Pain ripped through Ji-a’s collarbone, a white-hot needle dragging across her bare skin.
Gasping for breath, she stumbled down the dimly lit backstage corridor, her hand clutching the fabric of her black shirt. Every step felt like walking through wet cement, the physical weight of her destiny pressing down on her chest.
Behind her, the chaotic rumble of the venue faded into a dull hum, but the agonizing throb in her chest only grew sharper. Bass from the speakers on the main stage vibrated through the floorboards, rattling her teeth.
Staff members sprinted past, clutching clipboards and walkie-talkies, too consumed by the post-performance rush to notice a lone stylist slipping away into the shadows. Sweat beaded along her hairline as she pushed open the heavy metal door of a disused storage closet.
Shouts from the stage directors echoed down the hall, their voices frantic as they discussed the sudden technical glitch that had sent a massive feedback loop through the boys' in-ear monitors. They didn't know it wasn't a technical glitch.
They didn't understand that the seven members of BTS had just experienced a violent, shared emotional spike, a cosmic overload triggered by her mere presence. Only she knew the truth.
Each of those seven boys was bound to the others by an invisible, ancient thread of destiny, and she was the tragic anchor holding them all together. If she stayed close, the resonance would tear them apart from the inside out.
Darkness swallowed her instantly as she stepped inside, smelling of stale dust, old cardboard, and floor wax. Fumbling in the gloom, she locked the handle with a quiet click and slid down against the wall, her knees shaking violently.
"Focus, Ji-a," she whispered, her voice cracking in the silence of the tiny room.
Trembling fingers reached into her deep cargo pockets, pulling out a small, unlabeled silver vial and a sterile pack of medical bandages. This was her secret weapon, an expensive, black-market chemical adhesive designed to numb soulmate marks and temporarily stall their physical connection.
Peeling back the collar of her shirt, she winced as the fabric tore away from a sticky patch of fresh blood. Mirror-like silver lines were etching themselves deeper into her collarbone, splitting her delicate skin like cracked porcelain.
Red droplets welled up from the fractures of her dormant mark, staining her pale flesh. Proximity to all seven of them was turning the dormant soul-bond into an aggressive, consuming beast that demanded to be recognized.
Remembering her mother’s slow, agonizing death made Ji-a’s jaw tighten with a sudden surge of cold fury. Her mother had let herself bleed out from a severed bond, wasting away like a dried flower while believing it was a beautiful tragedy.
Cosmic coercion was what it really was—a psychological prison masquerading as sacred love. Ji-a refused to let herself be destroyed by a biological glitch of the universe.
"I won't let this happen," she muttered, unscrewing the vial with her teeth.
Chemical fumes hit her nose, sharp and medicinal, bringing a bitter taste to the back of her throat. Carefully, she tilted the vial, pouring a drop of the viscous blue liquid directly onto the split skin.
Fire exploded across her collarbone.
Groaning, she bit her lower lip so hard she tasted copper, refusing to let out a scream that might echo through the thin walls. Tears blurred her vision as the chemical adhesive began to sizzle, sealing the torn edges of her flesh with artificial heat.
She needed to apply the neutralizing patch before the liquid dried, but her hands were shaking too violently. Drop by drop, the blue gel ran down her chest, mixing with the dark crimson of her blood.
Suddenly, the doorknob jiggled.
Frozen in terror, Ji-a held her breath, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Someone was trying to get in, ignoring the locked status of the handle.
A heavy metallic scrape echoed as a key card bypassed the lock, and the door swung open, letting a shaft of yellow hallway light slice through the darkness. Standing in the doorway was Jung Hoseok.
His chest rose and fell rapidly, his usually bright, expressive eyes clouded with a mixture of exhaustion and confusion. A stray silver mic-belt dangled from his fingers, evidence of a frantic search for misplaced stage gear.
His eyes darted around the cluttered space, sweeping past stacks of plastic chairs and broken equipment, before landing directly on her. Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.
"Ji-a?" he breathed, his voice barely a whisper.
Slowly, his gaze drifted from her face down to her exposed collarbone. Blood, silver light, and the glowing blue chemical gel were impossible to miss in the dim light.
