracket around mine, the tilt of his hand against my cheek and the arch of my body pressed flush to his. 

“They’re… beautiful… I never had any photos like this for my performances before. Never this powerful.” I admit, knowing from the large boxes and trunks stored away that there were so many mementos and relics from a time gone. 

Wonder absently if they’d ever want to see it. 

And hear those thoughts come to fruition when Tae’s eyes shine imploringly as he looks at me, completely focused on me and not the camera, fingers looping around my wrist. 

“Do you still have them? Can I see them….? That must mean the old photos around your living room are authentic then and not like the ones we had made.” Thrilled at the prospect. 

That this entire time there’d been real photos lying around from the eras we’d lived through, photographing as many memories as we could once they’d come into existence. Using paintings and portraits and sketches before. 

I was sure that if we searched deep enough into the stores we had scattered around the city and the attic that I’d be able to find them too. 

Find sketches and family portraits, find laced up dresses and fitted breeches. 

“I’m surprised Habaek oppa or Mi-sun unnie haven’t taken the opportunity to bring out the albums… I’m sure we have some lying around outside of storage.” I muse, legs swinging and hands bracing to jump off the edge, feel his hands grip my waist and lift me. 

Twirling me round and nose brushing against mine , sweet plea clear in his rich baritone. 

“Can we see them, do you still have original outfits… have you been wearing genuine vintage all this time?” thrilled at the prospect. 

I nod, leaning close to whisper conspiratorially. 

“Habaek oppa isn’t the type who minds sharing… I’m sure there’s several pieces that would fit you well.” 

All of them stored away, preserved, kept safe, kept pristine. 

Moments of our lives that no-one would ever guess had they seen the clothes alone, had they seen small moments displaced in our present. 

Watch as Tae’s eyes light up, see the impatient tug of his hand at Jiminie, drawing him off. 

See one hand still grip the mask, see the black ribbons flutter as he holds it back out towards me, eyes creased with warmth and lips stretched in a soft smile. 

But I don’t need it anymore. 

I haven’t needed the mask in decades and there’s no reason for me to hide anymore. 

And though my fingers unconsciously reach out for it, fingers brushing against silken ribbon, there’s no ache to cover my face, my identity anymore. 

It’s yet another piece of me, a part gone, a history that comes to settle. 

“You know you could start your dance career again. Without the mask. As (Y/N).” he suggests, watching me. 

Maybe. 

“Maybe one day. Maybe when I’m free.” I murmur. 

His fingers catching mine, entangled with black ribbon and my own. 

“When you’re free… I can’t wait to see and hear my unmasked swan’s incomplete song.” 

------- 

“I’m sorry.” Fingers curl around my own and squeeze fiercely despite the clammy pallor to his skin, eyes soft and worn, fierce in their wanting. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. What for?”  

“For being sick. You missed out another dance season looking after me…  count your losses beloved and free yourself.” 

My hand tightens around his, lips brushing against his temple as the lump in my throat grows, blinking tears away as I keep one arm curled around him. 

“I’ll let go when you’re tired of me. But until the last breath I’m yours.” I promise. 

Feel his lips, tremble and shaky, graze my knuckles, head rising off my lap to brush against my jaw. 

“No. When I take my last breath… when I die, don’t linger. Let yourself heal and let yourself live. Find another love. And another, love with everything you have.” 

Tears once held at bay spill over, shaking my head furiously as I tug his hand to my lips, brushing fervent kisses to knuckles turned sharper with time. 

“Don’t say that… you’re not dying on me! We’ll find a new medication, there’s talk of imported drugs…” 

Feel his fingers squeeze mine, falling silent at the aching earnestness in sharp, dark eyes. 

“Drug addiction is going to kill me if the disease won’t. And I’d rather die aware than in a haze induced by opium.” He murmurs. 

I shake my head frantically. 

“You’re not dying!” voice trembling and spiked with hysteria. 

“I am. I’m a detonator and there’s no telling when I will. So promise me. Promise me to keep on living.”  

