Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As long as he can remember, his room is dark. No direct sunlight comes through the window and the building beside theirs is too tall for much light to get into his small room.
As a kid, it didn’t bother him that much. Playing or drawing on paper was much more important. At least he thinks so, because who can remember what they thought when they were a kid?
If anyone can do that, great. Yoongi is not one of them.
He remembers that, at one point, the shutters in front of his window were closed almost the whole day, not even giving any stray light a chance. He didn’t like the neighbours who were too nosy. He caught them more than once spying into his room, just watching what he did. He didn’t want them to see anything.
Not him concentrating on his notebook.
Not his breakdowns.
Not his father raging in his room.
Not his father letting out his anger on him, too.
He is sure that if his neighbours would see anything of those things, they wouldn’t do a thing. The neighbourhood they lived in was far from rich, broken homes and families too ordinary for them to care about it. So, they simply did not care. They had their own problems do deal with.
When Yoongi was a teenager, he tried to stay away from home. It was easier, back then. He would stay as late as possible at school and after that he would work as a cashier at a kiosk not so far from his school. They didn’t care that he was just a scrawny teenager, not even allowed to work that much yet. But they needed another employee at the store. It was always late into the night when he came back home and his father was already asleep, most of the days. But he couldn't work every day as he was only a minor and so he still had to endure his home.
Then, he graduated.
With barely any money and no place to go, his only option was to stay at home, to live where he lived since forever. Then, he got lucky. He got job, working hard and long for more money and with the goal to move out as soon as he could. Just running away only to end up on the street was not an option for him. Then he got a second job, less paid, but he didn’t have many options.
A year went by and then another.
He worked and worked. His father always found a reason to take money from him, though. One reason was that as long as Yoongi still lived with him, he had to pay rent, pay his fair share of money for groceries.
Most of the stuff he was allowed to buy was something he didn’t even like and the few things he did, vanished shortly after buying it and before he could eat it.
His life was hopeless and dull, so to say.
Like him.
Although Yoongi was a quiet, introverted guy, sometimes he could let go of the restrictions and chains he had placed onto himself.
It was when he made music. He never owned a piano, sadly, but some public libraries had one to play on. It was the only tool that helped him to let his feelings roam free, to express himself freely. This, and writing lyrics. Music was something that let him feel his feelings without feeling overwhelmed, without him drowning in them.
The only spark of light, the first since many, many years, came in form of a wet paper ticket on the sidewalk.
The wet piece of paper led him to a dimly lit bar which was a lot bigger on the inside than it was on the outside.
He didn’t know what to expect from the few words printed in small letters on the ticket, “Jack vs. Hope - Final Battle”. First, he thought it could be some kind of boxing match. And he quite liked to watch these ones on tv. He knew it was a fight with rules and that was a lot more comfortable to watch than any street fight he ever witnessed. So, he thought why not?
And so, he went to this place.
It didn’t even take him five minutes to notice that this was not a boxing match. It was a rap battle.
“Hey, you twink, watcha doing here, huh?”
Yoongi was, fortunately, used to dealing with rude people.
“Is your job as a bouncer too boring and now you’re trying as a detective?”
“What? Watch your mouth, you-“
“Hey, Jihoon, there were flyers, remember? Stop chasing away our customers, I told you the last time - ” another man interrupted him and Yoongi used the distraction to blend into the crowd, vanishing from the bouncers eyes as he went further and further into the busy bar.
He was trying to find a wall, or an empty spot nearby a wall so he could lean against it and watch the small stage which he spotted at the back of the bar. There were a few guys on the stage, throwing around words so fast and hard that Yoongi felt the rhythm in his body, felt it enlighten his heavy blood. One look around him let him guess that the other people were probably feeling similar to him.
He had snatched a beer on his way through the crowd and was now steadily sipping it while watching the guys on the stage moving and rapping.
For once, he felt almost good.
“What led you to this place?”
Yoongi’s head whips around to the guy who suddenly stands beside him, leaning against the wall like he does, holding a beer like he does, too.
“Found a flyer,” he replies, his words short as they always unwillingly got as soon as a stranger approached him.
“Oh! It was the first time we spread those around the neighbourhood. I’m glad some people found them.”
The stranger is as short as he is and he is pretty, dark brown hair frames his round face and puppy eyes. It is not the kind of pretty Yoongi finds sexually attractive, it is just…attractive, nothing more, nothing less. But it spikes his interest in the guy.
“Who is Hope?” Yoongi asks, gesturing to the two guys on the stage. The pretty man beside him doesn’t answer immediately and this reaction is not what Yoongi expected. Instead, he stares at Yoongi.
Why? Was that a weird question? Did he –
But before it becomes too uncomfortable for him and he follows his fight and flight response, decides to go and leave, the man answers, cutting off his racing thoughts.
“The guy in the bright yellow shirt, that’s Hope.”
It is fitting, Yoongi thinks. Hope is wearing yellow, the colour of the sun, the colour of positive, joyful energy. Maybe he will never get to know this man, but it is enough for him to watch him rap and dance on the stage.
“He is good,” is what Yoongi says then. “He is,” the man beside him replies. ”He wins most of the rap battles.”
Then, they continue watching the two guys on the stage without speaking another word to each other.
Some time later, a quick glance down at his watch around his wrist tells him that it is late. Too late. He has to go home if he wants to catch a few hours of sleep before he has to go to work again.
“Hey, what’s your name?” The man beside him asks when Yoongi turns to leave. For a moment, he thinks about lying to him or maybe not even answering at all, but then… ”Yoongi.”
“I’m Jimin,” the pretty stranger says and smiles.

Chapter Text

His best paid job is working as a waiter in a restaurant. Before that, it was being a delivery boy for the same restaurant. But a few months ago, he had an accident and wasn’t able to drive with his injured shoulder anymore, so the restaurant offered him a job as a waiter. Unfortunately, Yoongi is not good with people.
“Did you get it, Min?” Repeats the chef impatiently, swinging his big spoon like he is a chef cook in one of those fancy restaurants with Michelin stars above the entrance.
“Got it,” Yoongi replies, clutching the little notepad and a set of cutleries in his hands.
“Then why don’t you look like it, huh? Always so damned indifferent. If you don’t care about orders, then leave the job to someone who does!”
This is not the first time this happens.
Yoongi took an order, the customer requested some extras to the dish they chose, Yoongi noted them down and took the order to the kitchen. Then he pinned down the little note with the costumers wishes on the counter so the chef could read it.
The chef, frankly, is an ass.
He never, ever takes extras wishes from customers, even if they are the smallest things. Like leaving away the cheese or the sauce, adding some more sprinkles or a slice of lemon. He told Yoongi, time and time again, to not take on any extra requests, but Yoongi wants to be a good waiter to the people, so…he notes down anything the customers want. Because…if the chef doesn’t want to fulfil any extra wishes, he can just ignore the notes, right? But Yoongi didn’t do anything wrong before the chef began shouting at him today, there was no reason to nearly hit him with a spoon and screaming at him like he stole money out of the register.
“This is the last warning, you hear me? I do not take any wishes, no extras, no nothing what isn’t on the menu!”
The last part of the sentence is shouted, loud and not at all reasonable, and Yoongi flinches back.
“Understood?”
Yoongi nods.
This is a…really not a good day.
First, his breakfast was gone from their fridge at home, again, then the screaming chef cook.
He walks back out of the kitchen, crossing the space before coming to a stop in front of a seated table in a corner by the windows. The two men are casually dressed – the restaurant is not a very expensive one, only slightly better than the shabby, fast-food restaurants – but he can see that these are expensive clothes, out of fine material.
Why did they choose this cheap place to eat?
“Sirs, I’m sorry to inform you that we cannot take any extra wishes to the dishes on the menu. Are you okay with that or do you want to change your orders?”
He speaks fast and it feels as if he is mumbling, but both men must have understood him, because on one of the man’s forehead appears a deep frown.
“Are you sure? Did you speak with the chef?” One of them asks. It is the one who doesn’t have a frown on his perfect face, but instead wears an impassive expression. Yoongi doesn’t know what they are thinking.
Are they angry?
Did they heard the chef cook shouting?
“I did,” he replies a second later. “Do you want to change your order?” He asks again, because they don’t look happy with their requests being declined.
“Was that what the shouting was about?”
Oh no.
They did hear it. What must they think about him now?
What is he supposed to say?
Both of them scrutinize him and Yoongi feels uneasy under their hard gaze. He doesn’t like it. Not at all.
“Hey, Min, hurry up!” It’s not the chef who calls him. It’s one of the other cooks, who always behave as if they are better than any of the waiters. Maybe they are.
“We are going,” announces the one with the perfect face, still wearing an impassive expression, but his companion looks angry, disappointed.
Yoongi doesn’t like angry people, or people being disappointed in him.
“I-I can…maybe I can speak wi-with him...with him again?” He suggests, now stuttering because words are always getting hard when he is dealing with upset, angry or disappointed people.
Both men are standing up, straightening their jackets and pocketing their possessions which were laying on the table. “No need,” the frowning one replies and then they turn to leave the restaurant.
“Min, get your ass over here!”
For a moment, he is conflicted what he should do. Should he go to the kitchen, or should he go after the two men and do…what?
There is nothing he can do, is there?

The men are leaving, and Yoongi is at fault.
“Min!”
The chef is fuming when Yoongi gets to the kitchen. “What were you doing, you dimwit! They are loyal customers! They are coming every Thursday!”
Honestly, he didn’t notice those two men before. They must usually sit in a different corner of the restaurant and so he didn’t have to take their orders before. But how could he not have seen them? People like them, wearing expensive clothes in a restaurant like this one…how could they not stand out?
“You know what? I can’t deal with you anymore.”
That sentence is like a shock through his system.
“What?”
He feels breathless, his fingers tingling, and his body wants to run away, but he is frozen.
“You are reckless and wrecked our delivery bike,” he takes a step towards Yoongi, “you disobey orders,” he says sharply and takes another step forward, his massive body looks like a mountain of muscle and flesh to Yoongi, ”and now you’re making our customers leave.”
With each step the tall man stepped forward, Yoongi took a step back. Now, he’s standing at the threshold of the kitchen to the main room of the restaurant, and he can feel all the stares of the customers on his back. It does nothing but make him more breathless, more uncomfortable and it feels as if his skin is too tight, his lungs too small, his body too stiff while not under control as he needs it to be.
“I gave you a second chance, a third one and a fucking fourth just last week, I’m done being so generous, you–,”
Before the chef cook even finishes his sentence, Yoongi turns and just...just runs.
He knows he is fired, it doesn’t matter anymore what he does or doesn’t.
And so he runs.
The air of the night is cold and it hits him like an invisible wall when he stumbles out of the restaurant, but it doesn’t make him falter for even a second.
There are people everywhere, some complaining when he runs past them, some just looking at him weirdly. But, when at any other moment those kinds of stares would make him uncomfortable, it does not now. He barely registers it. Shadows, light and shapes blur together to a world he is losing the connection with. And when he comes to a halt in a small, dark alley and slides down against dirty bricks, he feels as if he had lost the connection to everything now, even to himself.
He wants to disappear, to hide from everything.
No job, no friends, no one who loves him.
Why is he still trying?
Why didn’t he give up yet?
Why does he still bother with all of this?
He never really ... never really gets somewhere with all he does, does he?
The taste of something salty registers on his tongue. Tears, he thinks. He is crying.
Pathetic.
“You’re not, Yoongi-,”
Memories and voices tumble around in his head, telling him he is pathetic, broken, weak, sick in the head and –
“Breathe, okay? Breathe with me,” a voice says, louder than the voices in his head, and at the same time a small connection to the outer world is restored when his hands are suddenly crushed, gripped tightly by someone else.
He isn’t lost. At least not entirely.
But no one would want him like this, kind of lost and broken. No one could love him like this, when he is even struggling with existing. Who would want someone like him, when he can’t even love himself? He isn’t pretty, he isn’t nice, he isn’t rich or has some extraordinary talent, he is useless, he –
“-gi, remember me? Jimin? The guy from the rap battle?”
He isn’t like the pretty stranger. What chance in life does he even have in comparison to someone like him?
Someone chuckles, it sounds almost melodious.
“Pretty stranger? That’s sweet of you,” the voice says.
Sweet of him?
“Stop crying, please. Try to focus on your breathing, alright? Just breathe with me.”
His hands are gripped tighter than before and pressed against something solid, soft and warm.
It takes a while, but it feels as if he is coming back to the world, here and now, piece by piece.
“That’s it, “ Jimin encourages.
The alley is dark when he opens his eyes, darker than what he remembers it was when he ran in here. But sometimes Yoongi doesn’t remember well when he had a...a –
“That was a panic attack, right? Do you have these often?”
Right, a panic attack.
“Happens sometimes,” Yoongi replies with a scratchy voice.
“Hm...what do you think about getting up from the ground? Go somewhere nicer?”
He rips his hands out of Jimin’s grasp, flinching back towards the steadying wall.
“I don’t want to...to ha-have sex with you!” he says forcefully, although his stutter is coming through again.
“What? Not to have - NO!” Jimin sounds as outraged as Yoongi must’ve sounded a second ago.
“Just...just a nice place so you can calm down? Maybe talk about what happened? I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone like this,” he explains and yes, that sounds much more reasonable than the other thing.
Yoongi’s legs feel a bit unsteady when he pushes himself up, but Jimin is helpful in a subtle way and Yoongi doesn’t feel very ashamed of the steadying hand on his side as they walk.

He didn’t anticipate that Jimin would lead them to the bar where they first met. The bar is not as crowded as the last time and that’s something Yoongi appreciates, because many people in a too small space would just agitate his already sensitive nerves further now.
“You remember my name,” he says quietly while they sit at the bar. They decided to sit at the corner of the bar where they are more undisturbed than they would be anywhere else. Jimin is...surprisingly empathetic and attentive, more than he thought at first.
“Of course I do.”
Why? He wants to ask.
Why does he say it as if it is the most natural thing in the world for him to remember some random strangers name?
Yoongi doesn’t count himself to the kind of people others would remember by name. He isn’t memorable.
“So...what happened? Want to talk about it?”
While he sips the water Jimin insisted he should drink, he thinks about his question.
Does he want to talk about what happened? Just about today or every shitty thing in his life that happened?
He would’ve a lot to talk about if he did that. But...it would be nice to tell someone about it, for a change. No one wanted to listen to him before. Well, at least not willingly, not out of self-interest .
There was the school’s psychiatrist who got paid to listen to him, but even though Yoongi tried to tell him some of the things that were happening at home, the older man did never understand what he meant, wouldn’t quite believe him and probably thought that Yoongi exaggerated whatever he told him.
But Jimin seemed to be sincere. He wants to listen, he asked.
“I got fired,” he mumbles. Although he knows that he isn’t entirely at fault for being fired, he is kind of ashamed. He is at fault, a little bit at least.
“Why?” Jimin wants know.
“The chef was...was a jerk,” he replies. Of course it doesn’t really explain anything.
“What did he do?”
Not what did you do?
No, Jimin doesn’t seem to think that Yoongi is at fault, was at fault. But he was the one who took extra requests from the guests although his chef told him to not do that. He crashed the delivery bike. So, he must be at fault, right?
What is the best answer?
“I...I ignored his... orders. Often,” he admits and chooses not to mention the accident with the bike. And it is true, it really is, that he ignored his orders quite often. But he notices that he didn’t exactly answer to Jimin’s question. He answered to the question what did you do?
A frown appears on Jimin’s face. “What were his orders?”
“To not take extra requests from the guests.”
There is a pause. Yoongi risks a glance up from his water towards Jimin’s face, but looks down immediately after looking a second. Jimin’s face seems stuck between unbelieving and angry. It looks intimidating.
“What? That’s it?” He also sounds as if he is angry, fitting the expressions he is wearing on his face.
“I - I know it sounds like a - a small thing, but-“
“No, it is a small thing. He really - what an asshole.”
A chuckle escapes out of Yoongis mouth at his choice of words. Overlooking the angry expression he wears now, Jimin doesn’t look like someone who would say curse words without hesitating.
At the sound of Yoongi’s small chuckle, Jimin looks at him and smiles. It suits him better than the expression he wore a moment ago, he looks...kind of beautiful like that.
Like a mochi.
Can a mochi look beautiful?
Maybe, he isn’t sure. Either way, a mochi can look cute. That’s certain.
“He really fired you for that?” He asks, seemingly not believing that this is all. And it isn’t. Of course, there are more reasons why he got fired.
“I also...I might have brought guests water without adding it to the bill,” he admits, too. Yoongi is not ready yet to tell him about the bike he wrecked, although this might be the biggest reason why he got fired.
Almost every restaurant serves their guests water for free. It’s unheard of to set something like a basic need on the bill. To be honest, Yoongi doesn’t know a single restaurant that does that.
“That’s...what the fuck is this place called? I want to kick his ass until he realizes that he is the one who should be fired.”
As honourable as this would be, Yoongi doesn’t think that Jimin could do something like this. He looks too small and delicate for such an action.
“Don’t bo-bother, he is the chef. You w-would have to close this place to-“
“Oh, believe me when I say I can do that,” Jimin replies fiercely. Still, Yoongi doubts that he would do something like this. What he doesn’t doubt, though, is the fervour in his words.
“It’s the Tandoori Corner, nearby the big park not far from here,” he explains then quitly, but not sure why he does so. Jimin might not know that place, it’s a small restaurant, not bad but certainly not a very famous one. If he doesn’t live nearby, he might not know it.
“I know the place. A few friends of mine like to go there, they said it’s their favourite small restaurant. I can’t believe that the chef is like that.”
Oh.
He does know that place. His friends know that place, too.
Is he going to dislike Yoongi now, because he talked bad about the chef cook of his friend’s favourite restaurant? Does he even believe what Yoongi told him? Or does he believe him and is going to tell his friends not to go there anymore because he doesn’t’ like how the chef cook treated Yoongi?
He doesn’t want Jimin to get into a fight with his friends, just because of him. He also doesn’t want Jimin to get angry at anyone just because if him. He isn’t worth it. Also, he doesn’t want that Jimin and his friends wouldn’t want to go to this place anymore, because Yoongi told him what happens behind the doors of the kitchen and staff rooms.
“You get lost in your head sometimes, do you?”
At that, Yoongi sets his gaze onto his drink at the table in front of him, not daring to look up with a look on his face he is sure Jimin would interpret as angry, upset about his words. And as much as he doesn’t want to be angry at Jimin, because he seems like a very nice guy, he is a bit upset.
Because his words sound a little bit offending to Yoongi, it hurts.
Why are people not allowed to think? Why do they judge thinking? Is it bad? It certainly must be, because that sentence is one he hears quite often. But why is it –
“I don’t mean that in a bad way!” Jimin explains loudly, interrupting his stream of thoughts. “One of my friends, Namjoon, he gets like this sometimes too, you know? It’s not bad, just something I noticed.”
“Hm,” is what Yoongi replies then. What should he say to that?
When Jimin doesn’t say anything else, Yoongi directs his attention to their surroundings.
Because it’s not very crowded today, it’s easier to see the stage to his left. This time, there is no one standing there, and it seems smaller and darker than the evening Hope was up there, brightening up the world just by wearing yellow and moving like flowing water.
Somehow, Yoongi longs to see him again, longs to be entranced by his aura so that he forgets anything that’s around him, everything that he’s feeling.
Hope is not here today.
“What are you going to do now? Do you have a place to stay although you lost your job?”
Jimin jostles him out of his observations with an almost gentle nudge to his side.
Oh yes, he has a place to stay, unfortunately. But now that he had lost his job, he doesn’t know how long it is going to stay that way, how his father will react.
“I do,” is his answer to Jimin’s second question.
“And...what about a job?”
When Yoongi looks at Jimin, the pretty man...he grins.
“What about it?” Why is Jimin interested in talking about that? But then, then next thing Jimin says lets him forget about wondering why Jimin might be interested in this.
“Do you like this place?” Jimin suddenly asks.
The sudden turn of the topic takes him by surprise and he feels that his mouth stays a bit open, but he is kind of frozen and can’t bring himself to close it. Because....what?
“I...I g-guess? Yes?”
This place is nice. It’s always dimly lit and when no one performs on the stage, there is music playing through speakers all around this place. Yoongi likes different genres, a lot of different styled songs. And although he doesn’t like every song coming out of these speakers in this bar, a decent amount of them sound alright to him.
The amount of people visiting this place at busy times is...not very easy for him, maybe a bit hard to handle when he isn’t feeling well, but most of the times, it’s okay.
“If you are searching for a job now, I can help you. I know that they need a hand here.”
Yoongi is too ashamed to just accept a job offer right here and now. But it could be that this is his only chance, his fastest way to get a job he really needs.
“Do you...do you need an answer now?” To his own ears, he sounds timid.
Jimin’s eyes are set on his face, his expressions strangely fond.
“Just let me know when you’ve decided.”

The door to the apartment opens silently when Yoongi pushes it open slowly. He hesitates before stepping in and then he closes door behind him. No sounds or whatsoever indicate that his father is home.
A relieved sigh escapes him, and he leaves his shoes by the door before trudging to the kitchen. He is glad that he has a few minutes too himself. No one around him, no one who can agitate his nerves further.
Jimin is nice and it was nice to talk with him, surprisingly so, but every social activity leaves him tired and worn out. Especially after this day. His body seems to weigh more, muscles tired and his mind slightly clouded.
But although he lost his job, it is not entirely hopeless.
Hope.
Jimin gave him a small light, a spark of hope. He offered him a job, or at least offered Yoongi to help him get a job. He told him to just tell him when he decided.
But he didn’t make his decision yet. It doesn’t really feel good to take him up on his offer. It feels as if he is using him, using his obviously generous character.
It’s better to look for other job opportunities first.
He takes a glass out of the cabinet, holds it under the tap and fills it with cold water.
The glass isn’t even half full when the creak of the front door resounds through the small apartment, startling him so that water sloshes over the rim of the glass.
“Boy!”
The loud, deep voice of his father sends shivers down his spine, makes the glass in his hands shake.
“Get me a beer!”
The sound of shoes carelessly and forcefully hitting the ground makes him flinch.
“Yoongi!”
At that, he suddenly unfreezes, and the glass almost slips off the counter when he hastily sets it down. The tv gets turned on in the living room and Yoongi scrambles to get the fridge open, grabbing a beer and hurrying to the room he knows his father is sitting in.
The middle-aged man is sunken down in his seat, still clothed in his ill-fitting suit from work at the office of a big company.
“Why are you so slow, huh?”
Yoongi knows better than to answer to that question. It wouldn’t matter what he answers, it would be wrong anyway.
He wordlessly sets down the bottle beside the couch, making sure that it stands within reach.
When he leans back to straighten himself, the hard and rough hand of his father clasps around his wrist and tugs him back.
“Why is my food not in the fridge?”
Oh.
“I-I....I’m I so-sorry, I forg-“
He forgot.
He fucking forgot it.
“What did you forget, heh?”
The grip around his wrist gets tighter, crushingly so.
It’s going to bruise later, he is sure.
“Yoongi, what. did. you. forgot?”
Every word is hard pronounced, and these angry words make his insides twist.
“The...The groceries, I f-forgot th-the-“
“Cut the fucking stutter, you’re not a kid!”
The slap that follows takes him by surprise, although he knew that this could happen anytime, he is within reach of his father.
His head whips to the side and his cheek stings and hurts, but the hand around his wrist is gone. He stumbles back and cradles the hurting side of his face in his hands.
“Make sure it’s in the fridge tomorrow, got it? Now get out of my sight!”
Yoongi follows his words the moment they fall out of his father’s mouth.
His room is dark as always, the shutters covering the window. With the door closed, he can pretend that the barely-there barrier is actually unbreachable, that nothing or no one can disturb his small space.
It’s an illusion, of course.
His seemingly save room has been breached more than one time.
Yoongi lets himself fall onto his bed. It creaks under his weight, as it always does. It’s old and not that comfortable anymore, but it’s what he has, so it is okay.
A stuttered breath flows out between his lips when he feels the hot skin of his cheek with his cold fingertips. It still stings and hurts like the first time it happened. But the first time was years ago. He should be used to it by now.

He isn’t.

Chapter Text

The day is colder today, Yoongi notices as he jogs down the stairs of the apartment building. He should have grabbed his scarf on his way out, but he won’t turn back now just for that.
He slept until midday and woke up with a headache, tangled in his bedsheets. Then, he just lay there with his mind still slightly foggy from sleep. The apartment was silent, so his father must’ve been already at work. That was his motivation to get up, taking a shower and shrugging on the first hoodie he could find.
There was no job to go to, but he had a goal he was heading to anyway.
The bar.
The place where he thought he could find hope.
Hope.
Jimin.
A job.
Money.
He needs the job, the money, because firstly, it got clear to him that if he doesn’t buy groceries, what happened yesterday would happen today again, and then tomorrow, and very likely again every time he wouldn’t earn money and, by consequence, wouldn’t buy groceries. Well, to be honest to himself, it would happen either way. His father doesn’t really need a reason to slap him in his face, it happened for lesser reasons.
The walk takes around twenty minutes. The only reason he knows that it’s been twenty minutes, is because he looks at his phone every now and then. There are no messages or anything like that why he checks his phone religiously. It is because knowing the time is important.
When he enters the bar, it is unsurprisingly empty. It is still too early for any shows or masses of customers. And suddenly he fears that he won’t find Jimin again, because he noticed that he doesn’t have a single way to contact him.
No phone number, no address, no way of knowing where to find him. The only place where Jimin can be is this bar.
In his uncertainty, his steps falter.
There is no Jimin in sight. But then he decides to sit down at the bar, because he figures that maybe if he waits here, Jimin might show up at some point.
“What do you want to drink?” The bartender asks then.
“A cider,” he replies and hopes that he still has enough money left to pay for it.
“Comin’ right up.”
While checking the entrance and the bar for a familiar sight every now and then, he takes small sips of his soda, too. It’s good and he likes the non-alcoholic drink, but the bartender throws him strange glances, sometimes.
It seems as if he wants to say something, or maybe wants to ask something.
“What?” Yoongi decides to ask him then, because he can’t sit here a minute longer with the guy looking at him when he apparently thinks Yoongi doesn’t see him.
“Ah....,” the guy doesn’t sound like he is happy that he got caught.
“I’m just wondering if you are waiting for someone?”
Oh, so he looks like that.
He knows how people look when they are waiting for someone in a bar. More often than not, they look a bit....lonely, in his opinion.
But he is here for a reason, and he wants to find Jimin – he needs to find Jimin.
“I’m waiting for....Jimin? Do you know him?”
At the mention of the name, the bartender’s face lights up.
„Oh! Jimin! He usually comes around four at the afternoon. “
That means that Yoongi only has to wait for half an hour now.
„Does he work here?“ He asks, because why would Jimin come here every day?
„Something like that,“ is the answer.
What’s that supposed to mean?
Thirty minutes go by, and it feels slower than that, because Yoongi is checking the time almost every five minutes. With dread pooling in his gut, he realizes that he probably will not able to buy groceries today. How did he even get the idea that he could get a Job this fast? It’s not even realistic to get a job from one day to the next.
„Oh, hi Yoongi!”
Startled by both the voice and the hand on his shoulder, he flinches back, and the hand drops from where it lay before.
“Hi Jimin,” Yoongi greets him, quieter than Jimin greeted him. He doesn’t like everyone to hear and know what he says.
“That early already drinking?” Jimin asks while sitting down beside him.
His clothes look expensive, like the first time they met, and because it’s not that dark yet, Yoongi can make out a light touch of make-up on his face. It suits him, it looks pretty.
“It’s a Cider,” Yoongi clarifies. He doesn’t like Jimin to think that he drinks alcohol, that early. Or even at all. Alcoholic drinks don’t taste well to him and, most importantly, he doesn’t want to be like his father.
“Ah, that’s certainly better.” Seems as if Jimin thinks like him.
Okay, so now to the hard part.
“I...I uh...the job offer you made, is it still, ah...did you mean it?” It’s embarrassing as always that he can’t get out a whole sentence without stumbling over his words, like normal people. It’s his nervousness.
Jimin squints his eyes and makes a humming sound – he is thinking, Yoongi realises. Did he forget it? Does he want to take his offer back?
“Have you decided?” He asks then, instead of any of the other things Yoongi thinks he would’ve said.
Thanks whoever that he remembers.
“Yes!”
Jimin looks at him slightly perplexed. “I did not really expect that much...ehm…enthusiasm, but...are you sure? You don’t even know what exactly the job would be.”
Yoongi’s answer wasn’t supposed to sound enthusiastic, nor does he feel like that. It might have sounded like that because his ‘Yes’ came out so loud, but that was because of his fear that Jimin would take back his offer.
But it doesn’t seem to be the case. Although Jimin says it like Yoongi might regret agreeing to take up a job he doesn’t know what it entails. Yoongi gets the feeling he that he made a mistake. Did he agree to a…shady job?
He hopes not.
He doesn’t want to get into shady business and in trouble, it would only make his life harder, more complicated. He doesn’t need that.
Some of what he thought about must show on his face, because Jimin hurries to reassure him, saying that “No, don’t worry! It’s just…a job as a bartender. The same job like this guy here has, right, Minho?”
The bartender smiles tightly, nods curtly and throws Yoongi a look he can’t interpret.
“So…Do you want to take the job?”
“O-okay yes, that’s…that would be great,” Yoongi says slightly unsure but also trying to sound grateful. Sure, being a bartender is not his dream job, but he is really far away from having a choice. So , he accepts and signs the working contract Jimin presents to him in a backroom.

When he comes home this night, his father is already there, sitting in his usual seat in the living room.
What happens this evening doesn’t happen that often, but sometimes it does. Especially if his father has had a bad week. It builds up and then he needs to release it. It looks like this: Suddenly, there is a bottle flying through the air, hitting the wall behind him only because he was fast enough to duck and avoid the object. His father shouts something. There are many words that he can barely understand through the slurring of his speech, because his father is so drunk that his tongue is too slow for the words he tries to articulate.
But he gets the gist of it.
A disappointment.
A loser.
A burden.
A useless boy.
How he is someone his own father can barely look at, because he looks too alike to his absent mother.
There is no food tonight, because what was left in the fridge is gone and his father says that he doesn’t deserve anything, didn’t do anything do deserve getting food. He doesn't deserve to be looked after, to be cared for. He doesn't deserve kindness.

Does he?

Chapter Text

Fortunately, his new job starts the next afternoon.

He spends the time before that in his room, because he can’t decide what to wear. But this is an important factor in making a good impression at his new job and nothing seems to be good enough. Most of his clothing is black anyway and shoes are nothing he has think about much, because he only has one pair of worn-out black Converse. So, he only has to find one pants and one sweatshirt that seems okay. But he just can’t decide!

For whatever reason, everything he owns looks kind of slouchy, too loose, to worn-out. Also, it seems to be one of these days where he looks…not good, and nothing he does makes it better.
The time ticks by, minute by minute and when he looks at the clock, he still has two hours left and the next time when he looks at the clock at the wall, he has only half an hour left.

Where did the time go?

What is he going to wear?

Shit, what to do with his unruly hair?

When the clock strikes past half five, he just shrugs on a simple black sweater to his faded black jeans and then he grabs his jacket on the way out.
This has to do. These clothes are one of his newer ones, they fit okay, they look okay and he doesn’t have anything better to wear. A few strokes through his hair lets it fall slightly ruffled, but this looks usually not that bad.

As he steps through the entrance of the bar, it suddenly occurs to him that it is only his fourth time in this bar.
The first time he was there was by coincidence. The first time he was led to the bar by a wet paper ticket he found on the ground. It was the night he met Jimin, a pretty stranger standing beside him in a crowd watching a rap battle, cheering for Hope.
The second time he was in the bar was because Jimin found him having a panic attack in an alley. He found Yoongi sitting in the dark, struggling to breathe, just fired from his job, lost and almost drowned by these cruel voices of memories, and he didn’t want to leave him alone. The second time he stepped over the threshold was with Jimin, who was supporting him.
The third time he found himself entering the bar with a little spark of hope flickering in his chest, because Jimin offered him a job the last time he saw him, and now he made up his mind about taking him up on that offer. Yoongi found him, and he was amazed how Jimin didn’t hesitate to give him, practically a stranger, the already signed contract.
The fourth time, now, is because today is the day his new job begins. Yoongi isn’t good with people but his job is being a bartender, someone who has to talk with strangers all the time, has to endure their stares and their comments of whatever kind they might be, and he doesn’t know if he…if he can do this job, but he has to.
He has to do this job, because he needs the money. Otherwise, he doesn’t know what is going to happen to him.

Minho is the name of the bartender he met the late afternoon Jimin offered him the job, and he is also the one who greets him when he approaches the counter today. There is no Jimin in sight this time and no other face he recognizes, but apparently Jimin gave Minho the task of being kind of a mentor to Yoongi. Minho tells him what he has to do, shows him how everything works, gives him a black apron with a simple logo of the bar on the front.
To his luck, nobody expects him to mix any drinks. He never did this before, and he isn’t sure if he would be good at this job. His only tasks are to serve already prepared drinks and snacks, maybe even serving simple drinks like sprite and beer on his own. But everything else isn’t his responsibility. At least, these are his tasks for the beginning, he gets told.
“As soon as you’re familiar with how everything works here, you get a few more things to care about. Jimin told me to let you start easy, “ he tells Yoongi. Somehow Yoongi gets the feeling that Minho doesn’t like that it is going to be that way, that Jimin told Minho to let Yoongi start easy. But this is something Jimin decided, so Yoongi can’t do anything about that, and apparently Minho has to obey whatever Jimin’s orders are.
He quietly observes whatever Minho does while explaining and he feels like a dwarf beside him. The young man isn’t even that tall, but it might be roughly five centimetres of a difference between them, and he looks good, too. Tall, muscled and a hard masculine face framed by red dyed hair, clothed in good fitting and new looking clothes. Minho looks way better than him. That’s enough for him to feel like a sorry excuse for a human.
“And if somebody asks for the black menu, tell them to ask me, understood? You come straight to me if they ask that. ” This instruction sounds a bit…strange, he thinks, but he doesn’t ask what’s the reason for this instruction.
“There are black covered menus?” Yoongi only saw red coloured menus he handed out to guests, not once a black one. Minho gives him a glance that Yoongi can only interpret as cautious, distrustful, maybe even suspicious. He obviously hesitates before continues speaking.
“It’s a…special menu. For very high paying and only selected customers.”
“Ah...Okay,” Yoongi says. He decides that he won’t ask anything else about the black menu, which apparently is something he isn’t supposed to know much about anyway.
“Just do what I tell you to do,” Minho says and gets to work, taking up orders from customers.
The next hours are filled with doing this or that, handing Minho different kind of cups and plates filled with snacks, serving the drinks and snacks to people who are either sitting at the bar or at a table further in the back.
There is one moment where Yoongi almost drops a tray he is carrying and another moment where he serves a customer the wrong drink and as a consequence has to hear curses thrown at him. But overall, it is not that bad as he thought.
But it is only his first day working.
Of course he doesn’t get paid at his first day. Unfortunately, his bank account looks pretty empty, it is not enough money for buying much.
His father won’t be happy about that.

“Hey, Yoongi, catch!”

He barely catches the small bottle of spice thrown at him. But he does, and a tight-lipped smile is what makes an unexpected appearance on his face as a result. Normally, he smiles more openly. But for once, even though Minho is nice, Yoongi still feels a bit uncomfortable around him – it’s only his fifth day working here, after all – and secondly, he doesn’t like people throwing things at him. Also, the fast movement lets a pain flare up in his side.
He flinches.
But when he looks up, Minho is already occupied talking to a costumer again. He didn’t notice anything, Yoongi is sure.
He puts the small bottle of spice for special drinks down where it belongs, takes a rag to swipe the surface in front of him and –
doesn’t expect to see Jimin sitting in front of him, styled up and looking very nice, and also looking at him, directly. And not a second later he notices his companion, who sits beside him. An equally fine and very good-looking man, who must be around the same age as him, but he looks taller than both Jimin and Yoongi. Even when he is sitting, he is taller than Jimin by a few centimetres.
“Hello Yoongi, how’s the work going?”
“Good,” Yoongi answers Jimin, who looks at him with sharp eyes. Is he wearing makeup again?
It looks pretty, however subtle it is.
“And do you like it here?” Is the next question.
Of course, Yoongi thinks, Jimin must be interested in how he is doing at the job. After all, he was the one who got Yoongi this job. But, still, Yoongi hasn’t figured out what kind of role or position Jimin has in this bar.

Is he the owner?

The manager?

The co-owner?

Whatever role it is and whatever his job is, he must be someone who has a say in how things work here. Minho does everything Jimin says. He noticed it when Jimin visits the bar, once every day, and they speak quietly before Minho hurries away, vanishing in the enclosed backrooms where Yoongi is not allowed to enter. But this is the first time since he began working here that Jimin is speaking to him while sitting at the bar, without giving some kind of order to Minho. Now, that he pays a bit more attention, he notices that Jimin doesn’t even spare a glance towards Minho, who is standing at the other side of their working area.
“It’s...it is nice,” he replies then. Well, it is a paid job, he does what he has to do, and he did worse jobs than this one. But...okay, nice is not a word he would use to describe this job. It is okay. He just thinks that maybe this is the best word to describe how he likes this work when Jimin asks.
“Did you have trouble with a costumer?” The other man asks suddenly, and his deep, smooth voice rips him out of his thoughts. Yoongi is surprised that he is addressing him. Also, he is confused. Why that question?
“No...wh-why?”
The man – who looks like a model in a magazine for expensive, luxurious and high-class products – rises one eyebrow, obviously to show that he doesn’t believe him. But Yoongi didn’t lie.
“Really? You’re sure?”
Yoongi is sure, and he doesn’t understand why the man asks about that. Why would he care?
So, Yoongi shakes his head. No, he didn’t have any troubles.
“You know, “ Jimin begins and sips his colourful, pink drink he is holding, “Taehyung-ah here asks because we saw you flinching when you moved to catch the bottle. Are you hurt?”
Oh, they noticed it.
“No, I’m just...so-sore, from the...the gym, you know?”
A really, really lame lie. He could’ve done better.
Obviously, he could have found a better lie, because even Jimin and his friend Taehyung look like they don’t believe him.
To be honest, Yoongi doesn’t look like he set a foot into a gym for quite some time now.
“Hm...well, if you say so. Just tell Minho if someone gets...unpleasant,” Jimin says and Taehyung nods. “We will make sure they won’t bother you anymore.”
His breath gets stuck in his chest and a mix of feelings rush through him.

Hopelessness.

Hope.

Sadness.

Fondness towards these two men, especially the one who helped him more than once, only showed kindness to him. It is strange for him to have someone who cares, who is nice without exception, who asks him sincere questions, offers help without expecting something in return.
Yoongi wishes they could help.
He wishes that someone sees how much he struggles.
He wishes that someone sees and helps without him saying anything.
But this is only wishful thinking. He can’t expect anyone to help him how he needs it without saying a word. He can’t expect that someone sees and decides to help, to get him away from the situation he is in.
He is an adult, a grown-up, he has to manage and deal with things on his own, right?
But still, he wishes someone would take him away to safety, so that he doesn’t have to struggle anymore.
But this is not a movie with a turn from things being bad to good, it’s not a nice book with a storyline that turns from darkness to light.
It’s reality.

The light in the living room is still on and he hears some tv show playing. His father must be still awake – or he is drunk and naps in his big, old armchair.
As quiet as he can, he slips out of his shoes and goes to the kitchen to get a glass of water, maybe something to eat, if there is still something he can eat in the fridge.
Surprisingly, the fridge is full of beer, a half-eaten pizza and some left-over noodles. But he knows better than to take and eat something of those things. This is food his father bought, and he will notice if something of it is missing. As if on cue, his stomach rumbles.
He is hungry.
But the last time he ate something of the food he knew belonged to his father and didn’t tell him, he got yelled at, loud and with such aggressive words that he still can remember them clearly, can almost recall exactly how the rough, deep voice of his father sounded. It was frightening, as he was asleep before that and just woke up, startled, when the door to his room flew open and crashed against the wall.
Just because of food.
He doesn’t want to risk that again, if he can avoid that.
So, now he only drinks two cups of water.
Then he tiptoes past the living room towards his own room. Yoongi doesn’t want to see or disturb his father. It is best that he doesn’t even notice he is back home.
He shudders at the thought that this is his home. It’s not the first time he shudders at the thought, nor will it be the last time. An apartment like this one and with a father like his...he doesn’t wish that on anyone else. Sure, there must be a lot of people living just like he is, and a lot of people have it far worse than he has it, probably. But it is not...good, living like that.
At least he still has a roof over his head.
A bed to sleep on.
A dark room to himself.
It is past eleven now and he can see some of the lights of the building beside them. It shines through the blinds that darken the room. There are shapes of light thrown at the walls. It could be beautiful, he thinks, if it wasn’t so cold in his room.

Chapter Text

“How did you meet Jimin?”

The question comes out of the blue.
While Yoongi is polishing glasses with a towel, carefully and thorough, he listens to Taehyung ramble about paintings and different kinds of techniques and colours to create certain atmospheres. It is like that since Taehyung sat down in front of him, nursing his drink, almost half an hour now. Yoongi didn’t talk that much and still doesn’t feel like it, but it is nice to listen to Taehyung talking about art like that.
Passionately, profound and with an impressive amount of detailed knowledge.
So, this question comes as a surprise, because it is off-topic.
“He didn’t tell you?” Yoongi murmurs, not stuttering this time, because he doesn’t feel nervous or uncomfortable around Taehyung, not that much anymore, at least. He still can’t wrap his head around that, why he doesn’t feel that nervous like he normally feels around other people, why his skin doesn’t tingle, why his throat doesn’t feel dry and tight, and his breath doesn’t stutter.
But he is glad, whatever the reason may be, that he can talk to Taehyung without feeling that much nervousness and everything else. Taehyung seems harmless, though sometimes a little bit strange (but a good kind of strange) and sometimes his eyes remind him of a puppy, and his voice is pleasantly smooth and deep, soothing.
But, nevertheless, Yoongi doesn’t want to tell him how Jimin and he met. Well, not exactly the circumstances, not yet.
“He helped me with something,” Yoongi replies. That, at least, is true, and he doesn’t want to tell a lie or spin a story. And even though it is only a fragment of the whole story – no, not even that, but it is an important part of how they met and because Taehyung is Jimin’s friend, he wants him to know this information.
Jimin helped him.
Jimin is a good person.
“With what?” Apparently, Taehyung is a curious person and likes to ask a lot of questions.
“I...I lost...,” Yoongi stumbles through the words, not sure what to say, not sure what would be the best thing to say. He doesn’t want to tell him that he was fired from his last job, that he is useless and a loser but that Jimin still saw him worthy enough to offer him a job. “No, I mean my...The night we...we met -”
“It’s okay,” Taehyung interrupts his uncertain words, his obvious struggle to find the right words. He even looks concerned, apologetic. ”You don’t need to tell me, it’s okay.”
Yoongi believes him, strangely, and doesn’t continue trying to find the right words to explain how Jimin and he met and how and with what Jimin helped him. Instead, he grabs the next glass to polish it, just as carefully as the other ones.
“So, he helped you, yeah? That’s so typical of him. Always wants to help who seems to need it. Such an empathic person, really. I’m always waiting for the day that he helps the wrong person and gets deceived by just a pretty face, only to fall into a trap.”
To Yoongi, these words sound oddly...malicious, not how he expects a person to talk about their friend. Also, it is not something he thought Taehyung would say. It doesn’t fit, not in the picture he has of him.
His surprise and confusion must show of his face, because Taehyung suddenly cackles, not loud, but very much amused.
“Ha! You should see your face!”
Yoongi doesn’t get what’s so amusing. He doesn’t think his face looks funny and he also doesn’t think of Taehyung’s words as funny, instead he feels slightly offended and unsure. Why would Taehyung say something like this?
A few customers who are sitting close look at them, also confused, but also annoyed. He learned that Taehyung visits the bar quite often too, but not as often as Jimin, and likes to act like a goofball at times. A few of regular customers must already be familiar with Taehyung’s antics. After a few seconds, Taehyung seems to get his bearings again.
“Don’t worry. Jimin doesn’t help the wrong people. It didn’t happen yet, that someone fooled him, even if they were pretty, and it’s not going to happen, too. And if,” he says and lifts a finger, his face turning serious, “if it happens, that someone fools him, I’m sure that it won’t be a big problem either. Not for any of us.”
Whoever us might be.

Yoongi doesn’t know why it happened.
Or...no.
To be honest, he knows exactly why it happened.
But this doesn’t mean that he understands it.
He was sitting in his room, his laptop open and music was playing, so quietly that the sounds from outside of his room were almost louder, and suddenly the door to his room crashes open and hits the wall.
He flinches instinctively, his chair rocks back before he catches his balance again, and in the same second the fright surges through his body like electricity.
“Yoongi!” The voice booms through the small space, loud and angry.
His father comes to a stop just past the threshold, his shadow in the light of the corridor seems dark and big, and Yoongi knows that he must look terrified.
“Where are the damn scissors of the kitchen?”
It is such a trivial thing, he thinks. But he knows that it doesn’t matter to his father if it is a small or big thing, he doesn’t really need a reason to get angry.
He still hasn’t said something. Yoongi is stuck, paralysed by fear and as a response of his body, his muscles are locking up.
“I told you not to take them. I told you this at least five times by now, and yet they are missing, again” his father says and comes closer and closer, until he is so close that finally Yoongi’s body un-paralyses and he jumps out of his chair, backing up, back towards the wall, trying to put distance between him and this man, his father.
“Where are the damn scissors, Yoongi?” he repeats the question, and Yoongi knows where they are, but he can’t bring himself to answer him honestly.
Also, it wouldn’t matter if he says the truth or lies.
“I...I don’t kn-know! I d-don’t ha-have them!”
He has them.
They’re lying on his table, hidden underneath a few papers and his notebook.
He wants to put them back later without his father seeing and knowing that he did have them, though only for a few hours. He doesn’t want his father to think that he had them, because then he would think Yoongi has whatever he is searching every time from now on. He doesn’t want his father to get suspicious of him every time he can’t find something. It would only make things worse for him.
So, he lies.
Only, that it doesn’t make a difference now.
“Really? And I should believe you why? Huh? Why should I?”
Yoongi can’t back up further, a small table digging into his legs from behind. Still, he tries to lean back without losing his balance, as his father steps closer, so close that there is only a step between them now.
“I really d-don’t have th-them!” He stutters without being able not to, as much as he would like to be strong now, to be brave.
His father’s eyes are dark, angry and formed into slits, staring him down and making him shiver.
“You’re disappointing me, son. I've raised you better than that,” he says and if Yoongi would be braver, he would scoff at that. But he is terrified out of his mind, his body cold and still with electricity running through it.
“I don’t believe you,” his father says and before Yoongi can prepare himself, before he can duck out the way, a big hand, hard as steel, slaps him across his face. His head gets whipped to the side, his body following it and he almost loses his balance when he stumbles against the table behind him.
His cheek stings, his body feels hot and cold, but also strangely numb, and his mind is empty except of shock and disbelief.
“When I go to the kitchen later, I expect them to lie on the table. Got it?” With that, his father steps back, throwing him a last glance Yoongi doesn’t and can’t meet, and then he leaves his room, the door still open.
Yoongi just stands there, as if he is frozen, and stares at the empty spot where his father left his room, both hands are pressed on his right cheek, numb. He stands like this, seconds, maybe even minutes – he doesn’t know how long it really is, either could be true -, and then, suddenly, he scrambles forward to the door, grasping it with both hands and throwing it shut as hard as he can. At that, a new spike of fear surges through him and he hastily steps back, away from the now closed door, afraid that it will be thrown open again, every second now.
But the door stays closed.
There is no shouting again, no footsteps coming back towards his room, no nothing.
But still, he steps back until he is at his desk again, but instead of sitting down on the chair, he sinks do the ground, with his back leaning against the small bedside table, and draws his knees up to himself, against his chest. His hands are back to his right cheek, and it stings and hurts, the numbness from before slowly receding and letting him feel again.

Pain.

But not only physical pain. Emotional pain, too.
The right side of his face hurts and throbs along with his fast pulse. The skin will bruise, probably.
Sometimes, only very short moments, he thinks that maybe his father likes him, at least a bit. But then he gets like this, does what he does and says what he says, and every spark of hope and positive feeling shatters like fragile glass against cold, hard and rocky ground.

Shock.

His small, dark save space got breached again, disturbed by angry, hurting and intimidating and totally irrational actions by a person who should love and protect him.
Why, how could his father hurt him, just because of missing scissors? He didn’t expect this to happen today, not at all. It ripped him out of the almost content bubble he was in when he scribbled in his notebook earlier.

Fear.

He is scared that he will get hurt again by his father, just because of....something or anything he did or didn’t do. His room isn’t safe, he can’t hide, he can’t just go and not come back.

Hopelessness.

He doesn’t know what to do. Nowhere is safe in the apartment. But he hasn’t any place to go but their apartment and his workplace, and he always has to come back home, at some point.

He can’t fight back.
Not physically, because he is simply too weak to do so, neither in another way, because if he would defend himself and, by a wonder he doesn’t think will happen, doesn’t get rendered helpless, paralysed by fear, in an instant, he doesn’t know what he would do. He would be consumed by fear and desperation, maybe he would fall into that weird state where he is kind of detached from himself and his surroundings and just acts instinctively without feeling much at all. He doesn’t think he would be able to murder his father, never, but he also doesn’t want to end up in prison because he attacked his father physically and hurt him, although he would deserve it. No one would believe him, if he’d say it was out of self-defence, because his father hurt him. No one ever believed him.
A sob escapes his mouth, sudden and hard, and the first, all-consuming shiver runs through his body, making his limbs shake and cramp. It is the first loud sob, the first big tears pooling in his eyes and spilling down, but now his body decides to let go, let the feelings roam free and react to what happened.
He presses his legs closer to himself, his arms between his torso and his legs, hugging his middle. His whole body is shaking, painfully violent. His eyes stay wide open, fixated on the door, even though everything looks blurry in front of his eyes as tears run down his face.

Makeup is not only for women.
Yoongi owns a bit of makeup, and he is glad he does. But the mini palette of eyeshadow is not what uses often and also not today.
What he needed this morning was the concealer he uses sometimes to mask the dark circles under his eyes and a few spots. But today he had to put on a bit more, spreading it on his cheek and cheekbone, a bigger amount of the light liquid to mask that.

When he looked into the mirror this morning, the skin on the right side of his face was still red, an angry, dark red spot where he was hit directly, and slightly violet in very few areas and swollen all around that. Not that much, at least, but it was noticeable. Concealer was the only way for him to make his skin tone more even, even though it did nothing for the light swelling of his skin.
When his shift at the bar began and he greeted Minho, he noticed the man looking at him a moment longer than usual, his eyes more focused on his face than any other time he looked at Yoongi before – well, except for the first time they met and the time Yoongi asked him about the black menu.

But now, as they are both tending to the customers, Minho’s attention is back to his job and away from him, and Yoongi feels more comfortable like that. The last thing he wants is for anyone to say something because they noticed that he wears makeup, or even because they saw that the skin looks different, not like it should. He knows that there is barely anything noticeable, no discoloured skin on his face thanks to the makeup, but he can’t touch his face and has to be cautious to not accidently touch it with anything at all.
He doesn’t want to remove the makeup accidently, not even the smallest amount. But soon he forgets about the discoloured, still hurting skin and only gets reminded when it hurts worse for a few moments, before he gets distracted by doing his tasks again.
The bar is crowded tonight and there is so much to do that Yoongi can’t think about much except what kind of drink his customers want, what kind of glass he needs, what different kinds of alcohol or non-alcoholic liquids he needs to mix and serve whatever they ordered. He is still making only very easy drinks, at least. But...

