Chapter Text
The set for the ‘Save Me’ music video is beautiful- a huge grassy plain between the mountains and the sea, misty and greyish blues and greens, perfect for sentimentality. Here, distance means nothing, the green extending to the sky even though you know the sea is right there, under a little cliff. It’s so beautiful you are glued to the windows the whole way to the film site, awestruck.
It’s also bitterly cold. The wind whips through BTS’ thin clothing as they run through a quick practice take, and though you’ve added long underwear underneath the baggy t-shirts and skinny jeans, it doesn’t seem like enough when even the dancing fails to warm them up.
Jungkook’s nose is brilliantly red, his ears too, even brighter than Jin’s, and his face is pinched tight with the chill. He’s only wearing a short-sleeved shirt. You’re glad Head Stylist Shin didn’t go through with the recommended wet hair for his style; it’s far too dangerous in this weather.
“Hey, stop staring and get to it,” Head Stylist Shin scolds, shaking her head at you. “Those coats need to be ready. And then make some tea. Remember that Jimin likes his with no sugar. I’ll heat up the ramen for them. Ah, and lotion for wind burn…” She trails off, waiting for you to get moving before moving on to her obviously long list of tasks.
“Okay,” You duck your head into the collar of your long puffy coat, face now very warm, despite having just stood still for a solid five minutes. Hey Jungkook, here’s how to warm up. Just embarrass yourself. No, no, no, don’t say that! Bad idea. Good thing you never talk to Jungkook. He’d be so weirded out by your brain.
Sighing at yourself, you turn your back while they start to film, focusing on getting their coats all fitted up with hand warmers in the pockets. (These things are fancy- back in your hometown everyone just heated little sweet potatoes, or small sea stones to warm their hands.) If you were head stylist now, you’d have put at least a baggy hoodie on each, or a turtleneck. Thicker pants, maybe cargo pants. But collarbones are supposed to show, at least on Jimin- and everyone’s supposed to look thin and sad.
“All right, that was very good,” the director calls, after a few takes and retries. “Let’s try one more. I think this will be it. It’s supposed to snow tonight, so we need to hit the road soon.”
You jump, fumble with the coat you’re currently hanging up, and nearly drop it. Snow, here? So close to the ocean, that is rare. If it’s cold, it’s usually too dry for snow. Good thing the director is keeping an eye on it.
The sound of cheers is the next thing that alerts you of time passing by, too, as you complete the list of tasks the head stylist keeps adding to. “That was so good!” the director all but squeals, in English, no less, leaping out of his chair to gush over their performance. The enthusiasm startles you; most directors are relatively calm and collected, nice, but not -like- that. This American director is so excitable, it hypes up the boys in return.
RM claps him on the back, translating an animated analysis as Hoseok responds in like manner. Jimin makes a beeline for you, eyes tired but shining as he accepts his coat with thanks and moves on to the food. Next is Jin, who pats you on the head like he always does. You glare at him to keep up appearances and give Suga his, then Taehyung. Beyond, Head Stylist Shin’s shoving coats onto the two talking to the director, fussing over a tear RM had made in his jeans, one that wasn’t supposed to be there.
That leaves Jungkook, who’s currently squabbling over ramen with Jin, for you. His hands wrap nearly entirely around the container, a fact which makes you flush at how grown-up he is now (people still mistake you for a fourteen-year old).
That, combined with his confident grin as he mischievously stares down his hyung, make you retract and for a second you consider just heating up more water in the trailer and leaving his care to Head Stylist Shin, but she’s not moving, and a sudden gust of sharp wind brings a spatter of rain across your face. In a burst of bravery, you grab his coat off the rack (it’s so long, you have to hold it level with your head to make sure it doesn’t get wet from the grass), and make your way over inside the boys’ circle to the youngest member of BTS.
“Here,” you call, wishing your voice wouldn’t quake like that- (starting conversations always makes you nervous, it’s not just him)- “Put this on.”
