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namjooningelsewhere · 1 year

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War Of The Hearts: #7

✽Pairing - OT7 x reader (DJ) and OT7 x Lily

✽Word Count - 6.1k

✽Ratings - 18+

✽Genre(s) - Mafia Au, Angst , Fluff, mentions of smut.

✽Trigger Warnings - Mentions of Death, Mentions of Trauma , minor alcohol consumption, mentions of torture and shootouts and mentions of bloodshed, Mentions of Drugs, Attempted Murder, A little manipulative behavior, A shootout, a lot of cursing.

✽Summary - You’ve been lurking in the shadows, protecting the seven of Bangtan even if it means you must give your own life. After all, that’s what you do when you are in love with someone irrevocably. That pain seems to be minuscule in light of their safety. But it was never about you, for all you are is a speck of dust in the universe they have created for them and their girlfriend. Your heart’s at war, but it’s fine, you can smile through the pain as long as it means they smile- for her.

✽A/N : Forgive me for updating so late, But there are somethings that just cant be avoided. So we have three chapters left to go and things are going to go up notch in the next one. Finally everything will be out in the open before the final showdown.

Please please do let me know what you think about it, Your comments and asks literally mean the world to me. Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist.

✽Taglist: @brimal @2ne1unni @shatzkrinslinzki @zae007live, @gukieater @tinyoonsblog @skylievin @2ne1unni @lovelgirl22 @euphakid @embrace-themagic @didi-9310 @loisje123 @iamhereforbts @silscintilla @2ne1unni @rp171198 @aboredboredboreduniverse @blaaiissee @top-crop @sa7kou @chhungi-bawihtlung @aquariushoesss @definitelythinkimanalien

7mer @babycoffeefire @emoskytime8 @hob3yw0rld@motivatedprocastinator @speedyqueendaze @sugajinny @thereaderwholovesyou @btspurplesky @skz-jeha @theestrangeddreamer @success1009 @militrybarbi @afangirllikeme-blog @celestialentitiesss @daydreambrliever @bibebts @dreamamubarak @kimsaerom @sa7kou @veronawrites @bt21chim @cutiepat @jooniebub @shadowyjellyfishfest @mageprincess7 @jiminbolala @impossibilitydesign @xtayxx

Part Six: Here

✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽

Lily had contemplated for a solid thirty minutes about how she was going to execute everything. She knew you were very sharp and fooling you would be no easy task. It was like you had some kind of sensor that was activated whenever you sensed something was off. The bottom line was she needed to be careful and she needed to put things in a way where she could not come out wrong.

Her head kept spinning ideas on how she was going to get you to Mikhail, She knew for sure that he wouldn't kill you, He definitely wasn't going to. There were too many scores to be settled and killing you right now would only mean an easy death. And her family was the one that believed in this kind of easy, quick death. They were like cats, They would play and play and play with the mouse until it finally killed it. At Least for now you were safe.

Maybe he was going to hit you or something, But that's okay because it was Boris's life on the line. You wouldn't be dead with some punches.

"Fuck." She cursed out loud And hit the steering wheel with all her might. How was she going to go through with this? Because if anyone knew, there would be war and bloodshed. And right now she couldn't afford this kind of situation, She was right in the middle of all this. If only she could get borris out of all this then she didn't give two fucks about what happened with everyone else.

The light tap on the window stripped her of her dilemma, The required injection was ready to be delivered. She quickly pulled out some cash and handed it over to the man that bought the delivery. The moment the packet reached her hands, A light went out in her head and she stopped the man that was already starting her bike.

"Hey stop." The man turned off the key and looked at her with a warning, One hand already in the pocket of his jacket, Giving her a silent signal that it would be her end if she tried something funny. Lily just scoffed at his actions, As if she would do something to him? She needed this man to bring her another delivery and to put that in both you and her.

"What is it?" The man barked the words in pure venom, And she backed out a little fearing what he would do next. She quickly takes a step behind and keeps her hands where he could see them.

"Look, I have an offer for you." The man relaxes a little and Lily steps forward with a lot of caution. She brings up the packet that he had handed over to her and the man raises an eyebrow in question.

"I need one more of these, But in a very lesser dose." She pulls out another wad of cash and hands it over to the man. The man pockets the cash without a question and she continues when she knows she has all of his attention.

"That's it?"

"No, I need you to do something else too for me." The man gets down from his bike and leans on a single side, Lily takes a step before him and looks around to confirm if there is anybody else around.

"I need you to inject this into somebody and I need one more person on standby. The rest of the plan il explain when you get me the second injection"

"And who would that be?" She quickly fishes out her phone and shows your picture. The man's eyes widen for a second, Lily notices the little surprise on his face for a fleeting second but doesn't say anything.

"I am going to be needing a lot more than this to inject that into her." The man waves the wad of cash in front of her and she frowns in irritation.

"That's more than enough."

"Do you even know who that is? She will snap my neck in a second and I'll be done for. My life is at risk here and besides, you need one more person. I need more." Lily agrees reluctantly with half a mind to snap his neck herself, But he was right. A small delay even for a second would alert you and he would be dead.

"Fine, Get me the dose of it, meanwhile I will arrange for the cash. See me here in an hour." She doesn't wait for his response as she sprints back to her car and the said man leaves on his bike in a jiffy.

"Hyung, how long?" A whine escapes taehyung’s mouth and it disappears as soon as it comes when he sees the kind of look Hyung was giving.

The vibrations of the phone snatch both the male's attention to the caller, Hobi receives the call and looks around to see if he can spot the man calling.

"Yeah, just walk a little further." Both of them get down from the car and wait for the man to arrive

"She needs another injection but in a smaller dosage, And she paid me to inject it into Denim." Hobi bangs his hand on the top of his car in frustration while the younger man seethes in pure anger.

"Hyung what is she up to?"

"Do you think I would have been standing here If I had known?" The older man spits out the words in pure venom and the stranger moves two steps backward in fear.

"When do you need the second dosage?"

"She has asked me to bring it back in another hour." Tae takes long strides toward the boot of the car and opens it and loads his gun.

"You have one minute to make the arrangements to get the injection delivered here, But with a slightly less dosage." The gun aimed at his head makes the man abducted and held hostage in the boot scream, But the cloth stuffed in his mouth just transfers them to muffled noise.

He gestures to his pocket wildly using his head and Tae just holds the gun in his mouth and fishes out his phone for him. He now places the gun directly on his forehead, Ready to shoot lest he acts smart. Hobi just smirks at the younger's action, Proud of how deadly he was turning out.

"Just one minute And the bullet will open up your skull if you try something funny." The man nods furiously, The fear of being killed is very very very evident in his eyes. The older man snatched the cloth from his mouth roughly and the man almost chokes in relief.

He dictates a number to dial, and starts speaking gibberish when the call connects. A hard slap brings the man to his senses and he instructs the person on the other end with a much calmer voice.

"The man and the package will be here in the next twenty minutes." He cries with relief, Keeping a slight hope that just maybe now that he had completed the given task he would be granted freedom.

The shuts the trunk with a bang And pockets the phone of the man in the trunk. Hobi keeps pacing in front of him, With a very serious look on his face. The younger one knew this look. His Hyung was trying to put the pieces together.

"Two injections, One with a high dose that is for DJ, And what about the lesser one?" The three men keep wondering loudly trying to make sense of each one's possibilities.

"I think it's for her." The delivery man speaks up and the three men look at him with an expression that says Explain right now.

"I think she would use the one on herself So that she isn't doubted."

"I think he's right. Who knew our woman could do something like that." A small tear escapes the younger's eyes. It was still hard to digest the fact about what was happening. They had heard everything with their own two ears. They had heard the love of their life calling someone else her love. It had broken their hearts into a million pieces to know that they were just pawns to her. Ready to sacrifice them at any given time.

"Talk to thunder and tell him it's time to return the favor."

____________________________________________________________

Flashback:

The cuts on your hand seemed to be made on purpose and one look at them told him that they were made by somebody else. He touches those scars in affection, Wishing secretly he could just hold them when you were wide awake and tell you how bad he felt.

He was about to take a leave when he heard the harsh whispering behind the door, He had no idea Lily was there in the room, But that voice was the one that he could recognize even in his sleep. he quickly strains his ears on the door when he hears those dreaded words come out of her mouth.

He stood frozen near the door when he heard her say "Isn't it enough I'm doing as you said? (Edit this according to the same dialogue in chapter six)" The moment he hears the footsteps come closer, He rushes outside carefully to not avoid any encounter with her.

He rushes to the person's room who he knew could help him know what was the truth. He enters without knocking, making the younger male jump in the process.

"Hyung, What?" The older man just walks up to him and tries to form a coherent sentence to explain what he heard and still make sense.

"Can you do me a favor?"

"Depends Hyung."

"I am serious."

"Oh okay, Okay what is it?"

"I need a bug planted."

"Okay, Where? There are many types of bugs. What kind of bug are we talking about?"

"The kind of one which can transmit voices around you and also that acts as a recorder too. And-- The younger male looks at the older expecting him to finish but the older just looks down at his shoes in defeat. He was never prepared for this kind of day.

"Hyung?"

"I need the bug planted in Lily's phone."

"What? Hyung? What the hell?"

"Listen to me."

"No Hyung, You listen to me. This is not right."

"Shut the fuck up, Will you?" His raised voice brings him out of his speed talking and he goes silent. The older man just places his hand on his shoulder and takes a deep breath. He always did this when he needed time to phrase the sentence.

"I need you to listen to me carefully okay?"

“I think Lily has ulterior motives, I heard her speaking to someone a minute ago.” Taehyung looks at Hobi with a question mark on his expression, Silently gesturing to him to continue.

“She… She said isn't it enough that she is doing what the person said? Isn't that enough?” Taehyung looked at hobi with eyes wide and unable to comprehend what Hyung just said, After what hobi said it didn't seem at all like there were any other motives than what hobi was suspecting. He had never thought in his wildest dreams that his girlfriend would actually do something like that.

“Hyung, I….” Taehyung sat down on the bed dejected, His mind speaking one thing and his heart another. Hobi sat down beside him and held him close to him. He was in the same state too. But the feeling of confusion and somewhat betrayal was way more than less than the worry of what was going to happen. He would find out, By hook or by crook.

“Will you help me?”

“What do we need?”

“I don't know if something is a bug? That you know can be used as a recording device or something where we can listen to everything around her. Even if she is miles away.” Taehyung quickly got up from his bed and went to his wardrobe. He carried a black box with him, piquing Hobi’s curiosity.

“This is exactly what we need.” He flashed the box in front of hubby's face and the latter just took the box from his hand and began inspecting it.

“What exactly is this?”

“So this is a special chip which, once installed in the phone, Can act as a covert listening device, and also we can use the camera as a tool too. All we need is her phone.”

“Perfect. Just give me a second. I'll fetch her phone.”

Taehyung quickly set up his laptop to do the needful. He was still confused about what this entire thing was about. But nevertheless, they would soon find out. He was just crossing his fingers that Lily wouldn't be in the wrong. He didn't know what he would do if she was.

Taehyung kept looking at the door expecting his Hyung to return in a minute, But the impatience got the best of him, and walked out of the door to find out what was taking so long, Only to find his Hyung peeping into yours and Lily’s room.

“Hyung?'' Hobi quickly pushes him and tries looking inside, But the darkness didn't let him watch past a few meters. Taehyung peeks over his shoulders and sighs in frustration. It would take them years if they kept acting like a peeping tom.

“Hyung let's go.” He pulls a hobby by his hand and walks inside with Hobi desperately trying to stop him. What would they say if they got caught?

“Tae stop, What will we tell her if we get caught?”

“Hyung! One she is sleeping and second, even if we get caught then we will just say we came to wish her goodnight.” Tae whispers harshly and Hobi facepalms. Why didn't he think of this earlier, He could have saved a few more minutes.

Both the men quietly tiptoed around the room, Tae quietly places his hand over Lily’s head just to see if she responds or jerked to the sudden physical contact but when he doesn't find any reaction, He quickly picks up her phone from the side table and makes a beeline towards the door, Leaving a very confused Hobi behind.

“Hey…” Hobi smacks his head and the younger one just winces in faux pain.

“What was that for?” Hobi just ignores his question and shoves the laptop in Tae’s hand probing him to get done with his stuff, Tae quickly places the chip on her phone and decodes the password easily, and installs the bug in Lily’s phone. He deletes all the traces and hands the phone back to the older male to finish the job.

“Done?” Tae grins proudly and shows his laptop and Hobi just pats the back of the younger one proudly. He was eternally thankful they had Tae who was a tech genius. The man could do anything.

Hobi quietly goes back and returns the phone to its original position and comes back running to Tae's room to find out if he found anything.

“Got something?”

“No Hyung, We can get into her phone once she starts using it. But I am sure it will work one hundred percent.”

“Let's hope it does.”

“Hyung what do we do if Lily’s at fault?”

“I haven't thought about Tae, But if she is then she needs to know who she messed with.” Tae agrees with the older male, There was no redemption if she was trying to do something funny. And in this case, All seven of them had loved her dearly. They would do anything for her, She had stayed with them for a solid three years now. She should have known nobody messes with Bangtan and lives another day to tell the tale.

______________________________________________________________

The next morning:

“Hyung wake up, wake up.”

“Huh… What is it? Is everything alright?” Hobi wakes up with a start when Tae shakes him up like he was sleeping in the middle of the earthquake. Tae waves his phone in front of him and the voices coming from it made him recall the incident from the earlier night.

“Is that DJ?”

“Yeah, I think something is up. They are going somewhere in a hurry.”

“Go close that door quickly.” Tae quickly sprints towards the door and closes it in a jiffy, While Hobi listens to the voices coming from Tae’s phones.

“Looks like someone's dead.” The expressions on the men's faces turn red when they hear everything that was happening around the place where they were going. The men get even more confused when they hear about the way one of your men was killed.

“This definitely doesn't look good, Someone really wants to butt heads with her.”

“I know, I have a feeling that something really big is about to happen– The men go silent as soon as the words leave you alone fall on their ears. The men listen carefully to everything happening around you, They definitely needed to find out who this was, This was getting very dangerous.

“Let's— The room went dead silent again when they heard the loud ringing of the phone, Lily was getting a call. The men were in half minds to listen to the call, Considering you were alone somewhere and maybe needed some help or someone to calm you down.

“Is that how you speak to your brother Yulia?” The emotions that the men experience when they hear Lily’s next words make them doubt their entire relationship in a second. Who was the woman that was their girlfriend for three years?

“Mikhail, That part of me died the day I ran away. Do not call me that.” This new information that they were hearing for the first time was something that shook all their trust in Lily. Her name was Yulina. And she ran away from somewhere? If she did, Then that would mean she changed her identity.

“What the hell is happening Hyung? Yulina?” Hobi doesn't get to answer Tae’s question as the next shock that was waiting for them hits them like a truck. Boris! She was talking to a different man now, And she said she was going to help him? Help him for what?

She pleads were igniting a fire in the veins of the men that were listening in on her conversation with her alleged brother Mikhail. The woman they lived with was a lie, and Lily was a lie. She was Yulina and apparently she had a lover, Boris. Who she ran to save his life.

“What the fuck!” Hobi smashed the lamp on his bedside, Without giving a care in the world that maybe someone could hear him. No, he didn't give two shits about that. What else was this woman hiding from them? Tae wasn't any better. He was shocked beyond words.

What the fuck had these people gotten themselves into?

The rash sounds coming from the phone were the only sounds that were heard in the room, Both of them too shook to even utter a word, What was all this about? Were they some kind of pawn in all of this? The possibility of the man’s involvement in the things happening around you couldn't be ignored.

The screeching of the tires brought back the attention of the men to the phone. The loud running of the shoes on some rough surface was enough to confirm that she was in some kind of abandoned place.

The next few minutes of whatever was happening around Lily was enough to flash red in front of the men’s eyes. So this was what she was up to? The fact that she was easily ready to sacrifice all eight of them to her brother in exchange for her lover was what drove them to insanity.

Hobi freshened up in record time, Ignoring everything that was going around there. She was about to get you in trouble? She was going to hand you over?

The men rushed like mad men on a mission, The only reassurance from the conversation was that Mikhail wouldn't kill DJ just yet.

“Hyung what should we do?”

“I don't know Tae. First, let's track down the bastard that she called for the midazolam injection. We can replace our man for the delivery.” Tae agrees with Hyung. This time it was important to act rationally. They needed to know if Mikhail was the only one or if there was somebody else that was supporting him. And most importantly who was Mikhail? If lily/Yulina was his sister, Why was he treating her like that?

The men’s main priority was your safety, And for that, they had to eliminate the threat entirely. They knew you were more than capable of doing so yourself, But the events that were happening with you for the past few days were not easy and you could use some help.

The men easily track the bastard who was about to supply Lily with the injection, And all he needed was some warm-up punches from both of them to decide to open his mouth about the delivery details.

“He's done for,” Tae said as he packed the said man in the boot of their car. The man who was about to deliver the injection to Lily was already taken care of, and their man was now in a position to execute the plan.

They just wanted to see how far Lily would go, And they were going to make sure they would pay her back a thousandfold.

____________________________________________________________

Present Day:

“Here.” lily took the second packet from the man and handed him the extra cash, And checked the packet. She waited for the man to finish counting the cash and went through the instructions that she needed to give him to execute the plan flawlessly.

“Where is the other man?”

“He is on the way, He should be arriving anytime soon.” Lily waited for the other man to arrive soon, It would be too much hassle to explain everything all over again. She needed to call you and check again.

“Here he is.” Lily looks at the two men in front of her and a sigh of relief leaves her mouth. One part of the plan was done, Now onto the next part. She had the perfect plan. The one where she would be the victim too.

“Now listen up, I am going to call DJ and ask her to come here. Once she comes one of you has to threaten me and inject her and load her in my car. Just keep a watch on the chance for you guys to attack.”

“Okay, But where will we meet her?”

“Right here.” The place where Lily was right now was pretty secluded and there was very less chance of someone coming there. The abandoned compound was perfect for the men to hide too, They could easily take cover somewhere and attack at the right moment.

“Alright, Now just look for a place to hide nearby.” The two men disperse quickly and start looking for a place to hide, One of the men secretly passes on the signal to Hobi and Tae who were actually very near to the place ready to intervene.

Lily draws in a deep breath and presses the green button to call you, Her hands trembling slightly in the wait for you to pick the call up. You answer after a couple of rings and Lily immediately brings a slight tremble to her voice.

“Hello DJ where are you?”

“Yeah, can you come to the Baesan Archive right now? Please this is very urgent.” She leaves the breath she didn't realize she was holding when you quickly agree to come and try to reassure her even when she sensed the worry in her voice.

She didn't like what she was about to do with you, But she had no other choice. It was Boris. She had to let him go once, But now there was no chance. She had decided to be selfish and she was going to be one. She couldn't care who she hurt in the process.

“She's on her way, Her ETA is like just ten minutes. That means she's somewhere nearby.” One of the two men inform her about the hiding place and everything looked perfect. It was now or never.

“That's her car,” Tae informs Hobi who immediately ducks down when they see your car passing by. You had entered the compound, They follow your car quietly from a safe distance and stop a hundred meters away from where you stopped.

They stop right at the entrance of the old building and quickly park the car at a place where it couldn't be visible, The men rush inside and take the staircase to a higher floor. They needed to be in control of the situation.

Hobi had three of thunders men stationed in the area near you guys so that they could intervene if the situation went overboard or dare Mikhail to interfere.

“What an actress, Look at her. She planned this and she's crying like something is going to happen to her.” The men were absolutely disgusted by the show that was being put up in front of them.

As planned, One of them was already holding Lily a gunpoint when you reached. You rushed to help her when the man just unlocked the gun and motioned you to remain backward. And just like the good person you were you obliged, gave up your arms, and literally pleaded to not harm her.

Only if you knew that was all a ruse.

The two men standing at a distance saw everything, The way the man (who in disguise worked for them injected you, and the way Lily waited for you to lose consciousness and then threw the orders to stuff you in the trunk of her car.

Hobi and Tae clenched their fists when they saw the way everything unfolded. How wrong they were. They trusted a traitor.

The two men rushed down the stairs, Everything was set. The men would provide the location and they would know a real-time update as to where their so-called girlfriend was taking them.

The location that Lily took you wasn't in a very known area, It was shady but it was enough to cover it in a short time. Thunder’s men were already on standby and her car was already being followed by a bunch of cars which given the situation with the traffic could absolutely blend in.

The men waited in the car to receive clearance from the team ahead to enter the premises. They waited because this was a risk they couldn't afford, You were unconscious. If anything went wrong, You couldn't even be in a position to defend yourself. They could never be able to forgive themselves if anything happened with them being so close by.

You were the only thing that mattered right now, Rest they could easily deal with everything else later. Including Lily.

“Here you go. She's here before the time you gave me ended.” Mikhail scoffed at her and fear crept up her spine.

“You are in no position to negotiate you whore.” Lily winced at the sting of the slap. It was always this way. This was all she ever got from her brother and her sister. Beatings. For no fault of hers.

“I said what you asked for.” Lily tried to plead her case, But Mikhail stood unaffected. The two men in the distance clenched their fists again in anger.

“Mikhail… Please. Where is he?” Mikhail shook her off his arm like a fly and the said woman just fell to the ground again, Pleading to every force that her man would be safe. She wouldn't know what she would do lest something happened to Borris.

Lily felt tears springing up her eyes when she saw the way he landed slaps on the unconscious you. The strength that he used was terrifying. He barked orders to his men and they bought along with them the man she was dying to lay her eyes on.

“There is your rat.” The men untied Borris and pushed him off the chair and moved forward to grab you and put you at his place instead.

“Are you okay?” Lily quickly inspected Boris's face looking for any serious injuries, There was nothing much that she could do though.

“Yeah, I am.”

“I'm sorry, You are going through all this only because of me Borris.”

“Yulina, Just forget that. How did you manage to bring her?”

‘Let's just keep that discussion for another time, I just need to make sure you're okay.”

“I'm fine trust me.” Their talk was interrupted by a loud welp. The startled duo looked back to see you in pain with the number of punches that were being rained down by you.

“I think she's coming back to her senses.” The man took a step away from you and Lily’s eyes widened. She did not want you to know what was going on when you were not in your consciousness.

“Tie him up and take him away.” Lily struggled again and this time to protect Borris, She should have known Mikhail would never keep the end of his promise. She was done for now.

“Mikhail leave him alone, You have her.” She tried to plead with the utmost sincerity that she could gather within her but her brother, Just like the monster he was pushed her away and threw one final slap on her left a little cut on her lips.

“You thought this was all over? It's only just begun, little sister.” Mikhail laughed loudly, and Lily cried hard at his sentence that was cut short by the screams of Borris.

“Take her, Fucking take her with you. Leave him please.” Mikhail stopped for a second and gave

Lily had a look of disgust. He looked at Borris like he was some kind of a pest and kicked Lily right in her guts.

“Always a disgrace Yulina. This game has just begun.”

“Mikhail please.” Lily pressed a hand on her stomach and begged her brother to leave Borris alone, But in the end, it was her that should have known better.

She watched helplessly as Mikhail and his men dragged Borris away, She cried out in frustration as she tried to come to terms with her failure. She was left with nothing now.

She pulled out the second injection that she had bought to use on herself, All that was left in her hand was the last part of the plan. She needed to be unconscious when you woke up.

The only way she could make you believe that she was not a part of this was when you would see that she was in the same state as you, And it would be you who would call for help.

“You are a fucking disgrace Yulina, You were one when you were born and you were one when you chose to run away leaving father and us a laughing stock.”

“And you were the disgrace when you stood by and watched our father being killed by this whore.”Mikhail snatched the injection from her hand and stuck it right where in her neck and the only last thing she remembered was the way his feet kept going away from her eyesight.

“Son of a bitch.” Hobi banged his fists on the steering wheel, The fact that he was just a few meters away and couldn't do anything to help you was eating him alive. Tae kept sitting silently without uttering a word and Hobi leaned his head back as he watched Mikhail and his men leave the premises.

“Hyung we should have shot those bastards.” Tae looks at Hobi grimly and the latter just looks out of the window.

“We could have just controlled the situation for today, But this would have turned out against our favors in many other ways.”

“But he hit her and we don't even know what is he going to do next.”

“Relax Tae, He won't do anything just yet. Our men are following Mikhail and we will kill that bastard once and for all.”

“Let's go and get her please.”

“Son of a bitch.” Loud curses leave your mouth when you open your eyes when you're totally sure there is no sound around. You rub your abdomen and look at the woman lying on the floor. What an actor. You curse yourself for not paying attention to Lily’s overfriendliness before. So many things could have been avoided.

You shake her to check for any kind of movements but upon finding none, You sit on the chair that you were seated on previously waiting for the two men to arrive.

“Holy shit—- The two men stop dead in their tracks when they see you casually sitting on the chair scrolling through Lily’s phone with a smirk on your face.

“Hi?” Hobi and Tae look at you like they saw a ghost and a laugh escapes you. You get up from the chair with a little effort and walk up to them, the closer you get the harder it becomes for you to control your laughter.

“What?”

“What the hell happened here?”

“About that, Your girlfriend was trying to set me up.”

“That—- Tae stops mid-sentence when he realizes what you said, He looks at Hobi who is just staring at you with a devilish smirk on his face. Maybe he figured out what was going on.

“You knew this didn't you?” You laughed at Hobi’s sentence, Of course, you knew. Right from the moment you had seen lily rush to the bathroom. You had been half asleep when you sensed a violent movement beside you and you had heard her whispers until you saw Hobi coming in. It had taken you the speed of a lifetime to get back in the covers as if nothing happened.

“Of course I did. You two are not so discreet you know?” The two men burst out laughing at your sentence and you laugh along with them. You remember the time when you had caught both of them trying to tiptoe in the room and you were still awake when Lily’s phone had been returned to its original place.

“Wow, I mean really. You are something else.”

“I try.”

“Hyung what about her?”

“Well let's put her into the car first, Then we can figure out what we can do about her next.”

“Okay you get her Hyung, Meanwhile you tell me how you figured it out?” Hobi curses loudly when tae pulls you along with him to know the details, Hobi quickly orders his men to pick Lily up and place her in his car and he jogs off to know more.

“Dj come on tell us.”

“I will tell you everything but let's first do some catching up with Yulina’s brother.”

“Woah, We’re going there first?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, we are too then.”

“DJ”

“Yes?”

“Tell me he did inject you right? How the hell did you survive midazolam?”

“Who said it was Midazolam? Your man just injected me with a little stronger than usual dose of a pain killer.”

“You—--

“Seoul is a small place Taehyung, Mine was Butorphanol, and Lily’s was an extra strong dose of Midazolam.” The two men are left in absolute awe of the twist that had come in the story. They knew you were a badass, But this was a whole new level of intelligence. They would be lying if they said they weren't floored right then and there.

“You guys are coming or what?” The two men closed their wide-open mouths and rushed to you, They knew you were capable of leaving them behind.

“So Yulina, I mean Lily is Ivanov’s daughter?”

“Well it definitely looks like she is, And there is definitely more to it that our friend will tell us.”

“You mean Mikhail?”

“Who else?”

“Wait, How did you know where he is?”

“Il tell you everything in detail later Hoseok, First let's get that bastard.” The two men shut up for the rest of the route, they were too stunned to speak. How the hell were you so ahead? They may or may not have thanked their stars that they weren't on your hit list.

“Hey, Taehyung?”

“Yup?”

“Do you know where we can get some screwworms?”

“Eww, what for?”

“You know what screwworms do right?” You looked at Hobi with an btsexpression that screamed of course I do, The said man just laughed in return and Taehyung looked at the both of you in confusion.

Why would you want flesh-eating worms?

____________________________________________________________

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jazeejae · 6 months

Text

Jungkook

I have viewed numerous BTSRuns, Bangtan Bombs, concerts, and videos by various YouTubers. Witnessing Jungkook's journey from a bright child to an adult genius has been truly remarkable. Unfortunately, within this fandom, it has become all too common for individuals to show disrespect towards Jungkook and undermine his accomplishments. They manage to escape accountability through impactful tweets that distort his words to align with their own fandom agenda. Regrettably, this has escalated to the point where they now trespass every boundary by disrespecting his family.

Jungkook has not committed any wrongdoing, and every action he has taken aligns with his own path. The profound connection he shares with Jimin should not be a cause for resentment. Jungkook possesses a multitude of talents—he excels in drumming, dancing, and his singing prowess is truly exceptional. His vocal cords produce a unique and captivating sound that resonates in a way like no other. It's astonishing how he effortlessly spans several octave ranges, even showcasing his angelic voice in acapella performances. When he engages in a duet with Jimin, the warmth and excitement radiating through my skin are truly indescribable. Auditory senses vary among individuals, and some may never experience goosebumps. If one's auditory senses are not intricately connected to the cortex of the brain, appreciating what we hear becomes challenging, often leading to a dislike for the vocalists or expressing negativity towards their craft.

Jungkook has invested immense effort into all his endeavors, particularly as the main singer of BTS. Neither Jungkook nor his family deserves the unwarranted negativity directed their way. Individuals who incessantly concentrate on him across various social media platforms seem to lack the time for self-love. It's astounding how the cycle of hate adversely affects those who engage in criticizing Jungkook. Anyone who has experienced being ensnared by the clutches of hatred understands the detrimental and consuming impact it can have on one's soul. Unchecked hatred drains the spirit, stains the soul, and casts a shadow over one's days. At the core of all this animosity lies blame—blaming Jungkook for the close bond he shares with Jimin, or for not treating Taehyung in the same manner as Jimin. Life, however, does not operate on such simplistic terms. We witness variations in treatment even within our own families, where parents may treat their children differently, sometimes accusing them of having favorites. Parents acknowledge each child uniquely, tending to their individual personalities with love. Similarly, fans should approach BTS7 with a perspective of unique love for each member.

Regardless of our individual biases, we can appreciate the diverse talents each BTS member brings to the group. Together, as the BTSARMY, let's spread love and positivity. Our shared admiration for BTS can be a source of unity that transcends differences. Remember, we are stronger together, and our collective support can make a positive impact. 💜🌟"

#jikook #kookmin #minkook #jungkook #jimin #bts army #bts #jeon jungkook #park jimin #namjoon #bts rm

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theschizotypalsolilquy · 2 months

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Strangers to lovers

Alpha Jimin/Omega Jungkook

Social media au

Single parent Jimin is struggling. His son, Minjun, has been having an extremely hard time getting settled, but Jimin hopes this new school will be the start of something different.

And he's right.

Teacher Jungkook immediately takes a liking to the troubled young boy, and unbeknownst to either JK or Jimin, Minjun imprints on his favorite teacher.

When the two finally meet, Jimin is amused to find out where all of Minjun's new and adorable habits come from. Jimin is also amused to realize that he is very attracted to the sweet omega.

But both Jimin and JK have been burned by previous relationships. One with a horribly toxic ex, and another with betrayal. JK has been so scarred by his ex, he hasn't been in a relationship in years.

Little did JK know all he needed was to be shown how a real alpha treats their omega. And that's just what Jimin does.

But lurking in the shadows are people full of jealousy and deceit, including JK'S bitch of a cousin, who is engaged to JK'S ex. And Minjun's mom, who has done everything she can not to be a part of his life.

But Jimin is no pushover. And he will do whatever it takes to not only protect his son, but also the omega he has come to love. And JK...well, he's not as weak as some of these assholes have been led to believe. And he has no problem showing them that.

Point being: You don't fuck with family.

#jimin #jungkook #jikook #kookmin #park jimin #jeon jungkook

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star-my · 8 months

Text

Vixen ~ Two

➼ Pairing: Jimin x OC (Shin Ara)

➼ Length: 8.4k

➼ Rating: M (minors do not interact)

➼ Content: Arranged Marriage AU, CEO AU, Mafia AU | TW: Human Trafficking (not by BTS/SKZ members); Light Violence | Bangtan and SKZ are mafia; think Kitty Gang Jimin; Jimin calls Ara 'Princess'; Smol Ara is a menace to Seokjin | SMUT: Oral (M + F receiving); Fingering; PiV; Loss of Virginity; Aftercare

➼ Thanks to @moonleeai for betaing!

➼ Taglist (Open): @bangtan-famiglia-net @kookthief @otome-wandering @sarcasticbambi

➼ Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and in no way represents any member of BTS, SKZ, or any other K-pop group mentioned in any way beyond the face and name claims the author made for this work.

➼ Chapter 1 (13/10/23) ➼ Chapter 3 (15/10/23) ➼ Ao3 ➼ Masterlist

Jimin knocked gently on Ara’s door. No answer sounded from within, so he poked his head in. To his surprise, his wife was nowhere to be seen.

Frowning, he headed downstairs to ask Mrs. Lee and Jungkook if they knew where Ara was, almost walking into her.

“Princess? You’re up early.”

Her white suit was open to show her silver-gray blouse and thin gold chain jewellery that glinted in the light from the foyer chandelier.

“You look nice; where are you going all dressed up?”

“Thank you. I’m heading to the hospital to check on Appa, then to ShinCorp to talk some things over with Jin-oppa and Joon-oppa. I’ll see you at lunch. Bye, yeobo!”

With a swift kiss to his cheek, Ara headed out the door, her ponytail bouncing behind her.

Jimin let her escape with Jungkook, momentarily stalled. “Yeobo?” he mouthed, pressing his hand to his cheek.