My eyes clench shut. Hot, heavy tears seeping out regardless, staining my cheeks with grief. 

He couldn’t leave me. 

I couldn’t live without him. 

“You promise! You swore to be with me.” The pendant heavy around my neck, it’s delicate gold chain a noose. 

Fingers going to clasp it, thumb brushing over ghe jade, over the inscribed words. 

“I swear to love you with every breath till my last. I swear to love you so fiercely that in the next life fate will bring us a happier tale. I swear to love you till my bones are dust and my soul leaves me. I swear it (Y/N).” 

Voices a low raspy hum of words, his eyes blazing, fierce despite the weakness that continues to gnaw at his body. Continues to wear him away day by day. 

“And if you have the chance to be reborn, before my debt is repaid, I wish you happiness and health. I wish you a love far fiercer than the one we got to share. I wish you life.” I murmur back. 

Flinching when his body is wracked with coughs, weakly struggling for his handkerchief. 

Unconsciously, without awareness, my fingers move to rub at his chest, draw the handkerchief from trembling fingers and into my own as I being it to his lips. 

Feel the wet spatter of blood against my skin, feel the shudder of his body as it twists with discomfort, skin seeming to shine silver with feverish sweat, blankets rucked up and tangled around his legs. 

“Promise me. Promise.” He insists, pleading with fingers that smear with his blood as he grips my hand, the sticky press of skin damp with sweat and eyes pooling with anguished tears. 

“...I... I promise I’ll try Jem.”  

And when his eyes flutter shut, slipping into unconsciousness, I hold him. Apologies and tears staining pale skin and a bloodied smear where my hand rests on his chest. Chasing the weak, irregular thud of his still beating heart.  

A detonator or an hourglass? With time trickling away from us and with it taking him from me.  

My thumb brushes over the pendant. Still so brightly gleaming in its gold and jaded glory. The delicate chain brushing against my fingers as I let them skim past courting letters written by him, past an old sketch I have no heart to open and see, even as my heart swells with tenderness for the man I’d fiercely loved and given my all. 

Feel the curiosity of a silent gaze that never probes further than needed. Silently watching. 

“One day... one day I hope I can tell you how much this man meant to me.”  

Lips brushing against the back of my head. 

“It would be an honour to know.” Yoongi murmurs, leaning forward to peer at the albums Tae handles so preciously, slender fingers lifting each page as he turns it. Eyes roving over every detail with passionate eyes, with a longing and wistfulness and nostalgic lilt that makes me pause. 

“You must’ve met the most incredible people.” He murmurs, mostly to himself. 

“I did. Some better than others, some so passionate and some that left their mark on me without ever knowing.”  I admit, watching his eyes drift from the photos of a masquerade ball, from the shawls and sequinned dresses to give me a heart achingly tender smile. 

“Met some of the famous ones too.” Habaek oppa intersects with a pleased, nostalgic hum. More than thrilled to have the chance to settle and go over them again. The look of scandalised shock on Joon’s face as he rifles his hand through the bowl of popcorn as he flicks through the photos drawing a bubble of laughter. 

“They’re artefacts... genuine antiques.” He says thoroughly shocked, eyes narrowing with the familiar passionate gleam of delicacy and determination. 

The snort that slips past Habaek oppa’s mouth is utterly undignified and unrepentant, amused as he laughs, head tossed back. 

“Are you calling me and my belongings that old Joon? Or suggesting I don’t know how to handle my own things?” challenging and taunting. 

Watching pink bloom across his cheeks even as he shakes his head quickly. 

“No! Just... how are you eating?” 

“They’re my albums and I’m hungry.” Shrugging his shoulders before he coos around a mouthful of popcorn, gesturing eagerly to me as he points at the photos open on his lap. 

“Remember this? I cried the day those factories closed down and we finally moved away.” he says, the relief still flickering on his face as if it hasn’t been decades. 

It almost… almost feels like we see strangers in the frames, almost. 

