To What Was Ours

vi (taehyung)

The sole similarity was that of the adrenaline rush a concert gave. No matter how his limbs ached, the amount of sleep he'd gotten the night before, how alive the crowd was, his beaten body found the energy to move, and move, and move until he fell into an exhausted heap once the platform lowered and the encore faded out. Like a strike of lightning, Taehyung crossed the threshold of their dorm and was analyzing the puzzle set up at the door, tenacity coloring his blood.

"These are weights. We have to find stuff that's the correct amount of weight, place them on these sensors, and then the door will open."

Seokjin, left in his dust, stabilized his balance, still in the midsts of recovering from their transportation. "Taehyung, wait," he reached out, gesturing for him to return to his side, "we should check for anything harmful, first. Especially before we start digging into everything-"

Taehyung left the entrance but did not listen to the wordless command, instead turning to the hallway. "I'll take the kitchen and bedroom. You take the bathroom and living room. I'll take the first four weights, you take the second, and we'll figure out what the last one means together."

Aghast, the eldest moved after him, taking awkwardly large steps to avoid hypothetical hazards on the floor. "Taehyung, wait, there could be something that could hurt you -"

"If all of our old stuff is here then it's probably those things. Or Kookie's. His have to be here, too." One moment his hand was reaching for the bedroom knob, the next, his wrist was clutched in Jin's grip, who strictly led him back into the dingy living room, taking what little control he could gather.

Taehyung could see Seokjin's attempts to convey the seriousness of their situation through his gaze, not an everyday look of his. It grounded him through sheer demeanor.

"Please, slow down," tinged with desperation, Seokjin sucked in a long breath. "This isn't our dorm. It looks like it is, but it isn't. We have no idea what's really in here."

An uncomfortably long silence passed, Taehyung deliberating between smoothing those lines between Jin's brows, and continuing his mission mercilessly. Eventually, the Angel inside of him finished the debate with a solid point the devil could not contest - he couldn't finish alone, and wouldn't want to, anyway.

"Sorry," he apologized sheepishly, rubbing the back of his burning neck. "I got ahead of myself. It's just - Kookie. Because he's the prize, I don't want to stop for anything."

Appreciating the easy communication, Jin patted his shoulder, allowing his hand to rest there comfortably. "It's okay. I'm excited, too. I want to finish this as quickly as possible, but I'm not finishing without you, so please, keep yourself alive."

It's an odd feeling, standing in a place you swore you would never be in again. Sort of like deja vu, sort of like a vivid dream, but a certain type of whiplash that sends unwanted shivers.

Before all their glitz, and glamor, and billion won residences, Bangtan began from the dirt beneath the industry's feet. It was a zero hero story that certainly was viewed as impressive, awe-inspiring before a lightning storm changed their course of glory. Only from the outside was it ever a fairytale. Looking back, he could appreciate the remarkable outcome for all their strife, but struggle wasn't anything easily forgotten.

Young and impressionable Taehyung certainly was not expecting to share a single apartment with six other boys when he arrived at a fascinating new world that was Seoul. A wake-up call tougher than the shrillest alarm.

The very sight of the dorm was a killer of passion within itself. He studied the stained walls, ragged furniture, cheap lighting, suddenly feeling seventeen again, blissfully unaware of what pain awaited him. So eager he had been, diving headfirst into deluded opportunities. He wondered how he even survived.