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theharrowing · 4 months

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Collateral 🗡️: Yoongi POV

Yoongi is spiraling. He has has a bigger mess on his hands than he could have anticipated, and you have slipped between his fingers.

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❗ THIS IS A CHARACTER POV CHAPTER!!!

even if you have not been reading the POV chapters, i highly recommend reading this one to get a sense of what has been going on inside Yoongi's head since this story began, and where he is now.

🗡️Yoongi x Namjoon, Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon, Jungkook x Reader

🗡️ word count: 8.1k

🗡️ mafia au, established relationship, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit, 21+

🗡️ warnings: semi-explicit smut between Yoongi & Namjoon (anal sex; mostly Yoongi experiencing subspace and not being present; non-explicit oral sex); mention of the disposal of dead bodies; blood on Yoongi's hands; mention of weapons (guns and knives); mental health stuff (anxiety; dissociation); chess talk...(is that a warning? lmk if the analogy is confusing lol); brief mention of homophobia (as a concept/worry, not as a direct experience); thoughts of taking heroin and overdosing (does not actually use); Yoongi is in a dark place and not necessarily suicidal, but definitely at a breaking point.

🗡️ notes: mc is referred to in 3rd person (she/her) pronouns for this chapter! there is also a hefty amount of foreshadowing for remaining chapters, and a surprise at the end.

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin

🗡️ posted june 2024 | read on ao3

"She's gone," Namjoon says, smile evident in his tone. Yoongi continues to watch as Jeongguk drags her away by the hand along the path toward his home. She stumbles behind him, arm outstretched as his strides are longer than hers. Namjoon continues, "I have you all to myself."

Once she disappears along the path, Yoongi rips his gaze from the trees and turns to Namjoon, lifting an eyebrow to appear nonchalant. The crease of dimples on Namjoon's cheeks, paired with his lidded gaze, turns Yoongi's heart into a caged, rabid beast.

"Oh?" he asks.

Namjoon's dimples deepen. "It's been a while since it has just been us two," he groans, stepping so close that Yoongi has to angle his head to gaze at him. "I miss you."

This makes Yoongi chuckle. He knows what Namjoon's I miss you entails—how it has nothing to do with the simple physical nearness that the phrase may imply on a surface level.

"You have me," Yoongi responds, wrapping his arms lazily around Namjoon's waist.

"Are any staff members here?" Namjoon asks as he leans close and rubs the tips of their noses together. His cologne is familiar and bright, causing tension to release from Yoongi's shoulders.

"Just the chef," Yoongi responds through a long exhale of air.

He opens his mouth to ask why Namjoon is curious—knowing full well that sex is on his mind—but Namjoon captures his bottom lip in his teeth and sucks until Yoongi's eyes roll back. Yoongi feels dizzy from desire and goes limp in Namjoon's arms. His eyes flutter closed momentarily, and he lets out a deep, pleased groan.

"Send him home," Namjoon mutters, lip still captive in his mouth. He releases, then more clearly says, "I want you on the couch."

Yoongi shakes his head, unable to hold back a smile. He sounds petulant as he says, "Not my mother's couch," making Namjoon chuckle. The thought alone of cleaning a stain out of that ancient blue velvet sends a shiver along his spine.

Namjoon laughs harder and nods—when it comes to Yoongi's mother, Namjoon always concedes. Even from the grave, he would never do anything to displease her.

"Alright," Namjoon says, giving Yoongi a tug toward the slightly ajar front door. "The couch upstairs, then."

Yoongi smiles, and that is all Namjoon needs to take the lead, kicking out of his shoes while he tugs on Yoongi's hand. Yoongi steps out of a pair of leather loafers and is led through his home to his bedroom, smiling wider with each step, doing his best not to trip on his way up the stairs.

Yoongi loves his darling. He really does.

But there is something so serene and comforting about having Namjoon all to himself, and he allows his mind to wander along this path, knowing it is not a disservice to her. He imagines she also enjoys moments when it is just herself and one of them.

Or herself and Jeongguk.

"What do you suppose they are getting up to at Jeongguk's place?" Yoongi asks as they approach the large blue couch in his bedroom.

Namjoon sinks to the cushions, leaving Yoongi to stand before him. He knows that unless Namjoon gives him verbal instruction, his assumed instruction is to not do anything, and so he keeps his arms hung to his sides while Namjoon begins undoing the fly of his slacks.

"Fucking," Namjoon responds, glancing up at him, dimples prominent. His dark hair is beginning to grow out a bit, and hangs parted over his forehead.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, chuckling as his slacks and briefs are shoved to his knees and his legs are hit by cool air. He gently lifts one foot after another, hovering each one long enough to have his socks removed, and he says, "Touché."

"He bought her a dildo, for fuck's sake," Namjoon says, standing before Yoongi and grabbing at the bottom hem of his black sweater.

Yoongi regrets bringing it up, sensing Namjoon is in the mood to tease. He grumbles, "I'm aware."

"Modeled after his own cock," Namjoon adds, sounding ever incredulous.

