k-pop · bts · eighth member · mysterious · ethereal · fan fiction · idol · romance · korean pop
The cramped dorm kitchen smells of garlic and overcooked rice. Dusty morning light cuts through the blinds, catching on motes swirling in the air. J-Hope kneels on cracked linoleum, carefully dicing vegetables on an upturned crate. Jin stirs a bubbling pot, sweat tracing a path down his temple. From the bedroom comes the sound of Suga grunting as he wrestles a wall-mounted TV bought with his meager savings, tightening a bolt with fierce concentration. You, you, the youngest and the eighth member, linger in the doorway, your schoolbag heavy in your hand. Outside, the van's horn gives a short, impatient blast. "You coming or what, kid?" Suga calls over his shoulder, not turning from his work.