See the broad fit of Habaek oppa’s shoulders in a shirt worn thin and despite the exhaustion, there’s a smile curling across his lips. His hands wrapped around our shoulders, fatigue and weariness boring down on us and skirts mussed and dirtied. 

I remember the feel of callouses, remember the weight of labour and the cluster of bodies crammed close, remember the clammy skin when Mi-sun unnie had fallen ill, teetering on a dangerous brink. 

"She should be dead, I have no idea how she’s holding on."

The photo had been taken after she’d healed, pushed through nights of sleepless unrest, of days muffling hacking coughs into handkerchiefs and dabbing at sweat pearling on skin. After pushing through days of trying to down the broths and soups the two of us had cooked. 

The relief of the factories being closed, shut down because of unjust labour treatment and new laws being put into place. 

And we were finally free to leave, to move to another part of the world. 

To vanish and start again. 

And with the new life, washed away the remnants of the excessive labour that threatened to grind our bones to dust. 

That photo had been taken to mark the end of that era. 

“Good riddance to them.” I mutter, brushing over old letters and snippets tucked alongside. 

“I prefer the Roaring 20s.” I say, leaning back to the album in Tae’s hands, pointing to the glittery glamour of the photos. Remembering the glossy cache of photos I’d taken with Tae that would be put into a separate album. 

Maybe I’d take the other boys too, a small twist of life where despite not being in my past they still dressed as it in my present. 

“Very Gatsby of you.” Yoongi observes, peering at the photos before tapping Tae’s wrist to loosen his hold so he can draw it closer. 

Fingers brushing over a picture with a bright cocktail held loosely, feathered headband glittering and skin iridescent with a new product Mi-sun unnie had insisted in rubbing into skin. 

I remember kisses laced with alcohol, hungering for the taste on each other’s mouths, remember the gleaming want in eyes clouded with lust but focused intently on me and just me. 

Remember the aching familiarity of a body pressing close, arms wound around my waist and swaying with me, remember thickets of bushes and the night air cool as we stumbled into a maze; the rough scratch of twigs and leaves and the distracting trail of teeth and tongue down my neck. 

The Roaring 20s had been a very, very hazy pleasant dream. 

A blur of music and nights that stretched on infinitely, the buzz of feeling free after a long time. The 20s brought bubbling wild, fizzing hope raw and electric as it pulsed through my veins, brought dizzying blurs of memories. 

It’d brought a few decades of freedom. Unhindered liberated freedom. A sense of exultation that had seared hot and consuming. 

“Gatsby might not have been real but there were plenty of men like them. Women too.” I murmur, head tilting back to lean against Yoongi, lips curving up when his eyes slide to mine.  

Quirked up widely, fingers trailing to curl around my waist, teasing and playful against my sides, laughter warm at the wriggles as I move to escape the teasing, toying touch, his other hand banded across to keep me from escaping. 

“I have some old records from that era, never knew it was your taste.” He murmurs. 

Tae’s eyes shine as he looks at the two of us, head tilting to rest against Jimin, smile widening at the immediate kiss he gets pressed to the curve of his cheek. 

“Oh it is. I don’t think you’ve ever seen her move to sultry beats. That session… tease is what she is.” He shudders out, eyes fluttering and dark curls brushing against his cheek when he shakes his head. 

“I don’t remember you complaining Leonardo~”  I tease. 

His grin turns crooked, playful and smirking as he shrugs. 

“I wasn’t.” 

Habaek oppa’s purposeful cough interjects the flickering tension that threatens to bloom, wild and raw. 

“How about you treat cherub the same way? With kid gloves.” Though he’s teasing and he’s closing the album he holds, more focused on gripping the popcorn bowl than carefully holding the album as he stands. 

Laughing at Joon’s scandalised yelp as he reaches, eyes wide with disbelief and shock. 

Pats his shoulder with the tips of his fingers drifting across the fabric. 

“There there Namjoon… I’ll look after my album well.” He promises with teasing sincerity, eyes warm as they flick over to me. 

