The Seven: Redemption ~ A BTS ot7 Fanfiction

Chapter Ten- Taehyung

A few hours later, Ayla found herself at the table with the seven men, the dim glow of evening shrouding the cabin in an amber haze. Shadows from the dying sun danced on the rough wooden walls, casting the room in a soft, orange light, making everything seem both distant and intimate all at once.

The cabin smelled of roasted meat and herbs, the warmth of the hearth mixing with the coolness of the night air that trickled in through the cracks in the walls.

Jimin sat across from her, quiet but present, his gaze occasionally flicking to her, though he seemed deep in thought. The hours they had spent beneath the tree felt like a strange dream now, as though time had folded in on itself.

The memory of her head resting on his shoulder flashed through her mind, unbidden, and she bit her lip, embarrassed at the ease with which she had let herself fall asleep next to him.

She cursed herself internally.

How could I have been so careless? So... trusting? It wasn't like her to let her guard down so easily, especially not with someone she barely knew. Yet with Jimin, there had been something different.

The sound of slurping filled the room, almost comical in its contrast to the heavy tension that seemed to linger beneath the surface.

Ayla's heart thudded in her chest, her senses overwhelmed by the closeness of them all - the sheer presence of these men who had been reduced to legends and whispers, monsters in the eyes of the world.

She glanced to her left, where Namjoon sat at the head of the table, his large frame making the narrow table seem smaller than it was. He was quiet, his brow furrowed as he ate methodically, eyes occasionally darting around the room as if lost in his own thoughts.

Beside him, Taehyung- the impossibly quiet stranger- stared into his bowl, his expression unreadable, though there was a flicker of something—sadness? Resignation? —in his eyes when he looked up and met hers for the briefest of moments.

At the tail of the table, Seokjin sat, regal even in this humble setting, his every movement graceful yet restrained. He wore the calm of a man used to keeping his emotions tightly locked away, but there was something in the way his fingers tapped lightly against the edge of his bowl and the way that his tattoos seemed to dull—a barely perceptible sign of unease. Perhaps it was the presence of a newcomer in their midst, or perhaps it was simply the weight of all that had come before. 

Yoongi sat across from her, and she could feel his eyes on her—keen, watchful, despite his damaged vision. His scar seemed to catch the light in strange ways, casting his face into sharp relief. He was silent, his movements controlled, though the tension in his jaw hinted at something unspoken, something that simmered just beneath the surface. Ayla wondered if he, too, was still haunted by the memories of the blade that had marred his flesh.

And then there was Jungkook. Sitting closest to the fire, his face lit by its warm glow, his expression oddly serene despite the storm of emotions she knew must be roiling beneath the surface. His curse hung over him like a shadow, unseen but ever-present. There was something almost otherworldly about him—beautiful; yet broken. His crimson gaze met hers briefly, and she felt the weight of everything he carried, the uncertainty of what his future held.

Ayla's appetite waned, her thoughts a chaotic swirl of emotions—sympathy, confusion, a strange sense of kinship she hadn't expected to feel. She had been so sure of herself, of her purpose, of the stories she had believed. But now, sitting among them, seeing the humanity in their eyes, in their quiet gestures, she couldn't help but question everything. These men—these legends, these supposed monsters—were not what she had been led to believe.