Yoongi feels exasperated and mutters, "Forget I asked," under his breath.

"No, tell me," Namjoon continues, lifting Yoongi's sweater and tee in the same motion, forcing Yoongi's arms upward. The garments are removed and tossed aside, and Namjoon grips Yoongi's chin, tugging him forcefully to bring their lips close before Yoongi has a chance to lower his arms to his sides again. "What else would they be doing?"

Namjoon steals the air from Yoongi's lungs, leaving him standing nude, cold, and utterly speechless. He stares into Namjoon's dark, sharp eyes, finding all he can do is catch his breath.

"Bend over," Namjoon instructs.

Yoongi nods in quick, shallow movements and swallows thickly. "Yes, daddy," he utters softly, sound caught in his throat.

Namjoon takes his time stretching Yoongi with his fingers and tongue. He is delirious by the time he is instructed to lay on his back, barely cognizant of the soft fabric as it shifts below his knees and settles below his back.

The room dissipates into a thin fog as Namjoon enters him, and his body is electric with sensation, feeling only where he is used and touched—where beads of sweat drip from Namjoon's forehead onto his heated skin.

Yoongi revels in these moments when he can slip into subspace and shut off, becoming nothing but a doll for his lover. He tries to think about his darling but the synapses do not fire. All he knows in this moment is immediate, insurmountable pleasure.

As Namjoon fucks Yoongi with his legs lifted high in the air, the rocking of his body mixed with the pleasure-pain of how hard Namjoon's thrusts are caused him to drift. He is lost at sea with nothing but the roaring, whooshing sound of his heartbeat in his ears.

Yoongi returns to his body as Namjoon uses a warm, damp rag to clean him off. It takes several heavy blinks to realize he has been carried into the bathroom and is bending over the cold marble sink with his feet spread on a soft rug. The hard surface feels good against his heated skin, but he begins to shiver the more aware of it he becomes.

"I completely lost you for a while, there," Namjoon says once he is finished. He places a kiss between Yoongi's shoulder blades, and Yoongi hums happily as his eyelids flutter closed and a shiver works down his spine.

The two of them have an agreement that unless Yoongi becomes so out of it that he starts to panic, Namjoon is not to stop. He is allowed to use Yoongi all he needs to, and he is always gracious in the way he cares for Yoongi after.

Yoongi has never had a panic moment during subspace, but they have read that it is something that can happen. He and Namjoon have become so close over the years that Yoongi is not concerned. They can cross that bridge if they ever come to it.

It is only when the sex ends and Yoongi is a full person again that he sometimes loses his grasp on reality, but he figures that is a different matter entirely.

"Did I cum?" Yoongi asks although he knows the answer is no. His cock is soft but he can feel the pent-up need for release that has him practically begging Namjoon for another round.

"Nah," Namjoon responds, tugging Yoongi by the shoulders to stand up straight. As Yoongi pushes away from the counter with his elbows and then his palms, Namjoon—who is shirtless but wearing briefs—wraps his arms around Yoongi's arms, pinning them to his sides. "I tried twice to make you cum but you kept seeming too overwhelmed. Didn't want to push you."

"Sorry," Yoongi mutters, although he is not in the least bit sorry. Still, he finds it is the only thing that makes sense for him to say, right now. It is common for him to get so lost that he does not cum, but he always feels a tinge of guilt for some reason, as if ejaculation is the only way to express to someone that they have made you feel good. Of course, it is not.

"Want to discuss it?" Namjoon asks, and Yoongi shrugs, ready to brush it off as nothing because he is concerned that he may actually begin to spiral if he voices what has been on his mind.

It certainly is not nothing. Yoongi slips away the easiest when his mind is so clouded with anxiety that he becomes desperate to let go. And, of course, Namjoon knows this better than anyone else.

"Sure," Yoongi admits. Perhaps it would be nice to voice his feelings out loud. "Once we are dressed and I have a fair amount of marijuana in my system, I will gladly discuss it."

With new socks and underwear, Yoongi returns to the outfit he had been wearing before, shaking the garments as he lifts them from their pile on the floor in order to free them of the socks and briefs that belong in the hamper.

Namjoon kisses Yoongi on the cheek and leaves the bedroom first, undoubtedly to make his way down to the living room to where he keeps his joints stashed in his mother's favorite antique table.

Yoongi thinks of his mother as he runs a hand through his hair and slowly follows along. The mansion is full of memories of her, and he wishes he could confide in her the way he did when he was younger. More than anything, he wishes he could be in her presence again.

He pauses at the top of the stairs to peer at a closed door on the far end of the mezzanine that has not been opened in years, and he imagines his mother donned in all black with her long hair twisted out of her face into a neat bun in the back. She always sat on her favorite velvet sofa—the one that is now down in the main hall—drinking a glass of Shiraz while reading the newspaper, ready to set both aside to advise her son in a moment's notice.

Yoongi has walked in on a similar scene so many times before, and as he imagines the warmth of her embrace, memories flood back to him, as they always do.

