- 0 0 : 0 6

SHE IS THE first thing he sees when he opens his eyes.

Seated by his bed, she's studying a strange object in her hands. She flips it over, fiddles with a few buttons by the side, then holds it up to the sunlight. Intrigue dances across her features; she looks stunning under the first rays of morning light, and he hesitates.

Is this a dream?

He's had so many of her that he can no longer be certain of what's real and what isn't. Of what's in the past and what's in his present.

As if on cue, she glances up. Her eyes brighten and a smile leaps across her face. Quickly, she sets the device down on the drawer, then shifts to sit on the edge of his makeshift bed. "Good morning," she says softly.

He swallows, still unsure. Please don't be a dream. "Morning."

"Just morning?" she teases, with a quiet laugh. "What does a girl have to do around here to get you to say good morning?"

He falls silent, not knowing what to say. But he doesn't have to. Her hand rises to his face; her fingers brush his hair out of his eyes in a gesture so tender that it makes his heart ache. Then, slowly, she lowers her head and kisses him.

His eyes drift shut. What makes a person real? Is it the sound of her lovely voice, or the scent of her lingering on his skin? Is it the sight of her, incandescent under the light, or the feel of her beneath his fingertips? What else is there?

Oh, that's right.

Taste.

His heartbeat pounds in his ears as he kisses her back-eagerly, nipping at her bottom lip to seek for access. She grants it, and he sweeps his tongue in, tasting the bittersweet tang of coffee on her. His hand comes up, his fingers curl around the nape of her neck to pull her towards him. She follows, keeping one palm steady on his chest, her hair falling like a curtain to shield them from the rest of the world.

When at last she makes to pull away, he can't help stealing one last kiss before letting his head fall back against the pillow. Distractedly, he thinks of covering his damn erection, then remembers she's seen him-the other him-naked anyway.

"Good morning," he murmurs, still fighting to catch his breath. "Brilliant morning. Fan-fucking-tastic."

She pulls back with a satisfied laugh. "It is a good morning. Do you know why?"

"Tell me."

"You-the other you-has successfully created Antigen V."

He stares at her. This shouldn't come as a surprise. She had, after all, predicted that it'd take a day or two for his other self to create the new Antigen. But to have it come true is unsettling. It brings him one step closer to the present. There, where he had lived prior to the time-jump. There, where the Dark Ages had come to an end.

There, where I can never find you.

"He worked through the night," she continues. "He'll have to recreate the Antigen tomorrow, and send off the first batch the day after. I made him promise not to work on it until he caught some sleep." Her eyes are warm with affection as she gazes down at him. "You did it. You saved the world. And I am so very proud of you."

"But I didn't do anything."

"You and him are the same person," she points out, "or did you forget? His achievements are yours and your decisions are his. If you hadn't come back in time with the right Antigen, he wouldn't have figured it out. If he hadn't worked so hard to create it, you wouldn't have had the Antigen to begin with. It's a loop, see?"

He does see. But he didn't jump to the past because of the Antigen. He'd jumped to the past because of her. Slowly, he reaches up to her face. His fingers brush her soft skin, his palm slides up her cheek. He watches her lips curve into a smile as she leans into his touch.

If I've saved the world, it's only because of you, he thinks. And I am nothing without you.

He drags in a painful breath. "There's something that I have to tell you," he says quietly. "It's about the future-your future, and you-"

The smile drops from her face, and she quickly pulls away from him. "I don't want to hear it. If it's anything to do with my future, then I don't want to know."

"You need to know-"

"No, I don't!" she insists. "Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for a person to possess knowledge of their future?"

Desperation claws at him. "Why is this any different than when I told you how the future would play out five years ago? You knew about Jungkook, Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin and Jimin. What's the difference this time?"

"Because I already know!"

Her voice ends in a shout, and he can see from the way her eyes widen that she's not used to losing her temper. Pulling in a sharp breath, she settles down on the chair beside his bed and hugs her knees to her chest. In a flash, she's that young girl in his time-jumps again. Terrified, fragile, alone.