Mischief and warmth entangled in dark eyes before he leaves, dragging away Mi-sun unnie with an arm thrown bodily around her before she can bound in. 

My eyes catching the indignation on her face and her yell that he shushes as he draws her away and up the stairs. 

But still her voice rings out, carrying over to the living room even as she drags her feet alongside his. 

“Don’t ruin my cushions or upholstery.” 

HABAEK POV: 

There’s peace on (Y/N)’s face as she sleeps, curled and burrowed under the blankets; face smoothened out with rest. 

A peace and contentment that hasn’t been on her face for perhaps decades. 

A peace that comes with finally being unburdened of a secret far too great for the six of us as sirens to bear. 

My fingers reach over to straighten her blankets, lingering against her cheek before leaning over to press a kiss there. 

Drawing the edge of the blankets back to worm in beside her, tucking the two of us and curling around her. Feel her stir and shuffle, peering and blinking slowly at me, eyes fluttering open and shut before a soft, sleepy smile tugs at her lips and she leans in further. 

Pressing closer to me, arm slinging over my waist. 

“Go back to sleep cherub.” I murmur, leg draped over hers, blanket drawn around us, hand curling around skin, thumb brushing over the inside of her arm. 

“And you…” she mumbles, hand resting on top of mine. 

And for a small while the world falls into sleepy peace again, hazy and warm and undisturbed. Asleep and at rest until the sudden jolt of the mattress startles the two of us awake. 

Disoriented and blinking at the sound of Mi-sun’s loud voice; grating and overly exuberant and disappointed. 

“Abandoned! Alone! Cuddles without me…” she bemoans, sprawling over the two of us, lips peppering random pecks across skin, squirming away from her. 

Groaning as I try to bury my face away, curling against (Y/N), lips quirked up against her nape in a grin as I feel her shuffle sleepily, protesting but unable to dislodge her from the two of us. 

“Go away Mi-sun, you’re so loud!” I grumble, hand swatting at her. 

“And you’re mean, hogging away (Y/N) for a lie-in.” she complains. 

Hear a muffled laugh from beside me as (Y/N) reaches back to tug her to sprawl over the blankets beside her, lifting the blankets in invitation. 

Smiling when she gets a kiss smushed against her cheek and another body plastered against her. 

“Ah…. I have only my sweetheart. Habaek has no loyalty.” 

And my leg stretches out to kick her, glaring over (Y/N)’s shoulder with narrowed eyes. 

“Just sleep Mi-sun. Even centuries don't make you easier to bear in the mornings.” I grumble. 

But sleep though having been rest and ease, it hadn’t come easily for the first decade or so, trying to adjust to a life and body that felt alien and not my own.

Trying to realise that if I walked into the sea I wouldn’t drown no matter how deep the water submerged me; body tightening and seizing up at the cold that leeched skin, lungs terrified of drawing in salty water and not air. Terrified of holding my breath but unable to let go of the seized oxygen either in case the inky blue would stain and smear my insides and suffocate it. 

And when Mi-sun falls back to sleep with (Y/N) drawn close in her arms, sleep doesn’t come back to me. 

Lying awake, no longer as sleepy but still lethargic, feeling the urge to burrow close. 

Eyes taking in their sleeping figures for a few moments longer before slowly clambering out of bed. 

Rest. 

And as this lifetime, this existence as a siren will surely and certainly come to an end… I hope unrest can come to its end too for the six of us. 

------- 

“Habaek… have you ever needed therapy?” Namjoon asks, slightly cautious, slightly curious. 

Peering over research papers sprawled over the large library table. 

Feel his eyes observe my hand as I set down the papers and rub at the heaviness in my eyes. 

Shaking my head. 

“I don’t expect you guys to know everything about old original lore and sirens. But like I’ve said- we’re not chosen because of an affiliation with the water. We were the ones with the greatest desperations to live… but it came with a price far bigger than that chance to live. And we all have different ways of coping.” I shrug. 

The corner nook the two of us sit in is deserted, empty. Tucked far behind untouched alcoves and shelves and books that perhaps haven’t seen or felt human touch bar for the care to keep dust from gathering on them. 