I love him, his younger self whined, collapsing to the cushion as two warm arms wrapped around his shoulders and engulfed his head in Chanel-scented darkness. He loved Ryujin, too, but in the way one loves someone they have known all their life. Not in the way he loved Namjoon.

He had always thought he could have, though. He was willing to try to feel the way he pretended to. All he needed was a little time, he would tell himself.

I know you do, her voice said, strong yet soft, unwavering. Hold him dearly, and do not let him go. The others will come to understand.

Yoongi remembers asking his mother what to do if the others did not come to understand, voice trembling as he sniffled against her neck. Specifically, he was talking about his father, though he was not brave enough to say so. He was never brave enough to say so.

Then be rid of them, is all she would say in response. She made it sound so easy.

Yoongi's heart feels heavy, and he closes his eyes, descending the steps while wishing she were still here. He is no fool—he knows he does not always make the best choices. But he does the best he can with what he has been given, and he hopes that she would still be proud of him. At the very least, he thinks she could talk some sense into him.

In a blink, Yoongi is outside, standing on his front stoop, lighting the joint that is nestled between his lips. He glances down at his feet to make sure he is wearing shoes and is pleased to find that they match.

Yoongi does this lately—loses track of himself. One moment, he is standing at the top of the staircase, and the next, he is outside. He knows that his brain still pilots his body in the in-between moments, but it always gives him pause to return to himself, realizing he has been somewhere else.

Christopher says it is a form of dissociation and points out that it occurs when Yoongi tends to be experiencing high levels of stress. The problem is, Yoongi is almost always experiencing high levels of stress.

Yoongi inhales sharply, feeling the smoke fill his lungs. He hands the joint to Namjoon, holding his breath a few seconds more, then lets it out in a deep exhale.

"Craving sushi," Yoongi mutters, mostly to himself.

Namjoon chuckles as he lets out a plume of smoke and hands the joint back. "Sushi is doable, and agreeable. Wanna call our darling?"

Yoongi brings the joint to his lips and shakes his head. He wants to give her a little more time and space. He wants her to feel like she has freedom.

"Not yet," he says as best as he can while trying to keep the smoke from escaping his lungs. Then he sighs, letting the air push out, passing the joint back to Namjoon. "I feel like I have been crowding her, and I—" Yoongi swallows, finds his mouth is terribly dry, and shoves his hands into his pockets.

Namjoon inhales sharply and coughs. Yoongi considers going into the kitchen to fetch them some water, but he feels glued in place, unable to move.

"Ah, right," Namjoon says, voice somewhat strained from coughing. "Is this what has you stuck inside your head today?"

Yoongi nods, staring at the tree line that separates his property from Seokjin's and Jeongguk's. Greens and browns fade in and out of focus, making him dizzy, but he finds he cannot look away.

"She had a fucking panic attack," Yoongi says under his breath, finding his tone is sharper and much angrier than he intends. He swallows, nibbles the inside of his cheek, and then tries again in a much more even tone. "I feel like I have grossly misjudged the situation, and it is not as if I can simply take the proposal back."

"We have been putting a lot of pressure on her," Namjoon agrees, stepping close.

Yoongi does not want more of the weed, and he shakes his head when it is offered. He rips his gaze from the trees and turns to Namjoon, watching as his expression falls to match his solemn one, lips downturned in a frown. Yoongi knows that Namjoon already knows what he is thinking before he says it. He always does.

"I am at a loss for what to do," Yoongi mutters.

Namjoon turns his head to the side to blow out a mouthful of smoke, eyes staying on Yoongi. "I suppose we give her space whenever possible," he suggests, to which Yoongi nods. "And we find a good time to sit her down and talk to her. We can assure her that we are not trying to rush or pressure her."

As always, Namjoon is right. A conversation goes a long way, and it is something the three of them have not made enough time for. A lot of bullshit has happened over the last couple of months, and Yoongi imagines all three of them must have a lot on their minds.

And there are some things that Yoongi needs to clear up before their relationship becomes even more serious. Things he has not been forthcoming about because he never expected to care enough about her to want to openly discuss them.

He still cannot believe he has allowed himself to fall in love again.

Yoongi opens his mouth to respond, but his phone begins to buzz. The vibration is a pattern that is only programmed for one phone number, and he smiles as he reaches into his pocket, eager to hear from her, albeit a little worried. Perhaps they can have the dreaded but much needed conversation over dinner.

* * *

It is just after 2 in the morning when Yoongi's phone finally rings. He is drenched in sweat and blood, and he drags the back of his hand over his brow as he wipes his other hand against the leg of his pants and reaches into his pocket, palming his device. Seokjin's name shines at him in big white letters, and he breathes deeply and slowly before accepting the call.

Around him, bodies of men are dragged further onto the compound from the security gate, and Taehyung loads them into the back of a sleek black pickup truck for identification and disposal while Jeongguk prowls the length of the driveway like a territorial beast, clenching bloody knives in both hands.

"Seokjin," Yoongi pants, exhausted.

