You Infire Me

Chapter Twenty-Five: Gotcha

Warning: This chapter contains some strong language and discusses cyberbullying.

"Even if it's a road of thorns, we still run."
—Suga

You froze in place. Time stood still—but not in the good, romantic way you'd grown accustomed to. This freezing wasn't due to you being locked in Yoongi's deep, dark eyes; it was the result of you getting caught with his engagement ring on your finger. You rushed back to his side, pointing to the now empty patch of window that had once featured a sneaky onlooker taking a snapshot. "She was there! With a camera! She got me—I saw her!" You said. Yoongi's eyes filled with concern even has he wrapped you in a comforting hug. The rest of the boys whipped out their phones, ready to assess the damage.

What they found was the stuff of nightmares.

Your previous title of "Suga's sweetheart" was no more. With that diamond on your finger, you'd become "Suga's slut." The anger seemed to be directed at you from a narrow margin of BTS fans—but they made up a particularly vocal margin. Hate posts and comments, the likes of which you'd never seen, came piling in: directed at you. "Manipulative little bitch," read one, "taking advantage of our long-lost, confused Suga-sshi." "He's so vulnerable right now," said another, "and she's clearly just taking advantage of that for his money." But it wasn't until the death threats began that BTS's security detail had to intervene. They ripped you and Yoongi away from Hunsaker and took you to a remote cabin, far from civilization or cell service. "We'll be together the whole time," Yoongi assured you. But as you lay in his arms every night, your heart pounded in anticipation, dreading the moment some dark, bulging monster emerged from the small cabin closet to snatch him away from you. Your brain convinced itself that you were in a horror movie.

You wake one cold mountain morning to a thunderstorm, to rain pounding on the glass pane of the bedroom window. Instead of seeking Yoongi's warmth, you just curl up into yourself, squeezing fresh tears from the corners of your eyes and trying to push away the treacherous tide of thoughts. Who cares what people think of me? Who cares what they say?

They care, whispers your brain. And they're coming.

No, they're not, you counter. They don't know where we are.

They've got weapons, too. Guns. Knives.

Pitchforks? you laugh. Come on. These aren't the Salem witch trials. Plus, BigHit bodyguards surround the place.

People hate you, it grows louder. They hate you cause you're pointless.

No, you fight.

Useless, it asserts.

No.

Weak.

No.

WAKE UP! It yells, jolting you upright, forcing your eyes to take in the dreary, blue-gray morning light. THEY WILL KILL YOU. YOU WILL DIE. YOU DESERVE TO DIE.

"My Y/N?"

Yoongi's soft, groggy voice is a whisper from behind you. It forces you to breathe.

"Is everything okay?" He leans up, sees your expression, and wraps you in his arms, pulling you back down onto the mattress alongside him. "Shh, shh. I've gotcha. I've gotcha. Breathe with me, okay? In," he inhales deeply, strongly. "And out," he exhales gently. You follow his lead a few more times, and your heart begins to slow its pace.