He flinches, nodding as he looks at me. Eyes warm and compassionate. 

“And you? How do you cope?” 

“I live. I feel restless and miserable when it feels I can’t live through another decade of enduring something else and I celebrate every new turn and adventure when it comes. I just… I try to see and remind myself that though this is a curse… Mi-sun and (Y/N) are my blessings, those mercies.”  

Though it was a price paid in centuries, it was made bearable because of them. 

They were the reason I kept going. 

They were the reason that to the very end I would keep going. 

Mi-sun expelled that pain by living her life vicariously, living it indulgently and living it without sacrificing her happiness for the sake of people who’d leave one day anyways. 

She lived fiercely. 

Fiercely loved, fiercely took, fiercely gave and fiercely hungered; to satisfy and satiate every desire, every wish, every dream. 

(Y/N) tried to cope with that pain by mourning, by remembering the ones gone and trying to remember for even an instance longer the lives that no-one knew were ending or coming to close. She lived trying to balance the dangerous line between grief and blame; teetering far too much into guilt and shame and hatred for herself. 

She lived but she relapsed. 

She lived but she suffered that her existence remained even whilst countless others came to be silenced around us, by us. 

And I lived simply by trying to take this seemingly infinite existence one day at a time. 

One day where it could be quicksand and the other suspended and frozen; trapped within that instance. 

One day at a time. 

And now… now finally (Y/N) was doing that too. 

One day at a time. 

She was letting herself breathe, letting herself live, letting herself be happy without guilt. 

You have no choice but to keep on going, I’ve gifted you life beyond any human measure, enjoy it. 

The same deceptively once-sweet voice dissolving into hardness after when (Y/N) sat with a slew of bodies around her, cradling and rocking a violently trembling figure, Mi-sun’s sobs hoarse and painful, shrieks quietening into broken sounds that tremble with distress, fingers entangled with her hair and tugging. 

When we’d tugged her into water to wash the mud staining skin and the trembles to fade under scalding water. 

But she’d sobbed and shrieked, writhed to get away from the water. 

And the Ocean had been merciless when a husk appeared as a siren, when Mi-sun stood numb and blank, jaw compelled to open and lips parting to sing. 

Hadn’t cared for the way she swayed dangerously in the water and flinched every time a wave lapped at her. 

This is your life now, your voice is Mine. Your allure is my gift. It is your shortcoming you failed to understand how powerful it is. 

And Her voice turned harder and harder until nothing of the warmth and love She dared insinuate She harboured was nowhere to be found. 

Time didn’t bring Her hardness, we let the dark stain of water, the taint of guilt and shame blind us to the much greater darkness we'd been trapped by.

Hoping pitifully that maybe the Ocean wasn’t bad. 

When She was the one orchestrating our grief, controlling our bodies and voice for Her use to take lives that amounted to years beyond the lifetimes we were doomed to live. 

I lived and coped remembering the Ocean was the villain. 

Not us. 

(WHEW! I HATE HOW LONG IT TOOK ME TO FINALLY GET THE INSPIRATION TO WRITE THIS, HATE THAT IT’S TAKEN FOREVER FOR ME TO RETURN TO BABY SIREN AND THAT GAHHHH I SEEM TO BE GETTING STUCK WHICH IS WHY I APOLOGISE… BUT FINGERS CROSSED FOR MY INSPIRATION FOR THIS FIC TO REMAIN!! BUT!! HOW DID YOU FIND IT… AND THE HEALY INTIMACY IS COMING SO EYES PEELED—THAT’S SOMETHING I WANT TO TACKLE VERY CAREFULLY. ANY GUESSES FOR WHO~ TAKE CARE AND ENJOY!!) 

QUESTION… out of the following which one is your top pick? 

Original scene before they became sirens.  

Baby siren and her true love lost.  

Habaek’s spiral and coping.  

Mi-sun. Just MI-SUN. 

Borahae! 💜💜💜

PurpleQueenie <3