He turns, sees the coat, and smiles, and you hold it out, brain on a delay from the smile, before realizing his hands are full and he can’t take it, a fact that he seems to notice at the same time and looks around helplessly. You mentally facepalm. “Here, I’ll trade you.” You reach out and clumsily snatch the items from his hands- a phone, the ramen, a mug of tea- and he takes the coat much more carefully and puts it on while you juggle all this stuff. Guess it must be the big hands coming into play again- you have to hold everything in your arms.
The touch of his fingers against yours leaves a warm tingly sensation- you still feel it, even a minute later when he’s zipping up the long zipper up front, slowly, with reddened fingers. “They’re numb,” he explains, following your eyes. “Even all that dancing can’t beat this wind.” He smiles again, and holds his hands out. “Thank you.”
You hand the items back, noting that his phone screen is all taped up. Old habits die hard, but Jungkook’s authenticity only endears him more to you. “There’s hot packs in the pockets,” you venture. “Would you like some gloves too?”
Another gust of wind renders his response inaudible, and you both leap to save two folding chairs from flying away. And then comes a thundering crash from the heavens, and rain- more like hail in its stinging force- scudding across the plain.
There’s no order to do it, but everyone knows- time to clear out. Hardly can you see or hear in the roaring deluge but you begin folding things up and carrying them to the closest van- never mind which one, just hurry hurry hurry.
You race left and right, bumping into people, handing things off, accepting chairs and cameras and thermoses, stuffing them in the vans, and at long last, waiting in line as people file into the vans.
The sleet is coming down so hard you can’t see the mountains in the distance, and water is dripping down your neck from your soaked hair. Your coat doesn’t have a hood. But that’s okay; you like the rain. It makes you feel alive. You breathe in the air. You scan the area one last time, making sure no trash is left. It’s imperative to leave the filming site clean.
And sure enough, there’s a ramen cup splattered across the grass some twenty yards away. You sigh, wiping the water from your eyes, and run to pick it up. Probably Jungkook dropped it earlier.
But just as you reach it another gust sends you stumbling back, blinded- and when you wipe your face off - again- it’s blown farther away from the vans. Belatedly you realize your stupidity- you told no one where you were going. Better make a run for it, and get back.
You dash forward, pushing against the wind, grasp the paper bowl with chilled fingers, and run back toward the vans, just as the rain turns to blinding white snow, and it’s white all around- except the red lights of the vans that you are heading towards.
But no matter how fast you run, they get smaller and smaller.
Your heart pounds in your chest when you realize you are left behind, alone, drenched, in the midst of a furious storm.
The weird thing though? Your heart is pounding, but not with fear- more with something akin to excitement- this is like the adventures you had hiking through the mountains growing up- problem solving is key. Crouching down into a little ball, you think very hard, but your thoughts are racing so quickly you’re forced to shout them to yourself over the din of the wind. “OKAY,” you shout, “I LEFT MY PHONE IN THE VAN. BESIDES, NO COVERAGE HERE. SO, MOVE TO COVER.”
You do wish (for the sake of ease) that someone would miss you, and start a search, but with the chaos and five different vans, you know that it isn’t likely. You’ve gotten left behind before.
You’ve got two options, and the snow lets up a bit to let you see farther. “MOUNTAINS OR SEA. SEA IS WARMER. LET’S GO THERE.”
Having announced your rebellion to the howling wind, you turn toward the sea, walking in the straightest line you can manage over the uneven grassy ground. Thankfully, you leave a clear trail of prints in the fresh snow.
You move quickly to keep warm, too, your head sensitive to the chill of the snowflakes and wind.
If you hadn’t looked to the side, you never would have seen him.
The tall black figure skids to a halt before you with a spray of snow, reaching out and grasping at your arms, hands, anything. “They left me behind,” he exclaims, eyes blown wide in panic, hair streaking down his face under his furry hood. “You too!”
