4.6 | Dark Ages ✓

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HE IS THE man who saved the world.

And yet the world does not know him.

That's an arrangement which suits him just fine, as he discovers on the first-year anniversary commemorating the end of the Dark Ages. To his brothers's confusion and surprise, he'd rejected all opportunities to be awarded the status of a war hero. Fame. Accolades. Recognition. Perhaps he might've wanted that in his past life.

But when he's gone through hell and back, he finds that nothing else matters, save for the people he cares about.

She hadn't needed acknowledgement either. It had been made clear to him when he'd read her journal. That book opened a world to him he'd never known before. A version of her he already knew, and then some. Quirky and pensive, a little dreamy, a little sad, painfully honest and frightfully intelligent. Her writings contained random snapshots of her life, some days summarized in a sentence or two, others in exquisite detail—especially where he was concerned.

He could feel her love for him—bleeding through the pages, scribbled in every heartfelt word, his name penned with care in her most elegant font. Through her, he saw himself. Bright and broken, a little tortured, a little idealistic, a resilient and patient man she adored with every fibre of her being.

It was the last entry that stole his breath. Written on the morning of her death, it was as if she knew that he would see it someday. It read like an intimate love-letter—the first and last she'd ever given to him. He'd memorized it until it came to him as easy as breathing, and it had affirmed his belief that she hadn't done what she did for the world.

She'd done it for him.

So he attends the ceremony simply to support his brothers—after all, what kind of brother would he be if he didn't support their achievements? It's their moment in the limelight. As founder of the base in Antarctica and specialist weaponry designer respectively, Seokjin and Namjoon are important (albeit reluctant) guests of this ceremony.

He grabs a seat at the back of the hall, far out of reach from the flashing cameras and brash reporters, and claps for his brothers. Seokjin is polite as always, if slightly dazed by the attention. But he catches Namjoon's subtle eye-roll after the Minister shakes his hand.

At the sight of that, his lips twist up in a faint smirk.

It's all he can manage at this point. A hint of amusement; a crinkle at the corners of his eyes. Nothing more. She's taken away all his smiles and laughter with her passing. Every time he thinks of her, he feels that sharp twist in his chest, like a blade buried to the hilt within him. An emptiness around his sternum; a pinch in his lungs. It's been a year—three hundred and sixty-five fucking days. And yet, sometimes, it feels like both a second and an eternity have passed since.

A sudden movement in his peripheral has him glancing to the right. He's surprised to find his old colleague there. Jimin, all smart and dapper, is the main spotlight of the evening. He almost shifts away, well aware that there are plenty of eyes and cameras on his colleague—and, by extension, him; but the sympathy on Jimin's face keeps him there.

He knows, then. He knows about her.

Jimin opens his mouth to say something, then seems to think the better of it. "This belongs to you as much as it does to me," he says instead, holding up the shiny plaque that the Minister's awarded to him. "You know that, right?"

He understands Jimin's sentiment. Appreciates it, even. But he couldn't be more wrong. "Thank you, but no," he says quietly. "You deserve it, because you worked hard to save the world. All I ever wanted to save was...her."