JIMIN POV:

The sight of her dancing over and over is burned across my mind, I feel my heart twist in pain for her because I know what she's doing, she's trying to lose herself in the music, in dancing so that the world melts away. And as hauntingly beautiful her dance is, I can see the exhaustion that clings to her frame and yet still she insistently shoulders on, pushing herself through the choreography over and over again. It's something new and yet something so profoundly timeless about the agony she's conveying, the feeling of being lost that can resonate through history. 

The dancer in me is appreciative of her talent but it's also the dancer in me that winces when I catch sight of her dancing barefoot, of seeing the plies and other ballet moves she incorporates that I know for sure will leave bruises behind. Bruises to go along with the purple finger marks on her arms and the red scratches on her skin. She's a canvas depicting pain and yet there's nothing anyone of us can do to stop her. We shouldn't be here, shouldn't be watching because this is something so personal, so intimate that we don't have the right to, and yet here we are at the entrance to the studio frozen in a mixture of fear, worry and awe.

And I realise that perhaps something much deeper is going on, the pain we'd seen in her eyes runs far deeper than any of us had imagined. None of us for a single moment thought that she could be dealing with something, that there was a reason behind her silent nature more than shyness. There's such a tempest of pain and suffering begging to be released and yet she doesn't shatter her composure or fine lines as she dances, she keeps it bottled in still, contained within her.

I feel an arm tug at me and see Kookie turning as well. Hobi hyung is looking at us with tormented eyes.

"Let's go. We shouldn't be watching." He whispers.

He's right. We shouldn't be. This is her escape.

We shouldn't be watching.

Even if some part of yearns to turn back and give her comfort, turn back and ask her if she's fine, if she needs anyone or anything.

"But hyung..." Kookie says in a defeated tone.

Hobi hyung shakes his head.

"She came here for space, for some air. We shouldn't take away what this dance means for her." he says, voice firm and soft.

And yet still his eyes are pained too, as if the sight of her exhaustedly pushing herself through the dance over and over was unsettling, making him want to turn towards her too.

As if it's taken every last shred of resolve to pull us back, to give her that space.

"Let's go." He murmurs, tugging Kookie with him and yet even as I follow I find my feet faltering, begging to turn back.

"Give me a minute." I say without waiting for an answer, rushing off towards the large kitchen.

I quickly take out a bag of ice, putting the large cubes into an ice pack bag, securing the lid on it tightly. I open the first aid kit and get out a tin of salve, it does wonders for bruises and injuries. And hurry back to the studio, I don't dare make a sound as I leave the two against the wall near the door, hoping she'll use them, that she'll give herself the things needed to heal after pushing it through to such lengths. And with one final glance to (Y/N) I turn away, even as I feel that somehow I'm abandoning her as I move to leave.

HOBI POV:

The drive back is sombre, none of that hopefulness that we'd come with, the air tenser and stiffer. The image of her dancing keeps playing itself on a loop in my head, stuck there and incessantly replaying the memory of her body dancing again and again. The movements were flawless but the sheer pain I felt from watching her was so immense that it made me freeze, her body was shaking with exhaustion, with the force of holding her emotions back and yet still she continued to push herself through it.

Pushing herself to that brink of pain and falling off it again and again, it hurt. Hurt seeing her like this. The (Y/N) I had seen today was nothing like the one I'd slowly gotten to know. She wasn't like the shy sweet girl who clung onto the other woman for support and yet remained even as she'd left. She wasn't the sweet yet curious self I'd had lunch with, with eyes that had glittered with intrigue and had watched me and Jiminie eat and chat to her- answering common questions about likes and dislikes. She didn't seem like the fun girl Kookie played with or the one Tae had easily connected with. Nor did she seem like the one who'd picked berries with Yoongi hyung or helped Jin hyung bake.

She seemed like a shell. As if all these wonderful traits and qualities we'd learned about her, had filled us in more about the person she was had been drained away. Had been forcefully removed until all I could see was a girl in pain, who was silent and yet screaming with her body for help, for solace.

It felt like a betrayal leaving her behind just as much as it felt like a betrayal intruding on her dance.

I was so confused.