It’s exhausting.

But although it is exhausting to remember how to mix drinks and to talk with people all the time, he gets to hear the rap battle taking place on the stage, even if he can’t see the stage, nor the rappers. It’s too far in the back of the bar and he is too short to see anything. The words of their battle are sharp witted, spit out so fast that he can’t quite catch up with what they are saying, because most of his attention is required at doing his job.
The rhythm of their music and words makes working easier, for him. It’s somewhat distracting, yes, but it also enlightens his heavy blood, makes it swing and thrum to the beats of the music, makes it run hotter than it is otherwise. But he still feels cold.
He only had cereal with water to eat this morning. The milk was already stale. He doesn’t know for how long it stood in the fridge. Normally, he doesn’t like to eat cereal and he always drinks his coffee black. He didn’t need to eat cereal for quite some time now, but then he lost his job and began his new one for which he didn’t get paid yet. So, cereal it was for the first time again, but instead with milk, only with water. It didn’t cost much, but it also didn’t taste very good.
Beside feeling cold, probably a consequence of not eating enough, he sometimes feels a bit...weird. The whole system of his body feels weak, a ringing sound rises in his ears for a few seconds, just for it to disappear again, until it reappears yet again randomly. Yoongi knows that this is not a good sign, he is familiar with that feeling. But since yesterday, since that happened, he feels it stronger than normally.
From the moment he noticed that feeling, he knows that he has to sit down soon, or else his knees might get weak, and he is going to sit on the ground right where he is standing at that moment – if he wants to or not.
Distracted by the ringing in his ears and a sudden, light dizzying and faint feeling, he nudges a bottle beside him with his elbow and he watches it tilt to one side, until gravity does the rest, and it tumbles from the counter. He can only watch, horrified that he did this, that it is going to crash on the ground and shatter, and the liquid and shards will be everywhere and –

-and a hand catches it before it meets the ground.

Yoongi catches himself on the counter in front of him when his knees get too weak and he feels himself slightly swaying on his feet.
“Are you alright, Yoongi?”
Minho stands beside him, the bottle he saved from crashing on the ground in one hand, and looks at him, just as long as he did when his shift began today.
Yoongi hears the words, but his brain needs a few seconds to process the meaning of it, and what he has to answer.
“I’m fine,” he mutters and tries to straighten himself, so that he doesn’t look as if he is in danger of meeting the ground anytime soon.
“Come on, you can rest for a few minutes in one of the backrooms,” he says to Yoongi and without waiting for an answer, he gently but persistently pushes Yoongi away from the counter towards one door behind them. When the door closes behind them, all the noise of the bar fades to a low background sound, and Yoongi lets himself be guided down onto a plush, small couch. A sigh comes out of him when he sinks down.
Minho doesn’t walk out immediately, he keeps standing beside the couch, looking down at Yoongi, who feels still a bit faint. His pulse is racing and his cheek hurts and throbs again, along with the fast rhythm of his heart.
“Are you alright?” Minho asks again, and Yoongi wants to give the same answer as before, but he guesses that he doesn’t really look okay now. There is no need to repeat that he is fine, again.
“I just...just feel a bit dizzy,” he replies quietly, because he doesn’t like to admit that he doesn’t feel fine.
“Hm....are you okay with staying back here for a few minutes? Then come back out when you feel okay again.”
Yoongi nods and closes his eyes – it’s easier to concentrate like that, to keep to world from spinning too much. Minho still doesn’t leave immediately, only after a few seconds more he leaves the small room, leaves Yoongi to himself.
It takes a few minutes until Yoongi opens his eyes and takes in his surroundings.
It is a small backroom, one small couch, one big chair and a small table between them. At the wall beside the door hang a few coats, jackets and scarfs , decorating the white walls quite colourful. There is second closed door, but he doesn’t know where it leads to. He is too tired and exhausted to find out, anyway. And, surely, he isn’t supposed to go there, anyway.
A few books are stacked on a small sideboard at the other side of the room and he notices the nice, colourful carpet beneath his feet.
This doesn’t look like a regular backroom. More like a room for the staff, for resting., because there are only two seating options, nothing else. But he never saw any of the staff entering this room and being in here for more than just a few minutes.
Well, it doesn’t really matter to him now. He doesn’t intend to be in here long because he knows that he can’t rest for too long, Minho needs his help and he has to work, regardless of how he is feeling now. He needs to keep this job.

I can’t fuck it up again.

He closes his eyes again and tries to concentrate on his breathing, so that he can lower his pulse and get his bearings again.
It must be only minutes later when suddenly the door opens so quickly that he didn’t even notices it until it is already open.
With his eyes wide open he stares at the intruder, who, in return, stares at him the same way, in one hand a closed, black covered menu, the other hand at his hip. Then, these eyes narrow.
“What are you doing here?” Jimin asks, unusually strained, hard. Mistrusting.
Yoongi tenses under his sharp eyes, as Jimin’s eyes wander through the room before settling on Yoongi’s hunched form on the couch and don’t stray away from him again.
“Minho said...said tha-that I could be h-here?”
This time, he stutters. He doesn’t feel good, that’s one reason, but another is that it seems that Yoongi isn’t even allowed to be in here, sitting here. Jimin doesn’t look that happy that he sits here. Yoongi feels uncomfortable, unwelcomed, judged in a bad way.
He did something wrong.
“Minho? Why are you not out there with him?”
“I...I ju-“
“There is a lot to do today, a lot of customers because of the show. Why would Minho send you in here for a break now?”
Jimin sounds as if he is disappointed in him, even a bit angry that Yoongi isn’t working, not standing beside Minho and helping him with all those customers and other things. Disappointed that he isn’t doing his job, the one Jimin got for him.
Until now, he thought that Jimin couldn’t be disappointed in him, because he was only supportive and nice, not one second angry or disappointed. He didn’t even think about that possibility before, but now it happened. There is no one else who is this nice to him, and he has the sudden realisation that he disappointed the only person who had only smiles and nice words for him until now.
All of these feelings begin to overwhelm him, rising up and making his throat tight. He feels as if he lost something that made his day better, every time he talks to Jimin. He can’t take it.
Suddenly, there are tears in his eyes.
He hates that. But he can’t help it.
“I’m so-sorry, I...I-“ he tries to put the situation right, to explain why he is here, sitting and resting instead of working along Minho, but –
In a second, Jimin is by his side, the black menu clattering to the ground, his eyes wide with concern and surprise. He stands beside Yoongi, taller than him because Yoongi is still sitting and hunched in on himself.
“No, no, don’t cry! Don’t cry, Yoongi-ah,” he says, pleads, and leans down to cup Yoongi’s face in both of his hands.
It’s too sudden, the change is too sudden and it’s too confusing, too upsetting. It’s getting too much. There are too many emotions happening in such a short time.
Yoongi flinches back. The skin of his cheek hurts where Jimin touches him. Tears are still falling down from his eyes, rolling over his cheeks, dripping from his chin on his clothes.
Jimin doesn’t try to touch him again.
“Talk to me. What happened?”
No words come out of him as he tries to stifle his sobs, tries to stop the tears. Every limb is tense, so that he doesn’t shake that noticeable, so that Jimin doesn’t notice how much not okay he is right now.
Not that Jimin didn’t already saw him like that.
Slowly, as if he would approach a hurt and scared animal, Jimin comes closer again, and touches his cheeks with such gentle fingers that it is barely perceptible. Yoongi doesn’t flinch this time, but he does, almost. His hurt skin is sensitive.
“Yoongi, tell me,” he demands in such a gentle voice, matching his fingers on his skin which begin to stroke small circles.
Suddenly, he freezes, along with Jimin, whose eyes suddenly widen, then narrow as he takes in what he sees.
“You are hurt,” he states.
There is no mistaking that.
The makeup must’ve been rubbed away when Jimin caught his tears on his cheeks and stroke his skin. He must’ve noticed the swollen area.
“Who did this to you?”
Yoongi doesn’t answer. He can’t answer, because he doesn’t want to get pitied. Because he doesn’t want anyone to know how pathetic he is.
A twenty-two years old man who still lives at home, together with his father, who abuses him in different ways. But still, he doesn’t move out.
He just takes it, every day, and he is too pathetic to do something, too pathetic to tell anyone.
He shakes his head.
No.
“Why don’t you want to tell me, hm? I can help you.”
And isn’t this exactly what Yoongi wants all the time?
Jimin crouches down, so that he is now looking up to Yoongi, and rests his hands on both of Yoongi’s knees. He sighs.
“Minho brought you here for a break, right?” He changes the topic.
Yoongi nods, glad that Jimin doesn’t press to get an answer.
“Let me get you a cooling pad for your cheek and you can stay here as long as you want.”
Yoongi is...he doesn’t know what to think, how to feel.
Jimin showed, once again, that he cares, that he is nice, that he helps without forcing an answer out of him. Apparently, he isn’t angry and he isn’t...is he still disappointed? Maybe. At least he doesn’t seem to be angry.
It’s not as bad as Yoongi thought, then. But maybe Jimin is still angry but doesn’t show it or Yoongi just doesn’t notice it. But he has not the energy to do or say something to set things right, to explain himself more so that Jimin understands.
It is how it is.
Jimin stands up, his knees barely audible cracking, and takes the black menu which fell on the ground earlier, when Jimin rushed to his side.
“Do you need anything else?”
A headshake again.
“Okay. I try to hurry. Just stay in here.”
Then he hastily exits the room and Yoongi is alone again.
He hesitates when he reaches up to touch his cheek, but he doesn’t need to be cautious of accidently removing the makeup, not anymore. But he needs to be cautious because it still hurts, after all, it was just yesterday that he got....that....he doesn’t want to think about that again.
It hurts, when his fingertips touch his heated skin, now also irritated from his salty tears. But although it felt the same when Jimin touched him there, it also had felt...nice. Like he cared.
He liked that.
Once again, he closes his eyes, just breathing and trying to calm himself down. A headache is slowly appearing, not that bad yet, but noticeable.
But, once again, Jimin rips him out of this slowly building calmness by entering the small room suddenly. This time with a cooling pad and a small towel. The black menu is nowhere in sight, he must left it somewhere else. But, different from the last time, he isn’t alone.
Taehyung is with him.
He tenses, again, and forces to stifle his still small sobs, though they are not as loud as few minutes ago. Jimin already saw him having more than one breakdown, but Taehyung didn’t. Why did he bring him here? He doesn’t want anyone else to see him like this.
“Taehyung was concerned about you, he wanted to come along,” Jimin says while wrapping the cooling pad in the towel, so that it won’t burn his skin.
True to his words, Taehyung looks very concerned when Yoongi looks up to him. Taehyung is very tall and towers over him, but not threatening.
Jimin takes Yoongi’s hand and presses it, together with the wrapped cooling pad, against his cheek.
Taehyung hovers beside them, seemingly not sure what to do, but he barely takes his eyes off Yoongi’s face.
“Who did this to you?” His voice is deep, strained with the effort to contain his emotions – Yoongi can’t decipher what kind of emotions. Taehyung is good at masking them.
“He wouldn’t tell me, Tae,” Jimin says quietly, still pressing the cooling pad along Yoongi's hand to his face.
Please don’t ask again.
“I...Jimin, we can’t just do nothing!”
They’re talking as if he isn’t here. But...strangely, it doesn’t bother him that much now. Usually, it would bother him a lot, very much so. But it doesn’t now, because he knows that they care, as strange and new as it might be. They obviously care. They want to help.
Why?
“Yoongi,” Jimin looks up to him, from is crouching position, and then he takes his hand down so Yoongi holds the cooling pad himself, “how can we help?”
That’s a good question. He knows a lot of things he needs help with, unfortunately, but he wouldn’t tell them most of it.
Food is a pressing matter. But he won’t ask for that, that’s just...embarrassing, to ask for food when he has a job – just one he recently begun and therefore didn’t get paid for yet. And it isn’t as if he has no food at all, just...not a lot of it. No, he won’t ask for that.
“C-can I...stay here? After my...my shift tonight?”
This would help him the most.
This way, he could stay away from his home, from his father and he wouldn’t have to worry about anything happening this evening and tomorrow morning.
“Yoongi, I’m sorry but...you can’t stay here,” Jimin says apologetic.
Rejection. It always hurts.
“Just...only tonight?” He tries. Just one night, this night...then he would be okay. Well, more okay than he is now, hopefully.
“Minho shouldn’t even let you in here, it’s not a room for staff,” Taehyung sounds as apologetic as Jimin does.
“Another room?” Yoongi asks quietly, almost sure that it’s futile to ask.
“Yoongi, you can’t - why don’t you want to go home?”
There are many reasons.
He doesn’t give an answer, ashamed of all the reasons, ashamed of showing that much vulnerability.
He feels as if he’s sixteen again, asking the school’s librarian to be allowed to stay in the library until late after the last class, pitiful begging to be allowed to stay.
Jimin and Taehyung exchange glances, obviously communicating in a way only really good friends can.
“We have a guest room at home. Do you want to stay with us for tonight?”
Yoongi hesitates before shyly accepting the generous offer.

Chapter Text

It’s almost a miracle that Yoongi got up on his feet after the breakdown he had in the small backroom of the bar.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to work that long anymore. Minho gave him the easiest tasks and kept serving most of the customers himself.
When Jimin and Taehyung came to him to pick him up and lead him to their home, it was late into the night, already past eleven. It was cold outside, but in comparison to Yoongi’s measly jacket, theirs looked warm enough to fend off the cold. He shivered.
“Are we...we going to your place?” He asks while walking between them. Jimin isn’t that much taller than Yoongi, but he has more muscles, a more filled out body than Yoongi has. He feels small between them.
“We take my car,” Taehyung replies and soon enough they’re approaching an expensive looking car parked at the sidewalk where a few other cars are parked. It’s deep black and shiny with dark violet tinted windows. He cannot look into the car.
Yoongi is afraid he gets the expensive, clean looking seats dirty when he sits down on the passenger seat Jimin insists he should take instead of him. Taehyung drives and turns the radio up, the volume low but loud enough to create a comfortable atmosphere.
“Do you want me to stop at your place so you can pack a few things you need for staying over?”
Yoongi considers Taehyung’s question. He bets that they live in an expensive area of the town, not like the one he lives in. He doesn’t want them to see where he lives.
“Do you have a... a spare toothbrush I can use?” He asks instead, almost muttering and slightly stuttering the words. It’s the only thing he can bring himself to ask about, even if it must be barely comprehensible. But that’s all he needs, just a toothbrush. The clothes he is wearing are clean enough, half a day more wearing them shouldn’t be that bad.
There is a short pause, a moment where nobody says anything, and just when Yoongi thinks that he might have overstepped their kindness, Jimin pats him on one of his shoulders, lightly. Yoongi didn’t expect this, so he flinches.
“I’m sure we have one in one of our bathroom cabinets.”
One of their bathroom cabinets?
How big is the place they live in?

Apparently, one of them must have quite a bit of money. Or one of their parents have money. Or both of them have money, with or without their parents.
It’s not a house, it’s a townhouse. Every entrance is separated with a high brick wall, so high that Yoongi can’t see over it and catch a glimpse to the neighbour’s property when they are going from the parked car to the front door. It looks well maintained, even though there is only a small patch of grass in the front yard, the rest is cobblestone. But the three rosebushes and one little tree Yoongi can’t identify look very healthy – even if it’s already autumn and half of the leaves are turning into various shades of red and yellow.
When they walk into the house, Yoongi sees the nametag beside the door.
Kim.
Just one name? So...who owns the place?
“Hyungs! We have a guest!” Taehyung shouts in the direction of a large room, at the end of the short hallway. It must be the living room, Yoongi guesses.
Apparently, Jimin and Taehyung live together with other people, older people. Probably friends, he guesses. To be honest, Yoongi didn’t expect this. He is surprised.
“What kind of guest?” Replies a voice, and shortly after Yoongi sees the person who spoke.
A very tall and wide shouldered man.

Why is everyone so tall or am I just that short?

The man is even taller than Taehyung, though not by that much. And he is undeniable handsome, like a man out of those k-pop idol magazines. Maybe he is a model too, Like Taehyung?
Yoongi feels a bit...jealous, but only a little bit, and the moment he notices it he puts it out like a small flame on a candle. Then, there is just the lightest feeling of it left, like the slightest hint of smoke left in the air after the flame fizzled out. He should be happy to be able to look at such a handsome person.
Yoongi still stands in the hallway near the now closed front door, but he hasn’t moved much further in yet.
Maybe it was a bad idea coming here.
“Just a friend from the bar, he works with Minho,” Taehyung says and puts his shoes on a mat by the door. Jimin does the same and Yoongi follows, because it seems like the right thing to do, and the only thing that he is sure of to do now.
The tall man steps into the hallway and looks like he is scrutinizing Yoongi, surely taking in his too large clothes, his face that must be still a bit red, swollen and bruised, and then, surprisingly, he smiles lightly.
“You must be Yoongi-ssi, right?” It’s so polite, and he uses honorifics with which Jimin and Taehyung don’t seem to bother with anymore when they speak to Yoongi. But it doesn’t bother him, either way.
He nods.
“Well, then. Dinner is already on the table, but the others already ate because it’s so late. Do you want to join us, Yoongi-ssi?”
They...they want him to join them eating dinner? He doesn’t even know when the last time was that someone just invited him to eat with them. And now he smells delicious, home cooked food, not the simple smell of ramen or just rice.
“You can call me just Yoongi,” he answers.
Suddenly, the man’s eyes become wide and he looks shocked, but then he laughs with a high voice, a bit like windshield wipers, and his eyes crinkle at the corners. It’s strangely endearing and sympathetic, it makes Yoongi slightly smiling too.
“Where are my manners? I’m Seokjin, I’m your hyung I think. I’m honoured to be allowed to call you Yoongi-ah!”
It hits him like a hammer against his chest and his breath stutters. His tongue is almost unfamiliar with that word, it feels strange in his mouth, unfamiliar on his tongue. He doesn’t say the word out loud. He never had a hyung.
No one ever called him Hyung, either, and usually it feels too close to let people just call him by his name, but...with these people it doesn’t feel uncomfortable to let them in this close.
He doesn’t know why. Not exactly.
For now, he wants everyone to call him just Yoongi, and he wants to stick with the honorifics. No hyung.
They go into the living room after washing their hands in a small bathroom that’s probably for guests, just around the corner in the hallway.
The living room is big, modern but cosy. It’s all cream, grey and white, here and there small specks of colour in form of pillows and blankets, small pieces of art on the walls or in one of the few shelves lining the wall, and there are even a few plants nearby the big window that’s now dark and halfway closed with curtains left and right.
Yoongi thinks that he was never in a house like this one. Somehow, he feels a bit out of place. It looks ten times more expensive than what Yoongi will probably ever live in. Even their clothes look more expensive than what he will ever be able to afford. At least in the foreseeable future, but Yoongi doesn’t have big hopes that he will ever come this far in his life.
Maybe he doesn’t even -
“Just chose a seat!” Seokjin encourages him and when he looks away from the curtains towards the table, he sees that Jimin and Taehyung are already seated. Yoongi takes a seat then, just at the corner of the table and beside Jimin. Seokjin doesn’t sit down, he hurries through an open door which must be leading to the kitchen, because he hears the clatter of glasses and plates shortly after, and then Seokjin reappears carrying a glass and one plate with cutlery on it.
It’s for him.
To his embarrassment he doesn’t even get out a ‘thank you’ or something along those lines when Seokjin puts down the plate in front of him. He is too overwhelmed, and he doesn’t even know how to behave, what to say. But luckily, Taehyung, Jimin and Seokjin are chatty people.“Are the others already sleeping? It’s not even midnight yet,” Jimin says while spooning soup out of the pot into his own bowl. It smells good, delicious even. But Yoongi doesn’t dare to just taking something without asking or them offering to serve him something.
“Ah,” Seokjin makes a humming noise and serves himself a bit of kimchi, struggling with his chopsticks for a moment because his angle is a bit difficult, “no, they have some work left to do.”
Yoongi wonders what they do for a living, since they are obviously well off. They must earn a lot of money with whatever they do. But this means that they probably have to work a lot, too. It must be stressful even, if they still have to work when they are at home late at night. He doesn’t ask.
“Yoongi-ah, do you want some soup? It’s Dak Gomtang,” Seokjin asks him. And because he offered it, Yoongi nods and gives him his own bowl.
It smells so good.
And it tastes good, too. The first spoonful of soup is so warm, so tasteful but not too much.
It is the best food he had since a long time now.
“Does it taste good?” Seokjin asks.
Yoongi nods enthusiastically. He feels warm all over as the heavenly soup settles down into his stomach.
“It’s really good,” he says then, before spooning more of the soup into his mouth.
While they eat the soup and some side dishes like Kimchi, Mu Saengchae and Hobak Bokkeum, Taehyung talks a bit about art. It seems to be one of his favourite topics, but this time it is more about paintings and fashion and it seems to be a topic Jimin and Seokjin are also interested in. Yoongi doesn’t know much about fashion. Of course, he knows all the big names like Gucci and Valentino, Balenciaga and Louis Vuitton. But he never set a foot into such a store. He is sure they would throw him right out again.
He absently eats the soup, one spoon after another. Though, soon, his stomach feels uncomfortably full, and he has to stop.
“I swear, Hobi-hyung would love that shirt. We should get it for him for his next show,” Taehyung says when Yoongi tunes back into their conversation.
“It would look good on him. Hobi-hyung likes colours,” Jimin replies.
He doesn’t know who they are referring to, he doesn’t know anyone with this name, no co-worker at the bar who has a similar name. It’s probably a nickname, he figures. But he doesn’t ask.
“Are you already finished?” Seokjin asks then and Yoongi startles at being addressed so suddenly.
“Huh?”
He looks down into his bowl – the bowl is still almost half full. He hadn’t managed to eat more than that, he realizes. But he feels too full to eat more.
He feels bad about it.
“I’m sorry, I just...it’s re-really good, but I...I’m full, I can’t eat more.” Nervously his fingers twist the fabric of his sleeves. He feels like a bad guest, not polite enough, not grateful enough for this delicious food and their kindness. He guesses that Seokjin cooked it. It must have been a lot of work, a lot of time preparing it.
“It’s okay, Yoongi. You can eat more tomorrow if you want to,” Jimin says reassuringly and sends him a small smile. Yoongi is thankful for that. He doesn’t want to explain himself.
Then, Taehyung gets up from the table and tries to stifle a yawn, but it still is obvious enough so all at the table notice it. Seokjin and Jimin smile, and Yoongi thinks once again that Taehyung looks a bit like an adorable puppy.
“I’m going to bed, hyungs,” he says and moves the chair back to the table. “Yoongi-ah, I hope you’ll sleep good. See you tomorrow!” with that, he turns and disappears around the corner. His loud footsteps get quieter while ascending the stairs leading upstairs.
“Why is he already tired? Usually, he would head out for a few hours again now,” Seokjin says quietly to Jimin, who now stands close at Seokjin’s side.
“Business was tiring,” Jimin answers and Yoongi gets the feeling that this is not something he is supposed to know a lot about. The way they talk indicates that, at least.
He doesn’t know how to act.
“Jimin, “ Seokjin says when his eyes land on Yoongi, who sits tensed up on his seat and looks down at the table, folding the edge of his napkin and unfolding it again. “Yoongi-ah is staying here, right? Do you want to prepare the guestroom?” At this Yoongi looks up, slightly confused and also a bit nervous that Jimin is going to leave him alone here, with Seokjin. It’s not that he doesn’t think Seokjin is nice, it’s just...he doesn’t know him.
What should he say?
What should he do?
Should he follow Jimin and help him?
Maybe that would be best.
Just as Jimin is about to round the corner to the stairs, he decides to speak up. “Jimin-ssi, do you want me to help you?” He is proud of himself that the sentence came out steady, loud enough be to be heard clearly, and that he remembered to use honorifics. He wants to show his gratefulness and be polite.
“You can help me clear the table,” Seokjin replies instead of Jimin.
Oh god, he is so stupid. Why didn’t he think about that? Of course, he should have offered Seokjin his help, too. After all, he cooked the food, set the table. The least he can do is to help putting it all back into the kitchen.
“Of course,” he says quietly and watches Jimin giving him a reassuring smile. Then he is gone, up the stairs.
Now, he is alone with Seokjin. The handsome, tall man he knows for maybe half an hour now.
“Just take everything and carry it to the kitchen. That will be enough help,” Seokjin instructs him then and they both get up, piling the dishes and carry it to the kitchen.
Yoongi follows him and he is not really surprised that the kitchen looks as expensive as everything else in this house. It also looks like the people who live here like to cook a lot. He guesses that Seokjin likely spends a lot of time here, cooking for anyone who lives or visits here. He seems to be the one in charge of that. And he seems like the type to mother the people around him.
“ So, Yoongi-ah, how does it come that you’re spending the night here?”
It’s a question he should’ve expected.
But what should he answer?
He hasn’t thought about that yet. Of course, he knows why he is here, why he spends the night here. But he isn’t sure if he wants Seokjin to know everything. Maybe he can tell him something, he seems nice, kind in a way that makes Yoongi want to tell him at least something that’s true.
“I...I needed some time away from...away from home and Jimin-ssi invited me,” he answers then. His words are not loud, quite the opposite, and the nervousness makes his voice waver. But he said it and he is sure Seokjin understood every word. He doesn’t look into Seokjin’s face, afraid of whatever he might see there.
Without waiting for Seokjin to say anything to what he just told him, he turns around and walks back to the table. He carefully balances the small bowls still filled with food on his hands and walks back to the kitchen cautiously, not too fast, so that nothing falls down. He puts all of it down on a free spot on the kitchen counters. But this time, before he can walk back out and continue cleaning the table, Seokjin’s words stop him.
“Yoongi-ah, I know we only met today, but Jimin and Taehyung...they care about you. And I think you are a nice person, stuck in a situation that might be...not ideal, even if I don’t know what exactly it is. So, if you want us to help you, just say a word.”
His body feels as if he’s struck by a lightning, the feelings racing through his mind and body are too much and to overwhelming. So, as a response, his body locks up, frozen to the spot and air leavings his lungs in a tight squeeze. Just like his body often responds these days.
Underneath every thought and feeling that’s rushing through his entire being, there is a spark of hope.

The spark that first got awoken by Jimin, who found him.
The spark that got a little bit brighter when he met the inspiring, artful, strange Taehyung.
A spark that grows as Seokjin speaks those words.
A spark that doubles in size as Seokjin crosses the few steps that separate them and stops in front of him, and then asks “can I hug you, Yoongi-ah?”

He doesn’t really wait for an answer and Yoongi is simply too out of his depth with everything that’s been happening since last afternoon that he can’t utter out a single word to protest or consent.
Normally, he would...he would do...but this isn’t a normal occurring thing for him. He doesn’t know anyone who would just hug him.
He doesn’t know what he would do, what to do now.
Then, Seokjin’s arms wrap slowly around his torso, his hands settle on his back and he squeezes lightly. There isn’t a lot of space between them anymore, they’re pressed together gently, only by Seokjin’s strength.
Yoongi freezes at first. When was the last time someone hugged him like this?
It’s strange.
Seokjin is warm, tall but oh so soft in his fuzzy, light blue sweater he is wearing. He smells like lavender and detergent.
“Thank you,” Yoongi mumbles. He doesn’t know why he says that, or what he is thanking Seokjin for. But he feels like saying these two words. Slowly, he wraps his own arms around Seokjin and his hands grasp the soft material of Seokjin’s sweater.
He feels content.
This feels nice.
He feels warm.
They stand like that a few minutes. Just hugging each other, Yoongi listening to Seokjin’s quiet breaths and feeling his hands draw small circles on his back.
Why?
He doesn’t want to cry.
“I’m tired,” he says then and means it in more than one way.
He is tired of so many things.
“Let me show you the guestroom. I think Jimin-ah will be finished preparing your bed by now.”
The warmth of the other person’s body falls away when they separate and Yoongi almost mourns it. It was nice. But it’s better to not get too attached, to not get too familiar with the feeling of hugging another person. It’s probably the last hug he will have for a long time. The slight burn of tears in his eyes is treacherous and he hates that he cries so easily when someone shows him the smallest amount of gentleness and care.
“Follow me,” Seokjin says and then they go to the stairs, up and then they walk along a dimly lit corridor with doors on both sides. There is a big, open room to one side and at the end of the corridor, but they don’t go there. Instead, they stop in front of the third door on the left side and Seokjin pushes the door open so that they both can enter.
It’s a small room and the window is covered by long, grey curtains. The rest of the room is bright, most of the interior either white, light gray or creme coloured, again. It seems to be their favourite colour. It’s so different from his own, shabby and dark room back at his apartment.

The bed is not that big, but it’s covered with plush pillows and a soft looking duvet over a thicker blanket. It looks very comfortable.
“So, that’s the guestroom. There’s a bathroom through the door,” he says and points to their right. Yoongi only notices now a white door to his right side, “and you can use everything in there.”
When Yoongi doesn’t say anything, he turns to him, his face showing nothing but the kindness he was shown the whole time he is here. “Do you need anything else?”
Yoongi is quick to answer. He doesn’t want to appear as ungrateful, impolite. “No, no....every...everything is fine. Really, th-thank you so much for all of this.” His gratitude is not only for the delicious dinner and their offer that he can stay here this night.
Seokjin smiles.
“Of course,” he says and then he walks towards the door. “I let you sleep now. Breakfast is ready around seven thirty.”
That’s awfully early, Yoongi thinks, and makes a mental note to set an alarm on his phone.
“Okay, thank you,” Yoongi says again. But he can’t say it enough.
“Goodnight, Yoongi!” With that, Seokjin walks out of his room with big steps.
“Goodnight, Seokjin-ssi,” Yoongi says. But it’s not loud enough, he probably didn’t hear it.
In the bathroom, he finds a toothbrush, toothpaste and a big towel perched onto a small cabinet beside the sink. Jimin must’ve been the one to lay out those things for him. He will thank him tomorrow.
His face looks tired and beside the colourful bruising on his cheek, his face is pale. His skin is always pale, but his face looks usually pale because of the lack of food and general energy in his body, he thinks. Now, his pallor is most likely not from the lack of food – he’s had the best meal since forever, or so it feels -, but because of the awful day and his breakdown during his shift at the bar. He doesn’t spare his appearance in the mirror more than two minutes.

Brush teeth.
Wash hands.
Wash face.
Wash hands.
Brush hair.
Wash hands.

Sometimes, he just gets the urge to wash his hands. More than once. Sometimes, everything he touches feels dirty, so he washes his hands after touching something and before touching something else. It happens so seldom that it is probably nothing bad, no mental illness forcing him to wash his hands that often. As long as it doesn’t happen more than occasionally, he won’t interpret something further into it. Beside, everything in here is new, at least it looks new. He doesn’t want it to get dirty, so washing hands it is.
When he pads back into the bedroom, he sees a pile of folded clothing on a chair beside the bed. Is it for him?
As he takes a closer look an notices a small, square piece of paper on the clothes.

Yoongi,
These clothes are for you.
I hope you’ll sleep well!
Jimin

He unfolds the dark clothes. It’s a large black t-shirt, at least two sizes too big, but the material is soft and smooth between his fingers. Then there are shorts, dark blue and seemingly new. The last piece of clothing are long pyjama bottoms, red and blue checked. They look nice, comfy. And when he switches his worn, old clothes for the sleeping clothes from Jimin, crawls underneath the warm, heavy blanket and lays his head on the plush pillow, everything not only feels soft and smooth, but also strangely...good, warm. A sort of comfort he rarely feels at home in his bed – a place where comfort got a bad taste since his father destroyed his safe space. But this feeling, here and now...it’s a kind of feeling he can’t find the right words for, but that isn’t bad. It feels good, and that’s what matters.

He falls asleep very fast.

Chapter Text

He wakes up to the alarm of his phone.

He grumbles, makes a disgruntled sound and turns from facing the wall to facing the bedside table where his phone lays. The grey curtains are seemingly thick enough to only let a sliver of light into the room, and Yoongi is thankful for that. He doesn’t like to be awoken by bright light right in his face, especially not when he intends to just sleep without planning to get out of bed the whole day. But his surroundings remind him that he can’t stay in this bed any longer, because that is not his bed in his own room. And it’s already past seven and with a jolt to his still sleepy consciousness he remembers Seokjin saying the night before that breakfast will be ready around seven thirty.

Yoongi is proud of the short time it takes him to get up, shower and brush his teeth and getting ready, in not even twenty minutes. When he looks into the mirror, he sees the bruise in his face, again, and he is reminded of everything that happened, of what led him to be here now. He doesn’t want anyone to see the bruise, because he knows they will see and look and want to know what happened…but he doesn’t have any make-up with him, he can’t cover it up and, also, they already saw it yesterday. So, he decides to just try to ignore the looks, even though he knows that this will be difficult.

He changes his comfy sleeping clothes back against his black, worn-out clothes. It’s kind of pitiful, he thinks with a pang, to find someone’s else’s sleeping wear more comfortable than his own clothes. But it’s not only the soft material he likes, it’s also the smell of the detergent which seems to be stuck deep in every fibre of every blanket, pillow, clothing.

Lavender.

When he is dressed and gathered his phone, charger and his small bag he carried with him to work yesterday, he walks out into the corridor. The sun filters in through a few open doors and through the windows, and he notices the light apricot-coloured walls. It was too dark yesterday evening for him to notice it, but now that he sees it, he thinks that it fits the comfortable atmosphere of the house and the people who live here.

Slowly but surely, he walks the way back to the living room – all the way back from the guestroom, down the corridor to the stairs. As he descends the stairs, he hears a few voices talking – not loud, but certainly not soft, either. It sounds as if they’re arguing about something. Suddenly, he feels like an intruder. The feeling of not belonging comes back, just like he felt yesterday at the dinner, in the beginning.

“Why did you even allow them to bring a stranger in here? You know the rules, they know the rules. We made them for a reason, Jin,” a voice says. It isn’t someone he knows, but he is not sure that he wants to know them, either. The voice doesn’t sound friendly, at least not when the man who the voice belongs to talks about how Yoongi is apparently not welcome here, how it was a mistake bringing him in this house and let him stay here. He feels like a...he feels unwelcome, not wanted.

It isn’t a nice feeling. But it is familiar.

“Joon, he isn’t a threat, he is just a lonely, small person who Jimin and Taehyung wanted to help, nothing more,’ another voice says. He knows the person it belongs to, though. It’s Seokjin. A warm feeling spreads along the nervous, pinching feeling in his stomach.

Nothing more.

Do Jimin and Taehyung really just see him as a person who needs help and that’s it? Is he just some charity project to them?

Because he is a lonely, small person?

Truly pathetic. Such an embarrassment.

“He could be a spy, for all we know, Jin. Someone who looks innocent and can act good, someone sent to spy and get information out of us.”

A spy?

A small chuckle reaches his ears where he stands frozen on the stairs, still out of sight but close enough to hear it. But it doesn’t sound amused, it sounds hollow, fed up.

“Do you really believe that? If they send someone like him to us, then they must be really desperate. He looks like he didn’t have a proper meal for months, Namjoon. Just like Kookie before he came to us. Do you really trust our judgement that little?”

Seokjin sounds upset, and Yoongi gets the feeling that he really shouldn’t keep standing here and eardrop on this conversation. To be honest, he doesn’t really get what they’re talking about anyway, because the words “spy” and “Kookie” and “get information out of us” doesn’t really make sense to him. Maybe he should just...walk back up the stairs to his room, as quietly as possible and pretend as if he was still asleep, or pretend to have just woken up until someone gets him for breakfast. Or maybe he should just find another exit and just leave?

“They are biased, you are biased, I know you. When you see someone like him-“

The escape plan with going back to the guestroom and pretending as if he didn’t hear anything sounds easier and much less complicated than trying to find a way out of their house, and so he turns and walks the stairs back up, as quietly as possible and on his tiptoes. Their voices get quieter and quieter until he can’t make out what they are saying anymore. He just passed the first few doors in the corridor when suddenly one of the closed doors swings open and reveals a sleep rumpled, in pyjama clothed Taehyung, who looks just as surprised as Yoongi feels.

“Good morning?” He says uncertainly, at the same time as Taehyung asks “Where are you going?”

He has to lie.

He can’t tell him that he heard something he probably wasn’t supposed to hear and so he walked back so he wouldn’t get caught.

“I...I forg-“ but before he can even utter out his poor lie about why he is walking back from the stairs to the guestroom, Taehyung cuts off his words with a gasp.

“Does it hurt bad? Do you need painkillers?” he obviously means the bruise in his face and he sounds worried, instead of angry or suspicious, or whatever Yoongi thought he would have sounded like when he just catched him walking around their house alone.

It’s...unexpected.

“It’s...okay,” he says, because it actually is. Of course, his cheek still stings and pulses along with his heart and this is not great and everything else is not okay, too, but it is not the first time he has a bruised cheek or heard someone talking about him. So... all in all, it is okay for now.

“Come on, “ Taehyung says then and steps out of his room, “let’s get you something to eat and water. I’m sure it will help you feel better. I think Seokjin might be already downstairs.” It sounds like a good idea, but somehow, Yoongi doesn’t want to face Seokjin and this other man, Namjoon. Not after what he’s heard. He is unwelcome, apparently, and he doesn’t like to be confronted with people who don’t like him.

“Come on,” Taehyung repeats and then, when he doesn’t immediately follows, just takes his hand and tugs him along with him. Too stunned to say or do anything, he follows Taehyung. It’s the second time someone else but Jimin touching him so casually and gentle and he isn’t sure if he actually likes it or not.

It’s strange, it’s...new.

But Yoongi thinks he might like the hand-holding and the hug he received yesterday.

When they walk down the last few steps of the stairs, Yoongi can already smell the aroma of a healthy, rich breakfast. There is the clatter of plates and other utensils coming from the direction of the kitchen and when they walk even closer, Yoongi can hear the melodic sound of someone humming.

It sounds so soft yet strong, full of emotion but yet so simple in melody...

It’s beautiful.

Seokjin is standing at the counter, putting together cutlery and plates. But he is not the one humming.

There is another man, tall but looking almost swallowed by the all black and far too large clothes is wears. Dark, wild locks of hair, tousled on his head, move with him when he chops some vegetables with strong and swift moves. Yoongi can only see his back and only one part of his left hand, decorated with a few black tattoos.

He is the one humming.

Is that Namjoon?

 “There you are! Good morning, sleepy heads!” Seokjin says cheerfully. Both, he and the other man, turn around to them. “Morning, hyung. Is everyone else already here?” Taehyung asks.

“Namjoon, Jimin and Hoseok are already awake, yes. They are in the office right now, I think. Can you go and get them?”

Taehyung nods and lets go of Yoongi’s hand. The warmth immediately leaves his skin and his hands feels clammy and too cool suddenly.

“Did you sleep good, Yoongi-ah?” Seokjin asks then.

The other man, still turned away from the counter where he was chopping vegetables, looks at him. Silent, unmoving. His eyes are big, but so, so dark. There is a glint in them, and Yoongi decides that this man, this silent, tall, unmoving man, is...not one to joke around with. He doesn’t look as gentle and nice as Jimin or Taehyung.

“Yoongi?” Seokjin asks again, and only now Yoongi remembers the question.

Yes, he slept good, Very, very good. He nods.

“Thank you for letting me borrow the sleepwear,” he adds.

“These were Jimin’s clothes, I think,” Seokjin replies.

“Thank you,” Yoongi says again. He is still distracted by the mysterious stranger in front of him. And, finally, Seokjin seems to notice that they don’t know each other yet.

“Oh! You two haven’t met yet, right?”

Yoongi and the stranger shake their heads in unison.

“Yoongi-ah, this is Jungkook. Jungkook-ah, this is Yoongi. He works at the bar, with...Minho, right, Yoongi-ah?”

Yoongi nods again, still looking at this man, at Jungkook. Usually, by now, he would have looked away, but in his defence, Jungkook is still looking at him, too. It’s like they are stuck on each other.

Why?

He doesn’t know.

There is something about this man. For once, he is definitely younger than him. A young boy, almost. His eyes are large, and beneath the facade of dangerous there is a hint of a very young man who, somehow, looks familiar to him. But he doesn’t know any persons called Jungkook, and he never did know someone with that name.

He doesn’t know Jungkook, but he seems familiar.

“Good morning, Jungkook-ssi,” Yoongi says then quietly. He doesn’t know what else to say, but he also can’t stand the stare-contest any longer. Jungkook doesn’t say anything.

”Ca-can I help?”

Now, it seems that the nervousness got to him and decides to make itself known by compromising his speech again. Seokjin nods, doesn’t pay any attention to his stutter, and hands him a stack of plates. Yoongi takes them cautiously, afraid to drop them because he is so nervous that he’s afraid his clammy hands will loose their grip on them.

“Just put them on the table,” Seokjin instructs him. Yoongi is glad to escape the kitchen, to escape the feeling of Jungkook’s eyes on him. When he enters the living room, the most familiar room to him beside the guestroom, he stops dead.

There, clad in a colourful patterned t-shirt, sits someone he has only seen from afar until now. He looks as sleep rumpled as everyone else he has encountered this morning. When this someone notices Yoongi, he straightens up and smiles bright.

“Oh, hey! Jimin told me we were having a guest. You are Yoongi-ssi, right?” His voice is full of restless energy, probably fully charged over the night.

This is Hope.

And apparently, he lives here, too.

Or at least he slept here. But he seems to be at home in this house, not like a stranger.

Yoongi is, once again, too stunned to say anything. So, he nods.

“I’m Hoseok! Your work at the bar, right? I think I saw you a few times,” Hoseok talks on without a hitch, not at all irritated by Yoongi not saying anything.

This is Hope.

Hope, the rapper who mostly wears colourful clothes, smiles bright, spits word like fire and moves like he doesn’t have any bones in his body when he dances on the stage. The rapper who wins most of the times because he is that good, the one who Jimin talks fondly about. The rapper who always made Yoongi feel more energized just by watching him.

Apparently, Jimin and Hoseok are friends.

“Are you okay?” Hoseok asks, and Yoongi needs a few seconds to process what he means. His eyes are set on Yoongi’s face, and he must’ve noticed the bruise.

“Yes,” he says. He is still not really used to be asked that particular question that often, more so with honest, good intent. Usually, when he is asked that question by strangers, he is suspicious. Why should anyone care if they don’t have a reason?

 “What happened?”

It’s the same question to which Yoongi denied Jimin and Taehyung the answer to, when they asked yesterday. And, still, he isn’t ready to give a honest answer to that now either. But he is about to admit that someone might’ve hit him without revealing too much about it, when –

“Good morning, Yoongi-ssi,” a strong, mostly unfamiliar voice cuts off his words before they could even leave his mouth. When he turns towards the person, he doesn’t recognize the man either. Somehow, though, he thinks he heard that voice before.

The man is the tallest from them all, he decides. And he is more muscular than any of them, too. Even his loose shirt can’t hide that fact. His face is unreadable, his eyes set on Yoongi’s form and he seems to observe everything – how Yoongi’s fingers curl around the set of plates in his hands so tight that his knuckles turn white. How his mouth is still slightly open, interrupted by this man just when he wanted to say something.

“Don’t let me disturb you two,” the man says and sits down at the table. It’s the far end of the table, the furthest from where Yoongi stands and Hoseok sits, but -

Suddenly he gets the realisation where he heard that voice before. Even if it was only once, he knows that it was this voice, belonging to this man in front of him.

Namjoon.

The man who told Seokjin very clearly that Yoongi is not welcome here. That he is a stranger and for Namjoon even a person with no good intentions, a person who cannot be trusted.

His mouth closes, his lips in tension pressed together. The desire to tell Hoseok anything about the bruise on his face is gone, buried underneath the rising anxiety in his body.

He takes two steps forward and sets the plates onto the table, intent on going back to Seokjin who must be still in the kitchen. If he has to choose between Jungkook, who doesn’t say anything to him and just looks, and Namjoon, who outright said to Seokjin that he doesn’t trust Yoongi and doesn’t want him to stay here...Yoongi would choose Jungkook.

Silent judgement is better to endure than outright rejection.

He feels Hoseok’s eyes on him, probably silently asking him to say what he wanted to say, but Yoongi feels too uncomfortable now. The moment, when he felt ready to give even the smallest hint of what happened to him to have a bruise on his face now, is gone.

 But before he can take more than five steps in the direction where he came from, Seokjin and Jungkook enter the living room. Jungkook has both hands full of cups – seven, if he’s counting right – and Seokjin holding two pots filled with a dark liquid. It looks suspiciously like coffee.

“Oh, Yoongi-ah! There’s nothing left in the kitchen to help with. Sit down!” Seokjin ushers him back towards the table. Gingerly, Yoongi sits down on the chair closest to him – but it’s also one of two chairs facing most of the room, the back to the wall behind him. It feels better like this. This feels more secure and more in control than sitting in the middle of the room.

Unfortunately, when he looks up, he sees Namjoon looking at him, unhindered by the other chairs and persons who are now sitting at the table, too. He looks down at the table again, and then he silently takes a plate when Hoseok hands him one.

The room gets louder when the last two missing persons come into the room too. The two persons Yoongi is the most familiar and the most comfortable with, Jimin and Taehyung.

Jimin looks small and soft in his shirt and loose joggers and his hair looks as if he’d run his fingers through it many times. Jimin might not look like it right now, but Yoongi knows that he is strong and can get intimidating, maybe even angry, but not directed at him – never at him. Yoongi likes this side of Jimin.

Then Taehyung comes into the room, following Jimin like a tall shadow. But instead of a scary, dark, looming shadow, Taehyung looks, surprisingly, as soft as Jimin. A soft tall shadow. The locks on his head are wild and not as neatly arranged as usual. But nearly everyone at this table looks like they just came out of bed.

Jimin takes the seat beside him, Taehyung on the other side of the table, and then they’re all sitting at the table. The delicious smell of the food wafts through the air and suddenly Yoongi’s stomach makes itself known by grumbling loudly.

He feels himself getting red in the face and he feels embarrassed, so he fixes his eyes onto the table directly in front of him. He hates any attention directed at him, and he noticed the glance Jimin threw at him at that sound.

He is familiar with being hungry, not having enough food and not having a full belly. Of course, he always feels slightly sick if he hasn’t eaten in too long, but his stomach’s grumbles are usually not that loud.

It seems that now, as the warm food stands in front of him, his stomach remembers how it is to feel hungry, to be denied the food that is there.

The only difference is that he is allowed to have the food now. His body knows that, so his stomach grumbles, demands it loudly.

Jimin grabs his plate before Yoongi can even look, and when he looks up again, Seokjin has piled food up on the plate that Jimin is holding. Then the plate is set down in front of him again.

All without him saying anything, without asking for it. He is grateful that he doesn’t have to. But he can say something now. He has to, he thinks. It itches on the top of his tongue.

Saying please is something he says a lot, saying thank you, too. His father doesn’t give or allows him anything if he doesn’t use those words, and it's okay, he thinks, to teach that to kids, but... with his father there is that problem that, if he uses those words, it is not guaranteed that his father gives for what Yoongi asks, sometimes almost pleads.

This time, he didn’t ask and yet he is given what he needs. It is foreign to him, but he is very grateful for it.

“Thank you,” he mutters quietly to Jimin. Jimin smiles subtly, before redirecting his attention to his own food.

The breakfast goes by rather quiet. Everyone seems to be still not awake enough no talk much, except for Hoseok and Jimin, who quietly chatter. Sometimes Seokjin adds something to it, sometimes Taehyung does, too. Namjoon stays silent as much as Jungkook, and Yoongi looks stubbornly down at his plate, a little bit afraid to look up into Namjoon’s calculating eyes and Jungkook dark, sparkling eyes. But very soon, again, his stomach is too full again and he has to put down his spoon. It makes a clinking sound against the plate and he feels himself flinching slightly.

“Already finished, Yoongi-ah?” Seokjin asks then and Hoseok and Jimin get quiet as he speaks to Yoongi. Involuntary, Yoongi looks up and expects a scolding look directed at him, because he didn’t finish his meal and that’s impolite at the very least. Ungrateful, too. But Seokjin’s expression is as gentle as ever. But when his eyes flit to Namjoon for a second, he neither sees a gentle nor scolding look. It is blank, but still observing his every move. It’s uncomfortable, so Yoongi looks down at his plate again, still half full, and then nods.

“Sorry,” he says then.

“Ah, don’t be sorry! Do you want to take some of the food with you home?” Seokjin asks immediately, shooting down Yoongi’s further attempt to be sorry for anything else. “We can give you a small food container so it will not spill,” Jimin adds then and Yoongi directs his eyes from his plate to the person beside him.

Jimin looks at him like he always does, no judgement in his brown eyes. It gives him the courage to look back at Seokjin and answer truthfully. “Yes, please,” he answers then.

As promised, Seokjin packs his left-over food and some more into a small box after all of them finished eating breakfast. Fortunately, it didn’t take them that long and Yoongi felt a bit relieved to not feel the eyes of Jungkook and Namjoon on him anymore. It was uncomfortable, but he doesn’t know if he makes it a bigger thing in his head, bigger and more uncomfortable than it actually is. Maybe they looked at him just normal and he just thinks they are silently judging him and everything he does.

Namjoon, Jungkook, Taehyung and Hoseok vanish into other rooms after they cleaned the table. Yoongi is a little bit disappointed that he couldn’t speak that much with Hoseok, but to be honest with himself, he is not sure that he would have talked with Hoseok that much anyway. He is too shy, too awkward to hold a normal conversation with a near stranger. Especially a stranger like Hoseok. A walking sunshine, a bright and warm and so lively person – so different from Yoongi. But he would have loved to just observe Hoseok, trying to find out what makes him him, why, when Yoongi looks at him, he thinks of hope.

“Yoongi-ah, I was wondering…would you like some make-up for your face?” Jimin asks him suddenly, and Yoongi startles out of his thoughts. He didn’t hear Jimin approaching him, not at all. Maybe he should try to work on his habit to sink too deep into his thoughts. It’s probably not a good hab and will get him in trouble, if he is unlucky.

Would he like some make-up?

Yes.

He likes to look a little bit prettier sometimes, just some subtle make-up so that no one would even notice it but himself. He knows that people like to judge really hard on this matter, but Jimin…he saw Jimin wearing make-up too. So, he certainly wouldn’t judge Yoongi wearing make-up, saying yes to his offer.

But – oh!

Oh.

Suddenly, it gets clear to him why Jimin is asking that.

He sure doesn’t want the whole world to see how pathetic he is. The few people who already saw how he is in reality, how pathetic and weak he is behind his closed-off appearance at first glance, are enough.

He nods and Jimin leads him to a small bathroom on the same floor.

Jimin has very good make-up, he discovers quite fast. The bruise on his face is almost invisible when he is finished, only he can feel how much the now covered bruise still hurts. Unless someone would stare at him really hard, nobody should notice it.

“You are really good with make-up,” Jimin says while he observes Yoongi applying the last touches with the covering-make-up. He is leaning against the door while Yoongi stands in front of the mirror, critically checking that everything is really covered up now.

“You think so?” He asks, not quite believing Jimin. The make-up is good, not he.

“You are good. Really. Whenever Namjoon tries to do my make-up for me it looks as if a ten-year-old did it,” he replies and Yoongi can’t help himself – a small giggle bubbles up in him at the image that pops up in his head at Jimin’s words. He sees Jimin smiling while watching him in the mirror and he feels his face getting hot and he ducks his head down, swallowing down any other embarrassing sounds and putting all the brushes and make-up-sponges on the small shelf in front of him. He tries to put them exactly where he got them from, to arrange them how they were before. “Thank you for letting me use this,” he thanks Jimin.

