(y/n) had made it just outside her tent. She was in a daze, just moving one foot in front of the other. She was lost in her own world, oblivious to the surroundings, when a firm hand unexpectedly gripped her shoulder and deftly turned her body. There was an assumption that she would resist the movement, but she offered none, allowing herself to be swayed like a marionette. The hand remained steadying her. As she looked up, she was met with the intense gaze of Namjoon. He loomed over her, much closer than she had anticipated, his tall and imposing figure casting a shadow that engulfed her. His body was rigid and tense, his presence imposing, and his stare. His eyes bore into her with a searing intensity, like hot coals that seemed to scorch her very soul.
(y/n) exhaled sharply through her nose, a huff of hot air escaping her lips. She had been mere steps away from finding some semblance of rest, but now another problem stood before her, embodied in Namjoon. The comforting, mellow feeling Jin had left behind swiftly dissipated in the wake of Namjoon's unyielding presence and his strengthing grip.
"What?" She retorted, her voice carrying a harsh edge of the exhaustion and frustration that had engulfed her. The energy required for politeness had evaporated.
Namjoon didn't like the tone; his eye visibly twitched, and his brows furrowed so deeply that they seemed to form a crevasse on his forehead. The air around them grew thick, suffocating (y/n) with an oppressive sense of foreboding. She felt a shiver of unease run down their spine. His command, uttered in a tone that brooked no argument, "You need to come with me," Namjoon declared, the words as unyielding as a judge's gavel striking the bench. Wherever he had just been or whatever he had just done had left him in a horrendous mood. (y/n) was certain of that.
She also did not appreciate being commanded like that. Especially from Namjoon, not after his actions the last time they spoke. He could go elsewhere if he wanted to flip-flop between anger and whatever weird thing he had displayed previously. Her jaw tightened, and a flicker of defiance crossed her eyes as she resisted the urge to snap back.
"I'm going to bed; we can do this later," (y/n) replied, her voice carrying a measured calmness as she attempted to shake off Namjoon's hand. The exhaustion of the day, coupled with the simmering tensions Namjoon just seemed to take with him, had drained her patience. She had no appetite for a drawn-out, pointless argument.
Namjoon, however, was not willing to let her off so quickly. His physical grip had been released, but his hand seemed to linger in the air. "No, you need to tell me what you've done to Jimin to make him so irate." he reiterated, his voice taut with frustration.
"I've not said more than five words to him," (y/n) retorted, her voice tinged with exasperation, but her words did little to appease the storm brewing.
This answer was far from satisfactory in Namjoon's eyes, and his hand descended to her wrist, the grip firm and unrelenting. As he pulled her along, (y/n) attempted to wrench her hand free, her fingers straining to break his hold.
Namjoon maintained his determined stride, his grip still unyielding on (y/n)'s wrist, even as she stumbled along behind him. Their steps left imprints in the soft earth. Her camp section slowly faded into the background as they veered off the beaten path, heading towards her old, much grander tent hidden from the prying eyes of soldiers and staff.
As soon as she stepped into the tent, it was apparent all hell had broken loose. The atmosphere inside was thick with tension, and chaos reigned. Everyone except the three eldest was crammed inside, shouting loudly at each other, their voices overlapping in a discordant symphony of anger and frustration.
(y/n) strained to decipher the words being hurled back and forth, it was as if her ears had been filled with cotton, muffling them into an indistinguishable blend. Amid the chaotic scene, her attention was drawn to a sudden flash of paper clutched in someone's trembling hand. It fluttered in the air. As her gaze fixed upon the envelopes, everything suddenly became clear. The paper, her letters, still sealed and unread.
Her heart plummeted into the depths of her stomach, a heavy anchor of dread and realisation. She had assumed that the nightblades that frequented the port in Gall Bluff who had promised he had posted them had lied. However, as she stood in the chaos of the tent, it became abundantly clear that he had not been lost at sea or ensnared in some dark conspiracy. The letters she had penned with her most profound thoughts and longings were not destined to remain undelivered. The nightblades had not deceived her.
