Tangled Realities (Ot7xreader)

Packing was done—well, mostly done, thanks to Jin and Yoongi hovering around like your personal moving crew while Namjoon sat cross-legged on the floor, sorting through your documents like a librarian on a deadline.

"Do you really need this many sticky notes in your passport folder?" Namjoon muttered, flipping through papers.

"They’re color-coded," you said defensively.

He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, but the key to the colors is also color-coded. This feels unnecessarily complicated."

"Let me have this. It's the illusion of control."

You sighed dramatically, flopping on your bed as Jin shoved your rolled-up sweaters into the suitcase and Yoongi zipped up another one like he was sealing off stress.

And it hit you, two days. Two days until you’d officially be in Japan for work. The boys knew it, felt it—but no one wanted to say anything. The air hung thick with unsaid words, but you could see it in the way Jungkook lingered near the hallway or how Jimin kept checking in on you with snacks. It was going to hurt. But you wouldn’t let it end on a sad note.

So, you were glad you decided to spend time with each one of them in the past two days. Just you and them. One-on-one.

---
Flashbacks-

It was already late, the city lights buzzing below while Taehyung lay back on the rooftop blanket, one hand under his head and the other pointing at the sky.

“That star? That’s you,” he said dramatically.

You squinted. “That’s literally a satellite.”

“Exactly. Mysterious. Orbiting at a safe distance. Possibly recording all our secrets. Very you.”

You snorted. “You’re the one who hasn’t let me rest all week with your existential questions. ‘What if the stars are actually jellyfish floating in space,’ remember that?”

“They could be,” he replied seriously, turning to look at you. “But more importantly, I’m gonna miss this.”

You were quiet for a second.

“Same,” you whispered. “But I’ll video call you from the roof in Japan. We can still talk about space jellyfish.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He pulled you into a warm, slightly squishy hug—because Taehyung always smelled like fabric softener and peace.

---

Jungkook’s tattoo studio was clean, sharp, and smelled like sterilizer and coffee.

“Don’t worry, I’m not tattooing you today,” he said with a wink.

“Thank God. I don’t need a nervous breakdown and a butterfly tramp stamp in the same afternoon.”

He laughed, motioning you over to sit by his desk. “Just help me sort these designs. Be my moral support.”

You sifted through his sketches—tiny moons, blooming roses, some intricate mythological creatures.

“This one’s hot,” you pointed at a dragon with wings made of smoke.

He looked impressed. “That one’s for a biker gang client.”

“Okay, biker bestie,” you teased. “Can I meet them?”

He chuckled. “No. You’d charm them and start your own gang.”

You spent the next hour bickering over which tattoos were overrated, which ones were lowkey sexy, and which ones screamed mid-life crisis.