"Please help me find me- myself-...," the words sent a ripple of the past in your head. He had asked you that question. In the middle of a dark forest. A place you had faltered to see a nonexistent galaxy in his eyes.

"I said, who are you?"

He had asked you that, a stranger. And the same echo of the question - only differing in a way. It was said with absolute hunger for an answer - perturbed another part of your soul, a part that had been fused with your working ones.

"No luck?" A voice jumped you from your thoughts. Turning, you find Yoongi staring at you, although at all times he looked at you with such contempt and unease that it made you want to jump out your bones, tonight he seemed more neutral and relaxed. Another piece of him you have yet to discover.

He's leaned on the wall, arms folded as his torso slumps forward, releasing tension from royal duties that demand his presence.

"How long have you been there?" You find words to piece and string together.

He shrugs dutifully, letting something fall beneath his folded hands; a red cloth. He picks it up from the ground and dusts off whatever particles that stuck.

With a sigh - and a teensy bit of reluctance - he hands it to you, turning his head to the side as if to conceal the great blush of embarrassment staining his cheeks.

When you don't react from amazement, he coughs, eyes still averted. And then he peeks at you, shooting a soft gaze and nods to the cloth.

"Your cheeks, they have tears. Take it before I make you cry blood," he seemed to find deleterious words, taking the meaning of them to make you fear, but it only came out a mumble, a cohesion of words that make it seem cute. Make him seem cute.

A giggle escapes your throat as you take the red cloth, elevating it to your face to wipe the tears he had said you had, to wipe the remnant of the Dark Paradox behind the closed doors. You had never thought that your number one ranked scary prince would be the only prince that could lift your mood up - aside from Hoseok.

He looks at you and grumbles, lips turning down with his mood, eyes setting to a line.

"I never thought about this, in fact, I never thought of saying this," he begins, watching you now, vexated by the thoughts running about his head. "You could be queen."

At that you shoot your head up, completely bewildered by the much deeper meaning behind his words. Your grip on the red cloth loosens a tiny bit as the grip of a thorn around your brain tightens a miniscule.

"What do you mean?"

He mimes with a loud cry, turning to the left of the hall. "This is why I don't like you," he says, talking behind his back as he disappears from your line of sight, "You're as dumb as the one who built this world."

You were left alone, under the light of the chandelier above, drowning in thoughts and unanswered questions.

----

"That cannot be true," one woman, concealed in deep darkness spoke. "There cannot be one. It must stay this way."

"There was an oath, a declaration, a prophecy from the mouth of the magistrate," a crooked voice spoke in answer, scraping a piece of wood against the wall. In turn, it hisses as flame sparks at the crest of it.

The crooked voice is equal to the hand of the owner, wrinkly and bony as it held a single matchstick, lighting a piece of worn candle sitting atop a wooden desk. The melted and cold wax had dried into a pool of its surrounding, seeming to die as it keeps getting used.

"I've never heard such thing, you are jesting me," the woman in darkness spoke, voice agitated. The old man with the light could only settle on the sounds of her gritting teeth, scraping like metals against metals.

"I never lie, you know that. But this must be kept a secret. A secret that must be buried underneath piles and piles of bombs, so that one must get hurt when one tries to learn of it," he says, studying the flame as it flutters against the wind, jutting out shadows in its wake.

The night was swift, breezy, and cold. Colder than what is normal. He knew what was to come. His great, big glossy eyes told of the stories he had encountered, of dark things that had kept his light awake at night.

A gentle rattle shakes the feeble wood underneath their feet, coming from a box-shaped thing that is covered by a dusty cloth, stained with years of yellowing. It stood just at the other wall, trembling as something in it moves in space.

The two of them eye it, watching intently of its existence.

"What was the prophecy?" the woman asked, finally swerving back to the topic.

"A being, another being was created. It entered through the walls of this world. This being is powerful," he spoke with a shudder, his glossy eyes seeming to dry from fear and exhaustion the words did to him. "The being is a monster, an untamed beast that would wash the world down."