“Of course, nothing to thank for, it’s not a big thing.”

But for Yoongi it is a big thing. Very big. He doesn’t even know how to show them all how grateful he is for what they did for him. To let him stay with them, to let him eat their homecooked, delicious food and to let him use their stuff without even knowing him for that long nor that good yet. What did he do to deserve this?

Very soon, though, he has to say goodbye to the temporary escape from his reality.

“I am very sorry, Yoongi-ah, but Namjoon and I have to work and the other ones too. I am sure Jimin can drop you off at your place on his way to his appointment,” Seokjin says and he looks genuinely sorry. But he doesn’t have a reason to be. Yoongi is sure that he is already more than a little disturbance in their relaxing, comfortable home and so he should be the one who feels sorry for invading their home and stealing their time and using their stuff. But he is a little selfish, and so he doesn’t feel really bad about that. Just a little bit guilty that he is using them like this.

They are standing in the spacious kitchen where Seokjin prepares him a big box full of leftovers from yesterday’s dinner.

“That’s okay,” Yoongi replies to him and watches Seokjin taking the lid beside the box and then closing the box tightly. Then he turns to Yoongi and holds out the box for him to take. But when he grabs it, Seokjin doesn’t let go.

Did he misunderstand something?

Slightly confused, Yoongi looks up into Seokjin’s face, trying to read the man’s thoughts in his facial features, but the handsome face is impossible to read. What does he want?

“Yoongi-ah, I know we met yesterday for the first time and we barely know each other. But could you do me a favour?”

Yoongi lets his hand sink, unsure of what that favour could be. He doesn’t say yes nor no, but instead silently waiting for Seokjin to ask his question, his favour.

“I know Jimin and Taehyung already asked you, but I need to ask you too and I promise you, I will not tell them anything. So…please, Yoongi-ah, can you tell me what happened?”

Yoongi is a bit…surprised by this question and also feels the anxiety rising up in him. Why does he want to know that?

When Yoongi doesn’t answer immediately, Seokjin’s unreadable mask seems to crack a bit and Yoongi can see a hint of concern and something else there, but he doesn’t try to decipher it. “It’s just us here. No one else will know. You can tell hyung about it, I won’t judge.”

At Seokjin’s words he turns his attention to their surroundings and true to Seokjin’s words, they seem to be alone. It was just yesterday that he almost told Hoseok something about it, almost, but he was interrupted and didn’t have the courage again. But now…could he try now again? Strangely, he doesn’t feel awkward or that embarrassed about his whole situation…at least not now, not with Seokjin alone. Maybe it’s because Seokjin is older than him, seems to care so genuinely about everyone’s wellbeing, not just Yoongi.

The realisation that he can trust Seokjin comes suddenly, but just a few seconds later he notices that he already decided that yesterday when Seokjin hugged him so tightly without any other intention but giving comfort.

He can trust Seokjin.

“I live together with...with my fa-father,” he says, hesitantly and slightly stuttering. “Sometimes...sometimes, it’s,” difficult? Scary? “he gets angry, som-sometimes he drinks t-too much and...,” he doesn’t now how to continue. At some point during his short explanation, he had lowered his eyes, staring blankly at the grey tiles beneath his feet, clenching his hands together and digging his nails into his palms. Seokjin doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even move. “I’m sorry,” Yoongi rushes to say then, not even knowing himself why he says it, “I’m sorry that....that you, that I am talking like that.” Embarrassment washes over him and he regrets saying anything, anything at all, because –

A gentle hand touches his clenched, right hand and he flinches again because it’s so out of the blue, so unexpected.

“Yoongi-ah, can you look at me?”

And Seokjins voice is so soft and warm that Yoongi can’t help himself but to look up.

Seokjin’s eyes are dark, so dark and Yoongi can’t read anything in them. Is he annoyed because Yoongi’s troubles at home are actually not that bad and Yoongi could just move out to get away?

“I’m sorry to hear that...your home is like that,” Seokjin says then and Yoongi is a little bit confused.

“I want to tell you something and I want you to take it as I say it. I mean what I say, so rake my word for it,” he begins before getting at Yoongi’s eye level so that Yoongi has no choice but to look at Seokjin, straight into his eyes, taking in every facial expression, every move of his eyes.

“I never had a home like this, but I know someone who had. And as I offered them, I will offer you as well: If you ever need to get out of there, come to me, to us. Okay? Don’t hesitate to call me, Jimin, Taehyung...anyone of us.”

As Seokjin says this, he also takes Yoongi’s other hand into his warm ones and holds them together. Yoongi feels strangely anchored, bound to Seokjin and this house, here and now. The past is past and the future...his future feels as if it is changing now, the darkness and misery beginning to blur with every word Seokjin says.

“did you understand that? Seokjin asks him then, when Yoongi doesn’t do anything else but staring at him.

“Really?” Is the only thing Yoongi says then, because....what did Seokjin just offered?

His brain can’t even process is right now. Not yet, even though he heard and understood it. It’s so strange, so new.

“Really, yes,” Seokjin assures then and smiles.

“I will not...we will not let you be alone with that. The bruise is from him, yes?” He continues and doesn’t even wait for an answer, “If this happens, or anything else, really, just...call us immediately, okay? We will come get you, Yoongi-ah.”

It’s strange.

So strange, so new, so...good.

It is everything he wished for the last years.

This time, hope comes from Seokjin, and the flame in his chest lights up brighter tham before, so sudden that he feels a hitch in his chest and his heart stutter for a second. His eyes burn.

“Thank you, Seokjin-hyung.”

Chapter Text

The streets and buildings pass by through a filter of transparent purplish-grey. The windows of the car are tinted, without a doubt hiding them from the outside world and any curious eyes. Actually, Yoongi couldn’t care less about that, but he has to admit to himself that it feels more comfortable like this. Beinng hidden, save from reality, enclosed in a comfortable save space. The bright, harsh world can’t get him in here, and the pop-music playing through the radio makes the drive even a little bit more relaxing, even though he doesn’t really like pop-music that much. But the anxiety steadily rises in him and makes his muscles tense, every minute that is passing by more and more.

He wish he could talk to Jimin or Taehyung, anything to takes his mind off the unavoidable conflict that will undoubtedly arise when he walks back into his home.

But Yoongi’s anxiety makes it hard to say anything – every idea about a topic that pops up in his head sounds either lame or just so random that he thinks it will be extremely weird to say anything. So, he just watches the outside passing by or the other two passengers. Jimin has a small smile on his lips, moving his head in small movements to the music playing, and Taehyung taps on his phone, sitting on the backseat and sometimes quietly murmuring to himself.  Even though the mood in the car is good, even comfortable and nice and it’s apparently not a problem for Jimin and Taehyung to bring Yoongi home, he feels like a burden.

It’s one of the few reasons why the anxiety stirs inside him.

Also, he feels bad that he let Seokjin call Jimin to drive Yoongi back home, even though he wants nothing less than going home and letting someone like Jimin and Taehyung see where he lives. But no protest of him helped Seokjin changing his mind. Also, he doesn’t think any protest would’ve helped, because Jimin didn’t even need to be convinced to drive him home. Just a few words were enough for Jimin to agree immediately. Apparently, he had some business to attend to and it wouldn’t be a problem to take a detour on his way – at least that’s what Jimin said.

Taehyung is with them because he....suddenly just sat in the car with them. Yoongi only noticed it when Taehyung suddenly started talking about some fancy restaurant and a delightful jazz music live show they host every weekend, speaking directly from behind Yoongi and giving him almost a heart attack.

Yoongi doesn’t mind that Taehyung is with them now. In fact, he got to appreciate Taehyung’s comfortable weirdness, his long monologues about art, jazz music, fashion and other topics. He finds it comforting, in a way, because not only is it interesting, it’s kind of relaxing for him to just listen without being expected to talk that much.

Now, Taehyung’s murmuring is like background music. Something he hears but it’s not loud enough to fully understand everything he says. Like a radio playing in the kitchen while he sits in another room. His hands are gripping the plastic container on his lap – it’s full of the delicious food made by Seokjin.  When he comes home, he has to...eat it or hide it. Or hope that it will be overlooked in the fridge full of beer and other beverages. But a new looking plastic container in an old fridge is going to stand out no matter what, he thinks.

Taking the risk or eating it all?

He doesn’t want to worry about that now . He doesn’t even want to think about it. Not now, not yet.

“Did you put in the right address?” Jimin asks him and fiddles with the navigation, tapping on the screen to zoom out of the map and then zooming in again.

“It’s the right one,” Yoongi quietly assures.  In fact...the address is not really his address. It’s a building a few blocks away from his house, a nicer looking one that doesn’t look as if the poorest and society lowest people are living in there.

The car turns around the corner and Yoongi recognizes the streets, the buildings.  Especially one bus stop.

He walked past here many times, saw it blurry from afar through the rain, hidden in fog. He sat there before to seek shelter from the rain and sun, to hide from his home, to sit down when he was too exhausted.

When he turns his eyes from the street in front of him to Jimin beside him, he sees a scowl on his face, crinkling his smooth and beautiful features. It doesn’t look good on him, Yoongi thinks, and he adds that thought to his list for reasons why he doesn’t want them to see where and how he lives.

It is just after a few more minutes that they arrive at the address that Yoongi put into the navigation earlier. They stop beside the pathway just behind another car. The engine continues to hum, Jimin keeps his hands on the steering wheel, but behind him Yoongi hears the sound of a seat belt getting unbuckled.

“I’m just getting out here, thank you for dropping me off,” he says hastily and almost too quietly for anyone to hear it, without stuttering or stumbling over his words – at least he thinks so. Then, as hastily as he spoke, he unbuckles his seatbelt, grabs his bag, pushes the passenger door open and swings his feet outside of the car, ready to walk away before they have a chance to say anything.

“Yoongi, Taehyung wanted to –,” Jimin begins but Yoongi is almost out of the car, acting as if he didn’t hear him. Of course, he doesn’t know what Jimin was going to say, but he can guess.

He doesn’t want Taehyung to come with him to his apartment, accompanying him to the door. He doesn’t want anyone to come with him. It’s one thing for them to see the mess that he is and another for them to see the mess he lives in. What they know is enough, far more than anyone else ever knew or witnessed.

Shame and embarrassment have been rising and ebbing and rising again since yesterday, since that happened. It threatens to overwhelm him now. He needs to get away. He needs to...just needs to burry himself under the thin sheets of his bed in his dark, cold room.

“Thank you, Jimin,” he says and hops out of the car entirely, moving to close the door fast, bag now over one shoulder and plastic box tightly gripped in one hand.

And then he almost runs down the pathway.

He thinks he hears Jimin and Taehyung call something after him, but he just doesn’t want to hear it now.

Just needs to run away.

Running away from this part of Seoul sounds actually really great, Yoongi thinks while he is standing in front of the building where he calls a small, run-down apartment his home.

He would love to just...run away from all those not great things in his life and just start anew....or maybe not anew, because he knows it doesn’t work like that. Starting entirely new means a new job, barely any money, no home, everything would be unfamiliar and these are things that he doesn’t like.

So no, he cannot run away. He has to face his life how it is and somehow has to deal with it.

 Just like now.

He wants to run away from his home and his father. But this is everything he has. And so his fingers tighten around the plastic box and he slowly walks to the old elevator.

Sometimes he wonders how that elevator still works, creaking and wobbling every time it moves and just creaking and wobbling more and more the more people get on it. But still, it slowly moves up, floor to floor, steadily although it feels as if it is hanging by just a single steal thread.

Then it stops, dings and the door opens to the dingy hallway and almost stops right on the spot when he spots a figure sitting on the floor in front of their apartment door. The person is leaning against the wall and their legs lazily pulled up in front of her, one arm resting on their knees and the other one holding a cigarette to their mouth.

It’s woman, thin and looking worn-out, the cigarette between her red lips and blond dyed hair tousled.

He doesn’t know her, but when she looks up she seems to…know him? She looks at him as if he’s not a total stranger.

“You’re the old man’s son, right?” She asks with rough voice, blowing out the cigarette’s smoke into the air.

Yoongi is confused…out of his depth, entirely surprised by this situation. He didn’t expect this when he was in the elevator earlier, preparing himself to face his father after being away for almost one and a half day.

Who is that woman?

“I guess you are, then. Told me to look out for a boy like you,” she says then after waiting for a few seconds for him to answer, “he’s furious that you were away. Out of his damn mind,” she continues and blows out another cloud of smoke.

“Is…is he in there?” He dares to ask then. He doesn’t know what else to say, or ask or do.  He is still clutching the box of food in his hands, still standing just a step away from the now closed elevator.

The woman nods then and draws herself up on her feet, sighing as she does so and slightly struggling to balance herself. It is then that he notices the dark red bruises on her arms, and because she is just wearing a shirt, the full shape of them is obvious.

Yoongi doesn’t know what to think.

But he feels so much. Always too much.

He is horrified to see the marks of his father’s violence on another person. Even more on a frail looking, small woman. He doesn’t know their relationship, he can just assume, but whatever relationship they have…it doesn’t change that this is wrong.

The woman let’s her cigarette fall to the ground and extinguishes the burning, used paper stump with the heel of her stiletto. She winces as she does so. The bruises on her arms are probably not the only marks of his father’s temperament.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” he says quietly. And he is. So, so sorry.

But the woman just flips her hand at him, grabbing her small sparkly bag. “I’m used to it, “ she says and moves closer to him, obviously wanting to take the elevator.  “You should get back in there. Just gets madder if you’re going to stay away any longer.”

He doesn’t like the sound of that. He expected it, of course, but now he is seconds away from it. A few steps part him from his normal life.

He lets the woman get to the elevator, getting a hint of her smell – an obvious sign of what kind of relationship she and his father actually have. He wrinkles his nose in slight disgust when he steps past her – but she could not see his expression he thinks, so he hopes she didn’t notice it at all.

With slow steps he walks to their apartment,  hesitating to enter. But the woman was probably right, he thinks. The longer he waits, the worse his father’s reaction will probably get. And the longer he waits, the more he will hesitate, the worse the dread pooling in his stomach will get, too.

He clutches the key between his fingers, still hesitating to insert it and open the door.

Now, that he is so close to the door, he hears that the tv is on. Then, he hears the voice of his father shouting something and he slightly flinches in reaction. Yoongi guesses that he is probably watching tv, most likely one of his favourite sports shows or poker games while drinking beer. So he might be already drunk, too. There isn’t a day that this is not the case, though, so Yoongi knows what to expect.

With a final, heavy breath he opens the door, trying to be quiet. And he succeeds, so far. But only until he walks to the kitchen, passing by the living room – apparently not fast enough.

“Hey!”

He is barely fast enough to duck, though.

The plastic box of food crashes to the ground at the same time that glass shatters on the wall behind him. A mess of food and glass is strewn over the floor, and when he hastily stumbles away from the living room he feels sharp pieces of glass cutting into his skin, piercing through the soft layer of his socks.

“Where have you been, huh?” His father yells loudly, getting up from his seat and moving faster in Yonngi’s direction than he would have thought. 

Yoongi steps back, back, back….retreating further and further in hope of…getting away from this wrath. But it seems to be to no avail.

“Stop right there, boy, or I swear you will not leave the house anytime soon again,” his father says threatening. Yoongi can almost see the fury burning in his father’s dark eyes. And even though he is afraid of what will happen, he stops, frozen to the spot and not daring to move.

It just takes his father three more big steps to reach him, glass crunching under his house slippers, and then he almost throws him against the wall, presses Yoongi against it, one hand digging hard into his weak shoulder and the other on his neck – not yet crushing, but close.

“Where were you?” He asks again, his alcoholic breath fanning over Yoongi’s face as he tries to draw in enough air though his restricted throat.

“F-friends,” he stutters, knowing better than not to answer.

“What friends? I know you don’t have any, you’re too much of a pathetic, ungrateful crybaby. No one cares,” his father says, repeating and imprinting those hurtful words deeper into Yoongi’s mind and, at the same time, bringing them to the front of his thoughts again.

Too pathetic.

Jimin, Taehyung and the other ones don’t care, not really.

Do they think I’m ungrateful?

He thinks he is.

He took whatever they offered without giving anything in return. And instead of saying ‘thank you’ when they drove him home, he ran away without saying anything.

Yes, he is ungrateful.

And useless, too.

“And what’s that food, huh? Good yourself a nice snack?”  He laughs in Yoongi’s face and a hard slap that whipped his head to the side is what follows his words.

Then, with one last strong push against the wall, he is let free. Surprisingly.

“Clean that mess,” his father says. Yoongi doesn’t move, can’t  move, not yet. His limbs feel jittery and weak but paralysed at the same time.

“Now,” his father orders and Yoongi springs into action, scrambling to the corner where a broom stands and hastily begins to clean the floor.

His father watches, silent but not less intimidating, and Yoongi does his best to clean just as his father always told him to: Efficient, fast, silent and methodically. No sloppy moves, no unnecessary moves. Just cleaning like...like a robot or a person without a will would do.

By the time he is done, his father already retreated into the living room. He can hear the sound of the TV and his father’s comments to whatever he watches.

After everything is cleaned, the broom back in the corner, Yoongi showers and tries to pick out the glass from his soles of his now hurting feet. It takes longer than he would have thought and stings more than he expected, but....he has to do it. No one does it for him, no one helps. So, he sits on the closed toilet in the dimly lit bathroom and cleans and then bandages his feet. Then, he almost tip toes out of the bathroom, into the hallway and into his dark, cold room.

He quickly changes into his worn-out sleep clothes and then sinks down on the thin mattress, pulling the covers over himself.

Yoongi misses the warm, plush bed. The subtle scent of lavender in every fabric.

He misses Seokjin’s hugs.

His stomach grumbles as he lays on his bed, buried underneath his thin blanket as much as he can, pressed to the very corner of his bed.

The wall is cold, even trough the fabric of his blanket, but it doesn’t really matter. He only registers it distantly.

All he feels is the breath stuttering in his chest and the painful tension in his limbs as he lays there, silent and with a few tears rolling down his cheeks and dampening  his pillow.

It is Saturday.

The last few weeks , almost for two months now, he spent his weekend at the bar – where he also works now. It is a plus, he thought at first, that he could go there to either work some extra hours while also being able to hear some rap battles or just...simply be away from home.

But now...

Now he doesn’t know if it is actually that convenient, that his workplace is also the only other nice place where he can go to escape from his home for a longer time.

Because today, he can not go there to just...spend his time there. At least he thinks that he can’t.

After he basically ran away from Jimin and Taehyung yesterday, he doesn’t want to encounter them today again. He feels ashamed how he behaved, how ungrateful he was and....also everything else. He doesn’t feel ready to see them yet. Maybe in a few days he will be ready, but...not yet.

So, what will he do?

As he lays there, his eyes wandering over his few things strewn around in his room, his thoughts are turning, shaping and re-shaping and twisting and...

There is a guitar in the corner of his room, dusty and barely touched in the last year. He would like to start playing again, but the last time he did...his father was annoyed, disturbed by the melodious sound that he absolutely distastes. But the desire to play it again vanishes as fast as it came. Not after the last reaction he got when he dared to play it.

His small, tattered and old notebook lays on the ground besides his bed, half hidden under a black shirt.

He could write something.

Write to lose himself in the words, let the words on paper express what he isn’t able to articulate aloud. A mix of feelings between longing, hopeless melancholia and the hope of things changing for the better.

Lavender flames of hope surrounded by greyish, black brooding clouds, threatening to suffocate the small, tender flames.

Set me free,

Set me free,

To the clouds, so far away,

So that I cannot see,

The things that bring despair.

Set me free,

Set me free,

Don’t let me go when we’re so high,

I am afraid of what will come,

If I am alone when I fall.

But it doesn’t make quite sense.

Why do the words sound as if he is already flying, being lift up far away?

Chapter Text

His feet sting as he walks towards his favourite bench in a small park near his home.

He likes to spend some time there when he doesn’t want to be home but can’t go anywhere else. It is a calm place, not that many people are there, usually, and so he doesn’t have to worry about feeling awkward sitting there alone.

His favourite bench is situated in the corner of the park, almost hidden by a few big bushes. He brought a small notebook with him – not the one with his poetry and soundless lyrics – and a black pen, to doodle and draw while listening to music on his phone. It is nice and relaxing, something he really needs after the kind of week that he had.  He longs to distract himself and disconnect from reality for a while, to not think about what happened or what it means for the future.

He is in the process of drawing a small, black cat that relaxes in the grass under the sun. It doesn’t look that good, the ears a little big too big and the tail a bit too short, but he still finds it cute. And nothing in life is perfect, so why should his drawing be?

He doesn’t know how long he sits and just draws, music playing just for him to hear, acting like a filter of undefinable emotions over the real world and helping him to detach from it, even filterin out most of his thoughts. But when his phone vibrates on the bench beside him, he gets startled and pulled back into reality too sudden, uncomfortable and far too sharp.

It is Minho.

Why is Minho calling him?

On a Saturday, when he isn’t supposed to work?

Giving Minho his contact information was something he was uncomfortable with, but he understands why it might be important. He had to do the same at his other jobs before. But he never actually expected that someone from his work place would call him.

With a jolt he drops down his pencil and grabs his phone, hitting the green button to accept the call.

“Min?” He greets, more a habit than anything else.

“Thank god I finally reach you!” Minho says and Yoongi can her the chatter of people and music in the background. It seems like he is in the bar, working.

“I already tried to call you two times before, sorry for disturbing your day off. Do you have plans today?” he asks and Yoongi is a bit confused... why the question? Is this –

“look, I’m really sorry, but we have kind of a spontaneous event and more guests than expected. If you are free, we could really, really need your support. The payment will be double,” Minho continues without giving Yoongi the chance to say anything in between.

Double payment?

That’s more than he...could ever hope of earning in one day even with two jobs a few weeks back. And his job at the bar is already paid quite good.

He doesn’t need to think twice, even if he feels a bit sad and anxious about interrupting his relaxing plans for today. But he needs the money more.

“O-of course...when?”

“As fast as you can come. And wear your nicest, black clothes, alright? See you later,” Minho says and the call cuts off.

A bit irritated by that unusual behaviour, Yoongi looks down at his phone as if it would have the answers, but then he thinks that Minho might be just really busy and probably also stressed.

He cautiously walks through the apartment to his room, not knowing if his father is at home or not, but he also doesn’t want to check that and risk it. It is much more difficult to know where his father is on a weekend. Sometimes he is out late into the night, drinking at bars with his friends, sometimes he is at home alone or with a few friends and watching some football games or other stuff while drinking. Yoongi never quite knows when he is doing what and where, so he tries to be cautious regardless.

He closes the door to his room after him, letting his small bag fall to the floor and swiftly opens his closet to change into more presentable clothes. He doesn’t have many options, but most of his clothes are out of question rather fast – they are simply to old, worn out or faded. In the end, he decides for the same clothes he wore at his first day: Straight, black jeans and black, long shirt that, fortunately, never needs to be ironed. He takes one last look into the mirror and deems himself as presentable enough – the lights in the bar are too low to make out much anyway. If he looks a little tired, a little more bruised around the eyes, nobody will notice it. Thankfully, the bruise on his cheek is only a light yellowish green now, and this is easily covered up with some makeup.

When he arrives at the bar, he can already see from the outside that it is extremely crowded, full of people and blaring loud music. Is there a show on the stage? He sees a few people up there, hears someone rapping, but he doesn’t recognize them..

The unexpected touch on his shoulder startles him and he steps back while turning – Minho is behind him, his hand already gone from Yoongi’s shoulder and now at a safe distance. “I saw you coming in, glad you could make it. Come on, follow me,” he says and gestures Yoongi to follow him towards the bar. But instead of stopping there, he continues to walk further to the door that leads to the backroom Yoongi already was once before. The door falls shut behind them and the noise quietens. Just when Yoongi wonders what they are doing here, because this is so different from any other time he came to work, Minho turns around and grabs two red covered menus from the small table.  “Some instructions for today, Yoongi-ssi,,” he begins and hands him the two menus when Yoongi has put down his bag near the door, ”we have some special guests today and I will be only tending them. So, any other guests are your responsibility tonight." Yoongi nods, taking the two menus.

Special guests that only Minho is attending to?

Yoongi isn’t stupid, even though he wouldn’t call himself super intelligent, but what he definitely calls himself is being observant. Of course he noticed the black menu that Minho holds in ione hand, and it is like a mystery that is calling Yoongi's attention to be inspected and solved. He is smart enough to connect the dots between special guests and only Minho. Guests that, very likely, are guests that order things from the secret menu.

“Any questions?” Minho asks then and Yoongi’s attention snaps back to him. Minho wears only black, just like Yoongi does, but his clothes look exceptionally expensive and perfectly fitting today, as well as his blond dyed hair that is styled almost to perfection.

He feels underdressed.

“How…How long do you need me for?” He asks then when this question suddenly pops up in his head. If he works longer, then his payment could be even higher…that would be a good thing, actually, even if he doesn’t feel like working long today. He is lacking the energy and he feels the begin of restless anxiety beginning to crawl underneath his skin. Too many unexpected thing after this kind of weeks and events that happened.

"It might be longer than your usual hours. Come and ask me when your usual shift is over.”

Usually, the music from the small stage and the rapping of lyrics makes Yoongi feel more energized, makes his sense of time vanish a little bit so that the hours almost seem to fly by.

Not today.

He doesn’t know the first rapper, or the next one, or the second one who performs along the third rapper on stage. The lyrics sound flat to his ears, not as deep and catching as the ones Hope presents on stage. The time feels too slow, he still feels tired.

There are also too many people. He recognizes a few of the guests, people who come to this bar frequently, but far more are new faces. A lot of times he sees some tall, bulky men in expensive looking black suits, and he gets the feeling that they are not here to enjoy the show or the bar. He saw similar looking men at the bar before, but not that many as today. Their eyes seem to flit around too often, they never quite stand still but also don’t stray far from where they are standing.

All in all, it is busy. Many people order drinks and soon Yoongi loses himself in the tasks of taking orders, mixing and serving drinks, receiving payment and giving out change, if someone actually pays in cash.

For the first hour or so, he was more than a little bit concerned that he would see Jimin or Taehyung. He wouldn’t know how to act after the last time he saw them. But now...If they are here, he didn’t see them. He is both kind of sad and relieved that he doesn’t have to face them.

“Hey, kiddo, where is the other one, the blondie?” Yoongi’s head whipped up from the drink he was mixing. In front of him, supporting one muscular arm on the surface of the bar, stays one of the men in black suits, imposing and quite intimidating, almost black eyes looking at him like a predator.

Blondie.

Minho?

Yoongi searches in the crowd for Minho’s tall body, his blond hair, but in the dim light and crowded room he can’t find him.

“Not here,” Yoongi answers shortly.

Since he started working here, he learned that it is easier for him to just answer as short as possible to any customer. This way he has no big risk of stuttering or stumbling over his words and the customers don’t try to talk more to him.

A win win.

Usually.

But this customer doesn’t seem to be satisfied with his answer.

“Get him here,” the man say annoyed and leans further over the counter. It doesn’t seem to be difficult for him to do so, because he is so tall that his upper body can probably lean even much further over the counter without him losing balance.

Yoongi shakes his head while he is mixing a drink. A clear answer to the man’s demand.

No.

“Then get me the black menu,” comes the next order.

“Can’t do so,” Yoongi denies him once again.

Yoongi can’t give the man the black menu. The black menu is off limits for him. He doesn’t have it, doesn’t know where it is and if there is even a second menu lying around - he only ever saw it once on a table, every other time either in Minho’s hands or miraculously hidden.

Also, He cannot just leave the bar to get Minho for a random suit-guy, just so that he can get what ever he wants. Yoongi can’t leave the bar alone.

Suddenly, a hand snatches forward and grips Yoongi at his collar, pulling him forward towards the man’s face over the bar counter.

Yoongi freezes, the threatening action of the taller man too close to what he encounters at home far too often. With one hand he still grips the bottle he was mixing a drink with, but he can’t bring himself to either use it as a weapon to defend himself nor to let go of it, so it doesn’t fall and shatters because of his shaky and suddenly clammy hands.

“Listen here, boy. Get me either the blonde guy or the fucking black menu. I don’t care what it is. My boss wants to order now.”

Yoongi is stuck between freeze or flee, but the grip on his collar is tight, and he sees that other customers who are near either don’t bother to look at them and interfere or they are too distracted to even spare them attention or a glance.

Yoongi is on his own.

He wants to say let go or what the fuck are you doing, who do you think you are?

But his voice is stuck in his throat and his body choses freeze.

 “Hey!”

He barely hears the voice over the loud music, people and the rushing of blood in his ears, but he recognizes Minho’s voice and feels instant relief.

The man, who still has his collar in a tight grip, only notices Minho when he grips the wrist that holds Yoongi in a tight grasp, and then, suddenly, Yoongi is let go and he stumbles back against the counter behind him.  Still present enough, he places the bottle on the counter behind him – it wobbles for a moment, but Yoongi doesn’t notice it much. His whole attention is on the man and Minho in front of him.

“I thought I made myself clear the last time: Harassing the bartender doesn’t make us serve you faster. Wait for your turn,” Minho says while he rounds the counter to stand between the man’s eyes and Yoongi.

“My boss is waiting, and your little helper did not-, “ Minho interrupts him harshly.

“He is a bartender and you respect him like me. Now, give me your order,” he says.

Didn't the man need the black menu?

The man glares at them both, his gaze lingering longer on Minho, then back at Yoongi and lingering on him, then he turns back to Minho. Finally, he hands Minho a small note, a red folded paper. Yoongi didn't see this before - ordering with a written note instead of a simple order? Maybe it is connected to the mystery of the black menu, maybe it is just something this guy does. Yoongi doesn't know what it is, but he also doesn't really want to know, so his attention snaps back to Minho in front of him.

Yoongi can see the tension in Minho's shoulders, the way he holds himself. Clearly, he is not very comfortable around this man, too. It makes Yoongi feel less…crazy, or overly dramatic with his reaction.

"I'll see what I can do," Minho says tensely to the man after taking a quick look on the note, "I'll bring the drinks first," he continues and immediately redirects his whole attention to the shelf filled with expensive bottles. The man lingers for a moment longer, and even though Yoongi also turned halfway around, he feels his eyes on him, heavy and more than just uncomfortable.

He takes a deep breath and then another, trying to calm his racing heart and his mind amidst the crowded room and loud noise of the bar. He doesn't want to seem weak, give in to the fear that is still cursing through his body and mind, doesn’t want to let that panic stirring in his body let free, but it is always hard to calm down for him...but no, not here, not now, and especially not when Minho is right there, watching him when he probably thinks Yoongi is not looking. He needs to keep it together, at least until they can get out of here and back to the safety of his little apartment or at least somewhere that is not here.

He will panic later…he hopes that he will make it until then.

"Yoongi, can you go to the backroom and grab a new package of napkins?" Minho suddenly asks him and Yoongi jolts out of his slightly absent state.

"What?"

"Napkin. In the backroom, the storage room. The first door on the right on the other side of the stage. The box with the napkins is on the top shelf. Can you get it for me?"

Yoongi nods, still feeling shaky, but he takes a step away from the counter and begins to make his way through the crowd, making sure not to brush anyone or anything as he passes - unsuccessfully. It is crowded, so much that it definitely does not help his anxiety, but at least it distracts him - although he can't decide if it is a positive distraction. When he finally reaches the door, he steps right in and takes a few deep breaths, the relative quiet of the backroom calms him down immediately. It takes him a moment to find the box labelled “napkins”, and then he reaches up and grabs it, carefully setting it down on the ground so that it doesn't fall - it is heavy and difficult to hold. He takes out a package, puts the box back on the shelf and turns back towards the door. He takes a second to compose himself, steady his breathing, and then heads back out to the bar again.

The moment he steps out of the door, the noise and the chaos of the bar hit him like a wave, but he pushes through it, determined not to let it overwhelm him again.

He hast a job to do.

Halfway back to the bar, Yoongi nearly bumps into someone. He apologizes quickly and hastens his steps, determined to reach the counter and the safety of Minho's side. The man who he nearly bumped into glares at him, big and tall - taller than Yoongi, who is slightly smaller than average anyway.

"Hey, watch where you're going," the man growls at him.

Yoongi glances at him over his shoulder, feeling a sudden pang of unease. "I'm sorry, I wasn't looking," he mumbles, quickening his steps once more. The man looks even more displeased now, and Yoongi quickens his steps. Maybe the an is just drunk - well, he most likely is. But still, he can feel the man's eyes on him as he walks away, until he disappears in the crowd again.

He reaches the counter and immediately spots Minho, feeling strangely relieved. "I'm back," he says quietly but still loud enough to be heard, sliding the box of napkins across the counter to him.

"Who was that guy?" He asks then suddenly, as his thoughts are still irritated by the rude, almost dangerous man at the bar earlier. Yoongi cannot see him now, but he is sure he is around here, and he hopes that he will not encounter him again.

Minho glances up at him, brows furrowed. "Which guy?"

"The one earlier," he answers vaguely, not wanting to describe the man as “the guy who almost choked me”.

"Oh," Minho says hesitantly, "that one. He's just an occasional customer. He comes here sometimes, he's always...like that. I think he's just one of those people who like to feel important, you know?" He shrugs, then turns his attention back to the drinks he's making. "Don't worry about it too much."

Yoongi takes a deep breath and nods, trying to let the Minho's words sink in. He doesn't want to be paranoid or overthink everything, but something about that encounter and the other one still makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He tries to focus on the task at hand, serving drinks and keeping the customers happy, but he can't help but feel like there's something off about tonight.

Very, very off.

He gets the feeling that this man, including the other ones who are just standing here and there and just looking and watching, are not regular customers. And the involvement of the black menu makes it even more...strange. Off.

And he didn’t even see Jimin or Taehyung today, although either both or one of them is always here at the bar or somewhere here. This evening, he didn’t even see a glance of them yet.

Something is off.

Chapter Text

The next few hours of work seem to go by rather fast and also without any other troubles.

At the end of the shift, the total hours of what he would usually work, he approaches Minho again, as Minho wanted him too.

“Your shift is over?” Minho asks with a look at his watch.

Yoongi nods.

“I don’t think we need your help any longer. Just…wait a minute, I’ll get your payment,” he says and walks to the backroom with quick steps, and it doesn’t even take a minute for him to appear again and pushing a closed envelope in his hands. ”That’s the payment for today,” Minho explains to him, loud enough for him to hear but he is sure that nobody else can hear it, not over the overall noise.

Yoongi is a bit confused…why does he get the payment for today like this? Why not as usual, as a transfer?

But he doesn’t complain, doesn’t say anything to voice his confusion. He only utters a “thank you” and that’s it. He is glad that he got the payment now…it means that he will be able to buy the groceries his father wants and he even has something left just for himself…he will have to lie about the total amount of money, of course, as he cannot let his father see what he actually earned more for working one day extra, but this is worth lying about, even if he doesn’t like it.

He grabs his leather jacket from the rack where he put it earlier and then - without looking back to try, once again, to find the familiar face of Jimin or Taehyung –

- he steps out in the cool night.

He breathes in the damp air, almost desperate to get it into his lungs, and just stands there for a minute or two. His skin tingles, and he recognizes it as a sign of being stressed out, overwhelmed, slightly overstimulated.

He needs sleep.

He needs his bed, his dark room.

Sometimes it is strange how life plays with people.

How people play with other people’s life, too.

Yoongi likes to think that he can still influence his life enough to actually change some things. He can make it worse or better, but he tries to at least make it a bit better for himself. So, whenever he has enough energy for it, he tries to influence it as much as he can and hopes it works.

But…

He tends to forget that he is not the only person in his life.

Even though he is the main character of his life, there are many, many side characters with a lot of influence about how his life turns and twists. Sometimes, the pages of his story are threatened to be almost swallowed by the black ink leaking from the letters that are written by someone else. Other times, the light and warmth of someone’s letters that are written so bright lighten up the whole page, so bright that he almost has to close his eyes and cannot even see what is written, how his life is fated to be influenced once again.

He thinks his life is written mostly by other people. Sometimes, he just feels too detached from what is happening that he…has no idea how it came to that.

He has no idea what he did before to influence his life to take this turn. 

Maybe this, now, is one of those moments.

He was careless.

Was he careless?

He doesn’t know.

Maybe he was.

It’s too late for thinking about that now anyway. Just a lesson for the next time.

The pages of his notebook lie on the carpet in his room – ripped out with angry hands, the paper crinkled and the edges torn.

There is nothing he feels-

No, that’s not true.

He feels a lot.

He feels so much that his mind goes numb and he only stares at the paper strewn around, the black, little book also on the ground, flipped open. The pages that are left in it are just as crinkled and torn as the paper surrounding it.

He looks back, out into the hallway, but nothing has changed from when he entered the apartment a few minutes ago.

The tv is still on, a show he vaguely knows still playing, and he can hear the occasional sound his father makes.

He is sure his father heard him coming in. It doesn’t matter how careful and cautious Yoongi is, his father still has good ears.

But now he still hasn’t come to Yoongi.

He still hasn’t called him to bring him anything.

What happened?

His mind - even though he feels slightly detached from everything – gives him the most simple explanation:

He was careless. This was his punishment for...whatever.

He let his notebook lying on his desk earlier this day, because he hurried to get to the bar to work.

He was careless.

It's his fault.

Usually, he hides it. Most of the time, he hides it under his pillow or mattress.

His father must’ve come into his room, for whatever reason, and found his notebook.

What was he searching for? Money, probably.

But he couldn't find any - Yoongi has it hidden somewhere else, safe, very safe. So his father didn't find anything. But he found his notebook instead.

He was careless, stupid.

It is his fault.

It isn’t the first time something like this happened, though.

He pulls himself away from wandering too far into his memories, and steps into his room, slowly, his eyes still locked onto the paper.

He sinks down near his notebook, his small bag slips on the ground as well, but he doesn’t spare it any attention.

He picks up two pieces of paper, tries to straighten them –

It doesn’t matter which pages his father has ripped out.

Every missing page hurts as if one piece of his soul got ripped out of himself. The words, phrases and rhymes he has written down on these pages are a part of his soul – every letter.

Please hold on,

Hold on,

Don’t vanish in the light,

Don’t wanna know if you’re a dream

Or a hallucination in my mind.

He recognizes it, knows to which of his silent lyrics this one belongs to. Now it's alone, ripped apart from the first part. He feels his eyes burn.

He looks at the second piece of paper and now notices that it actually belongs to one and the same page.

Hold on,

Hold on,

Are you leaving me behind?

Is my mind so scary or

Don’t I deserve your light?

He doesn’t know where the rest is, but he remembers that he has written more, way more, it’s his latest favourite piece of something he has written down, and he felt so much while writing it, but…

where is the rest?

Where is the first phrase, the last one and –

“Where have you been, huh? I have been waiting for lunch and dinner and the fucking fridge is empty again,” his father says suddenly from behind him and Yoongi whips around, for a second scared so much, so much, but then…

Then he gets angry.

“What have you done?” He hisses low, scared to speak louder and also scared to let go of the restraint he has on himself.

He is not like his father.

His father looks taken aback for a second before a flash of anger settles over his features.

“How are you speaking to me, boy? Watch your mouth or – “

“Or what? Your ruin my fucking life? You will destroy my stuff and –“

“How dare you acting like that, huh?!”

His father only needs two steps to reach him and Yoongi only needs one to jump on his feet, backing up and grabbing whatever he can find on his desk behind him to throw at his father as a defence.

He ends up throwing a cup.

He notices what it is he threw the second it hits his father on his chest and then shatters deafening on the floor. The carpet doesn’t do much to soften the fall and prevent it from breaking into shards that fly in every direction.

He flinches.

Fear surges through every fibre of his being suddenly, overshadowing the anger.

Swallowing it like a tidal wave a small bonfire.

Why did he do that?

What was he thinking?

What has he done?

He looks up into the face of his father, silence enveloping them for a moment before –

Yoongi sees the unrestrained anger in his eyes and he knows what can follow…what normally follows.

What follows is –

His arms catch the hand flying towards his face, but his skin burns where the hit lands.

He ducks down when one strong hand and the belonging fingers burry themselves into his hair, pulling painfully, making his scalp burn, but when he ducks –

It doesn’t do anything.

The grip is still just as tight and he cannot move enough to even bend out of the way of the knee that is suddenly pushing into his stomach, or ribs?

He isn’t sure.

He actually isn’t sure about a lot of things that follow after that.

Was it worth it?

Was it worth it, getting angry?

Not really.

It's his fault.

It feels hopeless, all whatever he thought before, what he hoped before.

No, it wasn’t worth it.

His art is destroyed anyway.

His favourite cup is broken.

His body hurts more than ever.

The tears that stain his bloody chin burn.

His whole body throbs and burns.

Maybe he should let it all burn one day.

Burn it all to the ground.

Let it burn.

It's all hopeless anyway, right?

Set me free,

Set me free,

To the clouds, so far away,

So that I cannot see,

The things that bring despair.

Set me free,

Set me free,

Don’t let me go when we’re so high,

I am afraid of what will come,

If I am alone when I fall.

Please hold on,

Hold on,

Don’t vanish in the light,

Don’t wanna know if you’re a dream

Or a hallucination in my mind.

Hold on,

Hold on,

Are you leaving me behind?

Is my mind so scary or

Don’t I deserve your light?

Chapter Text

Time seems to be both non-existing and flowing like a river down a mountain.

When he opens his eyes at some point, it is still dark.

His eyes fall close again.

The next time his eyes open, there is light shining into his room. It looks like the light of an early morning, the sun is up but just barely.

He drags himself from the floor onto his bed.

His eyes close again.

He wakes up again when the pain on his side gets too much and he shuffles around until it hurts less.

They close again.

Something is disturbing the silence in his room. It’s annoying.

It is…a buzzing sound, faint but insistent.

Somehow, with one flailing hand, he manages to push it from his bed – it falls and lands with a dull thud…somewhere. If it continues buzzing, he doesn’t know.

Close again.

There is a shout, some banging noise and something collides with his leg. It might hurt but…that’s hard to say. Everything seems to hurt.

Another bang that seems to vibrate through the walls.

His eyes open a bit, enough to register that his father was the one shouting and throwing something. He doesn’t see what it was. But the door to his room is closed again, and that means that he doesn’t have to worry about anything now.

His mind is too muddled for that, too heavy, too full of pain-laced cotton.

He doesn’t care enough now.

Close –

Open again.

The annoying buzzing is back.

He waits, tries to drift back into the less painful sleep, waits for the buzzing to stop. He can tune it out for now, he is too close to fall asleep again anyway.

It will stop.

And it does.

Then it starts again.

And again.

And –

With a groan he turns onto his side again, and the second groan is because it hurts, so much. He cannot remember when the last time he hurt like this was.

He shifts to the edge of his bed, trying to see what is making that noise –

His phone lays on the floor, buzzing and buzzing, and on the display an unknown number lights up again and again.

The buzzing stops again, but this time Yoongi’s eyes don’t fall close again. He keeps himself awake enough to be able to see if it starts buzzing again. Clearly, someone is trying very hard to reach him.

Because the next time, it is the same number again.

Is it important?

It might be.

He doesn’t know who it is, but apparently, the caller knows who they are calling. Otherwise, they wouldn’t try so hard to reach him.

He hates picking up a call.

Much more than calling someone he doesn’t know.

He reaches down and manages to grab his phone at the second try, then he lays down again, trying to find a position that is not that –

Bad.

This is very bad.

What the hell.

How did he -?

Abruptly, Yoongi sits up. His body screams in pain but that doesn’t matter because what matters is that it’s Monday.

He slept…

Far too long.

His shift already started almost one hour ago, and then he sees all the notifications, the messages and calls.

A good amount of them is from a number he saved under the name as ‘the bar’, so he knows that Minho tried to call him and messaged him.

All the other ones though…

He doesn’t know who that is. He doesn’t have them saved in his sparse contact list.

But it’s too much, he cannot deal with both things at the same time now. He doesn’t really feel awake, his mind is slow and fuzzy, his limbs seem to weigh simply too much to move fast – or move much at all. Now that he is awake, his body begins to ache and throb in various places. No doubt it will only get worse if he moves more.

He tries to clear his head, tries to concentrate on the slightly blurry screen of his phone and, slowly but steadily, he choses one of Minho’s slightly concerned sounding messages that asks where he is and if he’s alright, and types his response.

“Hi Minho

I have the flu, can’t make it today, sorry”

It is straight out a lie, of course. But he can’t think about anything else that sounds not as bad as what really happened, and it would excuse him for not only for one day if he would need it.

He is afraid he will need more than one day.

Minho’s answer pops up in their chat just a few seconds later.

“It’s alright, get healthy first. Text me if you can’t come in tomorrow too.

Take care!”

This is…less difficult and complicated than Yoongi had feared it would be. And he is relieved that it is that easy, that Minho doesn’t ask anything else, seems not to be suspicious of anything – of him lying.

But Yoongi is also a bit…disappointed. Somehow. In some way.

It is like a small, whispering thing, scratching with dull but thin claws over the inside of his body. Not damaging anything, but noticeable there and promising to be remembered a little bit longer by leaving behind sore spots.

But it is easier like this.

The less people care about him, the less he can be hurt, the less they can be hurt. It is easier like this for everyone, less complicated.

Next, he checks the unknown number.

But when he opens the notifications, and all the missed call notifications pop up along with the messages this person send…

It gets clear rather fast who is behind the unknown number.

“Hello Yoongi! I heard that you are missing from work today

I heard it from Jimin

Minho told him you did not show up and he cannot reach you. Is everything alright?

Please let me or Jimin know if you are okay. Taehyung is worried, too.

Oh it’s Jin, btw

Yoongi-ssi, I am deeply sorry if we overstepped the last time we spoke. Please let me know what I or we did wrong. Please answer.”

So many thoughts rush through his mind as he reads the messages, the first ones are sent one after another, barely five minutes between them, but the last ones are sent later and with a longer pause in between.

With every word he reads, his head gets clearer and clearer but his thoughts and feelings seem to run a chaotic marathon.

He turns on his side, makes himself smaller even though hurts – his ribs protest but Yoongi accepts it, maybe even needs it to stay anchored in some way.

That Jin returned to back to the more polite honorific…makes something in him twist in small, painful knots. Yoongi doesn’t like it. Being called Yoongi-ah made his insides all feel strangely good and comforting warm, like a lavender fuzzy blanket.

It is cold without it.

But is Jin’s comfort and closeness really gone?

The more he reads the messages, the more he thinks that…Jin cares. He sounds worried, said that not only him but also Jimin and Taehyung are worried. Apparently. More like…he implied it. But Yoongi isn’t dumb, he can read between the lines.

Or are they maybe just worried about their worker?

Maybe he does read wrong between the lines and -

No, something in him whispers, they care about you more than just playing their role as an employer.

They care genuinely.

It’s what he would like to believe, too. But his mind is too stubborn, to used to people who don’t care genuinely, only care because they have to, or because they want something.

Should he answer Jin?

He should.

But what should he say?

As he tries to get rid of the fuzzy, slow feeling in his head a bit more, he also tries to think about anything that he could say, text back. Not much comes to his mind, and most of it would be too much for his shy and introverted personality to say aloud or text.

Texting is still easier, though. So…

Saying sorry sounds both like a good and not good enough idea, but he thinks that it is at least something. Then, with hesitant fingers, he replies.

“I’m sorry”

He is. He really is.

“You or the others didn’t do anything wrong”

What else should he say?

Explain the reason why he didn’t text back and didn’t go to work?

Probably a good idea. But it’s better if he doesn’t say the truth.

“I had to deal with something at home, I’m fine. I’m sorry for not replying to any of you.”

He is not fine. But nobody has to know that. He hates lying, but now is one of those moments where he thinks it’s better to lie - not better for him, but better for the other people. Because who wants to be burdened with his problems? He doesn’t want to burden anyone. Also, it is his problem, and his problem alone. He dealt with all of this it alone before, always had, and he feels guilty and bad for pulling someone else into his mess. They are already too close to all of this, to him, and he always wavers between feeling guilty and wanting to push them away and feeling relieved, too deprived of the gentleness and wanting to pull them as close as possible and never wanting to let go.

He doesn’t wait for a reply, a message back.

The phone is quickly shoved under his pillow, where he cannot see if he gets a reply or not, and he lets his eyes wander through his room for the first time since…that day.

He takes in the mess, the shreds of his soulful art.

The paper is still everywhere, and in the daylight streaming in through his window it looks even worse, more.

 He tries to stay numb to it, only allowing a painful twist to form and for him to feel, like a knife slowly twisting.  He feels his eyes sting from the involuntary urge to cry.

He rips his eyes away from the gruesome sight, trying to distract himself from looking at this, and finds what his father must have thrown at him earlier:  A shopping bag.

Right.

Yoongi didn’t go grocery shopping in the last five or even seven days, he thinks, and their fridge is now probably more empty than it always is anyway – which means he hast to go now.  Or today, at least. Apparently, his father expects him to go even in his current state – hurting, fuzzy and slow mind, heavy limbs.

But he can –

Yoongi has to manage it.

It only gets worse if he doesn’t, and he is no state to be confronted by his father’s anger again. If he goes to buy the groceries his father wants, it might be that he can…lower the risk of making his father angry again. Although…

It was his fault that his father got this angry at him anyway, Yoongi talked back, cursed at him, and…

it wasn’t about groceries.

In fact, he knows he can do everything right and even better than just right and his father still gets angry at him, angry with him.

But he should go anyway. He needs something to eat too, even though he doesn’t know if he can eat anything. He is actually more nauseous than hungry.

It takes some time until he manages to sit up, a quiet groan escaping his lips as he pushes himself up on his feet. He has to support himself for a few minutes on the little drawer beside his bed, trying to keep his legs straight and stop the spinning in his head.

It doesn’t stop, but it slows down until it feels like he drank too much and got dizzy or spend far too much time on a carrousel. When it doesn’t get any better anymore, he decides to just get over with it. The faster he is back from grocery shopping, the sooner he can also go to bed again.

He manages to walk to the bathroom.

Quietly, as always, but also much slower than usual. There is the familiar sound of the tv from the living room, again, and so Yoongi knows to be cautious.

The bright, white light of the cheap light bulb doesn’t do him any favours.

His face looks pale underneath the blood that must’ve come from a bleeding nose, and it has crusted and chapped off in some places.

He grimaces.

It looks pretty bad.

His nose still hurts when he touches it with unsure fingers, prodding here and there but finding nothing that feels out of place or…not how it is probably supposed to feel like.

It doesn’t feel broken.

When he peels himself out of his old shirt, the one he was wearing for work and didn’t change out of it before that happened, he holds his breath.

Every drag over his ribs hurts. His skin is sensitive to the drag of the fabric, but the movement of his arms also seems to pull uncomfortably on his ribs.

The skin is a mix of white, blue and red, mottled all over. The side where he must’ve laid on the ground with is less coloured, but he knows from experience that the bruises will probably get a little bit bigger now before they start to fade slowly.

Two weeks, maybe almost three?

It could take that long.

The shower feels good, washing off everything feels good - even though the spray of the shower is a little bit too hard, hits his skin too harsh and the water too cold.

When he takes a look in the mirror again, he looks a little bit better. His eyes still have dark circles underneath and the bruises are still there, but the blood is gone and he feels clean…cleaner.

With a black hoodie over an equally oversized black t-shirt, the hood pulled down and hiding most of his face under it, he feels a little bit better prepared to go outside.

More comfortable.