"I already know," she murmurs brokenly. "I've guessed it a long time ago. Through all the times I met you, you looked the same. Never older or younger. As the other you came closer to looking the way you do now, I realized that I was catching up to your present. And I realized that, from the way you always reacted upon seeing me during your time-jumps, it wasn't a present that I was in."

He stares at her, unable to say a word. He should've known that, like before, she'd figure this out on her own.

"I know that." Her voice catches on a sob. "I know, and it terrifies me because neither you nor I can do anything to stop the future from playing out."

His eyes widen. "That's not true," he insists. "I changed the future by telling you that time-travel exists, so that you could make it happen. We changed the future by predicting when the others would arrive, so that the house could be safe for them. You changed the future by writing that email to Namjoon, so that I could return to this time to find you."

She stares at him so sadly that his heart begins to pound.

"That's not how time-travel works, Taehyung," she says softly. "You can't change the future. You can only go back to the past, where your actions there will result in the future that you already live in."

Stricken by her words, he falls silent. She unfolds her knees and reaches out to take his hands, cradling them gently between both of hers.

"When you time-travel, you don't change the future," she explains. "Antarctica exists because of what you'd told Seokjin in the past. Your friends are safe because you helped them in the past. The Dark Ages will end because you gave yourself the Antigen in the past. There are no alternate timelines; no parallel universes. The future is what it is because of what happened in the past. Do you understand?"

He swallows. "So...you're saying that no matter what I do-here, now-that will all inevitably lead to the future that I've already lived in?"

"Yes."

"But-" He chokes off, his throat clogs.

He feels like he should be crying, but his eyes are painfully dry. Had it always been so fatalistic from the very beginning? He'd suspected this before, when he'd been creating loops, but now he feels utterly helpless. I have to save you, I have to-is a thought that fills him with determination. But on the heels of that now comes one that overwhelms him with despair-I can't. I can't. I can't.

As if sensing his mood, she shifts to settle on his bed again. She takes his hand in hers and brings it up to her face. Instinctively, he frames her cheek, catching a stray tear that slips from the corner of her eye with his thumb. She smiles and tilts her head to press a kiss to the center of his palm.

"It'll be okay," she says softly.

At her reassurance, guilt sweeps through him. Here he is, so needy and desperate and selfishly wanting her-when she's the one with the prospect of a dire future.

He reaches over and tugs her towards him. She falls down onto the pillow beside him, and he wraps an arm around her waist. It's not enough. Not close enough. He twines his legs with hers, and shifts closer until he can count the flecks of brown in her eyes, feel her breath stir the fine hairs on his skin.

He has never looked at her like this before, he realizes. Not like this-knowing that, in spite of the future might hold, there will always be her. Even in the future where there is no her, there will still be her. A memory wipe couldn't take her away from him. Nor could the Dark Ages. Nor will time.

Say it.

He takes a deep breath, then realizes that the words are as easy as breathing.

"I love you."

He's wrapped around her, like a vine, so he feels the moment she goes still with surprise. Frowning, he tightens his arm around her waist and looks closely at her.

"I've never told you that before?" he asks in disbelief. Five whole years and his other self had never said this to her?

"Well, no-"

"You can't be serious-"

"-but I know you do," she finishes softly. "I've always known." Reaching up, she glides a gentle finger between his eyebrows to soothe his frown. "You think I don't see it? You-the other you-never left my side from the moment we met. You brought me breakfast in bed and you practiced until you got my coffee right even though you preferred tea. When the Dark Ages began, you trained with the military for awhile so that you could defend us. You dug up old newspapers and read them to me every night so that I could pretend like the world wasn't going to hell. You went out and killed the zombies that strayed too near, then pretended that you just went out on an errand so I wouldn't know what you did. And always, when you look at me-even now, I can feel it. I can feel just how much you love me."

His breath catches. If he's had any doubt that his past self loves her as much as his current self does, he no longer questions it.

"It's nice to hear it, though," she adds, her lips curving into a fond smile. "Thank you for loving me. I love you too, you know."

Words fail him once again. They often do when he's with her. He swallows, unable to respond, and simply closes the gap between them.

She tastes as sweet as her smile is.