"You did not say what the prophecy was. I'm running out of time, I have business to attend to. If you keep gushing about useless things then I'll let on my master about your banter," the woman's irritated voice sung out. The wooden chair scrapes and scuffs the floor as she stood to leave, but he stops her by words.

"The magistrate - my ancestor - she told of a being that will soon arise, that will soon change the curse of this world, that will either bring great luck or great evil," he says. Although his body seemed to be frail and the beats of his heart seem to slow, there was something willful and strong inside his eyes. A strength that spoke of a thousand wounds.

The quake once again comes to life, the wavering light of the candle seeming to be a spotlight for the box - a cage - beside the room. It shakes with urgency as heat seems to float by its surface, stemming hotness from inside.

"You mustn't let anyone know of this, except your master and you. Anyone who knows of this will burn in fire and drown in water," he warns. "You see, the prophecy had a curse, that anyone who accidentally knows of this will suffer in a perilous death."

The background is filled with shadows and the noise of the box, and the woman's thought were kept unkempt from the disturbance of it. She almost couldn't remember what the old man said as she traverses to the place near the cage.

You see, this woman had a great principle. That whatever curious thing shakes her head she must unravel. And she unraveled this little curious thing that bugged her mind, not minding the shouts of the old man behind her head as she gripped the taut fiber cloth and flung it away with dust and motes.

Every particle scattered messily, floating and swinging about the air and the flame and the shadows as they settle on the ground harmlessly.

A small child, eyes bright looked at them fiercely, eyes burning rage and fire. The eyes were familiar, the sad downward turn of it, the little pieces of stars that twinkled against the blackness of it.

They were your eyes.

And you awoke with a scream.

Sunlight poured into your deep pools of eyes and basked on your skin, calming you like soft waves of small fingers that caress your perturbed soul. The golden hue was blinding for a moment until you hear a soft sound beside your ear, and real, warm fingers against your skin.

"Y/N," it says, pulling you back.

You instantly grasp the shirt the person was wearing, holding onto it tightly like a baby. The smell of familiarity and home struck your nose, slapping your senses away from your black, delirious eyes in your dream.

As you look up, the lovely and soft face of Jimin comes into view. He shushes you with rhythmic noises, a song, a lullaby that denotes of something you cannot remember, something you used to hear but now had been dispersed into pieces around parts of your memories.

Oh blue indigos

Swing against the whirlwind

So the tides of your bind

May never turn to smeraldos.

Oh, now you remember, your mother used to sing that to you when you had nightmares. She always had a voice similar to a nightingale, and now your brother was forth to sing it to you when she isn't here.

His caress was the same as your mother, gentle yet strong and protective.

He swung you side by side and you basked in his soul, hearing it sing the rendering heartfelt song that your mother and him shared, you had never quiet understood what the song meant, but the notes of it spark like flames on your veins, dancing along to the melody and tune.

It was enough to calm you, calm your beating heart.

And you relaxed against him, swaying together with his body with rhythm ensued from the song in his heart. Because it was a way to say 'I love you'. And you heard his endless proclamation of love in the heat of his chest and the smell of your home as darkness once again took you.

But never must the darkness take you back to your blackened pair of eyes. Never.

And then you remembered, something has changed in the song. A certain thing that wakes your senses up.

"Jimin," you caw out.

"Hm," he answers, eyes closed from the blinding sunlight, his chin rested against the top of your head.

"The last line. I've never remembered there were smeraldos in it. I've never heard a smeraldo before."

----

[A/N]

UNEDITED.

Tell me, was it boring? I was feeling a little fluffy and so I thought I had to put a JIMIN X Y/N moment in here - of course in fluff ;).

Also, I do not think I will be able to update for a short while. My place is currently being played by a typhoon so electricity will be gone for a while, I hope you understand :)