YOONGI POV:

It's a dangerous game that (Y/N) chooses to play I note. A dangerous game that had started the moment she'd offered a prize of Kookie's choice, dangerous that she'd left him to choose and dangerous that he'd chosen to take his prize in the form of a kiss. A kiss from the same lips that had once been silent and shut, endless stories trying to escape them, the same rosy lips I had known and seen and watched become more and more expressive, had become a reflection of the words she'd wanted to say but hadn't been able to. And the same lips that had parted so sweetly under Jin hyung and then Kookie and had emerged bitten-red, swollen and slick, an enticing distracting sight which had become even more dizzyingly attractive when they'd parted in laughter, a silent smile that had grew and spread across her lips as she watched the others grab and tickle Kookie, a pang of something so deep and meaningful flashing across her face as she watched. And those same rosy swollen lips that had pressed tightly together when Hobi had turned to drag her into the mess, hands darting over her to tickle and the same lips that had parted in breathless giggles as she twisted to escape, the sound of her joy finally joining the others.

"She'll be fine won't she?" Jin hyung murmurs from beside me, drawing me with a start to turn to him, having become so engrossed in the scene unfolding that I hadn't noticed he'd stopped to watch on with a smile curling his lips wide.

My eyes turn back to her, to the way Joon's hands automatically darted out reaches to stabilise her curving back as she shied away from Hobi's relentless attack, watched as he secured her only to hold her captive so Hobi could continue and the betrayed look she shoot, an indignant cry of 'Namjoon' joining the hum of sound.

I can't stop the smile that stretches across my lips as I watch.

"She'll be just fine. I feel it." I reply.

And with that knowledge that settles in my heart, a deep innately-rooted reassurance that (Y/N) would be fine, I turn to continue helping with breakfast, unable to stop smiling as the chaos behind only increases and doesn't lessen, (Y/N)'s voice and breathless giggles mingling in and merging perfectly, naturally with theirs.

Filling the space she was always meant to.

Filling the space that had been waiting for her.

Filling the space we hadn't even known existed until she came along.

And after breakfast there's an unwillingness that clings to everyone as (Y/N) stands up with Kookie to help do the dishes, uncertainty as we wonder what to do next, hoping that she doesn't want to leave.

Wanting her there simply because we enjoyed her presence, enjoyed having her near, being near to her and spending time with her.

That as she draws the rubber gloves off and turns to face us, her eyes are sweetly apologetic, almost as if she can sense the shift in the air.

"I should..." she begins at the same time a few others speak up at the same time.

"Can you stay?"

"We can do something together."

"Spend the day with us?"

She pauses, face melting into a look of adorable endearment.

"Stay?" she echoes.

Joon is the first to nod eagerly.

"There's so much I want to talk to you about, so much I want to show you!" he says with a dimpled smile, equally bashful and excited.

Our adorable giant.

She smiles equally as endearingly, eyes sparking with a warmth.

"I'd like that." She replies sweetly.

"I want to see you beat Kookie and the others at Just Dance." Tae says bluntly with a cheeky grin as he darts out of several swatting hands and indignant cries with a deep bubble of laughter, peering at her with a pout and a bat of his eyes.

Sly manipulative handsome devil.

Not even focusing on the way the others look equally amused and exasperated. Tae turned the charm and cuteness on max for her and completely ignored the others for favour of appealing to her.

"I just want you to stay. Spend time with us. However you want." Kookie adds, cheeks pink but eyes and voice steady as he looks at her.

But there's something else.

Something else that flickers in her eyes, that display longing, a want to stay, to pass the day with us. There was regret and guilt in those expressive eyes even if she didn't speak.

"I...I really do want to stay. But I'd been hoping to go to the Magic Shop today." she says, voice slightly unsteady with the weight of seven stares on her, flustering slightly under the silence, fingers beginning to link together in a nervous tic.

There's a small sigh and when her eyes fall on Jin hyung, she relaxes and melts under the fond gaze he's levelling her.

"You don't need to be afraid of speaking (Y/N). We're not going to lock you up or stop you from doing anything." He says softly but seriously, his usual humorous tone gone as he looks at her, as he holds his arms open for her. It's an indication of just perhaps how much she'd needed to hear those words that she doesn't hesitate at all before rushing forward to burrow herself into his arms, folding herself in smaller as she seeks physical comfort.

