4.6 | Dark Ages ✓

+ 0 5 : 0 0

And it is.

Seokjin still runs the trauma treatment facility, now aided by Namjoon and, sometimes, him. They're getting by through helping others get by. Jungkook has moved into the neighbouring town with his family—he'd seen the other man on several occasions when picking up dinner from the other town. Hoseok has moved his research lab here—two streets down, where they see each other in passing. Jimin has returned to the university to educate young, bright minds in his field—a brief reprieve from a world that still can't get enough of him. And, every now and then, he catches a glimpse of Yoongi—across the street, decked out in his uniform with all the badges, standing at the memorial by the place where she'd been buried.

As for him, he'd tried to move on by reconnecting with the past. Once the dust had settled, he'd retrieved his old books, retrieved hers, and started to read. Words had blurred and equations had boggled. He'd almost given up at first—only the sheer determination to understand his own mind (and hers) had kept him at it. How had she created the Cypher? How had he created Strand F?

He wanted to understand, if only so he could leave those questions behind.

Slowly but surely, their research had begun to make sense. He'd contacted Hoseok and Jimin for help, then studied until he understood. It wasn't enough. He'd returned home one day with a schedule in his hand, a stack of books tucked under his other arm, and shrugged when his brothers asked him where he'd been.

"The library," he'd said, "I'm going to earn those degrees I had all over again. Probably ace them all over again, too."

Seokjin had rolled his eyes, even though his lips twitched up in an approving smile. And Namjoon had simply snarked "Show-off," while handing him a cup of coffee.

He'd gone to bed that night feeling like he finally knew where his life was headed, even if only temporarily. His brothers's faith in him was assuring, too, and he could almost hear an echo of her voice in his head as he fell asleep.

You never walk alone, Taehyung.

It wasn't the first time that he'd heard her voice in his head, nor was it his last. Her voice—gentle and quiet, sometimes light, other times melancholic, pulling him through his darkest days and guiding him towards the brightest ones—would surface in his mind every so often. He'd choose coffee over tea, and there it was—your other self preferred tea, you know. Funny how things change. And yet, lovelier still that others stay the same. He heard her when he went to bed at night—you made it through today. You did good, Taehyung—and when he opened his eyes in the morning—it's a good day today, Taehyung. What're you going to do?

For awhile, sometime during the second year past the Dark Ages, he'd wondered if he was going mad. Perhaps he missed her so damned much that he'd begun to hallucinate her voice. Then, when his mind cleared, he realized—no, that wasn't it.

It was just how damned much he loved her. Still loves her. Her voice, like the rest of her, had been embedded in his heart and he thought of her all the time. Some of these thoughts were memories of what she'd said to him before; others mere imaginings of what she would say had she still been alive. She was—and still is—in his mind, and in his heart.

Sometimes, he thinks that she is his heart.

Even now, as he crosses the road to the memorial as he does every morning, he hears her. There are many people here today—it's the fifth-year anniversary, after all. He weaves his way through the cars parked along the street, and the crowd milling about the driveway. Where before he'd always felt claustrophobic among crowds, he rather enjoys being a part of them now. Lost among the noise. An absolute nobody amidst a sea of nobodies.