The contract with Death! M.YG× Reader

Found Him.

I walked unsteadily from my seventh-period class toward my locker so I could grab my things and head home. I had a date with my bed, a couple of Tylenol to deal with the sharp throbbing above my left eye, and a cup of tea. I hoped that after a nice long sleep, I would be able to think more clearly and come up with a plan to find Yoongi. Assuming this wasn't all a dream, of course. I'd never realized before just how fine the line between dream and reality was. It really wasn't all that difficult to confuse the two if you weren't in your right mind—which, clearly, I wasn't.

I dumped all of my things into my bag when I reached my locker, and turned to make for the bus when I smacked right into someone and went tumbling to the floor.

"Oomph!"

"My bad."

Letting out a huff of air, I brushed my hair out of my eyes and looked up at the person I'd accidentally walked into. I was staring up at Min Yoongi.

"You!" I gasped, scrambling upright. "What are you doing here?"

Yoongi raised an eyebrow, a confused look crossing his face. "The answer to that would be because I go to school here. What are you doing here, Y/N?"

It was as if my brain had suddenly gone into overdrive, and I couldn't come up with any words or actions that wouldn't make it seem as if I were completely insane. The expression on Yoongi's face as he stared down at me clearly said it was already too late for that.

He gave me a small, polite nod and set off down the hallway at a brisk pace. Only thirty seconds of interaction and already he was walking off? Definitely not a good sign.

"Hey, wait a second!" I practically had to sprint to keep up with him. "How do you know my name?"

I didn't think I'd left that much of an impression on him, let alone enough to remember me from one class two years ago.

Yoongi stopped at the head of the staircase and turned back to stare at me. "You're Kang Y/N, daughter of that hotshot lawyer and his businesswoman wife. We had English together freshman year. You turned the color of a lobster whenever I looked at you."

Good to see he remembers that, I thought with an eye roll. Just great. "Well, I guess I just— Hang on, where are you going?"

I stumbled my way down the stairs after Yoongi as he kept walking with lengthy strides. I may have had little experience with boys, but I wasn't stupid; it was obvious Yoongi was trying to put as much distance between us as possible. Unfortunately for him, leaving him alone wasn't an option for me.

"Away from you," he finally called over his shoulder.

That definitely confirmed my suspicions. "That's not— I mean, I just . . ."

It was impossible for me to formulate a coherent thought. My feet seemed to be moving faster than my brain was, and it wasn't proving helpful in making a good first impression with Yoongi.

"I mean, I meant to say, how are you doing?" I said, fumbling for words. "It's been a while since I've seen you. I wanted to talk to you."

"Because girls like you so often talk to guys like me," Yoongi said with a snort that might have been a laugh.

I caught the door before it could swing shut in my face as he strolled outside. "What do you mean, girls like me?"

"Rich girls who don't know a thing about anything," he deadpanned—something he was obviously used to saying, if not thinking.

I would have laughed if that comment hadn't stung so much.

"Hey! You don't even know me!" I shouted after him.

"Don't need to," he called back. He slipped into a crowd of people milling about on the sidewalk and disappeared from sight within a few seconds.

I watched him go, a feeling of utter defeat washing over me. That had not gone well.

Because I was desperate and I seemed to be only marginally hanging on to what sanity I had left, I took the train across town to the church where Yoongi's funeral had been held in the hopes of finding at least one small trace of Death to prove that this wasn't all just one very frightening dream.

The doors of the church were locked and there wasn't a single person in sight, so after snooping around for a few minutes and feeling utterly stupid, I decided to backtrack to that Starbucks.

The coffee shop was packed with the late afternoon rush, but I knew the second I leaned up on my tiptoes to peer around the place that Death was not among this mix of people. I would have let out a frustrated scream if doing so wouldn't have guaranteed my getting kicked out of the store. Instead, I settled for buying a mocha and trudging my way back to the subway.

It took another hour or so before I finally reached home. I managed to drag myself to my bedroom, where I flopped face down on the bed and immediately fell asleep. I dreamt of nothing, and when I finally woke, it was pitch black outside, I was stiff all over, and I wasn't too surprised that the date displayed on my phone was still November 11.

I rolled out of bed and walked into the bathroom, stripped off my clothes, and stood underneath the hot flow of water in the shower for half an hour. The shower did nothing to help me feel relaxed, like it normally would have. I stepped out, and after wrapping myself in a towel felt more tense and anxious than I had before.

I went to the sink to brush my teeth, and a startled gasp flew past my lips when I caught sight of the black streaks on my arm.

Bringing my arm up closer to my face, I took note of the crude little numbers etched on the skin of my wrist. 27.

You have twenty-seven days to stop Yoongi from committing suicide.

I scrubbed at the numbers on my wrist with hot water and soap and a washcloth for several minutes, but the numbers were practically tattooed on. I wrenched open the bathroom drawer where I kept my odd assortment of jewelry and rummaged around until I found the rope of Navajo ghost beads my friend Dahyun had brought back for me from one of her trips visiting family in New Mexico. I wrapped the beads around my wrist several times, making an impromptu bracelet that was big enough to hide the numbers on my skin. The less I had to look at them, the better. According to legend, the ghost beads warded off bad spirits and nightmares and brought protection to the wearer—something I would probably need for the next twenty-seven days.

I pulled on my pajamas once I left the bathroom and slipped back underneath the covers on my bed. I didn't fall asleep until well after midnight, too afraid to close my eyes and face what I might see while dreaming.

To be continued..........

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