A horrible thought dawns in mind.

Had she ever been in such a relationship where she felt scared to voice herself?

And it seems clear I'm not the only one who's thought it.

Though it's Jiminie who voices it.

"(Y/N)...have you ever felt like that? That you couldn't say what you wanted to?" he asks, voice stricken with grief and sorrow and face twisted and scrunched with anger and hurt on her behalf.

She emerges slightly from Jin hyung's arms, which tighten fractionally with the urge to keep her close and protect her.

Her eyes shutter. For a second it feels like she's going to shut it away, but then her eyes meet mine and I smile gently; trying to tell her that it was fine to speak and fine to not, there was never any pressure.

But she seems to find resolve and whatever it is she had been searching for in that flash of caught trapped eyes.

A small nod.

"It was a long, long while ago." She confesses.

There's a weight in her words, a dreadful burden that seems to cause her body to slump inwards.

A few beats of silence.

"I'm glad whoever it is, no longer has a place in your life." Tae says sharply, voice hardened and stiff and when her head flies towards the sheer bubbling rage in his voice, venomous and seething.

Rather than flinch or curve away from the hostility, she gives a small sad smile, posture loosening.

Had she really gone so long without normal affection that the smallest acts meant so much? Or had she hid herself away from feeling and falling again?

"Me too." She says simply.

And though I can see the tick in Hobi's jaw, see the way Kookie bristles with rage and the way Joon's face becomes a carefully neutral mask even as flames of ire and anger flicker in those soft brown eyes, no-one speaks. No-one pries.

"I won't ask you to share everything and anything at all if you don't want. But if you ever do want to, I want you to know we're all ready and willing to listen." Jimin adds, face softening slightly as he looks at her, at the way she seems to be waiting for something...as if expecting a backlash for the admission of truth.

She seems to sag with relief in Jin hyung's hold.

And my heart clenches and pangs with agony at the fact that it seemed engrained in her to immediately be protective and shelter her feelings, to hide them.

Hated that whatever she'd been through had made her so cautious of living.

And resolved to help tear down each insecurity, each worry, each wall that she wasn't hiding behind but rather trapped within.

And to help her be free.

And so when I offer to take her with me to the Magic Shop after taking her home to change, it's no wonder nor a surprise when the others pounce on the opportunity to join.

Because after all it didn't matter what we were doing, where we were doing it. We just wanted to spend time with her.

And if that was watching her lose herself in music, eyes wide and lost with memory as she trailed her hands over old records and music, then so be it.

There was just something beautifully captivating about that sight too I decided.

When she seemed to connect with certain pieces, when her eyes flashed with nostalgia and memory and an enthralled haze.

She didn't need to speak.

Not when her eyes spoke volumes.

And secretly spoke of stories that I'd begun to be able to read and decipher.

And when she turned around on the second floor, eyes searching until they landed on me, I read the silent invitation and request.

And pushed myself away from where Joon was eagerly speaking to Tae, the smitten boy, who was listening to him ramble about the historical surviving pieces of music, looking far more enamoured with Joon than his words.

She gives me a smile when I'm close enough.

"What can I help you with (Y/N)?" I ask, leaning in close to wrap my arms around her, to tug her back and peer over her shoulder at the rows of music records she'd been looking at.

She leans into the touch.

"I want help finding a certain song." She says softly.

I nod.

"Which one? I'm sure we'll have at least one copy of it somewhere...that is if it's good taste." I tease.

She smiles.

I see it from the way her cheek bunches from the side.

That's what she deserved.

To always be smiling.

She takes a deep breath, hand bunching into her sleeve, fingers curling into a fist on the side.

She's nervous.

"I want to know if you have a copy of an old ballet piece. I want to know if you have a copy of Black Swan." She asks.

I hum, wracking my head for where it would be located.

"Black Swan...the old 19th century piece?" I ask with curiosity.

She gives a nod.

"That's the one." she replies.

Another old piece of music.

Interesting. I peck her cheek as I step away.

"I'll track it down for you. Though I'm sure it's on the system if you want to head to a booth to listen." I offer.

She seems frozen for a few instances before she turns, nodding.

"I'll do that." She says.

And I find myself rushing away to track down the piece once she's slid on the headphones, peering intently through the digital records.

