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Yoongi rested his head against the cool glass of the car, struggling to keep his eyes open. Jimin’s head was resting on his shoulder, Hoseok and Namjoon were snoring in the back. It had been a tiring day for them all, with the comeback just around the corner. He yawned, then abruptly froze. A figure on the bridge. She was sitting precariously on the railing, looking down at the swirling waters. She was young. Couldn’t be older than him. The tear tracks scintillating on her cheeks in the glare of the headlights made his heart drop like lead. He blinked quickly. It would be cruel of the universe to play such a trick on him, but he'd seen cruel. He shook his head. The girl was still there, the car fast approaching, her form a shadow blotting out the stars, out of reach of the headlights as the car switched lanes. Jimin’s head lifted. His tired eyes blinked up at Yoongi in confusion. “Hyung, stop the car,” Yoongi murmured. He didn’t want to wake the others—and anything louder felt like it would tip the world over the edge, into the black water. “Hyung—hyung, you have to stop the car.” His voice was taught. Jimin shifted beside him. “Yoongi, what—” The words felt alien, a shadow of himself speaking to a shadow of someone else. “There’s a girl—there, on the bridge, she’s going to—” His voice cracked, and Jimin’s hand was on his forearm. He shivered, pressing on. “She’ll jump if we don’t stop. We have to stop!” “Are you sure—” The PD-nim only had to glance at his expression in the rearview mirror for confirmation. Jimin opened his mouth, but seemed unable to speak as the car swerved and suddenly slowed. Yoongi was out the door before the van had fully stopped. Jimin scrambled out behind him. Yoongi's hands were clammy; the shortness of his breath had nothing to do with his exhaustion. The girl, her silhouette darker than black over the glowing waters. He slowed a ways from the girl. His heart pounded against his ears. One wrong move and she’d slip off—intentionally or not. He swallowed. Took painfully slow steps towards her. Her checkered flannel billowed in the cool breeze, her legs swinging slightly over the dark, swirling lights. Jimin had caught up with him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Yoongi wet his lips. “What do we do?” His voice was quiet and soft, porcelain waiting to shatter. He should know what to do. But he didn't want to remember, to try and see what he had felt, wanted, wished for so long ago. Jimin’s voice was calm and level, but the speed with which the words rushed from his mouth betrayed him. “We have to try, but…Yoongi-hyung, it’s not your fault if—” “No, she--we can do it.” Yoongi's lungs stuttered a breath, and then his jaw set. He prayed the girl wouldn’t notice him as he came nearer—he was within reach now—but if he grabbed her arm, he might hurt her, she might slip off in surprise—could he really hold up a grown girl by her arm? He had to hope so. “Excuse me.” He did his best to keep his voice level, steady. She started. His muscles twitched, but he held his position. Her fingers tightened around the handrail, and she turned her tearstained face to him. Yoongi swallowed. Was it the knowledge that these might soon be the last breaths that she took that made her so beautiful in the moment—her hair dancing behind her, her eyes sparkling in the light of the cityscape behind them, her silhouette black and real against the glimmers of the artificial rainbow that chased the stars from the sky behind her—or was it something else? “You can’t stop me, I’ll jump,” she whispered in English. “I’ll let go.” Yoongi hadn’t understood the words at the time, but the hardness of her eyes and the cracks in her voice had served as enough indication. He clenched and unclenched his hands. Namjoon, he needed Namjoon to talk to her. But he’d have to leave her—where was Jimin? “No,” he said in English, before switching back to his native tongue. “No, please don’t.” He took the tiniest step forward. “You aren’t alone, I’ll listen, I’m here.” He winced, feeling a familiar gulf of self-hatred crack open the earth at his feet. She didn’t even understand them. And how terrible the almost pitying expression the girl wore looked on her. “Tell me why, please.” He gulped, refusing to give up. He knew the English word sounded similar— “Why?” This, it seemed, was the girl’s undoing. She sat a moment, watching him, and for that eternity Yoongi didn’t breathe, his muscles tense, ready to spring forward should her