There is nothing much in his face that he has to cover up, though.

His nose is a bit red and slightly blue, and there are a few scratches here and there, but its nothing big that he cannot hide with his hood pulled down. It is what is now hidden under his shirt and hoodie that is the most jarring sight, but nobody but him will see it.

Before he slips out of the bathroom, he steps in front of the mirrored cabinet over the sink. He has to get on his tiptoes to be able to reach the top of it, and his muscles and ribs scream through the strain, but his fingertips grab the familiar, small white bottle.

It is not the first time he needs the pills.

He knows it is probably not the last time, too.

Even though they taste slightly bitter when he swallows down two of them, their existence is like a small blessing.

It just numbs the pain, but not completely.

The painkillers are not highly concentrated. It is what they sell over the counter, and while it fights off a headache almost completely, it only helps him to function in some way if he’s in a state like he is now.

Still, in maybe around fifteen to twenty minutes he should feel better.

Of course, he doesn’t wait for that.

He rather goes now, even if he probably walks a bit weird because of the pain and lays down to bed later when he comes back and still can feel the effect of the painkillers.

To fall asleep without hurting that much sounds like the best thing right now, what he craves right now the most –

There is more, though.

Lavender.

Warm and fuzzy blankets.

The smell of homecooked food, the food that settles warm and heavy in his stomach.

A hug that shields him, warms him, comforts him –

But Yoongi has to go now, there is no time for daydreaming now.

The tv is still on and that’s no surprise, but he can’t be sure for how long his father will sit there and just wait for Yoongi to bring the food home.

Patience is not one of his father’s virtues.

The day is sunny, but cold. Autumn is a weird season. Some days it is sunny, but it actually cold. Other days it is sunny and warm, and other days it is just rainy and cold.

But today it is sunny.

The hoodie is enough for now – not that he even has a proper winter jacket – and the wind that sweeps under his clothes makes his head a little bit clearer.

Today, he decided to not go to the same store he usually goes.

For some reason, he turned the other side when he stepped out of the house and walked to a slightly smaller store that he almost never visits.

And now he regrets it a little bit.

He forgot why he doesn’t go to this store that often: It is further away than the bigger one he usually goes to.

His feet are still okay, but various spots all over his body started throbbing again, and the two painkillers he took earlier don’t seem to help as much as he hoped.

The weather is nice, though.

The streets are busy with delivery cars and people delivering packages. He are not many big offices, so very few people in fancy clothes are walking around. In his black, oversized clothes, he doesn’t particularly stick out of his surroundings that much.

With one hand clutching the shopping bag, he pushes the door open and enters the small store. There are some people here, even though it is Monday early afternoon.

Whatever the reason is, Yoongi is a little bit relieved.

Other customers means that there is less attention on him. He knows that his oversized black clothes make him/sometimes look suspicious to shop owners or their employees. It doesn’t bother him that much what they think about his clothes when he goes shopping, especially because the clothes make him feel comfortable, but he hates their attention.

But now it’s okay.

He can hear some other people roaming around, but he doesn’t try to look where and how many they are.  

The is no list or note in his hand or phone that he uses for grocery shopping.

It is always the same stuff anyway, and after several years he knows what his father wants.

There is very little that he buys for himself, mostly because the money isn’t enough for what he wants and what his father wants.

Before he left the apartment, he grabbed the money Minho gave him in cash for working the extra hours, and he knows that this is more than enough for his father’s stuff and whatever small thing Yoongi wants.

But now…

Now Yoongi doesn’t want anything that is here, to be honest.

Maybe another day.

He will hide the money, keep it safely hidden somewhere.

Some sauces and spices are on the list, some boxes of pork spam, some ramyeon.

He puts everything in the small basket he picked up at the door and carries it with his good arm, the one that isn’t damaged from the accident he had and the one that is less hurting even after the damage he took.

He is just trying to reach the top of the shelf where the cups of ramyeon are that he needs when he –

“Yoongi-ssi?”

He whips around, as fast as his bruised ribs allow him to, looks up and…and freezes.

He didn’t expect this.

Not at all.

Not here, in this part of the town.

Not here where it is everything but nice, clean and…and certainly not an area for people who come from a posh area and where they live in big houses and wear fancy clothes.

Someone like him shouldn’t be here.

Although…

With his equally black and oversized clothes, his tattoos and piercings…he doesn’t really look that out of place here.

“What are you doing here?”

Yoongi can still not really believe what he sees.

He wants to…hide?

Run away.

“Wh-What are you d-doing here?” He asks back instead.

Jungkook looks at him equally disbelieving, surprised.

Chapter Text

Yoongi feels like he missed something.

Or…might have forgotten something that might explain why he is here.

But he can’t remember.

Why is Jungkook here?

He shouldn’t…it shouldn’t be possible for them to meet here, to cross paths here, in a small supermarket, in a shitty neighbourhood at afternoon on a cold, sunny autumn day. Jungkook isn't supposed to meet Yoongi here, not today, not ever.

Why?

How?

They stare at each other for what feels like minutes and minutes, many minutes, but in reality, it must be far less. But however short or long it might be, it is enough for Yoongi to notice that Jungkook must be here for grocery shopping as well, because in his left hand is also a basket, filled with a few things, just like Yoongi’s own.

Jungkook is still staring at him, too, one hand holding a banana milk, his eyes big and his mouth forming a word that hasn’t any sound yet, and –

- Yoongi lowers his head hastily.

There is a reason he pulled the hood down and avoided looking up to high.

There is a reason, an important one. And when he hears a sound coming from Jungkook that sounds like a sharp intake of breath, he fears that the reason might be discovered.

This was the reason.

People shouldn’t notice it, shouldn’t see it, shouldn’t react to it. They shouldn't care.

He wants someone to care, though.

But it's his problem, and it is a shameful one. He is an adult and shouldn’t…be in the situation he is in now. Much less stay in it and just take it.

“Yoongi-ssi, Yoon-,”

“Yoongi is…is enough,” Yoongi interrupts him quietly and latches his other hand around the handle of the basket too, his head turned to the ground.

“Yoongi, what…what -,” this time it is Jungkook himself who cuts off his sentence, before he continues a few seconds later, “I didn’t know you live around here,” he says.

Yoongi doesn’t look up. Even when he sees Jungkook’s feet moving forward, closer, but just a little bit. Not too close.

“I…I didn’t know you li-live here, too,” he says and instantly bites himself on the tongue.

How can he sound so stupid?

He stutters again and is basically just repeating what Jungkook says. Can’t he talk like a normal human?

But Jungkook doesn’t laugh or even chuckles. He doesn’t even react to it.

“I don’t, but…my mum lives around here,” Jungkook says then and Yoongi gets the feeling that Jungkook said it so hesitantly because it is something that he might not be comfortable to say. But he still said it.

Why?

It is strange.

So, so strange.

Jungkook and Yoongi only met once before, they don’t know each other at all.

The first impression Yoongi got of Jungkook was that he, the intimidating but oh so young-looking man, is no one that Yoongi wants to anger, doesn’t want to get on his wrong side.

The gentleness that Yoongi caught a glance of is hidden behind an intimidating quiet aura, tattoos and oversized black clothes, and when Yoongi met him in Seokjin’s kitchen, he wasn’t particularly keen on meeting him again.

Yet here they are.

“Yoongi, why – ,” Jungkook begins and out of reflex, Yoongi looks up again, ripped out of his internal thoughts, and he barely catches the expression that flits over Jungkook’s features, “you are hurt,” he finishes his sentence then, stating a fact.

Panic wells up in him, for whatever reason.

It feels a bit like being caught doing something he isn’t supposed to do. He isn’t supposed to be here, to talk to Jungkook, and Jungkook isn’t supposed to see, to notice. To.....to care.

He did. He does, apparently. At least to some degree.

“N-Nothing! It’s...It’s nothing, it-it's fine, I’m fine,” he rambles suddenly, taking a step back and clutching the basket in his hands. A rational thought in him says that there is no reason for him to be so…panicked? Scared.

Scared of what?

Scared of Jungkook?

There is not really a reason. Because Jungkook still stands where he stopped earlier, still a few steps between them, and otherwise he hasn’t moved that much.

He just looks at Yoongi, the banana milk still in his hand.

But his eyes are big, so big and dark.

They seem to see so much and they are shining…or sparkling.

A young human, a young soul, but with stars in his eyes that seem so mesmerising, so all-seeing, so aware of what happens around him. How can someone have such eyes?

Yoongi cannot find the proper words, doesn’t know how to describe what he sees. But even in the bad light of the store it looks like tiny stars in his eyes and he can’t just look away. It is just something his eyes focus on and it’s hard to look away.

“It’s not fine,” Jungkook says almost calmingly and holds his gaze, “it’s not fine and you are not - What…What happened?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer. He can’t answer that. Maybe he doesn’t even want to.

Maybe he wants?

But not to Jungkook.

Why is Jungkook talking that much to him anyway?

He shakes his head.

“No? Okay,” Jungkook says just as calm as before and nods, “okay, you don’t - okay.” The last part was said so quietly that it almost sounded like Jungkook said it to himself. He finally puts the milk he is holding into the basket and steps closer. Yoongi follows the movement, stuck in a state he doesn’t know if it comes from the painkillers or from being so surprised and overwhelmed by this situation.

“Yoongi, how about we -,” Jungkook begins to say and stops himself when another costumer walks through the aisle between them, crossing from one aisle to the next and throwing them a weird look before they vanish between the boxes of cereal and coffee again.

Yoongi is suddenly aware again of where they are, that they are standing in the middle of a supermarket and that here are other people.

It feels a bit like sobering up in a matter of seconds, but he can still feel the anxiety and underlying fuzziness clouding his head.

He has to hurry with his grocery shopping. He has to get home.

“I…I ha-have to hurry,” he says aloud.

His father is probably already waiting. Yoongi knows he is waiting, and he also knows that any minute he spends here longer than necessary could mean more potential problems for him, when he returns home.

He doesn't want that.

“I have to go home,” he says so fast that not even his nervous stutter can come out. At that, Jungkook’s eyes get even bigger and he steps closer, so that there is just two steps between them now.

Still, Yoongi doesn’t want to lift his head too high, exposing his face, again, but he lifts it high enough to see how Jungkook’s expressive eyes seem to take on a look of slight desperation.

Why?

“I will help to carry your things,” Jungkook says then and surprises Yoongi with that. It doesn’t sound like an offer, it sounds like a decision already made.

“What? Why –“, Yoongi wants to say, to ask, but he can’t even finish the sentence.

“It’s heavy, so I will help you to carry it. It’s not far, right?” Jungkook nods as if to confirm to himself what he already knows and almost rambles, too fast for Yoongi to get a word in,” It’s no problem then. I will carry it.”

“B-But I don’t –“

“Let’s get your stuff and then we can go together,” Jungkook interrupts him again, but not in a way that Yoongi finds offensive.

He is a bit perplexed, doesn’t know why Jungkook acts so differently, what happened to the intimidating young man who cuts vegetables with a big knife and strong, sure movements and stares at him wordlessly with blazing stars in his eyes.

This Jungkook in front of him now seems like a completely different person.

As they walk down the aisles for Yoongi to fill his basket with what he needs, he tries a few more times to change Jungkook’s mind about helping him.

He doesn’t want Jungkook to see where he lives, for him to make the effort and time to help him, for him to get and be bothered by all of what surrounds Yoongi.

After all, they barely know each other.

But he notices quickly that Jungkook is not someone who can get swayed in their decision when they set their mind on something. Jungkook has set his mind on helping Yoongi – for whatever reason – and he will not change his decision to do so.

Apparently.

Yoongi decides to at least try later to convince Jungkook to only carry it in front of his building, so that he doesn’t carry it all the way up and in front of his apartment door. This way, at least, he will not see what a broken and rundown building it really is. How broken and messed up his life is.

The basket doesn’t get really full, and Jungkook throws him some side glances – what Yoongi notices but tries to ignore – when he mostly grabs some instant food boxes and cans of different alcoholic beverages.

“Do you like to drink that stuff often?” Jungkook asks then, and Yoongi is almost surprised that he didn’t say anything sooner.

He doesn’t think long about what to answer.

“It’s not for me,” he says quietly, almost too quiet to understand it, but he doesn’t want to speak louder.

It’s the truth, though, even if it doesn’t feel better than a lie. But if he would’ve said that it was for him and confirmed what Jungkook thought, he would maybe even feel worse, because...he doesn’t want to be like his father. He despises people who drink all the time, who can’t go one day or even one meal without drinking some alcohol. And to think or even imply that Yoongi would do that is simply...he doesn’t even know what he would think of himself if he would ever let himself down to this level, let himself sink this deep.

The self-hate would be so great that, probably, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself for very long. The comparison to his father too horrifying, too dark, too red.

“Oh? You have a roommate?” Jungkook asks then and pulls him out of his dark thoughts.

What?

He stops, and Jungkook stops too, just a few steps further, and looks back at him with his dark, big doe eyes.

Didn’t Seokjin tell him anything?

“I...I don’t have a...a roommate,” Yoongi says then. It almost sounds like a question, and he itches to ask if Jungkook truly doesn’t know, but he doesn’t ask.

“Oh, I just thought so, because Seokjin-hyung mentioned that you live with someone together,” Jungkook said, and strangely, Yoongi believes him without a doubt.  He doesn’t think that Seokjin would’ve lied, even though he doesn’t know how close he and Jungkook really are, but he doesn’t seem like someone who betrays other people’s trust.

“Oh,” Yoongi just says then, and then steers towards the cashier to pay. Jungkook walks a little bit behind him, puts his things on the counter after Yoongi, patiently waiting.

Yoongi gets the feeling that the cashier eyes them both, maybe he is curious about their encounter that might seem a little weird and uncomfortable to any outsider. Or maybe he is suspicious- about what, he has no idea, but he guesses that people often get suspicious for no real reason at all.

When the total sum of his small grocery run shows up on the cashier’s register, he rummages through his ratty wallet and pulls out the bills without looking up when he gives the money to the cashier. He is already bad with eye contact every other day, but this guy stares at him and he can feel it, and he also knows Jungkook stands behind him and watches him and his every move – even though he has the feeling that this isn’t the bad kind of watching, more like watching to observe. But, nevertheless, people watching him just makes him more anxious, and to be safe, he just avoids any eye contact as much as possible.

The cashier packs his stuff in two white plastic bags, a bit slow and looking up every now and then, and then Jungkook pays his things. This time, the cashier seems to be faster, not staring that much anymore, and Yoongi is glad, relieved.

Yoongi is glad that he can step away from the guy, get out of here and escape the uncomfortable atmosphere.

Jungkook grabs Yoongi's second, heavier looking bag before Yoongi can protest.

“Which way?” Jungkook asks when they step outside, both carrying plastic bags. Yoongi gestures into the direction he came from. “There,” he says shortly and Jungkook nods.

Many people take Yoongi’s short words as a sign of being unfriendly, aloof or cold and distanced, and at this point he already expects people to always perceive him in this way, but Jungkook doesn’t, it seems. Or he just doesn’t say and show it. Maybe he doesn't care, maybe he sees him differently than other people do.

“Let’s go, then,” Jungkook decides for them and they walk into the direction of Yoongi’s house.

They don’t really talk that much. Yoongi doesn’t know what to say, as he often doesn’t know, and Jungkook is practically a stranger, their only connection are a few people they both know.

But that’s it.

“Seokjin is worried,” Jungkook says then and makes Yonngi look up from the street that he followed with his eyes fixed on the ground.

“You should text him,” he adds when Yoongi doesn’t say anything.

“I did,” Yoongi replies then and adjusts the bag in his hand, needing something to fiddle with, to ground him. His head is still a bit fuzzy.

Jungkook’s eyes are intelligent and bright when they lock on his eyes, but they are also sharp, noticing everything around him and in front of him. “But you don’t really assure him that you are fine, you don’t explain anything, so, he is worried” Jungkook says bluntly and in a way that almost makes it sound petulant, but there is also another tone that Yoongi cannot identify, he doesn’t know Jungkook good enough to be able to detect every hidden tone and meaning.

Is he annoyed or angry on Seokjin’s behalf? Maybe he is also fed up with the way Yoongi uses his friends and how they seem to worry so much about someone he doesn’t even know.

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say to that.

How can he assure Seokjin that he is fine when he most certainly is not fine? He knows that some of his troubles, to some varying degree, are definitely visible to other people, there isn’t anything he can do about that.

And he did explain a little bit to Seokjin, even if it wasn’t that much. But Jungkook doesn’t know that. Does he?

But what else can he do?

What else should he do?

He doesn’t want Seokjin to be worried.

He doesn’t want him to be worried that much at all about him. He doesn't want him to care that much that he even worries when Yoongi doesn't text him.

Although...the thought that there is someone who worries that much makes his heart feel funny, makes his body feel a little bit warmer, his mind a bit lighter.

But it also makes him feel guilty, and it feels like the guilt and helplessness about everything and nothing particular settles on him every day more and more, and it feels suffocating.

But he cannot tell Seokjin to not worry, cannot make him stop worrying. He cannot make Seokjin stop caring about him, either.

“I sent him a message,” Yoongi repeats his answer with just a few more words this time.

“Hm,” Jungkook hums. It might indicate that he believes Yoongi, or maybe not, or maybe it is just a sound of acknowledgement he makes.

But he hasn’t really much time to think about it more, because when they turn the corner of the street, he sees the building next to his own appear, and that means that they are almost there.

It is now or never that he can try for the last time to change Jungkook’s mind about carrying his second bag up the stairs and in front of his apartments door.

“You can ju-just...give it to-to me?” It comes out like a question, not at all how he wanted it to sound. Fare more nervous and stuttering than he wanted to say it. He extends his hand to the bag, so that Jungkook gets the hint and just gives him the bag, but Jungkook doesn’t seem to have lost his stubbornness on the short walk.

He pulls away the bag, out of Yoongi’s reach.

The action seems to be almost funny to Yoongi, if he wouldn’t be so anxious about the situation. Like a stubborn kid who is refusing to do what is asked of him, just doing what he wants to do, Jungkook holds the bag even higher when Yoongi extends his hand once more.

“No, I carry it up. Don’t worry,” he says.

“But-,”

Jungkook stops suddenly, and Yoongi reacts a second later and almost stumbles into him before he manages to catch himself.

It is the second time he sees the worn-out looking woman. This time, though, she exits the building’s small parking lot, and it is clear where she came from – at least to Yoongi.

Today, her lipstick is pink, her blonde hair tousled and she is sporting a red mark on her cheek that Yoongi can see even from several steps away.

Does his face look like that too?

She seemed to have recognised him before he had her, and her eyes are focused on him through the smoke of her cigarette as she steps closer.

“You probably shoulda get up there real quick, boy. He ain’t happy today,” she says as her eyes flicker to Jungkook beside him.

“Maybe bring that boy with you, seems to have muscles enough,” she adds and Yoongi feels his face flush hot, but at the same time dread pools in his stomach.

“Do you know her?” Jungkook asks quietly, as if the stick-thin woman would pose a threat or something like this, as if he had to be cautious. But Yoongi doesn’t worry about the woman – she probably wouldn’t be able to do much anyway, and so far she seemed to be nice enough, just a woman who spends time with people who are not nice and not good at all –, but he worries about what she said and what it implies.

It is unusual for his father to have visitors while Yoongi is just out for a grocery trip. Sometimes he invites some friends, but not any women while he is away for such a short time.

The woman drops her cigarette on the pavement and stumps it out with her heel, then she looks up. Her eyeliner is smudged too, and it looks like tear tracks on her slightly wrinkled skin. He expects her to say something else, because her eyes flit between Yoongi and Jungkook and her lips twitch as if she wants to say something, but then she just walks straight past them, lighting up another cigarette.

Yoongi is too stunned to react more than just watch her turning the corner of the street they just came from. His head reels, the painkiller still effecting his head, making everything seem a bit like a dream that is just...so confusing.

“Who was that?” Jungkook asks, also slightly turned into the direction the woman just vanished in.

Yoongi doesn’t really have an answer to that.

“I…I don’t know,” he replies then, because…he actually doesn’t know who that woman is.

Who is she to his father?

What kind of relationship do they have?

“What did she mean with that?”

At that, Yoongi looks up at him.

“With what?” Yoongi asks back.

Jungkook’s eyes are sharp when they meet his. “With what she said. With everything,” he says then. Yoongi looks at the bags Jungkook is still carrying, one of them filled with his groceries. He doesn’t want to answer that. Of course, he isn’t sure what exactly the woman meant with what she said, but he can guess…he isn’t stupid, he is fairly sure that he knows what she meant.

He shrugs.

“I don’t-“
“I am not stupid, Yoongi. She meant your…the person you live with, right? Or father, uncle or whatever…the person in your home,” he says, a slightly angry undertone in his voice. Yoongi’s hand falls down from where he reached for the bag again, freezing in his movements as he stares at Jungkook, taken aback by his tone.

“I’m coming up with you,” Jungkook continues, “and I’m not taking no for an answer.” Suddenly, his tense posture loosens and sacks down a bit, shuts his eyes tightly and briefly before looking at Yoongi again, gentle sparkling stars back in his eyes. A sigh escapes his lips. “I’m sorry,” he says then, his voice void of any angry or upset note, “I just…just let me help you, okay?”

Yoongi still stares at him, entirely confused and still taken aback by his behaviour, this up and down, this left and right, these sudden changes.

Why is he so bent on helping him?

But then, hesitantly, Yoongi nods.

“Okay,” he replies quietly.

Chapter Text

The elevator is working today, luckily, and so they go up to his floor in the vibrating and dimly lit metal box. Yoongi isn’t sure that walking stairs would do him any good today. His ribs still hurt, everything hurts, he feels a bit woozy and he would love to just lie down or at least lean against something, anything, but he doesn’t. They both refrain from leaning against the dirty wall, because the smell says enough about the kind of dirt that is invisible in the yellow, flickering light.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Jungkook says again.

“It’s okay,” Yoongi replies again, too. Although he is still a bit confused about Jungkook’s behaviour earlier and for a brief second even intimidated, he means it. He got the feeling that Jungkook just means well, for whatever reason. Like someone who wants to...to help but doesn’t really know how. Yoongi doesn’t like people to feel guilty for something like this, just something small and insignificant. So, every time Jungkook says “sorry”, Yoongi tells him that it is “okay”.

Still, he doesn’t understand Jungkook.

If Jungkook was a mystery he would rather stay away from before, he isn’t so sure if he still wants to stay away now. Something in him itches to know more about him, to understand him.

It’s a bit strange.

Why does he still seem so familiar even though they never met before Yoongi was at their house, before they met in the kitchen?

Just as he wants to say something, ask “why were you there?” or “why do you care that much?”, the elevator stops and the door opens slowly and rattling.

Hesitantly, he steps out into the hallway. He wants to stop, wants to stall time but…there is no sense in stalling time. He has to go home, he has to face whatever waits there every day.

Today is different.

This time, he is not alone.

Jungkook stands beside him, silently waiting for him to walk forwards. But he doesn’t push him to start walking, he just waits. Yoongi looks at him and is only slightly surprised to find Jungkook already looking at him.

Yoongi is aware of how run down everything here looks, but…Jungkook doesn’t seem to be bothered by it, doesn’t even spend much attention to their surroundings. His attention lies on Yoongi.

“We can turn around and…go back outside, if you want to,” Jungkook offers then gently.

Yoongi would love to.

Hell, he would turn around, walk out of this building and never come back, if he could.

But he doesn’t have anywhere else to go, so he shouldn’t make his situation worse.

He has to deal with it.

And Jungkook is here, so it has to be okay.

Maybe it’s not even going to be that bad. Not every day is bad, not every day includes new blooming colours on his skin or screaming and flying bottles.

He shakes his head.

“Can…can you wait outside?”

What is he saying? Where is this even going?

He doesn’t even know why he asks that.

What is he asking of Jungkook?

Does he really expect Jungkook to wait outside, in the hallway, while he brings in the groceries and sorts them away?

And then what?

Does he even know if he can leave the apartment that fast after he goes in, and where does he even want to go when he leaves?

He can’t ask that of Jungkook, it’s too much, it’s unnecessary, it’s –

“Of course. I can wait however long you need. We can go eat some lamb skewers later, if you want?”

Yoongi knows his eyes grow in size and his mouth is open, wanting to reply but his brain can’t decide what.

What?

Lamb skewers?

He doesn’t even remember the last time he ate this.

“Today?” He asks to clarify, and Jungkook nods.

“I – I don’t...Yes?” He stutters, completely out of his depth again. He can’t remember the last time someone asked him to go out to eat something either...how is he supposed to react?

“Okay, then I’ll wait outside and we go when you’re finished, alright?”

It’s as simple as that, apparently.

Jungkook makes it so easy, makes it feel so natural that they are here together.

The warm feeling spreading inside of him is nice, comforting.

He doesn’t know Jungkook, not really, but just…like this, it is comforting, in a way, and he hopes Jungkook is true to his words.

No hidden meaning, no hidden motive.

Just someone who is genuinely nice, even if the reason for being this nice is still a mystery to Yoongi.

Can people be nice without a reason?

Yoongi can only mutter some barely understandable reply and then they are heading towards the apartment.

Just like most days when he knows that it is not a good day for his father, the uncomfortable feeling in his body grows and his stomach squeezes and twists in knots. His palms are getting clammy and he adjusts his grip on the plastic bag so that it doesn’t slip out of his hand.

His bruises ache with the movement, but he ignores it.

Jungkook is like a silent shadow beside him.

But unlike a shadow that is barely there and yet scarily real, silently hovering and that doesn’t do anything but make Yoongi even more anxious, Jungkook is very much solid and very much…oddly calming, while he stands beside him.

Hovering and glowing in a way that is more comforting, like a small firefly beside him while he walks into the familiar darkness.

The feeling is new.

He likes it.

Jungkook the golden firefly.

Jungkook the glowing shadow.

Even though Jungkook is wearing big, black and heavy looking boots, Yoongi can barely hear his steps. He is a bit surprised, how he manages that. He can hear his own footsteps loud and clear, along with his own breath going faster and heavier than before.

It doesn’t take long until they reach his apartment, maybe about thirty steps, maybe less, and Yoongi turns to Jungkook.

“Will you...You’ll wait here?” he wants to know again.

He knows Jungkook said that he would wait, but…would he really?

Maybe he changed his mind?

He wants to hear it again.

He needs to hear it again.

“I will,” Jungkook confirms and a small smile brightens his features. It doesn’t make Yoongi feel much better, not really, but it gives him a little bit more hope…there is someone who will wait for him.

Jungkook will wait for Yoongi.

He will be there when he leaves the apartment again.

He will not be alone today and he doesn’t think Jungkook will break his word.

He is quite sure he will not.

“I…okay, thank you,” he thanks Jungkook, a little bit in awe how Jungkook, practically a stranger, just does all this for him.

It feels as if they are not really strangers.

There seems to be a quiet understanding between them. Not many words are needed, not many stories need to be told to feel comfortable around each other. As if they grew up together in the same neighbourhood, played as kids in the park together, but then they lost contact and are now like familiar strangers who get to know each other again.

But he never knew a Jungkook, so it can’t be the reason why he feels like this.

Jungkook nods again and then holds out the grocery bag for Yoongi to take, “here,” he says.

To open the door, he needs one hand free, so he holds both bags in one hand and the plastic cuts into his palms and fingers – it is almost a welcomed feeling. It is a bit distracting, his body focusing on this sensation instead of highlightening his running heart.

There is a twinge in his shoulder at the same time, and he is reminded that he needs to pay attention to what he is doing, don’t get lost in feelings, don’t float away.

As always, he is cautious when he opens the door and enters the apartment.

He turns his head one last time to look at Jungkook – who still stands there and has a small, reassuring smile in his face –

and then he closes the door.

The tv is on, as always, and beside that he can hear some rustling from somewhere…the kitchen?

It comes from the kitchen, he knows for sure, when he sees his father standing at the small kitchen counter and in the process of opening a new can of beer.

“Where were you?”

Comes the question before he even has both feet over the threshold to the kitchen.

“At the convenience store,” he answers, deciding to keep any details for himself, to not say more than necessary.

“For that long?”

Yoongi doesn’t really know how long exactly he was away.

The way isn’t that long, but he is sure he walked slower than usual, and he met Jungkook.

He knew he took too long.

He knew he should’ve been faster.

But he doesn’t regret it. Meeting Jungkook, talking to him and going back with him together was nice, it was worth any troubles.

He stands pressed against the kitchen counter, the fridge open so that he can put in the beer and the other groceries.

He feels the eyes of his father on him, watching his every move.

It makes him nervous, as if anything he does could set him off - it happened often enough.

He tries to look unbothered and not nervous, because he knows that if he looks as nervous as he feels, then his father will take that as an opening to criticise him, at the very least.

So, Yoongi continues to put every can of beer and food into the fridge, stacking it neatly and carefully, every move carefully executed.

When he sticks his hand in the second bag, he is surprised when he pulls out something that he certainly did not buy.

Banana milk?

It looks yellowish. He doesn’t look at it long enough to read the label, but he vaguely recognizes the design of it - he probably saw it in a store before. The small bottle gets shoved far into the back of the fridge behind a few boxes of spam. Probably, this way, it will stay undetected for a few days, he hopes. His father eats spam only sometimes, and there are three boxes of spam – the small bottle of banana milk is well hidden behind it.

A careful glance to his father lets him release his unconsciously held breath with relief. It doesn’t seem like he noticed anything, saw anything that Yoongi was not supposed to buy. He is busy with his phone, his eyes downwards, away from Yoongi.

It’s his own money he used, the money he earned by working days and days and days without end, even more so before he started working at the bar, so he should be allowed to use it for whatever he wants buy whatever he wants, but...that’s not how it is in their house.

“I want some meat with rice today,” his father says and then he walks out of the kitchen.

Yoongi grabs the empty bags and throws them into the trashcan, takes out the rice and –

Wait.

No, he can’t cook now. Not now.

Or maybe now, he should cook now because he has to, but he has to be quick, and...

Jungkook is waiting.

Well, at least he hopes Jungkook is still waiting, he said he would.

He is sure that Jungkook did not just walk away. So, probably and hopefully, he is still there, waiting outside of the apartment for Yoongi to reappear.

How is he supposed to manage that now?

He has to cook, there is no way around it, and he has to do it now because it has to be ready at six, and if he will go out with Jungkook then he will not be back in time, so –

His feet carry him to the door before he even thinks about what he will say to Jungkook, and then he opens the door before he has even decided what to say aloud, what sounds good to say . There are so many oughts tumbling around in his head -

“Are you ready to go?”

Jungkook waited, just as he said he would. He is leaning against the wall, his phone in one hand and in the other...also a banana milk?

It looks exactly like the bottle he just put into the fridge.

“Well, I- I need to...to make dinner,” he stutters out, unsure what to say and nervous because what if Jungkook gets angry or disappointed?

Jungkook looks at him, his brows furrowed, apparently trying to understand what Yoongi means.

“What? But I thought we want to go out and eat lamb skewers?”

“Yes, y-yes, I want to, but – but I have to make dinner,” he says and he is sure that it isn’t making much sense to Jungkook. As he looks into Jungkook’s face, though, he doesn’t see anger or anything along those lines. Just...Jungkook just looks confused, questions in his eyes.

“But why? We’re goi-“

“It’s not for me,” he says hastily, trying to set it right, trying to make clear that he still wants to go out and eat, and the food is not for himself.

Jungkook posture and face relaxes, his dark, sparkling eyes showing nothing but kindness.

“Oh, okay? I can come and wait, or I can help you cook –“

“N-No!”

They are both a little startled at Yoongi’s outburst, and out of reflex he hastily looks behind him, where the door is not closed but almost – there is no sound of footsteps getting closer, but –

“Who are you talking to?”

Yoongi steps back into the apartment and slams the door shut.

“No one, just – just a, a new neighbour,” he lies, hoping his father is too lazy or busy to actually check himself who was or still is at their door.

“And? What did they want?”

“Just…got the wrong door,” he answers.

His father doesn’t say anything else, luckily, and the volume of the tv increases. He waits for a few seconds longer, just to be sure, and opens the door again, quietly.

Jungkook stands there, slightly slumped against the wall, but otherwise unchanged.

“Are you okay?” He asks right away, his voice lowered. There is not worry in his features, but maybe…slight concern.

“Yes, sure,” he lies once again.

He hates lying, hates making people wait, but…he doesn’t really have a choice now.

“I can go in fifteen minutes?”

He hopes Jungkook isn’t upset, doesn’t say no but also doesn’t say yes, because he feels bad if he makes Jungkook wait for longer – but he’d rather Jungkook says yes, let’s go in fifteen minutes, I’ll wait for you.

But who is he to expect something like this?

“Are you sure?” He asks and Yoongi sees that he tries to catch a glimpse of the apartment through the gap of the door.

“Yes. Are you sure?” He asks back.

Jungkook grins slightly, his upper teeth a little more visible and making him look a bit like a bunny.

“Sure, I’ll wait here,” he says, and so it’s settled:

Yoongi will cook, Jungkook will wait outside, then they will go together.

Yoongi closes the door a little bit softer this time, steps back into the hallway and tries to see if his father is still sitting in front of the tv or if he moved somewhere else meanwhile.

He spots his feet on the chair, and the direction of the feet indicates that he is sitting on the couch that is out of Yoongi’s line of sight, and so he is still where it is safe for Yoongi, and then he quickly walks into the kitchen to start cooking dinner.

It’s nothing difficult nor complex what he cooks. Just rice, some fried meat.

It is what his father usually eats and it is cheap, and even it is nothing special it still tastes alright. Yoongi cooks it often when he just got money from one of his jobs. When money is tighter again, they just eat something that is even cheaper – and Yoongi often goes with ramyeon.

The kimchi and other side dishes go onto the counter, still in boxes. Most of the time, his father eats in front of the tv and he usually serves himself, too, so Yoongi just puts everything on the counter. It is one thing he doesn’t expect Yoongi to do for him, and he even got angry a few times when Yoongi did serve him but did something wrong.

He tries to be fast.

Rice gets heated in the microwave – those small packages are cheap and quick to prepare – and the meat is already sizzling in the pan.

Fifteen minutes.

He can do that.

His muscles and bruises protest the swift movements, but he has to be quick and is undeterred. The cooking moves are practised many, many times, and he knows that he can make it fast.

If he hurts later, he will just take some more painkillers. No time to worry about it now.

He dumps the heated rice into a bowl, covers it so it stays warm. And when the meat looks crispy but not too dry yet, he takes it out and puts it on a small plate beside the bowl of rice.

The neon green numbers of the old kitchen radio show him that fifteen minutes have not gone by yet, it’s been barely ten minutes.

He puts the bowls, plates and boxes neatly beside each other, covers the meat too, so that the heat doesn’t vanish too fast.

He checks that everything is ready, nothing is missing.

The side dishes, the rice, meat, extra bowl, soy sauce, spicy sauce, a can of beer, a cup.

It’s all ready to be eaten and nothing is missing. Nothing that he sees at least, so it must be alright.

Nothing is missing.

Twelve minutes.

He checks that he still has his wallet in the back pocket of his pants, pockets his phone and hurries to the door.

It is a surprise to him, almost every time, how his father can hear those sounds over the high volume of the tv.

“What’s with the dinner?” He asks loudly over the sound of the tv.

“It’s ready,” Yoongi replies, trying to speak louder than he usually does, so that his father can hear him.

He puts on his shoes and in his haste, he stumbles and almost knocks over two umbrellas that lean against the wall. They rattle as he tries to catch them, and this is something his father heard definitely.

“What are you doing?”

He wants to go, leave.

Go away, leave with Jungkook.

Why can’t his father just leave him be and just...let him alone?

The woman was wrong, though, it is not one of his father's bad days. Maybe she helped.

But still...

“Not – nothing, nothing, just...nothing, I’m going out,” he says and hurries to the door, just wanting to leave without bothering with all of this.

“Yoongi, where the fuck do you think you’re going?” His father shouts just as he opens the door and almost jumps into the hallway.

Jungkook is still there, obviously squatting on the ground just a second before and now pulling himself up onto his feet, and also very obviously concerned now.

“What happened? Is everything al-“,

But Yoongi cuts him off with “let’s go,” and grabs him by the sleeve of his jacket and pulls him towards the stairs.

Chapter Text

They are walking down the small and packed streets not that far from Yoongi’s place.

Although Yoongi said that he would be fine with taking the subway or bus to another place, Jungkook insisted going to this area – Yoongi thinks that he chose that area so that Yoongi didn’t need to pay anything for public transport.

Does he know how little money Yoongi really has?

Even if he doesn’t know it, he must have an inkling about it. Jungkook seems to be intelligent, and although Yoongi’s clothes are fine, they all have that well-worn look and he never wears something that looks new, and surely Jungkook has some thoughts about that.

Anyway, Yoongi is glad that Jungkook chose the area so close to his apartment, without him saying anything about it.

Even though it is getting darker and darker by the minute, he pulled down his hood again. Jungkook didn’t say anything about that, and Yoongi is glad, very glad, because he doesn’t want any bruise or injury pointed out, it would make him more than just a little uncomfortable and embarrassed.

He is sure his nose has still some colourful spots, but he is also quite sure that it is not very noticeable.

It wasn’t when he looked into the mirror this day earlier, so he hopes no one will notice it even if he’d lift the hood up and expose his face now.

He still hasn’t taken the painkillers that are resting and waiting in his pocket, but he needs to take them very soon. He still hurts quite a lot, sometimes more sometimes maybe a notch less, and it will probably stay like this at least a few days more before it gets better. But he is so distracted now that he doesn't feel it much now. Things were happening so fast that he didn't have the capacity to acknowledge the way his body is hurting in different places. 

He is sure that all the action today would leave him feeling worse tomorrow, though.

Almost running down the stairs is surely not good in his condition.

Earlier, when Yoongi left his apartment and, in a moment of desperate boldness, grabbed Jungkook and dragged him down the stairs, just wanting to get out, just out –

- Jungook had just followed him.

There was an obvious tension in his body, a tension that Yoongi could even feel by just holding onto his arm as he pulled Jungkook along with him, a tension that he could sense.

After that, when they were outside and standing in the parking lot in front of the building, Yoongi had let go of him immediately, deeply embarrassed about his actions, about dragging Jungkook along with him without asking him beforehand if he would be fine with being touched – after all, they were still strangers, basically.

Familiar strangers?

Jungkook wasn’t angry, wasn’t upset or maybe even scared of Yoongi.

No, he wasn’t. Not one bit.

Yoongi would be a bit scared if a stranger just grabbed him like that.

Instead, he just asked Yoongi if he needs to take a minute to calm his breathing down, or if he needs to sit down, if he needs a break.

Yes, he needs a break from all of this – preferably a break from this life.

But a break at this moment and still in front of the house…

Yoongi didn’t want to.

He just wanted to leave and go to another place, get away from here to somewhere else.

Of course, he didn’t voice that out, would never, as it would sound far too desperate and pathetic - at least in his mind by just thinking about saying that aloud - but Jungkook seemed to understand him anyway, and so he just said that he knows a nice place to eat lamb skewers not that far away, and then they started walking, with Jungkook leading the way.

It began to drizzle a bit.

It shouldn’t, as the main season for rain is already over and the weather forecast didn’t say anything about rain, but the weather is sometimes just as unpredictable as life itself.

Neither of them has an umbrella, and Yoongi just hopes that it isn’t very far anymore.

He is not keen on getting wet and catching a cold, on top of everything else.

He would feel miserable, and he doesn’t want to miss another day at work, can’t afford it.

He needs the payment.

It’s nothing he wants to worry about now, though, because it is actually quite nice doing something else, with someone, another person, and he doesn’t want to ruin it.

As the streets get smaller and smaller, neon signs left and right and each just following the next, going up and spreading along the walls until the power lines and cables leave no space for them anymore and bathing everything in colourful neon lights without a sense of colour composition, Jungkook turns to him and tells him that it is only a little bit further.

“We’re almost there, just a minute longer, maybe,” he says and walks in front of him now.

The alley is too narrow for the mass of people here. Some people are carrying  goods and food from and to restaurants and bars, people standing left and right, some smoking, some on their phone, some talking or just…doing nothing much, just standing and...waiting? He doesn't know what they are doing, doesn't care enough to pay more attention to it.

He never was here before.

Not in these streets.

Maybe near here?

He must have been.

But probably not for eating something – he saves money where he can, and food is always expensive.

The area is still far from being a place where typical business people go for dinner after work and the restaurants here certainly don't offer expensive nor exquisite cuisine, he is sure, but he sees some people wearing suits. Some business men might live around here, though, and Yoongi knows that suits don't necessarily mean that people have a lot of money to spare. But still, most of the people here look like normal citizens eating dinner and spending time out of their almost inhumanly small apartments.

It seems like a place where people go to spend some inexpensive time to drink and eat with friends, relaxing after a hard day. A busy area, for sure, especially at the evening.

He is just refocusing his eyes and attention back from his surroundings to Jungkook’s black covered back when something catches his eyes.

No, someone.

A man.

Tall and towering over most of the other people, sticking out simply by his height. Otherwise he blends in with the people around him, as he is wearing black just as most of the people here do.

But he is tall.

And quite broad.

He is talking to another person as he stands at the entrance to another, smaller alley, not close but…not very far from Yoongi either.

Close enough to see him.

He catches Yoongi’s eyes, or maybe they just happen to meet each other’s gaze on accident, and –

- Yoongi walks into Jungkook’s back.

“Woah, be cautious!” Jungkook says as he throws his hands out to steady him, reacting so fast that Yoongi missed him turning around.

“Did you twist your foot?” He asks immediately, probably thinking that Yoongi just stumbled because of the uneven ground.

Yoongi shakes his head.

Jungkook gives him a quick once-over, his dark eyes scanning for anything amiss. Obviously, he doesn’t find anything wrong, but he most likely sees Yoongi’s facial expression – and Yoong is sure he looks at least half as…scared as he feels.

“Are you okay?”

There are many obvious signs that nothing is alright, Yoongi is not okay most of the time these days, and yet –

“I’m fine,” replies and tries to look convincing. Jungkook doesn’t ask further.

He isn’t sure if Jungkook actually believes him or not, but he grips Yoongi’s wrist lightly and soft, turns around and tugs him with him.

With Jungkook’s attention back to where they are going, Yoongi risks a glance back to where the man had stood, the scarily familiar man, but…

He can’t spot the same tall man again.

He is gone.

Probably, he vanished into the dark. Maybe into the dark of the alley or maybe into one of the many bars or restaurants.

He is not here anymore.

Still, the fine hairs on his body stand up, a tingling sensation under the fabric of his clothes.

Maybe it was just…his imagination.

A mirage, an effect of the higher dose of painkillers he took recently.

He doesn’t see the man again.

Not when they walk the last few metres until they stop in front of a small entrance, not when they step through the door and also not when they walk through the crowded restaurant.

Very quickly, Yoongi is fully distracted by the overwhelming mix of music, people talking and laughing loudly and the overall smell of meat and grill and kimchi in the air.

Jungkook still tugs Yoongi gently along after him, changing a few words with the waiter and then navigating after him to their table in the far corner of the restaurant.

Surprisingly, Yoongi is…fine with that.

Getting tugged along, not having to speak to any strangers, not having to find the best way through all the tables and chairs towards their own seat.

Jungkook does it so naturally and Yoongi follows so comfortably.

It is just as strange as their overall familiarity that shouldn’t be there because they are still strangers who barely know each other, but with Jungkook it feels…not bad.

Quite nice.

Jungkook lets go of him when they are at their table, and both of them sit down, sitting across from each other and the barbecue grill between them.

Jungkook doesn’t waste another second and takes the plastic laminated menu, doesn’t even look at the backside before handing it over to Yoongi.

“I already know what to order. Just chose what you want,” he says and Yoongi takes the card, scanning the menu for the dish that costs the least, because…he can’t pay much.

He wants to, really.

He wants to eat lamb skewers and eat good kimchi and rice, maybe even order a special soda…Cider?

He likes Cider.

It’s been so long since he had all this, but…even though the prices are okay and nothing is really outrageously expensive, it is also not the cheapest place.

Well…eating lamb skewers in a restaurant is never cheap, no matter where.

He knew he had to pay more than he would like to when he agre –

- Ah, no, that’s not true.

When he agreed to come with Jungkook, he wasn’t quite in his right mind, he thinks now.

He agreed without thinking much about the prices, certainly not. He was too stunned by Jungkook’s request to think about that.

Now, he is here.

He is somehow happy to be here, with Jungkook, and he promised to eat lamb skewers, so he will pay for it.

He still has a bit of his last paycheck left, when he worked one day extra, and he feels okay to spend a little bit of it now.

He wants to be a bit selfish now.

“So? What do you want?” Jungkook asks and Yoongi realizes that he must have been looking at the menu a bit too long now.

“I…th-the two-person menu sounds…sounds nice,” he says quietly, unsure if Jungkook would want to eat that too, if he wants to order a menu or pick a few dishes for them.

Would the menu be enough for the both of them?

Usually, the menus are quite big, but what if it’s not?

He wouldn’t be able to pay more than that, though…otherwise there wouldn’t be much left of his money for his and his fathers expenses.

He doesn’t want to pressure Jungkook to take something specific just because of –

“Oh, yes! That sounds good. The meat is good here, we can order more later if you want to,” he says enthusiastically, seemingly looking forward to the food that will be soon on their table.

Yoongi hopes the food of one menu will be enough – Jungkook looks as if he is that type of a person who can eat a lot, though.

“Want a drink?”

“Cider,” Yoongi replies shortly, his choice already made.

Jungkook’s face twitches a bit. It looks a bit like a smile, but Yoongi can’t be sure.

“No beer?”

Koreans love to drink beer and eat meat together, but…Yoongi doesn’t.

He doesn't like to drink alcohol, very rarely he drinks a beer if there is nothing else, but he never even finishes it.

“I – I don’t –,” he starts hesitantly, but Jungkook interrupts him with a clearly visible smile on his lips this time, shooting down Yoongi’s attempt to get into a ramble of excuses.

“No, no, order what you like, Cider is a good choice,” he says and points at the small button on their table, the bell.

“Want me to ring them?”

He nods.

He is glad Jungkook takes over all the talking that has to be done – talking to the waiter to get a table, talking to order their food and drinks.

It’s not that Yoongi can’t do it, of course he can. He can talk to strangers if he has to. But, more often than not, when he talks to strangers, an uncomfortable, nervous feeling rises quickly in his body and mind and makes him stumble over his words, makes him stutter and makes him feeling stupid and pathetic and –

- He doesn’t know if it’s anxiety or shyness or…something else entirely.

Anyway, he hates feeling like this and so he is glad Jungkook takes over most of the talking to strangers today without him asking Yoongi why are you not talking?

He heard it often enough.

He is glad Jungkook didn't say anything about that even once, seemingly just accepting Yoongi how he is. 

Not even a minute later, the waiter comes back with both of their drinks and puts the bill face down on their table as well.

Yoongi will not look at it yet.

Jungkook pours himself a cup of his own drink – lemon pepsi? – and then lifts his cup towards Yoongi, obviously wanting them to clink! their cups. They are out of aluminium, so there isn’t really a sound as they collide, and they both don’t put a lot of strength into it.

Once again, Yoongi thinks that Jungkook is so much more gentle than his first impression of him could ever suggest. There is so much hidden behind the tattoos and under the all dark clothes and closed off aura.  

“Yoongi-ssi… can I call you hyung?” Jungkook asks then suddenly, making him almost choke on the drink he just took a sip from.

“What?” He asks, thinking he misheard or…or something.

“I know you said that just Yoongi is alright for you, but…it feels wrong. So, can I call you hyung? I think you are older than me,” he explains.

It makes sense, of course it makes sense that it feels wrong, because in their society it mostly is. Yoongi knows that barely anyone is comfortable with calling other people just by their name or be called without any honorifics.

“How…how do you know I’m older?”

It is difficult for Yoongi to guess Jungkook’s age, or anyone’s age for that matter, but when he saw him the first time, beside Seokjin in the kitchen and chopping vegetables, he thought that Jungkook is younger than him.

Was he right?

“Just a feeling,“ Jungkook replies and adds, “I’m year ninety-seven.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

So, he was right. Jungkook is younger than him.

“I’m year ninety-five,” he says and Jungkook smiles.

“See? I’m younger. Can I call you hyung?”

And Yoongi…nods.

When the smile on Jungkook’s face broadens and his front teeth appear again, the bunny-smile Yoongi saw once before, he knows that…this feels okay, this is the right choice.

At this moment, the waiter sets down the small bowls of side dishes and the meat, and Jungkook smiles even more – how is that possible? – and says “Let’s eat, hyung!”

When Jungkook says that, he doesn’t feel the wrong, weird feeling he always feels when someone calls him hyung.

When it comes from Jungkook, it feels nice.

The lamb skewers are slowly getting grilled and crispy, the automatic little machinery turning them around and around so that they get brown evenly.

Yoongi watches them turn around and around, somehow entranced by the small, constant movement. It distracts him from anything else, a point to focus on, and Jungkook doesn’t seem bothered by it.

He has been talking about food, mostly, telling him about all the different kinds of meat he likes and where to find good places to eat this or that.

Yoongi hasn’t asked many questions about it, content to let Jungkook talk about whatever he likes, but there is one question that has been nagging on his mind the last few minutes…

 “How did you find this place?”

Jungkook stops in his ramble about bulgogi and seems to think about it for a moment before he answers.

“Did I tell you why I was in the grocery store where we met?”

Yoongi thinks back to when they met earlier. He can’t remember much, though, at least not the details of what Jungkook said. There is a steadily, light pulsating in his head, a light headache slowly building up the longer he hasn’t been taking his painkillers. It makes thinking too hard a bit difficult at the moment.

“You said your…your m-mother lives there?” He replies unsure. Is that the reason Jungkook was there?

Jungkook nods, confirming Yoongi’s memories. But, apparently, that’s just part of the reason.

“That, and…I actually lived around there too, until a few years ago.”

That is something Yoongi did not expect.

If so, why did they never met before?

They are almost the same age, they would’ve met somehow if they lived so close in the same area.

Kids and teenagers in the same area are bound to meet, either by visiting the same school or simply by meeting through friends of friends, social circles overlapping and mixing.

Jungkook takes one last bite from his lamb skewer and chews, looking concentrated and deep in thoughts. Yoongi lets him and doesn’t press for any more information. He knows how it is and how it feels, needing time to gather thoughts and thinking of what to say and how to say it.

“Seokjin-hyung didn’t tell me much about you, neither did Jimin-hyung or Tae-hyungie, but I know…I know we have some things in common, and I know that I understand more than what you think I do,” he says then, his big, dark eyes not on Yoongi this time but set on the grill between them, the small flames reflecting in his dark irises.

Yoongi isn’t quite sure what Jungkook means.

But he doesn’t ask, too curious and hesitant too ask and interrupt him.

“My mom…hasn’t been well, like never, and I know that in this part of Seoul it’s not uncommon for people to…be addicted to something, but it’s still hard to grow up with it,” he explains, his voice lowered and soft, and Yoongi can hear the hurt in his voice, still masked but Yoongi is familiar with it, can recognize the hurt that he knows so well himself.

Is it the same hurt?

Jungkook looks up, but his eyes don’t look as fragile as Yoongi so often feels when he thinks about those dark things in his life.

Jungkook looks vulnerable, there is no doubt about that, but he also looks determined. He doesn’t let the bad things tear his confidence down, doesn’t let it dampen the stars in his eyes, the strength of his internal, golden flame.