You stare down at his hands grasping yours, and shake the thoughts off. “Yes. I went to pick up a piece of garbage and didn’t get in on time.”
You look back up at him, surprised to feel none of your normal anxiety. Now, you’re in survival mode. No time for awkwardness.
“I dropped my ramen,” he says, brushing the snow off his face. “I couldn’t find it, and wandered off…”
“Jungkook-ssi,” you sigh, holding the empty cup up. “We had more in the vans, anyway.”
“I know. But the garbage-we’re not supposed to make a mess.”
“My thoughts exactly,” you can’t help but smile, holding up the cup again.
The corner of his mouth curls up into a smile. You want to brush his wet hair back from his head, but he does it for you a second later, nodding in the general direction that the vans went. “The hyungs will notice I’m gone, so someone should come back soon. I have my phone, but there's no connection here.”
You shake your head. “I hope they do, but we can’t take the chance. There’s a town on the coast south of here, I don’t know exactly how long, and I was going to walk there.”
“How?”
“Go to the coastline,” You point. “And head south.”
He hesitates a long moment, brow furrowed, and then, as the wind whips sharply into your faces, nods his head. “Okay, noona,” he says. “Let’s go.”
When you’re walking in a snowstorm, it’s important to stay in contact with your companion. Accordingly, after you reach for his arm and guide him in the proper direction of the ocean, you don’t let go, latching on for dear life. The wind is erratic, unpredictable, and one strong gust at the wrong time could separate you two with no way to find each other again.
You can’t really see his reaction to this though, as you’re keeping your eyes forward, and so, you startle when his hand reaches for yours and tucks it, with his own, into his coat pocket. Your hand burns from the warmth. Your face might’ve too, if it was warmer.
The wind picks up then, a headwind this time, steadily snapping tiny bits of snow at your faces. You barely register the numbness in your face now, and look down, pulling your hood down to block some of the wind from tearing at your frigid skin. Thus, after long minutes of steady pushing forward against said wind, you slip suddenly, as your boots land on unstable sand.
You lurch forward, managing to right yourself just as Jungkook's arm slides around your shoulders to steady you. It's still snowing, but you look up at him and see his face squinting down at you from under the fur edge of his hood. He doesn't look too good, skin reddening . It's not good that you got soaked and then frozen. Perfect setup for frostnip, at the very best. You probably don't look good either… not the point right now.
"Sand!" You call over the wind.
"Yeah!" He cries back, a relieved, elated smile breaking out on his face, and he grabs your hand again. His arm around you wasn't warm, per se, but it was most definitely a comfort, maybe a little wind protection. Yeah. That was all it was.
His hand is still warm as it squeezes around yours in his pocket, and thus you two make your way down the dune, jumping and running down till you're on the beach, white flakes still bearing down over the endless grey- white misty sea.
You turn south. Jungkook's tugged along by your hand. You both move a little faster- a half walk, half jog- once you tell Jungkook how far you still have to walk, probably miles. The wind bears down from your left, a strong gust pushing you into him. He doesn't appear fazed by your abrupt entrance into his path, even stepping on his foot, good grief- just makes you switch sides so he's blocking the wind for you.
You both walk on. It'd be an idyllic walk- the two of you alone in a timeless grey and white world peppered only with crab shells, mussels, and sea grass- if you two weren't now shivering from the cold, damp, and wind, or sore from dancing and fighting and keeping yourselves awake in a world that is stacked against your very survival.
But you're a mountain kid. You'll get through this.
Question is, will he? His hand clenches around yours as his whole body shudders, again. It's happened twice in the last few minutes. You shiver too (you're not immune)– and then gasp- pointing ahead on the beach where a building is faintly outlined.
It's a shed, just the lifeguard station, with a cracked window and a rickety old chair inside. Jungkook wrenches the door shut as you look around, stomping your feet to get some feeling in them. This won't do permanently, but it'll let you two rest for a moment out of the weather, and catch your breath; you’re both panting from the exertion of fighting the wind. The village can't be that far away.