He didn’t stop grinning all morning (at least in private).

~~~

Ara sat confidently in the seat her father normally occupied. Namjoon and Seokjin stood in front of her desk, hands clasped in front of them.

“Namjoon-oppa, you’ll take over like Abeoji wanted, and Jin-oppa, you’ll stay where you are. I will be totally uninvolved, except when I’m not, of course,” Ara winked. “Let’s try and make Appa proud so he doesn’t worry, huh? Hwaiting!”

“Hwaiting!” echoed the two men.

Jimin entered the warehouse cautiously. A couple of lanterns in the middle provided just enough light to see who he was meeting: Vixen, head of the Stray Kids mafia that had rapidly grown over the last few years.

In the shadows behind her, he could just make out her two bodyguards, dressed all in black, just like Vixen: black combat boots with steel toes, black cargo pants, a black leather jacket with steel studs and zippers, and a black mask covering the top half of her face. The black hoodie underneath the jacket covered her head, casting shadows over her face that were only broken by her glowing gold eyes.

Jimin had to admit Vixen was a bit unnerving. Her mind games started before you even saw her face-to-face; there was the reputation of the female mafia leader who lived in the shadows, whose face no one had ever fully seen. Her gang had really exploded in the past five or six years, taking over a sizable chunk of the city with minimal bloodshed. Vixen relied heavily on secrets and manipulation, preferring nonviolent threats to force. Her reputation included being a whiz with a blade, proving she wasn’t a one-trick pony.

Vixen took a step forward, the glint of a silver-and-gold dagger strapped to her thigh catching Jimin’s eye.

“Why did you want to meet?” Jimin met her gold eyes steadily.

Vixen took another step forward. “I want to ally with Bangtan. I have a partnership with Gray…we run a bar; you may have heard of it, Blueprint?”

Jimin nodded. The Blue bars run by the Gray Family were some of the most popular in Seoul: Blue Moon, Blue Side, Blue Hour, and Blueprint. “I’m listening.”

Vixen’s signature red lips turned up in a smirk.

Jungok stayed in the hospital for another few days while his private doctor got caught up on his issues and treatment, agreeing a longer stay would be more beneficial to his healing.

Once he was cleared to go home and rest, he was taken back to his house, refusing Ara’s offer to have him move in with her and Jimin.

Taking time out of her gallery-opening schedule, she made sure to visit him twice a week and check up on his care.

Jimin didn’t see Ara very much (though they did make time for their weekly dates), as they were both busy working on their separate projects; Jimin on opening Dionysus, the bar Bangtan and Stray Kids were officially partnering over, and Ara on opening Secret Secret, the name she’d finally settled on for her gallery.

~~~

Ara surveyed her closet as she changed from the outfit she’d worn to her date tonight to her comfy pyjamas.

She frowned. “Jimin hasn’t been paying me much attention lately.”

She opened her spacious drawers, holding up outfits and juggling accessories.

“Hmm…”

She pulled up her contacts list on her phone, selected a name, and pressed call..

“Hey, it’s me. Want to help me with something?”

~~~

Jimin leaned against his car in the parking lot outside the mall, frowning when he saw his wife laughing with another man.

Jealousy bubbled up in his chest, and he frowned harder as they briefly hugged before separating.

The man turned–it was her ex-boyfriend, Lee Minho–and winked at her cheekily before heading to his car. Jimin walked up behind Ara and put his arm around her waist firmly.

“Hello, Princess,” he purred in her ear. “What a surprise to see you here.”

Ara tensed but relaxed when she recognised his voice. “Hello, yeobo,” she said cheerily, as if she hadn’t just hugged her (ex?)boyfriend in front of his salad.

He scoffed quietly. “What are you doing here?”

“Shopping, of course! I found something I’m sure you’d love,” she winked at him adorably, an awkward one-two blink. “Oh, and I got you some chocolate. But what are you doing here?”

“I was coming to shop for your birthday present, jagiya. I suppose I can take you home.”

“How sweet of you to offer,” Ara smiled, and Jimin felt his jealousy fading.

While Ara was distracted, gathering her bags before stepping out of his car, Jimin slipped her phone out of her purse and into his pocket. Being the exemplary husband that he was, he dropped Ara off at her suite with her armload of bags before heading to his office.

The bookshelves were rather obvious, so Jimin’s father had constructed his secret lair opposite them. Jimin put his thumb on the light switch, the built-in sensor reading his print and unlocking the Genius Lab.

“Suga, are you busy?” He greeted his tech guy by his hacker name in case he was on a call with someone.

Yoongi grunted, turning in his chair to face him. Jimin tossed him Ara’s phone, Yoongi’s fingers snagging it out of the air.

“Can you put a tracker on it, in case she’s ever caught up in this?”

“No problem.”

“...and while you’re at it, can you trace her activity for the next few days?”

Yoongi eyed him but said nothing, opting to work in silence. “There’s already a tracker in here. Must be Seokjin’s,” mused Yoongi.

Before the alliance, Jin and Suga were rival hackers-slash-frenemies. The first time the two met in person, Jimin was a little worried until they decided not to deck each other but talk shop instead.

Yoongi fixed the phone and handed it to Jimin. “That all, Boss?”

“For now, thanks.” Jimin left and knocked on Ara’s door. “Hey, I found this in the car,” he said when she answered.

“Oh, thanks! I was wondering where I’d left it! I guess it slipped out of my purse when I grabbed the bags or something.” She shut the door, and Jimin headed to his office to plan.

After one of Ara’s lovely meals, the couple said goodnight and headed their separate ways. Jimin lay on his divan, planning what to say tomorrow, when his phone got an alert.

Ara was talking to Minho.

Jimin scowled and tapped into the call, mid-chuckle from Minho.

“Yeah, it was pretty obvious.” Ara laughed.

“Anything to help,” said Minho smugly. “So, how does it work?”

“It fits perfectly, you smug cat-boy. Thank you for your advice.”

“I bet he’ll be shocked when he finds out, huh?”

Ara giggled. “Yeah, I can’t wait. That’ll teach him to ignore me.”

“Tell me if it works,” snickered Jimin’s rival.

Jimin ground his teeth.

“I will. He’s been off all afternoon, I should probably tell him sooner rather than later. He probably saw us.”

“Good, maybe he’ll finally realise what he could lose.”

“You’re so cynical, Lee. But yes, I am a catch for anyone.”

“Park is either blind or in denial if he’s not in love with you.”

“Thanks for humouring me today, Minho; it was fun. See you later!”

“Night, Ara.”

Jimin huffed and disconnected.

A second later, a text from his wife popped up on his screen.

SA: Can you come talk for a minute?

PJ: I’ll be right there, Princess.

Jimin yanked his robe’s belt shut, stomped into his slippers, and flounced down the hallway to his wife’s room.

She answered his irritated knock immediately.

All thoughts fled his mind; in front of him was a blessed sight most certainly not intended for his mortal eyes: Ara in a red lace onesie.

He swallowed and tried to refocus his thoughts. Focus, Park! Did Minho pick this out for her? They discussed her wearing it over the phone?!

…and Jealous Jimin was back.

“Why did you want to see me?”

“You seemed off all afternoon…I wondered if something was wrong.”

“Yes, something’s wrong!” Jimin exclaimed, his eyes travelling the length of her heatedly. “You went shopping with your ex-boyfriend for that? Is he even your ex?”

Ara grinned widely. “Ah, you saw Minho and me. No, he didn’t choose this for me, I chose it myself. I did ask his opinion on a hypothetical situation or two while we were at the mall, but nothing inappropriate happened, and yes, we are definitely exes. We only had one true date, where we realised we were better off as friends. We pretended to be dating for public appearances and such, a mutually beneficial, platonic relationship to keep gold diggers and well-meaning matchmakers away. Also, I’m married to you, and I’m not a cheater. I apologise if I gave you that impression, but I have in no way, shape, or form acted in a way that would break our vows.”

Jimin sighed, knowing that Ara was right. She wouldn’t hurt him like that; she was loyal to those she cared for.

“I’m sorry. I got jealous.”

“I can see that,” she said wryly, taking his hand. “Don’t worry, yeobo, I only love you.” She looked at him from under her lashes, her eyes sparkling, yet uncertain. Attempting to stay calm and ignore the butterflies in his stomach, he replied. “I was trying to plan the perfect date tomorrow to tell you that,” he said. “I love you too.”

The uncertainty morphed into complete love as Ara tiptoed and waited for him to kiss her. It was perfect.

~~~

Their lips barely brushed, then Jimin pressed more firmly against her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her to him. Ara returned the favour, prodding his lips with her tongue until he opened up for her. He obliged, gentleman that he was. His warm hand trailed from her neck to her waist, sending sparks through her nerves as he grazed her almost-naked skin.

He nipped at her lip before pulling back a smidgen, his eyes dark and hazy. “I love you, Princess.”

The words settled in her core, warm and insistent. “I love you, too.”

His plush lips turned up before he leaned forward for another kiss.

She placed her hands on his shoulders, pushing him down to the loveseat so she could straddle him, running her fingers through his hair and her other hand down his firm chest.

Sensing her goal, Jimin leaned against the back of the seat to untie his robe and push it off impatiently.

He leaned towards Ara’s tempting cherry lips again but she wasn’t focused on his face anymore.

“And why haven’t I seen you shirtless before?” she demanded, her fingers sliding teasingly across his rib tattoo. “You never told me you had abs!”

Jimin shrugged, focused on sneaking his finger under the strap of her onesie. “Didn’t think to tell you. Would it have made a difference?”

Ara paused, tilted her head consideringly.

“Yah! Want me for my mind, not my body!” He pretended to cover himself with his hands like a scandalized maiden. “I’m more than just a pretty face!”

Laughing, Ara collapsed into his neck, pressing kisses down it as an apology. Her warm, wet mouth continued down his chest, pausing to run her tongue over his nipple. He shivered, and felt her smirk at the information she’d just received.

She straightened again, dropping a last kiss on his mouth. By now he’d slid the straps of her onesie down her shoulders, the loss of support causing the neckline to droop and expose her breasts to him.

Ara’s hips began moving slowly over his as he began kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin on her neck and chest. A tug, and the red lace pooled even lower at her waist. His hand was arrested from ripping it off completely as Ara clamped her hand over his, surprisingly firmly.

He glanced up at her, taking in her loose, mussed hair, shiny red lips, and half-lidded eyes; the prettiest sight he’d ever seen. “Princess?”

She glanced down to their hands, biting her lip. “I…uh…you’re my one and only, Jimin.”

Jimin’s eyes widened. “Oh! I see…uh…do you…Should I slow down?”

“No, it’s fine. I just want it to be slow and special?” She met his eyes.

“Of course, Princess. Thank you for telling me. Is there anything else you want…?” She shook her head. “No, you’re perfect. I just thought I should tell you so you’re not surprised.”

“Right, yeah, good idea…I just thought…y’know…” “Yeah,” she giggled awkwardly, swooping in to sweetly kiss him. “Thank you for being so understanding.”

Jimin smiled widely at her. “No problem at all, jagiya.” He kissed her softly. “How about you tell me what you want me to do, eh? Do you want to keep making out or…”

“Park Jimin, we have been married four months and have kissed only a handful of times. If you stop now, I swear I’ll call Minho back!”

“No need to call your ex when your husband is right here and is more than willing to help you.”

“Good.” Ara wiggled in his lap, pointing at her bed. “What are you waiting for, then? Make me yours.”

A growl escaped his mouth as he swept her up and carried her to her bed in three large steps. He gently tossed her on the bed, crawling up her body to cage her in with his arms and knees.

Breathless, Ara stared up at him. He was so pretty and handsome at the same time. It was unfair, she decided.

His soft, expert lips covering hers broke her from her admiring musings, a tiny noise escaping the back of her throat as his hand slid up to gently twist her nipple between his fingers. She lifted her hips so he could pull her lingerie off the final stretch, his thigh settling between her thighs.

Only Jimin’s underwear and sweats remained, and she hooked her fingers under the elastic band of his sweats.

He got the message, kicking them off to join the rest of their discarded clothing. He crawled up slowly between her legs, running his fingers lightly over her sensitive skin till he reached her inner thighs, diverting them to trace over her stomach and hips teasingly.

She caught her lip between her teeth as he glanced up to check on her, the vision of her husband between her legs a sight that made her unbelievably wet.

“This okay?” he murmured, his fingers pausing just above her heat.

She nodded eagerly, resisting the urge to trap him between her thighs and make sure he never left her.

The first gentle stroke of his thumb through her wetness had her gasping, nerves lighting up like she’d never felt before.

“You’re so wet, Princess.” His awed voice was strained, his other thumb holding her open as his tongue darted out to lick his lips.

“All for you,” she replied, hands moving to tug at her nipples.

“You smell so good. Bet you taste even better.”

She whined impatiently, and who was he to deny his wife’s wishes?

At the first pass of his tongue over her heat, they both groaned, Ara at the sensation and Jimin in ecstasy. He dove in hungrily, a man starved for his wife’s plentiful juices.

Her legs tightened around him, and her hand flew to grip his hair as he swirled his tongue just right.

He brought a finger up, gently circling her entrance, gathering her arousal and his saliva before entering her tight heat.

Her head dropped back onto the pillow, involuntarily clenching around his finger as he worked it in and out.

He groaned, sounding pained. “Can you take another, Princess?”

She gasped out an affirmative, groaning louder as a second finger joined the first.

Jimin moved them around, feeling for something.

Sparks tingled up her spine and she gasped, “There!”

He resumed sucking at her clit as he stroked her inner walls, the pressure building higher and higher.

“Come on my face, Princess.”

With a cry, she let go, falling over the edge to pure pleasure.

When she opened her eyes, Jimin was staring at her in awe, licking his fingers clean, his pink hair mussed from her grip. “You are gorgeous, Ara.”

She smiled, pulling him in for a steamy kiss, tasting herself on him as she waited for her legs to stop shaking.

With him distracted, she flipped him, straddling his thighs, arms around his neck. “Your turn!”

“Princess, you don’t have-”

“I know, but what if I want to?” She peered up at him, fingers already working his underwear down.

She licked her hand, wrapped it around his length, and gave him a couple tentative strokes. “Tell me what you like.” She licked at the head, looking up at him for guidance.

A pained sound escaped him. “You’re doing great so far, keep doing what you’re doing. A little harder, ye-ah.”

Ara took him further in her mouth, running her tongue over the smooth skin. This would take some getting used to, but lucky for him, she was a perfectionist and willing to practice often.

Careful to keep her top lip over her teeth, she began moving up and down, attempting to take a little more each time.

Jimin’s head was hanging back, his mouth open. “You’re doing great, Princess. Use your hand...yeah, like that.”

She coughed and pulled off him, the tip hitting the back of her throat. “Yeah, I’m going to need some practice.”

“Anytime,” he groaned, holding the base of his length firmly. “What position do you want to try?”

“Good old missionary?” she asked, settling herself.

Jimin leaned over her, grabbing a pillow and tapping her hips so she’d lift them for him to slide it under her.

“You’re sure?” he asked her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Yes.” Hooking her arms around his neck, she smacked a quick, reassuring peck on his lips. “I feel like you’re more nervous than me.”

“Well, it’s only the responsibility of making sure I don’t ruin this for you and us forever,” he said dramatically.

She snickered, making him pout. “You’re doing an amazing job so far, jagi. I have faith in you. Besides, even if it’s not great at first, we have a whole lifetime to practice together!”

He carefully pushed in inch by inch till he was fully seated inside her, the previous orgasm and foreplay loosening her up marvelously. There was only a slightly uncomfortable stretch that was quickly fading as he kissed and nipped up her neck.

“You can move,” she said, rocking her hips experimentally.

He started off slow and gentle, getting into the rhythm. Ara moved her hips up to meet his, her fingers digging into his shoulders. “Harder,” she gasped.

He acquiesced, his head dropping to her chest, his lips finding her nipple and tugging.

A particularly hard thrust had her nails dragging scratches down his back. “There, Jimin! I’m close!”

He moved his free thumb to her clit, rubbing in circles. “I’m close, too. Come, Princess. Let go, Ara.”

She loudly moaned his name, tightening around him and triggering his own orgasm.

“Princess…you are going to be the death of me.” He sank into her arms. “I love you.”

“I love you,” she replied, and kissed him softly. “Ew, we’re all sweaty.”

“Join me in the shower?” He kissed the tip of her nose.

“Of course, my prince.”

Gathering her into his arms, he swept her off to her ensuite, running the water till it was an appropriate warmth.

Ara stepped in, and he lathered up a loofah with her body wash. They took turns washing each other, trading kisses and teasing touches besides the soap.

Once they had dried off with their fluffy towels, Jimin wrapped his robe around her, tied the belt, and picked her up.

“Where are you taking me?” she squealed as he headed for the door.

“My room. You’re sleeping in my bed tonight, Princess.”

The air whistled in his ear as he dodged Vixen’s roundhouse kick. He attempted to punch her stomach, but she brushed his arm away with her own. She feinted a sweeping kick and followed up with a jab to his solar plexus.

One bodyguard pointed to Vixen. “Three points.Vixen wins.”

Shaking their sweaty hands, Jimin and Vixen ended their spar.

His opponent took a bottle of water from a second bodyguard and handed it to him before drinking her own. “I’m planning on attacking a human trafficking ring on Friday. I could use more manpower; care to join?” “What will you do with the ring?”

“Take care of the leaders, send the rest to the cops, find good homes and resources for the victims. Don’t worry; I know what I’m doing. I’ve done this a time or two.”

Jimin considered. “I’m in. How many men do you need?”

“Six to ten should be good. I’ll have my guy send Suga the time and place.”

~~~

The door shut behind Jimin, automatically locking. Vixen turned on her heel and headed for the back room, her inner circle already gathered there.

Vixen pushed her hood back and took her gold contacts out, grimacing.

“Okay, there’ll be us nine, plus Jimin, Jungkook, V, Jay, Kai, Taehyun, and Yeonjun. The predicted twelve traffickers will be easily taken if we have all sixteen of us.

“Chan, when you send Suga the message, can you add that I’d like Suga to be on standby online to follow the police scanners? We don’t want them there too early, and Jin will be busy with his division.”

Chan nodded. “You got it, Vix.”

“Thanks. OK, you all take the next two days off, but prepare for Friday. I’ll be on a date at L’Domino Thursday night. I don’t think we should reuse waiters, so Hyunjin, you’re up.

“Call or text me if anything comes up or there’s a problem. I’ll see you Friday morning for a final debrief.”

Vixen hung her jacket in her locker and folded her hoodie, placing it neatly on the top shelf beside her mask and contacts case.

“Boss, why aren’t you hurrying like normal?” asked Felix. “Did you hurt yourself? Need Hyunjin to look at it?”

Vixen waved off his concerns. “I’m fine. Ara just texted Jiminie to pick up ice cream on the way home. He’ll need to text her a picture of the case and ask which type she wants, so I’ll have plenty of time to escape.”

“Smart,” her boys nodded.

With a wink and a nod, she headed into the small bathroom.

Five minutes later, she emerged in old sweats, a college T-shirt, and a fluffy pink jacket; her blood-red smirk had become a pink glossy smile.

“Bye, boys.”

A beep sounded from her phone.

PJ: [1 Image Attached] Vanilla, chocolate swirl, caramel crunch, blueberry, or mint choco?

SA: Caramel crunch please🥰 Get two 😉

PJ: You got it, Princess

Friday night the members of Bangtan and TXT (Bangtan’s subunit of hoobaes) gathered in Stray Kids’ warehouse for the run-through.

Vixen sauntered in her usual outfit, but a kevlar vest bulked up her jacket. The dagger had a twin strapped by her left boot, and a pistol was fastened on her left thigh.

Her normal scarlet smile had received the expensive upgrade of fangs designed with razor-sharp edges. The better to bite you with, my dear, she smirked, remembering the first time she’d tested them out. Ah, that piece of trash had let out a most pleasing yelp when she sank her teeth into hisd forearm. Served him right; he’d attempted to choke her, besides committing many other crimes, of course.

The men introduced themselves as their callsigns, most of them meeting for the first time.

Jimin had brought JK, V, Jay, Kai, Fox, and Kang to meet Vixen and Chan, Lino, Hyune, Han, Felix, Min, Bin, and I.N.

Chan handed earpieces out like candy, each one connected to his, Suga, and Jin’s lines. The members of Bangtan were directed by Suga and Stray Kids was guided by Chan. Jin was set to watch the police and help Chan if needed.

The echo of doors slamming in the warehouse signalled the start of the mission as four black SUVs were filled with armoured men (and women). Tires screeched and they peeled out, ready for a hunt.

~~~

A breeze gently played with Jimin’s hair as he and Vixen carefully scouted the area ahead of their men.The soundtrack of city nightlife filled the air until Jimin broke it.

“Do all your captains work at L’Domino?” He asked quietly.

“No; they were keeping an eye on someone for me, collecting information. It’s my chosen currency, you know.”

“It was my understanding that Min was a part of Gray.”

“He’s my spy in Gray,” Vixen returned in a monotone, peering around a shipping container’s corner.

“Do you have a spy in Bangtan?”

Even with the crescent moon’s feeble light, Jimin could tell Vixen was smirking. “What do you think?”

“Lino?” ventured Jimin.

She scoffed quietly. “You met him as your wife’s ex. No, he’s too obvious to be a spy on you.”

Up ahead, a figure of a trafficker exited from a crosspath. “Focus. Bin, two on your two o’clock.”

“Jay, one on your nine; V, one at twelve.” Suga’s voice cut through Jimin’s line. The dozen traffickers were quickly and quietly taken out by the combined gangs’ ruthless efficiency.

The shipping container’s lock was shot off. Even with the silencer on, the echo hung in the air, the humidity from the coming rainstorm accentuating every noise.

Unearthly groans sounded as the doors creaked open. Letting the people inside acclimate to the night’s dim light before barging in with bright flashlights, Vixen marshalled a few of her helpers to speak softly and convince the victims they were there to help.

The children inside still didn’t trust the men’s words, so Vixen crouched where the metal base met the damp concrete.

Raising her hands high enough to be shown by the backlight, she spoke slowly and calmly.

“Hey, kids. My name is Vixen; I lead a mafia here in Seoul. I asked a friend of mine to help me get you guys out of here. All the bad guys out here are taken care of. The police are on their way to help you, alright? Do you have a person in charge here I can talk to and try to prove we want to help you?”

A gangly teenage boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen, Vixen guessed, raised his hand.

“If you’re mafia, aren’t you the bad guys? Why would the police come here if they’re not in on it?”

Ah, lovely, it was time to have the morals talk.

“Good question! Technically, mafia are the bad guys. In this situation, however, we are what you could call the good guys. Our mafias do not participate in human trafficking–some of our members actually arrived with us because they were trafficked themselves. We may be mafia, but we have rules, and one of ours is no human trafficking. As for answering your question about the police,” Vixen sighed, wondering how to explain dirty cops and their tenuous relationship. “We sent an anonymous tip. They’ll be here in a few minutes to make sure you get support. We’ll make sure they send you home, if you have one, or that you get a good living situation worked out.”

A tween girl nudged the boy and whispered in his ear. He straightened and looked at Vixen. “We’re trusting you,” was all he said.

She nodded solemnly. “Thank you. I will do my best not to break it. While we’re waiting for the police, how about we get your information, so we can make sure you’re taken care of?”

Jin logged the kids’ info as they gave it, creating a file for each one. Suga had taken care of identifying the three head traffickers.

By the time the police arrived, the kids were all in a huddle, wearing warm hoodies a size bigger than they needed and holding a pocketknife that Jungkook had given them once they promised not to use it unless it was an emergency.

The traffickers were left in a heap, thoroughly roughed up, courtesy of Jimin, Felix, and I.N. The three men heading up the operation mysteriously disappeared from the pile containing their underlings.

Once the red and blue lights disappeared from the maze of shipping containers, carrying the kids to the station to be processed, two shadows jumped from their vantage point.

Vixen’s fist met Jimin’s in an unspoken acknowledgement before they split, heading to their respective pieces of the night.

ARA, THIRTEEN (TWELVE YEARS AGO)

Ara ducked into the closet in her dad’s office, laughing to herself. She’d been taking pictures around ShinCorp’s HQ as she explored the newly renovated and furnished office tower.

Jungok was supposed to be in soon, and Ara planned to surprise him and then show him the photos she’d taken that day; she was really improving, thanks to Jungkook and Photography for Dummies.

The sound of his door opening made her peer through the crack, ready to surprise her appa…but there was a strange young man with him.

“You’ll be organising my schedule for both ShinCorp and the Gray Family’s business. You’ll have Jungjoo’s list of legitimate contacts and who I’ll be meeting with on both sides of the business. Jungjoo has agreed to be available to answer your questions if you’re unsure of my contacts’ connections. If I’m around, feel free to ask me as well. The rest of the details are in our contract. Please do your best, Secretary Kim.”

The young man bowed to her father and bent over the desk to sign his employment papers. The new angle let Ara see more of his features.

Ah, it was one of the Kim cousins– Kim Seokjin, she believed. Ara had heard of the Gray mafia of Seoul–they’d just recently opened a new bar downtown, Blue Side. So her father was the head, huh…

“My daughter, Ara, is around today. She does not know and is never to know of Gray’s connections to ShinCorp, do you understand? Generally, I allow her free reign in the building, as she is not a mess maker, but keep an eye on her if she's in the vicinity of a forbidden area or wants to enter my office when I’m in a meeting. Keep her out of sight of any of my visiting rivals and allies, except my immediate family and Jeon Jeonghwa. I want as little attention on her as possible. Her mother’s death was truly an accident, but I don’t want a second accident, planned or not. Ara is all I have left, and I will do anything to ensure she stays safe. My daughter’s safety is of the utmost importance, understand?”

“Understood, sir.” Seokjin bowed. “I will keep Miss Ara safe with my life, sir!”

“Good. You’re dismissed.” Jungok nodded approvingly at Seokjin as the man left.

A few minutes later, he called his car around to head for a meeting.

Ara snuck out of her hiding place and crept to the door. Observing the new secretary leave for a cup of coffee, she waited until he was fully gone before she snuck out of her father’s office.

Her sneaking skills had really improved over the past couple of years. Her appa was much more secretive, and in the months immediately after her mother’s death, she’d caught him breaking off a phone call about her more than once. Wanting to know what had happened to her beloved mother, she memorised all the creaks in the floors, how to wear socks and slippers to dampen her footsteps, and to remember to check where her shadow was falling while she eavesdropped.

This, however, was the first time she’d realised her father was involved in some less-than-legal proceedings.

A shrill yelp pierced Ara’s ears as Jin caught his mug, startled by her sudden movement from under his desk.

Brown coffee splashed dangerously close to the edges of the mug he clutched to his chest. “Are you Miss Ara? Aish, you almost gave me a heart attack, child!”

“I’m thirteen, not a child,” Ara rolled her eyes. “Just call me Ara. Are you the new secretary? I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

“Kim Seokjin at your service. Yes, I'm the new secretary. Your father is good friends with mine, Kim Honggil.”

“Ah, you’re one of the Kim cousins. Kim Seokjin, Kim Sihyeon, and Kim Namjoon.”

Seokjin nodded. “What’s in your hand, Miss Ara?”

She glared at him. “Ara. It’s my camera. My best friend Jungkook taught me how to take good pictures. Can I take a picture of you…oppa?”

Seokjin shook his head. “Aish, I’m going to die of a heart attack caused by this girl. Sure, you can take a picture, as long as I get a signed copy.” At her quizzical glance, he explained. “I need to have an autographed copy from when you were young and unknown, before you become some hotshot photographer and forget your first model, whom you used to call Jin-oppa.” He sighed. “Ah, the good old days…I don’t know how she forgot such a handsome face,” he mourned.

Ara giggled. “You’re ridiculous, but I like you so you can have a photo.”

Picture taken, Ara headed for the elevator and waved goodbye. “I’m just keeping you on your toes, oppa! You’ll never get old with me around!” She laughed maniacally as the door slid shut and Seokjin slumped over his desk.

“What have I gotten into?”

ARA, FIFTEEN (TEN YEARS AGO)

“Jungkook, you know how you’re going to be my official bodyguard in a couple years, when you turn 18?”

Jungkook’s head was in Ara’s lap, her fingers combing through the soft black strands. “…yeah?”

“So then I won’t have Lee watching us all the time?”

“Yes? Where are you going with this?”

“Patience, Kookie.” Ara booped his nose, making him crinkle it at her.

“Well, then I’ll be able to sneak out with you more. I won’t have to make you sneak out to get my stuff anymore, and I can really begin my- our plans.”

“But I don’t mind it! I like it!” Jungkook protested. “It keeps you safe and under Lee’s watch, where you’re supposed to be.”

“Yeah, but it’s so boring. I don’t get to practice my black belts on anything…you can join the underground rings but I can’t, yet. Ugh, I wish you were older so I could polish the plan better.”

“Slow and steady wins the race, Ara. You’ve got two years to finish learning all that stuff you want to know, as if Namjoon-hyung and Jin-hyung won’t help.”

“Yeah, but they’ll be busy for appa, and it’s too close; he’d be suspicious, and they’ll be in trouble even if I’m not. It’s good for me to know hacking and strategy, anyway. You’ve been with me for my physical training, but I can’t lead a gang just because I have five black belts in martial arts and a gun.”

“Okay, you have a point, Bug.”

“When do I not?” she smirked saucily at him.

ARA, AGE 17 (8 YEARS AGO)

Ara popped the second contact in and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Two gold eyes stared back at her. Black combat boots laced tightly; black stretchy jeans to allow for more agile movements; black kevlar weave-shirt layered under her black hoodie and leather jacket; scarlet lipstick; special-made mask seated over her face, forehead-to-nose.

Perfect.

The get-up was about as far as she could get from her typical glitter-and-pastel outfits. She slipped the knife Jungkook had given her to celebrate Vixen’s first outing into the holster, her pistol into her ankle holster, and her backup knives up her sleeves.

Vixen stepped out of the bathroom and Jungkook, also masked and all in black, fell in behind her. Their black motorcycles sped quietly through the night to the old warehouse. Underneath the floor was a lively auction in full swing.

Jungkook entered first and began mingling with the patrons, sussing out any members of Gray or a rival family she’d need to be aware of. Seven and a half minutes later, Vixen entered quietly, staying in the shadows at the back as she analysed the room. About half an hour later what she was here for was beginning to be auctioned off.

Making eye contact with Jungkook, she nodded at him to place an opening bid. Once a couple offers were made she also joined the bidding. She and Jungkook upped the price, creating a flurry of a bidding war, until Jungkook acquired one and she the other two.

This was the highlight of the auction, so once they won the bids, the auction house cleared out slowly. Too many people leaving at once would be far too blatant to any prying eyes.

The auctioneer approached Vixen. “Lady Vixen, your goods await your retrieval.”

She nodded curtly, motioning him to step forward, and she followed him to the room at the back, covered with steel bars and securely locked up.

Jungkook passed her on his return from the vault, nodding subtly, his new purchase behind him.

The auctioneer unlocked the door and the armed guard retrieved Vixen’s purchases: two Korean-Australian teenage boys, handcuffed and blindfolded. “Pleasure doing business, Lady.”

She smirked slightly and inclined her head at the auctioneer. “Indeed …I hope to do further business with you.” She put a hand on each of the boys’ shoulders and turned them to face the exit. “Straight ahead, boys!”

With a jaunty wave at the remaining staff in the warehouse’s secret bunker, she headed for the exit to meet up with Jungkook.