Now aflutter in the air, her letters seemed to drift downward in a slow, dreamlike descent, as if they were submerged in a tranquil, weightless sea. How they swirled and pirouetted was a surreal sight, as if carried by invisible currents.
Without a moment's hesitation, (y/n) found herself on her knees, moving with a swiftness born of both desperation and joy. The world around her faded into the background as she gathered the delicate pieces of her heart and soul into a trembling pile, each letter a lifeline, each word a confession, and the ink upon the pages a testament to how much she had missed them. She remained oblivious to the underlying tones of betrayal in Taehyung's voice, his words laced with desperation as he implored to know why Jimin had chosen to hide away her letters. Nor did she register the commanding authority in Namjoon's voice as he demanded answers, his words cutting through the tense air like a blade. Even Jungkook's silent act of kindness, helping her pick up the fallen letters, went unnoticed in her state of frenzied distress.
Her attention had narrowed down to a singular focus - shielding the contents of her written words from prying eyes. In her mind, these letters contained emotions too raw and personal to be laid bare before these men. She clung to the idea that if they had read her thoughts as they had arrived, it would have been different. The emotions and experiences she had poured into those pages might have been understood with more empathy, and they would have realised why she had to leave. But this understanding never came to pass. In their eyes, she had vanished without a trace, leaving behind a void. The silence surrounding her departure was deafening, and their rift grew wider with each passing day.
It could have been different, and it was Jimin's fault. He was shouting back at namjoon about how (y/n) had stolen something that ruined him. It was the only way he could make it even. She had stolen something, so he had stolen any hope of things being the same again. Though what it was she had supposedly stolen, she had no idea.
It could have been different, and the blame for the escalating confrontation now squarely lay at Jimin's feet. His voice cut through the chaos like a searing knife, shouting back at Namjoon with a raw intensity that reverberated throughout the tent. The accusations were like a torrent of arrows aimed directly at (y/n), accusing her of a theft that had apparently shattered Jimin's world. Jimin's words painted a bleak picture. He claimed that she had stolen something, something so significant that it had irrevocably scarred him. To him, it seemed the only way to balance the scales was to take from her any hope of returning to the way things used to be.
She watched their mouths move, a mere spectacle of vocal chaos that her ears refused to decode. Her fingers clenched around the letters, tightened as if attempting to ground with each passing moment.
A pervasive sensation of fatigue and confusion welled up inside her like a storm ready to unleash its fury. The frustration, always simmering beneath the surface, now bubbled up and threatened to consume her. She had had enough of the shouting.
Summoning the last vestiges of her strength, (y/n) rose to her feet, and with a determination that was mirrored in her unrelenting grip on the letters, she pried them from Jungkook's tenacious hold. He pleaded with her to say something, to break the silence that had engulfed her, but his words were merely a distant hum.With as much grace and dignity as she could muster, she began to walk out of the tent. Her footsteps were measured, carrying a solemn purpose, even as the storm of emotions continued to rage within. Her grace, however, went unnoticed by those left behind, overshadowed by the turmoil that had engulfed the tent.
(Y/n) reached the nearest fire pit. She hesitated for a brief moment as the letters still clung to her fingers, the last remnants of her unspoken truths. Then, with a resolve that echoed her determination moments ago, she let them fall from her grasp into the waiting flames. The letters surrendered to the fire's hungry embrace.
The vivid details she had poured onto the pages of those letters flashed before her as she watched them succumb to the heat. She had poured her soul into those pages, vividly describing the peculiar loneliness that occasionally enveloped the island despite making a few friends. She had bared how her nights were marked by solitude, how the absence of their heavy breaths beside her made her bed feel strangely empty and cold. She had written off the gold in a secluded temple, a glistening treasure that had served as a haunting reminder of the abbot. Her words had unveiled the stark image of his cold, unwavering gaze, the eerie smile stretching across his face as he wielded a blade. Revealing how he had inscribed scars into her skin, something she had never really shared out loud. The raw ache that had torn her heart apart, their absence from her life a constant, throbbing pain. Every second, every minute, every day, she had longed for their presence, aching to be reunited with the ones who truly understood her, yearning to reclaim the sense of wholeness she had once known.