Instead of calling out for the staff or running away, Hoseok stepped inside and let the door swing shut behind him, plunging them back into semi-darkness. Step by step, he approached her, his movements cautious, as if approaching a wounded animal.
Kneeling down on the cold linoleum, he let the mic-belt slip from his fingers, clattering loudly against the floor.
"Don't look," Ji-a rasped, trying to pull her shirt back over her collarbone, but the movement sent a fresh wave of agony through her chest.
Rather than obeying, Hoseok reached out, his hand hovering over hers. Gently, his fingers brushed against the back of her hand, sending a sudden shockwave of warmth straight to her heart.
A shiver ran down her spine as the multi-way resonance flared, making the silver lines on her chest pulse with a faint, warm light. "Let me," Hoseok said quietly, his voice carrying a rare, intense sorrow that made her cynical defenses shudder.
Taking the sterile bandage pack from her trembling fingers, he ripped it open with practiced ease. Cool air rushed over her burning skin as he leaned closer, his scent of expensive cologne, clean sweat, and rain enveloping her senses.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, not from fear of exposure, but from the raw, unfiltered intimacy of his presence. "Why are you hiding this?" he murmured, his thumb gently wiping away a stray droplet of blood from her collarbone.
Hoseok didn't wait for an answer, his eyes fixed on the weeping wound. With agonizing slowness, he aligned the adhesive patch over the raw, split skin.
Warmth radiated from his fingertips, contrasting sharply with the icy terror that usually filled her soul.
"Because destiny is a trap," Ji-a whispered, her voice trembling as she tried to pull away. "It's a leash. It takes away your choice, Hoseok. It forces you to love someone, even if it kills you."
His fingers paused on her skin, pressing just firmly enough to keep her still. His eyes met hers in the darkness, reflecting a deep, old pain that she hadn't expected to see in the group's bright, energetic dancer.
"Maybe," Hoseok said, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly register. "But running from it seems to be hurting you more. Look at yourself, Ji-a. You're bleeding."
"It's just a reaction," she lied, her chest heaving as she struggled to maintain her emotional distance. "The proximity to all of you... it’s too strong. It triggers the mark. But if I use this adhesive, it will numb the connection. I can go back to being just your stylist."
Hoseok let out a soft, humorless laugh. "Do you really think a piece of tape and some black-market chemicals can stop whatever this is?"
He leaned closer, his breath warm against her neck. The sheer proximity made her pulse skyrocket, a dangerous rhythm echoing in her ears.
She could feel the faint, rhythmic throbbing of his own pulse, as if their hearts were trying to synchronize their beats. "It has to," Ji-a said fiercely, though her voice lacked conviction.
"My mother... she trusted the bond. She let it define her. And when it broke, she died. I won't let a cosmic joke dictate my life or my death."
Hoseok’s expression softened, the hard lines of his face melting into an expression of profound, aching empathy. He didn't argue.
He didn't try to convince her that destiny was beautiful. Instead, he just looked at her as if he understood the terrifying weight of carrying a soul that wasn't entirely your own.
"I'm tired too," Hoseok confessed, his voice barely audible over the distant thud of the venue's bass. "Sometimes, the pressure of carrying everyone else's emotions... of feeling what the others feel without knowing why... it makes me feel like I'm losing my mind. If this mark is the reason, then maybe I hate it too."
His honesty caught her off guard, striking a heavy blow to the thick walls she had built around her heart. She had expected him to defend the sacredness of the bond, like everyone else in this soulmate-obsessed society.
Hearing his quiet confession made her realize that the seven of them were just as trapped as she was, bound to a destiny they didn't understand.
"Then let me go," she pleaded softly, her eyes searching his. "Let me seal this mark, and we can pretend this never happened."
Hoseok looked down at the bandage in his hand, his thumb resting near the edge of the adhesive. For a long moment, he didn't move.
Silence grew so thick between them she could hear the ticking of his wristwatch, a steady, mechanical reminder of the passing seconds. "I can't do that," he whispered.
"Not because I want to trap you. But because I can't let you bleed alone in a dark room."
His touch was incredibly gentle as he began to press the edges of the bandage down, securing the chemical seal over her collarbone.
As Hoseok presses the bandage to her collarbone, the door clicks lock from the outside, and a sudden, deep vibration shakes the room as the lights cut out completely.