You drop down in the chair, the adrenaline rush from finding this place draining right out of you, leaving you a limp figure draped over the back of the thing.
You watch him as he gets the door to shut, broad shoulders turning as he scans the small room and finally lands on you, pushing his hood back a little. His face looks pinched, a concerning pink color of the skin. “‘M thirsty,” he croaks.
“Oh,” you grimace. You don’t have anything to help that. “We can eat some snow when we move on.”
He shakes his head, but accepts this, pulling out his phone to check the connection. "Useless," he mutters, shoving it in his pocket again. You assume that means there's no signal here, either.
“Oh-” you say, hand reaching into your chest pocket and pulling out a granola bar. “I found this.”
You can’t resist a smile at the way his face lights up, leaping towards you like you’re holding all of life’s answers.
Well, maybe you’re holding one of them.
Deep thoughts continue as the two of you split the granola bar in two, savoring each tiny bite. You notice his hand shaking as he holds it to his mouth. “Did you eat yesterday?” You ask quietly.
He shrugs. “’Ts okay, it’s just part of the diet.”
“We’re burning a lot of fat now, more than expected,” you counter. “Not to be a downer, but your condition isn’t good for this. We’ll have to make sure we keep moving. That’s all the food I have.”
He looks at you, brown eyes analyzing you for a second, before looking out the window, where snow still falls outside, though now it looks more like rain than snow. That isn’t much better.
“I hoped they’d search for us.” He said. “But I’ve a feeling that they won’t even notice because there are so many vans.”
You nod. “I think so, too. Besides, it’s no good to stay there. Here, it’s warmer than on the plain, but we need to get to somewhere dry. How does your skin feel? Is your coat soaking through at all? Your shoes?” Your shoes are waterproof (though not very warm), so you hadn’t thought of his feet until now.
He looks down at his feet. “Um, my coat is fine, it’s just my head and my hair- they’re wet. Uh- my feet- well, they’re wet. Not soaked, just cold, and damp. They’re tingling right now, so that’s good, right?”
You shrug, not wanting to scare him. Jeon Jungkook isn’t easily scared, but you wouldn’t risk hurting him for the world. “Let’s go out and get a drink, and then move on. It’s going to get dark soon enough.”
“Okay.” He studies you for a moment, then a teasing grin blooms on his face. “You need help getting out of that chair?”
You stand up sharply, ignoring the slight tinge of dizzy fog that hangs at the corners of your awareness. “No.”
He giggles. It doesn’t help your body temperature, but at least it warms your heart a little.
You don’t know how long you’ve been walking now. It’s hard to tell how close it is till dark, with the deepening grey hardly noticeable until you look up and realize that Jungkook’s face is shadowed under his hood, so dark you can hardly make out his features.
You’re tired. He probably is too. Your schedules have already been hectic- on top of that lack of food and sleep - and your school and work schedules- this, this workout that neither of you asked for.
“Here,” he nudges you upright again after you stumble into him, losing control of your legs for just a minute. The fog hangs a bit heavier. This is a tough hike, even for you. “Let’s run a minute, hm?” His voice holds a slight strain to it, almost a wheeze.
“Yeah,” you say, determined to stop him if his lungs are struggling. “How long for?”
“Till you catch me,” he says, a grin sparkling out of the sliver of his face that you can see. “You’re it!” And, having tagged your arm, he dashes ahead, racing down the beach.
“Oh, you’re on,” you cry, and tear after him.
He probably could run faster, but you think Jungkook is just as tired as you are when you catch him, dropping his hands behind his head to pant for breath, rain spattering off his coat. Your hair is even more wet, your hood having fallen off, but your body is warm. That’s good. “Feel warmer?” You ask, looking up to his face, only to frown at the pained grimace there.
“I think I wrenched my knee,” he pants, wincing as he takes a step.