“Seokjin-hyung and Namjoon-hyung found me when I…I lost my way, when I already lost it, and when my mom started to take me down the same path she went,” he continues, and Yoongi finds it hard to keep their connection through their eyes, and he looks down onto Jungkook’s hands, traces his tattoos with his eyes.

“I don’t say I know or experienced the same troubles that you have with your father, but I know that I am familiar with this kind of…of bad things. My mum is too out of her mind most of the time to do much, but she can get quite angry too, sometimes.”

It is the same kind of hurt, Yoongi understands now.

It is.

It isn’t that they know each other from somewhere, that they met at one point in their life and that is why they feel such familiarity and comfort between them.

No, it isn’t that.

They are connected through the same kind of hurt, through their understanding of the darker, sadder things in life.

The quiet understanding and comfort stems from their experiences, from what they lived through, from growing up in a similar environment.

His hands are fidgeting with the napkin on the table, crinkling the paper, tearing the edges.

He can’t look up.

“I don’t visit her often anymore, I just – I can’t. My hyungs are my family now, and I’m happy that they are.”

He feels as if they’re in a bubble, the rest oft the restaurant faded away and they are isolated, caught in a space where time and sound outside of it is different, slower, muted.

“Yoongi-hyung, I’m not telling you this to make you telling me your story, I’m really not. I just -,” he stops and Yoongi can hear him taking a deep breath, changing his posture, before he speaks again,” can you…Yoongi-hyung, can you look at me, please?” He asks then softly, so, so softly, and Yoongi can’t deny him his request.

He looks up, and he is surprised to see a gentle smile on his face.

“I just want you to know that I can understand your feelings, some of them, and that I can understand how life can be…especially here. I just want you to know that you are not alone, and that if you ever want to…speak, or get away, that you can come to me. Or hyungs, you can go to my hyungs too. Always,” he says and suddenly…

…suddenly Yoongi’s eyes are burning and he has to look down, ducking his head and his hands flying to his face, the sleeves pulling over his hands to scrub away the betraying tears rolling over his cheeks.

“Aigoo, hyungie, don’t cry, I didn’t want to make you cry, please don’t cry,” Jungkook says, pleads desperately, reaching out and when he still can’t reach Yoongi, can’t reach his face, he stands up, and not even a second later he sits on the edge of the bench beside Yoongi, squeezed onto it and barely fitting, but that doesn’t seem to deter him from sitting on it.

Embarrassment blooms in Yoongi’s chest, making him feel uncomfortably hot and sticky, and he is glad that they are sitting in a corner and not in the middle of the restaurant.

Yoongi can’t stop the tears, as much as he tries.

“Ah, Yoongi-hyung, don’t cry, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to make you sad,” he says still so desperately and also sad, and Yoongi tries his best to just stop the fucking tears.

 “I’m sorry,” he chokes out almost inaudibly between his hands.

Jungkook, such an attentive soul, still hears it.

“No, no, you don’t have to be sorry for anything, nothing at all, really. It’s my fault, I was just…I just wanted to tell you, but I really – I really didn’t want to make you cry, I wanted – this was supposed to be nice, not – not a sad dinner and -,”

Yoongi feels guilty for making Jungkook feeling guilty about him being so…so sensitive, he knows Jungkook meant well.

He can’t let Jungkook feel this way, it’s not right.

He can feel Jungkook hands hovering over him, hesitantly, maybe too afraid of upsetting him more, maybe not knowing how to…to make it better.

Jungkook doesn’t need to make anything better. His words are already enough, the nicest, gentlest and genuinely empathetic words he heard since…it feels like forever.

Since a long time.

He sniffs, trying to swallow the tight feeling in his throat, trying to make it go away so that he can speak.

“Jungkook, it’s…it’s really – it’s okay, I’m ju-just-,” a small hiccup cuts off his words and he swallows again, rubbing his eyes with his covered hands once again.

It’s then that a slightly bigger, rougher feeling hand takes one of his own, one that is still covering and rubbing his eyes, and pulls it away, gently and slowly.

Yoongi lets him.

“Yoongi-hyung, I am really sorry, I -,”

“T-Thank you, Jungkook,” Yoongi says then, still quietly but loud enough to be heard by Jungkook.

He doesn’t want anyone else to hear what they are saying, he is sure other people are already staring at them, at him, and they don’t need to hear what he says, too. It is already embarrassing enough.

“Hyung is just…I - thank you,” he says again, finally daring to let his other hand fall away from his face.

He feels Jungkook’s hands around his, both of his hands encasing his slighter one, not really caressing but…gently rubbing the smallest circles onto his cold skin.

He winces when a sharp spike of pain shoots through his head, zipping through it like a lightning, making him squeeze his eyes shut for a second.

“Hyung, are you alright?”

Despite the situation and the pulsating pain in his head, Yoongi can’t but chuckle a bit.

Somehow…he feels a bit relieved.

As if a weight was taken off his chest, his shoulders.

“Yoongi-hyung?” Jungkook asks worriedly.

“It’s okay, just…just a headache,” he replies and sniffs once more before finally, finally looking up to Jungkook, looking into his eyes and seeing all the lights, the stars, the worry and gentleness reflecting off them, and he knows that…he can trust Jungkook.

Jungkook isn’t a stranger anymore.

All the sound rushes back to him, the awareness of where they are and when they are comes back to him, he feels Jungkook sitting pressed against himself, hears the meat sizzling on the grill.

Oh, the lamb skewers.

“Let’s…Let’s eat?” He suggests, and Jungkook looks at him a moment longer, his eyes just as sharp and attentive as ever, watching him and searching for something.

Yoongi doesn’t know what he is searching, but he seems to find it and gives him one of his gentle smiles, nods and with one last caress of his hand, he stands up and sits down on the other side of the table again.

Is shared pain really only half the pain?

He isn’t sure of that, but somehow, he feels lighter.

Chapter Text

It feels a bit different, after their talk, after Yoongi cried – of what he is still embarrassed about – and after Jungkook consoled him.

The atmosphere seems lighter, although Yoongi gets the feeling that Jungkook tries to lift his spirit with a few subtle funny remarks here and there.

It’s not something bad, the opposite actually, and Yoongi learns to enjoy this side of Jungkook while they eat.

Unfortunately, the meat got a bit too crispy, and they had to put three of the six lamb skewers on an extra plate because they agreed that the almost black meat couldn’t be healthy anymore.

They both try to stay away from the heavy topics for now, though.

Yoongi is sure his eyes are still a bit red from the tears and all that rubbing that he did, and he doesn’t have the hood of his sweater over his head anymore. It must have fallen down and he didn’t notice it until later, when his thoughts got a bit clearer and he got conscious about some people looking at them and he tried to blend it out, wanted to pull the hood down even further –

- only to find it completely slipped down onto his shoulders.

And then he just…figured that it is okay.

What does it matter now?

Jungkook saw his face already and they are sitting in the corner of the restaurant anyway, there aren’t many people who could look at him and into his face. The light isn’t that good either.

The only one who can look at him closely, and does, sits in front of him, and that’s okay.

Jungkook and Yoongi aren’t strangers anymore.

At least Yoongi doesn’t feel like they are.

He feels more comfortable now, he knows more about Jungkook, knows that they have things in common and that makes it less difficult for Yoongi to be himself, to let his protective walls a bit more down.

He knows so much more about Jungkook now and he likes it.

He knows about his love for lamb skewers and spicy ramyeon. He even told him about a special recipe he invented himself just so that he could make Seokjin cook his favourite, special ramyeon for him when he is too lazy to make it himself.

The more he talks about all these small, unsignificant but somehow such specific and for Jungkook important things, the more Yoongi is kind of…endeared, and fascinated.

Jungkook on the outside is so different from how he is on the inside. However, he is sure that the first impression of him, this slightly intimidating side of Jungkook, is also true and very much real – it is real, because he experienced him like that the first time they met.

He wonders when else he is like this, what situation might prompt him to be like this.

Are there situations where it is a necessity for him to act all closed off and intimidating?

Probably there is, Yoongi concludes as he watches Jungkook putting more meat on the grill, and he thinks that it must be a side effect of growing up in this area.

Luckily, Yoongi isn’t on Jungkook’s bad side, and he hopes it stays that way - Jungkook seems to like him, so he shouldn’t have to worry about that.

The meat is almost empty, just three pieces are still on the grill. But Jungkook’s appetite seems to be way greater than Yoongi’s, because he still eats almost as fast as in the beginning. Yoongi slowed down gradually, his hunger already diminished and now he feels so full that he is sure any corn of rice more would make him sick.

So, he just sips on his drink every now and then, patiently waiting for Jungkook to eat the last lamb skewers.

He is not in a hurry, he waits for however long Jungkook wants to be here.

In fact, Yoongi doesn’t even really want to go back home. Being here is nice.

It’s late, so maybe when he gets home, his father will not be awake anymore – he hopes so, at least.

He just left with his father yelling something after him, and he doesn’t want to think about how angry will he be when I get back?

“Hyung, do you want to have the last piece?” Jungkook asks and pulls him out of his thoughts.

“You can have it,” he replies and the smile he gets in return acts like a warm, light blanket draping itself over his troubled thoughts.

“Did you like it, was it good? You didn’t eat that much, hyung.”

Jungkook sounds a little bit concerned, and Yoongi isn’t sure how to reassure him.

‘I never eat that much’ sounds a little bit concerning and wouldn’t make Jungkook less worried, he thinks.

So, no, he won’t say that. It wouldn’t help.

“I wasn’t very hungry,” he says then, but it also does nothing to reassure Jungkook, apparently.

“Oh, but… did you have a big lunch?” He asks and Yoongi can’t but –

“Yes,” he can’t but to lie.

Oh, he hates that.

Why can't he just say the truth?

He wished he could get to a point in his life where he is close enough to someone to not feel the need to lie, to not be embarrassed about such trivial things.

“Ah…I still hope you liked it, it’s one of my favourite places to go whenever I want to eat typical korean lamb skewers,” Jungkook says and devours the second last piece of meat.

“I liked it a lot,” Yoongi says and it’s the truth, he likes this place a lot and the meat was really good. He has to remember the place so that he can come here again when he has a little bit more money, hopefully with Jungkook together.

Yoongi lets his eyes stray towards the windows, curious about how dark it is now, how crowded it still is out there, when he finds something else entirely.

A set of dark eyes are focused on him, he can feel the intensity, even though the man is standing outside of the restaurant. But still, he is staring, and Yoongi can not only see it but also feel it.

And it doesn’t feel good at all.

He doesn’t know what to do.

Hastily, he looks away, averts his eyes back to Jungkook, the food, the grill, the fire –

Jungkook is very attentive.

“Yoongi-hyung, is everything okay?”

Is everything okay?

He is not sure.

In here, right now, yes.

But what when he steps outside?

What if he leaves this restaurant and Jungkook and he will part ways and the man is still there?

He doesn’t think everything will stay okay.

He recognizes the man, the dark eyes, the tall and broad body of this suit wearing man.

It’s the same man.

Yoongi is good at remembering faces.

The last time, Minho was there.

This time, he is on his own.

Is he?

“The – The man,” he stutters, only half of his attention on Jungkook. He looks up again, towards the window, looking if he just imagined it, but…no, he didn’t.

“What?” Jungkook asks confused but slightly alert, looking up and around, trying to find what or who Yoongi means.

But the man isn’t in here.

“Out – outside, he is-,”

“Where?” Jungkook turns abruptly towards the windows, trying to find the man Yoongi is seeing and who is upsetting him so quite obviously.

 And just when Jungkook’s head turns towards the exact same window the man just looked through, he is just…”He’s gone,” Yoongi says quietly, a mix of relief and horror, because if he is not there anymore, then –

“Where is he? Who was that?” Jungkook is definitely alert now.

“I – He is…in the bar, I -,” he tries to explain, but anxiety and slowly rising panic – but not really panic, not yet, but soon – make him stumble over words, because his mind can’t just decide what to say, where to start, how to explain.

Jungkook doesn’t work in the bar, probably doesn’t even know much about Jimin’s workplace – how much does Jimin himself know what does or doesn’t happen during work?

But the most important fact now: Jungkook doesn’t know anything about the bar, the costumers, the two different kinds of menus, how things work there.

How can he explain that the last time he encountered the man, he was aggressive and almost choked him during his work because he didn’t bring him a specific menu?

He might sound crazy, paranoid, maybe even sensitive, exaggerating.

He doesn’t have the time for it now, to explain Jungkook everything so that he will understand.

He just wants Jungkook to understand.

He doesn’t want Jungkook to think that he is…crazy, paranoid or what else, but without any further explanation, Jungkook will probably think all this.

“Yoongi,” Jungkook says then, his tone requesting his attention, almost demanding it in a way he never did before and therefore catching his attention, too, by leaving away the honorifics.

“What man? Is he from Jimin’s bar?”

Two questions at once are difficult to answer, so Yoongi just nods.

Jungkook will understand.

“Does Jimin know him?”

Does he?

Yoongi isn’t sure, has actually no idea.

The day that Yoongi had the not so nice encounter with that man, he didn’t see Jimin. He has no idea if Jimin knows him.

Also, why should he know a random customer, even if Minho said that the man visits regularly?

“I don’t kn-know,” he stutters jittery, his fingers once again finding the paper napkin.

Somehow, it feels as if this whole thing is far more critical, maybe even dangerous, than what Yoongi thought it is.

Is it really, or is Yoongi making a big deal out of it, making it more dramatic?

Also, why is it so seemingly important if Jimin knows the man or not?

“What does he look like?”

This question is not difficult to answer, but he is sure that this description of that man ‘tall, dark hair, wears a suit’ doesn’t really help much.

There are a dozen of people looking like that.

The expression on Jungkook’s face tells him that no, it doesn’t help, it’s not specific enough, when he tells him how the man looks.

Jungkook picks his phone up from the table and begins typing something, almost furiously, in a speed that is almost impressive.

“What - what are you doing?” He asks curious but also a bit confused.

Jungkook doesn’t look up as he answers, still typing.

“I’m texting Jimin-hyung,” he replies, and Yoongi wants to stop him immediately from texting Jimin about this.

But he is too polite and shy to just do something like this.

“No!” He says instead, not loud enough to be heard over all the people talking and laughing, but loud enough for Jungkook to understand that he really means it.

He doesn’t want to bother Jimin with this.

He doesn’t want Jungkook to bother Jimin with something that is only concerning Yoongi.

Jungkook looks up, the phone still in his hands. “What? Why?”

“I don’t want you to – Jimin-ssi doesn’t know, he wasn’t there,” explains Yoongi poorly. It doesn’t even really count as an explanation. It’s just a fraction of what he wants, needs to tell Jungkook for him to…to do what?

“Do you think he followed you?” Comes the next question, barely reacting to what Yoongi said before.

“I don’t - I’m not…not sure,” Yoongi answers, unsure himself. It is a question he asked himself earlier too, but just like now, he isn’t sure of the answer.

It seems as if he followed him, and when he got caught staring, he vanished again.

With one last glance to the windows – Yoongi follows him, but there is nothing there, just the backs of some other people - Jungkook’s face smoothes out, the tension leaking out of it a bit.

But it’s not gone.

“If you see him again, tell me,” Jungkook says then, with a voice that sounds softer than it was before.

Unconsciously, Yoongi relaxes a bit too, just noticing now how tense his body was.

The napkin has so many teared edges that it looks as if he destroyed it with one of the lamb skewer metal sticks.

“It’s really late now...do you want to go home?”

“Sure,” Yoongi replies immediately, more out of reflex than anything else, but at the same time a pang of sadness and hurt rips through his tender heart.

It feels like...like rejection, even if it seems stupid to feel like that. It doesn’t even make sense.

Somewhere deep, deep down, he had hoped that Jungkook...takes him with him to where he goes, doesn’t leave him alone.

Yoongi doesn’t want to bother him, with nothing, even if they are a bit closer now, but he is somewhat scared of this man somewhere out there.

He doesn’t want to be alone.

He wants to be with Jungkook.

Yet, he doesn’t say anything.

Not when they stand up.

Not when the go to the front desk.

He wishes that he could just talk, but his mind – oh, his troubled mind – doesn’t let him.

Then, Yoongi is to perplex to say anything anyway, because Jungkook swipes his card so fast over the scanner to pay that Yoongi watches, half guilty and half impressed.

“B-But Jungkook-ah, I…I wanted to pay, you shouldn’t, let me -,” he says and tries to reason with Jungkook, tries to at least pay half of it or…he can pay it back?

But Jungkook is busy with pocketing his wallet and doesn’t seem to listen to him at all.

“Let hyung pay, I -,” he tries again, but this time, Jungkook looks up, smiling is small little bunny smile.

“I already paid, hyung. It’s fine, don’t worry,” but as he closes his jacket, he seems to notice that Yoongi is still not fine with it, that he is a maybe even a bit upset.

He grabs one of Yoongi’s fidgeting hands, his fingers closing around his slender wrist, and pulls him gently to him.

“If you really want to pay, you can do that the next time. How about that?”

And it’s not as if he has another option to return the favour, right?

Obviously, Jungkook doesn’t let him pay anything back now, so...yes, of course he will pay the next time.

“Okay.”

And he feels a little bit less guilty, knowing that he can pay Jungkook back by just inviting him the next time, telling himself to be as fast as possible with his card and pay before Jungkook will have the chance.

Jungkook’s hand feels warm around his wrist.

For some reason, he didn’t take Yoongi’s hand, and he is fine with it, but nevertheless, he can feel the warmth and weight of his hand through his sweater as he let’s himself be pulled out of the restaurant.

He still feels jittery, underlying anxiety making small tremors running through his body, but this small contact is like an anchor, tethering him to Jungkook, making him feel more secure without being too much, without being too much of unfamiliar contact.

Still, the anxiety induced tremors, like tiny shock waves, travel through his body at almost lightning speed – it feels like it.

He feels like this every now and then. But he hates the feeling, hates how it makes him feel more on edge.

He isn’t sure if Jungkook notices it, and also...it’s not that he can just stop it.

As they step into the slightly colder air outside, Yoongi notices that it must have rained a little bit more. It still drizzles slightly from the dark city sky, making the light from all the neon signs and light up windows reflect on every surface.

It would be quite beautiful, he thinks, all the colours on the grey and black structures of the buildings. He would spend more attention on it, if he wouldn’t be so distracted by turning his head left and right, trying to scan their surroundings and the people, trying to find a familiar figure that he actually doesn’t even want to find.

There are still so many people here.

He doesn’t find the one person he is looking out for, and that makes him tense up even more.

Is it good or bad that he can’pt see him?

“Yoongi-hyung, where do you – oh no,“ Jungkook starts, but then stops suddenly. Yoongi’s arm drops to his side when Jungkook lets go of him, using both of his hands to search his own pockets, sticking his hands in both of his front pockets of his pants, then into the pockets at his back, and repeats it at his jacket.

“W-what are you – did you lost something?” He asks when Jungkook checks his pockets again.

It must be important.

Jungkook exhales with a sigh, looking apologetic.

“Yeah, I think I left my lighter where we sat,” and he hesitates when he turns around, taking a step towards the restaurant again.

“I’m sorry, hyung, I’ll be quick, just wait here for a moment.”

And with that he is gone, with quick and large steps, and leaves Yoongi standing there.

Since when does Jungkook smoke?

He didn’t even see a lighter on their table, and also not in Jungkook hands.

But they had such an emotional talk earlier, and his concentration isn’t the best today, so he is sure that he must have just missed it.

It doesn’t even take a minute for him to start feeling uneasy, shifting where he stands.

It’s just like earlier, when they came to this place.

The fine hair on his body raises, once again a tingling sensation.

It warns him, it is warning him about something, about someone.

But this time there is no Jungkook at his side or in front of him.

For just a moment at this evening, he is alone.

“I knew it was you, Minho’s little barrista,” the voice says to his right, and he startles so violently that he would have jumped to the side out of reflex, but a strong, big hand clamps down on his arm, preventing him from moving away.

He recognizes the dark eyes, the face instantly.

He knew it was this man. He didn’t imagine it.

He isn't paranoid.

“Now you will come with me, boy.” And with these words, he gets pulled to the side, away from the entrance to the restaurant, where Jungkook is, where he must come out any second now, where…

…where is Jungkook?

He is too shocked to do anything at first, unable to react, too paralysed for a moment before the instinct to fight for himself kicks in, and he tries to pull his arm away –

 to no avail.

The grip that the man has on him is too strong.

“L-let me go!”

Of course, that doesn’t do anything.

It isn’t even loud enough to attract a lot of attention. He sees some faces turning to him, but just as quickly turning away again.

Trouble.

He is in trouble, and they don’t want to get pulled into it, too. And so, they rather look away, just ignoring the whole thing.

Maybe it's not even that uncommon around here.

“You know the Kims, and they know you, so my boss wants you to answer some questions.”

It is then that he realizes that this, whatever this is, is far more dangerous than what he thought it is.

Jungkook.

Where is Jungkook?

He pulls again, stemming his feet into the ground, and despite his aching shoulder, he pulls and pulls with all his weight, using his other hand to try to find something to grip at the wall, trying to anchor himself so that he doesn’t get dragged away.

“J-Jung - Jungkook!”

He is louder this time.

His hand scrapes over the bricks at the wall, his short fingernails just scratching over the surface.

“Jungk -,”

“Be quiet!  I just want to talk with you!” The man says angrily and cutting him off, pulling him further into the alley, the darkness enveloping them.

He has to be louder, louder, otherwise he doesn’t know will happen.

He needs…he needs –

“Jungkook!”

He is still fighting against the strong grip the man has on him, but his bad arm is too weak, his shoulder protesting painfully, and his hand at the wall doesn’t find anything to hold onto, but then...then he hears footsteps.

They are fast, quickly approaching them.

“Damn, you little fucker, you -,”  

“Yoongi!”

Then everything happens so fast.

He gets pulled forwards by his arm again, towards the man, and he stumbles as he almost loses his balance.

Someone else – Jungkook, it must be Jungkook, he recognizes his voice – is throwing himself towards them, a heavy, muscular arm wrapping itself around his middle, pulling him backwards, and he stumbles again. He hits the broad front of Jungkook’s chest, can see Jungkook’s head hovering over him, his dark hair almost touching him, but his eyes are set on the man that attacked Yoongi.

The man who is still gripping Yoongi’s arm, seemingly dead set on not letting go of him.

He doesn’t really know what happens then.

It’s too much, or too much at once, and his is filtering so much yet not enough.

One second, he is pulled in both directions like a toy between two terriers, then there is a weird sound, like something hitting a hard body, and then the man in front of him is making a weird sound too –

It’s not really loud, but it sounds painful, a painful groan mixed with a yell –

And then he is flying backwards, the sudden loss of the weight and force that pulled him forwards, towards the man, is gone.

But Jungkook is there.

He loses his footing, he but he doesn’t fall far.

Jungkook catches him, keeps him from hitting the ground.

His arm is still slung around his middle and Yoongi almost lies in his lap, legs sprawled out but otherwise not touching the ground. Out of reflex he tries to find anything to hold onto, and his hands find Jungkook legs, left and right from him, feels the soft material of his pants when he clutches the fabric between his fingers.

He is too shocked, too overwhelmed to really register it fully.

His eyes are focused on the man in front of him, the man who tried to take him away to somewhere, the man who is lying on the ground now –

- And who doesn’t move.

He doesn’t move.

He doesn’t – “It’s okay. It’s okay, I just knocked him out,” Jungkook says, interrupting his thoughts, and replacing them with ‘its okay, its okay’ in Yoongi’s head - words that are spinning and repeating like a mantra as soon as Jungkook tells him that.

He isn’t dead, he isn’t dead, it’s okay, it’s okay.

He hears himself breathing, panting with short, heavy breaths.

It’s far too fast, far too shallow.

He hears Jungkook breathing too, can feel the puffs of air faintly brushing his ear.

But he can’t look up, can’t focus on anything else but the motionless man in front of him and that it was so close, it was so close.

“Hyung, hyung, I’m sorry,” he says and lowers Yoongi gently to the ground, “but I need to check him quickly, then we’re going, okay?”

Yoongi hears him, every word, but the meaning is somehow lost to him, too incomprehensible.   

Reality is out of his grasp, and the only important thing is that Jungkook cannot leave him.

But Jungkook lets go of him, setting him down onto the cold, wet and dirty ground, and then he is stepping away from him and towards the still motionless man, doing something, getting something out of his pockets and doing something with the man’s hands, but...but his mind can’t process what he is seeing.

All his mind can focus on and process is that he is both afraid for himself and for Jungkook, because the man is dangerous.

But no word makes it past his lips, all he can do is sitting here, slumped in on himself, trying to get air into his lungs, but it is so hard. No amount of air he gulps down seems to reach his lungs, and when he realizes that it isn’t enough, it’s not enough –

The panic has already overwhelmed him at this point.

He barely notices Jungkook coming back towards him, barely notices him talking to him.

“Yoongi-hyung, calm down, please, please, just breathe with me, okay?”

His attempts to get him to breathe with him, slowly, don’t really work, because Yoongi is at a point where it is all just…just too much.

Everything is just too much.

All the last days, everything that happened, where he tried to be strong and just tried to stay standing…it is just too much.

There is only so much a human can withstand.

There is only so much Yoongi can withstand, and it seems that now, he reached his limit, finally.

It is kind of a blessing, he thinks faintly, that at least Jungkook is with him.

And this time, as unconsciousness envelops him like a dark, all-encompassing but light blanket, he isn’t alone.

The last thing he feels are Jungkook’s hands, lifting him up, cradling him against something warm, solid yet soft.

Everything after that is beyond the shadows he is caught in.

Chapter Text

A sound is what pierces through the fog that makes his head light and fuzzy, cradling his mind in black, weightless cotton.

It must be exceptionally loud to pull him from his unwillingly slumber, to reach him wherever his consciousness went.

Distantly, he can hear a voice.

No, different voices.

Then there is movement, and it seems like forever or barely seconds later – time is non-existent for him right now – that he gets moved, too.

Someone moves him, gentle but firm hands pulling him out of the car he apparently lies in, and when he opens his eyes slightly, he can see the inside of a door, the interior of the car, when his head rolls to the side.

The door is open, but it’s so dark that he can’t see much. Maybe there are some lights in the distance?

But then his eyes slips shut again and whatever light there was is shrouded into darkness again.

But there are still voices.

As his mind gets a bit clearer again – coming and going in waves, though slowly but surely getting more present and stable – and he finally registers the words again, his ears and brain working together to make something comprehensible out of single sounds, he hears a familiar voice saying his name.

“Yoongi-hyung, can you hear me?”

It sounds like...like someone he knows, a voice he heard not so long ago.

He wants to ask who that is, wants to ask ‘Jungkook?’, because, for some reason, this name pops up in his head and seems to...just make sense, seems to fit.

But his mouth doesn’t manage anything else but a meaningless sound, too weak and inarticulate to mean anything specific.

“Bring him inside, just -,” another voice emerges closer to him, closer to where he feels himself be lifted and hold by two strong arms, but the rest of the sentence becomes incomprehensible under the ringing sound that rises in his ears.

He feels higher than he was ever before, and yet he cannot even see the sun, the stars.

The sky is dark when his eyes open again, and even though the endless dark grey above him doesn’t move, he feels himself moving, and the cotton inside his head jumbles around, suddenly not so weightless anymore.

He feels slightly sick and dizzy, so dizzy, and he hopes all this moving around stops soon.

The ringing in his ears lessens, and the sound comes rushing back, slowly, unstable, but it is coming back, and the voices around him are getting clearer.

“Is he hurt? Do we need to call –,”

“ – gi got attacked, I don’t know if he’s h-,”

“- nna call the doctor, I’m not sure if I can help enough, but it doesn’t look –,”

The voices are talking too fast for him, the words and sentences too fast and not loud enough to hear and understand everything clearly, but he gets the gist of it.

Hurt?

Attacked?

Doctor?

“I -I can’t, -“ he starts, undoubtedly unintelligible as his tongue feels both too heavy and weak, the muscle too difficult to control.

“Yoongi-ah?”

This is a different voice.

Also a voice that is familiar, very much so, but he didn’t hear it for so long.

“N-No doctor,” he manages to say, clearer now, and he feels distantly proud to manage it.

The environment seems to change then, because the air is suddenly warmer, the voices sound louder, the light wind is gone.

He manages to open his eyes again, and what he sees...it seems so familiar.

“Put him on the couch,” someone says and just a few moments later he feels himself sinking into a soft surface.

Everything still feels as if it’s moving, though, himself included.

Why is he so dizzy?

“Yoongi-ah, can you open your eyes for me?”

At the gentle request, he tries.

He tries and doesn’t need long to open his eyes and the sight before him makes him slightly gasp in surprise.

A mix of feelings rushes through him.

A shot of panic, surprise, relief...he feels happiness too, but he also feels a little bit guilty.

He feels guilty, he feels relieved.

“Seokjin-ssi?”

He whispers, almost not believing that Seokjin, of all people, is here.

How?

Why?

He is beside the couch Yoongi lies on, kneeing so that he is on Yoongi’s level, looking at him with worried eyes.

“Hyung, Yoongi-ah, I’m your hyung,” he reminds him, tone still gentle but Yoongi can feel a sort of restlessness around him.

He doesn’t really understand why.

It’s so confusing, everything is, even if he already feels clearer.

His ears are still ringing, quieter now, but still annoying, and so he lifts his hands to rub at them, so that it goes away, but –

- His hands are stopped immediately, big hands catching them.

“Jungkook-ah, call the doctor,” says Seokjin and Yoongi feels the desperate need to stop them again, to stop them from doing that.

“No, I-I can’t,-“ he starts again but Seokjin pushes him back when he tries to sits up.

“Yoongi-ah, someone needs to take a look at you, and that’s why we’re calling our doctor,” Seokjin says calmly but determined. He looks past Seokjin and sees Jungkook’s back a few steps away, a phone in his hand.

Why is Jungkook not looking at him?

“But I...I c-can’t pay,” he murmurs, not really wanting to say it but he has to say it so that Seokjin will understand that he cannot call the doctor.

He can’t pay for an in-house doctor, he can’t pay for any doctor. He can’t pay the health insurance and he can’t pay whatever a doctor charges for a visit.

He isn’t really a fan of doctors either, but he doesn’t want to say that too.

He already feels ashamed enough about his situation.

Seokjin leans forward, his hands still holding Yoongi’s.

“You don’t have to pay for anything, okay? Just let us help you.”

Yoongi just stares at him.

This all feels so...so surreal.

How...how did he get here?

Why is he here?

It is then, like a tidal wave, that everything comes rushing back, everything that happened before he woke up by hands carrying him inside the house.

The man.

The man.

Where is the man?

He shoots up again, wide eyes looking frantically around, trying to find...to find – “ the man,” he says breathless, heart starting to galloping in his chest, as he remembers how the man dragged him away, tried to...tried to take him away, remembering the fight, shouting for Jungkook and –

“Hey, Yoongi-ah, breathe, okay? You are safe, he isn’t here,” Seokjin tries to calm him down, straightening a bit to be at Yoongi’s height again.

“B-but he – he was there a-and -,” and it doesn’t really make sense, there are parts missing.

“Jungkook said you had a panic attack, and you were quite out of it, but he will explain what happened, after he calls the doctor,” again that word, like a threat, and his attention  shifts back towards that.

“I don’t want a – I don’t- no doctor,” he says and repeats his plea to not call a stranger, a doctor, to...to check him.

He is fine, he is fine, he doesn’t need a doctor.

He had a panic attack before, he got...got beaten before, dragged and pushed around, it’s nothing new. He is fine.

He doesn’t want a doctor. He is fine.

It’s just some bruises, some scrapes.

He’ll live, he is fine.

“Yoongi-,” Seokjin starts but Yoongi doesn’t let him continue, rips his hands out of Seokjin's warm ones and pushes himself further up on the couch.

“I’m fine, I..I don’t need a doctor.” He sees that Jungkook turned around too, watching them worriedly, a phone in his hand and the display bright, but not calling anyone.

Why doesn’t he say anything?

Seokjin turns towards Jungkook too, but only slightly, more like just twisting his upper body, his strangely patterned shirt moving and stretching with him.

Are there little angels on it?

“Did you call him already?” He asks Jungkook, and he answers just with a shake of his head.

Yoongi is relieved.

Seokjin turns back to him, his expressions serious and slightly stern as he says “okay, it’s late now and I think... if you feel or look worse tomorrow, we’re going to call him. Tomorrow.”

That sounds like a promise.

But Yoongi is okay with that, can accept it now without any protest, even when he knows he would definitely protest if it really came to that tomorrow.

But now...now he is too tired to protest further.

The ringing in his ears is gone, his body apparently stabilized enough, but his head still hurts, his arm hurts, his shoulder hurts – although the latter would hurt probably forever at this point, as no amount of rest could help it heal correctly after his accident. He will not mention that to anyone, though.

It will be fine.

“Yoongi?”

He lifts his gaze from where he focused on the angel patterned pyjama, up to meet Seokjin’s eyes.

He doesn’t really know what to feel, what to think, what to do.

He feels like a mess.

Everything still feels a bit distant but too real at the same time. But he can’t really wrap his head around....around the fact that Seokjin is acting just as nice and caring as the last time he saw him, almost a week ago.

He looks towards Jungkook, who is still standing a few steps away from the couch, looking down at his phone again, not meeting his gaze.

Why?

There are so many, many questions floating around in his head, questions that he needs to be answered, but there is one that is so obviously important now – now that the person involved in everything that happened earlier is standing in front of him.

“Jungkook?” He asks, trying to push against Seokjin’s hands that are still holding him gently in place. They don’t budge.

“How - what happened?”

He wants to know what happened, everything that happened, the parts that are missing or too blurry in his memory, the parts that explain how he came here, why Jungkook is avoiding his eyes and why Seokjin is here beside him and talking to him as if Yoongi wasn’t avoiding him for the last days.

So many questions.

He is sure he doesn’t find the answers to all of those today.

But instead of avoiding Yoongi any longer, Jungkook looks up, quickly and directly facing Yoongi.

Oh...

Why are there tears in his dark, so dark and big eyes?

“Hyung, I’m so – I’m sorry,” he says and his voice is a bit wobbly, “I knew something wasn’t right but I – I still left you alone.” He sniffs, stepping closer and dropping his phone carelessly on the table near the couch.

Yoongi watches him, unsure how to react, what to say, what to...what to think of that whole situation.

He wants to say something, to tell Jungkook that he isn’t at fault for anything, that he shouldn’t cry, nothing really happened –

“You’re not... it isn’t your-,” Yoongi begins, but suddenly Jungkook is in Seokjin’s place and Yoongi has barely any time to react with much more than a slight flinch when Jungkook’s strong arms close around him, embracing him.

“I’m sorry, Yoongi-hyung,” he repeats again.

His ribs twinge as Jungkook hugs him.

It’s the first time Jungkook hugs him.

He likes being hugged, really, especially by people that he likes – and only by people that he likes - , but now it is a little bit uncomfortable, too tight and too much for his sore body.

He puts his hands tentatively at Jungkook’s arms and – although he hesitates – he pushes him away, just slightly, just enough to make Jungkook let go of him, to have space to breathe.

He let’s himself be pushed away, even if Yoongi’s strength must be as weak as a kitten right now.

In his eyes swims guilt, little droplets of tears not yet spilled are clinging to the slightly reddened rim of his eyes.

“Jungkook, I’m fine,” Yoongi says, even though he doesn’t quite feels like it yet, but he has the strong need to reassure him.

Seokjin looks right through him, of course, if his calculative eyes are anything to go by. Seokjin must know that he just wants to reassure Jungkook, even if his words aren’t true at all.

He probably saw Yoongi flinching, saw him taking a long but shallow breath when Jungkook let go of him, saw how there is still a slight tremor running through his body, making his finger shake subtly.

“But -,”

Seokjin interrupts him before Jungkook can say anything else, pushing him a bit further away to make some more space for Yoongi, so that he isn’t too crowded.

“Jungkook-ah, let’s get Yoongi into the guestroom first, alright? I’m sure a shower and then sleep would be good now.”

It doesn’t really sound like a suggestion, more like he just decides what would be good for Yoongi now.

And it sounds good.

He is tired, aching, confused but somehow relieved to be here.

He is sure that more emotions about what happened will crash over him later – maybe this night, maybe tomorrow, maybe the following days.

But he is sure it will come. The situation was to jarring, too scary.

Yoongi swings his legs off the couch, wanting to sit up, but Seokjin stops him once more.

“Can you stand up or do you want help? Does anything hurt?”

“No,” he just answers, unsure to which question he even answered, but then he has to blink away the dark spots dancing across his vision as soon as his upper body is fully upright.

He realizes only now that it is really quiet here, there is some music playing from somewhere, but otherwise...there is no one else around but the three of them.

With the black spots in his vision gone, Yoongi continues to stand up, and Jungkook’s hands hover around him, ready to step in and help, but Yoongi doesn’t lean into him, too focused on standing up on his own – and trying to see if he sees anyone else, if he just missed them. As he does so, Seokjin gets up as well, apparently noticing Yoongi confused expression.

“It’s just us here,” he explains, “the other ones are not here at the moment.”

When he sees the big windows across the living room where he stands now, he notices that it is dark outside. Completely dark.

Darker than earlier.

How much time has gone since the...the incident?

“How late is it?”

How late is it, how long has he been here?

A spark of panic springs to live in his chest again, and he notices that it was not entirely diminished yet, as he registers the shaky feeling in his limbs.

Maybe this is why Seokjin could prevent him so easily from moving off the couch earlier.

He feels weak, jittery.

How late is it, and how does he get back home?

He needs to go back home, needs to be home as soon as possible.

“I need to, to go ho-,” he starts, but Seokjin - a true master of recognising people’s state of mind, apparently – doesn’t let his panic induced words continue.

“It’s past eleven, almost midnight. I’m not letting you go home now, Yoongi-ah.”

His words and expression are just like earlier, a mix of being gentle and stern. And when Yoongi looks at Jungkook, sees how he looks back at him with an expression that still looks a bit distressed too, as if he is just worried, as if he doesn’t want to let Yoongi out of his sight again, he realizes that...that this is okay.

He can stay here.

Maybe...he feels as if this is what he might need after today. It would do him good to stay here, right?

He would like to stay here.

He doesn’t really feel that much like a burden now...a little bit, maybe, but the craving for this...this gentleness and care that he can get here, that he already gets, is greater than the feeling of being a burden.

So, it is okay, he thinks.

Somehow, it feels like a dejavu, so similar to the last time he was here.

“Let’s get you upstairs,” Seokjin says and gently takes him by his arm, both leading and steadying his body, and Yoongi just obeys him.

He is too exhausted to do anything else, and nothing sounds as nice as what Seokjin said: Taking a shower and then going to sleep.

It sounds nice, and as he walks up the stairs slowly – Seokjin in front of him and Jungkook behind him –, he realizes just how much he missed it, all this, even though he was here only once before, even if he had this only once before.

When a sharp pain in his head makes him flinch again, his eyes shutting momentarily and he stops in his steps, Seokjin stops as well and regards him with a concerned look.

“A headache,” Yoongi admits quietly then, not wanting to admit how much he hurts elsewhere – his shoulder, the bruises he still has – and Jungkook turns promptly into the other direction, walking away from where they are heading towards the guestroom.

 “I’ll get some painkillers,” Jungkook says as he walks away, and Seokjin continues leading him down the hallway.

Yoongi just let’s himself be steered around, but against his expectations that Seokjin just drops him by the bed, he gets walked into the bathroom – and even then, Seokjin doesn’t leave.

They just stand there for a moment, Seokjin regarding him with an expression on his face that is difficult to read for Yoongi – mainly because he doesn’t look that high up, opting to just look somewhere else, taking in the slightly familiar room.

Then, he pushes him gently down, makes him sit down on the small chair beside the large tub.

There are purple towels beside him, hanging from a hook at the wall.

It smells like lavender.

It feels like a dream.

But he hurts too much for it to be a dream.

He wishes it could be like this without him hurting, without him knowing he has to leave again in the morning.

“Yoongi-ah, I know you –,” he interrupts himself, sighs as he steps a step back, “I know that this is a bit much tonight, but it is important that I ask this before I leave you alone,” and the following pause just makes Yoongis thoughts race, and also finally looking up, because what could come now?

These words didn’t sound good, foreboding something he has no energy to deal with now.

“What did the man say, earlier? Did he say anything about what he wanted, or why he was following you? Or his name, anything?”

He didn’t expect these questions.

Well, maybe he did a little bit, he had just as many questions himself, and it’s only fair of Seokjin to ask this because he has to deal with Yoongi in such a state – Jungkook had to deal with him in an even worse state, so...he totally understands why these questions have to be asked.

They have a right to know.

He just doesn’t really understand why now?

He doesn’t want to talk about it now, doesn’t really understand what difference it makes if he answers these questions now or tomorrow.

Seokjin notices him hesitating.

“I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t important, I know it was -,”

Unfortunately, for Seokjin, Jungkook chooses this exact moment to come back from wherever he went to retrieve a pack of painkillers, holding it in one hand and a glass of water in the other hand, holding out both towards Yoongi to take it.

“Here, I got you some more in case you need it,” he says and cuts Seokjin’s words off without realising, breathing a little bit fast and body vibrating with an energy that seems more out of agitation than anything else.

“Jungkook,” Seokjin stops him calmly, slowing him down, but giving Yoongi the time to peel two pills out of the package, watching him swallowing both quickly with a sip of water, before he continues where he was interrupted.

“Can you remember anything, Yoongi-ah?”

Still holding the glass in his hand, he squirms a little bit, growing a little bit uncomfortable under their eyes as both of them are waiting for his answer.

It feels a little bit crowded. He doesn’t want think back to...to earlier.

“I...I think he s-said something about...about having some questions?”

It doesn’t make much sense to him, has no idea what kind of questions he would be able to answer, why he should be able to answer questions from a stranger about someone he barely knows.

”Because I – I know you?”

Why would him knowing Seokjin, Jungkook, Jimin and the other ones be a reason for some guy and his boss to ask him questions?

“Nothing else?” Seokjins asks softly, pulling him out of his thoughts again, quietening the questions in his head  – just as softly as he looks in this baby blue angel patterned pyjama.

“He – he wanted to ta-take me to his...his boss?” At those words, a frown breaks Seokjin’s soft expression and Jungkook’s whole body gets tense, and he almost looks angry, and then Yoongi gets anxious... is it not enough that he remembers?

Nothing else?

Should there be more?

Is there more that he could say?

Or are they angry that he...that he got himself into trouble just because of something like this?

Are they angry that he maybe even got them into trouble too?

“I – there isn’t – isn’t anything else, maybe he con-confused me w-with someone?”

He looks at both of them, trying to understand why they look so angry, but Seokjin must have realised the anxiousness in Yoongi’s voice, and his face smoothes out once again.

“Don’t worry, I think that’s enough questions for now,” he soothes, and goes to the sink to rummage in the small cabinet beside it and then pulls out two towels.

“Take a shower first, let me know if you need any bandages or band aids, alright? Jungkook and I will be nearby, so just call for us.”

And then Yoongi is alone.

The silence is deafening for a moment, such a contrast to everything that happened today, but after a moment it turns into such a peaceful silence that his still tense posture relaxes.

The light of the bathroom is bright, but not that headache inducing white light. It’s the warm light that creates a comfortable atmosphere, bathing everything in a warm, light orange tone.

After a moment, he decides that he should shower now, even though his body and mind just want to sleep. But he knows that if he doesn’t get up now and get it done, he will feel even more heavy and the task will feel even more difficult the longer he waits.

The shower is nice.

It’s a big space and so he stands in the middle of it and the water falls down onto his skin like it is caressing him, warm droplets sliding down and washing away the dirt and grime of everything.

He feels clean when he steps out, comfortably so, and the scent of flowers wafts around him, follows him, surrounds him.

He looks at his worn clothes that he shred before he showered, already dreading to wear them again now, and he hopes that maybe...maybe they laid out some clothes for him again?

Like last time.

With the big towel wrapped around him, he opens the door to the guest room, and almost like last time, he spots a small, carefully folded pile of clothes just beside the door.

There is such a gratefulness that begins to fill his lungs that he gets the urge to go to Seokjin and Jungkook immediately, to tell them how thankful he is, to tell them how happy he is to be here, how happy he is to have them.

Does he have them?

It doesn’t work like that.

But he is so, so, so glad to have them in his life now, even if it hasn’t been long yet, and even if he isn’t sure for how long he can keep them in his life.

Even if there are still some obvious barriers between them.

But he feels a little bit selfish again.

He wants to keep them.

The black shirt and grey sweatpants are big on him, but he prefers it like that anyway, and so he steps into the black slippers in front of the closet and opens the door to the quiet hallway.

He knows Seokjin told him to just call for him, but Yoongi doesn’t like raising his voice that much. He’d rather search for him on his own than calling out and wandering the hallway like a lost little kitten in unfamiliar environment and in distress.

There is still music playing downstairs, and when he hesitantly walks towards the other end of the hallway he sees that one of the doors is a little bit ajar, light spilling out onto the hallway.

He hears their voices before he reaches the room.

“ – and I already sent him the info. He said they’re still on it,” Seokjin’s voice says.

“They don’t know yet who’s behind it?” That’s Jungkook.

Yoongi stops, the urge to go to them immediately is temporarily smaller than his curiosity about what they are talking about.

He isn’t stupid. He can guess what they are talking about.

Most likely, they are talking about that guy who attacked him. But why?

The way they were talking sounded as if they were…investigating themselves?

It would make more sense to contact the police, but it doesn’t seem like they did.

Well, not that Yoongi would contact the police and report what happened.

The police doesn’t really help people like him much these days.

Is one of them working for the police or they know someone who does?

It sounds a little bit like it, but nobody ever mentioned anything.

“They have an idea but...let’s talk about that tomorrow, okay? We should go back and look if Yoongi-ah needs anything,” Seokjin says then and Yoongi hastily steps back from the door, but before he can make it far, the door opens fully and Seokjin spots him.

“Oh, Yoongi-ah! I didn’t hear you coming. Do you need anything? Are you okay?”

There isn’t a sign in his voice or on his face that shows that he thinks Yoongi eavesdropped and is upset about that, no sign of anything but the ever-present gentleness he shows towards Yoongi.

Yoongi doesn’t really know what to say.

“I – I just...I just w-wanted to...,” suddenly, the courage to tell them how glad he is that they let him stay here, that they care, is gone.

How could he think that he would be able to tell them that face to face anyway?

He is a coward when it comes to addressing feelings directly.

“Can I have some water?” The words rush out of his mouth before he can think much about it.

“Of course! Just come with me, we have a small fridge in the lounge,” Seokjin replies and steps forward.

There is just a second where he can catch a glimpse of the inside of the room and it looks like a small library or an office with book shelves – dimly lit, cozy looking, probably expensive.

He never saw a room like this with his own eyes, only on pictures.

Jungkook emerges just a moment later and obstructs his view. He changed his clothes and he’s now clad in black, loose and comfortably soft looking clothes – probably for sleeping, too.

It is so late already, and Yoongi can feel his eyes burning and his body getting heavier as exhaustion begins to sleep deep into his bones along with the residue ache of his body – not even the pain killers could take the pain away, even if temporarily.

Jungkook stays back at the door when Seokjin steps further out of the room.

Even though the question to get some water slipped out of his mouth without much thinking, he realizes now that he is thirsty. Especially after the hot shower he had.

So he follows Seokjin as he enters another room just across the hallway, and this time he can catch more than just a glimpse.

He stops right at the threshold as Seokjin ventures further to the back of the room and towards a small fridge. There is a table with a coffee machine on one side and an empty table on the other side of it.

It’s like a small kitchenette, he thinks, but in this room and surrounded by all this expensive looking furniture and decoration it looks more like a serving table for the upper class in those dramas he rarely watches.

He stops his thoughts here, not wanting to deal with feeling more pathetic and down than he already is.

“Do you only want water or do you want juice as well?”

Juice?

“Just water,” he answers, his hands nervously holding onto the bottom hem of his shirt.

It doesn’t even take a minute for Seokjin to return back to him, giving him a cool bottle of water and subtly steering him back out into the hallway and then back towards his room.

Jungkook is gone when they pass the other door.

“It’s really late now and I’m sure you’re exhausted,” Seokjin says as they step into the guestroom – the now familiar bed looks inviting.

They stop, Seokjin close in front of him, one warm hand on his shoulder. He looks at him with his attentive eyes, once again more scanning than just looking, and would it be anyone else then Yoongi would be uncomfortable, but with Seokjin...there isn’t a reason for him to feel very uncomfortable. Seokjin only showed him gentleness and care – he isn’t scanning him for anything but making sure that he is alright.

At least, that’s what Yoongi hopes to be true, what he tries to believe.

“You’re not seriously hurt, are you? I didn’t insist earlier, but if your are more hurt than just those bruises and scrapes, I’m going to call our doctor.”

Yoongi can see that he is serious...and strangely, he appreciates it, even if he doesn’t really like it much at the same time.

He shakes his head.

“I’m not, Seokjin-hyung.”

Well...it is probably the truth.

There is a moment of silence between them and he can feel Seokjin’s eyes on him, but his own eyes are once again focused on the little angles on Seokjin’s pyjama.

They are cute.

Then there is a sigh and another warm hand settles on his other shoulder – he can’t suppress the small flinch when his hurt shoulder reacts to it, the touch sending a muted pain down his arm and up his neck.

If Seokjin notices it, he doesn’t say anything.

Yoongi is glad for that.

“Can I give you a hug, Yoongi-ah?”

Oh.

His eyes are wide open when he looks up, astounded.

Oh.

Really?

He nods slowly, but doesn’t make a move, unsure what to do, unsure if he really wants to.

“Come here. I think you really need that hug,” Seokjin says gently and his arms close around his shoulders softly but tightly at the same time, slowly pulling Yoongi towards himself.

It is the second time he hugs Seokjin, the second time that Seokjin hugs Yoongi.

The moment he is gently pressed against Seokjin’s broad frame, he realizes how much he has been craving it.

So much.

So, so much.

It doesn’t even matter that his shoulder twinges, that his bruises ache at the touch.

He feels Seokjin’s hands on his back, feels the small pattern he draws – just small circles, back and forth, left and right, up and down -, feels how warm he is and how he smells just like he knows the blankets in the bed smell.

Lavender.

Lavender.

Like purple skies at day’s end,

Gently brushing tears away and mend,

Holding the bruised hearts of the souls,

That the day left behind,

To make them whole.

He feels Seokjin’s fingers on his skin before he feels the wetness, feels them brushing over his cheeks just below his eyes.

“Yoongi-ah, I’m so sorry for all of this. You don’t deserve any of it.”

And there is nothing that Yoongi can say to that, isn’t sure if he believes those words.

But nevertheless, it’s somehow good to hear it.

It’s like there is, finally, someone who just sees, without Yoongi saying much, without needing Yoongi to rip the most hurting parts of his soul and memories out of himself and presenting it to them so that they just understand.

No, nothing of that is needed.

Seokjin sees enough of him to understand enough and react, giving him something Yoongi is too scared to ask for.

And Seokjin hugs him, brushes away his tears that steadily but quietly stream down from his eyes.

He doesn’t really notice that Seokjin walked them towards the bed, just notices how close to the mattress they are when he suddenly finds himself sitting down, one of Seokjin’s hands on his shoulder – the one that doesn’t hurt – and one hand brushing away the last of his tears.

“ You should sleep,” he simply says, and Yoongi nods.

The exhaustion makes his head swim, the tears made his eyes burning even more, and he doesn’t now if it’s more out of tiredness or all the crying that make his eyes close by themselves.