Once they were topside, Vixen put motorcycle helmets on their heads, warning, “No funny business, or we all die.” She put the smaller one in front of her and the bigger one on the seat behind her. Revving her engine, she headed for her warehouse HQ, where Jungkook awaited.

~~~

The two boys Vixen had brought were put in a small, specially prepared room while Vixen surveilled them and Jungkook’s boy, who was in a room twin to the other.

Vixen didn’t put it past the black market guys to slip a plant in, attempting to pull the wool over her eyes since she was small, fairly new to the illegal scene, and a woman.

She flicked her knife open and cut the zipties binding their wrists tightly. Leaving them, she shut the door and joined Jungkook in the surveillance room.

The first boy pulled his blindfold off, blinking at the dim light till he could see a table, two chairs, and two sealed water bottles. Once he perceived no one else was in the room and it was (so far) harmless, he undid the second boy’s blindfold and started rubbing his wrists.

They began to talk in whispers, but Vixen had bugged the room so she and Jungkook could hear everything plainly. They spoke in English, with an Aussie accent.

“Where are we?” Boy Two asked.

“Another holding cell, it looks like.” “I hope Innie’s okay.”

“Me too. At least we’re together,” Boy One reassured him. “I wonder why the ‘Lady’ bought us…” “She didn’t seem as bad as the others, but you remember Roxie…”

Both boys shuddered.

Boy Two continued, “Do you think the water is for us?”

“It could be a test. We should inspect it.”

Each boy grabbed a bottle, carefully holding it up to the weak lightbulb in the room.

“Let’s just share a bottle in case it’s not for us,” Boy One suggested, twisting open the cap.

“Good idea, Chris-sorry.”

“Chris”--Boy One– tasted a sip thoughtfully, then passed the bottle to the other. “It tastes okay.”

The water quickly disappeared, and the boys sat on the floor facing the door, backs to the wall.

It was the same position “Innie”--Boy Three– was in. He, too, had carefully inspected the water before drinking it, before retreating to his current position.

They had definitely communicated before, Vixen decided. If anyone was a plant, it was likely to be Innie, but he seemed a bit young to be an actor.

She unlocked the door and Jungkook walked in. “Innie?” he tried.

The boy’s head snapped up.

“Do you know ‘Chris?’”

Innie pursed his lips, then nodded slowly.

“Please come with me.”

Innie followed Jungkook to the door, retying his blindfold behind his head.

Jungkook frowned, then mimed a punch at Innie’s head, stopping just before he actually hit him.

Not a flinch of a reaction showed on Innie’s face.

Jungkook gently took his elbow and led him to the room next door, opening the door and spinning him in.

Vixen, watching the cameras, saw the two scramble up to meet Innie, hugging him tightly.

Jungkook rejoined her and they shamelessly eavesdropped as the three caught up.

“We were so worried about you!”

“You got taken together?”

“Yeah, by a woman. The man took you, right?”

“They must know each other,” nodded Chris.

“Are you okay?” asked Boy Two.

“Yeah, you?”

“We’re fine. What do you think they want?”

“I don’t know. The guy just came in and asked me if I knew you and told me to follow him. I didn’t see the woman, and the man had a mask on.”

“They’re listening to us, then,” said Chris. “Unless they asked the guard at the other place our names, but they just called us all ‘Boy’...”

The trio looked at each other.

“Why? We don’t know anything; we were handcuffed and blindfolded most of the time,” said unnamed-Boy-Two.

Jungkook left Vixen to knock and enter the boys’ room.

“That’s the guy,” whispered Innie to his companions.

Jungkook kicked the chair from Innie’s cell over to the other two and nodded at them. “Sit, please.”

They sat down, eyeing him, and Jungkook moved to face them all.

“We were eavesdropping because we wanted to make sure none of you were plants to take down our newly-formed operation,” explained Jungkook. “What’s your name?” he asked Boy Two.

“...Yongbok.”

“Chris, Yongbok, and Innie?”

The boys nodded, confirming their names as Jungkook pointed at them.

“Do you remember how you got to that auction?”

Chris and Yongbok told their take on how they’d been kidnapped in Australia and became friends on the way to Korea.

Innie was taken from his native Incheon streets and met the other two at the cells where most of the trafficked children and teens were kept. They became friends during the three weeks they were captives before they were moved to the auction warehouse the day before this one.

“No one’s looking for you back home?” Jungkook asked the Australians.

“Why?” asked Chris, while Yongbok simply shook his head.

“So you’re technically illegal immigrants,” mused Jungkook out loud, telling Vixen to contact Jin and have him finagle two new Korean IDs and an updated one for Innie.

Once that was done, Vixen joined the group in the room, smiling at the boys.

“Hello, Innie, Yongbok, Chris. I’m Lady Vixen. JK here, and I bought you from the traffickers.” She nodded at Jungkook to continue.

He inhaled deeply.

“I was a trafficked kid, too. I’m from Busan, but one day a bunch of us young street kids were grabbed and shipped up to Seoul. We were rescued by cops who were breaking up the ring, and I was adopted by one of the cops, who is friends with Vixen’s dad. I’m Vixen’s bodyguard, so we spend a lot of time together, and one day Vix hatched this scheme to help trafficked kids like me. If you want to go home or find accommodations elsewhere, that’s cool; we’ll help you as much as we can, or you can stay and help us. No pressure either way,” JK said slowly.

“Right, you spent all that money on us just to let us go home? What do we have to do first?” asked Chris sceptically.

Vixen smiled. “I know; it’s strange. But I know not all the kids get happy endings like JK did, and I don’t want that to happen to more. He’s my brother in all but blood, and I have plenty of money to spend as I please, so why not help little JKs?”

“If we don’t leave, how will we help you?”

“I’d like to analyse you separately and see what you’re best suited for. Tech, medical, espionage…” “You make it sound like a gang,” said Yongbok facetiously.

Vixen didn’t bat an eyelash. “I am starting my own mafia, if you must know.”

“Wait, jjinja?”

“Yep! There’s a difference between a mafia and a gang, you know,” Vixen explained. “Mafia are higher calibre and have more rules. They only bring out the big guns if they need them; they prefer to have boring meetings first to attempt peace or treaties before full-on bloodshed. Ideally, no one knows they’re mafia. They’re the one percent.

“In comparison, gangs are…the middle class, at best. Gangs are always fighting for their turf, showing off their affiliations. There is a world of difference between a gang and a Family.”

The three fell silent, contemplating.

“What if I join and I want out later?” asked Innie.

“As long as you spill no secrets about us, you’re free to leave whenever. I’ll even help,” promised Vixen.

“I’m in,” they decided at last.

“Glad to have you join us!”

Jungkook left and Vixen stood up, slapping her thighs. “Okay, JK’s off to prepare your assessments for later. I have a room ready, but I’d like it if you’d shower and see my doctor to make sure you’re all in good health before you sleep.”

They agreed to her suggestion, and she led them down the hallway to a plain wooden door.

Rapping on it four times in a row, she waited till a tall, lean man with long dark hair answered.

“Hey, Doc, these are tonight’s recruits: Chris, Innie, and Yongbok. Dr. Hyunjin is my team’s doctor–he’s currently apprenticing under my father’s doctor, Dr. Lee. Are you okay with me leaving to get some breakfast for you?”

Chris nodded, and Vixen left with a smile and a look for Dr. Hyunjin.

JK found Vixen in the small kitchen, frying egg rolls. He snagged one off the plate and she smacked his hand.

“Tonight went well, Bug.” He leaned against the counter, mouth full of egg.

She turned back to the stove, rolling another layer. “Names, JK. Yeah, it did. Thank you for helping me. How were the memories?”

“Better than I’d hoped. I think it helped that I was the one in power that time, going there to help instead of as a weak little kid, y’know.” “Mmmh.” Vixen flipped the roll onto the plate and sliced it neatly. “Hyunjin’s making sure they’re all physically okay, but I’m sure we’ll need to get them a counsellor, too. Should I hire one when we make it big?” she mused.

Jungkook swallowed another slice of egg roll and contemplated as he danced away from Vixen’s spoon. “It probably wouldn’t hurt, but I don’t think you need to worry about that at the present.”

“Right. Thanks, Kook.”

~~~

The boys were in pretty good shape, all things considered, so once they said they were ready for their assessments, Jungkook set them up.

Jin made and dropped off IDs for Bang Chan, Lee Felix, and Yang Jeongin–the names the boys chose for themselves–now that they were confirmed to stay as a part of Stray Kids for the foreseeable future.

Chan became the Head Strategist and Hacker, Felix the Head of Security (Vixen’s bodyguards and strike team), and Jeongin was appointed one of her bodyguards.

Seo Changbin was her other main bodyguard, and the pair became known as the Double IN team.

Vixen’s close friend Minho was her spy in high society since he could gather intel on the male-only parties that she couldn’t attend.

Her second spy was a street kid Jungkook had saved in the winter and introduced to Ara. He fell for her hard and rapidly agreed to join Stray Kids as its first member, though officially he was still unaffiliated with any gang or mafia. Jisung (or, as his contacts knew him, Han), was Vixen’s Head of Espionage.

Even the best-trained forces aren’t always perfect, and Ara’s small band often needed medical attention. Namjoon was able to get Hyunjin in with the Gray Gang’s doctor as an apprentice medic; when Hyunjin wasn’t busy patching up sparring wounds, he was acting as an infiltrator for Vixen, utilizing his good looks to their best advantage. He was kept in the wings, so he wouldn’t become easily recognized.

Since Jungkook couldn’t be with Vixen all the time, he began training Felix and Jeongin as her bodyguards and fighters. Felix was promoted to chauffeur once he got his license, and Jeongin, or I.N. –his street name– became the Head of Information.

Changbin became a member of Stray Kids by following Jungkook and Vixen from an underground fight he’d spectated at. Finding them curious, he stalked them back to their HQ, where they agreed to let him join once he proved his skills in the ring. As the son of a wrestler, he was a prime candidate for bodyguarding.

Vixen’s third and final spy, Kim Seungmin, was kept under wraps from all but her inner circle. He was needed on the inside of Gray, to uncover the more mundane information Namjoon and Seokjin were usually too busy to gather for her. These eight became Vixen’s closest friends and joined Jungkook in the ranks of honorary brothers.

A/N: Jungkook's nickname "Bug" for Ara is a shortened form of the nickname "Shutterbug" because she was always taking pictures.

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crush-vc1-blog · 2 months

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it is mood board for my on going fanfic jikook Shadows of Eternity (Jikook) (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/story/361855485-shadows-of-eternity-jikook?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_myworks&wp_uname=avidreader1301 *I DO NOT OWN OF THE IMAGES USED, THEY ARE FROM PINTREST* *CREDIT OF IMAGES TO THE RIGHTFUL OWNERS* below is link for AO3 Shadows of Eternity (16277 words) by Maya0813 Chapters: 10/16 Fandom: 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Jeon Jungkook/Park Jimin Characters: Bangtan Boys | BTS Ensemble Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dark Fantasy, Urban Fantasy, Drama & Romance, Angst and Romance, Family Secrets, Mystery, Urban Legends, Secrets, Other Additional Tags to Be Added Summary: Jimin a charismatic and introspective photographer with an eye for capturing the unseen, finds himself irresistibly drawn to the mystique of Haneul-gul. Born and raised in Seoul, Jimin unaware his journey to Haneul-gul would unveil not only the hidden stories of the town but also the secrets embedded in his own family history, connecting his lens to the ancient tapestry of mysteries waiting to be unveiled.

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yuzon3 · 1 year

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🧠 last read

🦋 complete

FAMILY

| Noona! Please Help! by emerald-notes 🧠 P2

-> Her little brothers can’t attend to a single task without her help. Be it a dance competition or asking out a girl for a date, they always seem to be finding everything too hard to go through without her by their side. ‘Our lucky charm’; that’s what they like to call her. But what if she turns out to be a misfortune in different situations in one single day?

JUST STRAIGHT UP FILTH

| Let Me hold them first by jjoongkookislife

| damn the charcuterie board by bratkook 🦋

-> min yoongi x reader x park jimin

MAFIA

| War of the hearts by namjooningelsewhere 🧠 chap 8

-> You've been lurking in the shadows, protecting the seven of Bangtan even if it means you must give your own life. After all, that's what you do when you are in love with someone irrevocably. That pain seems to be miniscule in light of their safety. But it was never about you, for all you are is a speck of dust in the universe they have created for them and their girlfriend. Your heart's at war, but it's fine, you can smile through the pain as long as it means they smile- for her.

| your, mine, ours by suuhzie 🧠 chap 1

summary: After being invited to dinner at his hyungs' girlfriend's house, Jungkook finally got to be a part of that polyamorous relationship... Or, until then, he thought he was included too.

| our little love by jiminiesfavoritecolorisblue 🧠5

-> you were sent to do your job you didn’t expect to fall in love

| I wanna be yours by rmkive 🧠 chap 7

-> in which bts find themselves completely and utterly infatuated with one of the members of hybe's newest girl group, le sserafim

| Moon Reign by bibbykins 🧠 chap 6

| Combined Beings by numinousher 🧠 🦋

-> you are bullied on a constant because korea’s beauty standards do not fit girls on the heavier side. the bullying gets worse once a ceo is attracted to you and he mentions you to the other

| Cry me a river by minnie 🧠 chap 25

-> forever is just an illusion, nothing lasts forever. don’t make me a promise that you cannot keep. please...it’ll break my heart

SOULMATE

baby (you complete us) by purpleyoon 🧠 chap 8

-> Soulmates were a common occurrence, so common, in fact, that the world sought an easier way to find your other half: A bracelet that would scan your mark and match you with those who shared your mark. Within recent years, soul groups were becoming normal, and your own bracelet said you have seven matches.

SUPERNATURAL

| it was the monsters by hobicakess

| the old guard by rorythme 🧠 chap1

-> You are a powerful witch, cursed and hurt through ages. Owner of your esoteric shop, you were resigned to live this lonely life when the powerful magic of soulmates and fate came to you.

| Querencia by frieschan

| to be damned by jungkooksthighs 🧠 Chap 2

-> As a history major you were well acquainted with the legend of the Thornheart witch trials, but it was difficult to picture something so wild dangerous and fascinating ever happening in your small town. Impossible even. That was until you met a tall, handsome stranger who knew a little too much about the events that took place 330 years

| Peculiar Pack by daydreamindollie 🧠 chap 8

-> you're a successful hybrid writer and psychologist, who takes in seven hybrids one stormy night after finding one of their pack stealing from your garden

OTHERS

| Eveythibg falls (into place) by blog-name-idk 🦋

-> Your new roommates are unbearably nice and unbearably hot. Good thing you're an adult who is fully capable of platonic friendships with the opposite sex, right?

ONE SHOTS 🦋

| Being bullied by Imnotlauraine

Claret Cravings by vvh0adie

#bts x reader #poly bts

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raplinesmoon · 1 year

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projecting a fic concept that will never actually be realized by me but it just needs to be out in the world:

I started rewatching The Originals (aka the superior spin-off to The Vampire Diaries) right before the New Year hit and now I just can’t stop imagining a Bangtan version of the show with Kim Line as the Original Vampires?!

Like Namjoon as Klaus trying to find his path in life, what he’s meant for, and so desperately seeking love he has never felt? (also yes to Dad!Namjoon)

Seokjin as Elijah, the trustworthy, noble older brother who’s made it his life’s purpose to ensure the happiness and prosperity of his family?

Taehyung as Rebekah, aka always at the mercy and in the shadow of the two older siblings, when all he wants is to start a life and find a love of his own?

And while we’re at it, let’s just cast OT7 in this lol (not 100% sure if they all fit these roles perfectly):

Jungkook as Marcel, the protégée with Namjoon as his mentor.

Hoseok as Kol, the sunshine of the Mikaelson family.

Jimin as Davina, who has more power than he knows what to do with.

Yoongi as Camille, bartender and the voice of reason

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purpleyoonn · 10 months

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the line between love and war 11

C H A P T E R 11: PTD D1 Soundcheck

“It is said that the night sky is made up of tiny wishes that humans were never able to fulfill. That the stars only became bright by the fulfillment of those wishes. In your eyes, the stars that shine never seemed real, your childhood wishes dark and dim as you grow. But now, now you understand the twinkle in their eyes as they look down at you.”

Summary: Your experiences told you that soulmates were something you would never have the pleasure of having; something not given to you because of who you are, despite the soulmark that resides on your inner left wrist. During your solo trip to Los Angeles, you find out that you are more than capable, that your soulmates had been waiting for you for a long time, and would not be letting you go anytime soon.

Genre: soulmate au, bts au, idol bts, polyamory relationship, eventual smut

Paring: Idol!BTS x autistic!mc

Status: Ongoing (randomly updated)

Warnings: mental illness, talk of disability, lots of angst, miscommunication, feelings of depression, feelings of isolation, polyamory bts, stalking, dangerous behavior, eventual smut,

Chapter Warnings: mc has a fear of heights, mc insta live, protective bangtan, not that much going on, more of a filler chapter,

Taglist: @azazel-nyx @yuzon3 @hannahdinse8 @quirkybtsarmy @mageprincess7 @fluffy-canada-pancakes @suckerforv @chaoticthingpizza @drissteele @carolinexkpop @avadakadabra93 @lachimolala22019 @justaweird0 @singukieee @welcometomyworld13 @toughbook @kimana122 @kpopmultistantrashsstuff @0funsite0 @joyless-living @sinceritythatcouldntbedelivered @elliott-calls @psychosupernatural

Permanent Taglist: @m1sss1mp @yourleftsock @skyys-universe @cryingpages @strxwbloody @drissteele @dustyinkpages @iamkookiesforyou @crushedblackroses @fluffy-canada-pancakes @blaaiissee @iiitsmaria @carolinexkpop @azazel-nyx @strawberry-moonpies @g-h-o-s-t-b-a-b-i @knjkitten @kleirielk @foreverweareyoung7 @lachimolala22019 @namuficxs @94z-93 @kimgmzmc @thenaverse @dahliasbouqet @black-rose-29 @tinyoonsblog @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d @stellauniverse @stupendouscookiehumanmug @tinyoonsblog @veronawrites @tatyhend @singukieee @m0v3m3ntsblog @sidthesloth1305 @exfolitae @butterymin @queen-in-the-shadows

Masterlist // Chapter 10 // Chapter 12

————————————————–

Previously on The Line Between Love and War:

“I need pictures with my daughter to show my friends.” Was her excuse for extra pictures, making you grin back at her. You didn’t mind, even posting some pictures on your Instagram afterwards, putting a small heart over her face to keep her anonymity like Hobi wanted.

You ended up spending the entire day with them, getting frozen yogurt and buying a couple of things that Jiwoo picked out for you, saying you would look beautiful in them. They were even cotton like you wanted.

It was an amazing day with family.

Today was the first day of the concerts the boys would be giving, and you had all left early to SoFi stadium for soundcheck and any last-minute things the boys would need to be aware of. You had arrived somewhere between eight and nine that morning, coffees in hand.

You had planned the night before that you would be going with them early, your backpack already packed with snacks and whatever else you and Jungkook decided to pack.

Jungkook has deemed it his job to make sure your backpack was always ready for you, filled with what his instincts told him you would need. So, he insisted on helping you pack, practically pushing you out of the way to make sure you had everything you needed.

You could see how nervous and stressed everyone was, so you decided you would try and stay out of the way of everyone, not wanting to add to the already busy day. So, once you were introduced to the staff, you had kissed the boys goodbye, ignoring their confused stares, and left their dressing room to explore the stadium.

You had your backpack with you, probably making you gain a couple of weird looks, but you ignored it with the thought of exploring. You would never have had this opportunity before, and your curiosity always won out, unfortunately. Your eloping had caused a lot of problems growing up, and you tried your hardest to ignore your instincts, but sometimes they won out.

You moved through backstage first, lanyard and badge worn around your neck so the crew knew who you were. It also helped that Seungho walked a few paces behind you, glaring at everyone that even looked your way. He had been very protective since the incident at the mall. You tried to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, but he didn’t seem to agree.

You tried to make him smile again by showing him a picture on Amazon of a backpack that had a leash, telling him that you would use it if he wanted. He laughed out loud before shaking his head no. Jin liked the idea though, saying he would have the company make BT21 versions and use the RJ one. Namjoon just shook his head.

You looked at everything you could, from the lights being adjusted to going on the stage where the boys would perform. The gates for soundcheck wouldn’t be opened until three, but you could already hear fans lining up outside the arena, screaming and laughing in excitement for the concert. It had you feeling a little wistful, wishing you could go out there and have the fan experience you dreamed about.

But, you realized, you got to experience something none of them would. While it didn’t make you less wistful, you tried to not be upset about the experience you wouldn’t get. Instead, you decided you could give the fans a new experience.

You opened up your Instagram, and after figuring out how to go live, you hit the button and waited. You were a little insecure, thinking no one would view it, but within seconds you had over a thousand people watching the live.

“Oh, I didn’t think this would work. I’ve never done this but I figured I could give you guys a tour!” You whispered excitedly into the camera, hoping you wouldn’t get into trouble. You didn’t know if you were allowed, and in hindsight, you probably should have asked, but you were excited.

“Hi everyone! My name is Y/N. Wait, you would know this if you’re following me. Uhm, anyways! This is the set up for the stage!” You aren’t quite sure how to turn the camera from front facing to back facing, making a concentrated face while you do so, but instead you just turn yourself so they can see the screen.

You move down the stage, making it so where you weren’t in the screen as you moved. You then turn around so they see the empty seats.

“In just a couple of hours you guys will be in here, then maybe it won’t be so empty.” You look at the screen, seeing comments and questions and a bunch of hearts pop up, surprising you as you didn’t really expect that. You see one that asks where the boys are.

“Where are the boys? Oh! They are getting ready for soundcheck and the concert. When I left the room to explore, they were talking about last minute changes to their outfits.” You hope your answer is okay, reading more of the comments as you move off stage and down the stairs to the seats.

“Oh wow, the stage looks so close when you are in the first row! Now I know how you guys get so many good fancams!” Your excited voice can be heard from the stage, where the boys are starting to come out. You had trouble controlling your volume when you got excited.

Jimin was the first to spot you, standing in front of the first row on the left of the stage, holding your phone up so you could be seen.

“Hyung? Is she on a live?” Jimin pokes Hobi, before pointing to you. Hobi and the others look at you, answering a fans question wondering what you were going to be wearing to the concert. Jungkook is quick to grab his phone, opening up Twitter to see nothing, while Taehyung opened Instagram to see you were in fact going live.

“She is live on Insta, Jiminie.” He spoke, sending his own hearts to you on the app. Jin peaked over his shoulder to see you smiling at the screen, his heart fluttering at how happy you looked.

“Oh, what’s this? Are you sure? They are supposed to be getting ready for soundcheck.” You mumble when you see a bunch of comments come up saying the Taehyung commented on your live, looking up to see Hobi, Namjoon, Jin and Yoongi on the stage, waving dramatically at you. But you didn’t see the others. You thought they were still in the room when an arm wrapped around your waist.

“Oh my gosh you scared me!” You screamed at Jungkook, smacking at him as he just laughed, holding his chest. Jimin and Taehyung appeared over your shoulder, waving at the camera as tons of comments appeared for the boys.

“Well, uh, say hello to ARMY, boys!” You speak up, pointing at the camera. A chorus of “hellos” from the boys had you hearing screams from outside the arena. You turned to Jimin, asking him if the soundcheck was starting soon.

“They are going to be letting them in soon.” Was his response, his eyes focused on the comments flowing on the screen. He was determined to learn English, even more so when he recognized a couple of hate comments. He didn’t want you seeing that so he grabbed your phone out of your hand.

“See you soon, Army.” He gave his biggest smile before hitting the “end live” button. (However, army figured out why he ended the live so quickly and proceeded to make edits about how protective he was while also making edits about how cute you and your facial expressions were.)

“Hey! I wanted to say goodbye.” You told Jimin once you saw he ended the live.

“Sorry baby. The crew is about to let the fans in for soundcheck.” He brought you in for a hug, then proceeded to guide you back onto the stage where the others were waiting.

When you got on stage, you could see the crew running around backstage, doing so many last minute things so the soundcheck goes off without a hitch. You walked with Jimin to where the boys were huddled, his hand planted firmly on the small of your back, keeping you close.

“I see you had some fun on live, baby.” Namjoon spoke up, a dimpled smile on his lips as he pulls you in for a hug, your cheek happily smooshed against his chest. You nodded at his statement, too comfortable and warm to bother moving.

You loved when they hugged you like this, letting your entire body just fall into them, their arms wrapped around you, just letting you relax into them. It felt so nice and had you feeling warm and loved.

You had your eyes closed, missing the look Namjoon had sent you, a soft smile on his lips. But Hobi didn’t miss it, taking a quick picture and archiving it into the newly made folder on his phone with your name on it. He already had a bunch saved, mainly candids of you, seeing as you didn’t really feel comfortable with posed photos yet.

You just listened to them talk about how the soundcheck was going to go, leaning into Namjoon as they began to put their in-ears on. They all already had their mics in hand, making it simpler for them as they discussed which song they were going to rehearse first.

When the army’s with soundcheck tickets started trickling in, Namjoon had squeezed you against him really quick before reluctantly letting you go, pressing a quick kiss to your lips.

“We will see you later, okay?” You nodded your head, almost too relaxed to think about speaking. The others also bid you the same goodbye, kissing your lips in passing as they moved to their places on stage and Seungho guided you backstage.

“Do you think we could watch the soundcheck too?” You turn to Seungho to ask him when he began to guide you back to the dressing room.

“I don’t think it’s safe...” He began to say when you cut him off.

“I won’t watch from the front! What about the higher up seats? Like the 200’s section?” You ask him, basically pleading with your hands bundled together in front of your chest. You even tried to break out the puppy dog eyes that always worked on Yoongi.

“I promise we will be safe.” You tell him, hoping that will work, and then squealing from excitement as he finally relents and nods his head. You grab his hand and practically drag him to the entrance you remember from your earlier exploration that led you to the stairs that take you to the higher sections.

You waste no time climbing up the large number of stairs in front of you, almost tripping a couple of times to Seungho’s dismay.

When you reached the top, you were excited. You moved from seat to seat trying to figure out which one had the best view, spending a couple minutes picking before eventually sitting in the one right in the middle of the first row. None of the fans could see you unless they were specifically looking for you. (They did, in fact, spot you and your photos circulated twitter for a couple of hours)

You took your backpack off and took out the army bomb you snuck in there behind Jungkook’s back. You put your batteries in it and excitedly started waving it, causing laughter to erupt from Seungho, his eyes closed as he laughed at your animated form.

You didn’t know where you would be during the concert, so you came prepared in case you were allowed to go to the soundcheck and didn’t have to be backstage. You really wanted to experience the concert and didn’t care how you did it.

You tried to stay still in your seat but it didn’t work. You danced and sang along the entire time, happy that you could hear the songs live, even if you weren’t necessarily at the concert.

However, during a small break in the soundcheck where the boys had some issues with the back track, you took a second to look around, realizing exactly how high up you were in the stadium. You could feel your heart racing, as if trying to jump out of your ribcage.

You think the last time you were high in the air was at your home city’s yearly fair, where you had a panic attack on the Ferris Wheel years ago. You didn’t realize you were still scared of heights, not having been any place high in such a long time.

You were starting to feel sick, so you sat down and slowly turned to Seungho, who had noticed something change in your energy.

“Can we, uh, can we get down? I forgot I was scared of heights.” You whisper, unable to force your volume any louder in your terror. You were feeling dizzy and like you were going to fall over the edge of the balcony with every second that ticked by.

“Of course.” Seungho spoke quickly, helping you to stand up on your shaky legs before holding your hand and slowly helping you back down the stairs to the first floor. You felt like a newborn doe walking for the first time, your legs shaky and unbalanced.

“Why don’t we find a couple of seats in the 100’s sections, behind where the floor is set up? Would that be easier for you?” Seungho asked, knowing just how badly you wanted to experience the soundcheck like a normal fan. You couldn’t be on the floor for safety reasons, but he didn’t see why you couldn’t at least be behind them.

You think about it, turning your head to glance at where he had gestured. It wasn’t too high off the ground and seemed to be at the relative height of the stage where you had previously stood already.

“I think so.” You nod at him, and he could still see the traces of fear across your expression, the way your eyes had widened, lips pursed and jaw clenched.

Seungho brought you to the small steps that would bring you to the first row of the 100’s section, maybe ten feet from where the people at the edge of the floor were standing. You noticed another guard move over to where you were standing, in between you and the fans in soundcheck.

Despite the boys being on stage and surrounded by fans, you were still a priority to the staff and security.

You enjoyed the rest of soundcheck in the front row, not as energetic and excited as before, but you couldn’t help but shake your arms side to side in front of you, your hands in fists as you tried to not stand up on your still shaky legs. Your stimming had Seungho relaxing a little, knowing you were feeling slightly better, or, you would be as you continued to stim.

A couple of minutes before soundcheck ended, Seungho decided it would be the best time for you to go back to the dressing room and wait for the boys. You agreed, also wanting to go back and see them and hoping they would be able to spare some time for cuddles.

You’ve decided since meeting them, you loved cuddles. You loved being held. You loved being touched. But only by them. It was a weird conclusion to you as you hated being touched before you met them. You didn’t care though. You loved how you felt being with them.

You called the feeling ‘small thoughts no brain’. You didn’t have to think about anything, worry about anything. You didn’t have to make any decisions, knowing the boys would make them for you. You could just lay in their arms and feel warm.

Within minutes of you entering the room and sitting down, your backpack resting against the bottom of the long, black couch, the boys had come back in, smiling and laughing. Their energy was palpable and had you even bouncing in your seat. They had put their mics back in their cases before moving to where you sat.

Hobi was the first to reach you, with Taehyung being a close second. They both wrapped their arms around you and had you sitting in this weird position where you were sitting in both of their laps. Taehyung had his head resting on your shoulder while Hobi had his chin resting on your head, your own laying against his shoulder.

“Did you enjoy soundcheck, pretty girl?” Hobi asked you once you became comfortable in their laps.

“I did after we moved down to the lower section.” You grabbed his hand and held it in yours, your fingers tracing shapes into his palm. “I forgot I was scared of heights and being up in the higher sections was not fun once I realized how high up we were.”

Hobi’s eyebrows furrowed at your words. They had planned for you to be in the luxury box they reserved for their family and friends who had flown into LA. If you were scared of heights, that was not going to be good seeing as the box overlooked the lower section.

“Hey Namjoonah?” Hobi called out to their leader who was reaching for a bottle of water from the ice bowl on the catering table.

“Yeah?” Namjoon called back, looking at the three of you relaxing on the couch.

“We need a new plan for Y/n to watch the concert. Our baby is scared of heights.” Once Hobi called this out, everyone looked at you, making your cheeks redden in embarrassment and look down at your lap.

“Don’t be embarrassed love, we all are scared of something.” Jin had walked over with his own water bottle, placing a hand on your chin and tilting your head up to face them again, placing a swift kiss to your lips before moving to sit on the couch opposite you.

“What about having her be in front of us? Like we have the gates around the stage, where the security stand. What if we have her and Seungho along with a couple others stand there? That way we can also keep an eye on her?” Taehyung suggested, his thoughts causing a couple eyebrow raises as the others thought about it.

“I think that could work. Baby, what do you think?” Namjoon turned to you; his last sentence aimed at you.

“Uhm, maybe if I could wear my headphones? I don’t have any like, concert earplugs.” You think about it and feel better when you see Yoongi nod his head at your suggestion.

“Alright then. We well let Sejin and Seungho know. For now, I would appreciate if I could have some pre-concert kisses from my littlest mate.” Namjoon reached his arms out, pouting his lip a little knowing it would cause you to laugh at him.

You struggle to get yourself out of Hobi and Taehyung’s embrace, who noticeably tightened their grip once Namjoon opened his arms.

“Heyyyy, not nice!” You whine, finally pulling yourself away and falling into Namjoon’s arms.

“But we want pre-concert kisses too!” Taehyung whined back, making you laugh again, hiding your face in Namjoon’s neck.

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starcandymaknae · 2 years

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Your Night, Baby (I want you to be)

pairing: kim namjoon x park jimin

genre: hurt/comfort, romance, angst

warnings: anxiety, mental health, panic attacks

word count: 21.2k (approx)

tags: university au, ex-dancer!Jimin, protect namjoon at all costs, side Taejin, jin is so done, side yoonkook, golden maknae jeon jungkook, no beta we die like men, growing up, the pursuit of happiness, spring day vibes, promise vibes

synopsis: People change as seasons do, all in the name of growing.

a/n: This is my first ever bangtan fic! I've been writing fanfic for different fandoms for nearly eight years now, but this is the first time I've ventured to create content for army. In a time of great uncertainty and chaos, both in the world and for army, I hope this story will bring you a little bit of comfort. Everything will be okay.

—

SPRING

Ilsan isn’t anything like home.

For one thing, it’s so sunny Jimin finds himself shielding his eyes with his hand, his fingers braced like a visor over the crease of his brow. It’s so sunny he finds himself missing the rain, the hovering dreariness that casts the city in a cool grey shadow.

It would certainly be a better reflection of his mood at the moment. He’s always loved some good pathetic fallacy.

He loves Busan, too, loves the fish markets and the grainy sand and the dull streets stuffed with colourful people. He loves the warm cover of a cloudy day, the dense breath of summertime when even the fish seem to be alive above the water.

But this is not home, and he is not Jimin, not today. Instead, he basks in the light that filters through the glass ceiling, in the dry warmth that washes over him like a rolling tide.

He isn’t supposed to be here. He’s supposed to be in the fifth floor studio at the academy, kneading choreography into the meat of his bones until every step he takes is whispering with the memory. The performance lineup for the Spring Festival is set to be finalized at the end of the month, and Park Jimin is a household name at the London Academy of Contemporary Performing Arts.

Most dancers would donate a kidney for a slot in the senior showcase. Most dancers would pay a fortune for the best resources in the country. Most dancers would be in the studio, deaf to the rainfall of days passing, grinding their bodies into nothing but sweat and rosin, molding their futures to the pressure of a desperately waning opportunity.

Instead, Jimin had woken up that morning, hefted his duffle bag quietly onto his shoulder, and hailed a taxi to the London City Airport before the sun had even crested the horizon.

It wasn’t until he was halfway to the airport that he remembered how afraid he is of flying. The last time he was anywhere near a plane, he had nearly had a panic attack thinking about all the ways he might die between Korea and Europe.

This time was a little different. This time, instead of worrying about how he might fall out of the sky, Jimin spent every minute of his eleven-and-a-half hour flight thinking about how many people were going to kill him if he didn’t.

If he was going to run away, he probably should’ve gone straight home, back to his family and his half-dead orchid and the sky that, even now, is probably rolling with rain clouds. Instead, he had stepped off the plane in Seoul and boarded the first bus he’d laid eyes on: a longline shuttle to the Goyang Flower Festival at Ilsan Lake Park.

He’d ended up here, alone, in a city he had never been to with no idea where he might be going next.

In his pocket, his phone buzzes again.

from: TAEHYUNGIE <3 PARK JIMINIE LOVE OF MY LIFE LIFELONG SOULMATE I WILL NEVER FIND ANOTHER

Tell Jungkookie to stop drinking my pear juice or I’m kicking him out

JIMINNNNNNNN

Um hello sir?? Why does your find my friends say you’re in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean?

???? Are you on a plane??? You hate planes

Hey babe It’s been like twelve hours You okay?

What’s in Ilsan????????

Call me when you can, okay? Just wanna make sure you’re safe <3

It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk to him. On the contrary, Kim Taehyung is probably the only person on the planet that would listen to him have a mental breakdown and not judge any of his poor life decisions. He’d probably say something stupid, like damn, when I said get out of your comfort zone I meant fuck Tom Holland, not flee the country, and then Jimin would probably laugh through his tears and get on the train and go back to London where he belongs.

The problem is that Taehyung is so good at convincing him that he is brave enough to go after what he wants, and the truth of the matter is that Jimin has absolutely no idea what that might be.

It goes like this:

Jimin wore a hole through his toe shoes sometime near sundown yesterday. It wasn’t a big deal; he sewed ribbons into a new pair for half of an hour and beat them against the barre for the other. He put them on and broke them in until he couldn’t feel the difference between cardboard and bone.

It goes like this:

Jimin is tired of breaking new things as a means to an end. He is tired of waking up, alone in his bed, and wondering where all his housemates have gone. He is tired of calling his mother at 7PM every Friday and saying, I love it here, I can’t imagine coming home, and then letting himself into an empty studio until it is almost a full truth, until he is too tired to feel the hollow blackness ringing like a gong in his chest.

It goes like this:

For his eighteenth birthday, Jungkook dragged them all to a sensory deprivation centre. Yoongi-hyung made a joke about how he was already living in one and Jin had whined for a full ten minutes about wrinkles in his skin, but in the end they had each gone in, one after the other.