"Boss," Seokjin responds chipperly, "Your wolf is on a flight to Taiwan. A liaison will meet her and either take her to Hong Kong to stay with The Tigers, or to Busan."

"Busan," Yoongi bites back, feeling his stomach churn with discomfort. "It would be nice to have her on the same peninsula, but…at what cost."

Seokjin asks, "Still distrust the ladies?"

Yoongi sighs. "Yes and no. Ryujin is not stupid enough to harm her, but I am not sure I can speak for Hyungseo."

"I have employed Hyejin to take the place of our informant, and I seem to recall she and your darling getting along fairly well."

Yoongi hums. Something about Hyejin's actions have always felt like a performance. That, or it has been too long since Yoongi has ever met someone who is genuinely as kind as she seems.

"Busan is fine, so long as one of us can make house calls."

There is a pause before both men say, "Jeonggukah."

Of all the family men, Jeongguk was closest with Ryujin before her family's betrayal. If there is anyone who she would allow on her compound, it is likely him.

"Once they have settled, I will be in touch," Seokjin says. "They are going to stay in Taiwan for a couple of days to allow things here to calm down, or culminate—whichever comes first."

"Alright," Yoongi says, willing to accept this plan for now.

The less time she spends in Busan with his enemy, the better. But, Yoongi supposes, it may pull Barom off her scent, that sneaky piece of—

"How are things there?" Seokjin asks.

Yoongi scoffs. He stretches his neck and glances around, watching as Taehyung and Namjoon load the last of the bodies onto the truck. Jeongguk continues to pace back and forth near the gate while Hoseok gleefully packs up all the various weapons taken from the dead men.

"It was a clusterfuck, to say the least." Yoongi sighs. "Barom slipped away with one of his men. We managed to kill the rest. Taehyungah is taking the bodies to ID and incinerate, and Hoseokah is piling up a wealth of new toys."

"Ooh, toys! Anything good?"

Yoongi shrugs to nobody. "Mostly knives and handguns. I have a feeling these are not his strongest, nor most organized men. Have you any idea who this guy could be working for?"

"I did a cursory check on social media—just what he shares with the public—and it seems people call him Mister Insanity. But, as you can imagine, that provides us with absolutely nothing."

Yoongi chuckles. How ridiculous.

Seokjin continues. "I have asked the Busan girls, as well as the Songs in the south. Neither seem to know anything, but they said they would report back should anything come up."

Reluctantly, Yoongi asks, "And Sunmi-noona?"

Seokjin sighs. Lee Sunmi, who remains a neutral party with regard to mafia family goings-on, is often at the center of everything, as well as a ghost. She operates many of the businesses owned by the Min and Shin families from Seoul to Busan, with a spattering of buildings in Daegu.

With simultaneously the cleanest and dirtiest hands in the city, Sunmi tends to know everything that happens behind the scenes, though Yoongi suspects Seokjin knows even more. Sunmi and Seokjin were in cahoots for a while until Hoseok stole Seokjin's attention away for good, and they developed the same chains of information gathering.

Yoongi has not seen Sunmi in quite some time. In fact, he has been dodging her calls and being dismissive over text since the day he brought his darling home. They, too, were tangled in a messy little web for a while, and Yoongi was not the most chivalrous in the way he stepped away. Becoming close with Sunmi was a strategic move, and nothing more. Getting information from her now might prove to be a challenge.

"That one is on you," Seokjin responds through a chuckle. "You know damn well she will not meet with me."

Yoongi sighs and rubs his thumb and middle finger over his temples. "Alright," he concedes.

Namjoon sends Yoongi a nod to let him know he and Taehyung are finished with their task. Yoongi lets out a sigh and feels his shoulders relax.

"I need a fucking shower and to get some sleep. I am postponing our meeting until ten."

"Sounds good, boss," Seokjin replies.

His tone is too calm for the present situation, and it makes Yoongi uneasy, but he is exhausted and he pushes the thought aside. He can dwell on it once he has slept.

Yoongi seems to slip out of himself once more, losing the time spent walking from the driveway up to the ensuite and undressing. He returns to himself as hot water hits his bare shoulders and he gasps while looking around, finding Namjoon adjusting the shower knobs to his left.

"Too hot?" Namjoon asks.

Steam fills the room, and it is definitely too hot, but it also feels good. Yoongi likes it when the water is near-scalding. How else will it wash away his sins?

With a sigh, Yoongi closes his eyes and tilts his head back. He lets out a grunting sound that is hardly a response, and Namjoon continues to fiddle with the knobs until the water is a more agreeable warm-hot.

"We should pack her a suitcase," Yoongi mutters to himself as a sudsy loofa passes over his collarbone.

Yoongi allows Namjoon to wash him, standing with his eyes closed and his body as still as he can keep it. He wonders whether he should allow himself to feel relieved that she will be on her way to Busan in a matter of days. He thinks the girls will take good care of her so long as their lives are on the line.

In the morning, he thinks, he can pack a bag to give to Jeongguk. He and Namjoon can also assist Taehyung with cleaning the mess. Yoongi just needs to get a little sleep first.

