Zero: A BTS AU (On Hold)

Pained meeting: Ch 12

Walking in, the grey walls and high cealing catch you off guard. The room didn't look that big from the outside, and as such your geeky mind was drawn to this room possibly being a real life TARDIS.

You thought that silly and moved on, deciding not to loom on your measly insignificance in vast expanse of the roof and to instead choose to stare at the floor.

Even with the chaotic mess of energy around you, the checkered pattern underfoot still entrapped your full attention. The burning, pincing, almost pricking feeling that ran across the front of your neck since the concert, began to disapear to the back of your mind. You regarded the posibility of playing chess with oversized peices and chuckled as your mind once again lead you off into the world of fandoms.

You shook your head, wondering just how many more aspects of this room could lead you to fantasy before your head stilled, gaze locked upon the table that ran along the farthest wall of the room. Well it wasn't the table that caught you like a fish in a net, no it was the seven stunning men who sat behind it, sending torrents of tormenting, illustrious shivers through your vains.

Then your eyes focused on Hobi and you sucked in a breath, not at how beautiful his long face was nor his deep bergendy hair that could draw any person with an inch of sight in, no, and though these things were playing with you and causing your heart beat to intensify, it was in fact a breath attributed to the revival of pain inhabiting your being.

In attempted control, you grazed your teath along your tonge, left hand scrunching the fabric by your hip. You took small shallow breaths, moving further up the line.

Not wanting to be seen in your current state, you hide behind (y/b/f). Gripping her shirt as you draw closer. You closed so much distance that your hairs grace hers, your breaths meeting her neck. She flinches and turns abruptly. Misinterpreting your face of steady, sturn pain as anxity for meeting her, and arguably your, favorite people, she just patted your back. "It's ok y/n. You can be nervous. Hell I'm nervous," she reasured as she turned around, letting you fall back to how you were.

You continue on, a mushroom stuck to the trunk of your friend as you progressed. The pain in your neck growing as you neared the table. As such your mushroom state only grew. You stay in the shadow of your friend, shrinking when your eyes occasionaly meet the light. And then suddenly, when about three people stood in front of you and (y/b/f), the pain subsided. You regained your composure, standing again and wafting like a stray breaze to stand in front of (y/b/f), who, not wanting to interupt your moment of confidence lest you ran away, let you do as you pleased.

It was finally your turn. Directed by a member of staff you step foward, mindlessly wondering to the silky, white slope of hair situated like a fresh snowfall upon the head of the first member. You soon catch youself staring and snap your gaze down to your hands, album held tight, as you kneel.

You lick your lips, nerves budding a garden in the confines of your mind. You remebered the pain in your neck that now lay a dull presure, touching it lightly in confusion your attention is soon taken by the softest, most alluring cough you ever heard. Your eyes land upon the mouth from which the sound eminated, lingering on the light pink and beautiful dips, refusing to leave them and move up towards the beautiful eyes that you just know will be locked on you.

And then, after retrieving the now signed album, you do it. You look up, your eyes becoming one with the pair across from you, and you regret it. A sudden shot of pain hits the back of your neck, freezing you in shock before another bolt sends you flinching forward, head landing upon the table as your rabbid breathing takes hold, hands grasping your stomach. You rub and squeaze it in attempt to distract yourself from the charcoal burning a hole across the back of your neck and into your spinal cord.

The pain does not recide like you had hopped. It wasn't a tide that would leave in the day. No, this pain was the night's returning tide and it was here to stay. Noting this, you bring your hand up to clasp your neck, placing presure, and giving yourself a tiny sense of control. This along with your patterned breathing allows you to regain composure. Pushing past the hollowing feeling that sprung seemingly out of thin air when all you did was lock eyes with the cool rapper, you gave a curt nod. Quickly you stood and moved away, praying to any God that the distance between you and the unknown source would reduce the hot pain.

As you sat in front of Hobi, you held relief as the pain indeed reduced, but at the same time you were bashed by worry. You were scared, uncertain why, that when you looked up a pain would burn anew in you, a pain stronger then the previous one.

So in avoidance you rased the album, sliding it forward. You wait nervously for it to return and when it meets your gaze you can no longer ignore the bright presence across from you that beckons your conformity. You obay, eyes lifting to meeting the dark-brown; a colour so deep and beautiful that you think it could only belong in a forest scene, one depicted only by all the renound Renaissance painters working together in creation of a masterpiece.

You notice the pain, or lack there of, and relief forms your features. The smile you see on Hobi's face motions you to reflect it, the smile on yours mearly a mirror of his own ever growing happiness.

You feel as if you were floating on cloud 9. So deep within this moment that all you can manage is a course, "hi". A tint of red painting your cheeks as you realsise the state of your nasal voice.

The colour only deepens as you hear the melodic, and beautiful tone of his own voice in countenance to yours. The same simple greating, "hi," and yet it carried so much weight, so much emotion as it traveled to reach your ears. The phrase was so heavy that its toll was too great for you, and you panicked under the tone of feathers that embraced your every fiber.

"Thank you, bye," you quickly spluttered out, eyes glancing one more time over those that once burned a deep red in meeting your own.

You were finding this whole experience very  peculiar. This whole day felt off to you and you pondered it's happenings and your strange interactions as you moved over to sit across from the next member.

The poor guy was speeking to, well trying to speak to a fan who spoke only English. She pointed to his beanie saying, "why are you wearing it? Would you take it off? I want to see your hair".

He only shook his head when he realsised what her gestures were leading to. A small, English, "sorry" floating from his lips as he explained in Korean that he couldn't take it off. You don't know Korean but for some reason you found yourseld understanding what he was getting at, or the basics, or emotions he was conveying anyway.

You feel sorry for both sides, the communication barrier not completely knocked down by the emotion held within, and beauty of their music.

Just as you were thinking so, taking a step closer as a staff member directed the girl to move along, the snap of his neck scared you. His head moved so fast, his eyes looking up at you, analysing every detail as you quickly sat.

The shock forced you to blurt out your thoughts, "she was asking about your hair," you say, knowing full well he wouldn't understand you anymore than he would the last fan. Yet you continued, "I would also have liked to see it up close you know. It looked so beautiful on stage. I hope nothing is wrong," you laughed lightly, trying to force away your embarrassment.

A smile spreads across your face, your eyes moving down from the top of his head, hair completly sheltered behind his beanie, to his eyes. His deep gold encrusted eyes.

***

A/N
I've been watching Hannibal recently. Anyone like that show?

Have a nice day
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