He hadn’t thought much of it at first. The lady at the front desk said something about how falling asleep is normal, just embrace it, and so Jimin had gone into this whole thing with the full intention of taking a nice, relaxing nap.

And then the lights had gone out, and the door had sealed, and Jimin was all alone. Really alone, in a way he hasn’t been since Taehyung stepped through the door of his eighth grade homeroom, since Tae dragged his stupid kid cousin to the park with him one summer, since Jimin fucked up a coin drop so badly that Hobi-hyung had laughed himself into next week.

The thing about drifting into a void is that there is nothing in it to distract you from yourself, nothing to smooth over all the ugly parts of a living body, all the pieces that everyone is too polite to acknowledge.

There was nothing to hide the gurgling of his tummy or the squelch in his throat, the bubble of air that slipped from his diaphragm, sliding upwards until it squeaked itself out. There was no mirror to show him he was fine, no sneaker soles to keep him grounded. There was only him, and his brain, and thoughts like am I doing this right is this how it’s supposed to feel did I do it wrong am I doing it wrong what if I am wrong I am wrong, I am wrong, I am wrong, until he was thrashing in the water, flinging his hands against the closed door and screaming into the silence, tumbling out of the chamber into Jin-hyung’s arms in near hysteria.

Some days, Jimin can still hear the pulse in his ears, can hear his own voice echoing from the blackness back to him.

Some days, Jimin finds himself frozen in time, watching the world turn around him and wondering why he cannot muster the momentum to turn with it.

Evidently, today is one of those days. Today, a group of teens is racing up and down the water bank, shrieking with laughter as they pretend to shove each other into the lake. Today, a father balances his son on his shoulders, tilting him from side to side like a swooping airplane. Jimin sees the child laughing, sees the wife scolding him through a poorly suppressed smile, sees his own reflection in the water and wonders why he does not smile along.

Everywhere he looks, there are people soaked in the vibrancy of their own small universes, and suddenly the afternoon serenity of the glass lake is shattering like a lightless mirror, dragging him under the surface and pressing down against his windpipe in fists of white smoke.

The problem is he doesn’t know what he’s doing. The problem is that he is tired of never being enough, of breaking in over and over and over again, of spinning in place and never stopping, never resting, never finding peace.

He gasps for breath, clawing at the neckline of his thin sweatshirt, and he can’t breathe, can’t see, cannot exist here, cannot be enough.

Someone screams. Faintly in the distance, Jimin can hear the sound of a crashing tide, can feel the ground beneath him pounding with an urgency that matches the dizzy buzzing in his front teeth, can taste the salt on his lips and tongue as he sobs violently into his shaking hands.

It’s alright, it’s okay, you’re not alone, you’re right here with me, it’s alright, it’s okay, don’t worry, I’m here—

“Hey, you gotta slow down,” someone murmurs into his ear. When did his hands leave his face? “It’s alright, you’re okay, I’m here,” the voice echoes distantly, keeping up a soothing stream of chatter as he chokes wetly on a ragged breath. “Slow down, sweetheart, you’re okay, I promise, you’re not alone, it’s going to be okay.”

He gasps for air.

In.

Out.

Again.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Gradually, the storm eases. The screaming stops.

In.

Out.

Slower, slowly this time.

In.

Out.

Breathe.

His heart slows down to a drizzle instead of a hailstorm, and Jimin comes back to himself in pieces like a mountain peak at dawn.

“Are you okay?” The boy’s fingers are wet where they’re pressed against his cheeks. Jimin’s face is cold as they fall away, but he doesn’t have the energy to do much more than shiver.

“Yeah,” his throat feels raw. He shifts to sit properly on the hard ground, barely registering the way the broken skin under his knees prickles and stings as he lifts away from the sharp gravel.

He expects questions. He expects the boy to get up and walk away, to ask if he needs to borrow his phone, to pat him awkwardly on the shoulder and tell him to take care on his way home.

Instead, the boy pulls off his black baseball cap (his hair falls over his eyes in soft waves of chestnut and coal, and Jimin’s breath is still busy spinning like a wind chime in his hollow chest) and plops it onto Jimin’s head, pulling the brim down slightly so that it shadows his bloodshot eyes and cherry nose.

The boy then grabs Jimin by the elbows and draws him gently to his feet (Jimin comes face to face with a clavicle and the junction of a neck and shoulder, and it occurs to him how small he is, how small his panic must be in the grand scheme of the moving universe), grinning down at him with a cheery smile that washes away the embarrassment of his episode entirely.

“Do you want to disappear with me?”

—

The air in Ilsan is sweet. It lingers on his tongue, rolling down his throat in waves of citrus and honey as they meander down the forest path. Although the glaring sun has given way to a patchwork of heavy clouds, the bright sky that stretches overhead seems limitless, undisturbed by the glow of satellites or the roar of passing airplanes. Jimin tips his head upwards, examining the horizon that blurs green and grey above the treeline.

The company isn’t half bad either— Kim Namjoon, the boy had said. His skin is warm where it touches his own, his elbow brushing gently against Jimin’s upper arm with every step. He smells faintly like sweat and aftershave and the kind of soft freshness that lingers in the air just after a long rain.

They walk quietly, picking their way over fallen brambles and wildflowers that have strayed from the safety of their clustered brethren.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” Namjoon’s low voice breaks through the murmur of birds somewhere overhead.

Home. Seoul. The UK. There’s still enough time to catch a late flight back to London, to get a good night’s sleep before his technical conditioning class, to blame it all on nerves and exhaustion and a momentary lapse in judgment.

“No,” he answers firmly, the word floating past his ears and into the thicket of trees with a decisiveness that surprises him. “No, I don’t.”

If Namjoon notices Jimin’s slight hesitation, he doesn’t show it. “Good,” he grins, sliding his large palm into his own to draw him off the path.

In hindsight, he probably shouldn’t have followed a stranger into the woods, but despite the very real danger of getting murdered in the middle of nowhere, he cannot find it in himself to be afraid.

"Because we're here."

Here turns out to be a giant oak tree in the middle of a natural clearing. It’s gargantuan, so tall it seems to burst out from beneath the moss that blankets its thick roots, towering above their heads in a shower of long branches and wide green leaves.

“Wow,” Jimin breathes.

“Wow,” Namjoon agrees. He releases Jimin’s fingers to clasp his hands to his chest, bowing deeply to the giant oak as if he were greeting an important elder. “Jimin-ssi, meet Lady Amany. Lady Amany, this is my new friend, Park Jimin-ssi.”

“She has a name?” Jimin isn’t sure if this guy is weird or adorable. So far, it’s a little bit of both.

“Lady Amany. I read it in a book once, when I was really little,” Namjoon explains, crouching down to get a better look at a line of aphids that dot the green stems of a few tall weeds. “It was about a young girl who lived on the moon.”

The forest is moist and warm, pale sunlight falling across his skin in sheets. He watches Namjoon’s t-shirt stretch over the planes of his back, following the calm rise and fall of his breathing as best he can. “Tell me?”

Namjoon’s back twists as he glances up in surprise, his kind eyes widening against the silver light. “Really?” Jimin just hums, fiddling with a callous on his palm.

“Well, once upon a time there was a girl named Amany. Every night, when the moon returned to earth, she would sit and listen to the wishes of the people below her. Wishes for success, for the health of family members, for promises of love and happiness and prosperity. And every night, she would cry, and her tears became the stars that scattered across the night sky. Because the truth was, Lady Amany had no powers at all. She could not grant their wishes, even if people kept begging for her help.”

“That’s… incredibly sad,” Jimin murmurs softly, crouching down next to him and nearly losing his balance on a patch of wet soil. Namjoon catches him before he can fall, his large hand snaking out to press soundly against the dip in his small waist, and Jimin isn’t sure if he’s imagining the way his warm fingers linger on the sliver of skin between the hem of his t-shirt and the waistband of his shorts.

And then he’s gone again, retreating back to the safety of his own knees as he remains bent over them. He turns to the side, shifting to face Jimin as well as he can, his cheek pressed to the palm of his hand. “What is?”

Jimin keeps his chin pillowed on his forearms, rocking back in his crouch to sit more comfortably on his heels. “The fact that she spent her whole life giving in to the wishes of others. Everyone thought she was a goddess, that she could do anything or be anyone.” Tears prick harshly at the corners of his eyes, but he is tired and warm and too full of sunlight to cry, so he keeps his eyes wide open, staring straight ahead at the thick trunk of the oak tree. “They must’ve thought she was the most powerful person in the universe, when the truth was she was trapped on the moon, all alone, and all she could do was let people down.”

The oak tree is getting blurrier by the minute.

“Would you like to hear how the story ends, Jimin-ssi?” Namjoon’s voice is gentle.

“Yes,” he whispers hoarsely.

“Well, Lady Amany felt so discouraged one night that she wanted to give up altogether. She laid on her back as the sun rose, watching as the stars she had cried were erased from the sky, one by one, and she made her first wish to the moon that had been her home as long as she could remember. She asked desperately if there was a reason that she had been born here, if there was a reason she was allowed to stay even when she was unable to help anyone at all. And for the first time in her long life, the moon answered.

‘You have been a blessing all this time,’ the moon told her. ‘Even while you feel like you have not changed a single thing.’

‘How?’ Lady Amany sobbed into her hands. ‘I cannot make the sick healthy. I cannot give money to the poor. I cannot make dreams come true or nightmares disappear. How am I a blessing if I cannot grant the wishes that are made to me?’

‘You give them hope,’ the moon said. ‘You listen to their wishes and allow them to feel seen and heard, even on the darkest nights when you are their only confidant. You give them the courage to make their own dreams come true, to make even the ones who are sick and poor feel as if they are doing the best they can do.’”

Jimin doesn’t know what to say. He stares with wide eyes, his heart thudding loudly in his chest, but Namjoon’s velvety voice pierces the roaring in his ears with all the ease of a soap bubble popping.

“You see, Lady Amany forgot the most important thing: that people make wishes based on dreams, and people have expectations based on the hope that they will exceed them someday. And sometimes, dreams are not about the wishes that we make in the dead of night, but rather how they give us the motivation to move forward even under the spotlight of morning.”

Namjoon’s voice trails off. He studies Jimin carefully, his dark eyes roving over Jimin’s small face as if searching for an answer to a question he does not dare to ask. Jimin doesn’t blame him. It’s not every day that you find a stranger having a panic attack and decide to take them to your secret place in the woods.

This day just keeps getting weirder.

It’s a long time before either of them speak. They just crouch there, completely still, listening to the forest as it returns to the possession of the wildlife and the trees. They crouch there, watching as the plants seemed to speak to one another in little fluttering bursts of petals and brushing leaves. The only indications of their presence are the sounds of their soft breathing and the comfortable band of familiarity that seems to bridge the space between them, tying them together with the intimacy of two strangers who have somehow found peace in one another, even when the whole universe is crashing down around them.

And then the moment breaks, and Jimin rises to his feet, brushing away the imaginary dust that has settled on his scabbing knees. He clasps both hands to his heart and turns to the tree, bowing long and low with a quiet, sincere reverence. “It’s nice to meet you, Lady Amany-nim,” he says softly. “I’m Park Jimin. Please take care of me.”

Namjoon chuckles, and his laughter echoes into the forest with the birds’ song.

—

SUMMER

Yoongi-hyung has a new roommate. Jungkook’s voice echoes faintly in his ears, but it’s hard to remember the details of Jungkook’s rambling when there is scalding coffee dripping down your shirt and Kim Namjoon is freaking out in the doorway.

“I’m so sorry! I’m such a klutz, I just came out of the room so fast and I wasn’t looking and I didn’t know you were standing there,” Namjoon babbles, pressing the t-shirt in his hands into Jimin’s abdomen in a desperate attempt to pat him dry.

The t-shirt.

In his hands.

Jimin registers that the other boy is entirely shirtless right as Namjoon leans down to swipe at the coffee on Jimin’s bare thighs. There is about a half mile of smooth caramel skin shoved into his line of vision, Namjoon is crowding him against the doorframe in his frantic dismay, and Jimin would think he was dreaming if it weren’t for the fact that his leg still burns like hell.

He thinks he says something like, it’s okay, it was an accident, but what comes out of his mouth is probably more like, “Uh-oh kay yeah.” As it is, he’s just grateful his ceramic coffee tumbler hasn’t shattered all over Jin-hyung’s nice wood floor.

“Holy shit, Namjoon, what did you do?” Jin comes out of his bedroom just in time to save Jimin from his misery. “Jimin-ah, are you okay?”

The answer is a resounding absolutely the fuck not, because Kim Namjoon is in Jin-hyung’s apartment and he is shirtless and Jimin should’ve washed his hair this morning instead of stuffing his face with too much French toast—

“I was looking for Taehyung,” he says instead.

“He ran out to the bakery across the street,” Jin sighs, picking up the coffee cup still lolling around on the floor and plucking Namjoon’s shirt deftly from his outstretched hands. “Well, now that you’ve met,” he says, breaking through the silence with his high, swooping laugh, “Jiminie, this is Kim Namjoon, my old roommate from back in the day and—yah, I guess you’re my new roommate again!” he jokes, whacking Namjoon’s shoulder in glee. Namjoon groans, but he’s laughing, belly-deep and hearty right before Jimin’s eyes. “Namjoon, this is Park Jimin, Taehyungie’s best friend.”

“Ah, yes. Taehyungie,” Namjoon says knowingly, snickering at the blush that threatens to rise in his hyung’s bread cheeks. “Nice to meet you, Jimin-ssi.”

And just like that, the excitement thrumming in Jimin’s bloodstream evaporates. It’s like Namjoon has just pressed a candle to a snowbank, the lit wick sputtering for a moment before it hisses and dies out.

The fond warmth in Namjoon’s eyes is gone, and so is his gentle forest boy, traded for this stranger with a polite smile and unwelcoming hands.

He nearly says something stupid, like why are you acting like you don’t know me, but then he sees Namjoon’s white knuckles clutched tightly at his side, sees how his gaze does not meet his own, sees the tense set of his sharp jaw behind his cheery smile, and in the end all he can say is, “It’s nice to meet you, Namjoon-ssi. I hope we’ll get along.”

—

“What an absolute fucking asshole,” Taehyung fumes, throwing a kernel of popcorn at the wall. It bounces off Ed Sheeran’s face and rolls harmlessly onto the bed.

“Yah, every time you eat in my room I find crumbs in my bed for a week,” Jimin complains, pushing the kernel onto the floor with his socked foot.

It’s been a full eighteen days since Kim Namjoon quite literally crashed his way back into his life, and Jimin is still having trouble reconciling the boy in the forest with the newest perpetrator of their (somewhat) organized chaos. This Namjoon is less spring rainfall and more winter storm; this Namjoon is the youngest elder in a room full of hyungs, cheerful and mischievous in a way that most burgeoning adults never get to be.

The moments in which Jimin is able to catch a glimpse of the Namjoon he knows are speckled into the silence of the days, when Taehyung peels himself from Jimin’s side to disappear in the direction of Jin’s room (judging by the amused glances flitting about the room he’s certain everyone knows anyway), or when Yoongi raises his arms in a full body stretch, his head tipped back, groaning all the while—and then he slips into the comfortable familiarity of being who you are when no one else is watching. His brows soften, his full lips part (sometimes his tongue edges the backs of his teeth as if he were posing the answer to his own question), and there is a mindful solemnity that settles in the dimple at his left cheek, an underlying tension that always siphons from the laughter still lingering in the air.

“I can't believe he pretended not to know you,” Tae shoves another handful of kettle corn into his mouth, chewing furiously with his mouth wide open. He looks a lot like a cow Jimin saw at a petting zoo one time, except Tae is arguably cuter, with big brown eyes and a mountain of fluffy hair. "You guys had a meet-cute straight out of a fucking movie, and instead of admitting that you're probably the love of his life he decides he'd rather be alone forever.”

Taehyung is, of course, the only person on earth that knows what happened the day Jimin came home. He had tracked Jimin’s phone right up until the moment it had showed up on his street, throwing open his apartment door before Jimin could even ring the bell.

Jimin shrugs half-heartedly, slouching further down his pillow to lean his head on Tae’s thin shoulder. “I’m basically a perfect stranger. We never actually went out, you know.”

“No, you just had one magical forest adventure that was more romantic than all of my past dates combined." Taehyung says sarcastically.

"That's because your taste in men is shit. Just date Jin-hyung already and put us out of our misery.” He dodges the incoming shower of popcorn with a snicker. “We met once four months ago and didn't exchange contact info or agree to keep in touch. You can hardly blame him for not remembering what I look like.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “How many Park Jimins do you think there are in this world?” he demands.

Jimin raises an eyebrow. “Probably more than you think.”

“I still think he’s going to wake up one day and realize you’re the one that got away,” Tae insists. “Look, I like Namjoon, but you know he could literally pull the sun chariot across the sky and I’d still take your side.”

Jimin pinches his cheek, snuggling further into his shoulder. “I know,” he says fondly, reaching over to snag a handful of kettle corn. “But I’m not going to fight him because he forgot about me. It probably wasn’t on purpose, anyway.”

Tae frowns doubtfully, “I’ll tell Jungkookie to ready the body bag.” And then, before Jimin can say anything else, “Hey, Jimin-ah.”

He hums, poking at the moles on Tae’s upper arm, tracing lines into his tan skin until he’s drawn a long face there.

“Are you okay, Jimin-ah? Really, though.”

He’s not okay. That much is clear, because Jimin sleeps less in a forty-eight hour period than most ants do in a year. It’s become routine at this point, that Jungkook takes double portions so he can offer bites off his plate that Jimin is too polite to refuse, that Taehyung stocks the drawers with chamomile and the cupboards with coffee, that the hyungs keep their phones switched on, ready on stand-by at all hours of the day.

It’s a twenty-four-seven Park Jimin Watch, and while Jimin is touched that his friends think he is worth watching out for, part of him wants to crawl out of his fucking skin every time someone looks in his direction.

He’s not okay, but he’s trying. He gets up in the mornings and makes himself presentable, showers at night, brushes his hair. He does his skincare routine and dresses like he cares, makes sure he is so pretty that who he is on the surface is all anyone will notice when they look at him.

The thing is that Park Jimin has always been liked by the people around him, and that is nearly entirely due to the fact that he is very good at being who people want him to be. It’s easy to be liked, as long as he doesn’t laugh too hard or frown too much or talk about what’s going on in the cyclone inside his head.

Are you okay, Park Jiminie?

“Yeah,” he answers, as easy as breathing, and no one ever has the heart to disagree.

—

A month and a half after he is reunited with Kim Namjoon, Jimin is smashing a slice of cake right into his stupid dimpled face.

“Why are your traditions always so violent?” Namjoon shouts through a mouthful of buttercream frosting. He's laughing, swiping bits of sponge cake from his cheeks with the pads of his calloused fingers. To the side, Jin and Jungkook are shrieking with peals of unbridled laughter, chasing each other up and down with cakes poised at the ready.

“Because we are passionate about good luck," Jimin retorts, dropping the paper plate on to the table to take another swig of his drink. He doesn’t bother to wipe his hands, effectively smearing the glass neck of his Corona in cake and globs of pink frosting. It leaves a sweet aftertaste in his mouth, coating his tongue in vanilla and lime, and Jimin isn’t sure if it’s the corona talking but Namjoon’s laughter sweetens alongside every sip.

“Doesn’t the birthday boy usually get to decide what will bring him luck?" Namjoon's eyes are sparkling with mirth.

His gaze lingers on Jimin’s face, even as Yoongi passes him a wad of clean napkins, even as Hobi drags Yoongi away by the back of his collar, crowing something about another shot and too many unused glasses.

“The birthday boy should be grateful he has friends that love him enough to throw him an awesome party,” Taehyung cuts in, draping himself over Namjoon’s back to steal another bite of his hyung’s cake.

“You are literally holding your own plate,” Namjoon complains, but he scoops an extra bit of frosting into Taehyung’s boxy smile, watches the younger boy wobble back to the group with a fond shake of the head, and Jimin is warm; he is soft and bubbly from the inside out.

Namjoon offers Jimin the next bite, holding out his fork with a steady hand that does nothing to betray the shine of drink in his chocolate eyes. And Jimin, for all that he is chaotic and flamboyant in the easy company of his chosen family, is hyperaware of the gleeful sting of Taehyung’s eyes on his neck, of the distant hum of the rooftop lamplight that illuminates his every expression in a warm yellow glow.

He closes his lips around the outstretched fork, and he doesn’t pretend to miss the way Namjoon’s breath hitches infinitesimally in his throat as he pulls away.

“You owe me another slice of cake,” Namjoon’s voice is a low hum that rumbles up the narrow column of his spine. He drifts closer, dabbing at the inside of Jimin’s wrist with the corner of his crumpled napkin. It’s so saturated with cake and frosting that it only serves to smear the sticky mess further into his skin, but Namjoon’s big hand is gripping his waist and his smile is sugary sweet and slathered in the joy of this eternal summer night, and Jimin cannot bring himself to care, not when Namjoon’s pink tongue has poked out of the side of his mouth to hover somewhere just above his eye line.

“It’ll cost you,” he murmurs, watching the neckline of Namjoon’s cotton shirt quiver under his shaky exhale. He wonders if that is sweet, too, wonders if Namjoon still tastes like rain and sweat and early spring morning, wonders if he pressed his lips to the mole on his neck he could feel how fast his heart is fluttering.

Namjoon isn’t even pretending to clean him up anymore, the napkin stilling in his palm. He wraps his long fingers around Jimin’s slender forearm, the barest pressure, and holds it there. “I’m sure I can afford it. What’s your price?”

“I’ll have you know I’m expensive,” Jimin informs him.

Namjoon grins teasingly. “So are my services as a park ranger, and I gave those to you for free.”

The easy smile slips from his face.

If there were ever a moment in time when Park Jimin felt like an idiot, it would be here, inches from the precipice of a tentative possibility, toeing the line between a reckless decision and his pride. If there were ever a moment in time when Park Jimin felt like an idiot, it would be upon the realization that Kim Namjoon remembers exactly who he is, and he just doesn’t care, doesn’t care about him at all.

He can pinpoint the exact moment when Namjoon realizes he’s fucked up, because he freezes, his eyes widening as they fix themselves on Jimin’s stony expression. “Look, I—”

Jimin pulls his wrist stiffly from his grasp, steps back to a more appropriate distance for two relatively new acquaintances with mutual friends.

“Jimin—”

He doesn’t hear the rest of that sentence. He’s already walking away.

—

Jimin has never thought of himself as a pushover. His mother calls it being more stubborn than old rice in the pot, but Jimin prefers to think of himself as having an outstanding tenacity for sticking to his choices. It is, after all, a characteristic tied directly to his ability to stay motivated in the face of great adversity, mostly due to the fact that he hates losing more than anything else on the planet.

That being said, Jimin thinks he has the right to be upset with Kim Namjoon.

It’s too bad that no one but Tae seems inclined to agree with him.

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit unreasonable?” Hobi asks, carding his long fingers through Jimin’s fluffy hair. He’s had a headache all day, and it’s made him so grumpy that Jungkook had called in reinforcements on his way to his boxing club. He feels a little bad about taking up so much of their time, but it’s nice, sometimes, on days like this when he doesn’t want to be alone. “You’d think he was the dictator of your impoverished country.”

“Did he shoot your best gal? Or break both of your legs?” Yoongi snickers, peeling the last of the skin off his tangerine. It joins the pile of orange strips stacked neatly in a heap on the coffee table—Yoongi undresses tangerines almost as fast as he can eat them.

“Why do you always pull your references from a thirties mob film?” Yoongi shrugs through his gummy smile, stuffing the remnants of the tangerine into his mouth before starting on another one. “I don’t understand why it’s so hard for you guys to accept that I don’t get along with Kim Namjoon,” he complains. “He’s not the fucking Dalai Lama.”

“Jimin, we’re talking about a guy that literally spent thirteen hours looking for the neighbour’s cat after it escaped from his house. The only explanation for this level of hostility would be if he got possessed by the devil and desecrated your entire family.”

“It’s worse, actually,” he grumbles. They’re being way more dramatic than he is, which goes to show just how lost in Namjoon’s proverbial sauce they are. “We met like three months ago and he’s pretending not to know me. Who even does that? How the fuck are you supposed to make friends if they just decide to pretend you don’t exist?”

“Are you sure?” Hobi frowns. “He would’ve told me if you’d met.”

“No, I’m totally not, I’m making this all up so you think I’m the Wicked Witch of the West,” Jimin retorts sarcastically, throwing his arms into the air in exasperation.

“Jimin-ah,” Yoongi says reproachfully.

“Sorry,” he mutters, crossing his wrists back over his eyes. The pain in his head has gotten exponentially worse, a bad combination of stress and lack of sleep making his temples throb in time with his heartbeat. His skin is dry and dull today, the headache making it nearly impossible for him to follow through with his usual three-step skincare routine.

The world spins a little as Hobi shifts in his seat, Jimin’s head lolling with the rise and fall of the cushion beneath him.

“Is it possible that you guys met very briefly and he genuinely doesn’t remember?” Hobi asks gently, scratching at Jimin’s scalp in a soothing gesture.

(His hair is misbehaving today, refusing to fall around his eyes the way he’d wanted no matter how long he’d stood in the bathroom fiddling with it.

The nice thing about his hyungs is they never seem to care how he looks. It’s nice to be comfortable, once in a while.)

“I don’t think so. I mean, I met him the day I came home,” Jimin shrugs as nonchalantly as he can, given the fact that his lower body is dangling over the side of his couch and Hobi’s hand is still buried in his hair. He cracks his eyes open just in time to see his hyungs exchange wary glances.

They’ve never really talked about the day he ran away; a series of events Taehyung has kindly dubbed Jimin’s New Life, Bitches Not Welcome.

All they know is he showed up on the doorstep of Taehyung and Jungkook’s apartment at a quarter to midnight with a duffel bag over his shoulder, the collar of his shirt stained with dry tears and the soles of his sneakers caked inexplicably in mud and damp leaves. All they know is that he moved into the apartment shortly thereafter, that he walked the long way to his new classes just to avoid the performing arts department on the east side of campus.

All they know is he received a letter confirming his withdrawal from the London Academy of Contemporary Performing Arts a few weeks later, and that nobody but Taehyung heard a word from him for nearly four days.

Yoongi’s voice breaks through the silence first. “You went to Ilsan?”

“It just kind of happened,” Jimin grits his teeth, well aware that his body language betrays the nonchalance of his tone. “We met and I had a meltdown in public and then he introduced himself and I came home and we never talked about it again. It wasn’t a big deal.”

It is a big deal, at least to him, and they all know it. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to be rude,” Hobi reasons carefully. “Maybe he just thought you wouldn’t want to talk about it.”

“Or maybe he was embarrassed to see me again,” Jimin says bitterly.

“Jimin-ah, you know he isn’t like that,” Yoongi chides gently. “Just talk to him like an adult.”

“I’m not an adult.”

“You’re twenty-two years old, you can have a damn conversation with your hyung.”

“I don’t call him hyung,” Jimin says petulantly.

“Park Jimin.”

“Fine.”

—

He doesn’t talk to Namjoon about it. In fact, he doesn’t talk to Namjoon at all, much to the displeasure of his friends.

“You’re going to have to stop avoiding him at some point, hyung,” Jungkook reasons, smoothing the spatula over another glob of pink frosting. Jimin has to physically restrain himself from punching him in the shoulder—he’d shown him how to ice a cake no more than fifteen minutes ago and Jungkook’s technique is already flawless, the cheeky little shit.

“I’m not avoiding him.” He’s mixing up another batch of buttercream with maybe a little too much force, but hey, nobody’s ever been mad at a very homogenous frosting.

The preparation for Jin’s Event-of-the-Month party is well underway. Hobi has stocked his fridge with enough liquor to drown a whale (he chugged the rest of the milk to make room for it and then spent an hour trapped in his own bathroom, moaning about how he isn’t usually so lactose intolerant). Taehyung and Namjoon had laughed themselves to near tears, cackling at the banner above the dining room table that proudly displays Jungkook’s loopy handwriting:

Happy “you found a white hair and threw a tantrum for six days until Yoongi revealed he had a hair chalk disaster in the bathroom” Party!

It’s even better than last month’s, which was Jungkook’s (Happy “that mole on your chin turned out to be week-old chocolate”), or the month before, which was Jin’s again (Happy “the modelling agency that scouted you was legit this time and not a front for a shady MLM”).

The first Event-of-the-Month Party Jimin ever attended was his own: Happy “escaping from those elitist snobs and coming home to the people who love you” (it’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for him. Jimin had nearly choked up at the gesture). When he asked why the group as a whole insisted on throwing parties that had nothing to do with anything, Jin had only scoffed.

“Well we can’t have a birthday every month, Jiminie, some of us are doubled up,” he said, as if it were obvious.

Yoongi nodded sagely, “He’s right. And we can’t keep adding people to the group chat until we have a birthday every month. Can you imagine the chaos?”

“We’d never make any real decisions,” Hobi added sadly, shaking his head.

“Right,” Jimin echoed slowly. He’s lucky Taehyung is his best friend in the world, or he would’ve thought he was losing his mind.

“—he sat across from you at dinner the other day and you nearly choked to death on the amount of chicken you shovelled into your face,” Jungkook deadpans, bringing Jimin back to the present moment with a start.

“I was hungry.”

“I’m right.”

“You’re not.”

“Hyung.” There it is: Jungkook’s signature bunny stare. Jimin stares down at the mixing bowl in his hands, carefully adding a few drops of blue food colouring before taking up the whisk again. He ignores the prickling sensation of Jungkook’s doe eyes boring into the side of his head for all of twenty seconds before he cracks, dropping the whisk back into the bowl with a metallic clatter.

”What am I supposed to say, Kook? Hey, sorry I’ve been a dick to you because the first time we met actually meant a lot to me and you dropped me like a hot sack of garbage?”

The side of Jungkook’s mouth tugs up in gentle amusement. “I was thinking more along the lines of hey, but whatever works for you, hyung.”

“You’re a little shit.”

“You love me more every day,” he sings, dodging the spoonful of blue frosting that whips past his head with a cackle.

“I hate you.”

Jungkook drops a kiss to the side of his hair, bumping his shoulder in silent truce. “It would make me very happy if you forgave him, “ he says quietly. “He’s been tutoring me in Contemporary Literature this semester and he’s one of Yoongi-hyung’s best friends, so—he’s really nice, hyung. I promise.”

I know, Jimin wants to say, I know he’s really nice. That’s the problem, but he only sighs. He ruffles Jungkook’s hair, smoothing back his fluffy bangs with practiced fingers, and then nudges him in the direction of the unfinished cake. “Wash your hands first,” he nags, poking his back with a pointy index finger.

Jungkook grins knowingly. “Yes hyung,” he laughs, “Anything you say.”

—

Jimin wanders into Yoongi’s class early one evening, balancing his laptop and textbooks in one hand and the biggest cup of coffee he can manage in the other.

Yoongi, while easily the grumbliest of his hyungs, is generous with his time and patience in a way that has his dongsaengs doting on his every request. For example, Jimin has deemed himself Yoongi’s designated coffee delivery boy at least twice a week, so long as Yoongi helps him through the convoluted hell that is Advanced Music Theory.

It’s a symbiotic relationship, one that keeps Yoongi sane and caffeinated and Jimin’s GPA high enough that his parents keep quiet about why he’s in Seoul at all.

As usual, Yoongi is slumped over his desk in the front of the lecture hall, his head bobbing sleepily against his chest. He looks so snuggly, wrapped up in his orange sweater and curly black hair that Jimin can’t help himself.

from: Jimin-Sssiiiii Image.jpg

from: J-kAYYYYYYY JKSAFLSDLSNFLKSDFN SOFT SOFT BOI IM SO SOFT PLS WHY IS HE A FUCKIGN CAT I JUST WANNA BITE HIS CHEEKS

from: Jimin-Sssiiiii Your boyfriend is fucking sleeping in class and this is all you have to say lmao

from: J-kAYYYYYYY Not my boyfriend God I fucking wish Look at him Soft meow I’m so fucking soft I hate him I’m so sick of him

from: Jimin-Sssiiiii You’re a fucking mess

“Namjoon-seonbae!” a tall guy calls over the bustle of the lecture hall, startling Jimin away from his phone long enough to realize that students are spilling around him in the doorway trying to get out.

“Sorry,” he mumbles to no one in particular, bowing his head in flushed embarrassment. He ducks out of the way and hurries over the Yoongi, who at this point is blinking blearily at the papers in his hands like he’s trying to decipher a stack of runes.

“Hyung,” he calls, slipping the coffee into his outstretched hand.

“I made the horrible mistake of promising to wait for the golden boy,” Yoongi groans, by way of greeting. “Thanks, Jiminie.”

Jimin’s brow furrows. He’s no expert on the list of job expectations for a TA, but he’s pretty sure it doesn't include being swarmed by confused students after a class they don’t actually TA for. “Isn’t he supposed to have office hours, or something?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Last year, a group of students got so desperate that they camped outside of our apartment for a week straight. Jin-hyung couldn’t even go to the grocery store without getting mobbed by half the acting department.” Okay, he’s only been at this school for all of one semester, but he knows for a fact that’s a violation of at least four or five rules in the code of conduct. “Sorry, Jiminie,” Yoongi sighs again, “We might have to wait a bit. Did you leave your notes at home?”

This would be a great time to leave. It would be a great time to say, hyung, I’m going to head home and grab my notes, come by my place when you’re done, and walk out the door without looking back. He’s exhausted, anyway. He has an English Literacy paper to write and a Business Marketing presentation to prepare for, and every fibre of his being is screaming for a strong drink and thirteen hours of sleep.

Now is the perfect time for Jimin to extract himself from the situation, to leave this room exactly as he was when he arrived.