As Namjoon washes him for the second time today, Yoongi begins to somewhat drift. He often wishes the two of them could have had a simple, normal life.

"The last conversation I had with my mother," Yoongi mutters, eyes closed, imagining her smile that so closely resembled his own, "was to tell her that I wished I could marry you instead."

Namjoon's hand stills where it scrubs circles against Yoongi's shoulder blades. Then his hand continues to scrub, and he mutters, "I know."

Of course, Namjoon knows. Yoongi has told him time and time again.

Perhaps it is unfair to his darling—all the secrets he has kept, the life he wishes he could lead instead of this one. He has often wondered whether he will ever have the courage to tell her the entire truth.

What he has done…the long con that he has facilitated behind the scenes, the presence he has had in her life for years before she finally came into his home… Once she discovers how many strings Yoongi had been pulling behind the scenes—a maestro of death, destruction, and coercion—he worries her grasp on reality would shatter.

But, he reminds himself, the two of them were never meant to fall in love. Not really. And, he thinks, perhaps that is why he is so comfortable with allowing her to fall into the arms of other men.

Despite how close they have become, Yoongi has always known that she would not be comfortable with this lifestyle. We will condition her, he used to insist. We will break her down and build her back up again. We will make her into something magnificent.

After all, she was only meant to be a rook in the greater scheme of this game they have found themselves playing. A major piece, but an exchange piece, no less. Her purpose was always to be the beautiful façade that hid his relationship with Namjoon from the politicians and the thugs who might weaponize his sexuality and use it against him. He should have known from the start that the rook was a queen in disguise and that she would not so easily put up with his bullshit.

Yoongi knows he has taken her for granted and that she deserves to know everything. He has dwelled on it for far too long—has let the guilt nearly tear them apart several times, already.

More importantly, he needs to be the one to tell her the truth. He needs to make damn sure Barom does not find a way to her first. Yoongi was certain that his threat back at the Han River when all of this began would be enough to keep Barom away; his return changes everything.

"Baby," Namjoon says, pulling Yoongi from his thoughts. The word is spoken low and close, right into his ear.

Yoongi hums and opens his eyes.

"Wash your hair. Let's get to bed."

Yoongi nods. He turns to the black tile shelves set into the shower wall and squirts shampoo into his hand from a bottle. It is a newer one Namjoon has bought that has a woodsy scent to it, mingling with a citrus scent that Yoongi tends to default to. It cloys his senses as he rubs it into his hair, slowly working it into a lather.

Two strong hands take over, nails scratching against his scalp, and Yoongi lets out a heavy sigh and drops his hands to his sides. He must have been spacing out again, and he opens his eyes to find Namjoon's tattooed chest and neck covering his field of vision.

"Sure you don't want to make an appointment with Christopher?" Namjoon asks.

"Just need to sleep," Yoongi responds somewhat robotically, voice monotone.

Namjoon chuckles. "No amount of sleep is going to fix whatever is going on up here, baby," he gives Yoongi's soapy hair a playful tug. It feels nice. "But I suppose that is a good place to start. Rinse."

Yoongi takes one step forward to be fully under one of the showerheads, and he stands in place as his hair falls around his face to his shoulders in a wet curtain. Namjoon continues to scratch his nails over his scalp, and Yoongi opens his mouth to sigh, tasting the sharp flavor of shampoo enter his mouth.

Once the shower is turned off, Yoongi shivers as he walks out onto the mat and reaches for a towel. He feels cold all the way to the bone marrow and has to force himself not to tremble so hard his teeth clatter. Namjoon walks to the sink to retrieve a bottle of leave-in conditioner that he begins to work into Yoongi's hair, and then he leaves the room entirely.

Namjoon does not shiver the way Yoongi does. He appears perfectly content with just a towel wrapped around his hips, walking around as if he truly has no care in the world. Yoongi envies him.

With his shoulders pulled up to his ears, Yoongi meanders to the sink and begins to brush his teeth. He spits bloody foam into the basin and rinses with warm water, tonguing a spot on the right side of his mouth where his tooth and gum had been struck with the butt of a gun the same night Jimin was shot.

Yoongi needs to see the dentist to have his teeth looked at, but it is another thing on the ever-growing list of things Yoongi has no energy for. There are always so many fucking things.

Namjoon returns with a stack of folded black fabric that Yoongi recognizes as a shirt and sweatpants. He gets dressed slowly, knees and shoulders feeling stiff with age and exhaustion. Namjoon uses a towel to squeeze some of the dampness from Yoongi's hair, then tosses the towel aside. Yoongi follows him to bed.

As soon as he lays down and is engulfed in the cold comforter, Yoongi shivers and turns instinctively to Namjoon, whose naked limbs are wrapping around him and tugging him close.

"Need a little help falling asleep, baby?" Namjoon asks as a warm hand cups Yoongi's flaccid cock and balls over his sweatpants.

Yoongi stretches his legs out and rolls onto his back, smiling as he mutters, "Hmm…maybe."