As they burned and crumbled, the tendrils of smoke stung her eyes, though her gaze remained unwavering, fixed on the consuming fire.
As (y/n) stood by the fire, the dancing flames cast an eerie glow on her face. Her chest heaved, and her fists clenched. Problem solved, she thought; there was no need for them to argue about letters that no longer existed, and she could finally sleep.
However, that was short-lived. Namjoon was there once again, starting. It felt like all he did was stare at her like she was dirt under his feet. And my god, that made her angry. The realisation that she despised him hit (y/n) like a bolt of lightning in her delirious state. Her thoughts swirled and twisted like a storm within her mind. Her fatigue had turned into an intoxication, distorting her judgment and making her fixate on the idea that Namjoon was to blame.
Amid the fiery chaos, (y/n) imagined countless scenarios where anyone else could have found her in this mess, and she would have assigned blame to them just as quickly. But Namjoon had led her into this predicament, and he now stood before her.
As she approached the nightblade, her silhouette cast long, wavering shadows on the ground. (Y/n)'s fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword, the leather-wrapped grip providing a reassuring familiarity. As she drew the blade, it seemed to sing in a silvery melody through the air. She wanted to hurt him, to take everything out on him, everything she had refused to think about, from her father to just being in the camp. The fire's warm glow and the sun's reflection painted the steel with a radiant, almost ethereal quality, transforming its silver surface into shimmering gold. She held the sword before her, arm extended to its limit, steady as a mountain. The blade's point hovered, poised with deadly, just a hair's breadth away from Namjoon's neck. Every subtle shift in her stance and the trembling balance of the blade held the unspoken promise that all it would take was a simple movement of his head, and the sword's sharp edge would slice through the delicate skin, drawing blood.
Namjoon's eyes, once sharp and filled with disdain, softened as he gazed into (y/n)'s eyes. He made no effort to evade, standing his ground, almost as if he was ready to bear the weight of her anger, as though he felt he deserved it. As her hand hurtled through the air, the world held its breath momentarily. The flames of the fire leapt higher, casting bizarre, elongated shadows that danced around them. The blade hummed, a harmonic resonance of impending action, as (y/n) prepared to strike. At that moment, she could see the rapid dilation of Namjoon's eyes, the shock of realisation flashing across his face as he instinctively reached for his own blade, fingers curling around the hilt, ready to intercept the oncoming strike.
However, the blade never came close. With a strangled cry, (y/n) released her grip on the sword, driving its point into the mud, but the ground had frozen to solid, and it clattered to the floor rather unceremoniously. Her body soon followed suit, crumbling to her knees, her head tucked low to her chest, and her arms wrapped tightly around herself as if she were desperately trying to hold it together. The world seemed to shrink to the small circle of mud and grass where she knelt. Then, as abruptly as she knelt, (y/n) stood back up, her movements jerky, trying to regain balance. She shook her hands out as if she could physically dispel the turmoil that had enveloped her. It felt like she was trying to cross a canyon with a broken limb. Namjoon, who was on the other side of this chasm, stood uncertain. His gaze shifted between (y/n)'s state and his conflicting thoughts. He was torn between wanting to help the girl, to leave her be, or even the temptation to restart the confrontation.
Namjoon moved forward with measured steps, his boots crunching over the frosted ground, and retrieved the discarded weapon. With deliberate care, he wiped away the mud that clung to its blade, his eyes fixed on (y/n). The firelight cast across his face, accentuating the hardness in his expression. His voice cut through the still, frigid air as he spoke, a tone akin to a venomous serpent. "What the hell is wrong with you?" His words were like a lash, accusing and demanding,"Im tired" Was all (y/n) could muster. Her voice was a mere whisper.