Instead, he plops into the empty seat next to Yoongi’s and pretends not to stare at Namjoon’s every move.

Namjoon in the classroom is different than Jimin thought he’d be.

On an average day, Kim Namjoon towers over Jimin’s small frame with a quiet certainty only found in the kind of people who are determined to see the world as it fits in the palm of their hand. He reminds Jimin somewhat of a preschool teacher, all fond amusement and dimpled smiles, dicking around with Hobi and Jungkook like he isn’t a fully grown man with a genius level IQ.

For someone who was confident enough to set off sixteen fireworks in the deep end of an empty pool that one time they all got drunk and thought raiding a party supply store was a hilarious Thursday-night activity, Kim Namjoon the Teaching Assistant is both distant and familiar in a way Jimin hadn’t expected.

It’s not just the brushed hair or the clean-shaven jaw, the thin sweater over a dress shirt that has been pushed up to his elbows like he’s preparing to wade into war (and jesus, Jimin does not have the mental capacity to dissect whether or not that kind of thing is working for him right now). It’s in the way he holds himself, tall and strong, his shoulders rolled back with the easy conviction of knowing what the world needs from you today and knowing just how to give it.

It’s in the fact that Namjoon’s eyes in the classroom look a lot like his did in the mirror at the academy, his ribs pulled up and in, turning and turning on the straightest knee. He looks like he knows how it feels, spotting on a single point and never truly seeing it.

It’s in the fact that he doesn’t stop smiling, the corner of his mouth stretched like a hamstring on the brink of overuse, kindness glazing over until Jimin cannot see much Namjoon behind his eyes at all.

He watches him chip away at himself in incremental pieces, and he thinks about how thin he must have to stretch to wrap those pieces into something that looks almost whole again.

Jimin thinks he feels something soften inside him a little bit.

Just a little at a time.

—

AUTUMN

It doesn’t rain in Seoul as often as it does in Busan, but what Seoul lacks in frequency it makes up for in gusto.

Jimin is used to it by now, to the creaking pipes and the rattling windowpanes and the leak in the ceiling fan that has Jungkook sleeping in Tae’s dry bed at least three times a month. It’s different, but he likes it. The rain in Seoul is more tidal wave than rolling shoreline, but the sound of the water pattering against the street outside is enough to make Jimin feel at home.

Jimin has always liked the rain.

He’d probably like it a lot more if he wasn’t soaking wet and cowering outside Jin and Yoongi’s apartment building like a cat trapped in the shower.

In his defence, he was one hundred percent certain that it wasn’t going to rain when he left the house this morning. In his defence, he had walked the eight blocks to his first class without spotting a single rain cloud.

It’s only on the evening walk home that he realizes just how well and truly he has fucked himself.

It starts with the tarmac, the smell of the city rising off the pavement in waves. He thinks, huh, rain, and breathes it in as deeply as he can, lets the cool air settle in his belly like a long drink of water.

It starts with thunder, a tremor in the distance that raises the soft hair at the base of his neck. He thinks, uh oh, rain, and starts to march a little faster. The bag slung across his shoulder is heavy this evening, weighed down by the impending doom of exam season, but his feet stay light, skipping along the squares of sidewalk until he feels like flying.

It starts with, oh no, fucking rain, and suddenly the sky is splitting in two, and Jimin is tearing past the crosswalk sign, sprinting the three blocks to his hyungs’ apartment before his four hundred dollar textbooks can lose any more resale value.

There’s only one person he can call. Jin, Jungkook, and Yoongi are in class. Taehyung is in the studio, probably moaning about the sculpture midterm that he has yet to start but will undoubtedly blow out of the water. Hobi-hyung teaches hip hop on Wednesdays, and there’s no way in hell Jimin is going anywhere near the dance centre with all its prying eyes.

His only other option is to wait it out, shivering under the damp weight of his thin fleece and sweatpants. He’s thankful, at least, that it’s warmer than it should be at this time of the year— even if his dark hair is plastered to his forehead, rainwater dripping mercilessly down the back of his neck.

He sneezes so hard he thinks he can hear his lecture notes rattling around in his skull, English vocabulary bouncing against his eardrums in a disjointed cacophony.

He takes it back. It’s fucking freezing out here.

OUTGOING CALL: Kim Namjoon

“Hello?”

He doesn’t know why Namjoon’s voice on the line surprises him so much, but he nearly tosses his phone into a nearby storm drain. “Hi,” he squeaks. “Um, sorry to bother you, but is there any chance you’re home right now?”

—

Namjoon’s room looks like a filler episode of Hoarders.

“Sorry for the mess,” the older boy sniffles in the hallway. Jimin emerges a moment later in a clean hoodie and a pair of sweatpants so long he’s had to roll them at the cuffs, sidestepping the fucking mountain of laundry that’s been hastily shoved against the side of Namjoon’s wooden dresser.

“It’s okay,” Jimin says politely, still towelling the rainwater out of his damp hair. He eyes the garbage bag of used tissues by the bed, the cold bowl of soup on the desk, the curtains that have been pulled over the window for so long that the dust has begun to make a graveyard of the light peeking through.

Everything about Namjoon’s bedroom screams absolutely overwhelmed.

And then, because Jimin might be upset with him but he’s not a fucking monster, he asks, “Are you okay, Namjoon-ssi?”

“Yeah!” It comes out a little too quickly, a little too forced, and Namjoon winces, bracing his arm against the wall in an attempt to look casual.

It takes Jimin all of one second to realize he’s trying not to fall over.

“Are you supposed to be in class today?” he asks suspiciously.

Namjoon smiles again, his cheeks tight and his eyes dull, and Jimin hates it. “Oh, yeah. I think I’ve got a bit of a cold, so Jin-hyung made me stay home. You know how it is,” he tries to chuckle but sneezes violently instead, folded over and paper-like in the doorway.

Worry flutters through him, quick and sharp, and he reaches out to steady Namjoon before he becomes a witness to a homicide. Death by overachieving. “Okay, back to bed for you, sir,” he mutters, grabbing him by the shoulders to steer him back into the room. He drops the towel onto the pile of laundry as he passes, making a mental note to scold Namjoon about it once he’s feeling better.

“You should dry your hair,” Namjoon protests weakly, but he’s already climbing under the covers, shuffling around for a moment before he settles. He allows Jimin to tuck him in like a baby koala, his eyes scrunching shut in a way that makes Jimin want to protect him from every harsh thing in the universe. “You’re going to get sick, Jiminie.”

He pretends the term of endearment doesn’t feel like a kick to the ribs. “I am not going to get sick,” he says sternly, pressing the back of his small hand to Namjoon’s forehead. He’s burning up, so much so that it’s a wonder he got out of bed at all. “You’re so busy worrying about other people that you’re literally two seconds away from your deathbed.”

That earns him a laugh. It’s small, barely a chuckle, but it’s bright and whole and loosens an ache in Jimin’s chest he hadn’t realized was there. “I’m only,” he coughs, “One year older than you.”

“That’s seven in dog years,” Jimin retorts lightly, tying up the bag of used tissues and throwing it into the corner next to the laundry. “Hyung,” it feels weird to speak so casually, but he just touched a bag full of this guy’s snot so he thinks he can forgo the pleasantries, “You should learn to say no to people when you get overwhelmed.”

The dimple on Namjoon’s left cheek deepens just a tad. “I’m not overwhelmed.”

“Sure,” Jimin says flatly. “And I’m not standing in your Shrek swamp right now trying to keep you alive.”

“Exactly,” Namjoon breaks into another coughing fit, rolling away from Jimin to face the wall until it subsides. Jimin rubs small, soothing circles into the palisade of his back until he feels it melt away, until Namjoon softens like clay under his searching fingertips.

“Don’t you think you’re spreading yourself a little thin? You’re not superman, you know,” he chides gently.

“Of course not,” Namjoon scoffs lightly. “I’m not nearly cool enough for that.”

It’s supposed to be a joke, he knows, but there’s something murky and brown in the way he says it, something like mud kicked up in a riverbank, leeches and calloused toes all turned around underwater.

I’m not nearly cool enough, he says, and Jimin cannot even begin to explain how much he disagrees.

“I think you’re plenty cool,” he says softly, and he wishes Namjoon would hear how sincere he is, how there is not even a sliver of him that is saying it for the sake of being kind.

If he squints hard enough, he thinks he can see the moment when Namjoon almost believes him.

Instead, the older boy reaches out his large hand to close his fingers around his wrist, and suddenly they are not two awkward acquaintances who do not know who they are to each other when everyone else is watching. Suddenly they are just as they were, Jimin and Namjoon, falling apart one at a time with only the quiet to hear them.

He allows himself to be drawn onto the bed, curled around a warm body with his fingers buried in a halo of dark hair. The rain continues to batter against the window panes in a steady rhythm, a smooth, hollow pattern that lulls the panic to rest in his chest.

“What would you be, if you could do anything you wanted?” Namjoon asks a little while later, his stuffy nose rendering his voice thick and buttery around the edges.

If he could do anything he wanted?

He’d fly to New York and convince every gallery in existence that his best friend is worth a shot.

He’d make a bunch of money and pay off his parents' mortgage, put them up somewhere nice and comfortable where they wouldn’t have to worry about him ever again.

He’d dance, probably, and he’d make sure that no one could ever see him do it.

Jimin thinks for a moment, feels the way his voice resonates through Namjoon’s ear pillowed on his chest. “Just me, I guess,” he says finally. “I’d be someone who knows what they want, who they want to be, and I wouldn’t worry about whether or not who I want to be is the right thing to do.”

Namjoon exhales, his body relaxing further against his own. “That’s a good answer.”

And then, because he’s feeling brave and he’s waited too long and this is maybe the only chance he will ever get to ask again, Jimin says, “Hey, hyung?”

“Yeah?” Namjoon hums, absentmindedly dragging his pointer finger in gentle circles against his thigh.

“Why did you pretend not to know me?”

Namjoon’s hand doesn’t so much as stutter, and Jimin gets the feeling he’s been waiting for him to ask for a long time. “To be honest with you, I panicked,” Namjoon admits. “That day, when I met you—let’s just say I wasn’t in Ilsan by coincidence. I just didn’t want anyone else to know.”

Jimin bites his lip, rolling the flesh tentatively over his bottom teeth. “You weren’t, like, embarrassed to have met me or anything?”

The hand stills. “Is that what you thought?”

“A little bit,” he confesses.

“Jimin, no,” Namjoon twines his fingers firmly through his own, twisting his neck around until he meets Jimin’s eyes head-on. “It had nothing to do with you. Jin-hyung and Hobi—even Yoongi-hyung doesn’t know how often I need to disappear. The city… I feel like it gets smaller every day, you know? I can’t breathe, sometimes, and I—"

“—I know,” Jimin interrupts before he can spiral, scratching gently at the base of his neck as if to give him a physical reminder that he is not alone. “I know exactly what you mean.”

It seems like he has more to say, though, and Jimin knows Namjoon isn’t the type to ask a question without good reason. “What about you, then? Would you do music?”

He’s seen the Book. They all have. Namjoon’s Book, stuffed to the brim with lyrics and time signatures and more harmonies than Yoongi would know what to do with, shoved with careful hands into the deepest recesses of Namjoon’s leather book bag.

Of all the dirty little secrets one could have, Jimin thinks Namjoon’s darkest is a sacred thing.

“I would love to,” the wistfulness in his tone is answer enough. “But we both know it would never work out.”

He doesn’t know that. He doesn’t think that at all. “You don’t think music could get you by in life?”

“I think loving something isn’t always enough to make it work.” It’s a simple admission, but it pulls the breath like a thread from his lungs, coiling through the moisture in the air until Jimin can almost see the apology shimmering over the bed like a blanket.

“Do you ever think about just running away?” Namjoon asks, so quietly Jimin might have missed it if he hadn’t felt his back rumbling beneath his fingertips.

Every day. “You know I do.”

“Do you ever think about not coming back?” Something about the gravity of his tone makes Jimin pause, the pads of his lithe fingers crawling upwards to soothe the clammy skin above the neckline of his t-shirt. Namjoon sighs, letting his head fall back into the palm of Jimin’s hand, heavy and warm despite the bitterness of the afternoon sky.

“Sometimes,” Jimin admits, letting the air whoosh out of his lungs all at once. “Sometimes I think about how much easier it would be if no one had to put with me anymore,” Namjoon anchors his fingers around the slim curve of his hip, presses his chest flush to the stretch of his clothed stomach, and Jimin lets the steady calm of their bodies meeting bleed through him like ink to water. “But then I think about Taehyungie, and how he cries sometimes when he’s homesick, or Jin-hyung, and how he forgets to eat because he’s busy taking care of everybody else, or—well, you,” he says, and Namjoon’s gentle grip tightens around him like a slowly drowning sailor, “And us, talking about this right now, and then I think maybe sometimes it’s okay to be selfish about it.”

It's quiet in the apartment.

“That’s a good answer,” Namjoon repeats softly.

Jimin can’t see his face right now, but he can tell he’s smiling.

—

There’s nothing going on between him and Kim Namjoon.

No matter how many suggestive texts Tae has sent him, wiggling his eyebrows over the screen of his phone, Jimin refuses to take the bait.

“You’re burning it, hyung.”

“I’m not.”

“Right there! It’s burning!”

“Jung Hoseok, I swear to god, if you do not get out of my kitchen right now I will throw your Lady Gaga posters into the fucking garbage disposal,” Jin snaps, waving the kitchen tongs in the air and sending droplets of hot oil spattering across the glass stovetop.

“Yah!” Hobi shrieks, although it’s unclear whether his distress is due to the threat or the fact that he nearly just became the most well-cooked thing in Jin’s kitchen, “Those posters are signed, you heathen!”

“Never a dull day with those two,” Yoongi hums, unbothered in his seat at the marble island. He stabs another piece of steak with his fork, bringing it to his lips to blow the steam away before feeding it to Taehyung, who is deeply invested in an animated conversation to focus on his meal.

“I’m just saying, a fortress on the side of an active volcano would be practically impermeable to ground attacks,” Taehyung explains clearly, squeezing Jungkook’s wrist with long fingers to emphasize his point.

“But that’s because it’s in a volcano,” Jungkook argues. He pauses to accept a piece of steak from Yoongi’s fork, dropping a quick kiss to the inside of his wrist in thanks. The older boy flushes a sharp, violent red, biting back the bashful smile on his lips (as if he and Jungkook hadn’t spent the entirety of Hobi’s last house party piss-drunk and publicly sucking face in an armchair only meant for one). “What are you going to do, sweep the lava out of the foyer every morning? You can’t waste your own resources just because it ups your defence.”

“Jimin-ssi, what do you think?” Taehyung leans more heavily into his side, dropping his chin onto his shoulder and drumming against his thigh with quick fingertips.

“That’s so not fair,” Jungkook complains loudly. He wipes away the meat juice dribbling down his chin with the back of his hand. Somehow his mouth is full of steak again, his brow furrowed with the effort of talking without spewing out little bits of meat all over the counter. “Hyung has been your best friend for like ten years, he always takes your side!”

“Jiminie is a fair and impartial judge,” Taehyung defends, puffing out his chest indignantly. He taps his leg again, “Jimin-ah, what’s better? A lair on the ocean or a lair in a volcano?”

“Hmm?” Jimin answers distractedly. He’d tuned out of the supervillain debate a while ago, too busy watching Kim Namjoon with a mixture of disbelief and complete horror. Namjoon has abandoned his steak to wander over to the fridge, rooting through the sea of glass Tupperware (Jimin is reminded of a very large racoon he saw in the alleyway behind their apartment building one time) to emerge with the biggest jar of smooth peanut butter Jimin has ever seen. He watches in morbid fascination as Namjoon grabs a cereal bowl and a spoon from one of the upper cabinets, scoops three heaping spoonfuls of peanut butter into it, and tosses the utensil unceremoniously into the sink with a clatter. He then returns to his seat with the bowl of peanut butter, the open jar left forgotten on the counter and the cabinet door swinging freely on its hinges.

“Yah, Namjoon, clean up after yourself!” Jin shouts exasperatedly from the stove. “Is this a restaurant? Are we in a hotel? Honestly, when I live with you I can’t tell if I’m your mom or your maid,” he prattles on, grumbling to himself as he slices the last steak that’s been resting on the cutting board into manageable strips. “Yoongi and I should’ve moved in with Hobi instead of you, at least he likes to keep his place clean—”

“Sorry hyung, but no can do,” Hobi interrupts cheerfully, screwing the lid back onto the peanut butter and pushing the cabinet door closed. “I finally found a place I can afford by myself, there is no way I’m sharing with any of you barbarians.”

“And to think I invited you all for dinner,” Jin sobs in mock hurt, clutching at his chest with a clenched fist, “Only for you to forsake me so!”

“Why do you keep your peanut butter in the fridge?” Jungkook wonders aloud, all thoughts of evil volcanoes long-forgotten amidst the pandemonium.

“Why are you eating peanut butter with your fingers?!” Jimin bursts out, throwing his hands wildly into the air (it’s a testament to their many years of friendship that Taehyung leans away just in time to avoid being smacked in the face). He watches, scandalized, as Namjoon scoops up another glob of peanut butter with his thumb and middle finger and brings them to his full lips, sucking them clean with a loud smacking sound and making an absolute mess of his dimpled cheeks and angular chin.

“I really enjoy peanut butter,” Namjoon blinks slowly, bewildered by the storm of chaos that has risen up in the wake of his peanut butter anarchy.

“Right, but why aren’t you using a utensil?” Jimin insists, pressing his palms into the cold marble and balancing his sternum along the edge of the countertop to get a better look into the bowl. “You know, one of those things specifically invented so that people wouldn’t have to eat with their hands? Like a spoon? Or a fork? Remember those?” If his mother only knew—if he had tried this at home she would’ve had a heart attack on the spot.

Behind him, Taehyung and Jungkook are scarfing down the remnants of Namjoon’s abandoned steak like a pair of starved hyenas. Yoongi, ever the good sport, is cutting the meat into smaller pieces like a frazzled single father trying to feed his toddlers at a family reunion.

“Oh, that,” Namjoon laughs, and his whole body beams with the effort, all scrunched eyes and wide mouth and cherub cheeks that dimple with the hearty rise and fall of his broad chest. It’s a joyful sound, golden with the untouched serenity of a Spring morning, and Jimin—

Jimin is lost, tumbling over the edge of a cliff without a parachute.

He thinks, briefly, that he wouldn’t mind cleaning up peanut butter messes for maybe the rest of his life.

“I used to eat so much peanut butter I made myself sick, so I decided to cut down to only three tablespoons a day,” Namjoon explains, mistaking his stunned silence for confusion. “I always eat it too fast, though, and then I get disappointed, so now I eat it with my fingers to make it last longer,” he laughs sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck with his clean hand.

“He’s like a little kid,” Hobi chimes in, wiping the island down with a wet cloth and passing Namjoon a handful of clean napkins. “You’d never know he was older than you, Jiminie; he requires supervision all day every day.”

“He broke the lamp we had in the living room,” Yoongi snickers, pointing to the empty spot on the floor next to the TV. “Tripped over the cord in broad daylight and shattered the bulb.”

“Then he spilled his tea all over the socket trying to clean it up!” Hobi chortles.

“Why wouldn’t you put down the tea before you cleaned the glass?” Jin scolds, pulling a ceramic dish full of roasted vegetables from the warming rack in the oven. “Namjoon-ah, you’ve got a 148 IQ but you’re still just a disaster waiting to happen.”

Namjoon’s face is flushed deep, shameful red, but he shakes his head good-naturedly at Hobi’s endless laughter, smears a little more peanut butter into the corners of his puckered lips, and Jimin is so busy studying the way Namjoon’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows that he forgets to be subtle about staring.

Namjoon makes eye contact before he can look away, and Jimin just. Stares. Cannot stop staring.

Jin coughs. Three things happen in consecutive order.

Firstly, Jimin slips off the seat of his bar stool and tumbles unceremoniously to the ground. He’s so mortified that he catches his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down so harshly as he hits the tile that his mouth fills with the copper taste of blood.

Secondly, the room erupts into chaos. Jungkook doubles over in his seat, clapping his hands and cackling with laughter over the sound of Yoongi’s bewildered, “What? What happened? Jimin-ah, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Jimin mumbles, climbing back into his seat and burying himself into Tae’s shoulder until only his eyes and scarlet ears can be seen over the neckline of his (Namjoon’s) oversized hoodie.

(He’ll give it back eventually, he really will, but it’s warm and cozy and smells like rain and boy and aftershave, and he just couldn’t find it in himself to give it up.

It’s not forever. A couple days at most. Maybe a week. He would’ve given it back the next day if he’d been asked for it, but Namjoon has seen him wear it twice in the last week and hasn’t so much as blinked.

If that knowledge makes the little voice inside Jimin’s head more than ridiculously pleased, well. That’s nobody’s business but his own.)

Taehyung has the decency to rub his back despite his laughter, reaching over to pat his limbs and pinch his cheek gently to make sure he hasn’t bruised anything more than his pride.

The third thing that happens is that Namjoon does not look away, not even while the residual tumbling in Jimin’s stomach is pinned like a butterfly under the weight of his loaded stare.

Jimin can only stare back, the grip on his hoodie loosening until it slips from the peak of his chin, kitchen air snaking down his neck in icy fingers. He shivers, licking away the blood that has pooled along the seam of his pressed lips, something like satisfaction coiling low in his belly as Namjoon’s eyes dip to follow the path of his tongue.

The side of his mouth pulls up, just barely, his dimple deepening in the faintest of smirks, and Namjoon winks, raising a singular eyebrow at the blush that floods Jimin’s cheeks before he turns his attention back to the surrounding chatter.

“Anyway, the point is that Namjoon is a peanut butter monster and a toddler rolled into one,” Jin is saying, blatantly ignoring the way Taehyung is sneaking bits of meat off his plate.

“I see,” Jimin chokes out. His whole body is hot, his brain a scrambled mess of awkward pauses and bad pickup lines.

He’s pretty sure Kim Namjoon is outright flirting with him, and Jimin has no fucking idea how to handle it.

“I thought you were supposed to be perfect, Kim Namjoon,” Jimin wants to say he sounds normal, unaffected, but Jin’s lips are twitching and Hobi’s trying not to laugh, so he doesn’t think he’s being particularly successful.

He shoves steak in his mouth and wills the smoke alarm to go off right this minute.

“Oh, I am,” Namjoon answers calmly (Jimin’s eyes zero in on the subtle flush that creeps its way up the side of his neck, and he’s fine, he’s good, he isn’t trying not to combust out of his skin).“You don’t even know what you’re missing.”

(It’s not even Taehyung that brings it up this time. Jimin throws himself across Jungkook’s lap later that night and rants about Namjoon’s chipmunk cheeks for an hour.)

—

The first time Namjoon gets a non-birthday Event-of-the-Month, Taehyung cries for nearly an hour. Granted, it’s their fault they let him anywhere near the liquor—Taehyung’s blood is as needle-thin as his silhouette, and it takes anywhere between one and three drinks to turn him into an incoherent mess on the floor.

“Hyung, why don’t you cuddle me?” Tae sobs, flinging himself over the arm of the couch and nearly knocking the bottle out of the older boy’s hand. Yoongi, seated on the floor with Jungkook’s head lolling about his shoulder, snags it out of his hand before he has to take a Heineken shower fully dressed in his black hoodie and jeans.

“What do you mean, Taehyungie?” Tipsy Namjoon is as indulgent as ever, patting his dongsaeng on the head as if to prove he does, in fact, cuddle him. The card on the dining table behind him reads, Happy “you accidentally set your bed on fire but it didn’t even burn that bad” Party!

“You only love me when I’m sad,” Taehyung cries, rolling over onto his side and nearly falling off the back of the couch. Luckily for everyone in the room, Seokjin is there, scooping him up into his arms and settling him into his lap in an unoccupied armchair. Tae is drunk enough for the both of them, but the way Jin nearly stumbles into his seat proves that even the heaviest of weights cannot escape seven of Yoongi’s bomb shots unscathed.

“Namjoonie isn’t the cuddling type, babe,” Hobi says soothingly, but the flush creeping down his exposed neck betrays the steady timber of his voice. Hobi is just as gone as the rest of them.

“It’s true,” Jungkook pipes up, abandoning all pretense to swing both legs into Yoongi’s lap and slumping his full weight onto his hyung’s shoulder. “Last week I tried to put my head in his lap and he got so startled he pushed me off the couch.”

“One time the power went out in Ilsan and instead of sharing a bed with me he slept in the bathtub,” Jin deadpans.

“It was summer!”

“The tub was half the size of you.”

“Everything’s half the size of me,” Namjoon actually pouts, sliding down in his seat and pressing the long line of his thigh more firmly against Jimin, who is curled up against the arm of the couch and has way too much party punch in his bloodstream to properly contribute to the conversation.

Namjoon’s large hand curls around the back of Jimin’s calf, his long fingers pressing absentmindedly into the stiff muscle as he laughs.

“That’s fucking bullshit,” Jimin mumbles around the lip of his glass.

There’s a pause.

“What’s bullshit, Jiminie?” Namjoon asks carefully. His fingers still their ministrations on his calf long enough to slide upwards, resuming with soothing strokes in the crook of his bent knee.

“That hyung isn’t the cuddling type,” he shrugs, the pink liquid swirling about his glass nearly sloshing onto the rug. He takes a big sip to reduce the risk of spilling, squinting at his hand as he lowers it carefully back into his lap.

“What do you mean?” Hobi’s voice is warm, but there’s an undercurrent of amusement behind his patient smile.

“Look,” Jimin insists, his eyes comically wide, and then his fingers are skating past the thin skin of Namjoon’s wrist (and his pulse is going thumpthumpthump against his own), up into the dry crease of his warm palm. He laces their fingers together as he lifts his prize, gesturing at Namjoon with their clasped hands as he babbles, “Hyung is always touchy. He holds my hand when I’m sad and he gives nice hugs and he pats me on the head if I do a good job, right hyung?"

Yoongi is laughing so hard he chokes on his drink, pressing his forehead into Jungkook’s shoulder as he coughs violently.

“And how do you feel about that, Jimin-ssi?” Unfazed, Jungkook polishes off the last of Namjoon’s Heineken, holding his fist out like a microphone in grand fashion.

“I mean,” Jimin can’t stop giggling, leaning over Namjoon’s lap to press his lips to Jungkook’s closed fingers. He lowers his voice in a stage whisper that does nothing to shield his thoughts from the quiet room, “Have you seen his hands? I’d let him do anything.”

He doesn’t know exactly what Hobi put in the punch he made, but he’s pretty sure he saw him dump an entire bottle of Moscato into the bowl about three glasses ago. Seokjin sputters something intelligible, Taehyung’s lips at his neck completely forgotten in lieu of the chaos that has been unleashed upon the room. Jimin tilts his head to the side, draining the rest of his drink in one long sip before dropping the glass somewhere near Jungkook’s knee.

Somewhere deep inside the haze of fog that clouds his mind, Jimin hears a voice that sounds vaguely like himself screaming this might not be a good idea, but he pushes it away with a shake of his dark hair. It’s reading break and he’s surrounded by his chosen family, and the pleasant warmth that bubbles up inside his chest is seeping through every inch of him, pink and fizzy all the way to the tips of his toes. He feels good.

He moves to return to his usual seat, bracing his free hand against Namjoon’s thigh to push himself upright (and if his hand lingers on the way the hard muscle bunches up under his touch, well, that’s a problem for another day). It’s all going well until he makes the mistake of glancing up at Namjoon’s face.

Jimin has spent more time than he’d like to admit secretly observing the many nuances of Kim Namjoon, but he’s never seen that look before.

His friends are still talking, the pause of the earlier moment quickly dissolving into the usual chorus of bad jokes and shouting, but Jimin doesn’t hear a thing. He’s too focused on the tongue that protrudes from the inside of Namjoon’s cheek as he works his jaw, the crease of his pinched lips and his furrowed brow, the way something dark and hungry is swirling dangerously in those dragon eyes.

He looks like he wants to eat him alive.

Goosebumps break out along his arms, a tremor bursting from the nape of his neck and scurrying down his spine in a great hurry. He shivers so violently that it jostles their clasped hands, their fingers still intertwined on the couch between his bare thigh and the curve of Namjoon’s hip.

The thing is, Jimin is used to being watched. He’s used to being observed at every angle, he’s learned to curve his body and change his tone by watching the expressions of the people around him. It’s a bad habit, but there are days when he searches for his reflection in the sheen of every window just to make sure he looks okay, that he isn’t giving anyone even the tiniest reason to judge him.

But right now? Right now, Jungkook could dump a bucket of mushroom soup over his head and he wouldn’t even bat an eye. Right now, Namjoon is looking at him like he is a burning star come to life.

It’s so intense that, for a moment, Jimin almost believes it.

—

WINTER

Jimin kind of hates the big lecture hall. It’s the newest addition to campus, meant to be a pillar of innovation amidst a slowly changing society (at least, that’s what the university bulletin published last winter), but the arched ceiling and wood tiles feel out of place amidst the sea of steel and glass that make up the rest of the humanities department.

He might be projecting, but he knows how the building must feel. He catches another student staring as he hovers near the door, raising his eyebrows tiredly until they blush and scurry away.

He gets it, he does. Every dance major at Seoul National University is dying to know what Park Jimin is doing here, of all places, selling his soul for a generic BA as if his lifetime of dance training has all but ceased to exist. He’s heard the rumours: that his Visa got revoked, that he got a girl pregnant (Jungkook had laughed so hard he snorted banana milk out of his nose), that he was expelled for pushing someone down the stairs in a fit of jealousy, that he was the one who got pushed down the stairs and was now recovering from post-traumatic amnesia. The gossip gets more and more ridiculous as time goes by, which is why Jimin has learned to stop eavesdropping for the sake of his own peace of mind.

He understands why everyone is curious. He just wishes they would stop staring.

“Jimin-ah,” Namjoon materializes out of the stream of students just as Jimin is about to throw his backpack at the wall to really make a scene.

“Hi,” he greets breathlessly, relief flooding through him at the familiar dimpled smile. He reaches out as Namjoon approaches, curling his fingers into the pocket of his open bomber jacket to draw him closer. As usual, Namjoon doesn’t bat an eye. He just tucks his phone into his back pocket, turning his body to welcome him properly as he enters his space.

“Hi,” Namjoon repeats, smiling. His hand comes up to cup the back of Jimin’s head for a moment, his thumb stroking the nape of his neck before it falls away. It’s brief, so quick that anyone watching might have missed it, but it’s enough to soothe the wave of anxiety that threatens to overwhelm him, pushing back the tide as quickly as it had come. The cool touch of Namjoon’s palm across his skin brings Jimin back to earth, drawing crisp air back into his lungs and reattaching his brain to his body. “Is Jungkookie done yet?”

“No,” Jimin answers, glaring at the door as if it might make Jungkook’s seminar come to an early end. “Did you eat already?” He asks, glancing up just in time to see the fond smile that creases the corners of his eyes.

“I was going to grab something after we study. Wanna come?”

“Only if it’s kimchi jjigae.”

Namjoon snorts, “The last time you ate spicy food you had stomach cramps all night.”

“It wasn’t that bad!” he protests indignantly.

“You looked like a Charmander trying to spit fire for the first time,” Namjoon teases, leaning in and pinching his cheeks with deft fingers.

“You have the references of a seven-year old degenerate,” Jimin sputters, smacking his stupidly hard stomach in a futile attempt to escape.

“Pokémon Ruby came out when I was eight, thank you very much,” Namjoon retorts.

Jimin twists out of his hold before he can do something stupid, like kiss him. “You’re such a fucking nerd,” he mutters, clamping down on the giddiness that has come to a rolling boil in the pit of his stomach. Namjoon only snickers, casually pushing his hair back like he has no idea what he’s doing to Jimin’s heart right now.

It’s nice to see him like this, Jimin decides, glancing up at him under the cover of his long eyelashes. When he’s not weighed down by the expectations of a successful future, Namjoon is just as childish as the rest of them, cracking bad jokes and laughing with a vibrancy that seems to tremble every blade of grass in sight.

If he could, Jimin thinks he would bottle this moment, would keep it tucked away in his pocket like a talisman. If he could, he’d keep it safe, would use it to brighten every one of Namjoon’s rainy days until even the dust was stained with a Crayola sunrise.

“Hey, Jiminie,” Namjoon starts thoughtfully, but he’s suddenly interrupted by a heavy hand that drops itself onto Jimin’s shoulder, jostling him with enough force to push Namjoon back a few steps.

“Park Jimin-nim!” The newcomer exclaims, “I knew it was you!”

Jimin wants to crawl into a corner and die.

The last time Yoo Kihyun saw him, he was piss drunk and naked in his bed, trying to wash away the crushing pain in his chest with a long chain of reckless decisions.

The last time he saw Kihyun, he was sneaking out of his apartment at six in the morning, tiptoeing around the sleeping body to make sure he wasn’t leaving anything behind.

The last time he and Kihyun saw each other, Namjoon lived in Ilsan and had no idea Jimin’s slew of one-night stands even existed.

“Kihyun-nim, it’s been a long time,” he says, plastering a smile on his face that he hopes is polite.

“Yeah, well, you didn’t exactly leave me your phone number,” Kihyun teases. “Usually I’m the one that sneaks out, you know. It’s easier on my pride.”

“Right,” Jimin echoes. He’s hyper aware of Namjoon to his left, shifting slightly on the heels of his chunky sneakers. “I’m sorry about that,” he adds sincerely, because he does feel a little bad.

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Kihyun shrugs him off good-naturedly, squeezing his shoulder one last time for good measure before he steps away. “I just came over to say hi. And to tell you that you’re welcome back any time,” he winks.

Jimin shakes his head, but his smile is a little more genuine now. “Don’t hold your breath,” he answers lightly, but Kihyun only laughs.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart. A year is a long time.” He waves cheerfully as he walks away, weaving through the crowd of students until he’s out of sight.