Without another word, his pants are shoved down, and Yoongi feels hot breath ghosting against his thighs. He spreads his legs wide, digging his heels into the mattress as Namjoon settles between them. Namjoon's mouth is as talented as it is greedy, and he has Yoongi cuming down his throat and falling asleep in no time.

When Yoongi awakens, the hints of sun that come past the dark blue curtains are still too faint to light more than soft slivers of the room. Yoongi stretches his limbs, causing the sweaty mass of snoring man beside him to stir and shift.

Yoongi takes his time rolling out of bed, feeling rested enough. He knows that a little more sleep would do him some good, but once he is awake, he is awake.

He wants to pack a suitcase that he can send with Jeongguk the moment their meeting concludes. Even though the girls will likely be in Taiwan for another day or two, he wants everything to be prepared. He does not want to waste a moment of time.

As Yoongi steps out into the cold, empty mansion, his gaze drifts once more to the door at the far end of the mezzanine, past the two bedrooms that are infrequently occupied. One of these days, he thinks, he would like to pull away the plastic furniture coverings and sit on the chairs. He should dust his mother's shelves of books and open the curtains to let in some light.

Yoongi pads over to the first bedroom and twists the knob. When he shoves the door open, the air in his lungs gets trapped. Something about the way this room was left unsettles him, and it takes a moment for him to notice all the signs.

The makeup and hair care items that had lived atop the vanity near the door are all gone, the bed is made, and sitting on the bedside table, where it always is, is the Tiffany blue engagement ring box.

Beside the large, fake engagement ring box is the second, smaller one. The real one.

Yoongi swallows the urge to vomit. He steps into the room, leaving the door hanging ajar, walks over to the walk-in closet, turns on the light, and nearly collapses.

It is clear from a cursory glance that his darling has cleaned this place out. All that remains are designer clothing and shoes that he and Namjoon procured; everything that seemed to have personal value to her is gone.

Yoongi walks in on the right side and lifts a hand, brushing his fingertips over dress after dress, feeling the fabrics—one after another after another, some soft, some rough, all delicate. At the very back is the off-white halter dress that she wore to her birthday party, and he freezes, hand hovering in the air before it.

Tears pool in Yoongi's eyes, and he swallows his urge to panic. He needs to think. None of this makes sense and he needs to think.

In the left back corner of the room, where a large black suitcase once stood, there is nothing. It is clear that she had packed her belongings, but when? Between Barom and his men arriving, and Seokjin escorting her out, there was no time to pack this much.

Realization hits and settles uncomfortably in Yoongi's belly. She planned on leaving before Barom arrived with his fireworks and guns. She was planning on leaving all along.

He wants to rip every last shred of fabric from these hangers and scream until his throat is raw. Instead, he turns to the center island, bends with his elbows against the cold marble, and sobs.

Anguish fills his chest and throat, constricting his ability to breathe. Tears fall in hot streaks, tickling his nose and lips as he leans with his head against his forearms and cries until his throat burns, failing to keep from making too much noise. Although he is far enough that the sounds likely will not travel to Namjoon, sound does carry surprisingly far through large, empty spaces.

He does not wish to alarm Namjoon. Not until he can gather himself.

Yoongi cries until he is out of breath. He attempts to stand and get his bearings, but he is dizzy and bleary. He is angry. He is confused.

He opens a drawer on the left side of the island and peers inside to find that all of the jewelry Namjoon bought for her birthday is still tucked inside. She has taken none of their many gifts. But why?

As he sighs through his misery, taking in deep, shaking breaths, Yoongi blinks the small room into focus and notices a piece of paper sitting atop the marble island, folded neatly into a rectangle. His hands shake as he reaches for it, delicately unfolds it, and reads.

My Yoongi,

Your blood is on my hands in my dreams and in the waking world. I know you do not blame me, but the thought of it makes me sick to my stomach. I hope one day I will be able to look you in the eye and not feel so ashamed.

In your arms, I feel like a queen. I feel like I am on top of the entire world. Nobody has ever given that to me before, and nobody could ever come close.

It is not the height that I fear so badly but the fall back to earth.

Yoongi's hands tremble, and anger rises. He squeezes the paper, crumpling it in his palm as the burning fire of rage courses through his blood.

Her absence holds emptiness like a hole in the world, and Yoongi feels as if he might go supernova and collapse on himself, only to explode.

He does not understand. Has Seokjin put her up to something more nefarious than he realizes? Could she have been planning on running away with Barom? Did seeing him at the restaurant cause something in her to want to flee, whether toward Barom or away from him? How does all of this connect?

Yoongi remembers the way she excused herself to bed early yesterday. He remembers the way Namjoon muttered, "I can't put my finger on it, but something feels off," as the two of them watched her walk up the stairs.

How could he have missed something so big happening under his own roof? How could she join them in bed after packing her suitcase devoid of all their gifts as if nothing were amiss, at all?

Yoongi stands at the foot of his own bed, seething with anger and despair. He has no memory of walking there, but he is there now, watching as Namjoon sits up, first with a smile on his face, then with a look of worry.

