4.6 | Dark Ages ✓

- 0 5 : 0 1

  

– 0 5 : 0 1

IT'S TIME TO leave again.

With the Dark Ages only in its early stages, there aren't any need for wards. He doesn't feel them like static in the air, nor does he have to worry about when they will come down. Briefly, he wonders about the sheer coincidences surrounding this house. The fridge is always well-stocked, the shelves kept tidy and the scent of roses permeate the air, so she must've have always lived here.

But how has she anticipated his arrival each time?

He files that thought aside to mull on later and reaches into his jacket to sneak a peek at the paper that Hoseok had given him.

Ten minutes.

Ten minutes to his next—and final—jump before he returns to the present. On the one hand, he's eager to know whether his actions in the past would've changed the future. On the other, he's terrified at the prospect that it could turn out worse than before.

He steels himself and picks up one of Jimin's bags before heading out of the house. His colleague is already wrangling a bag into the trunk of a cab, and Taehyung sets the other one down as well.

When he's done, Jimin slams the trunk shut and turns around. "You'll be alright, won't you?" he asks, clear concern in his voice. "Are you sure you don't want to leave for Antarctica while you still can?"

Not if I'm disappearing in seven minutes, he thinks.

He shakes his head. "I'm sure."

Jimin lets out a laugh. "Have it your way, you stubborn idiot," he says, before reaching out to clap Taehyung on the back. "Stay safe, you hear? The world's going to get real ugly real fast, and I hope to see you soon. Well, you and the future missus—if you can trick her into actually dating you, Romeo."

Taehyung rolls his eyes at that, but his expression turns grave. "Don't lose sight of our goal," he says quietly. "And remember, it's not our fault."

"I won't."

With that simple assurance, Jimin climbs into the cab and waves a quick goodbye. Taehyung watches the car trundle off down the street until it eventually disappears out of view. He lets out a quiet breath and turns back to the house.

Five minutes.

Just then, he catches a figure in his peripheral vision. His footsteps come to an abrupt halt. Déjà vu sweeps through him. He twists around to get a better glimpse, then he freezes.

That's me.

Across the road, a man slams his car door shut and locks it. He chucks his keys into the pocket of his suit jacket and glances down at the phone in his hands. Then, with a decisive step to the right, he heads down the street.

This is him: Taehyung—the other him. The one who exists in this time. The one who he'd arranged to meet the girl because he couldn't do it himself.

Without thinking, Taehyung darts back into the house. He grabs his bag, stuffs the gun under his jacket and rushes out onto the street again. There, he's there—just disappearing past the corner. With a swift glance to check for oncoming traffic, Taehyung dashes across the road after his other self. He breaks into a quick sprint until he reaches the corner.

And that's her.

Seated on the terrace outside a coffeeshop is the woman of his dreams. Sunlight catches the varying hues of her hair, illuminating her in a lovely glow that highlights her graceful features. Engrossed in her book, she reaches for her cup and takes a lengthy sip of her drink.

Unbidden, a thought rises to his mind that makes him catch his breath:

You captivate me.

The other Taehyung is still there. Just as he's watching her, he's watching her. The other him is entirely still, rapt fascination etched onto his every feature. For the first time, he sees the expression on his own face when he looks at her, and he understands now how he falls in love.

As if sensing someone's gaze on her, she suddenly glances up. She sees him—the other him, and there ensues a flurry of clumsiness on her part as she goes to greet him. Unable to look away, he watches how it all unfolds, struck by the significance of this very moment.

This is how I met you.

In those five minutes, he watches his other self speak to her in low tones that he cannot hear. He can't look away from her, nor can she from him. When his other self heads into the coffeeshop presumably to place an order, he finally registers a familiar sound.

Tick, tick, tick.

He glances down at his watch, observing the second-hand speed towards the next minute. Reluctantly, he tightens his grip on his bag and gun to prepare to leave.

When he glances back up, she's looking at him.

She's looking at him—not the other him—but him. His breath catches in his throat; his heart slams in his chest. Unable to even think of any response, he simply stares back at her. Her head tilts to the side as she regards him with something akin to curiosity, then she smiles.

It's unlike the polite smile she'd given to his other self. This one lights her face, a raw smile of genuine pleasure, as though she's greeting someone she's known all her life. But that's just it, isn't it?

You've known me—this me—all your life.

He vanishes.