Yoo Kihyun is a nice guy, funny and kind and easy to get along with. He might’ve been exactly the kind of guy Jimin could fall for, if not for the fact that Kim Namjoon is standing beside him with a perfectly blank smile, both of his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

An unsure silence settles over them. For the first time in a long time, neither of them have any idea what to say.

Jimin isn’t stupid. They’re adults at an institution that romanticizes letting loose just as much as it does a well-rounded education, and they’ve both probably slept with more people than they’d be happy admitting to a pastor.

It’s not a problem. He isn’t ashamed of his body, nor the decisions he makes with it, and if this were any other friend he wouldn’t hesitate to openly discuss the circumstances of his post-homecoming hookup.

The problem is that Namjoon isn’t just a regular friend. The problem is that Namjoon resides somewhere in the space between friend and more, that he’s stretched so far into the planes of Jimin’s heart that he’s begun to bleed through the proverbial line in the sand.

The problem is that he’s grown so used to Namjoon’s fond attention that he doesn’t know how to breathe when it disappears.

“You and your friend seem pretty close, huh?” Namjoon’s tone is neutral, unbothered, but Jimin knows the clench of his jaw, the set of his spine, the forced scrunch of a dimple-less smile.

“Not really,” he shakes his head quickly. He shifts his stance towards the other boy, but Namjoon’s shoulders remain carefully turned away. “You know you guys are the only ones I can stand,” Jimin makes a silly face, but Namjoon doesn’t reach for him, and Jimin aches.

The other boy just hums quietly, “Yeah, I know.”

“Hyung?” He should really shut up.

“Yeah, Jimin.”

He needs to stop talking. “Are you upset?”

And because Namjoon has always been able to see straight through him, he says, “It doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.

Jimin swallows hard. “Yeah.”

How are you supposed to apologize for hurting someone you have no business being able to hurt?

Jungkook can’t get out of his class fast enough.

—

When he was little, Jimin was afraid of the dark. He would lie awake for hours, pinned to the bed by the dread of an impending nightmare. It wasn't the nightmares that scared him, really. It was the knowledge that there was nothing he could do to stop it, that the wispy talons of the lengthening shadows could sink their claws into his skin no matter where he went or what he did in the predictable clarity of the waking world.

On nights like those, it was easier not to sleep at all. He just lay there, frozen in his bed until the morning came, until the sun tiptoed past the windowsill and the heavy hand of sleep came to drag him under at last.

He feels like that today, sitting on his bedroom floor with his ballet shoes cradled in his lap, the cuffs of his long sleeved tee soaked through with dark patches of snot and tears. He’s lucky Tae and Jungkook aren’t home—he’s been crying for the better part of an hour, and while he knows there are no two people more supportive than his best friends, they’ve never quite been able to understand the depth of his anguish. And it is anguish, for all that it is melodramatic and cliché. He can feel it in his body, this physical representation of a heartache. He feels it in the stiffness of his muscles and the tightness in his chest, in the simmering urge to move, trapped in his own head like a sideways hailstorm on a sunny day.

It feels like the aftermath of a murder, except he doesn’t know how to reconcile the thought of being both the weapon and the victim all at once.

The sound of his phone buzzing in his pocket breaks him out of his stupor long enough to answer it.

“Hey, Jimin-ah, Jungkookie asked to borrow some equipment so I’m just gonna drop it off before I head to class. He gave me his keys and everything but in case you were home I didn’t want to scare you,” Namjoon’s baritone voice filters smoothly down the line.

“Okay,” Jimin sniffs wetly. “I’m home, so just come in.”

The telltale huff and puff of Namjoon’s quick stride stutters at the sound. “Hold up, are you crying?”

Yes. “No,” Jimin wails.

“Jimin, you’re definitely crying. Why are you crying?” He sounds so concerned that it brings forth a fresh wave of tears, the flood rising at an alarming rate until it spills over the dam in Jimin’s composure.

“I’m not crying! You asked me if I’m crying which makes me cry but there’s no reason for me to be crying, so I’m not, okay?” He isn’t making any sense and he knows it, salty snot dribbling over the bow of his lip and into his parched mouth.

“Okay,” Namjoon agrees soothingly. On the other side of his apartment, Jimin can hear the sound of a key being fitted into the lock, of the bolt sliding open with a metallic clunk. He presses his phone quickly between his cheek and shoulder, swiping at his face as best he can with the sleeves of his shirt. There’s a quick patter of footsteps in the hallway, a heavy thud on the floor of Jungkook’s room across the hall, and then his bedroom door is swinging open and Namjoon’s arms are sliding around his shoulders, careful and stable and dry.

“I’m not crying,” Jimin repeats stubbornly, anchoring his forehead against the sturdy line of Namjoon’s collarbone and allowing his hyung’s arms to curl soundly around his back.

“Tell me why you’re not crying then, hmm?”

It’s always Namjoon that finds him when he can’t breathe, always Namjoon that seems to pore over life with the same kind of frantic scrutiny that simmers beneath his skin even while he’s sleeping. Jimin has always been a worrier—empathetic to a fault, his mother says. He cries over the little things, like children with scraped knees and heartbroken actors in bad movies. He cried for Jungkookie, when he broke his arm in three places falling off a halfpipe, and for Tae, when his grandmother passed away and he was inconsolable for months on end.

He cries for the sake of a lot of people, but Jimin makes it a point to never cry for himself. It feels selfish to wallow in your own problems, to drown in your own misery when there are so many people out there who have it much, much worse than he does. He’s lucky, he knows. Most people don’t have a Taehyung. Most people don’t have three hyungs and a Jungkookie, or a family that calls every month even after he threw all their dreams down the toilet in a bout of selfish insanity.

Most people don’t have Namjoon, smoothing his big hands over the swooping hunch of his spine, perfectly content to wait in silence until he’s ready to say what’s on his mind.

“I started dancing when I was four,” he mutters eventually, letting the steady thrum of Namjoon’s heartbeat against his forehead guide the pace of his breathing. “I was a really energetic kid, always getting into trouble, always making messes that my parents had to clean up. They thought putting me into as many activities as possible would take up some of my energy. And we lived in Busan, you know, we didn’t have a ton of money, but they made it work.”

He lets Namjoon’s hum of affirmation seep into his skin as he continues. “I saw this tape from the library, of this class of little girls performing a production of Sleeping Beauty. And that was it for me, I think. I was hooked. I couldn’t stop spinning around the house, begging my parents to put me into a ballet class. I said I would give up everything else for it, that I had found what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.” He laughs wetly, sitting up to wipe the remainder of the tears from his face and to stretch out the cramp in his aching back. Namjoon lets his arms fall away, scooting back to lean against the wall and, after a moment’s hesitation, tugs Jimin in after him. He goes easily, curling up between Namjoon’s knees like candle smoke to breeze, his shoulder pressed to his chest, his head tucked against the side of his jaw as if it were made to fit there.

“That still doesn’t explain why you were crying,” Namjoon reminds him, securing his arm more comfortably around his waist. Jimin is suddenly filled with a strange sense of déjà vu, of this skin and these hands and the lingering burn of panic in his chest, and while this time it is a different city, a different season, the breath of calm that washes over him is enough to send him straight back to Spring in Ilsan.

“I haven’t danced since the day I left,” he admits finally, inhaling the scent of rainwater and aftershave that drifts from Namjoon’s skin, soft and cozy against the harsh bite of the December chill. “What if I’m not good anymore? What if it’s not the same? I can’t remember what it’s like to dance without a goal in mind, or a routine to practice, or a person to worry about impressing.”

It’s a stupid fear, he knows. It sounds like he’s just asking for attention, but the truth of the matter is that he spent every night in that studio trying to become someone who was good enough to be allowed to exist. The truth of the matter is that after all this time, he doesn’t know if he is enough when there’s no one around to tell him he is.

Namjoon’s voice rumbles thoughtfully under his cheek. “I think if you worry too much about how something will turn out, you’ll end up never doing it at all. That’s kind of the thing when it comes to passions, like art and music and film—no amount of absorbing culture could ever compare to creating it. And I think it would be a damn shame to give up on something that has the potential to make your life worth living just because you’re afraid of how it will turn out in the end.”

Jimin doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath until Namjoon pokes him gently in the side, jostling him further into the crook of his shoulder and his arm. “There’s no way to know, Jiminie. You just have to try. And if you try and you fail, that just means you have to try harder next time.”

He lets that thought crawl its way inside of him, lets it settle against the raw ache in his sternum until he can feel it in every breath he takes.

“Hey, Jimin-ah?”

“Mm?”

“Why did you quit?” It’s an innocent question, given the situation, but the absolute absurdity of it all breaks through the tenderness of the moment, and suddenly Jimin is tumbling over the edge into a fit of unbridled laughter. “What? What’s so funny?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he giggles, turning his face into Namjoon’s shoulder. It seems to work, some of the concerned tension easing from the muscled arm that bunches at his back. “Did you know you’re the very first person to ask me that?”

Namjoon blinks. “What?”

“Yeah,” Jimin snickers. “I’ve been home for over a year and everyone has been too afraid to upset me. I’m not mad about it,” he adds quickly, not wanting his hyung to get the wrong idea. “It’s just funny. It sounds so simple when you say it out loud.” Namjoon makes a noise that sounds something like affirmation.

“To be perfectly honest, I just realized I didn’t want to do it anymore. Not dance, of course,” he amends belatedly, “But comps and auditions and recitals and classes—it got to a point where I felt like a fraud.”

“I’m sure you worked hard,” Namjoon protests, but Jimin just shakes his head.

“I did, but it was just a means to an end. I had sponsors and teachers to satisfy, a scholarship I had to prove I deserved; not to mention justifying the thousands of dollars that my parents poured into my training while I was growing up. And I was nearly killing myself for it—waking up at dawn, taking three classes a day, cardio, endurance training, dieting even though I barely had the energy to get up in the morning—” he takes a deep breath, anchoring his heartbeat against the soothing hand that cards through the short hairs at the base of his neck. “I was dancing to win medals, not because I loved it, you know? And all the other students—they resented me for it. I’m sure to them, it looked easy,” he says bitterly, staring down at the knit cotton of Namjoon’s green sweater. “And then I woke up one morning and thought, hey, I’m going to do this for the rest of my life, and the next thing I knew I was packing my bags and getting on the next flight home.”

Namjoon’s long sigh ruffles Jimin’s hair, a solid thunk bouncing off the drywall above as the column of his throat stretches upright. “I get that,” he says, more to the ceiling than anything else, "Realizing that you’re on a one way track to the rest of your life, I mean.”

The resignation in his voice makes Jimin’s heart ache. He’s sure if he looked up now, he’d see the look that Namjoon reserves for nothing but the trees, something hollow and lonely creeping like tears from the sharp corners of his crescent eyes. “Sometimes I wonder,” Namjoon continues, so quietly that Jimin would’ve missed it, if not for the resounding echo of his throat pressed to his ear, “If this is all there is to it. If stealing minutes out of our own lives is all the happiness we’re supposed to get.”

“Did you ever come up with an answer?” Jimin’s voice is small and timid amidst the looming quiet.

Namjoon turns his cheek more firmly into his temple, and Jimin thinks that’s as close to an answer as he’s ever going to get.

—

He wakes up to a frantic pounding on the front door that rattles the dishware inside their cupboard homes. Someone rings the doorbell once, twice, and then resumes pounding on the door like they’re trying to engrave the imprint of their fist into the wood.

Jimin stumbles out of bed, fear and adrenaline tearing through his chest and forcing him fully awake. It’s only ten thirty and Taehyung isn’t home yet, not since he’d received a mysterious text he hadn’t let Jimin see and torn out of the house with a gleeful smile that honestly had Jimin concerned for his sanity.

He’d be a bit more concerned if Tae’s Find My Friends didn’t pinpoint his location at Jin’s apartment, but hey, who is he to judge?

“Jungkook! Taehyung! Jiminie, are you home? Jimin-ah!” Hobi’s voice is muffled behind the door. Jimin pulls it open just as Hobi goes to knock again, nearly punching him in the face with his raised fist.

“Hyung, what are you doing?”

“Jimin-ah, you haven’t seen Namjoonie today, have you?” Hobi asks frantically.

Something cold and still seeps into his veins. “No,” he says slowly, shaking his head. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“I haven’t seen him in two days.” He’s never seen his hyung so worried, dark circles shadowing the pale skin of his eyes. “He had a meeting with the academic advisory council yesterday morning and Yoongi-hyung says he hasn’t been home since. He’s not at the studio or library and none of his professors have heard a word from him either. I thought maybe he might’ve talked to you.”

It’s so unlike Namjoon to fall off the face of the earth—he’s steadfast and reliable, the one person you can always count on to text you back no matter the time or place. “He didn’t say anything to you before he disappeared?” Hobi and Namjoon are usually attached at the hip, orbiting around each other in the same way that Jimin and Taehyung do, tied end to end by the same thread of intuition.

Hobi puckers his forehead between his brows, tugging absentmindedly at the thin chain around his neck. “He sent me a text saying he needed time to disappear, whatever that means.”

Jimin stumbles. “What did you say?”

“Huh?” Hobi looks like he’s about to burn a hole through the soles of his shoes from fidgeting.

Do you want to disappear with me?

Jimin sighs heavily, holding up a single finger to his hyung before darting back into his room. He nearly makes himself dizzy, scrambling through his closet to find a clean pair of jeans, his wallet, and his phone. He snags his earbuds from the charger on his nightstand and shoves them hastily into the pocket of Jungkook’s thickest hoodie.

“Tell Yoongi-hyung not to worry. I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” he calls over his shoulder, pulling the hoodie over his head and nearly getting stuck in the sleeves. He relieves his keys from their hook by the door, jamming his feet haphazardly into his dirty sneakers.

“What? What are you doing?” Bewildered, Hobi follows his flurry of activity with wide eyes, stepping back into the apartment corridor as Jimin turns to lock the door behind him.

“I’m going to go get him,” Jimin says, grabbing Hobi’s elbow to guide him back towards the elevators. There is something akin to adrenaline buzzing in his veins, something equal parts gleeful and uncertain, teetering on the brink of a turning point.

He isn’t sure what it means, that he is seemingly the only person on the planet privy to Namjoon’s personal sanctuary, but Namjoon is missing and that right now is the only thing that matters.

“Trust me. I know exactly where he is.”

—

Lady Amany looks different at night. There is something fierce and reverent in the way she reaches for the glow of the waning moon, spattering Jimin’s view of the night sky with patches of wide, puckering leaves.

Namjoon looks different, too. Jimin finds him right where he knew he would, seated on the flat plane of a thick root with his knees curled in towards his chest. He looks small, eerily childlike in the way he cowers from the moonlight in the shadow of the big oak tree.

He doesn’t speak as Jimin approaches, not even to acknowledge the plastic convenience store bag that is dropped carefully at his side. He only raises his eyes from beneath the brim of his worn baseball cap, forcing his mouth upwards as far as it’ll go.

They’re the only two people awake in a five-mile radius, and Kim Namjoon is still smiling like there is nowhere on earth where he does not have to hide.

The wind shifts the leaves a little, moonlight slicing across the planes of his face in harsh lines of white and black. His heart clenches as he takes in the sunken brows, the sallow cheeks, the dim glow in Namjoon’s usually brilliant eyes.

Jimin is so furious he wants to scream.

It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair that the most brilliant person he has ever met is cowering under the shadow of an oak tree like there is no one alive who will want him exactly as he is.

Jimin, standing in front of him in the middle of the goddamn night like he doesn’t have classes tomorrow, should be enough to prove him wrong.

It should be, but it isn’t, and he knows that there is nothing that can convince someone they are allowed to exist when they wake up every day and disagree.

He himself is proof enough of that.

It’s Namjoon who speaks first, peering up at Jimin with an expression too flimsy to fool him, and of course, the first words out of his stupid mouth are, “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t know whether he wants to laugh or cry. He kind of does both, tears welling in his eyes until they soak through the swell of oxygen in his lungs. In the end, all that comes out is a series of soft, wet gurgles.

“Hey—” Namjoon reaches for him, but Jimin just slaps his hands away, dropping to his knees on the tree root and not giving a single shit about the dirt that cakes his favourite jeans.

He had a whole speech planned out, something about taking breaks and leaning on his support system whenever he needs to talk, and instead all he says is, “Next time, you better fucking take me with you.”

Namjoon blinks. “That’s… not what I thought you were going to say.” His voice is raspy with disuse, smooth baritone cracking over the dry ridges in his throat.

“You better take me with you,” Jimin repeats stubbornly, pulling the other boy’s faded fleece more firmly around him, as if maintaining physical contact will be enough to draw the sting of cold away from Namjoon’s big heart with his own two hands.

Even from this position, Jimin has to tip his head back to meet his eyes, wide and round despite the dark circles that highlight his exhaustion. “If you’re going to disappear again, you better not do it alone.”

Namjoon just stares. Slowly, so slowly, the faintest flicker of a real smile edges at his lips. “Okay,” he murmurs.

“Okay, what?” Jimin crosses his arms, pouting. This whole situation is weird and he probably shouldn’t be yelling at someone so fragile that they literally fled the city, but he knows stubborn-ass Kim Namjoon won’t accept his concern unless he shoves it down his throat, so. This is what he’s going to get.

Like he knows what he’s thinking, Namjoon’s smile only grows. “I promise to take you with me next time.”

“Okay then,” he huffs through his nose, somewhat mollified by the reappearance of Namjoon’s left dimple. He reaches into the bag at his feet and pulls out a pork bun, unwrapping the plastic before shoving it into his hyung’s hands. “Knowing you, you’ve been here all day,” he mutters, eyeing the stunned expression with pursed lips. “You need to eat.”

He moves then, sliding off his knees to sit beside him with his back to the thick trunk of the oak tree. Namjoon welcomes him into his space, the still-warm bun clutched in both hands. He shifts towards him like one of Tae’s dried bouquets, soft and vibrant and pressed to the very edges between the pages of an old history book.

They’re silent for a moment, drinking in the sounds of Namjoon munching and the forest nightlife all around them.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jimin asks, still staring off into the darkness.

Namjoon’s exhale is drawn-out and heavy, a sad sound that hangs in the air on the cusp of first frost. Jimin just waits, letting him gather his thoughts as he watches his breath curl up towards the December sky.

“It’s just—” he stops. Breathes for a moment. Loosens the corners of his mouth from the bolts of an unsteady scaffolding, lets the truth of it all flutter gently to the ground. “I do a lot of things, right? I tutor and I TA and I help hyung in the studio and I’m trying to do my masters even though I don’t really know if I’m even smart enough to do that.”

The feeling of wanting to punch him intensifies, but Jimin just sits there, letting the unease coil tighter until it is something small and compact in the pit of his stomach.

“And the thing is, I’m really happy to help out. I love tutoring and working with students and learning music production on the side makes me happier than anything else has in a really long time—”

“But?” Jimin prods gently.

“But sometimes I get tired. Like really tired, like I’m so tired at night I can’t even fall asleep because I’m thinking about all the things I have to do tomorrow. Sometimes I have dreams and I’m just, I don’t know, grading papers or running to class or working on the same track over and over again even though nothing ever falls into place.”

Namjoon rubs his palms over his face, pushing his hair roughly back from the crown of his forehead. “And I don’t ever want to say anything, you know, because that would make people like Jungkookie feel bad and I don’t ever want to make someone feel like they shouldn’t ask for help—” He’s talking faster and faster now, his voice spilling into the night air and soaking into the dirt at their feet. It’s like a string has been cut, something inky and sharp stuffed away in the back of his heart that has finally broken free.

“—and it makes me so happy that they trust me enough to come to me when they need it, but sometimes I’m so deep in the shit that I can’t even see where I’m going. Sometimes I just want people to leave me alone, to—I don’t know, take a nap or read a book that’s not for class or go on a fucking hike or something.” He punctuates the sentiment with one last exhale, quick and sharp, and then goes limp, lets the tension seep out of his shoulders like a week-old balloon.

It's a lot. It’s more about himself than Jimin has ever heard him say, even though the group spends more time in the Kim-Kim-Min apartment than they do in their own homes.

He thinks he gets it.

It’s not the same, of course, not in the slightest, but Jimin thinks he knows what it’s like to run so fast you leave yourself behind.

He thinks about the only other time he’s seen Kim Namjoon like this, soft in the middle and crumbling at every edge. “What would you be, if you could do anything you wanted?” he asks carefully. He braces himself for a smile, for something along the lines of I am doing everything I want to do and I just don’t have time to do it. It’s a lot. He wouldn’t blame him.

Instead, Namjoon shrugs his shoulders and breathes another sigh, folding his hands over at his chest and mumbling, “Wouldn’t a stadium tour be nice?”

He’s not laughing at him. He’s not, but the spark of joy that ignites in his chest has the laughter bubbling out of him before he can stop it. “I think you could make it,” he chortles. For a moment he thinks he might have hurt his feelings, but Namjoon gets it. He can see the understanding in his eyes.

“Yeah?” Namjoon mirrors him, gold dust and crystalline with delight. “You think?”

“I can see it,” Jimin confirms. “World tour, t-shirt cannons, screaming fangirls breaking into your tour bus after a show. The life of a rock star.”

“Those screaming girls are going to be pretty disappointed, huh?” Namjoon winks, snickering.

“Fanboys, then.” He’s grinning so hard his cheeks hurt.

“Nah,” Namjoon shakes his head. “Just one.”

He’s looking at the sky, but Jimin thinks his cheeks are pinker than usual in the blue moonlight.

Maybe it’s the quiet, but the warmth that seeps through him doesn’t make him stutter at all. “You could travel the world,” he says softly.

Namjoon bites his lip. “That’s kind of the thing.”

Wait. “The thing?”

Namjoon’s smile is slowly fading, some of the stress returning to his posture. He stares down at his hands. “The thing that happened. That I was going to tell you guys about when I got home.”

He doesn’t like where this is going. “Tell me, then.”

“Okay, so—” he inhales once, long and deep. Exhales. Repeats. “The thing is that there’s an exchange program. For the Dean’s choice. They pick an exemplary student to go abroad to the UK—it’s Cambridge this year, I’m pretty sure—and they get to stay on scholarship for three semesters. It’s all inclusive—airfare, meal plans, dorms, the works.”

“They want you to go.” It’s not a question.

“Yeah.” Namjoon’s hum of affirmation is barely audible over the sound of the bun wrapper crinkling in his pocket.

He isn’t sure when Namjoon became such a vital pillar of his everyday routine, but the idea of existing without his presence nearby has Jimin’s heart twisting painfully in his chest. But this is Namjoon’s thing, and Namjoon’s life, and what Jimin wants should never be a relevant factor in choosing the path of someone else’s happiness. “Do you want to go?” He keeps his voice carefully neutral, pulling his knees to his chest and staring down at the rubber soles of his shoes.

The forest is very cold tonight.

“I don’t know,” Namjoon murmurs, and if they hadn’t been sitting nearly cheek-to-cheek Jimin might’ve sworn he was crying. “It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity. I’m so grateful that they chose me, and—and I earned it,” he seems loathe to say the words, something like guilt spilling into his tone at the self-praise. “I know I worked hard this year, and I earned it. But— but I—”

“But you don’t want to go,” Jimin says quietly.

The air rushes from Namjoon’s chest in a gust that rustles the dry leaves at his feet. “I don’t want to go.” He chews on his lower lip, his hand curling absentmindedly around the curve of Jimin’s ankle, two fingers slipping into his sock as if to anchor himself there. “Jin-hyung would say I’m being ridiculous.”

“Jin-hyung is literally in bed with Taehyungie as we speak, I don’t think he has the right to preach about our life choices.” That earns him a wry grin, Namjoon’s loud snort rippling like water through the tension in the air.

“It’s the kind of opportunity I’m never going to get again,” Namjoon says slowly, crossing his free hand over his lap to rest against Jimin’s bent knee. “But if I go for a year I’ll have to leave my studio, and my music, and my friends, and—”

And you.

Namjoon’s grip tightens against his ankle. The fingers at Jimin’s knee crawl upwards, searching for purchase at the soft skin of his wrist, and Jimin’s heart squeezes so tightly in his chest it’s a wonder he’s still alive at all.

“A scholarship could change your life,” Jimin offers weakly, trying not to choke on the sudden dryness that coats his tongue.

“I have a life here,” Namjoon counters. “I just moved into Jin-hyung and Yoongi-hyung’s apartment. I love the campus. I have a routine that I like and I’m…”

He doesn’t quite say happy, but Jimin understands what he’s trying to say. “It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.”

“I think so,” Namjoon says slowly. “Although it took me two whole days as an escaped convict to figure it out.” Jimin giggles, an open-mouthed chiming that spills freely over the dark smudge of the treeline.

Namjoon hesitates again, so Jimin just waits, smoothing his thumb over the back of Namjoon’s hand in time to the murmuring of the wind. “Does that make me ungrateful?”

“Maybe,” Jimin answers truthfully. He fumbles with the cuff of Namjoon’s fleece, comforted by the weight of his arm across his lap. They may as well be full-on cuddling at this point, twisted up in each other like the straddled roots of a pine tree. “But it means you’re being true to yourself, and that’s the only thing that matters in the end.”

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? That being the best at what you do is not the same as being happy. That maybe trying to be happy is as close to happy as anyone is ever going to get.

He isn’t ready to dance again, but maybe someday he will be, and maybe someday Namjoon will be in England and he will be here, and maybe that’s how it was supposed to be all along.

“Someday, then,” Namjoon murmurs the words to himself like a promise.

“Someday,” Jimin agrees, nodding hard. “You’re going to get there.”

It is perhaps only by the grace of the universe that Jimin finds himself here once again. Here, in a forest clearing he didn’t think he would be able to find on his own. Here, in the arms of a boy who may just be as lost as Jimin is, who has somehow borne witness to so many ugly parts of him and yet still shows no sign of disappointment. Here he is strangely at peace, even though the moon is faintly waning, even though he can hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears with all the force of a rolling drum.

It might be because Kim Namjoon is perhaps the only person on the planet from which Jimin has nothing to hide, which is ironic, since there are so many things he wants to tell him but has never been brave enough to say.

Namjoon said to try and fail, right?

“Hey, hyung?” Try and fail. He’s surging forward before Namjoon can answer, pressing his lips soundly to the dimple in his cheek before he can talk himself out of it.

And then he waits. And waits. Namjoon looks like he’s short-circuiting, his synapses firing in rapid succession, trying to find a justifiable explanation and finding none. He blinks at Jimin, the exposed whites of his eyes a stark contrast to the shadows that map his face.

His voice, when he finds it, is wondrous. “Did you just kiss me?” he asks, prodding at the spot with the tips of his fingers like he isn’t sure if he’s dreaming.

He’s so adorable Jimin doesn’t even feel embarrassed about it. He just giggles, reaching out to poke the spot himself. “Maybe I did,” he teases. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“Well,” Namjoon squares his shoulders like he’s trying to present a thesis, and this isn’t the kind of situation where you’re supposed to coo at someone, but Jimin is so fond and so bubbly inside he almost does it anyway. “I guess I should tell you I’m kind of in love with you, Park Jimin. You’re kind of the coolest person I’ve ever met.”

He doesn’t think you’re supposed to snort, either, but he does it anyway. “I wholeheartedly disagree, Kim Namjoon-ssi. You’ve known yourself your whole life.”

He wants to kiss that other dimple, so he does, and there’s not a trophy on earth that could make him feel as euphoric as he does when Namjoon blushes the colour of a ripe plum.

“I’m kind of in love with you, too, actually. More than kind of. Kind of a lot, but I don’t know how to tell you I like every single thing about you without accidentally scaring you away.” It’s rushed and awkward and for once in his life he doesn’t know if what he’s saying is something Namjoon wants to hear, but he does it anyway.

“You stood in my Shrek swamp, remember? I don’t think there’s anything you could do to scare me away.” Namjoon smiles and smiles and the whole world is bathed in gold.

They sit there smiling stupidly at each other, two idiots in love trying to figure out if this is the kind of thing that happiness is made of.

He thinks the answer might be yes.

“Hey, Jimin-ah?”

He bites his lip. Something shifts.

Namjoon’s gaze drifts downwards, and for the first time in so, so long, Jimin doesn’t push his hair behind his ear. He doesn’t smooth the wrinkles in his jacket, he doesn’t search for his reflection in the trees.

Namjoon’s breath ghosts over his face, his nose brushing the high curve of his cheekbone, and Jimin could get drunk on this, on the lush pink of his mouth, on the cleft of his bottom lip, on the way he smells like soy sauce and sugar and Yoongi’s fabric softener, on the little freckle just below his left eye.

There’s a little bread crumb in the corner of Namjoon’s mouth and he doesn’t care, not when Namjoon is touching his face so gently, not when he’s drawing impossibly closer, not when he’s pressing his full lips to his, tender and hungry and home.

Namjoon kisses like a summer storm slowly building; light, gentle, and then deeper every time. His mouth is soft and slightly chapped, and Jimin’s nose is kind of runny from being out in the winter air, but none of that matters.

He threads his fingers into Namjoon’s hair, tugging at the strands until he tumbles into him with a little grunt of surprise. The ache of wanting flares like a bonfire in his chest, and then Namjoon is coaxing his lips open and his tongue is sweeping against the roof of his mouth, and the whine he makes in the back of his throat as Jimin nibbles on his bottom lip is nothing short of unholy.

He practically crawls into Namjoon’s lap, anchoring one hand on his broad shoulder and sliding the other past the bulk of his open jacket. He searches, fingertips splayed out against his chest until he can feel his heartbeat thundering through the layers of muscle and skin, racing frantically in time to the sound of his own blood roaring in his ears.

It's a long time before either of them come up for air, dizzy and gasping into the freefall, tumbling recklessly off the peak of a long-suffering climb. He presses a final kiss once, twice to the bow of his puckered mouth, and then pulls reluctantly away.

Namjoon nearly knocks their foreheads together in an attempt to keep him close, but neither of them seem to mind. They rest their foreheads together until the heaving of their breaths has slowed to the rhythm of a shoreline. “You still owe me a tour of this forest, Park Ranger Kim,” he teases, delighting in the burst of laughter that erupts from Namjoon’s chest, joyful and unrestrained in the first blush of morning.

“I thought we established that my services are expensive,” Namjoon shoots back, cradling his face between his palms like a treasure. He looks at him like he is something wholly marvellous, inside and out, and for once Jimin thinks he believes it.

For the first time in so, so long, it feels like the whole world is watching and Jimin does not care one bit. He lets the monumental weight of this moment, small and unseen as it may be in the scope of the moving universe, push him in steady rotation with the rest of the world.

It smells like Spring.

FIN.

23 notes · View notes

sugasgrowl · 2 years

Text

Duplicitous [Chapter 5: Mole]

It’s been SO long since I’ve posted a fic, let alone updated for Duplicitous. The last two years have sucked the life out of me, and I’m just now in a place where I’m feeling creatively inspired again. Expect updates for this story, I don’t plan on letting this baby go anytime soon! As I mentioned in a standalone post, I have edited all previous chapters of this story and tweaked some of the plot points. If you want a detailed explanation as to why I did this, please check out my post.

AO3 link: here

Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 (coming soon)

Pairing: Jungkook x named OC (Oh Nari), Jooheon x named OC (Oh Nari)

Genre: Mafia au, multigroup (Bangtan and Monsta X focused. A few other idols mentioned.)

Word Count: 15,257

Warnings: Mentions of guns and knives, alcohol use, smoking, Taehyung has a Hard Time, mentions of death, mentions of of gore, toxic relationships, (attempted) emotional manipulation, as usual Jooheon is a massive piece of shit, some moments of fluff :’)

Fic Summary: For the past eight years, Oh Nari has not existed. Instead of being a person, she has been a shadow eternally indebted to the Monsta X crime family for getting her off the streets and away from her murderous father. But when using her skills in covert operations to help take down a rivaling mafia known as Bangtan, information comes to light that changes everything she’s ever known. Loyalties are tested, alliances are formed, and lives are at stake as Nari fights for family, truth, and freedom from the duplicitous life she’s been forced to live.

Chapter Summary: Nari learns life changing information. Teahyung reveals what happened the night of Leah’s death. Things take a turn with Nari and Jungkook.

Nari felt like she was going to throw up the entire flight home.

Paranoia gnawed at her like a starving hound, made her stomach churn as she sat silently curled up in one of the luxurious leather seats of their private jet. Her back was rod straight and her eyes flitted anxiously from face to weary face. No one gave her a second look. Not even Yoongi as he stretched out across his seat, shoes tucked in the compartment under his seat and sock clad feet barely hanging off of the foot rest.

Had he not told anyone after they parted ways to pack up?

Her brows furrowed as she blankly stared at him resting so unperturbed in the beige oasis that was the cabin. Baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. Arms crossed as he dozed. He was a cat stretched belly up in the sun. Relaxed. Unbothered. Why wouldn’t he immediately gather the others and let them know that she was a rat? That she was the mole? The second he had suspicions that anyone else was against them, he would have done that. He did do that. It just didn’t make sen--

She jumped when Jimin slid into the seat across the table from her.

Stunned and wide eyed, she expected him to scream at her. To confront her about everything she knew to be true--that she was the one who unknowingly got Kim killed, that she was the one who should have died instead of Son. That the basis of her entire relationship with Bangtan was built on a foundation of lies. She expected him to yell until he was red in the face and those veins bulged in his forehead and neck and spit gathered in the corners of his mouth. Her heart was a cold, unforgiving hand wrapped around her throat.

Jimin cleared his throat and awkwardly scratched at his nose. Shifting in the seat, he licked his lips and looked at her with the softest eyes she’d ever seen on him. “I...um…”

His nervous chuckle made her blink in surprise. “Well. Tonight was...intense.”

He didn’t know.

“Yeah,” she managed to say with a steady voice. Her small smile felt stiff. Fake. Because it was. “It was definitely something, that’s for sure.”