As if Seokjin knows how difficult it is for Yoongi to move his tired body on his own, he moves him gently towards the head of the bed, Yoongi’s house shoes slipping off his feet, flopping on the floor.

Yoongi doesn’t really registers the sound.

He vaguely thinks that the last time someone did something like this – brushing away his tears, hugging him, tucking him into bed – was his mom, probably.

He can’t really remember.

But it must have been his mom, because there is nobody else he remembers, nobody else who only ever was this gentle and caring towards him.

The blanket settles around him comfortably, not too heavy but not too light, covering him up to his chin.

His eyes are already closed by now and he feels himself drifting away.

So fast.

There is the smell of lavender and flowers surrounding him, a gentle touch adjusting the blanket to cover his neck.

“Sleep well, Yoongi-ah.”

Chapter Text

There isn’t an indicator of what time it is when he wakes up abruptly, his lungs heaving and cold sweat covering his body.

The remnants of fear about some unknown danger in his dreams are still coursing through his body, and out of instinct he frantically looks left and right, trying to see something, find the source of danger –

-         But it’s dark, there is barely anything to make out in the black shadows.

But it only takes some seconds to make out the dark shapes of the closet and armchair on the opposite of the room, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. There is some light coming through the gap where the curtains don’t close fully, and although it is barely more than some whitish shimmer, it helps to differentiate the dark shapes of furniture from the shadows of the night.

He breathes in deeply, luckily already calming down from whatever nightmare he had, and as the memories of the dream fade quickly like sepia photographs, he gets conscious of the soft comfort surrounding his body.

He sighs, turns on his side, and burrows his face into the soft pillow. The blanket is tucked around his shoulders, warm against the cool air of the room.

He barely remembers how he got into the bed.

Seokjin gave him a bottle of water, walked him back to the guestroom, he –

Oh god .

He cried.

Again.

With a whine of embarrassment, he turns on his other side, pulling the blanket higher.

Why does he cry so much these days?

He is a goddamn adult, and adults don’t cry.

At least not in front of others.

You’re pathetic, boy. No wonder you don’t get anywhere if you are this sensitive.

In his head, it sounds like the voice of his father...but...that doesn’t mean he is wrong.

He cries too much, is too sensitive.

But Seokjin didn’t say anything.

“Yoongi-ah, I’m so sorry for all of this. You don’t deserve any of it.”

He remembers the words, remembers how honest Seokjin sounded when he said that, remembers how he gently brushed away the droplets of silent pain on his face, not once mentioning his tears.

He tries to suppress the feelings, all these memories, all these thoughts.

It’s the middle of the night, and he feels how tired he still is, how his body still craves to rest.

He should try to sleep again.

Surprisingly, it isn’t very difficult to fall asleep for the second time this night.

Even his almost never-resting mind cannot resist the sleep that pulls him under once again.

It isn’t light that wakes him, nor is it another nightmare.

He wakes to the sound of a door closing loudly.

It isn’t even very loud – not as loud as a door that gets thrown shut by his father.

Probably, he is so tuned to listen to this kind of sound that the second the distinct rattle of a door closing loudly echoes through the house, he is ripped out of his slumber, and it leaves him staring at the still closed door of the guestroom – waiting for something, expecting something.

Seconds tick by, but apparently, it was a one-time thing, the sound doesn’t repeat.

Silence returns.

Nothing is going to happen.

The longer he just lies there, the more his body relaxes again.

The room is bright now, even though the curtains still block most of the daylight from behind the window.

How late is it?

He feels much more rested than earlier.

When he moves to sit up, he can feel his body aching here and there – at this point, it feels as if there is always a place on his body that hurts.

The headache is barely noticeable anymore.

It was probably the stress, he thinks.

He relishes in the comfort of the bed.

The air is cool, but not as cool as back home, and the blanket is so much thicker and fluffier, the pillow so plush that his view gets partially covered by the white mountain of fabric.

It is so nice.

He doesn’t want to get up.

But he can’t stay here forever, Seokjin and Jungkook allowed him to stay, but surely, they wouldn’t want to have a guest who stays in the guestroom all day?

So, he gets up.

Slowly.

The warmth of the blanket lifts as he shuffles out of the cocoon he made himself, and a shudder runs over his skin, making goosebumps rise as he sets his feet down on the floor.

His vision is still a little bit hazy from sleep, and he rubs his eyes to get rid of the crumbs of sleep and then yawns.

He should change his clothes and then go down – maybe he can help Seokjin to cook breakfast or...lunch?

He doesn’t know what time it is.

He should go anyway, and if it’s later than he thought, then he should also hurry.

The house is not as quiet as yesterday, he notices as soon as he steps into the hallway.

There is music again and he hears some voices talking, this time from one of the rooms on this floor, though, coming from behind one of the doors. He is curious about what’s behind the closed door, but he would never invade someone’s privacy like this, even less in a house that isn’t his own.

So, he ignores his curiosity.

He walks towards the stairs leading down, his bare feet almost soundless as he walks – it is a skill and habit that formed when he was young, probably. He can’t quite remember when he started doing this, when it was automatic instead of conscious doing.

The living room comes into view, and he is once again fascinated and impressed by the interior, the soft colours and the mix of modern and homey design.

He stops then, not really knowing where to go, what to do, because nobody else seems to be down here yet – at least he thinks so until he hears voices coming from the kitchen.

“Jungkook will tell him, or I will, but not you, Joon.”

That sounds like Seokjin.

It doesn’t really surprise Yoongi, though. He was already expecting to walk into or overhear another conversation. It just happens, he thinks, when he walks around a house that isn’t his own and where six other people are living together – Well, he thinks all six are living in this house, but he isn’t sure.

 It seems a little bit unusual to him, but who is he to judge?

“Nobody will tell him anything. I still don’t trust him, and I didn’t even get his file yet. As long as I say ‘no’, it's a no. We have a system, Jin, and we have rules. I will not ignore them for anyone.”

Oh.

That...that sounds like Namjoon.

Just like the last time, he accidentally overhears a conversation he is sure he shouldn’t hear, but it’s not really his fault, either.

He is frozen where he stands, unable to move forward but unwilling to go back to his room.

He is curious about what they are talking about, and even though he is sure he shouldn’t hear it, he gets the feeling that he should hear this.

It seems to be...important.

“Now you’re coming with the rules again? And you do ignore them, you know, if it’s one of us. And you are aware that they are already targeting him, right? If you kick him out of here, Jungkook might not be able to get to him in time. I’m sure you don’t want this to happen.”

Seokjin sounds angry, but it’s still contained. But still, Yoongi doesn’t like an angry Seokjin. It doesn’t fit him, in his opinion. It just doesn’t fit into the picture he has of him.

He likes him much better when he is the gentle, caring hyung who offers hugs.

“You know I’m not above to do what needs to be done to keep you all safe,” Namjoon replies calmly.

What needs to be done ?

Yoongi can think of many interpretations of that sentence.

He doesn’t like any of those that come to his mind, though, and he doesn’t want to think any further about what exactly Namjoon means by that.

“I won’t let you kick him out.”

Why is it that he always overhears a conversation where Namjoon seems to dislike him and wants to kick him out, and Seokjin defends him?

“Hyung,” Namjoon says softer, “I don’t want to fight. I just want to keep you all safe.”

Seokjin’s voice comes after a small pause, softer as well.

“Then don’t fight me on this, Joonie. Trust me, trust Jungkookie, trust Jimin. We are safe, even if he stays here.”

Even though the conversation seems to be ending, he suddenly wants to turn around and avoid them, just like the last time he was here.

He doesn’t like Namjoon. He doesn’t even know him, and the man has already an opinion of him and, based on what he thinks he knows, wants to have him gone from this house.

But on the other hand...he wants to see Seokjin.

“You know they haven’t been in this business as long as we have, and we don’t know him,” Namjoon says then.

Just as he is contemplating if he should turn around and walk back up to the guestroom or if he should go to the kitchen and act as if he didn’t hear anything at all, he feels a breeze behind him, a small shift in the air.

“Morning, Yoongi! It’s good to see you again,” Jimin greets him.

With a small sound of surprise, he turns around.

“Jimin!”

Just a few steps higher on the staircase, towering over him but not in a threatening way, stands Jimin. His grey shirt is rumpled, his hair tousled, and his checkered pants cover his bare feet to the ankle.

“G-Good morning,” he replies.

He must have just gotten out of bed, Yoongi thinks.

Jimin just smiles, a sleepy expression on his face.

“Is anyone else already down here? You are probably searching for-,”

“Yes, but they are experienced enough, they are not gullible. Do you really want to throw him out now? I told you, I will not-,”

“Oh,” Jimin says, almost drowning out Seokjin’s and Namjoon’s voices.

He doesn’t sound pleased.

“They are already awake.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, instead he avoids Jimin’s eyes, turning halfway back towards the living room.

He doesn’t know what to say.

Does Jimin think that he eavesdropped?

Well, he did do that. Even if it wasn’t purposely – at first.

A sigh sounds behind him.

“Aish, I’m sorry, Yoongi. They always forget that other people live here too,” he says, and a warm, small hand settles on his shoulder and steers him away from the stairs, making space for Jimin to step on his level and off the stairs.

“Don’t think too much about what they say,” he says then, obviously trying to cheer him up a little bit.

“But -,”

Jimin cut him off before he could even say a second word, smiling a bit mischievously as he says, “how about a coffee?”

Jimin is a gentle person.

Jimin is a caring person.

Jimin is also, Yoongi realizes just now, a mischievous person.

Jimin, the pretty man who is almost the same size as him, is full of surprises.

He doesn’t know Jimin that well yet, he realizes also.

“But Seokjin-hyung and Namjoon-ssi are – they are there,” he protests.

Well, it barely counts as a protest.

Jimin doesn’t take is a protest, though, and just continues to steer him towards the kitchen – his small hand on his upper arm warm and steady.

It merely takes some seconds to cross the room from the stairs to the kitchen, and the anxiety about who he would be having to face rises with every single step that he takes.

Seokjin is standing at the stove, stirring something in a pot sitting on top of it.

Namjoon, the tallest of this household, is leaning against the kitchen counter beside him, a little bit of space separating them.

As Jimin and Yoongi enter, side by side, Namjoon’s head whips around to face them, his face turning from what must be a gentle expression to expressionless in a matter of seconds – but not fast enough for Yoongi to miss the change.

It hurts a little bit, unexpectedly.

Seokjin turns around as well, a wooden spoon in his hand and wearing a pink-white striped apron over a blue sweater.

It looks so...so funny, somehow, but it also looks good on Seokjin, and Yoongi would like to say something, smile, something – but the presence of Namjoon makes his mouth stay shut.

“Good morning, hyungs, Yoongi and I came to get some coffee,” Jimin declares cheerfully.

“Of course. There is still some in the can, I just brewed it an hour ago,” Seokjin replies, and his eyes settle on Yoongi’s still form, still standing where Jimin steered him to, but now a bit behind Jimin as he stepped forward to get his coffee.

Yoongi isn’t sure if he should step further into the kitchen or not, though, unsure of Namjoon’s presence, unsure of what he is allowed or not.

Jimin is either oblivious to the tension in the kitchen, or he ignores it on purpose. But Yoongi isn’t like Jimin, he can’t just...just act as if he isn’t intimidated by Namjoon.

“Did you sleep well, Yoongi-ah? Do you feel better?”

It’s Seokjin who asks this question, and Yoongi knows that he asks because ‘if not, we’re going to call the doctor,’ he hears almost behind the words.

“Y-yeah, yes,” he answers.

He knows Seokjin expected a longer answer by the look he gives him, concern and light suspicion mixed in his expression, but maybe he picks up on the tension in Yoongi’s body, how tight he holds himself, how he still hasn’t dared to step further into the room – how he looks, just shortly, at Namjoon, before he looks back at Seokjin again.

At this moment, there is a blubbering sound coming from the pot and a puff of steam rising rapidly, and with a surprised yelp, Seokjin turns back towards the stove and sticks the wooden spoon back into the pot to stir quickly.

“Ah! The soup! You’re all distracting me! It’s going to burn!” He exclaims decidedly too dramatic for the little blubbering pot. Someone chuckles.

Surprised, Yoongi follows the direction of the sound, and his eyes find Namjoon – who immediately notices Yoongi looking at him, and his face returns to the closed-off expression he wore before.

Jimin, however, just laughs, already filling the second cup with the dark brown liquid – the coffee sloshes in the cup as his body shakes subtly with the force of his laughter.

“Hyung, I thought Namjoon-hyung was the one who’s a disaster in the kitchen, not you!”

“Jimin!” Namjoon says sharply, but Jimin ignores it, taking both cups of coffee off the counter.

“Yah, if the soup is burned now it’s your fault, you distracted me,” Seokjin replies and still stirs with one hand while he reaches for something in the cupboard towards the right of his head.

“I am a master chef, Jiminchi, and Joon is –,”

“Seokjin, that’s enough,” Namjoon interrupts him, and Seokjin does stop, but he earns himself a sharp gaze before Seokjin turns back towards his stove.

Yoongi flinches slightly at the sharp tone, instinctively stepping back to...to what?

Namjoon hard gaze then turns towards Yoongi, making him freeze on the spot.

If Namjoon got angry at him, Yoongi is sure that he wouldn’t be able to do anything against the taller man -   someone who is not only taller, younger than his father, but obviously also healthier and fitter than his old man.

“Yoongi-ssi, we need to talk. About what happened yesterday.”

At that, Seokjin turns back again, his face now obviously angry, just as Yoongi imagined Seokjin looked when Yoongi eavesdropped earlier.

“You will not, I already said that I will talk with Yoongi-ah and not you.”

“And I said that -,”

“How about neither of you speak about Yoongi as if he isn’t here? It’s only morning and I am not awake enough for stuff like this yet, and I’m sure Yoongi isn’t either.” Jimin sounds uncharacteristically hard, the cheerfulness gone and replaced by a tone that Yoongi hasn’t heard from him before.

But he doesn’t like it.

He doesn’t like that they are upset and unfriendly towards each other just because of him.

He doesn’t like Namjoon, but he also doesn’t want him to be angry at him or his own family.

The urge to fix it gets greater than the anxiety that held back his words until now.

“Ma-Maybe after...after breakfast?” He offers, although he doesn’t want to talk with Namjoon at all. But, apparently, it is necessary.

Jimin stares at Namjoon, his eyes hard, urging him to take it or leave it.

“Yes, then we’ll speak directly after you eat,” he agrees, and he sounds as if he would like to say something else.

Jimin strides towards Yoongi, pushing a cup in his direction until Yoongi has no other choice but to take it, and Seokjin huffs.

“After we ate. I will be with you, Yoongi-ah. We three will speak together.”

And that settles the dread coiling in his stomach a little bit.

If Seokjin is there with them, Namjoon wouldn’t be too harsh, right?

At least Seokjin would...would let nothing hurt him, right?

Would Namjoon – no, Yoongi thinks, Namjoon wouldn’t do anything, even if he is scary. He wouldn’t be surrounded by such nice, loving people if he’d be a scary, bad person....right?

He hopes so.

His stream of thoughts gets interrupted when Jimin steers him, again, out of the kitchen and further into the living room, towards the big windows where they can look outside, where comfortable looking couches – not the one where he lay on yesterday, he notices – are situated around a wooden coffee table in the middle.

As soon as they sit down on the soft couch, Yoongi takes a big gulp of the coffee cradled in between his hands. Luckily, he doesn’t burn his tongue, but it’s still hot enough to let out a hiss.

“It’s still hot, be careful,” Jimin warns him with a small smile, but the rest of his face is strangely…serious.

Yoongi nods.

He feels a little bit...wrong, now that he knows that Namjoon still doesn’t like him, and that he still wants him out of here. It doesn’t help his almost ever present feeling of not belonging, of not having a place where he is welcome – never fully, never wholeheartedly.

“I’m sorry we weren’t here, yesterday,” Jimin starts and Yoongi looks at him over the rim of the cup in his hands.

“Seokjin-hyung and Jungkookie fussed, I heard? They are good at that,” Jimin continues, and now Yoongi notices how similar he looks to the one time, the one night, so similar serious and concerned at the same time, all while his face looks still guarded enough to not betray much else.

Is he really concerned?

“You’re not…you’re not angry?” Yoongi can’t help but ask then.

The thought that Jimin, Taehyung and Seokjin were angry at him had been eating at him since the last time he saw them.

He thought Jimin and Taehyung are angry at him since he practically ran out of the car, disappearing around a street corner, out of view and then too scared to contact them.

He thought Seokjin was angry at him since he ignored his attempt to contact him, only answering so shortly that it must have sounded incredibly rude, and then not texting anything at all.

But Seokjin is not angry at him anymore, he knows that now even if it’s still a bit difficult to understand.

But Jimin…

He cannot imagine that Jimin must be disappointed in him at the very least, how he just ran out on them.

“Why should I?” It sounds even a bit surprised, but it sounds genuine.

“But – But I, I just r-,”

“Yoongi-ah,” Jimin says calmly, “I’m not angry at you. You had your reason, I guess, and Tae and I didn’t stop or contact you either. So, there is nothing to be angry at.”

It sounds so logical, so reasonable, it just makes sense, and…there is nothing opposing in his head right now.

“Oh, o-okay,” he replies stunned.

“Drink your coffee before it gets cold,” he reminds Yoongi and takes a sip himself.

And so, they sit here, drinking their coffee, and basking in the sun shining through the window.

It feels so calm, and Yoongi could almost forget how…yesterday was, what happened.

But it’s just an almost, it’s impossible to forget – sadly.

Now, that he doesn’t move much, he doesn’t hurt so much either, but every time he does, he can feel the marks from yesterday.

“They didn’t say much, about what happened yesterday, but you can talk to me, you know? To the others too.”

Yoongi nods.

“Thank you,” he mutters quietly.

He knows Jimin means well, but doesn’t he know that he isn't really that close to them, especially to Namjoon and Hoseok?

Even Taehyung and Jungkook are still not close enough to him to talk about his feelings with them. Jimin has witnessed a few of his breakdowns already, more than any of them. Jungkook came to his home and is probably the only one who came the closest to see the mess that his life is.

But seeing something and talking about feelings is something else.

Seokjin is the one he would probably go to talk about…feelings.

“Jiminie, Yoongi-ah, breakfast is ready!”

It doesn’t take long for Jungkook to come downstairs and to the table as well, his black clothes oversized as always and his eyes not yet fully open. He looks still half asleep as he sits down.

“Morning, hyungs,” he greets, but as soon as he sees the food on the table, his attention is fully and only on eating the delicious meal in front of him.

It’s cute, Yoongi thinks as he watches him eat.

Yoongi isn't really hungry, though, and he doesn't really know why. But he isn't a stranger to not being hungry because of anxiety, stress, or whatever. So, he eats a few spoonful of rice but pushes most of the other food around on the plate, even though it smells really nice.

Even so, he already feels full just by watching Jungkook stuff the food into his mouth.

“Jungkook, slow down, you’re going to choke on it,” Seokjin warns him, and Yoongi gets the feeling that this, Jungkook stuffing the food in his mouth while he isn’t even fully awake yet, isn’t a rare occurrence.

Jimin sits beside Yoongi, eating at a normal pace, and Seokjin and Namjoon sit at the head of the table.

Yoongi avoids looking at them, mainly because he doesn’t want to look in Namjoon’s direction, and accidentally cross his gaze.

It’s quiet, apart from the music still playing in the background and the sounds of them eating.

Where are Hoseok and Taehyung?

He doesn’t ask.

“Jimin, you need to come with me to the office later,” Namjoon says and Jimin nods and answers “sure,” between the bites, “And Seokjin, we-,“

”Joon, no work things at the table,” Seokjin cuts off whatever Namjoon wanted to say, “we will talk after breakfast,” he adds.

Yoongi expects Namjoon to be upset by how Seokjin speaks to him, be as authoritative as he always is when he speaks with Yoongi, but…he isn’t.

He just sighs, and looks at Seokjin for a moment longer, before he leans back and takes a sip out of his cup.

Yoongi is surprised, honestly. He didn’t expect this reaction.

“Yoongi-ah, doesn’t it taste good? You barely ate anything.”

Yoongi is too whiplashed by the fast change of topic that he needs a moment to process that question, looking down at his plate before looking back up at Seokjin.

“I’m…I’m not really hungry,” he replies, in no way wanting to make Seokjin think that he doesn’t like his cooking – it’s amazing, everything that he ate here in this house. It’s just…just the thought about the talk they are going to have in a few minutes already makes him so nervous that he just cannot get anything down.

Seokjin’s face twists a bit, the realization about why Yoongi is probably not very hungry dawning on him so obviously that Yoongi curses at himself because why am I so obvious?

“Oh, I didn’t think that – okay, lets just talk now, alright? No sense in waiting much longer.

,” he says decidedly and puts down his chopsticks, the sound of it making all of them looking at him.

“Yoongi-ah, Joon, lets go and sit on the couches,” he orders and then looks at Jimin and Jungkook, ”and you both just finish and make sure there is something left for the other two.”

As they do what Seokjin said, he gets the feeling that not only is Seokjin the hyung in this house, but also someone more than just a mother-hen, a carer by nature. There is a similar authority, just like Namjoon’s, hidden underneath his soft looks and weirdly cute patterned sleep clothes.

He follows Seokjin and Namjoon.

Does he have a choice?

Not really, he thinks.

It all feels as if things are happening over his head, the pencil to write his story out of his grasp once again and he is unable to do something.

“Yoongi-ah, don’t be afraid,” Seokjin says as he pushes him down just opposite of where he sat earlier on the soft couch.

“Wait, I’m coming right back,” Namjoon says suddenly and turns back towards the table, mumbling that he really needs to retrieve his not-yet-finished cup of coffee to function right now.

“Hurry, Joon-ah,” chuckles Seokjin and turns to Yoongi, sitting down beside him.

“Tell hyung: Do you feel better today? Is anything still hurting a lot?”  His eyes are studying him concerned, flitting over his body and back up to his face.

Yoongi hopes he isn’t as easy to read like a book right now – not still, he hopes -, but he also doesn’t think he can lie that good – at least not to Seokjin. Or…in general.

He isn’t a good liar when it counts.

But he doesn’t really need to lie now, does he?

Nothing really hurts more than yesterday.

“I’m fine,” he mutters a little quiet.

“Oh, really?” There is slight amusement in his voice, lessening the tension that had been building up the second Namjoon said that they needed to talk.

“Hm, I’m okay,” he assures. He doesn’t want to talk about how he is feeling now.

“What do you want to – to talk about?” He asks, attempting to change to topic from himself to the actual reason they are sitting here.

“Ah, well…it’s about-,”

“It is about what happened yesterday. I know you already told Seokjin-hyung and Jungkook what happened, but I need to know if you know anything else,” Namjoon interrupts them, sitting down on the other couch opposite of them with a serious expression on his face.

“Well, that is one thing we want to talk about,” Seokjin adds, “but Joon is right. Is there anything else?”

Why?

Why is it so important?

Why do they care so much?

“Why?”

It’s weird, that someone cares so much that they even ask not once, but multiple times.

He didn’t think Namjoon would care, but apparently, he does…at least a little bit – at least enough to talk to him even though it is clear that he doesn’t even like Yoongi….for whatever reason.

“Why? Yoongi-ah, we all care. Yesterday, what happened, was dangerous, and…and we think that it might, ah,” for the first time since he got to know Seokjin, the elder seems to search for the words, obviously wanting to choose his words carefully.

“We think it might not be the last time something like this happens,” Namjoon finishes for him.

What?

Dread and fear explodes in his stomach, the shockwaves of it traveling through his body in lightning speed, making his limbs tremble.

“What?” He asks breathlessly, not wanting to be true what they are saying.

Yesterday was scary, he was scared, so scared, it was – it was more than just ‘I’m being in the darkness and it is scary’, more like a ‘it’s so scary I think I might die’ - scary.

And they think it would happen again?

Again?

“Yoongi-ah, calm down, nothing is going to happen to you,” Seokjin tries to calm him down, but it sounds so…so muffled, like his voice is coming through the speaker of a cell phone.

“Yoongi, Yoongi-ah, nothing is going to happen,” he repeats himself, his voice so close now, so, So –

“You’re going to stay here, okay? Nothing is going to-,“

“What? Jin, you can’t just-,“

“Really?”

It’s what breaks him out of his little anxiety-induced and panic-riddled bubble.

And it’s his quiet, disbelieving voice that breaks Namjoon and Seokjin’s starting discussion.

“Yes, really,” Seokjin assures, his face shows that he is nothing but genuine about what he says, what he offers.

“But I can’t – I c-can’t stay, not j-just like, like this,” he protests weakly, not really knowing why he protests. Because…

Because isn’t that what he always wanted?

Someone to…to take him away from the danger and darkness of that world?

Someone to care?

But he is sure the offer about staying here is just because of what happened – but…what do they have to do with that?

Why do they think it is going to happen again?

Why do they think they can protect him?

“You can, I – We want you to. That is what we wanted to talk about, actually.”

Namjoon nods then, agreeing to what Seokjin said, although he doesn’t look like he likes it.

“We think it’s safer if you stay here a bit.”

It sounds as if they…as if they want to protect him.

He hopes that they can protect him.

Actually…he wants them to protect him, somehow.

He doesn’t like Namjoon, but Seokjin…he wants to believe Seokjin, wants to believe in Seokjin.

Nobody who offered before meant it, and nobody ever held their word.

He hopes they will.

Chapter Text

After that, the talk is cut short.

Namjoon asks one more time if he remembers anything else, besides what he told Seokjin and Jungkook, and what Jungkook told them based on what he himself remembers, but, for whatever reason, it seems to be not enough for Namjoon and his closed-off face leaks a bit – slight discontentment is visible when Seokjin decides that it’s enough now, Namjoon-ah, he can’t tell you anything else, he needs to rest.

So, Namjoon gets up, calls Jimin from wherever he is, and disappears somewhere.

Does he really need to rest?

The talk was stressful and exhausting for his mind – he could lie down again.

Although he knows now that he can stay here, that Seokjin – who else? – wants him to stay here, the danger of some threat somewhere out there makes him feel…unsettled, and he doesn't feel like he could actually rest if he’d lay down.

Unsettled…the word doesn’t quite express how he feels, but there isn’t another word that can grasp the tumult of feelings inside of him about this.

“Jungkook is upstairs. Usually, he has some classes but not this week, so you can give him some company, if you want? I’m sure he would be happy to spend some time with you,” Seokjin suggests.

Classes?

“Does he go to…to university?” Yoongi asks.

He isn’t sure if Jungkook mentioned anything like this. Normally, he doesn’t forget things that easily, but the last weeks had been so difficult that it could be that it just slipped his mind.

He hates it, hates his mind sometimes, but it’s nothing he can do anything about, so he just needs to live with it.

“Ah, yes, but a private one,” Seokjin explains, ” anyway, just go upstairs, down the right corridor and on the left the third door,” he instructs.

Spending some time with Jungkook sounds…not that bad, now that he thinks about it.

The time they spent together until now was nice, he enjoyed spending time with him and talking, and…well, he liked that Jungkook just sees without asking much, understands without knowing much but understands because he can relate.

And in here, in this house, there is nothing that can happen.

No strangers who judge, no strangers who are unpredictable, no strangers who can get dangerous.

Although he doesn’t know all of them very well yet, he wouldn’t consider them strangers either.

“Okay, I’ll do that,” he replies and feels a small smile pulling up the corner of his lips.

When he goes upstairs, it doesn’t take him long to find the right door. It is opposite the door where he heard the music earlier, but all of the doors are closed, and he still doesn’t know what is behind it.

When he stops in front of the door Seokjin described, he…hesitates.

Does Jungkook even want to spend time with him, or is he pushing himself onto him when Jungkook actually wants to relax?

He wouldn’t want to bother him.

He doesn’t want to bother him, or anybody for that matter.

So…should he -?

He decides to be brave, to ignore the nervous feelings that are like invisible restraints around his feet and hands, holding him back even though he wants to knock –

- So he does.

It just takes a moment - a moment where he just stands there and thinks about just turning around and going back to the guestroom -, and then the door opens.

In the open space between the door and frame steps Jungkook, the dimly lit room behind him and his face illuminated by the hallway. He looks surprised, but as soon as he realizes who stands in front of him, he smiles.

“Oh hey, hyung, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, I-I just wanted to-,” he fiddles with the sweater covering his arms, pulling it over his hands and up to his palms, so that his fingers can rub the material in nervousness, “Seokjin-hyung said I can come, uhm…up here? To you?”

Jungkook doesn’t even hesitate, his eyes lighten up with sparkles of the tiny starts Yoongi learned to like.

“Sure! Come in,” he says, opening the door for Yoongi to enter.

He feels a bit uncertain, though, unfamiliar with being let and even invited into someone else’s private rooms.

Privacy is such an important thing in life, for him something he doesn’t have much of but, because of this, learned that it is extremely important to have – and to respect.

“I’m sorry if it is a bit messy, I didn’t really have to time to clean up the last days,” Jungkook excuses himself.

“Don’t worry,” mutters Yoongi as he steps into the room.

It’s bigger than his guest room, with more furniture but held in colours of black and white, some colourful LED lights here and there, making up for the grey scale of the interior.

He likes it.

It’s different from the living room and kitchen, more modern and a little bit nerdy, with all the gaming set-up he spots in one corner of the room.

Nerdy is definitely something he would describe the desk at the wall – a big desk, and an even bigger monitor and PC, the screen a colourful picture of a paused game.

It seems that he disturbed Jungkook during his relaxed early afternoon.

“Oh, I didn’t know – did I interrupt you?”

He doesn’t know where to go or what to do, doesn’t know if he is allowed to go in further or if he should leave Jungkook alone, so...he stands a few steps away from the door, in the half-light of the warm hallway and colourful LED light of Jungkook’s room.

“No, don’t worry, I should take a break anyway,” Jungkook says light-heartedly, no sign that he is upset or annoyed that Yoongi disturbed him unannounced.

“Come in, you can, ehm…sit down on the beanbag there?” He gestures to a big beanbag – something Yoongi hadn’t seen for so long, the last time maybe when he was a child and saw it somewhere in his school – and Yoongi doesn’t even hesitate any longer and just nods, approaching and then settling onto the soft looking material.

It is surprisingly sturdier than it looked, certainly sturdier than he remembers the ones he ever sat on before, and the material dips down where he sits, creating a soft chair just made for him, a space only he fits in. He curls his fingers into the grey fabric, feels the soft surface – is it velvet?

It’s so nice. He doesn’t even want to get up again, wants to stay here and sink in further, just staying away from the outside, from any uncomfortable talks, from any dangers in the outside world, from anything that is outside of this nice, nice room.

Maybe he can curl up and pull his legs onto it too?

It would be even more comfortable.

Suddenly, a laugh rings through the room, and Yoongi looks up, startled by the sudden sound. Jungkook sits at his desk again, but his chair is turned towards Yoongi, and he is laughing. It's not really loud, and it's already ebbing to a chuckle, with his bunny teeth still visible.   

“What?” Bursts out of Yoongi’s mouth, curious about what made Jungkook laugh so hard but also slightly concerned that he is laughing about him.

“It’s just, -,“ Jungkook starts and catches his breath, “you just look so – so small in there, it looks comfy, like a cat,” he says still with his body vibrating a bit. Yoongi leans back, relaxes again.

It doesn’t sound as if he is lying, it also doesn’t sound mean even though he said Yoongi looks like a cat, small.

The comparison to a cat is new, but he actually...doesn’t dislike it, not really. After all, cats are cute, he likes cats.

That he is small...He heard it before, of course, it’s a very obvious fact, but most of the time it was meant in a negative way.

But…he is sure Jungkook doesn’t mean it negatively.

There is probably not much behind it.

“It’s comfy,” Yoongi says and wiggles, the beanbag shifting until he feels even more comfortable.

“You want to play a game?” Jungkook asks then, gesturing to the collection of games which are decorating a shelf over the desk.

Nothing of it looks familiar to Yoongi, and he is too far away to be able to read the titles. It would not matter anyway, as he is, sadly, absolutely uneducated regarding video games.

He only has an old notebook back home, but it isn’t equipped to play games on, it’s just an old simple model of a no-name brand.

After a moment, he shakes his head, hoping that it doesn’t offend Jungkook if he rejects his offer.

“I...I d-don’t – maybe another t-time?” His stutter betrays his nervousness far more than he would like to, it always chooses to emerge when he would want to show his emotions the least.

“Sure! You can just sit and relax there, I know,” he pauses before continuing, a little more serious than before, “What happened yesterday was a bit, ah...scary, I guess, so don’t worry if you just want to sit there and relax a bit. I just continue gaming a bit, and if you need anything just tell me, okay? Or if you want to say anything at all, I won’t play with my earphones in, so I’ll hear you when  -,”

Yoongi interrupts and stops his ramble.

“Thank you,” he just says.

In comparison to how much Jungkook speaks, it’s not many words from Yoongi, but it seems to be enough. Jungkook stops in his words, doesn’t continue even after Yoongi interrupts him. He barely took a breath between his words, but now he does.

Now, he takes a big breath, and nods.

“Okay!” He says and smiles.

Now, that it is only him for himself, without any attention on him, and just sitting in an incredibly comfortable beanbag, the tiredness that he had been feeling since he woke up settles deeper into his body and makes his limbs heavy and tired, and he sinks further into the beanbag, his body leaning to the side and his legs now pulled up.

Like this, he sits curled up there, his head rests against the plush side of the beanbag, and he has a good view of the desk, where Jungkook sits and plays some game he has never seen before. The volume is turned down, and the sound effects of the game are like background music – not really demanding attention, but still present enough to fill the silence that would be there otherwise.

He is content like this, just watching Jungkook, his only dongsaeng here in this house, playing something with obvious joy, while Yoongi is not expected to do anything, to say anything, with no attention on himself, but also not being ignored.

He can just exist here, in peace.

There are words itching in his mind, suddenly, like they were just waiting for a quiet, peaceful and sheltered moment to break the cage of sorrow they had been trapped in since his father tore up his notebook and his latest works.

Time is slow,

A sound resounds

From warm walls and overtones,

The thoughts inside my head.

Stars grow,

I’m not alone,

The comfort in this home,

A luxury I rarely had.

Will it remain,

Or fall apart,

Fly away like a bird when summer parts,

To escape the darkness and the cold.

Will it stain,

Or wash away,

Like the dust of stars,

Never meant to stay.

The urge to write these words down wakes him up – he was not sleeping, not even napping, but he wasn’t far from that either, more drifting in the dreamless void – and with a pang of hurt and sorrow he realizes that he can’t –

- he can’t write anything, because he is here, and he doesn’t have a notebook.

His stuff is home, and even if it is not much that he has, he misses it. His favourite notebook is destroyed, the torn pages are still strewn around in his room, if he remembers right, but he must have another notebook somewhere.

But all of this is at his home.

Now, though, he is here, and Seokjin said he wants him to stay until they know he is safe - whatever that means, and whenever that will be - and he doesn’t know if he…when he will be able to go home and get some stuff.

He should talk to Seokjin about that.

He makes a mental note to do that, and then he lets his mind drift off again.

It doesn’t take long for his eyes to slip shut, and the darkness behind his eyes envelops his consciousness along with it.

But this time, the void is not dreamless.

His small hands grasp the straps of his backpack tightly as he runs through the rain, the water of the puddles he runs through splashes on his pants and makes his skin feel cold, clammy, and goosebumps rise uncomfortably.

It makes his lungs tight, the air so cold it hurts, settling even down into his bones.

Heavy, so heavy and cold.

There is something.

Something hidden, something big and dark, something that is not here but somewhere he will go.

It is scary.

He is lost, he thinks, but he isn’t sure.

He is alone, even though there are shadows moving around him.

They look big, like his shadow on the ground when the sun is behind him, but there is no sun here.

He is alone, even though the shadows are here, but they don’t stop, don’t ask, don’t see.

Can’t they see he is alone?

Can’t they see he is lost?

Can’t they ask what he is running from?

Can’t they ask where he wants to go?

He is tired, his little feet hurt. He has been running for so long, but nothing really changes. The streets look the same, the buildings are all just tall and grey.

He is tired, but he still keeps walking, running, forward, forward -

- he couldn’t take the bus, so now he is here, and he has to run.

The streets look so big and wide, the buildings so high and vanishing in the clouds, and he cannot really see where he is running anymore.

Everything is hidden in a layer of grey, the rain makes his surroundings almost unrecognizable.

He knows he is running home, and he knows he has to keep running because his momma always tells him he has to come home as fast as possible.

“Run, my little dumpling,” he hears.

There is something scary where he is going to, and he doesn’t really want to go there.

But his momma is home.

“I’ll buy some tangerines for you, hm?”

So, he runs and runs, momma wants him to come home, but no matter how fast and strong his little feet hit the ground, he doesn’t seem to move forward, and the water is rising, higher and higher –

- a hand wraps around his own, pulling, lifting him out of the deep darkness, the bottomless pit of water.

He lands on something soft.

It looks like white, fluffy clouds, but it must be something else, it’s too tangible to be an accumulation of millions of transparent drops of water.

Is it cotton?

Or maybe it is the sky, heaven.  

There is a face in front of him, a person, the face is blurry but he knows it looks just like an angel looks like.

It’s familiar, but he doesn’t know them – does he?

Whoever they are, angel or not, they saved him, pulled him out of the water.

And now he is here, nothing seems familiar but he feels comfortable, safe – who is that person, where is he?

He lifts his hand, reaching for the face that hovers in front of him, but then –

- Suddenly the floor drops away, and –

- and he jerks awake, heart beating in his throat.

His skin feels clammy, goosebumps rising even though the room is warm.

As his eyes adjust to the dimly lit room, he recognizes Jungkook’s room.

Oh, he is still here.

And he is still sitting in the beanbag, more laying than sitting by now, and his neck hurts. He must have rested his head in the wrong angle, and his body feels a little stiff and aches when he moves.

Where is Jungkook?

The chair in front of the desk is empty, but when his gaze turns towards the bed at the other side of the room, in a corner, he sees a lump under the blanket, and at the top of it there is a mop of black hair sticking out.

The body doesn’t move.

Jungkook must be asleep, Yoongi concludes, and although he would love to remain here a while longer, just maybe dozing a bit, he slowly gets a bit uncomfortable.

He feels like an intruder suddenly.

He should leave.

He wouldn’t want anybody in his room while he sleeps, watching him, so he shouldn’t stay.

Slowly, with a body that feels not rested at all and older than he is, he gets up and out of the comfortable beanbag.

With light footsteps he leaves the room, and closes the door quietly behind him.

Tiredly, he rubs his eyes while he stands there, in the hallway, no idea yet where to go, what to do now.

Back to the guestroom?

Sleeping?

The light outside shows that it is still daytime, maybe afternoon, but still too early to go back to sleep.

Just then he remembers what he thought about earlier: His notebook, his stuff at home.

The things he needs, the things he wants to have with him, even if it’s not much.

He should find Seokjin and ask him, or at least tell him that he is going home to get some things, and then he’ll come back.

He decides to do exactly that, and he turns around to walk to the staircase, heading down to the living room. Maybe he’ll find Seokjin there, or in the kitchen – a room where Seokjin seems to be often.

He finds Seokjin sitting in the living room, not in the kitchen.

He sits on the couch in front of the big windows, sipping on a cup, steam rising and seemingly still hot – it smells like tea, hot red tea, the scent of berries in the air enveloping him the closer Yoongi steps.

He is not even halfway there when Seokjin’s head lifts from his phone in his hand.

“Oh, there you are. Did you spend some time with Jungkookie?”

The nickname seems to roll off Seokjin’s tongue so easily, so carefree, as if he isn’t speaking to someone who he barely knows for a few weeks now, like he is someone who is close to them.

Yoongi nods as he walks closer.

“He is sleeping,” he says then.

Seokjin chuckles.

“He really has the unhealthiest sleeping habits,” he sighs, “sleeping in the middle of the day, the kid.”

“He was playing a video game,” Yoongi adds, strangely having the urge to talk, even if it is about something mundane as that.

Maybe it’s because he is preparing himself to tell Seokjin that he needs to go home, even though he knows that Seokjin doesn’t want him to go, is probably against him even leaving the house right now. But he feels as if he has to keep talking, otherwise the flow of words will cease, his mouth fall silent, and no other word will get past his lips.

Or he will stutter so much that it doesn’t even make much sense what he is going to say, and until now the words come surprisingly easy – is it the comfort that makes it so easy now?

But there is also fear – even if it is as small as a mouse in front of a fluffy persian cat – that Seokjin will get…upset, as soon as he says something about going home for a short while.

He doesn’t really think that Seokjin will get angry, not per se, but he already heard that he can get loud, voice hard and this is…this is something Yoongi doesn’t want to hear directed at him, fears that it will be just as intimidating and scary as his father always is – and he isn’t sure if he’d still see the same amount of comfort in Seokjin if his demeanour changes like that towards him.

“I am not surprised,” Seokjin answers, looking down at his phone again for a moment and then back up, and Yoongi steps around the other couch and then just stops beside it, feeling too restless to sit down.

“Did you play together?”

The phone makes a ding, the small sound of a message incoming, and Seokjin’s attention is on the screen once again.

Yoongi shakes his head, still not really wanting to admit that he barely knows anything about video games, even less about playing them.

But Seokjin cannot see that just now, a little bit sidetracked.

“I only watched,” Yoongi says instead, hands grasping his sleeves, twisting the fabric lightly.

Maybe Seokjin sees that out of the corner of his eyes, or maybe he sees something else, or maybe he hears it in his voice, or –

- or maybe he just senses it, but Seokjin’s brows furrow as he looks up from his phone again, his attention completely on Yoongi now.

“Is everything alright?”

It would be easy to say “no, not really. I need to go back home and I’m scared, a bit,” but of course he doesn’t say that. It is easy to say it in his head, but there are so many barriers for those words to come out that he doesn’t even try – not right now, at least.

Maybe one day.

“I – I have things home,” he starts, pathetically, he thinks not even a second later, “and I – I need them.”

Very, very poorly explained, he chastises himself.

Seokjin looks a bit confused, or maybe a little lost, too. The question “what?” is clear in his eyes.

“You want me to stay here, right?” He asks then hesitantly. Maybe it’s better to confirm that first before telling Seokjin that he needs to go and get things from his home.

“Yes, of course. That hasn’t changed, Yoongi-ah,” Seokjin assures him immediately.

Okay.

“Okay,” he says aloud,” I want to, too, but I…I need to get my stuff, from home,” Yoongi gets gradually more unsure the longer Seokjin stays silent. Maybe he is a little bit too used to people interrupting him, deeming his words not important enough to let him speak even if he rambles or his words drip with uncertainty.

“So, I wanted to – to ask if I can go, if that’s okay, because you want me to stay here.”

He feels a bit like a little kid asking something of his parents. He is aware that what he said was a mix of asking for permission to go and simply asking if it’s okay for Seokjin if he goes, little mixed signals in his own opinion.

But he is sure that it was clear enough what he wants.

Seokjin’s attention is still on him, without being distracted by the phone that ‘dings’ every now and then.

“You want to go back home? Alone?” He asks then.

It sounds so serious, just like his expression is, but Yoongi is still a little bit surprised by that, even if he already anticipated it. Still, Seokjin doesn’t seem to be upset – just like he doesn’t like the idea.

“Just for a short time,” he answers. He really doesn’t want to spend much time at his home. The only thing he wants to do there is grab his stuff and that’s it. Any minute more he spends there could mean that he meets his father – and he is sure that this man is beyond angry with him by now.

If his father is already there, he will sneak in and run out again.

“Alone?” Repeats Seokjin his question.

Well, Yoongi is sure that nobody has the time to go with him, and even if somebody has time, he wouldn’t want to bother them with that.

He is a grown adult – albeit not really the most confident one -, so he should go alone.

It’s just a short trip, he can do that.

He nods, opening his mouth to reply, but before he can do that Seokjin speaks.

“You will not go alone.”

So, he will not go alone.

His mouth snaps shut and he blinks, surprised by Seokjin’s decisiveness.

“But I -,”

“You will not go alone,” Seokjin repeats.

There is a hand that is taking his own, with six fingers instead of five, and it’s pulling him out of the darkness, lifting him higher and higher, so high that the air gets cold and the world that he knows blurs to a shapeless blob of dark figurines.

It’s scary, and this is so new, but the warm hand is holding him, not leaving him drifting alone in the in-between.

Everything is white and soft but sharp at the same time, but the shapeless blob follows, shadowy figurines twisting to dark shapes that reach out to him with dark arms and hands – so dark that it threatens to swallow him if the black hands get him in their clutches, ripping and pulling him apart, drowning him in the bottomless pit of dark, cold water and shadows – keeping him down forever, alive but barely living.

There is something where he is going, and it is scary.

There is something in the fog of the rain, its gaze is heavy.

There is something lurking behind the veils of the city, and he has no clue how to escape the evil.

Chapter Text

Yoongi ends up in a car with Seokjin and Jungkook.

It’s a little mystery to him where all the others are. Seokjin was reluctant to say much about it when Yoongi asked, curious why he saw the other so little while Seokjin and Jungkook seemed to be home more often – Seokjin told him they were at work.

They are now in the car.

It's not the one he took with Jimin and Taehyung. It might be the same car that he was driven in when he was barely conscious, the one that brought him to their house.

He feels a little bit guilty that they had to wake Jungkook up – or rather, that Seokjin needed to wake Jungkook up because he insisted on taking another person with them.

So, really, it was because of Yoongi that Jungkook had to get up, still sleepy and clothes disarrayed, eyes not really open but nevertheless ready to accompany them.

It’s the first time that he has two people with him who really want to be with him. He is starting to believe they really want to go with him, want to…to protect.

It’s still strange.

But if it’s Jungkook, and especially Seokjin, he is starting to get a bit used to it – even if it still feels weird.

Yoongi is sitting beside Seokjin, who drives, and Jungkook is sitting behind them and tries to become more awake – big yawns and babble about this and that and food and banana milk help with that, apparently.

Yoongi finds it endearing, and Seokjin seems to be used to that, and adds something here and there.

“I can make some kamja-jeons and bulgogi, if you want,” Seokjin suggests. “It looks like it will rain. How about that?”

It sounds good to Yoongi and Jungkook says so, too.

When was the last time Yoongi ate something like that?

Money was almost never enough to indulge in something delicious like those pancakes. They just tasted better when he bought them somewhere or someone else made them. Their kitchen at home wasn’t a place where Yoongi wanted to spend a long time just to make some pancakes – and he probably wouldn’t be able to eat them anyway, as his father claimed anything that he cooked for himself as soon as he saw it, even if he didn’t request it.

He hopes everything goes well, when he will get his stuff.

But what is the saying?

Don’t praise the day before the sunset.

They park in the small parking place in front of the building.

There are quite a few other cars parked – some that he knows, some that he never saw before.

His father doesn’t have a car, so there is no indicator if he is home or not.

They didn’t really talk about how they were going to do this whole thing.

Yoongi knows what he will do: Get up there, pack his things and come back down to the car.

He plans to go alone, but he is sure that Seokjin has objections against it.

“How long will you need?” Seokjin asks when the car is off and they are all sitting in silence.

“Just maybe...maybe ten or fifteen minutes?” Yoongi replies, not sure if he will actually need that long or be back faster than he anticipates.

“I will go with you,” Jungkook declares then, sounding more awake than he did during the whole drive.

This time, Yoongi doesn’t protest.

He already learned that Jungkook is stubborn, and if he wants something, then he will do that.

Jungkook combined with Seokjin, though...they are a force he can’t stand against...nor does he really want to.

He just hopes Jungkook will wait outside, just like he did almost one day before.

Was it already a day?

Only a day?

So much has already happened, and it feels as if two days have gone by, atg least, and this is the late afternoon of the third.

But it’s not.

He wants a pause, a break from life.

He wants all these things to stop, and the people who don’t mean any good to stop bothering him.

He wants them to go away, and he wants to hide in Seokjin’s cosy house and under the fluffy, lavender-smelling blanket.

“Okay, then you’ll go together and I’ll wait here. If you need anything, just call me.”

It’s an order, hidden behind the words but still clear enough: Call me immediately if anything is wrong.

“Will do,” Jungkook answers and Yoongi nods, “we’ll be back in a few.”

They get out of the car and walk to the entry of the apartment building.

With every step, the bad feeling about something is going to happen intensifies, and it’s both familiar and somehow different.

It’s just a feeling, really, and Yoongi feels a little bit stupid about feeling this nervous about all of this, because this is not the first time he has come home after being away for a day.

What’s different this time?

There is something in the air, the cold and wet autumn air, and Yoongi feels as if he should walk back to the car, ask Seokjin to just drive them back to their house and just forget about his notebooks for a while.

But he needs his notebooks, and he doesn’t want to leave them behind and in danger of being ripped apart too.

The first thing that is a little bit weird, at least to Yoongi, is that when they step through the entrance of the building and into the dirty lobby, he spots a man leaning against the wall, in the corner the furthest away from the door, but still visible, with a perfect view on the entrance.

It’s just a man and this a public place, so of course it is normal to meet another person here, but this man...he is completely unfamiliar.

Yoongi has a thing for faces, and he is really, really good at remembering people even if he only saw them once, so he would know this man if he lived here.

He doesn’t.

This man does not live here.

It’s a little bit weird, because he just stands there, seemingly casually standing and waiting, probably, looking at his phone – but when Jungkook spots him too, and Yoongi can see his posture tensing a bit, he knows that something about this man is off.

But he has no idea what.

Is it important, though?

For him, right at this moment, what lies before him is more important.

And, Yoongi tries to calm himself, not every unfamiliar person is out to hurt him. He shouldn’t assume just because he had some…not so nice recent incidents.

And so, when the door of the elevator opens, he steps into it without giving the stranger another glance, as he is more focused on breathing steadily, and on gripping Jungkook’s sleeve – which he grabbed to get him to move into the elevator and now just can’t seem to let go of, an anchor to safety, somehow.

“Do you know who that was?” Jungkook asks then, when the door is closed and the elevator rises rattling to the higher floors.

“No,” Yoongi simply answers.

“You never saw him before?”

To that, Yoongi shakes his head.

No, he doesn’t know him, he never saw that man before.

“I don’t like that,” Jungkook mumbles, but Yoongi isn’t sure what exactly he means – he doesn’t ask, either.

It’s just like the last time.

The door opens, and then they step into the hallway with many doors, sounds coming from behind the walls.

Jungkook is a little bit more familiar now, and the comfort Yoongi draws from his presence alone is greater than the last time. It helps, but Yoongi can feel his muscles get tense again – ready to run, ready to freeze?

He hopes it won’t end up in a situation where he needs to run.

“Do you want me to come in or should I wait outside again?” Jungkook breaks the tense silence, but his voice isn’t loud.

Yoongi wants him to come into the apartment with him. Maybe Jungkook is a bit like a safety blanket, and Yoongi wants something bad to take it with him...but he needs this to do this alone.

Maybe, another reason he doesn’t want to take Jungkook with him, is that he doesn’t want him inside of it, doesn’t want his father to see Jungkook, doesn’t want Jungkook to see the man that makes his life so, so difficult.

“Can you wait outside?” He asks Jungkook then, and of course, Jungkook nods.

“Sure,” Jungkook answers, but he sounds...tense, as if he doesn’t agree easily.

Yoongi doesn’t reassure him that it will not take long, because it won’t, Yoongi doesn’t want it to take long.

There is the sound of the tv coming from behind the closed door, and Yoongi knows that his father is home.

He stops, freezes with his hand on the doorknob.

“Is everything alright?” Comes the concerned question.

It takes a bit, his muscles hesitant to unlock again, but then he nods, and he unlocks the door and pushes it open, quietly, just as he always does.