"Go to bed then," Namjoon said, his words devoid of any genuine kindness. Instead, it was as if he were stating the most obvious thing in the world, but there was a vindictive edge to it, as if he relished pointing it out.
"I was trying to" (y/n) gritted her teeth. Namjoon's presence loomed in front of her, impossibly close, their faces almost touching. She could see the subtle twitch in his eye. "You stopped me," (y/n) reiterated.
But Namjoon paid her no heed, his resolve unyielding. He continued to close the distance between them, their faces mere inches apart. With a deft movement, Namjoon's hand found its way to (y/n)'s waist. He skillfully navigated the terrain of her body, his fingers grazing her hip, then sliding smoothly along the leather belt that held the sheath in place. With a firm yet surprisingly gentle touch, he tugged the belt forward, forcing (y/n) to adjust her balance to accommodate the movement. Her eyes remained locked on his as he re-sheathed her sword, the metal sliding into its protective cocoon nestled against her body. His movements were solid and commanding but surprisingly gentle as his fingers splayed across her side, moving her around to stand back.
"Well, it's your fault they're all arguing; you shouldn't have brought us here," Namjoon's words dripped with a tone of annoyance. His voice had shifted from venomous to bored, adding to the complex emotions swirling in the air. His fingers maintained their delicate touch on (y/n)'s waist as he spoke. The juxtaposition between his tone and the contact was jarring. It was as if he held her suspended at a cruel angle, where her feet dangled just above the ground, unable to get her footing.
"We'll talk later," Namjoon stated with a cruel detachment as he stepped back, his hands leaving an almost burning impression on (y/n)'s waist.
"I don't want to talk to you," (y/n) called out, the delirium clouding her judgment still tugging at her. She knew she needed to let him go, but her resolve crumbled, and she crawled back into the fray. She felt the banks begin to break.
She was now in the throes of it, somewhere in the belly of the beast. "You make me too angry." she declared, her voice quivering, anger etched into every syllable she uttered.
Namjoon responded with a hum, his expression still mocking as he turned his head slightly to study (y/n). She stood there, trembling under the weight of her own emotions, her knuckles white from clenching her fists, and he could sense the toll it was taking on both their minds. Still, the magnetic pull of their conflict remained, and he found himself surrendering to it willingly as if drawn by an invisible force. He could feel the toll taking on his mind as he gave himself over.In an attempt to regain composure, he exhaled slowly, his breath forming a visible cloud in the frigid air. "I'm not going to play this game," he stated firmly, but the gravity of his words seemed lost on him as he willingly returned to the magnetic pull of their conflict.
"What game?" (Y/n) called out, her voice wavering.
"You have a breakdown. One of them finds you, picks you back up, feels sorry for you, and comes crawling back... I'm not doing that." Namjoon asserted, his voice tinged with a touch of exasperation.
"I do not want you to."
"You know I came here to apologise; you missed one of the letters; I read it." He said, pulling out a crumbled piece of paper from his pocket. "I felt bad for thinking that you left us with nothing, that you didn't care." He admitted, his voice laced with resentment. "They paint a real pretty picture, don't they?" "They paint a real pretty picture, don't they?" Namjoon teased with a bitterness that clung to his words. (Y/n) wanted to throw up.
He held the crumpled letter out, and (y/n) moved to grab it, her fingers desperate to reclaim this tiny piece of their past. But Namjoon's grip tightened as he pulled it away just before she could grasp it.
"But you see, I think if you did love us like you say you did, you wouldn't have held a blade to my neck over some paper," he continued, his voice stern and reproachful. "Grow up. You're not a little girl. You're an adult; act like it." His words cut through the air, the confrontation turning from a tense stand-off to an admonishment.
(y/n) didn't know what to do, her eyes burnt up, and no tears came. She let him walk away this time.
Hello, I hope it is OK. I really should read my writing back, but I can't bring myself to do that. Thank you for reading !!!!