To What Was Ours

iii (hoseok)

Taehyung's eyes began to widen.

"Admitting to its own misjudgment, it has decided to give you six a chance to restore his life."

Hoseok didn't want to believe it. But he was captivated before his mind could process. The air shifted with great haste, even the wind anticipating the turn of events. Believing would make him a fool. He couldn't afford foolish decisions, anymore.

Bangtan detached from Namjoon's firm stance. All functions wiped out from the innermost parts of their bodies. What a terribly cruel joke it would be, if they suddenly awoke soaked in sweat, spread atop their bedsheets. Hoseok waited for a merciless chuckle to drop the faux screen of green, hopeful, summer, revealing a dry, dead, midnight desert.

Hoseok was nothing but a fool.

No take-back came. The stillness stretched until it became awkward. Someone had to say something; the voice refused to carry the conversation further. Their spokesman's, Namjoon, mouth was agape, face pale, clearly unable to form any coherent sentence.

He could have tried, himself. But his sanity relied on the promise so heavily that he refused to accidentally sputter the wrong thing. Eventually, the second eldest managed. The birds sang a distant song.

"Um - who - who are you?" Yoongi asked with a mild stutter, quick breathing able to be spotted from a mile away.

"The message."

"The message?" The rapper relayed, tossing them a confused glance. He mouthed, "what the fuck?" only a tiny fraction of the profane words that fit their perplexing, anxiety-inducing, situation. The message chuckled, the way that a storm would let out a rumble of warning before a strike of lightning.

All but one could speak no longer. When he did, it was as though an entirely different person than who they knew stepped forward, and pleaded.

"Are you serious?" Taehyung stared up at the blue ocean above, confident, like speaking to an old friend. "About the chance? We can bring Kookie back?"

"You're here, aren't you?" A different tone. They were fond of Tae, unlike how they were amused by Hoseok and Namjoon's attempts at defense, and casual with Yoongi.

And yes, they were. The six of them were conscious, grounded, and if he closed his eyes and pictured a familiar setting, it would be no different from Seoul. Breathing in new life, Hoseok was, becoming accustomed to the crisp freshness of the air and gradually believing in what he should know wasn't possible.

It hit Hoseok with renowned virtue that this was the mistake they were told to fix, a bullet to his unprepared chest. Pressure collapsed his shoulder girdle.

Like the rational Saint he was, Namjoon regained enough composure to prevent any further exploitation of his member's soft, neglected, resistance. His sharp tongue tinged with ice. "People can't come back to life."

"How would you know?"

Namjoon took a step back, visibly struck by the sass.
"Be - because they don't. That doesn't happen."

"Not from your perspective, no. Not yet."

Those last two words broke the remains of his progressing spirit. Namjoon retreated into his shadow, dropping his head, drooping his shoulders. Not yet. Like there was a chance. Hoseok's heart leaped out from his chest and clung around that chance, as vague as it was. Namjoon's ice melted into a meek puddle spelling out the word mercy.

"Please don't give us false hope."

Finally having pity, language was spoken that Namjoon understood. "I don't waste my time with lies."