slender black fingers relax around the cold metal they held with the last fervour. She dropped his gaze and bowed her head, her shaking frame momentarily outlined by the glare of headlights. She gripped the railing harder, tears streaming down her face. His gut wrenched; he closed the distance between them in an instant. His arm wrapped around her waist with as much care as he could still muster, his other trailed down hers. She let him pry her fingers from the railing and lift her arms around his shoulders. He felt her rest her head in the crook of his neck, and felt his stomach flip at the strength of his relief. He blinked quickly, wetting his lips again. He carefully slipped his arm under her knees and lifted her legs over the railing. His heart exploded in his chest when she gasped in surprise, wrapping both arms around him instinctively tighter. He gently eased her to the ground, arms wrapped around her waist when her knees buckled and she melted into his embrace. He let her stand there, leaning against him with her head on his shoulder, her quaking frame in his arms, her ragged breath against his neck. “Sorry to interrupt you two, but we do have to get back,” the PD-nim said gently, the relief audible in the man’s voice. The girl shuddered in his arms, and Yoongi's ears suddenly felt hot. The girl let her arms slip from his shoulders, but he kept his around her waist. His fingers grazed the soft fabric of her flannel as it billowed in the breeze. She took a breath, her body tensing slightly against his, but did not attempt to loosen his hold. Her eyes darted to the railing, brimming with twinkling jewels again; Yoongi's heart tore. “Can she come? I don’t want to—I can’t leave her…like this.” He trailed off, biting his cheek as he glanced another scintillating pearl escape her closed eyes. He gulped. “What’s your name?” He murmured. She glanced up at him and he winced, realising he had to piece together the English version for her to understand. His PD-nim spoke first. “Yoongi-ssi, you’ve already helped her like this…you’re busy, too.” His voice was heavy with regret, trembling imperceptibly with a touch of fear. Yoongi heard this and pressed on. “But if I leave her like this, who’s to say she won’t just-- She can’t even speak Korean, so she wouldn’t be able to get home. I don’t think she planned for anything beyond that point, PD-nim. Please.” His voice rose with a touch of desperation he didn’t have the heart to contain. It was then that he noticed Jimin’s pale, tearstained face come towards them, Jin trailing behind, his face shrouded in shadows. “PD-nim, we can find a way to make time for her between all of us, even if she only stays for a day or two. Please. I couldn’t see her go like this. She can barely walk.” Jimin’s voice trembled with emotion. Yoongi's heart went out to Jimin in that moment, feeling his own eyes brim with liquid. Their PD-nim had to assent, the relief washing his features clean and business-like again, back in familiar territory. Yoongi allowed himself a small smile. “Come,” he said tentatively, lifting his arm higher to support her better. Jimin wiped the tears from his face and came to hold her up from the other side. Yoongi didn't miss her flinch at Jimin's first contact, despite the pair's efforts at warm smiles. When Jimin let go to climb into the car, she paused and smiled at Yoongi. Broken and teary—his heart wrenched. But when she spoke, her voice soft and hesitant, the flame that devoured the remaining shreds of his heart was irrepressible. “저 이름은 리아 입니다.” His gait hitched with surprise. “첨법게슴니다, 리아씨,” he said slowly, softly. He glanced at her, grinning when she smiled--really smiled. He wished he could give her his name, too, but was loath to see her face light in recognition, her eyes widen with incredulity, her head bow in respect—it wasn’t that people didn’t appreciate him for who he was, think of him as human—they did—but right now he just wanted to keep the fragility of the moment before the uncertainty of the future shattered it into a million shards of memory. Right now, she was breathing, her eyes were shining, her hand was soft and warm in his. It was good the rest of the car didn’t wake up during the rest of the ride home. The explanation would have been arduous—especially when the members would be quick to point out the girl lay asleep with her head against Yoongi's shoulder, his arms around her waist, his headphones--the ones he would never let anyone else touch-- playing soft tunes of Begin and Butterfly over her ears.