"What is it?" Namjoon asks, shoulder and chest muscles flexing and relaxing with each movement.

Yoongi rounds the bed, tosses the crumpled note Namjoon's way, then grabs his phone. His hands shake fiercely, and he clenches his teeth as if that might help.

Call after call is rejected, met with an apologetic voice that informs him that the number he has dialed is no longer in service. How could the phone he has given her no longer work? He finds it unlikely that Seokjin would allow her to move continents without making sure she is able to communicate with him.

Yoongi ignores the urge to throw his phone against the wall and he dials Seokjin.

On the third ring, Seokjin answers, "Boss."

Yoongi hardly recognizes his own voice. "Seokjin," he growls. "We need to talk."

* * *

By eight fifteen, Seokjin is on the blue couch sitting beside a furious, confused Namjoon. Yoongi stands across from him, arms crossed tightly over his chest with the table between them. The letter is on the table, and although Seokjin has done his best to smooth it out, it is destroyed from Yoongi's grasp.

To the left, beside the couch, is an equally confused Hoseok, standing with his arms crossed over his chest. Seokjin and Hoseok are well put together in button-ups and slacks. Namjoon and Yoongi are disheveled in pajamas. The clothing Namjoon wears belongs to Yoongi and is ill-fitting, rising at his ankles and abdominals and showing swaths of skin.

Seokjin's demeanor is far too calm as he sits straight, addressing Yoongi. "As you originally instructed, I had kept Barom in one of the lower ranking teams—Jeongguk's drug operation. It was the same team he had been on before we took your wolf as collateral, only we had taken him off the streets. You will remember the group Jeongguk extinguished after he found out those guys had been stealing product."

"Jae," Yoongi says.

"Yes," Seokjin says. "Barom was the only member of that team who wasn't being a complete fuck up. After Jeongguk fish-fileted the lot of them, I moved Barom into hospitality where he was more or less a nobody working in various hotels. He blended in, didn't give anyone any trouble, and skirted under the radar, taking my many threats to keep his nose out of trouble seriously. Or so it seemed...until last night."

All of this checks out. When Yoongi gave Seokjin the instruction to keep Barom close and monitor him, he did not want to be told where the man would work and how much responsibility he would have. Yoongi did not want to run the risk of running into him, and he would likely have hunted him down had he known where to look.

Barom has always been a hard worker, but he has also been a bit of a coward. Yoongi did not think Barom would turn around and work for another family—to enact revenge or otherwise—but he has not been eager to give the man a chance. Keep your enemies close, and all that.

"And last night?" Yoongi grits between his teeth.

Seokjin sighs, but his expression does not break. "Last night was a strange series of coincidences."

"Why did she go to your house after dinner?"

With a light chuckle that is devoid of humor, Seokjin says, "She came by demanding that I help her set up a vacation. Seeing Barom at the restaurant rattled her, and she wanted to flee, so I told her to pack a bag, and that in the meantime, I would try to set something up. My plan was to discuss the matter with the two of you," Seokjin glances at Namjoon but keeps his attention on Yoongi, "and then pull her out in the next few days. Barom showing up in the middle of the night propelled matters."

All of this might make sense, except for one thing. "Then why did she leave that note? Why does it seem like she was planning on running away without saying goodbye to us?"

Seokjin sighs again, this time allowing his posture to relax. "As far as I can tell, she was planning on leaving without saying goodbye."

Yoongi drops his arms to his sides, fists clenched. "And you were going to—"

"Yes," Seokjin says simply, unwavering. "Either I was going to inform you and ask you to keep it a secret from her, so as to allow her to slip away without worry, or I was going to abide by her wishes and take the heat for it afterwards. You and I both know I would never put her in any sort of danger. She was not sure she could leave you two if she had to say goodbye to your faces, and she seemed quite desperate."

"No sort of danger?" Yoongi asks, shifting his weight to his right side. "Just as Hyunjin was in no danger? And his wife, and his daughter."

Before Seokjin can respond, Yoongi catches a slip in his façade. It is a minuscule twitch of his mouth—so small that someone who is not keenly aware of every one of Seokjin's microexpressions may not catch it. But Yoongi does, and he is furious.

He steps forward, knocking his shin against the table as he roars, "You son of a bitch!"

From his left, Hoseok is advancing, hands open wide at his sides. He appears worried but confused, as if Seokjin has kept this secret from him, as well.

Seokjin lifts his palms, and Yoongi imagines them dripping with blood. "You and I both know I had to spread the news that he was dead," he says quickly. "I was intending on telling you the truth once they were settled in with their new identities, but then you—"

Then he went off the rails and shot heroin into his veins. Yoongi squeezes his eyes closed. How has everything become so out of his control over the past year? He feels as if his sanity is slipping through his fingers like sand.

He wants to reach over the table and choke the air from Seokjin's lungs, but he knows that all Seokjin has done is follow protocol. Had Yoongi not been so wrapped up in everything else, he likely would have seen it for what it was—a ruse to throw anyone on the outside off of Hyunjin's scent.