No one is coming, no one seems to notice his entering. There is not a lot of sound that he makes, so he hopes no one will notice until he is gone again.

Quickly, he walks to his room.

There isn’t a lot that he can take with him, and there isn’t a lot that he would miss if he doesn’t, so he crouches on the floor and collects all of the torn pages that are still lying around – he needs those papers, needs what is written on them, and so he starts with that.

He holds the pages in his hands, gently even though they are already crumpled and torn, probably beyond repair, and he puts them between the pages of another notebook he takes out of a drawer of his little desk.

He spots a small, black canvas bag, hanging on the back of his door, and he snatches it and puts the notebook into it – what next?

There are more notebooks, three in total, and he knows exactly where the other ones are.

One is beneath the mattress of his bed, the other one just under the bed frame, hidden in the shadow where he can only reach it when he crouches on the floor again.

“Where the hell were you?”

He startles, turning around not even a second later and bumping his tender ribs against the sharp edge of the bed frame.

He opens his mouth, but no words make it out of him.

“Do you think you can just waltz in here? Come and go just when you want?”

The loud, angry voice of his father whips through him like thunder, making his body shake with small tremors, hurting his ears, making him shrink back although the is no space to shrink back to.

“I’m – I’m not -,”

“Did you have fun with your new friends, huh?”

Yoongi rips his eyes open, a wave of dread rushes through him.

What?

“I didn’t -,” he starts but his father cuts him off before he can complete his sentence.

“Don’t lie to me, boy,” he says sharply, stepping closer.

“I’m not lying,” Yoongi says quietly, lies, and moves slowly to stand – is it slow enough, is it not fast enough?

“I know you have fucking friends, and you know why?”

This is weird, different from how this usually goes.

Something is so off about this conversation, but Yoongi has no idea what.

“Because someone told me you’ve spent too much time there, with them,” he says and Yoongi doesn’t know where this goes, but he fears it goes wrong, so wrong.

“I didn’t -,”

“And they offered me quite a bit of money to -,”

Yoongi pales.

“What did you do?”

His father grins, and his dark brown eyes look excited, almost happy even.

“I’ll make some money. You’re useless, but I guess smart enough to make the right kind of friends.”

Yoongi clutches the black bag in his arms as he steps to the side – why always here, why always in his home? – and his father laughs.

“What did you do?” He asks again, louder this time, fear and anger mixing together.

“I just had to tell them when you’re here, that’s all.”

Who is they?

There is a loud noise, somewhere from outside the apartment but near enough to be still inside the building, and Yoongi clutches his bag tighter.

There is barely anything in it, he simply didn’t have to time to pack more, but…the most important stuff is in there. He gets the feeling that he won’t have more time, too…the noise, the sound of something crashing against the front door doesn’t forebode anything good.

His father doesn’t look to be bothered by it, the almost happy look on his face doesn’t fade as he steps back.

But he doesn’t leave the room.

Jungkook.

Jungkook.

He pushes past the fear for himself – because now there is so much more fear for Jungkook – and crashes forward to the open door, towards the small hallway.

He needs to go, he needs to warn Jungkook, he needs to get out of here and to Seokjin.

But he doesn’t get far, he doesn’t even get past his father standing in the doorway, blocking his way.

“Go!” He says, stopping right in front of his father.

“No,” the man answers and laughs, he fucking laughs and grins and Yoongi hates him so much, hates that he is afraid, hates that money is more important to that man who calls himself his father than the safety of his own son –

Yoongi gets the feeling that his safety is what his father sold to whoever to make some lousy money.

And Jungkook is out there, waiting for him.

Seokjin is too, but likely more safe than Jungkook.

He needs to get out there, out of here.

Adrenaline pulses through his body as fast as lightning when he strikes out, hitting his father square in the face, his head flies to the side and Yoongi’s hand hurts, but his father is a big person – bigger than him, smaller in height than Jungkook, Seokjin.

He doesn’t wait for his father to take his turn, and so he kicks his knee, making the man stumble and then he pushes him.

He hates violence, hates that he is forced to hurt his father, and he hates his father for being so greedy and egoistic to involve some…some possible criminals or whoever that is he informed about his presence here. So, Yoongi doesn’t really have a choice but to hurt his father to get away from here.

He has no choice if he wants to stay safe, if he wants Jungkook to be safe.

Is it self-defence if staying here puts him and Jungkook in danger?

He thinks it is.

His father crouches on the floor, holding his undeniably hurting knee, but Yoongi jumps over him, not feeling much remorse. He feels his father's hand grabbing at him, his fingers brushing the leg of his pants but not enough to get a hold of him.

He holds the black canvas bag close to his chest when he throws the door open, hoping to find Jungkook waiting there, ready to go.

But he doesn’t find Jungkook there, not immediately.

In fact, he only takes two steps out of the apartment when he is thrown to the side, a hard body colliding with him and he catches sight of black clothes before he hits the floor.

“Yoongi, go back into the apartment!”

It was Jungkook who threw him to the floor, but it must have been on accident, because Yoongi catches sight of two other men, both not familiar and attacking Jungkook.

Yoongi doesn’t need to think long to understand that those men are most likely the ones who are here for Yoongi.

But he cannot turn back, cannot and will not go back into the apartment, because he knows he isn’t any safer in there than out here.

But there, at the end of the hallway, is a fire escape, rusty metal stairs and at the end a ladder leading down from this floor to the ground and at the side of the building, just around the corner, is the parking lot.

They would be out of here faster than with the elevator, and probably safer than going back into the apartment.

He needs to tell Jungkook his plan, but he doesn’t get a chance. He gets shoved out of the way once more, but at the same time a hard hand clamps down on his bicep and he gets turned around and painfully hard pressed against the brick wall of the hallway.

“Nah ah, you will not get away this time,” a gruff voice says, right behind him. It's an unfamiliar voice, a voice from a person he doesn't know, but he knows that it is not someone good, and he knows he needs to get away from that.

He hears the sound of struggle behind him, somewhere in the hallway, and he doesn't know if it's Jungkook and that man or maybe even his father joined the fight.

But he cannot turn around to look. The hand around his arm is iron, not giving any room for struggle, keeping him still, pinning him like a helpless butterfly to a wall.

He tries to kick out, but it’s a bad angle and the man just laughs, low and malicious.

“You're so weak, no idea how you got away last time.”

Even though it's an insult, Yoongi knows it's true. But he also knows how he got away: Jungkook.

Jungkook helped him.

His ears pick up again the sound behind them, the sound of fighting, of grunts and hits landing and he manages to turn his head slightly, just at the moment when Jungkook’s hand shoots out, grabbing the neck of one of the attackers and slamming him into the opposite wall.

And he knows: Jungkook will help again.

He is helping, but Yoongi needs to do something too.

Anything.

So he turns his focus back to the man who has him, wriggles and tries to loosen up the tight grip the man has on him. He kicks out, awkwardly and surely not very hard because of the weird angle, but then he kicks again, twists his arms to jab his elbows into the man's body behind him, tries anything to get away.

But the grip tightens and Yoongi knows he won’t get out of this without getting hurt again.

His shoulder twinges painfully, his ribs ache.

Suddenly, the man starts to pull him away, towards the stairs that lead down to the lower floors.

"Yoongi! Yoongi, run! Get Seokjin!" Jungkook shouts, and Yoongi wishes he could do that but he has no idea how. The grip on him is too tight, his legs feel jittery, the man drags him away.

“You’re coming with us, whether you want to or not. That boy there doesn't stand a chance,” the man says and Yoongi’s heart is racing. He isn't sure what exactly these words are supposed to mean, but it doesn't sound good, not at all.

He can’t let this happen. He needs to get out of here.

He needs to get to Seokjin.

He kicks out again, and this time he manages to hit him hard - he can feel it - and the grip on him loosens for a moment.

It's really just a moment until the man turns to him to restrain him once again, and so he does the only thing he can think of: He swings his bag as hard as he can into the side of the man’s face, hearing the crunch of bone and a yelp of pain, and he uses the brief moment of shock to slip out of the grip and run.

He runs down the hallway, ignoring the pain in his side, ignoring the shout behind him and the sound of someone giving chase.

He can hear Jungkook’s voice "get Seokjin!", and then he sees the door to the fire escape.

He wrenches it open and runs through, slamming it shut behind him just as a hand reaches for it.

Immediately, rain wets his face, his clothes.

It started raining, and the metal of the stairs glistens in the night light of the city.

But he doesn't stop, doesn't have the time for it.

He starts to climb down, slippery metal stairs beneath his feet and the cold metal of the railing biting into his hands as he goes as fast as he dares, the bag banging against his side.

He needs to get down, needs to get to the car.

He needs to get Seokjin, needs to get help.

And as he descends, the sounds of the fight in the hallway fade away, replaced by the pounding of his heart in his ears and the rush of the rain outside, getting closer with every step he takes down the stairs.

When he hits the ground, he turns around, expecting to see Jungkook behind him, but the door to the stairwell is still closed.

“Jungkook!” He calls out, but there’s no answer, and now there’s a new sound – the sound of the door opening and footsteps on the metal. There is a figure, dark and big - it could be one of the men or Jungkook, but Jungkook would have said something by now.

It's one of the men, coming for him.

He runs, the slight rain, soaking his clothes and making his shoes slippery on the wet pavement, but he doesn’t stop, not even when he sees Seokjin’s car, parked and waiting for them.

Seokjin gets out of it before he reaches the car.

"Yoongi! Yoongi-ah, where is Jungkook?"

The panic in his chest makes it impossible to speak now - his breathing is raspy and his lungs tight - and so he just points up, to the fire escape, to the apartment.

Seokjin nods, understanding in his eyes and his face suddenly hard.

"Get into the car," he orders, "and lock the doors."

And then he sprints back to the building.

For a moment, Yoongi just stands there, in the cold night, rain plastering his hair on his forehead, looking after Seokjin and hearing...something.

And then there is a bang.

His body flinches, his mind not even registering what exactly he heard just now. It just takes a moment for his thoughts to start racing...he knows what he heard.

He never heard a gun before, but he knows it was one.

There is a voice, screaming out and then suddenly cutting off - it wasn't Seokjin.

Was Seokjin...was Seokjin the one who shot?

He hopes so, even if it means that Seokjin just shot someone.

He hopes it was Seokjin, because it means that he is still alive. But he doesn't hear him at all, no voice calling out for Jungkook or Yoongi, just some footsteps on the metal stairs again, sounding as if they're moving up, running.

He should move.

But he stays rooted to the pavement, unable to move, body frozen and mind numb with fear.

Did he just witness someone getting shot?

Did he witness a murder?

He wants to know if Seokjin is safe, if Jungkook is safe, but he just...he just can't move.

The person on the stairs vanishes through a door, and then there is silence.

Yoongi holds his breath, waiting.

Nothing is moving, nobody emerges again.

It takes a few moments, but then he snaps out of it, rushing to the car, his wet clothes sticking to his body, making him feel even colder than the rain does.

He jumps into the passenger seat, slams the door shut and locks it with a trembling hand, looking around the empty parking lot.

There's no one else, no movement anywhere except for the rain.

He needs to breathe, to calm down.

But he can’t, because his heart is beating too fast and his mind is racing with images of what might have happened up there, what might still happen.

He reaches for his phone, his trembling hands fumbling to unlock it.

What...what can he do?

He needs to do something.

Panic starts to build up again, his fingers tremble so hard that the phone almost slips out of his hand.

Jimin.

He...he should...he should call Jimin.

He is the only other person whose number is saved in his phone - he can't call Seokjin, cannot risk him getting into more trouble just because Yoongi distracts him.

With fumbling fingers, he finds Jimin's contact.

But he doesn't hit the call button, doesn't know what to say, his voice still lost.

He just types in "help" and hits send.

And then he waits, staring at the screen, waiting for an answer.

The phone feels like it weighs a ton in his hand, as if it's a bomb that could explode any second.

The seconds tick by, every single one feeling like hours, until it finally starts to ring and he sees the name 'Jimin' light up on the screen.

He picks it up, his voice shaking when he says, "I need...I need your help."

He doesn’t get to say more because Jimin starts talking, his voice urgent and worried, "What happened? Are you okay?"

Yoongi tries to form words, tries to explain what he just experienced, but all he can get out is a stuttered, "I'm in the car and - and someone shot - I don’t know - Jungkook is...is up th-there and - and Seokjin - please help."

“Where are you?” Jimin asks, his voice calm despite the urgency.

Yoongi gives the address of the apartment building, his voice shaking. His whole body feels cold and shaky.

“We’re on our way,” Jimin says, and Yoongi can hear the rustling of fabric, the sound of someone moving quickly, someone talking in the background. “Stay in the car. Don’t go anywhere. We’re coming.”

He doesn't know who we is, but he doesn't care as long as Jimin will be here soon.

The call ends and Yoongi sits there, the phone still in his hand, his heart racing.

The rain is coming down harder now, drumming against the car windows.

He’s shivering, and it’s not just from the cold.

The silence inside of the car is deafening and he wants to move, wants to go out there and search for Seokjin, for Jungkook, wants to help, but...

He feels like a coward.

The minutes tick by, every one of them feeling like an eternity, and with every second that passes, he feels the fear rising in him.

He's afraid for Jungkook, for Seokjin, and for himself.

He's afraid that he might not get to see them again, that something really bad might have happened up there.

And - even though he ates his father most of the time - he fears what might have happened to his father up there.

He is afraid of what he might find if he goes back up to the floor his apartment is located - images of blood, lifeless bodies and open, dead eyes that where once filled with stars and gentleness.

He doesn't want to find these images to be true, doesn't want anything of it to become reality, but still...the fear keeps him seated, frozen.

Yoongi feels like a coward, and he hates it.

He doesn't want to be a coward.

Jungkook and Seokjin are brave, so brave and strong for helping him, for saving him, and he...and he sits here, like a scared kitten hiding under the couch in the dark.

It's like a short circuit happens in his head, and suddenly he jumps out of the car again, running over the wet asphalt and towards the metal stairs on the back of the building.

His eyes catch something in the darkness, just as he grasps the ice cold railing of the stairs.

There is a body, unmoving and dark, almost hidden on the other side of the stairs and by a dumpster.

There isn't much he can see, but what he sees is enough.

He doesn't even let himself time to think, to register what he is seeing and to second-guess what he is doing as he jumps up the stairs as fast as he can.

He needs to find them, needs to see if Seokjin and Jungkook are safe and unharmed.

There is a small whisper inside his head that tells him that he needs to see that his father isn't dead, too.

He is okay with his father being hurt, but if he would be dead...he doesn't want his father to be dead.

But, unsurprisingly even though he never thought about it, Seokjin and Jungkook are more important.

When he reaches the floor of the apartment, the door to the stairwell is ajar, and he can hear faint, muffled sounds of struggle from within, and two voices. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself, and pushes it open with a creak that feels like it echoes through the empty hallway.

The sight before him is chaotic: He sees Seokjin's back, facing Jungkook who stands awkwardly over a man kneeling on the ground, restraining him obviously, but he doesn't see his father.

Then he spots the gun in Seokjin's hands and forgets to pay attention to where he is setting his feet.

And then he slips on the wet floor.

Jungkook sees him first, his eyes wide before quickly filling with concern as he takes in Yoongi's state, but he doesn't move from where he is standing.

Seokjin turns his head, but the gun is still pointing at the man as he assesses the situation. "Yoongi, are you okay?"

He nods, not trusting his voice, stumbling back onto his feet and pointing at the gun with a trembling hand. "What - what are you d-doing?"

Seokjin's grip tightens on the weapon and his face is hard, and for a moment, Yoongi is afraid he's made a mistake, that, for some reason, Seokjin is going to point the gun at him now.

But then Seokjin's eyes soften.

"Yoongi-ah,I told you to stay in the car," he says just as softly, such a contrast to the violence in front of him. "Go back, please."

"Where's my father?" Yoongi asks then instead of replying or following what Seokjin said.

He tries to look away from the man kneeling on the ground.

"I don't know," Seokjin says at the same time Jungkook answers "in the apartment."

Then, coming from afar but still audible, the faint sounds of sirens reach his ears.

Jungkook curses, the grip on the man  in front of him tightens.

Seokjin adjusts his grip on his weapon, and his voice is tight with tension again as he takes his eyes off Yoongi and steps closer to Jungkook. "We need to go now. They will be here soon."

Jungkook nods in agreement, his eyes still on the man he's holding down.

"We will take him with us," Seokjin says and nods to the man, and Jungkook agrees.

The police.

The Police is on the way, and Yoongi is involved in something that is…that might be murder, kidnapping.

The man outside looked…not very alive, but Yoongi couldn’t see much. Maybe he is dead, murdered.

But this man in front of him looks very much alive…for how long? Are Jungkook and Seokjin really going to take him with them?

Why?

Yoongi swallows hard, his heart racing and a ringing steadily rising in his ears as he watches the two of them handle the situation with a surprising calmness and authority, and it looks smooth and efficient, like practised movements.

There is a dull sound, and the man makes a pained noise and then slumps forward. Jungkook catches him and takes something out of his pocket that looks like zip-ties, and then Yoongi looks away.

He doesn't know what he stumbled into here now, doesn't know why Seokjin and Jungkook want to take the man with them, doesn't know why Seokjin has a gun.

A gun.

A body.

There is a strange numbness creeping over his mind and body, and he just follows them when Seokjin takes his hand gently and steers him out of the fire escape after Jungkook dragged the man out there.

The rain is still falling from the dark sky, and there is a second car parked beside Seokjin's car now.

Suddenly, he hears familiar voices, sees Jimin and Namjoon, but he can't answer Jimin's urgent voice when he asks him if he's alright.

He just nods, and then gets into the car when Seokjin pushes him through the open door and onto the seat.

There is Jungkook, at the other car and shoving the man into it, and then he vanishes.

Where is Seokjin?

He is wet.

He knows he is wet from the rain and his limbs tremble, he must be cold but...there isn't a feeling that makes it through the numbness.

Where is Namjoon?

The rain slaps against the windows when the car drives through the street, and he hears Jimins voice beside him.

In whose car is he sitting in?

When he looks to the front seat, he sees the still slightly unfamiliar shape of Namjoon. He doesn't look back, focused on the street.

Jimin takes his hands, and he feels just as lost as he did when Jimin found him breaking down in that alley.

He looks down at the hands holding his own cold ones, rubbing the back of his hands with his thumbs, like he tries to rub in some warmth. 

Who is Jimin, and who are Seokjin, Jungkook, Namjoon?

They have guns, too. He saw them at their sides, just under their jackets.

Are Taehyung and Hoseok involved in all of this just as much?

If they are...what does that mean?

But he realizes then, that no matter what all of that means, he doesn’t want to lose them.

It must have been just a few minutes later, when the rumble of the car's engine settled into his body like a constant buzzing, that reality slams back into him, like a sledgehammer shattering the strangely numb bubble he was in.

And he can’t help himself, the words burst out of him like pressured air out of a balloon.

“Why the fuck do you have guns?”

Chapter Text

“What was that?”

By ‘that’ he means, of course, whatever happened there, in the building he lives, with these men and – and his father.

He still doesn’t know if his father is completely safe and unharmed, but he trusts what Jungkook said, that he was back in the apartment and not…not hurt, or worse.

Like the other man.

The man who lay down there, obscured by the shadows of the night and the dumpster.

Of course, he doesn’t know if he really is dead, but considering what he heard and saw…he doesn’t think he is very alive.

What does Jimin know, and what does Namjoon know?

Jimin is still holding his hands, and now that Yoongi isn't somehow absent anymore, he feels that Jimin's hands are soft but the hold a little bit too tight.

Just as his face looks when Yoongi looks up from their hands.

"What-," Yoongi starts again, to repeat his question, but Namjoon from the front of the car cuts him off.

"Whatever you saw, whatever happened, we will talk about it later," Namjoon says, his eyes on the road ahead, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, "but right now, we need to get out of here."

Jimin looks as if he wants to say something to that, but then he nods, his eyes not leaving Yoongi.

"I'm sorry you got pulled into this," he says, but Yoongi doesn't really know what he means with that.

Isn't it his own fault, his father's fault?

The car speeds up a bit, and Yoongi nods, not really understanding, but trusting them enough to follow whatever they think is the best just now.

He already feels safer in here with them, even if they have guns under their jackets, and even if the fear and adrenaline still course through his body.

The drive feels like hours, even though he knows it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. It’s impossible to make out how late it is, because outside the car it is just dark, the city lights fly past but all of that gives no hint what time it is.

Now, in the silence and calmness of the car, his body comes down from all the action that happened, and he starts to feel tired, exhausted.

When they finally stop, it’s in front of an unfamiliar place, a driveway down into an underground parking lot.

The darkness envelops them and it takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the shadows around him.

There are a lot of other cars but still enough parking space for them, and he wonders for a moment why they don’t just stop, because they keep driving past open spaces. But they drive down, a level deeper and he is surprised when there is a second entrance to a private garage.

"We need to change our cars," Namjoon explains shortly, not explaining much with that single sentence, but for Jimin it’s probably more than enough to know what’s exactly going on – Yoongi is still a bit confused, not understanding much but also not really caring that much about it, too.

What can he do, anyway?

The garage door lowers behind them, the car stops and Namjoon and Jimin unbuckle themselves, and then Namjoon gets out. It takes a moment for Yoongi to understand that he has to get out too, the tiredness making him a bit slower, too caught up in his head and too out of his depth here to know what to do or not to do. There is a second car just behind them in the garage and a third car standing in the otherwise empty garage, and Yoongi watches through the window on the other side as Seokjin and Jungkook get out of their car too.

The man they dragged with them earlier is not there, but Yoongi guesses that he must be still in the car.

Jimin almost jumps out of the car. Just as Yoongi opens the door on his side, Jimin has already rounded the car and opens the door fully, one of his hands outstretched and ready to help, but not actually touching him.

Maybe he is waiting for Yoongi to say something, ask for...for assistance?

He doesn’t need help getting out of the car, doesn't want to admit to himself that it would be better, feel better. Even the slight stumble in his steps doesn’t make him reach out for Jimin’s hand.

The garage is empty – apart from them and the three cars - but warm, the walls echoing with their footsteps. The air is thick with the faint scent of gasoline and damp concrete, and when Seokjin and Jungkook get out of their car and the heavy doors fall closed again, he cannot help the flinch at the loud sound.

Namjoon is already in front of Seokjin, speaking with him in a low voice but fast words, and Jungkook stands beside them a grim expression in his face. Yoongi doesn't understand a word of what they are saying, he is too far away, their voices too low.

Jimin stays beside him, even though Yoongi feels the tension rolling off of him – he guesses Jimin wants to join the other three men, but for whatever reason decides to remain beside him.

“I’ll stay here,” Yoongi says quietly, “you can go.”

Jimin shakes his head.

“We need to get going anyway,” he says, and Yoongi wonders if they are all going to drive in the same car.

“Are you okay to go? I promise we’ll be home soon.”

Home.

Is his home the same as theirs now?

He didn’t and couldn’t spend much time thinking about the repercussions of what happened back there at his apartment, with his father.

But he gets the feeling that this is not his home anymore.

Was it ever his home, though?

At some point, yes, but not for a long time.

As long as he can remember, it’s been a dark and lonely home.

The memories that every kid should have, filled with warmth and joy, are barely there, just some vague feelings and colours.

He has no home anymore.

“Yoongi?”

This time, Jimin doesn’t hesitate to touch him lightly, both his hands holding him around his biceps – just holding, not squeezing, not pressuring him to do something about it.

“Hm?”

He must be more tired than he realized.

Jimin smiles slightly, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "Lets go home, okay?"

“Jimin, Yoongi, we have to go,” Seokjin calls from his place beside the other car, still a few feet away from them.

Then, Jimin squeezes his arms lightly before stepping back. “You can rest soon, alright? Just follow us.”

And Yoongi just follows, because…

…because he is tired.

…because he wants to rest.

…because he trusts Jimin and Seokjin, and Jungkook.

..because maybe he starts to think that, even if he is still a stranger at their house and family, he might find a group of people who care for him and about him like he thinks a family should.

To his surprise, Namjoon and Jungskook come with them when they leave the small garage through a grey, heavy looking metal door that falls shut as soon as they step put of it – they leave the two cars behind, just like the man who is probably hidden in the trunk of Jungkook’s car.

Even if small alarm bells ring in the back of his head, he tries to push everything related to that incident from earlier, the man and Jungkook’s and Seokjin’s involvement, as well as all the other’s role in this whole thing, and the guns, out of his mind. Maybe it’s that easy to push it away right now because there are more pressing matters—like his tiredness.

As he is coming down from all the action that happened, he starts to feel almost sluggish in his exhaustion.

He starts to suspect that his tiredness and exhaustion in the last days, weeks, maybe even months is not normal, but a symptom of his chronic depression that just flares up again.

So, he just follows Jimin as he tugs him along.

He feels lost, but Jimin led on a better way before, so now it might be just as good to follow Jimin again.

They come out in the bigger parking garage again, but not the same side they entered it with their cars, and Namjoon leads them directly to an unsuspecting black car that doesn’t stand out of the grey, black and white mass of cars that are parked in the garage as well. It looks just like any other black van driving around in the city.

“Come on, get in,” Seokjin says as he opens the door for them, and he only catches Seokjin’s eyes for a moment before he sits down after Jimin, and the door falls shut – he looks tired and worried, the corners of his mouth pulled down, whereas his eyes are not as open as usual.

Jungkook sits on the other side, beside Jimin, Seokjin in the passenger seat just in front of Yoongi and Namjoon drives.

Yoongi is glad to sit at the side. Maybe it’s just an illusion, but he thinks that here at the side, Namjoon cannot look at him through the rear mirror. He feels a little less observed with sharp eyes.

He wish he could hide under the covers of a plush bed with lavender scented fabric, and never get out of it again.

Hide from the world.

Jimin’s hand finds Yoongi’s left one again, and even if it should be weird to hold another grown man’s hand just like this, it isn’t.

It’s comforting, warm.

It’s like a tether that keeps him from floating away entirely. Even though, at some point, his eyes fall shut as his body succumbs to his craving for rest.

But he doesn’t really sleep.

There are voices talking quietly, the radio is on and playing some familiar songs but he cannot identify a single one. The sound of the car’s engine fills the air, a low but steady hum that vibrates through Yoongi’s body, as he struggles to focus on the conversation around him.

“Jungkook, I already called the cleaning team, there’s no need to go back now,” Namjoon says firmly.

“He’s a bastard. We should go back and—” Jungkook begins, but Seokjin interrupts him.

“Not here, Jungkook-ah. We shouldn’t discuss this while Yoongi is sleeping.”

Yoongi takes this as a cue to let them know he is, in fact, awake and listening. He wants to hear what they have to say, even though he knows it might be a bad idea to get further involved in this whole situation with guns and kidnapping. Never mind whatever that cleaning team is...it doesn’t sound like something he wants to know more about either.

But he is already involved, right?

“I’m awake,” he mumbles, pushing himself upright from where he had been slumped against the car door and window.

“We’ll arrive soon, you only slept for a few minutes,” Seokjin says and Yoongi sees him looking back at him through the rear-mirror beside him.

Only a few minutes?

It feels as if he napped for an hour – not enough to feel rested but a little bit less sluggish.

Jimin squeezes his hand gently, and Yoongi is warmly surprised that he didn’t let go of him.

“So, now that Yoongi is awake, we can-,”

“When we are at home, Jungkook. Not now,” Namjoon says sternly and this time, Jungkook grumbles slightly as he let’s the matter fall.

“Sure, but we really should talk about it,” he adds, and Yoongi silently agrees.

He should know it, whatever it is. Because he is involved, even his father is involved, and he doesn’t know why all of this is happening in the first place.

“And don’t worry about your work, I sorted it out,” Jimin adds then.

It’s what jolts him fully into wakefulness.

Oh god, oh fuck.

How could he completely forget about his job?

“Jimin!” Seokjin exclaims just as Yoongi says “Oh no,” and Jimin grabs Yoongi’s hand with his other hand too, and now two warm hands are trying to comfort him while dread settles into Yoongi’s stomach.

His job, his only other job that was still left, his only source of income....surely he is fired now.

He doubts that even Minho can and wants to excuse him that much in front of the business owner And manager.

“Yoongi, it’s fine, really,” Jimin tries to reassure him but Yoongi doesn’t believe it is, cannot believe it.

“It is not,” he says quietly as he tries to reign his feelings in – he doesn’t want to show them how much it rattles him, how much his whole life relies on having that one job.

If he doesn’t have a job anymore, how can he find a place to live?

He doesn’t want to return to his place with his father, and he doesn’t think that it would be wise to do that anyway, but if he cannot afford another place, he won’t have another option.

It’s already autumn, the weather turning colder and the wind harsher...he will not survive out on the streets in the Korean winter.

“It is fine, I promise,” Jimin repeats.

“Come on, look at me, Yoongi-ah,” Jimin says then.

A gentle tap on his arm makes him turn around, and Jimin’s hand stays there.

Jimin smiles, his eyes not reflecting Yoongi’s own tumult of feelings.

“It is fine, don’t worry about it. Minho has your job covered until you return.”

And Yoongi wants to believe him, he really wants to. But how can Jimin promise something like this?

“But how – how c-can you -,”

“I’m the one who got you the job, right? So don’t worry when I tell you I got it sorted out until you return,” Jimin says and...Yoongi doesn’t know what else to say.

Jimin got it sorted out.

Minho has his job covered.

“Thank you,” he mutters.

He still doesn't believe it is fine, though.

The road is wet when they step out of the car, and Yoongi wonders for how long it rained...when did it start?

His clothes are still damp and uncomfortably cold, and the cool wind of the late autumn night makes him shiver slightly.

“Let’s get in,” Seokjin says and one after another, they entered the warm house.

Namjoon vanishes quickly, “I need to manage that mess,” he says and then he is gone.

Jungkook lingers for a moment longer, but then he looks apologetic to Yoongi before saying “I need to...to help, sorry. Rest well, Yoongi,” and then he is gone too.

It’s then that Yoongi wonders if any questions will be answered today, and by whom, if they are all vanishing to who knows where, being busy with...with things.

“Get out of those wet clothes, Yoongi-ah, and take a shower. Jimin will give you some of his clothes, and then come down and I’ll make you a hot tea. Sounds good?”

It sounds really, really good, and Yoongi nods before he gets gently steered to the staircase that leads to the upper floor.

It’s nice not to think about much, about what he should do and decide in which order. His mind is drifting along, almost, somehow retreating and processing in the background, and Yoongi...is okay with that.

When he steps into the bathroom of his small guest room, he breathes in the calming scent of lavender, freshly washed laundry and wonders when Seokjin or anyone else had the time to do laundry and put the newly washed towels on the shelf.

It’s nice, and already more familiar than he would have thought it could be after only the few days he spent here.

He sets the new clothes from Jimin down at the edge of the sink and then gets out of his own clothes.

It’s a little difficult because the clothes are damp and heavy, and his fingers feel stiff from the cold outside - he hopes the shower will warm him up, drive away the cold and make his limbs stop trembling.

The warm water patters down on him, relieving and hurting his skin at the same time. He takes one of the bottles, vaguely reading the label of some kind of shampoo and takes a good amount to massage it into his hair.

His arms feel heavy with the motion, but he wants to take his time.

He needs the time.

And it doesn’t take long for his legs to feel too tired, too, and he sinks down on the still slightly cold, tiled shower floor.

The water pattering down on him washes away the shampoo bit by bit, doing his work with gentle drops.

But down here, on the ground, it gets colder, and he gets colder again.

A shiver runs over his naked body.

Isn’t the water hot enough, or does his body crave more warmth than the current temperature provides?

Maybe his body is just too cold from the autumnal grey outside.

He doesn’t think much more, doesn’t have the energy to do so, just wants the cold to go away, and so he reaches up to the tap, turning it to the left where a small red circle shows the temperature.

Hot.

The water is almost scalding, and he hisses but doesn’t move away, forcing himself to adjust to it.

He needs this, the warmth, the hurt, the distraction his body provides him by reacting to those stimulants.

It hurts, but it also warms him down to his bones, and he wonders if he has been cold for far longer than just a few hours.

He sits on the ground, knees pulled up to his chest and cheek leaned against one of his knees.

The foam of the shampoo vanishes into the drain, floating over the tiles and then sliding into the dark unknown, and he watches the bubbles popp and implode, each one reacting differently to the pressure of being sucked down the metal abyss.

Does he popp, under pressure, or is he one to implode?

He feels more like he is going to implode, collapsing into tiny fragments until there is not much left of him but an infinite amount of small, fragile bubbles.

Is this it?

He witnessed someone getting murdered, probably – he still isn’t sure, but he heard a gun and then saw a still body -, saw guns on people who he thought were proper, honest people, and he definitely witnessed someone getting kidnapped by them. He most likely lost his job – he doesn’t think Jimin could prevent him getting fired after missing days at work - and his father betrayed him so greatly that he isn’t sure if he can ever go back there.

Is this it?

Is he imploding under all the pressure as he slides down into an unknown, dark abyss?

He doesn’t know where it leads to, what’s at the end.

Where is this all going, where does it lead to, and what is there for him when all this ends?

“Yoongi? Is everything alright in there?”

He turns his head towards the door. It is still closed, but he doesn’t know if he locked it. But Seokjin would not just enter, right?

Back at the apartment, he would never do that. It wouldn’t be safe, not really, but most of all he would feel too vulnerable like this.

Never.

But here it’s safe.

Here it’s okay.

He still feels vulnerable, but not in the same way.

“Yoongi-ah?”

This vulnerability is somehow...relieving, refreshing.

“Yeah?”

He isn’t sure if he is loud enough, if Seokjin can make out his voice through the sound of the shower.

“You have been in there for quite some time already. Are you alright?”

Seokjin cares so deeply, so wholeheartedly, and he hasn’t gone away yet.

It is still difficult to understand that Seokjin cares because he is apparently just like this.

“I’m okay.”

The tap is so high from down here, and Yoongi doesn’t really want to move.

The hot water is still falling down on him, but now his body seems to have adjusted to it, and it feels so nice.

He just wants to stay here, in the warmth.

“Are you sure?”

If he had Seokjin’s persistence, he probably wouldn’t be here.

He is glad he isn’t like that, and that Seokjin is as he is.

“Yeah, I’m coming in a few minutes,” he answers, slowly picking himself up, all too aware that the slippery tiles could easily be his downfall.

He doesn’t hear any footsteps leaving nor any other sound from the other side of the door, so he isn’t sure if Seokjin is still there or not. He should hurry, though, because he has no idea how long he has been in here, but he guesses it must be long enough for Seokjin to check on him.

The dry, soft clothes Jimin gave him are a comfortable layer on his skin, light but warm. The sweatpants and shirt are both black, and he wonders if Jimin chose that colour because he knows that’s what Yoongi mostly wears.

When he steps out of the bathroom, the cooler air of the guest bedroom greets him and he wishes he could just bury himself under the blanket and sleep forever.

But he has questions, and Seokjin wants to speak with him too, maybe Namjoon, Jungkook and Jimin will be there as well, and he knows that this is something he has to face first before hiding himself away under the plush cover.

Seokjin didn’t wait for him in front of the bathroom nor on this floor at all, he discovers. He hears sounds coming from downstairs, some music playing like it always is when he is here – it already feels a little bit familiar when he steps down the stairs and rounds the corner of the living room before he has a clear view of the kitchen.

Seokjin is there, sitting on one of the chairs at the kitchen counter and scribbling something down on a notepad, two steaming cups beside him.

He looks up as soon as Yoongi is in view, straightens up and points at the chair beside him.

“Ah, Yoongi-ah, there you are! Sit down, your tea is ready for you,” he says, and Yoongi does as he says, settling himself down on the chair beside Seokjin but not reaching out for the tea.

Seokjin pushes the steaming cup directly in front of him and motions him to wrap his hands around it, and Yoongi’s fingers seem to soak up the warmth like plants do with water.

“Where are the others?” Yoongi asks then, not seeing anyone else but hearing some sounds from somewhere.

“Yoongi-ah,” Seokjin starts and although his voice is calm and warm, Yoongi notices the slight edge to it, the seriousness that swings along, the same seriousness that hangs at the corners of his mouth, tugging Seokjin’s lips down just the slightest, but it’s there.

“First, you need to know that you are safe here. That didn’t change, and it will not, ever, alright?”

He knows this, Yoongi knows it, but why does Seokjin emphasize it so much?

He nods then, because Seokjin seems to wait for an answer.

The nod seems to be answer enough, because then Seokjin continues,” and you also need to know what happened tonight wasn’t your fault, and what I am going to tell you doesn’t change who we are.”

“Why would it?” Yoongi asks then quietly. Because…the thing is, Yoongi already thought about it.

He knows they all are more than what they told him, or more than what they let him see, but he knows that whatever it is, it is not exactly…good.

And that is not good.

But Yoongi also knows that he doesn’t want to go away from here, from them, and that he doesn’t want to lose them.

He is also quite sure that all what they did for him, how they cared for him and acted around him, wasn’t a lie.

So, unless they lied about how they are, not telling him everything about them shouldn’t change who they are.

They are still the caring, gentle people who saved him in more ways than one, brave and strong, everything that Yoongi isn’t.

Seokjin smiles.

“It’s not as if I own a bakery and never told you, or as if Namjoon is a lawyer and never said a word about it,” he says, and Yoongi understands. Of course he does.

“I know you’re not…you are not – not -,”

“We are not really good people, Yoongi-ah,” Seokjin interrupts him and saves him from stumbling over his words any longer.

“You are not bad,” Yoongi retorts, a little bit to sharply but he doesn’t care. They are not bad.

They are not.

“Sure, there are worse people than us, but we are not saints either. Today showed you that we are not good, and you are smart enough to understand that.”

“But you – you helped me,” Yoongi says.

I was in danger and you helped me, you saved me, so you are not bad.

“We told you we were going to talk to you about it, right? Do you want me to tell you what is going to happen to the man who attacked you, the one who is still alive?”

Yoongi whips around, almost falling off the stool, but Seokjin’s quick reaction keeps him on it, one hand curling around his upper arm – steady, warm, grounding.

He doesn’t let go.

 “Joon-ah,” Seokjin scolds Namjoon lightly, but Namjoon’s dragon eyes are focused on Yoongi as he steps closer, stopping just on the other side of the kitchen counter, the small island between them.

“Do you want to know the truth?”

Yoongi still isn’t sure if he wants to know the truth, but he knows that he needs to know it.

He nods, not taking his eyes off Namjoon’s towering body.

He isn’t scared, just…intimidated.

Namjoon is still an unknown person to him, his character and motives a mystery.

“Do you, really? Because what if I say that one of the men is dead because Seokjin shot him and the other one is going to be locked up somewhere to get some answers from him?”

It’s like a slap with the harsh truth right across his cheek.

He knows what he heard, what he saw, and so he also knows that this is the truth – the other part, though…

“I know,” Yoongi says quietly.

“And you also know that we have guns and are not strangers to using them,” Namjoon adds.

Yoongi figures as much.

Namjoon leans forward, and Yoongi fights against the urge to lean back.

Namjoon is just intimidating, he is safe, Seokjin trusts him, he tells himself.

“Namjoon,” Seokjin says and his tone is just a little bit sharp, apparently noticing the tension in Yoongi’s body.

“And you know, if you breathe a word about all of this to the police, you’ll vanish too, right?”

“Namjoon, that’s enough!” Seokjin says sharply, curling his other hand around Yoongi who still looks at Namjoon, his eyes wide open in shock and his face definitely more white than before.

“He needs to know that,” Namjoon just says and leans back again, giving Yoongi more space, but not leaving.

“But not like this, what the hell!”

“If he brings any of you in danger, I will –,”

“I-I won’t say a-anything,” Yoongi stutters slightly, but he means it.

“You can leave, if you want, but I’ll know if you say anything.”

“I want to...I want to stay,” Yoongi replies and adds, a little less sure, ”can I stay? Just – Just a little?”

He looks a t Seokjin, who hover just behind him, his body warm and protectively behind him.

“Of course you can, Yoongi-ah.”

“You need to stay, Yoongi-hyung! Who else will keep me company while I play games?”

The next person enters the kitchen.

Jungkook.

He must have showered just a short while ago, his hair still wet as he steps into the kitchen in comfortable clothes.

“Jungkook, this is serious,” Namjoon says.

“And I mean it seriously, Namjoon-hyung,” Jungkook replies.

“Now is not the time to-”

“Exactly, now is not the time to scare Yoongi-hyung even more, right? You are worse than you were with me.”

“You were a kid, Jungkook.”

“And Yoongi-hyung is just as innocent,” Jungkook retorts.

That seems to make Namjoon stay quiet, for a moment.

Yoongi is, honestly, just too overwhelmed by all of this. What is he going to say to all of this, anyway?

It is probably the best if he just stays quiet. After all, it is him who is causing all that chaos, who is an inconvenience, so he shouldn’t add more to it.

Namjoon sighs as he lifts both hands and rubs his face, roughly.

“I know, I know,” he says and the frustration leaks through his voice, ”this is a mess.”

Chapter Text

“It still stands that you are going to stay here, Yoongi-ah, that won’t change,” Seokjin says, repeating what he said earlier, when they sat here alone.

“Yes, you can,” Namjoon agrees, “but we need to figure this whole situation out and resolve it before it becomes a bigger problem. It already attracting more attention than I’d like, and I don’t want it to escalate,” he says stressed.

“I need to know what you know,” Namjoon says then, turning to face him directly again.

“We already told you everything, this isn’t-,” Seokjin starts but Namjoon interrupts him.

“You and Jungkook told me what you know, but not Yoongi-sii.”

The use of honorifics makes Yoongi tense again. The serious discussion isn’t over yet, as Namjoon clearly signaled.

“I need to know what you know and what nobody else might know, anything someone said to you or-,”

“My father so-sold me out for...for money.”

The slight stutter in his words doesn’t seem to faze anyone, but the content does.

“He what?”

Jungkook sounds angry, his dark eyes big and showing his emotion clearly, a flame burning in them instead of sparkly stars.

Seokjin doesn’t say anything at first, but Yoongi feels his warm chest pressing against his back at the same time as his arms loop around Yoongi, loose but still secure.

“You’re staying here, Yoongi-ah.” It sounds like a statement, not a promise or an offer....Seokjin wants him to stay, needs him to stay.

“He was offered money to tell them where you were?”

Namjoon is difficult for Yoongi to read. His expression is so controlled that almost no feelings seem to breach his mask, and his voice is similarly restrained.

But Yoongi sees it in his eyes...like a spark of a dragon's flame, strong and burning, his eyes glint with an anger Yoongi doesn’t want to see directed at him.

And it is not directed at him. Yoongi knows this anger is directed at someone else even if Namjoon's eyes are on him.

Yoongi nods to answer Namjoons question.

Namjoon’s jaw twitches as he redirects his eyes over Yoongi’s head, settling on Seokjin.

“This won’t happen again.” It sounds slightly threatening, but Yoongi knows it’s not aimed at him, nor at Seokjin.

There is a question nagging at his mind, and it is not a new one.

Do Namjoon, Seokjin and the other ones know what exactly is going on, who the people are who have it out for Yoongi, and why?

He thinks they know something what they don’t tell him, and he wonders why, and wonders what.

But maybe, he thinks, if he is going to ask about that, he wants… he does not want to ask it now. Maybe when he is alone with one of them… perhaps with Seokjin?

Jin-hyung.

“You two, Jungkook-ah, Yoongi-ssi, stay in here. I don’t want you to leave the house until I say so,” Namjoon declares. It barely takes a second for Jungkook to protest.

“Hyung! Why? I can help, you know I can!”

Yoongi doesn’t understand how exactly Jungkook can help or what that help would entail, but he feels a warm sensation spreading through him when he hears how much Jungkook wants to help.

Despite Jungkook’s repeated offers to help and, most of the time, acting on them too, Yoongi still doesn’t quite grasp his intentions. It all feels somewhat alien—so new to him.

So, every time someone offers to help or just help without saying much about it, it feels slightly overwhelming.

“You’re not experienced enough yet,” Namjoon replied to Jungkook’s protest.

“But -“

“Jungkookie, let us hyungs handle it, you can stay here and protect Yoongi-ah,” a new voice says, and now they are five people, everyone who was there earlier standing in the kitchen together again.

Jimin looks somewhat rumpled, as if he had run his hands through his hair so many times that it no longer lays down properly, with strands of hair positioned awkwardly on his head.

He steps closer and stops beside Namjoon, leaning against him and sighs tiredly.

“I made a few calls,” he says, more directed at Namjoon than anyone else, “and-“ he continues but stops then, looking at Yoongi, ”is it okay if I tell more…more stuff?”

The question isn’t directed at Yoongi, even if Jimin still looks at him.

“We already did. Go on,” Namjoon replies and lets himself lean against Jimins smaller body too. It looks a little odd to Yoongi… not because Namjoon is bigger than Jimin, but because it is new to him to see Namjoon interact that closely with someone, searching and initiating close contact with someone so obviously.

“The guy from earlier – well, the one who, you know, still talks, mentioned a gang’s name. Did you ever hear about the ‘Paektu Gang’?”

Finally, Yoongi gets told something. Even if it just gives him more questions and fears at the same time.

A gang is behind this?

Why?

He was never, ever involved in something like this, even if it is almost common for people who live in the same area as him to get involved in gangs and violence. Low income and poor living circumstances seduce desperate people to search for a way to survive, and that often leads them to people who promise to give them things without demanding much at first.

Yoongi had seen it happen, how people get pulled deeper and deeper into things they obviously didn’t want to get into, but then they didn’t have a choice anymore, and many of them vanish, or they suddenly  and mysteriously have things they didn’t have before.

But Yoongi stayed away from all this.

He shakes his head to answer Jimin.

The name is unfamiliar, but then…

“Like the mountain?” He asks then, suddenly realizing that it does sound familiar, but in a completely different context.

Namjoon nods instead of Jimin. ”The highest holy mountain, Paektu Mountain, of the Korean peninsula. The gang shamefully misused this name, and they consider themselves as the greatest ruling gang that people have to worship as the only one there is, like a saviour who promises to save them and gives them everything they want, but with conditions that come later,” Namjoon explains calmly but Yoongi can hear the suppressed anger in his voice. And Yoongi can understand it, because even if he was never close to the ones he saw disappear into the darkest shadows of this city, he is deeply sympathetic, and it pains him to see someone fall into a pretty trap that looks so inviting and promising but takes more than just your life.

 “Why - how do you know th-them?” Yoongi doesn’t really want to know why or how or whatever ugly truth lies behind those kind faces. He doesn’t want his view of them to change much further, because…what if it turns out they are, like…really bad people?

Would Yoongi still want to stay?

“We are, hmm… rivals? That’s one way to put it,” Seokjin responds, his arms still wrapped around Yoongi as he gently sways them from side to side, being careful not to unbalance Yoongi on his stool. The motion is calming, slightly distracting, and anchoring at the same time.

Yoongi likes it.

“But not because we are like them,” Jimin quickly adds reassuringly.

“We are rivals because they want us out of the picture, and we want them gone too. We don’t let them operate their business peacefully, and we disagree with many of their choices and practices,” Namjoon explains further.

“We are a problem, a threat to them,” Jimin adds.

“And me?” Yoongi asks, realizing that if this gang is targeting him, it could mean he poses a similar threat to this criminal organization. But he has no idea why.

Why?

“You are not a threat, Yoongi-ah,” Seokjin replies. “Maybe you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and they noticed you. We don’t know anything for sure yet.”

That makes some sense. But it also means he must have seen, or heard, something he wasn’t supposed to, right?

“It’s because I know you, isn’t it?” he murmurs, unsure if everyone heard him or just Seokjin, who is close enough to hear his words perfectly fine without straining his ears.

“Hmm,” the voice behind him rumbles. “That’s…a possibility. We’re not sure yet, as I said, which is why we need you and Jungkookie to stay here for now, until we figure it out and what to do about it.”

That sounds like it could take quite a while, Yoongi thinks, and he doesn’t know if it’s a good thing or not.

But for as long as it takes, I can stay here, he thinks somewhat relieved.

Well, he hopes that he can.

Seokjin said that he could.

Suddenly, Seokjin straightens up and loosens his arm from Yoongi, and the warmth leaves as abruptly as Seokjin bounces on his feet.

“But now enough of all this talk. It’s late, and it doesn’t benefit anyone if we are sleep deprived. Go to bed, everyone, and we’ll talk in the morning!”

The sudden change from a warm embrace and almost calm voices to the cold air without arms around him and the loud exclamation lets Yoongi flinch, and he jumps from his stool in reaction.

Immediately, he is embarrassed to react so obviously, but he doesn’t look in anyone’s face to see if they actually noticed anything off about his reaction.

“Yoongi, I will give you some clean clothes to sleep in,” Jimin says then, rounding the kitchen island and takes his hand to pull Yoongi with him, “Let’s go.”

For a second, Yoongi is too overwhelmed by the sudden change of things, from the tense and information loaded conversation to this, and he follows without any protest.

Why should he, anyway?

He already admitted to himself that he likes it if someone takes and holds his hand, that he likes and craves the comfort and care they all show, and that he likes it if someone makes decisions without Yoongi needing to think, without letting him time to overthink and ruin everything.

And he likes that he can still speak his mind, tell them his own decisions if he wants to – he gets the feeling that even if he should disagree with something, most of them would not get angry, or annoyed, or…or dangerous.

But why does Jimin want to give him new clothes?

Doesn’t he still have the clothes he wore the last time he slept here?

They shouldn’t be dirty yet, unless they cleaned it immediately after he wore them once, and what would that mean?

Do they think he is dirty?

Maybe they want to wash away the scent of him, his scent of cheap shampoo and creams.

“Yoongi, Yoongi, did you like the clothes I gave you last time?”

They are walking up the stairs, Jimin one step ahead, their hands swinging between them.

The clothes were comfy. Soft, wide, stretchy but not stretched out.

“I did,” Yoongi replies and it’s true, he loved how they felt.

“Do you want the same clothes for sleeping?”

Yoongi is a little bit confused by the questions. They didn’t ask him about the clothes before, and even though they were Jimin’s clothes, he doesn’t quite get why Jimin is so interested in Yoongi’s thoughts about the clothes now.

“I – I don’t -,”

“Yes or no?” Jimin gently interrupts him as they walk towards a door that Yoongi hasn't gone through before.

“Yes?”

Jimin flashes him a smile as he pulls Yoongi through the door.

The room is coloured in a mix of cream, white, blue and pale grey.

A large, wide bed stands in one corner of the big room, and dark grey curtains cover the ceiling-high windows. The room smells like vanilla and flowers, and Yoongi doesn’t know if it's coming from the beautiful bouquet of rosé and red flowers on one of the bedside tables or from all the candles that stand on almost every surface.

All the furniture is held in white and crème, and the fluffy rug feels like a cloud under his feet.

The rooms peaceful and soft atmosphere envelops Yoongi immediately, and he breathes in deep to smell more of the wonderful scent.

Jimin lets go of his hand and strides to a closet – it is a built-in closet, and Yoongi wonders how someone can have so many clothes to fill a big closet like this one.

Jimin doesn’t need to search long for the clothes, and Yoongi still stands where Jimin let go of his hand, watching him as he rummages in his closet quickly and efficient.

“I’ll get you some warm socks too. The weather was really cold today, and I noticed that your hands are still cold,” Jimin says as he turns around with a pair of fluffy socks in one hand and a folded pile of clothes in his other hand.

Yoongi clenches his hands to try to feel how cold his hands are  - he didn’t even notice it – but Jimin is in front of him in a blink of an eye and pushes the clothes into his hands.