“And on top of that shit with Monsta X, you busted your face,” he half teased. “At least the meeting with Zhang went well. Now Choi will be off our asses.”

Oh fuck. Oh no. Oh fuck.

“I--”

“Yoongi told us about what happened.” He winced as he shamelessly eyed the cut on her brow and the darkening bruise billowing out around it.

She froze. So they did know? Why would they--

“The timing had to have been perfect for that.”

She hummed with a nod and a plastic smile. Palms sweaty and heart hammering in her chest. “Yeah. It hurt like a bitch, too. What’d...What’d Yoongi say about it?”

Jimin’s angelic face broke out into a full on, blinding smile as he bent one knee and hugged it to his chest. He hadn’t smiled at her like that since she seduced him at the Galaxy. “He said he came to find you in the bathroom and tell you that we were about to get changed and head home, and he opened the door just as you were about to walk out and ended up hitting you. Said he felt like shit, since you just essentially saved Tae’s life and handled that shit on your own.”

So….he lied. For her? Yoongi lied about her injuries? Why? Why would he do that when she deserved to be ripped limb from limb?

Maybe he just wanted to keep things stable until they were on their home turf. She suspected that as soon as they walked through the door, he would expose her for what she was. And as terrified as she was, she couldn’t blame him. Not in the slightest. He trusted her and gave her this opportunity with the hope and confidence that she would make them even more successful than they already were. She betrayed him.

“Which is kind of… well..” Coffee colored eyes fell to the table as his full, pillowy lips curled in an uncertain grin. “Um...I… I’m not good at this, Jesus--”

When he looked back up at her, she couldn’t help but stare back at him curiously with her brows knitted together and her face twisted in confusion.

“Nari…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I think I owe you an apology.”

“Wh...what?” She nearly choked, head tilting slightly as she leaned a bit closer.

“I’ve been a dick to you since you got here.” His grin widened, flustered. If she looked close enough she could’ve sworn his cheeks grew pink, that faint flush of color spreading like strokes of watercolor paints. Like a freshly blooming peony. If she didn’t know him personally, she would never have believed that he had taken the lives of countless men into his own capable hands. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, the Serpent that convinced Eve to eat the forbidden fruit. As dangerous as he was, Nari still couldn’t wrap her mind around it when he looked so cherubic.

His smile faded as he forced himself to swallow the lingering, bitter taste of the anger he tried to hang on to for so long. “Tonight you… I dunno, tonight you stepped in and made sure to diffuse the situation. That’s not something most people in our line of work do. Most people like us just...they just react. Guns blazing, knives out, ready to kill the first person who pushes their buttons.”

He was right, she knew that. She knew that better than anyone. If this very situation happened, if she was still with Monsta X, she would’ve slashed their throats and blown their brains out before they even realized she had moved. She wouldn’t have diffused a goddamn thing.

But she was different now. She cared about Bangtan differently than she had cared about anyone since her mom died. And it was all so fucked. She was so fucked.

“You kept him from getting himself killed,” Jimin murmured, quiet enough that Taehyung wouldn’t hear him from where he was curled up and facing away from everyone. He hadn’t spoken a word since Nari instructed Jimin to take him back to his room, but he most certainly threw her a withering glare as they made their way out of the hotel. “He’s my best friend. I’m...I’m thankful that you stepped in like you did. Anything we would’ve done would have just made things worse.”

He was...thankful?

“Don’t thank me.” She let her fake, brittle mask fall away. Seriousness made her tone heavy. “Really. I just...I was just trying to keep everyone safe. I’ve seen a lot in my time as a hitwoman, and guys like Jooheon just want to raise hell. Wanna keep slicing until they hit that soft spot so they can watch you bleed.”

He shrugged. “Still. We’re safe because you acted fast and restrained Taehyung.”

Nari didn’t want to accept the compliment. She wanted, much to the more logical part of her brain’s dismay, to tell the truth for once. She wanted to own up to her shit. A part of her found comfort in the promise of well deserved punishment. She deserved to be crucified for putting them all in danger. Every day she lived in that house, the day Jooheon would undoubtedly burst through the door with all of Monsta X to slaughter them crept closer and closer.

Maybe they’d do a drive by. Just get it over with.

Unwanted images of their inevitable demise flashed behind her eyelids. Of them crumpled in heaps on the floor, half their skulls missing and their blood shining on the linoleum of Sejin’s like a menacing lake. Jaws slack, skin too pale. Shards of glass and debris scattered around their slowly stiffening bodies.

The mental image of Jungkook’s empty, glassy, unseeing eyes made her sweat.

She forced herself to send Jimin an appreciative nod.

He left without saying much else, but soon Jungkook came and took his place. He settled into the seat across the table from her and reclined back in it, a small and thoughtful smile spreading across his face. Seeing him alive and well calmed her uneasy stomach and racing heart.

He looked exhausted but ethereal. Hair grown far past his cheekbones and messy like he’d just pulled his sweatshirt over his head and run out of his and Hoseok’s hotel room without a second thought. The oversized hoodie hid his sculpted chest and arms, made him look smaller and softer. The ghosts of dark circles were just beginning to show beneath his doe eyes, that all too familiar sleepy pout etched into his rosebud lips.

He didn’t praise her. Didn’t comment on the damage to her face. He was just there, a warm and familiar comforting presence. He knew her well enough to know that she didn’t want to talk in that moment. But she could tell from the tightness around his eyes that he wanted to check on her. He wanted to ask a million questions, wanted to know what really happened. If she was okay. But he didn’t. He simply passed her a bottle of water before laying back to stretch out just enough to prod her knee once with his Pokemon-themed sock covered foot.

When he closed his eyes, relief flooded Nari’s chest at the silence that settled like fresh fallen snow. She didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to be praised or thanked. She wished Yoongi would have told them the truth about her. She wished Jungkook knew. She wished everyone knew. She hated not knowing what game he was playing.

But at least she was prepared to lose. She could handle not knowing the game, as long as Bangtan won.

The air in Yoongi’s office was frigid. Stagnant. Jooheon’s office was cold--icy even. But it was like the unwavering chill of permafrost. Constant. Yoongi’s cold was a deadly frost sweeping across the world while you slept.

She sat in his desk chair, heart flopping helplessly against her ribcage. Her hands tucked themselves between her bouncing legs.

She barely had time to put her bag on her bed before he was knocking on her door and telling her to follow him down to his office. His tone was...unreadable. Not angry. Not clipped. If anything, he sounded almost gentle. No tightness around the eyes. He was just Yoongi.

He leaned back against his desk, towering over her and making her feel microscopic.

Being inside that room with him felt like being inside a vacuum. Soundless, breathless. Even her thoughts felt too loud in the thundering silence as they stared at each other, waiting for the other to speak.

He didn’t. He watched. Calculated. Nari could feel him dismantling her bit by bit, wearing her down. Taking her apart, taking notes, and putting the pieces back where he found them. She could feel it as if he were doing it with his own hands. She was a specimen to be studied.

“Why aren’t I in the warehouse right now?” She pressed, quiet but fierce. She couldn’t take the silence any longer. His smirk sparked heat in her stomach, annoyance she couldn’t stomp out with the toe of her boot. “Why haven’t you gathered everyone yet? Why am I not dead yet?”

“Do you want to be?” He tilted his head, brows lifting beneath his fringe. A glimmer of amusement shone in his onyx eyes.

She couldn’t fight the scowl curling at her mouth. “I’d rather get this over with than drag it out. We both know what you saw--”

“What did I see, Nari?” He crossed his ankles and settled into the dark wood of his desk. All too comfortable with this game.

Her lips pressed into a tight line. She didn’t want to say it. Before that moment, she expected him to just drag everyone to the warehouse and wipe her off the planet. She hoped for that.

Her jaw clenched. “What do you want me to say, Yoongi? That I got drilled by Jooheon two minutes before you came in? That we had sex, that--that I’ve--”

“That was more than just sex,” he dumbfoundedly scoffed, satoori dripping from his every word. His eyes narrowed. “He nearly fucking killed you, you idiot.”

She ran a hand through her hair, eyes widening in disbelief as she gestured wildly. “Why does that matter? Why does that matter to you when I’ve been the mole this entire time--?!”

“I know,” he gritted out, glancing at the office door. “I’ve known since the beginning that you were a mousy piece of shit, you rat. How stupid do you think I am?”

She recoiled. Had she been that transparent? Was she that bad at her job?

He chuckled, eyes tearing away from hers as he scratched at his jaw. “Surprised?”

“How did you know?”

He shrugged. “I knew you wouldn’t just show your face and expose yourself after all that time unless there was an ulterior motive behind it. I was curious. So I took a shot in the dark and waited to see what it hit.”

Her mouth was cotton and sand. “You knew from the beginning?”

“I had my suspicions. They were just confirmed when you went and met Jooheon. Not to mention, my desk chair was out of place after your little attempt at digging up information.”

She silently cursed his perceptive eye.

“You had me tailed.” She all but growled, fingers digging into the arms of his chair.

His smug grin made her bristle. “I tailed you myself. If my suspicions were wrong, I didn’t want to cause any tension or distrust with the guys. Couldn’t risk anyone talking and word reaching the rest of the group. But I was right. As usual.”

Months. He’d known for months. She’d been tiptoeing around like a fucking fool, and the whole time he knew everything. He kept up the whole fucking act, even killed one of his own men for no reason. Kept his closest men in the dark.

A tense, angry quiet settled over them as she struggled to smother the prideful work ethic throwing a tantrum in her mind.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” Her nostrils flared as she ran her hand down her face.

“Because of how you reacted to killing Son.”

“That was three days ago. I’ve been here for months. Why the fuck would you kill Son if you knew it was my fault?”

His cocky expression faded and melted into an odd twist to his pink mouth. His gaze dropped to the floor as he unfolded his arms and gripped the edge of the desk. “Son had been stealing from me and talking shit for I don’t even know how long. I’m not happy about it, but it had to be done. Just a two birds, one stone kinda situation.”

He took a moment and let the truth settle in their bones. His eyes were staring past the office and into memories of when he first met Nari. “I wanted to keep an eye on you. See what Jooheon was planning. And those other fuckers. My gut told me you’d change alliances.”

“Why?”

“Because of Jungkook,” he replied, a frustrated edge to his voice. “Because every time he’s part of the equation, you let your guard down. Because the more time you spend around him, the more human you get.”

She simmered. Furious. She did not. She was more professional than that. She’d never let a man sway her alliances.

But she did. She did with Jooheon, and now she was doing the same thing with Jungkook. Was she really that easy to manipulate? Was she that easily driven by men?

No. Jooheon manipulated her. Jungkook softened her. There was a difference. Yoongi was right. Jungkook was a weakness, she’d known that from the beginning. He changed her. They changed her.

Yoongi shook his head slightly, sucking on his teeth with a hiss. “I am surprised that the Dragon has kept such a distance from you, though. As much money as he’s poured into your training, I’d assume he would be on your ass.”

Nari wheezed with a punched out breath. The mere mention of his name made her lungs tighten. He was the noose around her neck, cinching tighter with every wretched memory replaying through her mind.

The blood drained from her face in a sickening chill. “What?”

He looked at her from the corner of his eye and took in her rattled appearance. “You mean you don’t know?”

“Know what?” Her voice was a breathy, shaky rasp.

She was standing in her living room again. Years prior. Heart skipping and fingers trembling and numb as she looked on at her father. Everything in slow motion. Everything frozen, hands of the clock hovering motionless in stunned fear. She was looking on at her mother, icy, deadly gunmetal kissing the pale skin of her forehead. Her father’s mouth twisted into a wolfish smile. It was all happening again. She was helpless--almost eighteen and powerless. Defenseless. Everything painted red.

The low rumble of Yoongi’s voice made her snap back to reality, sweat prickling at the back of her neck and her breaths ragged.

He made his way over and reached over her to log in to his desktop. The blue light of the monitor illuminated his face as he typed away, eyes tense with concentration. He clicked on the file. The password protected file.

After typing in the code, he tapped on the screen with a finger and looked down at her. “You mean to tell me you didn’t know about this?”

A picture. Two men lounging at a club, both with drinks in front of them. Clearly in a deep discussion as dancers and scantily clad women traipsed around with trays of more drinks. There was no denying that it was Jooheon and her father. Even if it was dark and a little grainy, she knew those faces anywhere.

It made her stomach twist.

“When was this?” She could hear the clench of her jaw in her voice.

Yoongi crossed his arms. “The night before Kim was found dead.”

No. No. This couldn’t be happening.

“I don’t believe you.”

He knew? Knew all along that it was Jooheon who fucked over their arms deal. Knew what she was. Knew her plan.

If it was true, if Jooheon was working with her father, it made perfect sense as to why he would risk her life and take out Kim. Her father couldn’t have more competition.

He snorted and clicked to the next image. The same club, but a different day according to their change in outfits. His eyes stayed on the screen. “The day after the bank robbery.”

The next photo was in a different location. The very park where she and Jooheon had met. The quality of the picture was startlingly clearer than the previous ones taken from security camera footage--clearly one of Yoongi’s men had followed them and hidden somewhere to take them. “The day before we met at the Galaxy.”

She wanted to throw up. That was the day that she and Jooheon had their last night together. The night where he took her to that lavish Italian restaurant and fucked her senseless when they got home. When she let him touch her and kiss her and feel her. She worshiped him that night, and he let her. He let her do it after meeting with her father, knowing what that monster did to her. To her mother. Not a flicker of guilt or remorse on his face.

Yoongi clicked through the contents of the file. Photos, call logs, text messages, even bank statements. All available thanks to none other than Kim Taehyung, Nari guessed. Her father had been paying Jooheon off for years.

The last photo in the album--the first photo, chronologically--made her eyes burn.

The same Italian restaurant that Jooheon often took her to. Her father sat across from him, his hands steepled in front of his face. He always did that when he talked business.

The date was stark white against the low lighting of the photo. January 15, 2014. That was just a few short days after she fled to Korea. Maybe two weeks after she turned eighteen. She was still on the streets then.

“Do you really think it was coincidence that someone in the same field as your father just happened to find you and recruit you?” Yoongi lowly said, eyes hard and glinting with a look Nari couldn’t quite put her finger on. “He’s power hungry and greedy--he wanted as much of a guarantee for success as possible. What better way to do that than to become an illusionist? Watch one hand while the other slits your throat.”

She couldn’t move. Frozen. “What are you saying? Why do you even have all of this?”

“I’m saying that Monsta X has been the face of your father’s operation. Jooheon’s men take the fall when things go south, while your father’s men do the heavy lifting behind the scenes.” He enunciated every word, every syllable, like he wanted each one to cut. “Monsta X is the face, and Lotus is the fucking brain.”

The world spun. Tilted harsh and unforgiving before her very eyes. She’d been working for her father since she was eighteen years old. She’d been killing for him. Stealing for him. Committing sins--unforgivable, nightmare inducing sins that had begun haunting her more and more after her conscience arose from its dormancy. All she’d been doing was his bidding, following his orders. Jooheon was merely the messenger. Everything she’d known was a lie. Everything she said she would never be, she became overnight.

“Don’t worry. No one knows that you’re the Dragon’s daughter but me.” Yoongi rolled up his sleeves. “I’ve been accumulating this information for years because I knew there would be a time when Lotus would try to eliminate us. Bangtan hasn’t always been a threat, but now we are. And clearly your father predicted that, and wanted someone he could train specifically to get rid of us. Taehyung hacked what I told him to hack, found everything I asked him to look for. But I made sure to keep you out of the eye of the others. Because I knew they would want to kill you. You know Jimin and Hoseok. They’d want to find a way to kill you before you ever snuck in. I thought it would be best to wait. Because if we waited, we could either turn you and use your information, or I could kill you myself.”

Yoongi knew what she was and plotted her death in case he couldn’t turn her. He manipulated her, too. But his manipulation didn’t feel like Jooheon’s. It didn’t feel like the cold, biting prick of a blade edging her towards a certain way of thinking.

Her mind drifted back to the day that Jooheon found her. He strolled up to her shivering body with purpose. On a mission. Somehow, he seemed taller than all the bright and shining buildings towering around them. His confidence was an entity of its own, added what felt like ten feet to his height. Power radiated from him in waves, and she was immediately awestruck.

Back then she thought he chose her because he had been watching, because he thought she was everything he needed--that Monsta X needed. It seemed too good to be true, too perfect even then. Him with his designer suits and shining shoes that reflected the helpless, cornered girl that she was in the glint of their leather. But she never let herself think about the truth that stared her in the face. Because that meant that there was no escaping him. There was no freedom, no getting out of this lifestyle. There would be no peace. Her father would always find her.

Jooheon lied to her. There was no love. There had never been a relationship. Every single moment with Lee Jooheon was a ploy to manipulate her and further her father’s agenda. For money, for power. The few good memories, although sterile even when she was blissfully ignorant, were lies. The words he whispered to her as they made love were poison meant to weaken her enough to comply without question. The reason she had been so tightly woven in Jooheon’s clutches was because she was meant to be.

Nari’s gaze was focused on Yoongi, unwavering. Hardening with each passing second. “So you’re not killing me?”

“Not unless you ask me to,” he softly muttered.

“What does all of this mean for my position in Bangtan?” The almost excited, furious sharpness to her tone made his lips curl at the corners.

“Well,” he smirked, chuckling with a slight tick of his head. “How committed are you to eliminating this threat, Nari?”

Her eyes glowed. “I want to watch the light leave Lee Jooheon’s eyes.”

Yoongi grinned then. Pride showed through the subtle cracks in his nonchalant exterior. “Then none of this will affect your position in Bangtan.”

He pushed off the desk and headed towards the door.

“Yoongi,” she called. When he stopped in his tracks, fingers wrapped around the knob, she bit back a cold half-smile. “I’m pulling the trigger.”

Jungkook lured Nari into the soft glow of his bedroom before she could slink past undetected. All it took was the soft, honeyed way he called her name as she left Yoongi’s office for her to follow the sound and shut the door quietly behind her. Sora greeted her excitedly at the door, tail wagging and eyes bright. Her happy bark got Jungkook’s attention more than Nari’s presence. When he looked up from his phone, concern creased his brow, made his gaze heavy as his kind eyes locked on her bruising face.

There were a few beats of stunned silence as she stood, awkward and still overwhelmed from her conversation with Yoongi, in the middle of his room. He looked like he had so much to say, so much he wanted to ask. Understandable, considering she truly did look like she’d been chewed up and spit out.

Although there was no malice in his stare, it still made Nari’s stomach dip with guilt. The weight of it was a coin free-falling down a well, finally breaking the water’s surface at the bottom with a light plunk. She lied to him for people who didn’t give a shit about her, for people who just saw her as a pawn. For people who wanted him and the rest of Bangtan dead. By the look in his eyes, it was obvious that he knew the excuses for her injuries were less than truthful. He deserved better. She wanted to be better.

As she broke the frozen atmosphere and slid into bed next to him, he pulled back the covers to make room. As always, he was a human furnace. She didn’t realize she was cold until she was pressed thigh to thigh with him and nearly melting.

He was quiet, contemplative. Despite being a grown man, there was something childlike about the way he was sitting cross-legged in the sheets and how he ruffled his dog’s golden fur as she jumped onto the bed to nudge his face with her head. Strong, tattooed arms hugged a pillow to his chest. Something about it made her chest ache in a way she didn’t know how to process.

Curling up on her side and peering up at him through her lashes, she bit back a chuckle at the look of absolute worry plaguing his handsome features. “Stop it.”

“I’m not doing anything.” His slow, lopsided, lazy grin seemed to make the world stop turning. “I’m just thinking.”

“A lot of good that’s done us tonight.”

“Does it hurt?” It was immediate. Like he’d been holding it in for hours. Like it had been gnawing at him.

She doubted he meant the sting of betrayal. The reminder of her wound had the raw, aching skin throbbing as she nodded. “Yeah. Jin hooked me up with a couple of little stitches at the hotel before we left. Nothing serious, I’m fine. Just have a headache is all.”

His silence was anything but quiet, Nari could nearly hear how quickly his thoughts flipped through questions like a revolving door.

“Are you okay?” He was almost hesitant to ask. After seeing her handle pain, sadness, and discontent in a variety of ways, his least favorite way to see her was masking that pain. He knew she was hiding something, he just wasn’t sure what. “Tonight was scary.”

Humming and scratching at her nose, she avoided his gaze and instead traced the ink that decorated his arm. “Of course I’m okay.”

“Yoongi didn’t just hit you with the door.” Doe eyes flickered to her injury. “Did he?”

“Why do you wanna know?” She joked. “Jealous? I mean, I get it. He’s a good looking guy. I’d probably want to be me, too, if I were in your shoes. Beautiful man all worried and in a tizzy over me.”

His lack of response made the smile melt off of her face and twist into a sour purse. Her fingers never stilled, still trailing along his tattoos. “No. He didn’t.”

“What happened?” His voice was soft, but there was a hidden edge--something in the vicinity of fear, maybe just west of it. When she didn’t respond, he wrapped his fingers around hers to deprive her of the one distraction offered her when his face was so damn close to hers. “Nari?”

She couldn’t tell him, not yet. Not without Yoongi by her side, anyway. Not only was it risky because she was unsure of how he would react or if he would tell everyone else, she was also ashamed. The longer she spent away from Monsta X, the more she realized that she didn’t like the person she had become. The things she’d done were terrible even for those in the mafia. Yes, Jooheon and her father had done a fair bit of work to instill fear when people heard her name, but she had to hold herself accountable for the sins she willingly agreed to commit for the same reason.

Mouth curling into a scowl, she tried to hold back the frustration in her tone. “Why do you want to know? Why do you care, anyway? I’m a big girl, Jungkook, I don’t need you to worry over me all the time.”

Hurt toed along the edges of his expression. The sharpness that hardened his sweet voice made her shrink--she didn’t like seeing someone so good verge on anger because of her. “Why do I care? Nari, we’re friends! Of course I care about you, I-- I know you’re an adult, I know you’re strong and independent. I admire those things about you, but you shoulder all of this shit alone and don’t ever talk about it. I care about you, whether you like it or not.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off in an irritated snap. “Let me finish.”

“We’ve shared a bed together, we’ve talked, we’ve gotten close, hell, I’ve even held you as you cried. I care if you’re hurt, and I care if someone hurt you. You don’t have to like it, that’s fine. But you can’t stop me from being scared shitless when you randomly come back from the bathroom after all that tonight looking like a battered housewife. I gave you space and didn’t say anything on the plane because I knew you needed time, but if-- I mean, did Yoongi--? No one laid a hand on you on that terrace, so something must’ve happened--”

He cared. He truly, genuinely cared. He was kind, and funny, and warm. If she was a snake, then he was the sun protecting her from the creeping cold. He wanted to protect her--even put himself in danger to keep her safe tonight. He was so beautiful, and finally she realized love didn’t have to hurt. It didn’t have to be manipulation and hollow promises.

Her body acted on its own accord. His voice faded to a startled and confused silence when she sat up to be nose to nose with him. Heart galloping in her chest, she hesitantly touched his cheek. When she spoke, her voice was shaking. “Would you still care about me if I kissed you?”

Blinking, his eyes widened. His voice cracked, and had Nari not been so nervous, she might’ve laughed. “I said you couldn’t stop me from caring about you.”

How long had she been wanting to do this? Since that night at the Galaxy? How long had she been ignoring the way Jungkook made her feel just because she was scared that he would treat her like Jooheon did? Thinking back, she supposed part of it was that she was scared of leaving the life she was led to believe was good for her and that she had always known.

Heart hammering, she slowly leaned forward until the tickle of their lips brushing sent a faint chill down both of their spines. The smell of his eucalyptus shampoo and remnants of the cologne that clung to him made her let out a shaky breath. Nerves electric.

Jungkook’s large, warm hand slowly slid up her side, thumb stroking comfortingly through her shirt. If Nari didn’t know better, she would say that he was a little shaky. The tip of his nose grazed hers, eager but hesitant. Waiting for her lead. Almost pleading. Gentle, respectful as all of his touches were and had always been. Wordlessly, he gave the faintest nod, a breath fanning out across her skin, as if he was both giving permission and begging for her touch.

Taking the plunge halted time. His lips were warm and inviting, the soft sigh of relief against her mouth had them both melting into each other. His lip ring’s biting chill stole her breath away. The kiss was tender and slow, like both of them were scared of popping the bubble and overstepping.

Nari was falling. Plummeting through space and time. Finally getting to taste him, to let him in, had her chest aching and twinging. She prayed that he meant what he said and that he wouldn’t hate her after it was over. That he would stay.

Jungkook couldn’t take it anymore, the hesitancy and restraint making his nerves hum with static. Both hands slid up Nari’s arms to cup her face, to hold her closer. To kiss her deeper.

His tongue teased along the seam of her lips, drew a shudder from her and made her heart stutter in her chest. Nari felt the thrum of his pulse beneath her palm when she rested her hand on his neck--racing. Nervous. Excited. He was excited to kiss her, something so gentle made him weak.

Something about it made her feel like she was on fire, threatened to consume her.

Their breaths fanned out across each other’s skin as she pulled back just enough to let her eyes flicker up to his, reeling.

He was pink in the cheeks and ears, eyes somehow both soft and glowing as he looked down at her with pupils blown. Caught between warmth and a sensual pull, an air about him that seemed to shift as her taste lingered on his tongue. He looked sinful, but the purest form of it. Man’s first sin--curiosity. Temptation. Not tainted and corrupted by malice.

Shoulders shaking in a breathless chuckle, he gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His voice was a low murmur. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Nari took a deep breath, thumb lightly running along his pink lower lip as she gathered her bearings. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to, Jungkook.”

Before he could speak, she pressed her lips to his again in a soft, lingering kiss. She pulled away with a wet smack and gave a small smile when his brows furrowed, gaze confused. “I’m okay. That’s all that matters.”

He didn’t move when she got up and made her way out, didn’t say goodnight. Mentally, she swore that she would tell him everything as soon as it was safe.

Nari couldn’t sleep. At the third hour of trying to find shapes and faces in the shadows thrown across the ceiling, she sat up with a sigh. Although it was the witching hour, the house seemed to hold its breath in wait for something. As if anticipating, uneasy. As if the house itself couldn’t find itself able to sleep, either.

On top of things changing between her and Jungkook, knowing that her role in Monsta X and Lotus was what got Leah killed had guilt slithering in her stomach like a bed of snakes. Seeing Taehyung so broken and emotional felt like he was accusing her directly. Of course, she knew that that wasn’t a productive way of thinking. She didn’t know. Jooheon and her teammates kept that from her in an attempt to hide the truth--that Nari was working for her own father. If she had found out…

She thought it over for a moment as she sat staring blankly into her moonlit bedroom.

What would she have done if she found out? Would she have done anything at all? Before starting this job, she was so blinded by Jooheon’s manipulation that she would have believed anything he said. A part of her questioned if she would’ve just stayed and continued to work for her father with no question.

Until Jooheon and her father were rotting, she supposed she still technically worked for her father. She always would, unless she put bullets in their brains. Her father would find her, always. She remembered what happened to her mother when he found out she was trying to leave him.

Kissing Jungkook was a mistake. Getting too involved with him like that just put him in even more danger, it was entirely selfish.

Nari threw her legs over the side of the bed and shivered at the bite of cold hardwood under her feet. If she wasn’t going to sleep, maybe she could at least binge something on Netflix. Maybe get her mind off of the memory of Jungkook’s lips on hers and the way his hands felt on her skin.

But when she slowly, quietly padded into the hallway, she halted in her tracks and stood staring at the sliver of light flickering underneath Taehyung and Namjoon’s door. Normally at this time of night, they would both be asleep--TV acting as a nightlight to protect the younger of the two from the demons under his bed. But the tone of the voices, the lilt in them, the slight waver, made her chest clench in a painful vice.

Taehyung was crying.

Creeping closer to the door and trying to ignore Cheddar happily rubbing between her legs, the wood met her temple with a cool and gentle kiss as she listened in. The voices were muffled, but she could still make out what they were saying.

“Taehyung, it wouldn’t have solved anything. You know that,” Namjoon’s deep voice rumbled.

He sniffled, voice ragged and shaking. “I kn-know. I know. But I just-- He took everything from me. It’s just s-so unfair-- Why-- Why does he get to live when Leah’s f-fuckin’--”

He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence before he was taking in a gasp of a breath.

A moment of silence passed before Namjoon spoke again, quieter this time. “You knew what you were signing up for when you joined Bangtan. She knew what she was signing up for when she stayed with you. We made it clear from the jump that there’s always the chance of shit hitting the fan. You remember that conversation.”

“Yeah, but--”

“There’s nothing you could’ve done,” Namjoon insisted slowly, enunciating every word. “There’s nothing you can do. What’s done is done. Killing Jooheon won’t bring Leah back.”

It won’t bring her back. But it’d feel good. It’d make Taehyung feel good to sink the sharpest blade he could find into that motherfucker’s chest. To scoop his eyes out with a melon baller. To crush his skull with Jimin’s bat. To make him pay.

Nari knocked on their door before she could stop herself.

The soft murmurs halted for a few brief moments. Namjoon opened the door a crack, sharp eyes meeting hers. The half second of silence was deafening.

“Can I talk to him?” She nearly whispered, chest aching.

The nod came after a few heady, thoughtful seconds. His voice was but a low plea breathed out into the dark hallway. “He needs to know that it wasn’t his fault. I...I’ve been telling him. But he needs to hear it from someone else.”

He slipped past her and made his way downstairs without another word.

Taehyung stared at her through the open door, puppy eyes glassy and lips curled over his teeth to hide the way his chin quivered. He looked like a little boy then, broken and in desperate need of reassurance. Like if she even looked at him wrong he would start sobbing. She didn’t even blame him, she would do the same if something happened to the people she loved.

Out of fear of the tremble in his voice, she walked in and shut the door behind her without asking for permission. Neither of them said anything, neither really meeting each other’s eyes as she swayed on her feet. Something in her wouldn’t let her move farther than standing in the middle of the room.

“I’m sorry.” The remorse in her voice was thick enough to cut with a knife.

He didn’t look at her. Just sniffed and wiped at his nose with the back of his hand. She almost didn’t hear his response. “Don’t be.”

She bounced a little when she sat down on his mattress, eyes locked on the creases and hills in the twisted sheets.

His eyes were somewhere else, elbows propped on his knees and hands dangling between his thighs. The long wispy curtain of his lashes shone with remnants of tears, lips still swollen and nose red in the flickering glow of the TV. Undoubtedly, he was thinking back. Thinking back to earlier in the night when he first caught sight of that inked dagger on the inside of Jooheon’s wrist. The one that scarred her hip. She wondered what horrors that sight dragged from his memory.

“You know that’s not who I am,” he murmured, quiet and heavy from the weight of his heart. His chocolate eyes gave her a quick glance. “‘M not the kinda guy who...who loses his shit. I don’t know what happened--”

“You got angry.” Her smile was miniscule, just the subtle lift of the corner of her mouth.

Taehyung nodded, overgrown waves falling in his eyes. Clearing his throat, he finally looked at her with eyes that swam with hurt.

“I know this is weird.” He tiredly gestured to Namjoon’s side of the room.

Neither side was impeccably clean, both had a few pieces of dirty laundry strewn across the floor. Taehyung’s side was mostly littered with the clothes from that very night, but the older man’s side of the room was a bit more untidy and lived in.

Namjoon had a mini trash can by his desk that overflowed with crumpled pieces of paper--all failed ideas or angry, emotional letters to people that would never actually be sent. Jungkook once told Nari that was something Namjoon did. Writing letters to people who he was on bad terms with. He said he’d never been a violent guy, but being wrongfully accused of rape and murder and serving time for a crime you didn’t commit changes a person.

Namjoon wrote letters to cope with his anger so he wouldn’t lash out. Tae bottled his up.

Adam’s apple bobbing, he forced away the lump in his throat. “I just-- I couldn’t s-stay in that room. Couldn’t sleep in there. Had...had night terrors ‘n shit.”

She put a comforting hand on his knee. “I don’t blame you. I’d be the same way.”

He was barely hanging on, close enough to tears that they slipped over his waterline and dripped from his eyelashes despite how hard he tried to keep his composure. Large, tan hands trembled as he clasped them tight.

All Nari wanted to do was make it right. She just wanted to right the wrong she helped take part in causing--she wanted justice for Tae. For Leah. And she would get it. At first, all she wanted to do after hearing the truth about Jooheon and her father was kill Jooheon herself. But after seeing and hearing the heartbreak that crippled Taehyung, all she wanted to do was ensure that he got revenge. She wanted to make sure that he got his chance to kill the monster that murdered the love of his life.

“It’s not your fault, Tae,” she softly said, sliding a hand down his forearm to rest on top of his clasped hands. “You couldn’t have changed anything about how it would’ve ended.”

And that was truth. Both her father and Jooheon were unstoppable forces when it came to the family business. If her father told Monsta X to kill Leah, she was dead. There was no saving her.

“You d-don’t know that,” he whimpered, eyes sliding shut and head falling forward so his chin nearly kissed the warm, honey skin of his chest. His phoenix tattoo curled and rippled along the curve of his shoulder with the clench in his muscles as he moved, bright reds and oranges and yellows muted from the glow of late night infomercials. The feathers seemed to brush his collarbone.

“I do know that.”

“No you don’t,” he hiccuped, pitifully wiping at the wetness streaming down his cheeks. “You w-weren’t there-- You don’t know what happened.”

Her throat tightened, eyes threatening to burn.

He took a deep, shaky breath and lifted his head to look at her. “I’d b-been looking into other crime families for Yoongi and j-just giving him all the information I found. I guess I got too close because--”

His handsome face twisted then, too overcome with emotion to finish his sentence.

“You don’t have to talk about it.” She rubbed at his back with what she hoped was a comforting touch. His skin was cool under her palm, soft and smooth. Part of her wondered if she should get him a blanket, but before she could go looking for one, he spoke again.