I don't know what to feel anymore.

"Guess you can't get everything you wish for." Kookie mutters, voice a monotone. The first words anyone has spoken since we've gotten into the car.

I shift to look at him in the rear-view mirror, see the downcast expression as he looks downwards.

"What do you mean Kook-ah?" Jiminie asks, twisting to face him.

"I wished that we'd get to see her. And wished she'd be fine. But only one came true." He mumbles, his voice is soft yet the pain in it is clear.

And I feel my heart ache for our baby.

For the boy I saw hurting silently.

Because he'd been one of the most worried, perhaps the most frantic and desperate to hear from her, glued to his phone in the hopes it would light up with a message, a call...anything to let him know she was fine.

And yet she wasn't.

Though we'd seen her, rather than put those worries to rest, it fed fuel to them and made them roar and grow like powerful flames, consuming everything and pushing aside everything else except the screaming realisation that she was very much not fine.

And when we get out and head in, the others turn with confusion when we appear in the living room doorway.

"What happened? You left not too long ago." Yoongi hyung asks, turning away from his laptop to shoot us all a concerned, puzzled stare. And the laptop is discarded to the side when he sees us, reads whatever is splayed across our faces.

The three of us make our way to the couches and Tae is already waiting with his arms outstretched to scoop the other maknaes into his arms, lips curved in a downward tilt as he looks at the two, at the way they seem to clutch at him and curve into him, silent.

And Yoongi hyung stops me from going anywhere, hand tugging me to pull me down onto his lap and arms wounding their way around me, preventing me from moving.

"We saw (Y/N)." I say, shifting uneasily.

The others still, turn to look at the three of us with shock.

And it's Jin hyung who speaks next, hedging his words carefully.

"How was she? Was she fine?" he asks, concerned.

I shake my head.

"She's far from fine hyung. She's hurting. So, so much. Much more than anyone of us could think. More than any one of us could realise." I confess, staring at hyung's shoulder intently, focusing on the contrast of the black t-shirt with the smooth milky complexion of his skin.

"I wish she wasn't. I have a feeling she hasn't had the best past." Tae murmurs voice a low upset timbre.

I turn to face him, see the others focus on his words.

"What makes you say that Taehyungie?" Joon asks, leaning forward from where he'd been reclined next to Jin hyung.

"Umm...when we went to take photos she seemed to get lost in a memory." He says but doesn't elaborate, choosing to respect her by not divulging the details, giving us just an idea that he's witnessed something before.

But even as the room descends into a hushed silence, everyone lost in thought- Kookie turns to Tae and leans up to tug at him.

"You took photos? Can I see?" he asks softly.

As if he needs a break from this, wants to turn his attention on something positive and bright. Something Tae clearly associates happily with her.

When he'd come home that day happily chatting with Joonie and clutching his camera- we'd all smiled and thought he'd gotten great photos.

But to know that she was there that day too.

It makes me wish that we'd all clicked a long time back that we'd seen the same girl.

If we had then perhaps we'd have been there for her when she needed us.

It makes me feel as if we've failed her somehow. Failed her just as our friendship was taking off and blossoming.

"Of course you can see Kook-ah." Tae murmurs comfortingly.

And I hope that the photos provide a distraction, for me too. And gives me something else to focus on, than the haunting image of her dancing over and over and over again.

(Y/N) POV:

I collapse to the ground, drenched in sweat and each muscle and limb protesting in pain and agony. I suck in breaths, the action paining me and burning as I try to force air into my lungs, feeling myself shake and tremble, arms threatening to give out when I push myself upright.

I stumble to my feet, stagger to the cupboards at one end of the studio, where I'd seen the Jimin and Hoseok and Jungkook frequently go to, tugging out towels and spare clothes during rehearsals. 

I tug open the doors, fingers stretching upwards, tiptoeing to reach a towel, fingers grasping the end of one and tugging it.

I dab my face clean, using the towel to clear away the sweat on my neck, on any visible skin. My body feels hot, far too hot and when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I see a red flushed version staring back at me, the marks on my arms prominently stick out, physical reminders that what had happened had been very real, that Mi-sun unnie had clutched at me tightly to reassure herself that I was there and left the proof of her desperation in bruises. I see the red marks as remnants of my nightmares, proof that I was suffering. But yet even as I sway on my feet I feel it's not enough; it'll never be enough.