And even as I hasten around the shop, I can't stop wondering why is it that she finds such a tug to old pieces. What comfort or emotion guides her there to seek refuge in the past?

And would she ever find comfort in the present, where she lived and existed?

(Y/N) POV:

I slide the headphones on, searching through the digital records for the song.

And there it is.

Black Swan.

And my fingers hover for a few moments before taking the courage, the strength to click play on the song that was tied to me in the most bittersweet of ways.

And as the hauntingly beautiful music begins to play into my ears, it winds itself around my heart and squeezes, a gentle tender squeeze.

A greeting.

A soft welcome back.

A curl of memory that encompasses me.

That reminds me of surviving when I was ready to give up, when things were bleaker then than they were today. The weight of thirty years bore down on me, crushed any fleeting hope my soul had once had. But even then. Despite it all, the crushed wings of that same swan tried to flutter, tried to rise and gain strength not to live but to exist.

The same lyrics that had brought me comfort and guilt then brought me the same feeling over a century later. It still felt the same, still hurt the same and still soothed the same.

My fingers tremble as I listen to the lyrics, as I remember each second, each minute, hour, day, months poured into the ballet piece, into marking my rebirth and just how much strength it took to get there.

I had had harboured hope that these boys were the one. Who'd finally made me want to live and not exist, who'd added meaning into an existence, a life that slowly lost meaning and began to turn blue and grey. I'd started to wonder how long it would've been until those colours too faded and I was stuck with the same black wings of the swan that had been rebirthed, had risen again.

And yet. Whenever I thought of those thirty years, thought of the life sentence it was, I felt that deep emptiness fill slightly. Because I'd done it to keep the boys alive. I'd done it to protect them.

And thirty years of my life meant that the Ocean would protect theirs.

It was a life debt I'd pay, theirs for mine. Their safety and protection in Her waters if I kept serving.

And I knew that if I had to do it again, I would.

Each lyric seems to have changed now, hearing it after so long, hearing it when my life was in chaos and dance seemed to be the only stability I had left, the only constant I knew wouldn't leave me.

And I wondered just how many deaths I'd endure, how many times I'd break and shatter and crumble.

And how long I could go on until the empty husk too would disintegrate and fade away.

But it still speaks to me, still whispers soft caresses of memories.

Of surviving, of getting here, of being alive to experience happiness no matter how fleeting.

It speaks of empty practice rooms, of my blood, sweat and tears poured into every rehearsal, into every practice, of a broken, bruised body building itself up again. It brings memories of warm hearths and hugs and whispered murmurs of Habaek oppa as he'd sobbed and told me how grateful he was, for giving life another chance, for giving him another chance; to be better, to protect me, to love and live with me. Brings memories of the icy rage that Mi-sun unnie was, a wall against the ocean, a formidable force as she sheltered me, as she tended to my bleeding bruised feet and rubbed salve into my aching body, of looking after my body when I couldn't. Gentle steady hands that washed me, soft lips that murmured their love, that pressed kisses to my tearstained cheeks and that became my smile when I had no energy to muster my own. The song brings back that exhilarating rush of feeling, of emotion, of sensations other than the numbness as I finally felt alive once more. As I danced to the tale of my own rebirth, as I danced and moved to the choreography I had made for my life, as I danced to prove to myself that somewhere deep inside- a part of me longed to just live, bold and free and wild. It was a dance that spoke to the broken parts of me, that reached within the depths of my dying withering soul and took that small seed of hope, of longing and held onto it.

The trails of the song come to an end, a deep emptiness opening up where it had once wrapped around me, had hugged me close with the intimate secret promise that this too would pass, that it would get better.

And leaves me feeling empty and desolate.

Feel the weak flutter of the swan's wings struggle to gain strength to keep going.

And feel the hot splash of tears against my cheeks, swipe at them furiously because I was tired of hurting, tired of being in pain.

Tired of being a scapegoat for the Ocean. Tired of being stuck in an endless loop of never truly being allowed to live. Of being scared to.

Because I was going to live. I was going to use whatever time I had and live it boldly, live it as a burning flame that only grew with strength, that didn't flutter and flicker and threaten to be extinguished.

Those moments of weakness were for when I was alone.

My hands clench into fists, legs stiffening as I will the tears away, head falling back to keep them at bay, to keep them from spilling over.