“That night Leah and I were the only two at h-home. It was so rare, y’know? There were e-eight people living in one house, so she wanted to take advantage of it. I was trying to finish up some work on my laptop downstairs, and she’d been begging me to just slow down ‘n spend time with h-her--” His voice broke at the end of the word, chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

Nari could practically see it. The sweet, angelic face of the woman in those pictures, smiling and teasing Tae for working too hard. Maybe pestering him as she tried her best to get his attention. She could see Taehyung’s grin as he batted her away, hear the whine in his voice when he insisted that he was almost finished. For her to be patient. The epitome of domestic love, albeit in an atypical situation.

Taehyung’s shoulders shook as he tried to compose himself enough to speak. “I f-finally caved ‘n followed her upst-stairs. But when we got to the top there w-was this-- Fuck--”

He knotted his hands in his hair, elbows back on his knees as he sobbed at the memories replaying in his mind.

“There was a crash. They just— came r-right through the door.” He sat up, glassy eyes meeting hers in a desperate plea to understand. “I told her to h-hide in the closet-- I thought she’d be safe, Nari! I t-told her to h-hide-- In our cl-oset-- So I g-got my gun-- ‘N-- ‘N I went to see what it was.”

Taehyung’s bone rattling inhale made tears spring up in her eyes. “The guys always tol’ me not to c-call the cops if somethin’ happened, s-so I didn’t. W-why didn’t I j-just call the f-fuckin’ cops--?!”

“Tae…” She reached up to gently wipe at his tears, the slightly stubbly skin of his face burning hot. “You just did what they told you to do--”

Long fingers tightly wrapped around her wrists where she tended to his wet cheeks. “S-someone-- One of ‘em f-fuckin’ pistol whipped me in the back of the head when I turned the c-corner. I just fell like a useless sack of shit, I-- I couldn’t even defend myself--”

“You shouldn’t have had to,” she hushed.

He broke then, a sob wracking his body so hard that he folded forward and rested his forehead on her shoulder. Although he was much broader and larger than her, he seemed so small in that moment. Almost fragile, like he needed to be protected.

She wound her arms around him and squeezed. Maybe if she held him hard and long enough, she could pull his broken pieces back together. Maybe she could ease the ache.

“I w-woke up-- Tied to my desk ch-chair, ‘n they--” She could barely understand him, his sobs nearing full on wails. The pain of remembering was too much, that unforgiving, sharp, and slicing bite of nightmarish memories flashing behind his eyelids in startling clarity.

Long fingers fisted her shirt as he tried to anchor himself, hot tears soaking through the fabric and stuttering breaths huffing out against the skin of her neck. “They m-ade me watch--”

Her blood went cold. Having to watch them kill her. It wasn’t unheard of for that to be a method of punishment for Jooheon--for the mafia in general--but the idea of Taehyung being on the receiving end was like being dunked in an ice bath. She had never taken part in something like that simply because Jooheon wanted her to remain faceless, so she could leave no witnesses. But she would have if he’d told her to. She would’ve done it gladly.

Her stomach twisted.

“Shhhh,” she softly hushed, easing them down to lay on his mattress. Guilt gnawed at her. Had her palms and mouth sweating. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know it hurts--”

He gasped for breath through a slick of tears, drool, and snot. “She was screamin’-- She wouldn’t stop screaming, and they-- There-- Was so much blood-- ‘N-- I couldn’t do anything! It’s my f-fault--!”

She could so vividly see it. The flash of terror in both Tae’s and Leah’s eyes as they realized what was about to happen. She could hear the wet, sickening schlump of Jooheon’s knife as it sank into her flesh. The audible slice of skin, the splatter of blood on the hardwood. She could see in her mind’s eye the way blood would’ve splattered across Taehyung’s face. His lips, nose, and cheeks marred with the stain of his lover’s blood. The way Leah’s face would pale as thee seconds ticked by. She could see the way Jooheon’s eyes would’ve been shining behind his mask, glowing bright and lethal.

She could see it, because she had committed so many sins similar to what was done to Leah. She had spilled so much blood on her own.

“Taehyung, listen to me,” she muttered as she pulled back to hold his burning face. “Look at me. Breathe with me, I need you to listen.”

The wheeze of his struggle to slow his quick and uneven breathing was a deep, phlegmy rattle. When the rise and fall of his chest somewhat matched Nari’s, she nodded at him and held his watery and defeated gaze.

“Good. Now listen to me.” Her tone was almost stern, that slight urgency there to hopefully edge him out of the spiral he was in. “What happened to Leah was horrible. It was absolutely horrific, and I can’t even imagine how guilty you must feel. But there is nothing on this Earth that you could have done to stop it.”

His round eyes welled with tears, swollen and pouting lips parted to speak before she put a gentle finger up to silence him. “Jooheon wanted Leah dead. He wanted to hurt you. You were just doing your job. He decided he was going to kill her to get to you, and you and I both know nothing would’ve changed his mind or stopped him. This is not your fault.”

His lower lip quivered, brows slanting as he took a moment to sniffle through a whimper caught in the back of his throat.

“Do you understand?” She asked.

He nodded.

“I need you to say it out loud.”

“No.”

“Say it.” She pressed, adamant.

The heavy pause between them was filled only by the quiet background noise from the TV and Taehyung’s hesitant squirms.

“Taehyung.” He looked up at her through a thick spray of lashes, sheepish. “Say it. It’s not your fault.��

“‘S not my fault,” he murmured, gaze falling to the sheets.

She fought to meet his eyes. “Louder.”

He pulled his face from her hands with a turn of his head. His mouth twisted in what was a weak, angry, heartbroken snarl as he furiously wiped at his face. “It’s not my fault, okay?! I get it! I know there was nothing I c-could’ve done. But, goddammit! I miss her!”

There he was.

She understood. Blaming himself was easier than to just accept the fact that nothing could have been done. That Leah’s tragic fate was inevitable. She probably understood more than most. She still blamed herself for her mother’s death. For what she prayed she could prevent happening to Bangtan. It was easier than digesting the idea that she was set up to fail from the beginning. That her poor mother was destined to die the moment she stayed with a kingpin.

Sitting up on her elbow, she nodded slowly. “I know you do. And you’re going to miss her every day. But I’m making a promise to you right now, Tae. You’re going to get even. I don’t know how. But I’m going to make it happen.”

His dark eyes hardened. “I’m gonna be pissed if you break that promise.”

“I would never.”

Flopping onto his back, he looked up at the ceiling and fisted his swollen eyes with a groan. “Seeing him tonight… Realizing it was Monsta X who did it… For the longest time, I thought knowing would give me closure. But all it really did was piss me off.”

“Knowing is just knowing. Knowing doesn’t do anything,” she sighed, laying on her back beside him and sliding one of her hands behind her head. “It just gives you more things to hate. More things to wanna rip to shreds.”

He hummed deep in his chest.

They both fell asleep as the sun began to rise.

Nari didn’t want to keep the truth hidden away from Bangtan anymore. She wanted to tell everyone more than anything. Keeping it from them was like a constant stone weighing in the pit of her stomach, a constant heaviness in her bones. She wasn’t sure what telling everyone would do. It would probably cause more problems than solve them. But the guilt was taking its toll on her.

When she brought the idea up to Yoongi as he readied a wire for her to wear to her meeting with Jooheon, he scoffed. “Do you know how fast they would snap your neck?”

Her brows furrowed. “I don’t think they would kill me--”

“Jungkook, Namjoon, and Taehyung wouldn’t kill you,” he corrected. Nimble fingers taped the wire to her bare chest as she stood in the middle of his office in only her bra. “Hoseok and Jimin would lose their minds.”

He was quiet for a brief moment before letting his eyes flicker up to meet hers. “Jin would want to kill you just because of your blood.”

“But I hate my father.”

“Do you think that matters to someone who had their entire family slaughtered by him?” Pale blue bangs fell into his eyes as he finished the last of his taping and shook his head. As he walked over to sink into his desk chair, she pulled her shirt back over her head. “Do you not see how this looks? Yeah, you didn’t know that he conned you into working for him. But convincing them that that is the honest to god truth is going to take time. A lot of time--”

“They deserve to know who’s living under the same roof as them.” She adjusted her collar and gave him a look. “We don’t have time to keep them in the dark, Yoongi. This could all go to shit before they found out. How would we explain ourselves if something bad happened? You’d look just as guilty as me if we don’t tell them.”

Dark brows sat low on his face as he thought it over. The subtle downturn of his sour pout gave away the bitterness burning in the back of his throat.

“If something goes wrong and they find out you’ve known who I am the whole time, the guys would never trust you again.” She crossed her arms. “You can’t run an operation like this without trust, Yoongi. We both know that.”

Rubbing the stubble on his chin, he exhaled through his nose and sucked on his teeth with a hiss. “I’ll think about it. It’s just…there are a lot of people in this family who have been fucked over by your people, Nari--”

“They’re not my people.”

“They were your people.” The relaxed way he leaned back, spineless, in his chair was a stark contrast to the way she fought the irritation of being associated with Lotus. “I mean… Jin and Taehyung both have had the people they loved most stolen from them because of your father. Jimin and Hoseok would never trust you again. That’s over half of our most important men.”

“They deserve to know.”

He waved her off dismissively. “I heard you.”

Before she could say anything else, he took a deep breath and heaved a sigh. “See what you can find out. I trust that you won’t do anything stupid.”

Scowling, she crossed her arms. “Have I done anything stupid up until this point?”

“Well.” He pointedly raised a brow. “You let Jooheon fuck you silly and batter the shit out of you. That pretty little goose egg on your face should be a reminder of that.”

He had a point, but she was bitter about it. The swollen and healing bruise throbbed as she bit her tongue.

“Just don’t get anyone killed.”

The only person that would be dying would be Jooheon. But even that would have to wait until everything fell into place. She couldn’t just kill him, he would have at least one person watching their meeting from afar. To make sure no one interfered. To make sure no one tailed Nari. If only they knew.

The knowledge that her whole existence for the last eight years had been a lie, had been a ploy to trick her into working for her father, made her blood boil even as she made her way towards the door. She trusted Jooheon. She pledged fealty to him, swore that she would do whatever he asked without question. The longer she thought back and remembered their time together, the more she saw just how fake everything was. He lied to her, manipulated her, threatened her, hurt her. He shrank her universe down to the size of a pinhead and made her believe she had the world at her fingertips. It was all a sham, every single bit of it.

Anger swirled in the pit of her stomach as she reached for Jungkook’s keys in the bowl by the door.

Warm fingers wrapped around her wrist just before she could grab them. Jaw clenched, blood pressure spiking, she knew her gaze was cutting when she whipped around to see who dared to stop her.

Jungkook’s doe eyes twinkled with something she couldn’t put her finger on. It disarmed her enough that she had to fight to keep her angry expression. It was useless.

“Why are you touching me?” she nearly whined.

His slight smile stretched wider, gaze soft. “How often are you going to steal my car before you go get your own vehicle like a big girl?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. She really didn’t have time for this. Jooheon would have her head if she was late. Tiredly, she scratched at her forehead and sighed, keys in hand. “I just need it for a couple of hours. I’ll get a new one soon, I promise.”

His grin widened further. It infuriated her how handsome he could be without trying. How he could make her heart stutter in her chest. She didn’t want to be lovestruck, she wanted to be furious with Jooheon. But the lopsided way he smiled and her inability to bury the memories of how he tasted made that increasingly difficult.

He knew something she didn’t, and it didn’t help her shitty mood.

“Come with me.”

“Jungkook, I really can’t. I have an appointment--”

“It can wait five minutes.”

He was already traipsing off towards the garage, a happy little skip in his step. Rather than fight him, Nari decided to go along with it.

Before she could pass through the garage door, he turned towards her and gave a sheepish, anxious smile. “Close your eyes.”

“Seriously?” she laughed, rolling her eyes when he moved behind her and shielded her vision himself. Without her sight, her hands automatically drifted out in front of her. “You’re freaking me out a little bit.”

He cautiously began to lead her towards the garage, a breathless giggle sounding just behind her. “Don’t be freaked out.”

She shivered, a faint flush tinging her cheeks.

A moment later he was removing his hands from her eyes. “Ta-da!”

Nari blinked, adjusting to the sudden brightness. Her jaw dropped, eyes widening. “Holy shit--”

A motorcycle. The one she’d been wanting, similar to Tae’s. Matte black and sleek, like something out of Batman.

“Jesus Christ, I kiss you one time and you buy me a fucking motorcycle?!” She choked, whipping around to give him a bewildered look. “Jungkook, what the hell did you do? How much money did you spend on this?”

He shrugged, obviously flustered by the way he fingered at his red ears. “I got tired of you stealing my shit.”

Shaking her head, she crossed her arms. “No. Absolutely not.”

“What do you mean no--?”

“I can’t accept this, Jungkook!” She gestured to the bike just a few feet away. “This isn’t just like-- a fucking bouquet of flowers! This is a lot of money!”

“Nari, I think you’re forgetting that I have money,” he sniggered, baffled. “Like. A lot of it.”

She sent him a look, stern. “What, do I get a yacht if I suck your dick?”

His laugh was loud and unabashed, head throwing back.

She glared at him and took the keys from his hand. “I’m only accepting this because I have to be somewhere important and I’m running late. When I get home, we’re having a serious conversation.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

The world looked so much better when it was smeared before her at high speeds. Like art, like a painting. Shops and neighborhoods were streaks of color, all sounds faded to nothing but the consistent growl of the engine. Everything became so insignificant when she leaned down and zipped through the streets. The fear she felt to see Jooheon again melted away, left behind on the roads of Seoul. Exposed to the elements, she had wings. Riding a motorcycle was liberating, but actually driving one… She felt free for the first time in so long.

The bike below her hummed, nearly purring at finally getting to stretch its muscles. It felt like both an extension of her and its own living entity.

Maybe she would have to thank Jungkook after all.

The park was empty and eerily still. The only person for what felt like miles was Jooheon, dressed in his usual sleek suit and gleaming shoes. He stuck out like a sore thumb, too dapper and put together for a place with rusting garbage cans and disk golf baskets.

When he heard her approaching, his head snapped up, coal black eyes narrowing. His slicked back and inky hair seemed to shine even in the overcast afternoon. “You’re late.”

She checked her watch as she eased onto the picnic table’s bench across from him. Late by just two minutes. But two minutes was two minutes too long when she was already on thin ice with Jooheon. “I’m sorry. I was trying to get out the door, but Jungkook got me a gift, and I didn’t want to seem suspicious by being urgent.”

He nodded in the general direction of where her bike sat. “That your little gift?”

“Yes sir.” She didn’t dare look away from him. Hatred rolled her stomach and made her blood boil. Swallowing the urge to draw her gun and shoot him dead right then and there, she forced herself to be as truthful as she could. “He has feelings for me.”

“Did you fuck him to get there?” He asked, serious.

“No.”

“You should.” He was matter of fact. Like Jungkook wasn’t a person who deserved real love, like manipulating him should have been as easy as ordering coffee at Starbucks. ”You need to solidify that. Make him fall in love.”

She bit her tongue and clenched her fists below the table until her nails threatened to cut into her palms. “I plan on it. I’ve been in too long with too little payoff, I need to get as much information as I can so we can just end this shit.”

“You’ve given me almost nothing to work with.” He lit up a cigarette and carelessly blew smoke into the wind. “If you really wanted access to information, you’d fuck Min.”

Her jaw tensed. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll have to consider that.”

How dare he. Yoongi had been nothing but good to her, he’d been the only leader she’d ever known to show her what truth looked like. She wondered if he heard Jooheon say that through the wire under her shirt.

Black eyes locked with hers. “I expect real information this time.”

“Taehyung is shaken. He’s not at his best right now. The gala messed with his head.” The bullshit story she and Yoongi crafted rolled off her tongue with ease. Lies, but close enough to the whole truth that Jooheon wouldn’t ask too many questions.

“Good.” He smirked. Cocky as he took a lazy drag from his smoke. “Fucker’s too good at his job. Maybe he’ll stay distracted this time.”

She wanted to strangle him.

“The meeting with Zhang went well,” she continued, somehow able to keep her composure despite the screaming desire to make him pay. “He agreed to help get our hands on enough guns to appease Choi. He’s shipping them straight to a dock in Busan. Min lost a shit ton of money in all this, Zhang only agreed because he would be getting sixty five percent of the money from Choi for the sheer inconvenience. Yoongi didn’t want to fight him and end up creating more bad blood, he has enough of that.”

She pulled a sheet of paper out of her pocket and placed it in the middle of the table. “Here’s some of the information for one of their accounts. I snuck back into Yoongi’s office and found some paperwork locked away in his safe. Nearly got caught, too, but I saved myself.”

He eyed the numbers carefully before folding the scrap of paper and hiding it away in his jacket pocket. “How much money is in this account?”

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. Yoongi gave her the information for one of their oldest accounts, one that had a large chunk of money, but not enough cash that would completely drain them. They had more money than Jooheon or her father would ever know, more than she would know. Jooheon was just arrogant enough to believe that they raked in less cash than Monsta X or Lotus. “I think he opened the account in 2014, so it’s probably got a decent amount of money. But who knows how much.”

Nodding slowly, he thought over her words. He flicked ash from his cigarette and gave a cold smile. “This is a good start. You’re finally making progress, and a decent leap at that.”

He took her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. The sensation made her skin crawl. “This will all be over soon. They’ll be dead, and you’ll be on your way back home.”

She prayed the loathing in her gaze came across as excitement. “How much longer?”

“A few weeks,” he clipped. As he stood and adjusted his jacket, he barely gave her a second glance. “You should talk to a plastic surgeon about your face. That cut will scar, and I can’t have you looking like you’ve been so stupid as to get your head smashed on a counter for future jobs. You have to look perfect and nonthreatening.”

She bit her tongue so hard she tasted blood. “Yes sir. I’ll talk to someone, I’d hate to look like someone had ever wanted to hurt me.”

He walked around the table and leaned down to grip her chin. “You’re finally doing your job. All it took was a big cock for you to act right. I’ll have to keep that in mind for the future.”

The next few days Nari spent fuming over the things Jooheon said to her. The way he spoke to her as if she were nothing, like what happened in the bathroom was nothing out of the ordinary. Truthfully, nothing had ever been normal between them. That was becoming more and more apparent the longer she was away from him. He was manipulative, cold, using her for his own gain. But the way he reacted at the gala was like he was losing it at the mere thought that he could lose all sense of control over her.

He had always been terrible, but it was obvious that he was spiraling--slipping further into his darkness. Maybe he could feel that he was losing his grip on her despite her having every right to throw herself into seeming as if she were one of Bangtan. Sure, she had switched sides. But he had no way of knowing that. At least not for sure.

In the Bangtan house, all had been quiet since they came home from Shanghai. No passive aggressive comments, no distrusting glances from Hoseok or Jimin. Yoongi carried on as normal, keeping all of his and Nari’s secrets tucked away. The others were none the wiser.

Things with Jungkook were…good. It was almost dizzying how different things were when she was around him. After their kiss, he respected her space and didn’t push anything, but there was a constant lingering tension that left them hovering around each other without either of them ever acknowledging what had happened or Nari’s injuries. Mere days passed before one of them cracked, and it certainly wasn’t her.

He came to her as she was on her laptop going through their records to see who still owed them money. In Yoongi’s words, she was to “make note of who needs their cages rattled.” They’d handle it at Cards the following week.

She didn’t notice Jungkook walk into the living room until Sora pranced in behind him, collar jingling and tongue hanging out of her mouth happily. He was dressed in nothing more than athletic shorts and a baggy t-shirt, but she couldn’t stop her eyes from wandering across his muscled frame.

She ripped her gaze away and continued with her work.

Leaning down over the arm of the couch, he bit back a smile. “You’re very focused.”

The corners of her mouth twitched as she glanced up at him, blue light shining on her face from the screen. It didn’t take much to rid her facade. “And you’re very observant.”

He wanted something. She could tell. Whenever he wanted something, he had this excited energy like it was taking everything in his power to coolly and smoothly lead into his pitch. Eager and nearly vibrating, like an untrained puppy fighting the urge to jump on strangers.

She narrowed her eyes in playful suspicion and slowly closed her laptop, crossing her arms. “You want something.”

He scoffed and made a dramatic show of looking around the room to find where on earth she would’ve been inspired to have such a thought, eyes twinkling and teeth on full display in a sly grin. “Who? Me?”

“You’re bursting at the seams. Out with it.”

There was a brief moment where he simply stared at her, gaze soft. It made her cheeks warm. “Are you hungry?”

Nari blinked, confused. Her eyes flickered to her plate on the coffee table where the crust of her sandwich from lunch less than an hour prior remained.

Jungkook’s eyes quickly followed, widening as his cheeks flushed pink. “Oh. Uh--”

“I just ate. Um…why?”

His brow pinched, expression perturbed.

Why was he looking at her that way?

“Really?” He asked after a stretch of silence. His smile faltered the slightest bit, and she worried that she had done something to offend him. He shrugged then, gaze falling to the floor as he let out a strained chuckle. “Okay then.”

“What? What did I do?”

“I just thought you might want to grab a bite with me,” he shyly muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. His weight shifted from foot to foot, unable to stay still. “You know…after the other night.”

Oh.

She blinked in surprise, lips parting. He wanted to go out with her. On a date. Because they kissed, and he liked it.

“Oh-- Oh. Oh my god--”

He waved her off and headed towards the kitchen, eyes never leaving the hardwood beneath his feet. “Don’t worry about it. It’s fine, I just thought--”

“I’m not hungry,” she blurted, skin crawling in humiliation. “But I will be. Later. Tonight.”

His head snapped up, that beaming smile back on his face. “Yeah?”

Her face hurt from the way it grinned back at him. “Yeah.”

Strong, tattooed hands shoved themselves into his pockets as he nodded, pursing his lips in an amused line. “Cool.”

Later that night, she had to calm herself as she got ready. Which was dumb. She was an assassin, she shouldn’t turn to mush when a pretty boy with soft lips wants to take her on a date. But everything with Jooheon was so different, even when they were starting their relationship it was a part of work. They slept together to celebrate her first kill, and a few weeks after that he began treating her as his significant other. If he wanted to go out to dinner, he simply told her they were going out. There were no nervous smiles or giddy laughter.

As she put on her lipstick, she realized Jooheon never even officially asked her to be his girlfriend. She just…was.

Fuck, was she nervous. She didn’t know why, she knew Jungkook wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. But clearly she didn’t know how to navigate any real romantic connection, and she really didn’t want to embarrass herself in front of him again.

Which was also dumb. He was just a man.

When she met him in the kitchen at 8pm sharp, he was leaned up against the countertop scrolling through his phone. As she entered, he glanced up, only to do a double take. Immediately, he tucked the device away into his pocket and stared at her with a look that could only be described as awe.

“You look beautiful,” he breathed. The way her eyes nervously glanced down at her clothes, he immediately cleared his throat and collected himself. “You look nice.”

Thankful that he reeled it in a bit, she gestured to him across the way. “So do you, holy shit. You clean up nice.”

And she meant it. It was just a fitted button up tucked into ripped black jeans, but the perfect way his hair was swept off his face to reveal his dark brows led her to believe that he spent just a little too long standing in front of his closet and mirror to get it all right.

The ride to the restaurant was awkward for all of ten minutes before Jungkook was blasting some bubblegum pop song and singing as loud as he could. At first it was clear he was trying to at least carry the melody, if not actually sing well for his own enjoyment. But once he realized she was paying attention, he started putting on a show. He sang passionately, voice cracking in tuneless, giggly shouts.

As she sat there grinning at him over the console, he glanced at her with both hands on the wheel and hollered over the music. “Come on, you don’t know this song?”

She never sang, never bellowed lyrics on a midnight drive as glowing street lights whirred by in neon smears. But something about the unbridled glee that illuminated his dark eyes made her join in. She barely knew the lyrics, but he didn’t seem to mind. The garbled way she shouted the melody in a string of vowels and misplaced consonants made him throw his head back and laugh, and that made the embarrassment worthwhile.

It was hard to stay nervous when he had a way of dissolving tension.

When they got to the restaurant, he opened both the car door and the front door of the establishment for her. It didn’t surprise her very much, just because of course he was a perfect gentleman. But even though she almost expected it, even though she wasn’t surprised, there was still a brief moment of her muttering out a flustered thank you. Unable to look at him longer than a brief second.

It was a small place sandwiched between a cafe and a cosmetics store. One corner of the sign was dim, a single bulb blown after countless years. Through the window she could see other customers gathered around grills and drinking together, too caught up in meat and liquor to give a damn what happened beyond the entrance. It had been a while since she went out for barbecue, let alone somewhere that was such a little hole in the wall.

Sitting across from him at the restaurant was almost bizarre. The only times she had ever been out with anyone in the last eight years, man or woman, was merely a precursor to killing them. Other than Jooheon, of course. Looking back, their outings were just for show. To flex his money and power. He never held the door open for her. Never gazed at her with soft eyes. He never even asked her what she wanted to eat or gave her the opportunity to decide what she wanted.

It was in that moment that she realized she’d never been on a real date at all, and that brought the nerves that buzzed like electricity under her skin back full force.

“This place isn’t super fancy, but their food is amazing,” Jungkook shyly said as he hungrily watched the group of older men one table over flip their pork belly with a mouthwatering sizzle. “I know you’ve probably had barbecue a million times, but--”

“I love barbecue.” Her lips twitched in a guilty smile. “I just have never manned the grill.”

His eyes widened, flickering to the waitress as she brought them their drinks. He thanked her, quickly turning his attention back to Nari. “You’re Korean and you’ve never cooked your own meat?”

“No, I haven’t, thank you very much.” She narrowed her eyes playfully. “I didn’t know it was required upon receiving your birth certificate.”

He took a sip of his beer. “Oh yeah. It’s definitely government mandated. There’s a card for it and everything.”

She rolled her eyes. “If you must know, I…I was never allowed. My ex was controlling.”

Curiosity bloomed in his gaze. She had never mentioned any past partners before.

She couldn’t help but feel a weight lifted off her shoulders just from referring to him as her ex. Obviously he wasn’t aware she’d decided they were no longer a couple, but he’d find out soon enough. There was something liberating about keeping something for herself for now.

Jungkook leaned his elbows on the table, not looking up when the waitress brought their meat. “And grilling was where he drew the line? That was his schtick?”

“Everything was his schtick,” she deadpanned darkly, popping one of the complementary puffs into her mouth. “I wasn’t allowed to do most things.”

He sensed her change in tone. Sensed the subtle way she retreated into herself, into whatever memories of this ex plagued her. Maybe even haunted her. He knew she had some trauma--he just assumed it was all because of what happened to her mother. The thought that someone would control her, or would even be able to, baffled him. She was so strong, powerful. She commanded a room.

Whatever asshole tried to control her was probably not one to be trifled with.

He took the tongs from the plate and slid around the booth to sit beside her. He held them out to her, brows lifting expectantly. “You wanna learn how?”

She stared down at the metal tongs. Something spread throughout her chest and crept up to make her throat tighten. Dark eyes peered up at him as she hesitantly took them. “Really?”

His hair bounced in an emphatic nod. “Absolutely. I’ll walk you through it all, you can do everything.”

Everything?

He must’ve taken her silence as disgust or maybe rejection, because after a moment he shrugged with pink cheeks. “Or not-- I mean. I can do it, I’d be more than happy to--”

“No.” She was thankful she managed to keep herself from getting teary at the small freedom offered to her. It felt so stupid, the whole thing. Not knowing how to do something so easy and that everyone else around her knew. The fact that that was something Jooheon tried to control in the first place. That she would let him have that much control to begin with. “Teach me. Please, I wanna do it.”

Jungkook taught her everything--when to cut the meat, when to flip it. Just the right amount of pork belly to put on the grill at a time. It was all so simple, she probably could have figured it out herself if given enough time. But what mattered was that he let her do it. He gave her the reins and merely directed her, always gentle, always warm. He never made her feel like a child for not knowing how to do something that seemed to be common knowledge. His toothy grin was ever present, encouraging her.

They sat thigh to thigh in the booth, laughing and eating together. It felt so normal. Not at all like just days prior they were in a standoff with seven wolves and praying they made it out alive. Like they were just two people, each intrigued and enthralled by the other’s presence.

He tried to feed her a lettuce wrap, his own cheeks stuffed round and bulging as he held it out to her.

She cut her eyes at him in exasperation. “Now what about me says that I’m a woman who likes to be fed?”

He nearly choked on his food, that endearingly ugly laugh slipping out for all to hear as he covered his mouth and put the wrap back on his plate. After he swallowed, he shrugged and wiped his hands. “I dunno, I thought you’d like it.”

Nari took a drink, soju burning all the way down to her stomach. She smirked. “That’s your move, isn’t it?”

“My move?”

“The thing you do to really make the ladies go wild on a first date.”

His head tilted guiltily, tongue rolling against the inside of his cheek as he pushed up his sleeves. He gestured lazily, holding back a laugh as his arm draped across her shoulders. “Not just ladies, I don’t discriminate.”

She was surprised by his honesty. Not because he should keep that information secret--hell, she was the same. But it was something they’d never discussed openly before. It was probably just the alcohol in his system making him loose-lipped, but he hadn’t drank much at all. A part of her deep down hoped that maybe, just maybe, he felt safe around her.

She grinned and crossed her legs. “And how well does this usually work out for you, lover boy?”

“Fifty-fifty.”

Grimacing, she leaned back against the seat and relished in the warmth of his skin radiating into her frame. “Sounds like you need a new move.”

Looking down at her with an amused smile, his gaze flickered briefly from her lips to her eyes. They shone in the overhead lighting, as bright and sparkling as the night sky. If she looked hard enough, she could just make out the Big Dipper. There was a brief pause that made her stomach climb up into her mouth. His face was so close to hers.

Lowly, he murmured, “Maybe you’ll have to give me some ideas.”

The ride back to the apartment was painfully tense. Nari felt like her body was on fire. It took everything in her to hold herself together, and that was something she’d never experienced before. She’d felt desire, but never…this. It was excruciating, and she knew it would end badly. Jungkook didn’t know the truth, and she couldn’t let this go further than it already had until he did. Going on a date with him was a mistake, it was selfish of her to go when so much of her was still hidden from him. He would feel differently about her when he knew, she couldn’t let it escalate. She felt bad enough.

Initially, the ride home was tense because of how he looked at her like she could do no wrong. Because his hands were strong but gentle. Because of the lazy, lopsided, crooked smile he wore as he spoke. The way his dark hair swept off his forehead and behind his ears. But the realization that acting on any of that tension before telling him what she was would be misleading and deceptive quickly shifted the tension from sexually charged to a stiff silence.

She stared out the window and cursed herself for the pain she would eventually cause him.

As they approached the door to the penthouse, Jungkook gently wrapped his fingers around her wrist as she began punching in the keycode as soon as it was within reach. Worry creased his brow, lips parted as he tried to find the right words.

She waited, gave him the time to piece together his thoughts.

“Are you okay?”

It caught her off guard, the genuine concern in his voice. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He let her go, hand instead rubbing at the back of his neck. Broad shoulders raised and dropped in an uncertain shrug. “I dunno. You just got really quiet. I just thought we both were having fun, and then it was like… I don’t know, like nobody was home.”

She couldn’t fight the thaw in her facade.

Softening, she gave a small, reassuring smile. “I had a great time, Jungkook. Promise.”

The tension in his shoulders eased a bit, a subtle and almost imperceptible sigh of relief breathing out through his nose. He bit his lower lip with hopes to contain his smile, nodding as his eyes looked at anything but her. His hands made their way into his pockets as he let a teasing grin slowly spread across his handsome face. “Me too. Even if my move didn’t work on you.”

Awkward, hesitant, she leaned closer and craned her neck to press her lips to his cheek.

The moment her pink lips met his warm skin, her heart skipped. The proximity of him, his warmth. It made something in her defenses lower. It made her crumble. The familiar scent of eucalyptus and his cologne made her linger there, fighting the urge to touch him. To taste him. To do what she wanted.

He turned his head when he sensed her hesitation, lips suddenly a breath away from hers. Smile fading as his eyes grew heavy lidded. The air was thick and heavy with everything left unsaid. The entryway seemed all too silent, the walls even holding their breath in wait. Any noise could tip the scales, jerk them back to reality.

He seemed to draw her to him like a magnet, that invisible pull that’s unquestionable and undeniable. She felt that tug just beneath her ribs. She wanted so badly for things to be different. To be able to just give in without second thought. To live without that shadow lingering in the back of her mind and controlling her thoughts. Influencing her happiness.

Tattooed hands freed themselves from his pockets just so he could gently brush a strand of hair from her face. She felt herself let him. Let him tuck her hair and softly carress her cheekbone with the backs of his fingers. She let him slowly, cautiously walk her back until she arched into his chest from the chill of the wall as it nipped at all her exposed flesh. He was so warm, it was like standing on the sun.

Their breaths mingled, parted lips catching on each other as they restrained themselves. Neither was courageous enough to take that next step, to take the plunge. They hovered there in the painstaking, magnetic abyss--noses brushing each other, eyes fluttering closed. Her hands slid up his chest, and he sighed at her touch. Her touch alone literally drew breath from his lungs. It set her ablaze, made her ache.

Strong hands drifted down her sides and made her shiver, so patient in their slow descent. One anchored at her waist to ground her. The other slid up her neck, burning hot and scorching her eager, sensitive skin.

When he kissed her, dread swirled in her stomach. She couldn’t do this. As much as she wanted to, as good as he was, he had to know the truth first. He deserved that.

At the faint brush of his lips, Nari pulled back, heart hammering in her chest.

The spell was broken by the sharp, unforgiving prick of reality’s thorn. The walls sighed in disappointment, all air rushing back into the world. Stale and stagnant.

As if he knew it was coming, Jungkook rested his forehead on hers in defeat.

“Goodnight, Jungkook,” she whispered with a small, apologetic smile.

Without another word, she unlocked the door and went inside without him.

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