To make up for the lives lost, to repent for the losses I caused.

I drop the towel in the small laundry basket as I slowly move back to pick up my jumper and phone, ready to leave. And when I reach the door I pause as I note the ice pack bag there, at the tin of salve. Was that there when I entered? I can't remember.

Maybe they'd left it after their last dance rehearsal. Something I'd missed the past few times because of the Ocean's call. I missed not only dancing with them, but the comfort and ease it brought me.

I missed the sense of belonging dancing with them brought. That even if I was a siren and they were normal human beings- there was something that connected us. That didn't make me feel so alone when I was dancing with them- that trust and confidence in each other.

And though the salve was tempting, would perhaps work wonders on my aching feet, on the toes I'd know would be bruised come tomorrow- I left it be.

I deserved pain, as much as I could get. I had to endure, the victims had gone through infinitely more- these small instances of pain helped me feel something other than the numbness that threatened to sweep in, made me feel the barest as a punishment for what I'd done.

And so I slowly pull on my shoes onto my weary feet and trudge out- letting the cold wind that's picked up whip harshly across my body, even though I shiver and tremble I walk all the way home, sluggish and drained but pushing myself to keep walking, to keep putting one step in front of the other. I walk home even as the wind dries the sweat against my body and makes me feel cold even after I tug my jumper on.

And when I enter, I go to shower- water again scalding and hot as I scrub the sweat from my body and desperately try to thaw my soul that freezes a bit more. I stand under the painful sting of the shower spray and try not to break down. Try not to fall weak.

I try to remain strong because that's the only way we can go, moving forward and further on in life, even as with each service I feel a part of me chipping away and being left behind with each incident.

And when I'm done, against all common reasoning and sense, I pull my laptop towards me and start searching on articles for the cruise ship, read page after page of the details of the victims, look at the photos and messages and posts they'd done before they died. And store them all to memory, because all these people had lives beyond being the victims of the Ocean, they'd all held purpose and meaning beyond what purpose they'd served Her then. It feels unhealthy, obsessive, and definitely won't ease the nightmares but knowing these details somehow helps, helps picture these people as something more than two-dimensional photographs on a newspaper only for that newspaper to be recycled, thrown away or used to clean. It becomes a memory that I hold close, the name of those gone forever remaining with me .

It lets me in my own way mourn for them, to grieve over the deaths I helped bring.

And then my eyes catch onto the sight of the children, the ones I'd remembered briefly breaking free of the trance and pause, lingering over the sight of bright smiles and waving hands. Replay the small videos of them shrieking into the camera how happy they were, how they were going to have so much fun. I look at the way they run around giggling, playing with each other.

And think, if I hadn't stopped singing maybe they wouldn't have died scared. If I hadn't stopped singing their last moments wouldn't have ended with fear.

The Ocean is right. Me stopping mid-song had done that.

I had brought them that fear.

And the feeling of bringing them such distress, recalling so vividly my own when I'd been flailing in those waters makes me feel guilt and makes the tears trickle silently down my cheeks. I discard the laptop, unable to keep looking at the screen and curl my arms around myself, rocking myself and hiding my face in the crook of my arms.

Will it stop? Will the pain ever stop?

HABAEK POV:

I enter (Y/N)'s room to see her laptop discarded to a side and the sight of her rocking herself, curled up in on herself and whatever I had come in for has immediately left my mind as I hurry to her, taking her in my arms. I take one glance at the screen and feel my heart twist with grief- she's been looking at videos of the victims.

And even as my heart twists with pain for her, for the sorrow she insists on putting herself through I hold her.

"Cherub you need to stop. Please don't keep doing this to yourself." I whisper as her curled up figure remains trembling in my arms.

I reach over to turn the laptop off, unable to look at it without feeling the panic from our last service come washing over me.

I had come so close to losing her that day, the crippling fear of what could've been still lingers over me, wakes me up panicking in the night until I slip out of bed to go check on her, reassure myself she's fine.