You stay silent as he shakes it out, then takes a few more steps. “It’s okay, let’s keep going.” He says, but his eyes are hooded with exhaustion. Your heart pangs. You really hope the town’s soon, or you two will- you don’t want to think about that. You can't lose hope. Not now. Not when you've got Jungkook to take care of.
“Look, there’s a creek up there,” he calls, now some ways in front of you.
So you keep going.
It’s nearly entirely dark when Jungkook shouts, having run up on the dune to check the horizon. You know he’s dead tired too, but he still musters up the energy to climb the little hill and see if there’s anything to see.
The shout sends your heart pounding in your chest, as he dips out of sight behind a hill, and you run up the sandy incline, feet slipping and calves aching, desperate to find him. You can’t be alone out here; if you two lose touch, you’ll just lie down and lose the world. You’re so, so tired.
And your hope of finding the village? Gone, pretty much. You’re not sure if you remember correctly. Maybe it was somewhere else you were thinking of?
What if it was north?
Someone crashes into as you trudge around the side of the small hill, too lethargic even to run that long now. You startle, yelping.
“It’s just me!” Jungkook cries, a black shadow around you, but you look up, and can see his eye sparkle down at you.
Wait.
Sparkle.
“Wait,” you gasp. “Is it-”
“The village!” His teeth are chattering, fingers chilled as they search out yours. “Come on!”
It seems like hours later when the two of you finally stumble under warm streetlights, and Jungkook trips on the curb of the sidewalk. This time, you heave him up, but the two of you lean on each other as you wander down the misty deserted street. “Hotel,” you murmur, pointing ahead where cars are parked outside a large, homely building, exuding a golden glow. The two of you stumble towards it, hands gripping each other. You don’t even have energy to be excited now.
You’re just stepping under the awning when he halts.
You look up at him to find he’s staring at the door with a strange expression. “We-” his voice cracks from disuse. “No money. I need- mask.” He gestures to his face with a numbly clumsy arm.
You shake your head. “We’ll explain. I’ll- just zip your collar up and hood down and I’ll talk.”
“‘Kay. Thanks,” he mumbles.
You squeeze his hand. “I am your manager after all,” you say, pulling the door open.
“Stylist.”
“Whatever you say, boss.” You’re glad he has energy to joke. It seems like you two take turns with it.
The warmth doesn’t hit you for several minutes, as you two huddle just inside the door, shivering from the change in temperature, and figuring out where in the lobby you should go to find a receptionist.
“Hello,” she greets, skeptically taking in your appearance- not that sketchy looking- you have nice clothes, you’re just bedraggled from the weather. “What can I do for you?”
“Hello,” you begin, trying to be confident, but doubtful if you’ll get anything with no money and no identification. “We were with a group up on the plain north of here and got left behind in the storm, so we’ve walked here. We were wondering if we could take a room here to stay and eat, or, at least, if you could direct us to medical help?”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she says, softening, “I wish I could offer you a free room but we just can’t afford it- but maybe we can fix you up something to eat? I’ll see what I can do about a doctor. I take it you’ve no money with you.”
And then it does hit, with a tremendous burning sensation in your fingers, in your legs, on your face, so that all you get out is “Uh-” and then a hiss, wincing at the pain. Oh no- oh no, what are you going to do now? You have a feeling this is the only place to stay, it'd be too risky to stay in someone's house, and you doubt there's a hospital here.
“I’ve a card,” Jungkook says behind you. “Do you take credit?”
You turn to him to find him holding his phone- case removed, and a credit card. “Turns out it was useful for something.” He grins crookedly at you, but you notice that his eyes are a little glassy.
You resist the urge to kiss him, to tackle him to the ground with thankful cuddles. That wouldn’t go with your brand. No, no, no, don't do it-!
Instead you settle with snuggling up against his arm as he pays with the precious card, for a room for you.
And just like that, all your normal anxiety is back. You might even actually be relieved about it.