Forcing everyone, including those close to him, to think he is dead is a strategic move that Yoongi's father has used many times in the past. The old man even faked his own death once before he was gone for good, giving Yoongi a chance to slide into his role while standing over him like the menacing shadow he was. What a relief it was when the old man actually died shortly thereafter.

"Fine," Yoongi says, allowing his tensed muscles to relax. His shoulders feel tight, and he rolls them back as he takes a step away from the table and lets out a deep exhale. "It is a relief to know they are safe. I trust that they have money? A home?"

Seokjin hums in agreement. "They have been set up with fine lives."

"And you would have done the same for her?"

There is another pause before Seokjin says, "I would have set her up with The Tigers for the time being, to get her off the peninsula. Then I would have offered her any major city we have ties to. I would have sent a translator who doubles as an informant to live in the next room over from wherever she was staying...or whatever the two of you would have advised."

This is acceptable, and what Yoongi had expected might happen when she began to talk about needing a vacation. He supposes that it all makes sense. She must have written the letter with the intention of him seeing it eventually, knowing she may not have had the courage to say goodbye to him to his face. Perhaps, he thinks, she did not mean to leave it behind when she left this morning.

Still, it hurts, just as it would have hurt had things gone the way she planned. But he finds he cannot be angry with her.

Yoongi runs a hand through his unbrushed hair. His fingers yank knots apart. "Where is Barom now?"

Seokjin blinks owlishly. "I don't know."

Yoongi lifts an eyebrow, tamping down the urge to scream. His words come out sharp and slow. "What…do you mean…you don't—"

"He has gone off the radar since this morning," Seokjin cuts in, his words coming out quickly. "I have informants keeping their eyes open, including some in Busan. The moment anyone catches wind of him, we will know."

Yoongi wants to explode. He wants to claw everything in his path and rip it to shreds. He wants to smash the entire world under his boots, creating a mass of rubble and destruction that matches how he feels.

"Alright," Yoongi says, exhausted. Spent.

It feels as if ants are crawling through his bloodstream and all he wants is to forget. He would love to shoot up and completely lose sight of himself, but he knows he cannot do that again. The temptation to push himself too far is too great. He cannot do that to Namjoon. Marijuana will have to suffice.

He walks to his mother's favorite antique table between the couch and his blue velvet chair, pulls out the small drawer on its front, and retrieves Namjoon's metal cigarette case which holds his stash of joints. Yoongi presses a little button on the side of the case, causing it to spring open, then he pulls out the last joint along with a box of matches.

Without saying a word, Yoongi tosses the empty cigarette case onto the chair in a clatter of metal and begins to walk toward the door. He steps outside in socked feet and cradles the joint between his lips as his trembling hands work to light a match.

Yoongi's phone dings in his pocket. It is the singular ding that signals an incoming text message, and he lights the tip of the joint with the flaming match, pulling in a deep breath as the end cherries red and turns to ash. His mouth and throat fill with smoke, and he holds it in until he begins to feel dizzy.

With a sigh, smoke billows from Yoongi's nostrils, and he tosses the match to the ground, watching as the wooden stick darkens until it is a burnt husk blowing in the light breeze. Yoongi reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, spotting an unknown number and an image file.

He thumbs through various screens until he finds Barom's clown-painted smiling face. The man is standing in front of a sign that Yoongi has to squint to read. He is unmistakably at an airport in Taiwan, but which one, Yoongi cannot tell.

"Seokjin!" Yoongi growls, feeling his pulse rise and his hands begin to shake. He knows that if he calls this number, it will come back empty. There is no way Barom sent that image without promptly removing the sim card.

Before Seokjin can respond, Yoongi's phone begins to ring, and he blinks the screen into focus, glancing at Taehyung's name as he pulls the device to his ear.

"Yes?" he asks, closing his eyes. He is not sure he can take any more news, and the day has hardly begun.

"Boss," Taehyung says. "It's Jimin."

Jimin. Yoongi's eyes fly open, sore against the bright morning sun. His vision is blotted momentarily with bright white, and as he blinks, it becomes clouded instead by tears. Yoongi finds it hard to imagine he has any more tears left to shed.

"What is it?" Yoongi asks, voice shaking as badly as his hands. His knees weaken, and he considers sitting down on the hard concrete.

Yoongi braces himself for the worst, and holds his breath while the joint between his fingers burns uselessly. Behind him, at least one other man has come to the door, but he is too focused on awaiting Taehyung's response to see who.

Hands grip his arms as if their owner senses his uneasiness, and Yoongi does his best to ignore the sensation as he tries his hardest not to drift away. He listens intently.

And then Taehyung says two little words that change absolutely everything.

"He's awake."

* * *

We are living in the war How far were we lying? We are living in the war Who'll listen to your prayers? We are living in the war

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#fic: collateral #yoongi mafia #yoongi angst #namjoon mafia #namjoon angst #namgi smut #namgi #bts poly #bts mafia #bts smut #bts angst

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