And seeing her in pain and hurting makes me share in her agony.

The limping flushed figure she'd been when she'd come home had been indication enough that she'd spent the good portion of the morning and slightly into the afternoon dancing. I could see it from the familiar exhaustion that saturated her body. And even know as I peered over I saw the beginning of bruises forming on her toes, saw the discolouration on her body as proof of what she'd pushed it through.

She coped like that but it wasn't healthy. Mi-sun coped by filling her day with activity and bustle- she'd been in and out of the house all day, returning each time looking progressively ragged and drained; ranging from doing small errands, to stocking up on groceries to heading off to work and when she'd finally arrived not too long ago, I'd pushed her onto the couch and told her to stay there- seeing the exhaustion weighing her down.

But I could make out slight sounds coming from the kitchen and knew she was in there.

I itched to do something too. By coping the only way I knew how. Either throwing myself into work and researching, reading books after books until my eyes ached, or made notes until my hand cramped. I researched until my head throbbed with pain and my body protested from being stiff. And sometimes we coped in other ways. By trying to drink away our sorrows, by heading to clubs to let the booming, thudding bass penetrate our head and wipe out thought, to lose ourself in the feeling of being lost in pleasure, or the pleasant fog that came with intoxication.

And sometimes we coped by holding each other and became each other's raft. And that tended to help the most.

More than the buzz that alcohol tried to induce, more than the feeling of drowning and being overwhelmed by other feelings or by losing ourselves by being overly productive.

And right now I needed them.

I gently shift so I'm carefully carrying (Y/N)'s form in my arms, shifting her limbs so she can loosely lock her legs around my waist and carrying her down the stairs to get to the kitchen. Mi-sun turns from where she's fussing over three pots on the stove and moves forward to run a gentle hand down (Y/N)'s bent head.

"Let's have dinner." She murmurs.

And I see the full plates that lie on the counter, the stew and soup she brings to the table.

Mi-sun exerts her energy into doing things for us. Sometimes it's dinner, sometimes its by rearranging things or methodically reorganising.

And as she sinks into her chair I see the weariness line every feature.

But still she turns to the two of us, to help position (Y/N) onto the chair and gently closing her hand around a spoon.

"Eat sweetheart." She urges gently.

And though her face is listless, lined with dried tears and red eyes, she listens.

Because if anything (Y/N) has always been a loving, caring person towards us. And even if she didn't want to eat, she does it because Mi-sun asked. And she's never been able to deny her.

(Y/N) has a heart that is incredibly soft and tender, perhaps far too much for the life she's had to live.

And that's why protecting her and sheltering her comes as a natural instinct.

Because I don't want her to hurt.

Don't want to see her in this repetitive cycle of pain.

Which is why I work so hard.

(UMMM....SO I DON'T KNOW. FEEL LIKE I LOST THE FLOW OR LOST YOU GUYS AT ONE POINT, AS IF THE STORY PETERED OFF OR SOMETHING BUT THIS CHAPTER WAS MEANT TO SHOW THEM COPING AND TRYING TO OVERCOME THIS PAIN AND IN THE NEXT CHAPTER WE WILL BEGIN TO SEE SOME INTERACCTIONS BETWEEN THE GUYS AND (Y/N) HAPPENING AGAIN- BUT YOU CAN BET THEY'LL BE DIFFERENT TO THE ONES WE'VE ALREADY SEEN. I HOPE THE CHAPTER WAS ENJOYABLE...IF WE CAN CALL ANGST THAT AND LET ME KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS MY LOVES! CAN'T WAIT TO SEE YOUR REACTIONS AND HOPE YOU LIKED THE CHAPTER! WHO SHOULD BE THE NEXT ONES TO MEET HER? AND I FEEL BAD FOR THE BOYS TOO...THEY'RE HURTING COS THEY FEEL THEY FAILED AS HER FRIENDS AND MORE TO COME ON THAT! STAY SAFE LOVES!)

QUESTION...WHAT YOU WANT TO BUY NEXT?

Mine is...sticker paper so I can make my own stickers!

Borahae! 💜💜💜

PurpleQueenie <3