The song begins its haunting trail once more, threatening to sweep me under the waves once more, the same waves that had battered the swan and made its rebirth so hard, so difficult.

And I find the music coming to an abrupt shut as the headphones are taken away, hastily moved aside and my body turned away from the booth with a strong strength and simultaneous tenderness that has those tears threatening to fall.

And find myself turned towards Yoongi, find his soft gentle features flash with hurt and protectiveness as he turns my body to face his. He doesn't say anything as he brings me close, arms fiercely tight and crushing and firm as he holds me to his chest, a fierce strength as he physically reminds me I'm not alone.

He doesn't tell me I'm okay, that I'm fine and it will all get better. He doesn't shush me as broken sobs escape my throat, bubble out from the very depths of my aged soul.

He holds me.

"Let it all out." He murmurs, voice painstakingly soft and gentle.

And I find that the comfort of his shoulder is one I couldn't ever relate to.

That the feeling of someone you long for, someone you feel your heart beat for to hold you when the world is being torn away was like finding a hand stretch out as the ground was shaking and cracking. It didn't save you, didn't sweep in and protect you, but stayed there beside you, a physical reassurance that they'd be there with you through it all. And never let go.

That you'd come out of this perhaps harmed, injured and grieving. But with someone. Not alone.

"It hurts." I sob against his shoulder, hand fisting into the sides of his sleeves, words muffled and confessed into his body.

I feel his grip tighten, heart wrenchingly tight and exactly what I need, a tight unrelenting grip that makes me feel protected in the promise he was holding on and not letting go.

"You're allowed to hurt." he murmurs.

There's a rattling shuddery exhale that releases itself out of the confines of my mouth.

"Even if it feels like forever? Even if I don't think I'll ever get better? Even if I remain broken?" I mumble.

Yoongi's grip encases me then. Swallows me whole.

With a fierce feeling of anger and rage and hurt.

"Even if it feels like forever. But you will get better. And you are not broken." He grits, voice tight and wavering and trembling.

The sheer vehement promise in his words has my voice petering out, has only weak muffled sounds escaping as I grip just as tightly back at him, as I cling on with hope, with the same feeling of trying to force air into lungs that threaten to cave, to finish the swan song that hadn't been finished, that was still unwritten.

And he remains there. Holding me.

There'd been no-one when I'd come to the booths, the shop kept closed for everyone else. And even the small part of me that would've panicked and worried about what the others would think seems to have fallen silent, quashed by the agony that has spilled over and consumed everything else.

And it's with a frantic urgency that I tilt my head up to face him, see the burning assurance of his words consume his eyes as he looks down at me, breath hitching at the silent tears that trickle down his own cheeks.

And a need, a paining need to feel alive, to feel whole, to get rid of that emptiness and knowing I'd always find it in them, that it would always be within them that my lips meet his, wet with the salt of my grievances and find a similar urgency as he meets mine, lips wet as he kisses me back in equal feverish need, lips slick and wet with our sorrow as he grips me tightly and holds me close. The tight grip we clutch at each other with is so different to the gentleness he moves his lips against mine with, wet warm lips sliding against mine as he kisses me, over and over, pressing soft pecks to my lips that grow with urgency as his lips linger, as his warmth brands my lips with his print. We share the same space, the same air and the same hurried franticness as we move impossibly closer, as his hand cradles my face and draws me close, a desperation lit in both of us as our lips messily, heatedly meet- craving the closeness, the warmth of each other, hands fisting into his shirt to draw him closer, to press close and let the feel of him sear itself across my mouth. And as his lips meet mine, his hand drops to wrap around my back and tug me closer, a strong pressure of his hand and fingers splayed against my back, a claim, a promise in that protective, possessive act, lips moving slower against mine but equally fervent and burning in their intensity.

When he leans to press his forehead to mine, he breaths deeply, a shuddering gasp as he seems to tremble, the tears hot stains against my cheeks, drying reminders of my heart's anguish.

"You aren't broken. You deserve to live (Y/N), you deserve to live without pain and hurt. It might be that the pain doesn't go away, but you never have to shoulder it alone either." He says, the words a shared breath of air, as he holds me close, as his fingers wipe my tears away.

I can't meet his eyes. Can't seem to accept those words are for me.

And he senses that.

