BTS materializes glittering and glamorous in prince-inspired outfits as IDOL clashes through the arena.

Now, it’s the music that fills your bones and cells, enchanting you. The same music that’s kept you holding on the last few months waiting for this night. Your voice joins the chorus of chaotic euphoria.

BTS ends the song panting as fans scream, shouting the member’s names. As they reach for their water and drink, you admire Jungkook’s face already glistening with sweat.

They line up for their opening comments, attempting to calm their heavy breathing from the performance.

RM says, “ARMY, we’ve got a great show for you tonight! Thanks to a little bit of luck, all seven of us can be with you.” The stadium erupts in approval, and you try not to think about how you were the harbinger of such luck.

Each member takes their turn saying heartfelt, cute phrases to ARMY, an unexplained intimacy encasing the arena like a soft blanket.

When it’s Jungkook’s turn, he speaks slowly, choosing his words carefully. “I’m so happy I can perform tonight. Please don’t worry about me, ARMY.” He breaks out into a smile. “Let’s make tonight unforgettable!” That full, spell-binding smile. You were part of the cause.

Stop.

Stop. Stop. STOP.

He’s already forgotten about me. They all have.

You’re afraid of completely losing your head and what the consequences will be when you’re inevitably forced to return to normalcy.

Your own thoughts are overtaken and silenced by what unfolds before you. The seven members dance furiously with such passion while singing that you question if you’re of the same species. You hardly notice as you match their energy, your sways evolving into ecstatic dance.

They professionally and gracefully glide through costume changes, songs, and solo performances.

At the encore, golden streamers burst into the air, the moment bittersweet. You savor the dregs of their bewitchment as the seven members say their goodbyes, promising to see you again very soon and you vowing a similar promise in your innermost being. You cradle it like a precious gift as the members one by one disappear out of sight.

The arena’s harsh, bright lights flash on, blinding you for a few moments as your eyes adjust.

As the mystical effects dissipate, you slowly realize that after being in the same room as BTS, you now have to find a way to live without them again. You have to return...to your job. To the burden of a life you didn’t choose and have no control over. To your dad introducing you to yet another girl your age he’s fucking. To the wounds of your mom you must tend to and her critical, diminishing gaze. To surviving each night hoping the alcohol is enough to ward off the nightmares. To waking up alone, screaming, and forgetting where you are.

Without the lighthouse guiding you through the darkness, you’re likely to crash into the cliffside.

Your heart twists as tears well up in your eyes, blurring the arena around you.

Nikki has a tear sliding down her face that she wipes away. You both exchange a look that says no words are needed for this moment, you understand each other perfectly, and you’ll both talk about it later when you need to relive it.

As you and Nikki join the somber procession out of the arena, a security guard cuts you off.

“Are you Jasmine Law?” he asks, his jaw set. Fear sinks its claws into you as you stare up at him.

“Yes,” you say, your torn and twisted heart quickening. “Did I do something wrong?”

“I need you to come with me,” he says, crossing his arms.

Wide-eyed and throat cemented, you look at Nikki and form a question without words.

“She can come, too,” the security guard says, nodding Nikki’s direction. He turns to walk away, and you both follow him wordlessly. Your nerves fray and unravel, unable to handle any intensity after the concert.

Mazing through the building, you follow the stocky security guard as his presence creates a path through fans. You catch stares from the crowd asking the same question you have. He leads you through a series of doors and hallways farther away from the fans into the center of the arena until you reach a long corridor with doors lining each side. Your ears are still ringing from the concert, but you can make out several hushed conversations blending together and traveling into the hallway.

He stops by a room with the number 7 above it, motioning for you to go in.

“Wait here.”

You and Nikki do as instructed, your stomach whirring with so many butterflies that you feel sick.

There’s a long mirror stretching to cover the width of one of the walls with a countertop matching it below and chairs lining it. The mirror is edged and illuminated by large bulbs. There’s no evidence of makeup or styling products, but it’s a room spacious enough to allow a group of people to be transformed by skilled staff.

Rotating a silver ring on your finger, you swallow hard, but it does nothing to relieve the dryness of your mouth.

A woman with cold eyes and a perfectly cut bob enters the room wearing a black shirt that says MEDICAL STAFF in white letters.

“Hello,” Eunji says. She continues, “I arranged for you to be here to schedule an interview. Tomorrow at eleven AM would be best.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“An…interview?” You run a hand through your hair, gathering your thoughts.

“To be the newest hire on the medical staff for BTS. We’re making a few necessary changes to ensure what happened at the airport doesn’t repeat itself. After that and Jungkook’s collapse on the Wings tour, we’re looking for higher quality medical assistance.”

The room spins, and your hand finds the back of one of the chairs to support the growing weakness in your legs.

“Me?”

“Meet me outside the entrance tomorrow at eleven.”

“She’ll be there,” Nikki says.

You pick up the shattered pieces of your reality, trying to put them back together, make sense of them.

“There’s another reason you were brought here,” Eunji says, glancing over her shoulder. “I’ll see if they’re ready.”

As she leaves, you lower into the chair and concentrate on willing the blood to return to your face.

“Shit, Jasmine, you have to go,” Nikki says

“But what about you?”

“I’ll be fine,” she says, waving a hand. “I can handle driving back.”

“How will I get back home? What about work?”

“Jasmine,” Nikki says, grabbing your shoulders and looking you in the eyes. “Who gives a fuck. You just got an interview to be on their medical staff. You have to take this opportunity.”

Her words seep into you, taking shape and meaning as the room comes back into focus.

Carefully standing, you say, “Okay, so… If I do this, you’ll drive back on your own and I’ll figure something out.”

“Exactly. And–”

The seven members of BTS step into the room wearing their encore outfits – white Love Yourself tour shirts with jeans. You and Nikki are left speechless as you stare back at them.

“Hi,” Namjoon says, flashing a smile. “We wanted to personally thank you for what you did at the airport.”

“Without you, we wouldn’t have been able to perform as seven for ARMY,” Hobi says, a glimmer of gratitude in his eyes.

“Did you like the flowers?” Jimin asks.

The crushing realization that they’re waiting for a response weighs heavily on you.

“Yes, I did. Thank you,” you manage to say, heat building in your face.

Jungkook stands behind his members, seeming shy and staring at you curiously, wearing a Cooky headband that’s a twin to yours. You can see the faint purple-blue outline of the bruise under the makeup more easily this close; it still has some time before it heals completely.

“That concert was fucking rad,” Nikki says, beaming. “You know, I was the one who introduced her to BTS.”

You laugh at her boldness which seems to ease the tension of first introductions.

They’re just human beings. Human beings who are incredibly talented and famous.

You suppress the awe to welcome in the mundane. Yoongi pushes Jungkook forward in front of the members. “He has something he wants to say.”

Jungkook regains his composure and looks at you. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Your stomach tightens as the air thickens around you, the room disappearing.

A small smile plays at the corners of his mouth, sending an electric current coursing through you at the sight of it. “I like your outfit,” he says. As fire ignites on your cheeks, a part of you wishes the ground would open up and swallow you whole. “What’s your name?”

“Jasmine Law.”

“Nice to meet you, Jasmine.”

The words hang in the air between you.

“Anyway,” Namjoon cut in. “We heard we may be seeing more of you,” he says, that mischievousness you witnessed at sound check returning.

“Oh.”

“So instead of goodbye, I’ll say, ‘See you soon.’”

• • •

“You have to tell me everything,” Nikki says in the hotel room as she packs for the drive home tomorrow. “And I. Mean. Everything.”

Sitting on your twin bed, her words swirl in your head.

“I will.” You look down, picking at your nails. “I’m worried,” you say softly.

“About what?”

“That maybe they have the wrong idea. Maybe I’ll disappoint them somehow.”

Nikki stops packing and sits on the bed next to you, crossing her legs.

“You’ve already proven how skilled you are or else they wouldn’t be interviewing you. It seems like a formality, anyway. Besides, three years in the Medical ICU taking care of the sickest patients makes you slightly overqualified.”

“Yeah…you’re right,” you say, the dull ache in your chest easing.

“But don’t think I’m saying this all for your sake. If you take this job, I have an in to see BTS again,” she says with a cheshire grin.

You let a smile touch your face. “I think you’re right. We’ve definitely peaked.”

“Straight to the top.”

• • •

You hear Nikki’s slow, deep breathing on the other side of the room as you lie awake in bed, watching occasional headlights from the street throw shadows across the walls. Sifting through memories of the last three years, you compile and categorize your best moments for safekeeping. The thought of facing Eunji’s questioning again sends a shiver rolling down your spine, and you turn on your side, hugging the blankets tighter around you.

In the stillness, you close your eyes and return to the dressing room, standing in front of Jungkook. You remember his coy smile, familiarizing yourself with the depths in his eyes.

The darkness surrounding you coaxes the truth out you’ve been running from.

You want this.

• • •

In the morning, the door to the hotel room closes, and Nikki is gone. The room feels her absence in the spaciousness and discomfort that wasn’t there a few moments ago. You tried to assemble a semi-professional outfit from the clothes you packed—oversized jeans, a white crop top, a gray oversized zip-up jacket, and white New Balance shoes.

The luggage you packed in case Eunji sends you home sits by the door, and an invisible hand tightens around your throat.

Now that you’re alone, you hope you’re able to keep a handle on an anxiety-fueled freak out as your stomach churns. Looking over at the flowers BTS sent, you inhale their scent in an effort to pleasantly override your senses. Opening the card and looking at the signatures, you realize this is a rare chance to create a new life. A life you actually want to live, and it may be the only chance you get. You replace the card in the center of the flowers with more resolve, and steel yourself to meet Eunji.

• • •

Getting out of the Uber, you find Eunji in front of the arena at eleven AM dressed in her usual medical staff uniform. Fans are milling around the building, the line for GA already slinking around the block.

You walk with carefully crafted confidence, feeling the sidewalk firmly beneath you with each step. A breeze rolls through the balmy, late summer Texan air, and you gulp down your heartbeat.

You give a genuine smile to Eunji as a greeting.

“Good morning,” she says, returning your smile with a slight one of her own. “Please follow me.”