Somehow Yoongi sees the jumbled mess I am, sees the web and tangled strings and doesn't care if he can't undo them, can't unravel them. He pierces through them, tears through the mess to grasp at the root of me, that part of me that was (Y/N), the sheltered piece of me that was threatening to be lost and fade behind the web and grabbed onto it. Tightly as if he won't let go.

His hand tilts my chin up.

"I know you've hurt and suffered more than what's bearable. I know your pain is too much for anyone of us to compare to. But I also know and mean it when I say, you don't deserve this, you deserve better. Let us help, let us be there for you when you're weak and hurting. And let yourself pain, let yourself grieve. And let yourself heal too." He says.

And this time when his lips meet mine, it's gentle, a soft caress of his lips against mine, but of his soul reaching out towards mine, to give it the support and help it'd needed but had never truly been able to find. And when I grip back, it's not as frantically, it's as if a part of me has been soothed, his words becoming a balm that others had tried to be but only he'd succeeded in.

"Even if I call at the silliest of times?" I ask when he leans back.

"Even then." He echoes.

"Even if you realise I have more emotional baggage then probably anyone alive could ever have?" I ask.

He nods.

"Even then." He promises.

And then he sighs, leans in to press his lips against my temple.

"I don't think you realise (Y/N) but we will, I will spend every moment reminding you that we are head over heels and still constantly falling deeper. I want you, emotional baggage and all." He says.

I sniffle as he says that throat tightening at his words.

"Min Yoongi...you're someone I'd wait lifetimes to find." I say, heart clenching at how true it is, how now that I'd met him, I knew that he was worth having survived centuries for.

He shakes his head, a glossy sheen to his eyes.

"No...(Y/N) you're someone worth waiting lifetimes for. We're lucky to have found you in ours." He says.

And this time it's my lips that cross the small distance to express what words could never.

I'd survived centuries for this, for him, for them.

And that was the strength those broken wings needed to flutter and keep going. To be the reason the black swan rose once more.

(THERE WE GO! ANOTHER CHAPTER!! I FELT SO GIDDY FINALLY WRITING THIS AFTER SO LONG! AND I WAS KINDA UNCERTAIN WHERE TOKE THE CHAPTER BUT I'M HAPPY WITH WHERE IT ENDED UP- EVEN IF IT WAS A VERY TEARY KISS; IT WAS ONE SHE NEEDED, YOONGI WILL KISS AWAY ALL HER WORRIES AND HOLD HER THROUGH HER TEARS! AND WHAT ELSE...AHHH~ THAT HINT TO HER PAST THEN! WITH BOTH A PAST RELATIONSHIP AND WITH THE CONTEXT OF WHAT SHE WAS LIKE AND FEELING WHEN BLACK SWAN WAS BORN! IT WASN'T MEANT TO BE SO HEALY HURTY, BUT IT ENDED UP BEING THAT WAY. I WAS TALKING TO MY DARLING Midiiplier AND I REALISED... EVEN IF SHE IS HEALING WITH THE BOYS, THERE'S DEFINITELY AN ELEMENT OF SILENT SUFFERING AND THAT CLEARLY BUBBLED OUT AND SPILLED OVER IN THIS CHAPTER. TO MY DARLING, I AM SO, SO SORRY AGAIN! BUT HOPEFULLY WHEN YOU REACH THIS...THE PAIN IS A LITTLE LESS. AND...FOR EVERYONE HURTING ALONGSIDE BABY SIREN, KNOW THAT THE PATH TO HER HEALING IS DIFFICULT AND SO EMOTIONAL BUT SHE WILL GET THERE...SHE HAS CENTURIES OF HEALING TO DO. BUT!! I'M SUPER EXCITED BECAUSE BLACK SWAN WASN'T JUST BROUGHT INTO THE CHAPTER FOR NO REASON...SO KEEP YOUR EYES PEELED FOR THAT~ LET ME KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS, TAKE CARE AND STAY SAFE LOVES!)

QUESTION...SOMETHING THAT IS NEW IN YOUR CURRENT DAILY LIFE?

Mine is...I've found my stamina or is it endurance (?) has increased to staying up late. Assignments and finals have reminded me that I have the ability to stay up late- something I unfortunately LOST the ability to do. So Midiiplier , lots of smooches for the company and for putting up with my ramblings. Though...it seems to be slowly slipping BACK again! And I don't want that...

Borahae! 💜💜💜

PurpleQueenie <3