The black clothes are soft, just like the last time he wore them.

Yoongi takes the clothes and steps back, thinking that Jimin wants him to leave the room because it is late and he wants to go to bed too, but before he can take a second step towards the door, Jimin stops him by taking hold of his wrist, stopping him gently.

“Jimin-ssi?” Yoongi asks confused, looking at him with tired but alert eyes.

“You can call me Hyung too, Yoongi,” Jimin says and smiles, his eyes little crescents for a moment.

Oh.

Jimin wants Yoongi to call him hyung, wants them to be closer.

Jimin wants to care about Yoongi as a hyung, and Yoongi’s heart soars at the rush of warm feelings at this realization.

“Do you want to call me hyung?” Jimin asks, and Yoongi realizes that he must have stared at him without speaking a word for a moment too long, apparently.

He nods quickly.

“I…I’d like that, Jimin-hyung,” Yoongi says then almost shyly, unused to calling someone hyung.

Seokjin is the only other person he calls hyung, and he has to admit that it feels more natural to call Seokjin like that than Jimin. However, Jimin cares for him just as much, and it is obvious—so obvious—that Yoongi likes the idea of calling Jimin his hyung, too.

“I’m glad, thank you,” Jimin replies. And he looks happy at Yoongi’s answer, but still…there is something in his eyes and face, something that looks like sadness or guilt, and he doesn’t let go of Yoongi.

“I am so sorry, Yoongi.”

Jimin's voice is heavy with guilt as he speaks, his eyes quickly glistening with unshed tears. And suddenly Yoongi fears that he will see Jimin cry. He isn't good with emotions himself, doesn’t want to see Jimin cry – what should he do if he cries?

“Jimin...Jimin-hyung,” Yoongi says unsure, ”D-Don’t-,”

“I am so, so sorry, Yoongi-ah,” Jimin repeats and suddenly Yoongi is thrown a step back when Jimin throws himself at Yoongi, his arms enveloping him and hands gripping his back.

Yoongi has no idea what to do. His hands, still loaded with the clothes, are trapped between his and Jimin’s body, and Yoongi is tense as he stands still in Jimin’s arms.

“For what?”

Yoongi doesn’t dare to speak loudly. His own heart beats heavy and fast in his chest, and he feels a bit breathless – Jimin is so close, so close, and every volume louder than a whisper seems too loud for Yoongi.

“Ah, Yoongi-ah, hyung is sorry, it is my fault you are in this situation,” Jimin replies with a choked voice and his hands search for a better hold on Yoongi’s back.

Yoongi can’t quite follow Jimin.

Why does he think it is his fault that all of this is happening to Yoongi?

How could it be Jimin’s fault?

He did nothing but help Yoongi.

The first meeting was not that ordinary, and Jimin was just a pretty stranger in a club.

But then he found him again when Yoongi lost his job, breaking down in an alley and feeling as if he lost himself, any hope, and the connection to the world around him, and Jimin picked him up.

Jimin did nothing but good things, helping and holding him.

“It’s not,” Yoongi says.

It’s really not.

“It is, and I’m sorry. I only wanted to help you, but I ended up putting you in danger!” With that, Jimin loosens their embrace, creating a small gap between them—just enough to look into Yoongi’s face without straining his eyes. Jimin keeps his hands on Yoongi, one on each shoulder.

“I really just wanted to help, but you got hurt, I really didn’t want -,” he continues, his voice getting softer but so sad and guilty, and Yoongi…

…Yoongi cannot watch this happen, cannot watch Jimin being sad like this.

“I – I’m thankful you helped,” Yoongi says, not sure if what he is going to say is going to help or not, but he has to try, ”even if I got hurt. But – But it’s n-not your fault, hyung, I – I just have bad luck. But you helped me, a-and I…I am really thankful for that.”

Jimin watches him as he speaks, his face unreadable apart from the sadness and guilt in his eyes.

“Oh Yoongi,” Jimin says then when Yoongi finishes his sentences, “you are just too pure for this world,” and hugs him again.

He got so many hugs and gentle hands holding and leading him these past days, and he feels as if his heart bursts with warm feelings.

He cannot remember a time when he had so many hugs and close contact, so much affection, and of course, he craved it all every now and then, especially when he lay buried and curled up in his bed, hiding his tears under the blanket and trying to stop the tremors in his hurting and tired limbs.

But apart from these moments of weakness…the craving was buried so deep that he even stopped thinking about it. Even the hope of getting a hug or his hand held had become almost non-existent.

But now…

Now he had it.

Now he had it so much, all the hugs, gentle hands, gentle, soft words, promises that didn’t stay unfulfilled, and so many people looking out for him, caring about him.

“Ah, Yoongi-ah, don’t cry,” the words sound softly as Jimin thumbs away the tears on Yoongi’s cheeks.

When did he start to cry?

“If you cry, I’m going to cry too. I’m a sympathetic crier,” Jimin says with a soft chuckle. However, Yoongi doesn’t feel like crying or laughing. Instead, a wet sob escapes him as he presses himself closer to Jimin, his arms once again trapped between them. But in that moment, it feels safe—safe and calming.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Jimin,” he says, not even knowing why he apologizes.

“Aish, you’re not the one who has to say sorry. Let’s calm down, yeah? And then we’ll go to bed.”

Yoongi nods.

That sounds nice.

Yoongi is tired and wants to lie down, but his emotions are overwhelming and rough, like disturbed water that threatens to spill over the edge.

Calming down?

Yeah, that sounds good.

Jimin’s idea of calming down seems to be to keep hugging, and he gently pats Yoongi’s back as if he were a small child.

He doesn’t rush Yoongi, and Yoongi doesn’t get the impression Jimin wants to let go of him that soon either.

Maybe he needs that as much as Yoongi does.

For how long did he think it is his fault that Yoongi is in this situation, got into trouble and hurt so many times?

Perhaps he needs this just as much as Yoongi does because he needs to reassure himself.

Guilt eats away at a person, makes them hurting from the inside.

Yoongi knows how it feels, and so he doesn’t let go even when he feels himself calming down, but Jimin’s arms are still around him.

“Thank you, Jimin-hyung,” he whispers.

Later, as he lies in the guestroom bed with the light turned off and the house quiet, tears roll down his cheeks, slowly being absorbed by the pillow's fabric. He doesn't feel sad, exactly; it’s just that everything feels like too much. He feels lighter than he has in a long time, but the events of the last few days have been overwhelming, a lot, too much.

What is going to happen now?

Is he just going to stay in this house until things are sorted out?

Will they throw him out then, asking him to leave because now he is safe again, or will they ask him to stay?

Yoongi wants to stay, and he hopes they will decide to ask him before he has to. He isn’t sure he would be brave enough to ask if he can stay if there isn’t a reason anymore.

But he has two hyungs now, and one dongsaeng.

Maybe he will have more?

Namjoon isn’t so scary anymore, and he begins to understand what is behind Namjoon’s intimidating mask.

Well, he doesn’t think it is a mask. It is real, Namjoon’s intimidating side is very much real, Yoongi doesn’t doubt it.

In their world, the world Yoongi only got a glimpse of, it is probably necessary.

He wants to protect, and Yoongi can understand that, even if he gets hurt.

Namjoon wants to protect his family, his friends, and they must feel safe with a man like Namjoon to protect them.

Maybe it would be nice to be one who Namjoon wants to protect, too.

Oh, the small flicker of hope in his chest is burning warmer, stronger, and his heart skips a beat as it flickers brighter.

That would be nice.

Chapter Text

Yoongi’s eyes blink open as he jolts upright in the bed, his heart racing and cold sweat cooling his body.

He blinks into the dark room, only seeing shadows of still surroundings, not hearing anything but his pulse in his ears.

There is nothing, here is nothing, and he knows the guestroom is safe, nobody is here to hurt him, to chase him.

The familiar scent of the crisp linens and the faint hum of the air conditioning provide a stark contrast to the turmoil in his mind, grounding him in the reality of the moment. But the phantoms of his dream linger starkly in his mind, vivid enough to leave him scared even without shadowy hands grasping at him, pulling at him, pressing blue and red bruises into his skin.

It was a dream, just a dream.

A dream.

A dream that echoed real persons, real things that happened, vivid memories intertwined with fantasy.

He sinks down onto the bed again, clutching the blanket tigthly, breathing in deeply, calming down, trying to steady his breathing, feeling the soft texture of the fabric against his skin.

But now he is awake, too awake to be thinking of going to sleep again, his mind racing with thoughts and images that linger from the dream, refusing to fade into the background of his reality.

The faint patter of rain against the window reaches his ears.

Is it still raining, or raining again?

He pushes the blanket off and crawls out of bed, tiptoeing to the window, cautious steps to avoid making any noise – how thick are the walls here?

He draws back the curtains to look outside.

It’s dark, he can’t see much, but the faint glow of the city reaches this side of the house enough to make out a few nearby trees, their silhouettes swaying in the cold breeze of the night, casting long shadows over every surface.

The last leaves on the trees glisten with rain, dragged down by the heavy drops that cling to their fragile edges. Moonlight catches the raindrops, sparkling as they fall down from the tips of the branches, vanishing somewhere in the darkness.

It is a peaceful image, Yoongi thinks, and he pulls the comfortable looking chair, with its soft cushion and warm fabric, a little closer to the window. He takes the soft, knitted throw that lays on top of his blanket, wraps it around himself before sitting down on the chair. The warmth envelops him like a gentle embrace.

He manages to pull his legs on the small cushion of the chair, curling up and feeling like a cozy little bundle, and he leans his head on his arms resting on the back of the chair, and gazes outside, his eyes taking in the serene image.

The world beyond is calm, just existing in these dark and late hours, and Yoongi wonders how late it is.

Is the sunrise soon?

How will it look when the first golden flecks of light touch the trees covered with millions and trillions of reflective drops, each droplet glistening like a tiny jewel in the soft morning light?

The dew should look like blanket of golden freckles over the world, a magical world, not quite reality.

His eyes grow heavier and heavier, and he blinks them open again and again, not wanting to fall asleep again, trying to fight the urge to succumb to the warmth and comfort of the chair and blanket around him.

The warm blanket protects him against the nightly chill, soft fabric caressing his bare skin where he is not covered.

If he sleeps again, the dreams might come back, and he doesn’t want to have those dreams again, or dream at all.

Just sleep.

He falls asleep before he even notices, and the world around him fades into a blur of shadows and whispers, and then into nothing.

There is a hand, no, two, that are suddenly there, gentle but insistent, tucking the slipped down blanket securely around his shoulders again.

Yoongi stirs and makes a sound of protest, a soft sound escaping his lips, reluctant to move, to open his eyes, to leave this comfortable state.

He doesn’t want to wake up yet, he is still tired, eyelids heavy as if the weight of reality already tries to bear down on him, and his body craves more sleep, more dreamless sleep –

But maybe, just maybe, it would be good to change his place of rest back to the bed.

“Aish, Yoongichi, that doesn’t look very comfortable. Did you sleep here all night?”

Hm....is it morning yet?

“It is past morning, sweetie. That’s why I came in,” Seokjin says, chuckling lightly, his voice gentle dancing through the air to reach his ears.

As his mind gets a little bit clearer, so does his body.

Seokjin called him sweetie.

That’s…something new.

And he called him Yoongichi.

A name that rolls off Seokjin’s tongue like he said it before, so many times.

But no one ever called him like that.

Yoongi cannot suppress the smile spreading across his face at that. Instead, he hides under the blanket for a moment, until he feels a bit more in control of his expression.

He groans as he changes the position of his spine, straightening slightly from the curled-up position.

“M’a back hurts,” he mumbles and blinks, his voice a soft murmur, slightly rough with the remnants of sleep.

The light shines through the window in the room, casting the light yellow hue of the day over the floor and reaching the corners of the bedding, the curtains are still drawn to each side of the window.

“I would believe so, my back would too,” Seokjin replies.

He is still standing beside the chair Yoongi sits in.

Why is he here?

He unfurls himself, setting his feet down on the floor and blinking up at Seokjin.

He wears that cute patterned Pyjama again, the one with the little angels.

Seokjin watches him with a fond smile.

“I wanted to check in with you, because yesterday was...tumultuous, and you slept very long. Are you feeling better?”

Tumultuous is a great word to describe yesterday, Yoongi thinks, but he wouldn’t know a better fitting word just now.

Now, that he is sitting straight and his mind is more awake, he feels the tribute of yesterday – he feels like he ran a marathon, and then fell down a hill.

Is there any place on his body that doesn’t make itself known by pulling, pulsing, throbbing?

Maybe he should say something, ask for something.

He doesn’t feel like he could do much in this state of hurting existence.

Seokjin gave him some painkillers the other day, and maybe he could ask for those again.

They helped, and he figures that he doesn’t need to keep hurting if there is an alternative so easily offered and available.

Before, when he didn’t know any of them yet, he rarely bought painkillers for any of his injuries...for some of the worst ones he did, but they were expensive and so he saved his money and pills for the worst moments, incidents.

But now...

“Hyung,” he murmurs shyly and still hoarse from sleep, ”could I have some...some of those painkillers again?”

At this request Seokjin nods quickly, his expression suddenly concerned, scanning Yoongi from head to toe and back, trying to find any visible injury.

“Of course! I’ll give them to you immediately, Yoongi-ah. Where does it hurt? Tell hyung,” he orders gently, caring.

No matter how often he has already received this honest care from Seokjin, he is always a little bit surprised, overwhelmed, how easily Seokjin offers it.

What should he say?

He isn’t brave enough yet to show himself so naked – not literally, he is never comfortable with that -, to show and tell someone what hurts without hiding anything, speaking something out aloud what he never really did before.

Seokjin crouches down in front of him, one hand on Yoongi’s knee – maybe it’s to support himself, maybe it’s to support Yoongi.

“Tell hyung, I promise I just want to help.”

Maybe it’s that single sentence or maybe it was all he ever said to Yoongi.

He lifts the hem of his shirt, just a little, just enough for Seokjin to catch a glimpse of the discoloured skin.

Seokjin…doesn’t react to it very strongly.

At least not like Yoongi thought he would.

“Oh, my Yoongi-ah,” Seokjin says quietly, his eyes fixated on the exposed skin. He stretches his hand out, his fingers hovering close but not touching the skin.

Yoongi’s eyes are locked on Seokjin’s face, observing every little twitch of his face – the dark, concerned eyes, the tight-lipped and tense mouth, and the worried crease on his forehead.

The shirt falls back down.

“Is there somewhere else you want to show me?”

Yoongi shakes his head, and there is a lump in his throat that blocks any words from coming out of him.

There isn’t anything that aches and looks that obvious, and Yoongi doesn’t think the other light bruises and aches are worth mentioning.

“Okay, thank you for trusting and telling me,” Seokjin says then and the smile on his face looks a bit hollow, forced.

He made Seokjin sad, he realizes.

“I’ll be right back.”

With fast steps, Seokjin leaves the room, and the silence that follows feels like too much, uncomfortable even if he is alone.

Oh no, he made Seokjin sad.

He didn’t want to do that, this is the last thing he would ever want to do.

Was it too much?

He feels like he showed too much.

Seokjin is back before he can spiral any further, in one hand a small, white bottle and in the other hand a glass of water.

“Here,” he says as he steps closer, ”take those two,” lets two pills fall out of the bottle in his hand and then holds both out to him. Yoongi takes the pills and the offered glass and flushes the pills down his throat.

“They will take around twenty minutes to work,” Seokjin informs him. Yoongi nods.

“Are you hungry? The others already ate but I saved a good portion of everything for you. Want to go down to the kitchen?”

Yoongi isn’t really hungry, but Seokjin looks hopeful as he says that, and Yoongi doesn’t want him to get sad or disappointed again.

The food is good, as always.

Seokjin didn’t even ask him what he wanted, just piled something from every pot on a plate and filled a bowl with soup and put both in front of him where he sat.

The food is great.

Yoongi doesn’t know what Seokjin does for a living. He can’t remember if Seokjin has already told him about his job or if he hasn’t mentioned it yet, but he thinks Seokjin would be a great cook.

People would probably stand in a queue to get his food.

Is he a cook?

He is a much better cook than the chef in the restaurant Yoongi worked in before.

“Is it good? Do you want a second plate?”

At that, Yoongi shakes his head.

“No, thank you,” he replies, setting down the spoon after taking a last spoonful of rice.

He wouldn’t be able to eat more. He is so full already, the soup and rice filling and the egg and vegetables nourishing enough to satisfy his stomach for a long time.

He can’t remember a time when he had such good food for so long, more than just one day.

It was always a one-time thing when he got good food, maybe once or twice in a month, when the tips he got while delivering food or working as a waiter were unusually high. Everything else was okay, but not mouth-watering good.

Since he is here, everything he ate was more than good, maybe even better than the food he got in the best restaurants he could afford – it was mostly the small places, though, still cheap in comparison to most other places.

This food here would probably cost him a fortune if he went out to eat that in a restaurant.

“It’s really good,” he says then, unable to withhold the compliment any longer. "I…I worked in a restaurant, before,” Yoongi continues, and it is the first time ever that he mentions this to Seokjin – or does he already know that from Jimin?

Seokjin’s attention is focused on him as he speaks, both hands cradling a warm cup of tea on the kitchen counter in front of him, the steam swirling, rising up, up, and then vanishing, evaporating in the air.

“The chef was so full of himself, and he was a bad cook,” and he chuckles lightly, even though it wasn’t funny at all when he worked there and had to deal with that man on a daily basis.

Absently, he notices how comfortable it is to speak about that with Seokjin. Are the painkillers kicking in, and are they stronger than he thought?

Wrapped in a gentle haze, comfortable and safe, usually racing, loud thoughts faded into a distant whisper, easy to overhear.

Even if, maybe, he should be a bit concerned about having taken such strong painkillers without having the need for such strong ones, he feels a glad that it makes talking about difficult topics easier, if only for a moment.

Or maybe the painkillers were just normal ones and he just feels more comfortable now.

It is probably the latter.

“He sounds like an arrogant prick,” Seokjin says, and Yoongi can’t but snort at that.

“Yeah.”

Then, Yoongi hesitates.

“He once…once threw a…a spoon at me,” he admits, “and a pan,” he adds after a small pause, even surprising himself with the brave honesty.

It actually happened more than just one time, and he yelled.

Now, Seokjin sounds a lot less amused when he speaks again, but Yoongi has adverted his eyes down to the plate in front of him, tracing the almost invisible, light grey patterns of use on the white porcelain.  

It still feels like too much if he would look into Seokjin’s eyes now, a gaze that can read him so easily. He doesn’t want to see what he thinks.

“I’m glad you don’t work there anymore.”

Yoongi nods.

He is glad too.

“And – Yoongi-ah, look up to hyung?”

He does, at Seokjin’s request.

“You didn’t deserve that,” he says, but how would he know?

Yoongi was bad at following his chef’s orders, so it was only a consequence when his chef got angry and ultimately fired him.

He still hadn’t told Seokjin about the motorcycle accident while delivering food – maybe one day. Not yet.

There are sounds from people speaking with each other and footsteps coming down the stairs, and Yoongi can make out Jungkook’s voice, and…Taehyung?

He hadn’t seen Taehyung in what felt like days.

Even though Yoongi is glad that he could speak with Seokjin about, well…about those only somewhat difficult topics, he is also relieved by the interruption from Jungkook and Taehyung. He wouldn’t know how to end the topic, because he always feels like he is rude when he wants to change a topic so abruptly.

“Hyungs! I there still something left?”

“Oi, Jungkookie, how can you be hungry again?”

Yoongi remembers then that Seokjin mentioned that the others already ate, and he wonders when that was. Did he sleep that long?

The clock shows that it is past twelve already.

And why did nobody wake him up?

Shouldn’t a guest eat with everyone together, because it was only polite to do this?

He makes a mental note to set an alarm for tomorrow because he doesn’t want to miss the time again when everyone gathers around the table in the living room to eat together.

“Seokjin-hyung, is there something left?” Jungkook asks again as they both round the corner to the kitchen.

“Good morning, Yoongi,” Taehyung greets, and Yoongi greets back, albeit a bit shyly – he still can remember the last time he sat together with Jimin, and thought that he and Taehyung were angry with him – and then got proved wrong, at least about Jimin.

He never asked Taehyung directly if he was angry or, at the very least, disappointed with how Yoongi behaved the last time they sat together in a car…and when Yoongi ran away without a word and didn’t text them for days.

“Why are you hungry again, Jungkook-ah? Did you go to the gym already?” Seokjin asks Jungkook, setting down his cup and already turning to one pot on the stove-

“Ah, no, it’s too early for that. I helped Namjoon-hyung with some stuff. Concentrating takes so much energy,” Jungkook replies and groans dramatically.

“He needs to refill his reserves,” Taehyung adds and grabs Seokjin’s cup the moment Seokjin’s attention is on filling a bowl with whatever is in the pot, and takes a big gulp out of the colourful cup.

“Need to refill my battery and then I’ll go to the gym,” Jungkook says and hovers close to Seokjin, watching him fill the bowl with the content of a second pot.

Taehyung notices Yoongi watching him out of the corner of his eye, catches his gaze, and then he winks.

And Yoongi looks away, a little bit embarrassed that he watched Taehyung stealing the drink from Seokjin, watching him drinking, watching such a domestic scene.

“Ah! Thank you hyung, your food is so good!” Jungkook praises Seokjin’s food.

“Taehyung-ah, stop drinking my tea!”

Taehyung snickers and dances away as Seokjin swings a dishcloth in his direction, missing him by just a few centimetres. When Yoongi looks over to Jungkook to see his reaction to this scene, he notices that Jungkook, with his carefree happiness while eating as he shovels food into his mouth, doesn’t spare the whole situation any attention at all.

So…does it mean that this situation is nothing…unordinary?

It is so unfamiliar for Yoongi.

He never had such close friends or witnessed someone doing this up close.

It looks…nice?

Is this bantering?

Seokjin has caught Taehyung by now, caught him where he had been trying to escape into the living room, and Seokjin is tickling him, and Taehyung is laughing.

“Hyung, Hyung, let me go!” He giggles as he struggles to free himself.

This is…

So strange.

Unfamiliar.

And he thinks back to the situation that happened yesterday, and he wonders if what happened doesn’t affect them at all.

It sure does affect Yoongi, and he could barely sleep because of that, and even now with the painkillers kicked in and his mind a little bit more relaxed and slowly becoming a little bit dazed, he cannot imagine himself becoming this carefree.

It would be nice, though.

One day, maybe not today.

“Are you okay, hyung?” Jungkook asks, pulling him out of his thoughts and the carefree scene.

Yoongi nod, unsurely, a little overwhelmed.

“You don’t look so sure,” Jungkook says as if he could read his emotions as clearly as a book.

“Is – Is this…does this happen often?” Yoongi voices his question then, and Jungkook follows his gaze to see what he means.

“Oh, this…yes, actually. Hyungs like to play-fight sometimes. It’s funny. But I am really hungry now, so I rather eat,” Jungkook replies and shovels another spoonful of rice and vegetables into his mouth.

So, this is really a common scene.

It looks like it is fun, and Yoongi wonders if he will ever be close enough to someone to experience this too.

And then he wonders –

“Yoongi, would you help me?”

He didn’t even notice that Seokjin and Taehyung stopped fighting the tickle-fight, and didn’t notice that they came back to the kitchen, and he also didn’t hear whatever Seokjin or Taehyung said before this question.

“I’m – I’m sorry, w-what did you ask?”

He didn’t listen. He should listen, or people get….well, angry, disappointed, annoyed, when he doesn’t listen. Most people do, at least.

Taehyung, it seems, and the other people in this house, do not get angry, or annoyed or anything else, apparently, or as far as he experienced.

“I asked if you could help me with my hair? I want to dye it before an event this evening, and everyone else is too busy to help,” Taehyung explains.

“Don’t ever let Joon help, he would ruin your hair,” Seokjin says and chuckles. “He would have time later, but he isn’t a good option to help with something like that,” he explains to Yoongi.

Yoongi never helped someone with their hair.

The only times he did something with his own hair was to cut it himself or dye it, but he usually chose dark colours that couldn’t really go wrong – like dark red, an auburn touch, a blue midnight hue.

“Ah, I – I do-don’t think I should -,” Yoongi starts nervously.

He would ruin his hair.

“It’s just some colour, maybe red since it will fit with my outfit, no bleach or anything, don’t worry,” Taehyung reassures him.

“I never did that before,” and that’s only partially true, because he did dye his own hair before, just nobody else's hair.

“Don’t worry. If it goes wrong, I can just dye it black again.”

And so any protest that Yoongi could have uttered is shut down, and he hopes that he won’t ruin Taehyungs wonderful dark chocolate curls.

They are both standing in a bathroom Yoongi hasn’t seen before.

It’s on the upper floor as well, and they went past the guest room Yoongi resides in at the moment, down the hallway and to the last two doors.

The bathroom is just as big as the one attached to the guest room, and the colours are almost the same, but it smells different in here…like some expensive perfume, not heavy but lightly musky, a smell he only ever smelled when he delivered food to some more wealthy houses, or passing some expensive clothed people.

It’s a smell he has noticed somewhere else, though, more specifically whenever he was near Taehyung.

“Here, wear those gloves. We don’t want your white skin to turn red now do we?”

And no, Yoongi is not particularly fond of the colour red on his skin.

He already had far too much colour on his skin that didn’t belong there, red and blue and violet, and if wearing some plastic gloves prevent red seeping into his skin and staining it, he wears it without any protestt.

The plastic is crinkly.

“Hm…Do you want to mix the two bottles for the colour?” Taehyung asks, not waiting for an answer before pushing a small red bottle and a bigger white one into his hands, and Yoongi knows what he has to do.

Remove the caps, squeeze the content of the red bottle into the bigger white one, and then just shake it, mix it.

As he does this, Taehyung pulls a black towel out of the cabinet beside the sink and drapes it around his neck and over his shoulders.

“I heard you are going to stay here now for a little bit,” Taehyung says then suddenly, and just as sudden Yoongi fears what he is going to say – he was quite relaxed until now, the familiar anxiety laying low and the painkillers keeping it in that state. But his thoughts are not easily quietened by some easy pain meds, and so they start racing as soon as Taehyung said this.

Does he not want Yoongi to stay at their house?

Maybe he likes Yoongi enough to see him sometimes, but maybe not enough to tolerate him every day and all day.

Perhaps Taehyung was just trying to get him alone to tell him that, without the other hyungs witnessing it.

But still, Yoongi nods as an answer.

“Did you shake it well?” He asks then and points at the bottle that now rests still in Yoongi’s hands.

"If you don't shake it up well enough, it might get all clumpy,” he adds while he ties the edges of the towel together, securing it so that it can’t slip down, making it look like a cape too short.

Yoongi examines the bottle up close, closer, to see if there are any clumps.

The plastic of the bottle is milky, so he can’t see much, but he knows how to shake a bottle, it’s not that hard.

“No clumps,” he murmurs as he examines the bottle more closely. ”I know how…how to mix dye.”

Taehyung turns around, and rests both hands on the sink, he doesn’t say anything, just looks at him, waiting.

Taehyung is a very, very special person, Yoongi thinks.

He has such a colourful and elegant personality, sometimes a little bit odd but in a good way, and sometimes, when he talks, he speaks in such a way that is inspiring – so deep yet light, a unique way of seeing and perceiving the world and things around him and formulating it all into words, leaving Yoongi guessing about the emotions and thoughts that play behind his calm demeanour.

It leaves him with inspiration that could fuel a work of poetry, or some lyrics, a melody.

But as open as he speaks his mind about art and the colours of the world, his face and expression can be as unreadable, enigmatic as a book with a closed plain cover.

Taehyung is waiting for him to finish mixing the hair dye.

Yoongi looks back up and meets Taehyungs gaze, but then shyly averts his eyes again.

Taehyung’s dark eyes are so attentive, extremely attentive in such a way that Yoongi just cannot hold eye-contact – he is bad at it anyways, and now isn’t an exception.

But maybe…

Maybe the after-effects of yesterday aren’t just the nightmares he had.

Maybe it’s also that he got a little bit braver, because he was shown that there are now people who care about him and want to protect him, and that…that gives him a little bit more security, that there are people who mean good – and he thinks Taehyung might be one of them, too.

And so he is a little bit brave to ask something aloud that he wouldn’t otherwise, a question usually bottled up inside of himself, because he is always afraid of the answer.

“Do you not, ah…want -want me to stay here?”

Do you not like me?

Why?

What did I do?

I did so much, I’m sorry.

Do you want me to go?

Am I bothering you all?

Are you angry because I ran away from you and was too scared to talk to you again?

Did I do something that -

“No, of course!” Taehyung bursts out and pushes himself away from the sink, startling Yoongi with his outburst and the sudden motion.

“Of course I want you to stay, why would you think that?”

He sounds aghast, appalled that Yoongi would even ask that question, think Taehyung wouldn’t want him to stay here.

“I – I just thought…,” he trails off, unsure what he even wants to say. “I thought that…that you don’t -,” and he cuts himself off, realizing that it doesn’t make sense whatever he wants to say, and it certainly doesn’t make sense to keep trying to speak when he is, apparently, unable to form a proper sentence right now.

His thoughts are in disarray.

So if Taehyung wants him to stay here, then what did he mean with what he said?

Was he just trying to…to what?

Yoongi is confused, or maybe it is just that his anxiety always gets the best of him and he ruins and complicates simple conversations and situations by overthinking.

“I wanted to…I don’t know, just wanted you to…to speak to me again,” Taehyung says then subdued, even sounding a little bit sad suddenly. “I didn’t want to imply that I don’t want you here, I just…I just heard what happened yesterday, and then Jin-hyung said you’re going to stay here, and I thought that, maybe, it would be nice to talk to you again?”

Oh.

So Yoongi really did overthink, completely and unnecessarily, and now Taehyung is unsure of himself just because Yoongi is a hopeless, socially unskilled human being.

“Oh, Tae-Taehyung-sii, I’m so sorry,” the apology tumbles out of his mouth faster than he can think, “I was wrong, I -,”

“And I thought that if I asked you to do my hair, it would be more comfortable for you, because we can just casually talk without any weird setting down there, and I know you’re not very comfortable around everyone yet,” Taehyung continues without giving the indication that he heard what Yoongi said, but he must have and just chooses to ignore it.

Yoongi stares at him, stunned and frozen, because Taehyung was really just trying to make him more comfortable, and it is such a good idea, really, and Yoongi appreciates it so much when he realizes what Taehyung had wanted to do.

And now Taehyung looks like a kicked puppy, a curly-haired puppy. Even if Taehyung is older than him – he has no idea how much older, he never asked specifically – he looks so young now, so innocent and honest.

Yoongi gets the urge to do something he rarely initiates himself.

“I’m sorry, can I…can I hug you? As an apology?”

Now it’s Taehyungs turn to stare at him, startled, visibly surprised by the offer.

In all the time they spent time together – mostly while Yoongi was working at the bar and Taehyung talked about anything and everything -, they never really touched much, and maybe only once or twice and not for very long then, initiated by Yoongi. But Yoongi saw him hugging Jimin often, a few times even hugging Minho as a greeting and for a moment longer than necessary, and he already figured that Taehyung must be a touchy person, someone who likes to express his feelings through touch.

So a hug must be a good substitute if Yoongi’s words are not enough right now – no, Yoongi thinks, his words are really not enough.

“You are okay with that?”

Yoongi gives him a small smile, the corners of his mouth slightly uplifting, and shrugs, feigning bravery and trying to hide how nervous he is about this whole situation. But he wants to hug Taehyung because he really thinks he deserves that.

“Sure,” he nods, ”and then…then we are going to dye your hair.”

He is so comfortable around Taehyung, and it is not the first time he feels that but the first time he feels it so clearly that he doesn’t even flinch when he suddenly has Taehyungs arms wrapped around him, his taller stature and certainly heavier weight pushing him back a step.

“Let’s speak clearly next time, Yoongi,” Taehyung says, words muffled in Yoongi’s black hair that probably looks ruffled and unkempt, a birds nest built by rolling around in bed for hours and turning and sleeping on a chair most of the night.

But that doesn’t seem to bother Taehyung.

“You can tell me whatever you think, and I promise I’ll be honest. I am glad you will stay here for a while.”

Yoongi nods again, against Taehyungs soft shirt and the tied towel rubbing against his forehead, but not uttering a word – he doesn’t want to ruin it again, but he also wouldn’t know what to say.

Maybe it’s a minute, maybe too, but the hug lasts longer than just a few seconds like he expected, and then Taehyung lets go of him.

“Okay, let’s dye my hair. If anything goes wrong, I still need time enough to save it before tonight,” and Yoongi agrees.

Taehyung wets his hair, just a little bit and brushes it so that the curls cascade down almost straight…and Yoongi realizes how handsome he is. Like a model, he thinks, and it is not jealousy what he feels then, but he wishes he would look so warm and sunkissed as Taehyung – but he is pale, as if he never saw the sun, and the sun would never be able to give him such a golden glow like Taehyung has, because he would just get a painful, ugly sunburn.

And so he always avoids the sun, but finds everything beautiful that is touched by it’s golden shine, sparkling, illuminated in warm light.

“Snow White”, his father would sometimes call him mockingly when he was drunk, “come here and bring me a beer,” he said and laughed, and his friends laughed with him, and Yoongi hated it, so much, and so all he ever associated with his paleness was the insults he was called.

Taehyung sits down onto a small stool in front of the sink, and Yoongi steps behind him, gloves on and dye-bottle ready.

Taehyung has a radiant appearance, golden and elegant, his skin a warm tanned tone and his hair such a beautiful dark chocolate…

”Why red?” He asks then as he begins to apply the chemical cream over Taehyungs hair, carefully and neatly coating each strand and then massaging the bright orange cream into it.

If he had Taehyung’s hair, he would not colour it, though.

Well, Yoongi’s hair is not naturally black either, to be honest. He likes to dye it black every now and then, or use one of those colouring shampoos, but he always buys the cheapest ones he can find which only cost a thousand won or are free, just a sample, barely enough to do the job.

But Yoongi’s hair is not the same beautiful shade of brown as Taehyung’s hair.

It is just a plain, simple and pale dark brown that nearly appears black anyway, it’s boring. But it helps to keep a low-profile, allows him to blend in easily and makes him less conspicuous, less noticeable, and helps to attract less attention.

Exactly what he likes, what he prefers.

Unfortunately, it’s his light, pale skin makes his preference for wearing dark colours to avoid attention less effective.

“It matches the outfit I planned for tonight,” Taehyung answers.

Is he planning to wear black, white?

Both colours would fit him well.

And would Taehyung’s hair really turn out red with this hair dye?

It looks so orange right now that Yoongi is a little bit worried, but he does what Taehyung asked him to do, and he tries to do his best.

It’s so calming doing this task, now that they are here – Taehyung sitting, Yoongi standing behind him - and the awkward, horribly gone wrong conversation at the beginning is left behind them.

Yoongi would never have thought that he would like doing someone else’s hair, especially someone who he isn’t even very close with - yet.

“Are you curious what kind of event it is?” Comes the question, and Yoongi gets the feeling Taehyung wants him to ask about it, and Yoongi is indeed curious about it, especially because Taehyung looks excited.

“What is it?” He asks quietly, not really bothering to speak louder since it is already quiet in the bathroom, and he is a little bit sidetracked as he parts Taehyung’s hair into even sections, and then squeezes a small amount of the dye onto it to spread it from top to bottom.

“I’m glad you asked!” Taehyungs chuckles and Yoongi has to pause…it’s nice to hear such a light-hearted sound, and then he talks, his voice in a comforting low tone.

And the sound…

…fades away, somewhere.

Where?

Is this real?

The whole atmosphere is in such a contrast to yesterday, to the days before that, and it feels…it feels all a somewhat surreal, as if this is all just a dream and nothing of this is actually happening.

A dream his tired, exhausted, broken mind conjured up to protect him, to cradle him in an unescapable fantasy so that he wouldn’t be able to break any further.

Maybe he is lying in his bed right now, in the apartment he shares with his father, a thin mattress under him and threadbare blankets piled around him, and he sleeps and dreams, trapped, too gone to wake but not gone enough to not dream.

Is this all really real?

Where -

“Are you - Hey, Yoongi?”

And he is back, feet on the tiled floor, hands frozen in motion but still holding a strand of hair in his hands, and when he looks up he sees Taehyungs worried eyes on him, the mirror reflecting the room they stand in, showing Yoongi behind Taehyung.

His own face looks pale, and he tries to reign himself in, force himself to look normal, and not as if he just was…whatever, wherever.

“Are you okay?” Taehyung asks cautiously.

Yoongi nods, a bit haltingly, but he manages.

What was that?

That felt different than his usual spacing-out. It felt more like when he was in that alley, on the ground and just crying, crying, but not really feeling the tears while he felt as if he had lost every connection to the real world, feeling lost and alone, numb in a way but feeling too much at the same time.

“Do you want me to take over? I can do my hair myself if you need a moment, I did it before,” Taehyung offers.

It’s not a bad idea, Yoongi thinks, but he wants…he wants to do this.

He needs to do this, to feel normal. It was nice, actually really nice, before his head decided to go who knows where.

“J-Just let me finish,” Yoongi says, stutters slightly as he feels a little bit shaken up, and feels a little bit embarrassed about how he behaved just now, even if he knows that he has little control over this.

The rest of their hair-salon-session is a little bit quieter, still relaxed, although Yoongi feels as if Taehyung is a little bit more…quieter as well, maybe even cautious.

But it’s nothing Taehyung did. Nothing at all, not in the slightest, and Yoongi feels bad that he brought the mood down, even if it was unintentionally.

And now Yoongi feels off too, off-kilter, as if he could slip back to that weird state any moment again, and he doesn’t want that at all.

And so he tries to concentrate on the hair and dye – because he has to hurry now, he already took too long he thinks – and to what Taehyung is saying.

The event he will be attending is a fund-raising event, he tells Yoongi, and what follows then is very little about the event itself, just where it is and his experiences with similar events, and then he talks mainly about the clothes people usually wear there, and why he decided for what he chose to wear.

It is still nice, but when he is done with Taehyung’s hair he feels tired, and he craves a nap again, or to just lie down and not do anything for a while, maybe taking out his few notebooks he could retrieve from his apartment.

In the end, the decision is made for him when a knock on the bathroom door interrupts their conversation - Taehygung’s enthusiastic ramble and Yoongi’s comments in the form of Hm’s and ‘Oh’s – and a tattooed hand opens the door.

“Hyungs! Am I interrupting?”

Jungkook doesn’t look as if he went to the gym, Yoongi notices.

Also, it certainly hasn’t been long enough to go to a gym and come back, right? Or did he lose that much time?

“Of course not, Kookie. Yoongi just finished my hair, we’re fine,” Taehyung answers and Yoongi nods, steps to the side so that Taehyung has enough space to get up from the stool.

“Oh, that’s great. Did you decide for the red dye, the one I bought for you?”

Oh, so Jungkook bought the dye?

“Yes, matches my outfit,” Taehyung replies and gets up. He looks a little bit funny with the slicked-back hair and his face looks unusually bare. The orange-red dye messily coats his hair – Yoongi did his best - but it already looks more red rather than orange now…Yoongi is curious how it will look in the end.

“I think so, too,” then Jungkook’s attention switches to Yoongi, who is just standing there, quiet, smaller than both of him, and Yoongi feels a little like a stranger between them, two people who seem to be so close, like family, best friends, whatever they exactly are.

“Yoongi-hyung, I need your phone.”

Chapter Text

Jungkook’s room is just as cozy as the last time Yoongi was here.

The daylight is streaming through the window, filling the room with a soft glow that reveals all the little details Yoongi didn’t notice before, when it was dark.

There's a big, plush dog sitting beside the bed with dark, almost eerie eyes that look suspiciously similar to Jungkook’s.

It looks like it's standing guard.

“Here, sit down,” Jungkook says, pulling out a small stool from under his desk and offering it to Yoongi, and Yoongi sits down. It takes Yoongi a second to notice that Jungkook is waiting for him to give him the phone, and so he hands it over. The screen is slightly cracked at one corner, and the case and back scratched up from countless drops. He’s a little embarrassed about how bad it looks, but he has not the resources to get a new one.

Jungkook takes the phone, removes the case, and inspects the back.

Yoongi watches him closely as Jungkook starts fiddling with small screws that Yoongi didn’t even know were there, and wonders if this is what Jungkook is studying at this private university that Seokjin mentioned.

"We're lucky this is an older model,” Jungkook says, his voice focused as he unscrews the back of the phone. “I can work with this easier than newer ones. They’re more complicated.”

Yoongi leans back in the stool, still unsure. He is a little bit afraid what will happen with his phone – if it gets damaged or altered in some way that he cannot use it normally anymore, he wouldn’t know what to do.

He hopes Jungkook know what he does, because Yoongi has absolutely no knowledge about it and wouldn’t notice if he did something wrong.

His phone is precious, even if it scratched up and old.

Earlier, he feared that he lost his phone, but after searching his pockets and bag, he finally found it hidden in a small inside pocket of his hoodie. He was so relieved.

Jungkook continues to unscrew the back of the phone, then gently lifts the cover off. He takes a quick glance at the internal components. "Alright," he mutters, "now for the system."

Yoongi watches, still confused. What exactly is Jungkook doing to his phone? It all looks so small, and he cannot imagine himself poking in there, scared to damage the delicate technology. He catches a glance the battery and tiny chips inside, and Jungkook pulls out a cable from his desk drawer.

"Just making it safer," Jungkook explains while clicking on his laptop. "I’m going to set up some things that stop people from easily tracking or hacking your phone." He types something quickly on the keyboard, and Yoongi sees a command window pop up on the screen. Jungkook's fingers are fast, his eyes never leaving the display as he works.

“You’re... modifying the system?” Yoongi asks, a little uncertain. “Do you…did you do that before?”

Jungkook gives a quick glance up at him. "It’s not as complicated as it sounds," he says, before focusing back on the screen. "I’m going to put some extra security on your phone so that no one can sneak into it."

Yoongi blinks. "Sneak into it?"

Jungkook nods. “Yeah. Some people know how to get into your phone without you noticing, and tracking you. I’m just locking those doors. The other gang, they have some ways to find you if they want, so we need to prevent that.”

Yoongi watches as Jungkook connects his phone to the laptop using the small USB cable. A few seconds pass, and Jungkook’s fingers start typing again. The phone’s screen flickers once, then a small loading circle starts spinning.

“Now I’m putting up some extra protection,” Jungkook continues, looking satisfied with what he’s done so far. "This will make it harder for anyone to find out where you are or get into your stuff."

Jungkook switches between a couple of open tabs on the laptop, downloading some kind of file, and then proceeds to open another window where he starts running a command. Yoongi can’t follow everything, but he gets the gist: Jungkook’s adding some software, security that will make it harder for people to get into the phone without permission and track him.

He isn’t sure if this is really necessary, but if Jungkook thinks that it is necessary, then Yoongi will let him do whatever he thinks is best.

"Okay, now for the last part," Jungkook says, a hint of concentration in his voice, and Yoongi’s still not sure what exactly he’s doing. The commando window on the computer screen looks a bit too complicated, full of strange words he never saw before and English words he isn’t quite familiar with.

“I’m almost finished, don’t worry, hyung!” Jungkook tells him, and he has probably noticed Yoongi’s worried face.

Yoongi watches as the progress bar on the computer screen fills up. Jungkook’s movements are quick and sure as he types, and Yoongi can’t help but feel reassured by the way he handles everything – it looks professional.

“There,” Jungkook says finally, after what feels like a small eternity. “The phone is locked up tight now. Should be much harder for anyone to mess with it or track you.”

He carefully puts the back cover back on and screws it into place, sealing the phone up. He diconnects it from the cable.

“Here,” Jungkook says and holds out Yoongi’s phone to him.

Just at this moment, a message icon and a name appears on the display, and a sound signals the arrival of a new text message.

“Oh?”

Both of them look at the phone, still in Jungkook’s hands.

It’s clear from whom the message is, but Yoongi is still surprised.

There are only a few numbers saved in his contact list, and usually no one calls or texts him – Seokjin, Jimin and the other ones being a new exception – even less his father, and even less in the last weeks.

He stares at the phone, unmoving.

Jungkook looks at the phone, still in his hand, and up to Yoongi.

“Do you want to…to take it?” He asks hesitantly, most likely noticing Yoongi’s unwillingness to take the phone back.

No, Yoongi does not want to take his phone back if it means he has to read the message.

Whatever his father texted, Yoongi doesn’t want to read it – not now, not today. Maybe another day.

“You don’t want to read it?”

Yoongi nods.

Jungkook lets his hand sink and leans back. “How about - what if I read it, and I tell you what it says?”

That sounds…actually not that bad.

But still, Yoongi does not want to know, to hear anything from his father now.

If he texted him, that means he is well enough, right?

That’s all he needs to know now.

“Maybe just…can you just read it, and if it’s – if it is important, you tell me?”

That seems like the best idea.

The silence that follows when Jungkook looks at the phone is…uncomfortable.

Not because he is uncomfortable around Jungkook, though.

It is only because Yoongi waits for something, and the waiting and the silence is heavy and the time syrupy, weighing down on him like tar.

He watches as Jungkook reads whatever is on the display, his body tense and his face concentrated. He doesn’t look happy.

“Can I delete it?” Jungkook asks, his voice carefully controlled, but Yoongi can hear that he is upset—maybe even angry.

“I want to delete it. It’s not important; I’d tell you if it was,” Jungkook adds.

Yoongi guesses that whatever his father texted him was not very nice. It’s probably similar to the usual disrespectful, angry, and degrading comments he makes directly to Yoongi.

It seems like he still can’t stop.

He is probably angry that he didn’t get his money, or that Yoongi is away from him now, not there for him to order and bully around.

He doesn’t want to read whatever he wrote.

He nods, allowing Jungkook to delete the message. It feels nice—surprisingly relieving, too. It’s as if Jungkook is a shield, filtering the world for him. And if it’s not possible to filter everything, then he at least tries to soften the impact of what can’t be filtered.

It is not very late yet, but the sun already starts to sink towards the horizon.

After Jungkook modified his phone, Yoongi had suddenly felt the urge to…be alone.

It’s not that spending time with Jungkook, Taehyung or the other ones is tiresome, but Yoongi feels tired, especially after the restless night he had – and since that weird spacing-out earlier, he felt like everything is just a bit too much, too loud, too everything.

So, he wanted to be alone.

Going down to the living room to settle down there had felt…weird.

It’s not his house, he is still a guest, and just lounging somewhere in the main living area seems just a little bit wrong for him.

But going back to the guest room also felt not right.

He likes the room, but when he entered, standing there alone felt isolating, the silence somehow too heavy, too thick, as he contemplated whether to stay in the guest room or rather…go somewhere else.

Somewhere else.

Somewhere else turned out to be the room at the end of the hallway. The door was always wide open, and it looked peaceful and comfortable even when he only viewed it from the hallway.

Was it a lounge room, a smaller living room?

Definitely not an office, because it lacked any desks or anything else that would be typical for an office.

The room looked nice, though.

Just big enough to fit two medium sized sofas and two comfy looking chairs on both side of a coffee table, some plants and a filled bookshelf.

This felt nice.

It feels nice.

Yoongi chose the sofa closest to the wide, big window, settled on the far end of it to lean against the cushions and gaze out of the window, letting his eyes slip shut.

“Here,” a voice suddenly rips him out of the slumber he unknowingly slipped into.

He startles and turns around to the voice –

Namjoon.

What is Namjoon doing here?

The older man stands in front of him, the coffee table between them, holding out a glass of water along with some pills. The confusion on Yoongi’s face must be evident, clearly visible enough for the older man to notice.

“Seokjin says you should take these for a few days, so don’t skip your dose,” he says, his voice…calm, not neutral, cold or slightly angry or frustrated like most of the time Yoongi heard him speak, but actually sounding friendly.

But still…why is Namjoon here, instead of someone else, like Seokjin?

Yoongi sits up to take the glass and pills – he can still feel the various aches on his body, so maybe it’s best if he follows Seokjin’s advice – and as soon as he takes it, Namjoon sits down, right in front of him on the other sofa and the coffee table between them, looking relaxed in his loose clothes.

“Did Jungkook modify your phone?” he asks then, and Yoongi suspects very strongly that Namjoon told Jungkook to do that.

So, he guessed right earlier.

He nods and takes a sip of water to help swallow the two white pills. He hopes they will take effect soon. The position he was lying in on the sofa wasn’t good for his body, but he didn’t feel it at first.

Now, though, he can definitely feel the discomfort it caused.

“I was wondering if you, ah…if you are bored, here. Seokjin said if you need anything, you can text him, he is currently out shopping.”

Yoongi is totally at a loss of words, has no idea what to say, what to answer.

Why is Namjoon suddenly so…so nice?

The last time they spoke he even threatened him, even if he went a bit softer, less hostile at the end of the conversation. But still, it was far from being nice.

But this?

This is a really new, confusing development.

Why?

“Anything?” Namjoon asks further when Yoongi doesn’t answer.

There is nothing more Yoongi wants from them than what they are already offering. It’s enough—more than enough, he doesn’t need anything else, or more.

He shakes his head.

It’s fine.

“Nothing? What do you do in your free time, then? You are going to stay for a bit, it could get boring.”

Maybe….maybe he is just trying to be nice, for once. Seokjin probably prompted it, he thinks, and the intention might be good, but still, the sudden change is strange. In addition, Yoongi is not particularly good with people showing care in general, and if it comes from a person who didn't even seem to like him until now…

“Jungkook told me you brought some notebooks with you,” Namjoon tries again, shifting and getting a little bit more comfortable, but his eyes are still focused on him, giving Yoongi his full attention.

Dragon eyes.

Sharp, attentive, the coals of an ancient fire now only glimmering with gentle warmth.

"I did," Yoongi replies softly. If Namjoon is making the effort to talk to him, then Yoongi should make an effort too. It feels fairer and more polite this way. Nevertheless, Namjoon is the one who agreed to let him stay here, under his roof.

He doesn’t know Namjoon’s age, nor Seokjin’s, but they seem to be older than everyone else in this house, at least five years older, he guesses.

Maybe even seven?

Ten years seems like too much.

But they must be older, so Yoongi needs to show respect not only because they let him stay here, but also because they are older.

“Do you need some…pencils? Colours? Taehyung likes to paint sometimes, Jungkook too, so you could ask them for some brushes and colours, maybe –“

“It’s not – I don’t paint,” Yoongi interrupts him softly – and lying a little bit, too. Sometimes, he likes to sketch things. “It’s just for – for w-writing, like…like ly-lyrics?”

He stutters slightly, embarrassed for admitting to writing lyrics, sad and depressing phrases and rhymes, lonely blocks of words, toneless songs full of repressed feelings and hopeless dreams, his grey-scale world pictured and reduced to words on paper.

Namjoon doesn’t know what his lyrics are about, though. And Yoongi doesn’t think he would ever be brave enough to show his notebooks to someone, bare his soul like this. But he is brave enough to admit that he is writing lyrics, even if he feels embarrassed about it.

What if Namjoon thinks it is silly?

He doesn’t seem to be the type to like stuff like this.

“Oh?”

But he only looks slightly surprised, and not in a negative way.

“Do you need some pens for writing, then?” He doesn’t seem to judge it, too, and Yoongi is somehow relieved that he doesn’t need to explain himself further.

And, in fact, Yoongi doesn’t have any pens for writing. Not here. He didn’t think to pack them into his bag when he retrieved his notebooks from his and his father’s apartment.

He nods. “That – that would be nice,” he answers.

He expects Namjoon to leave then, because their conversation just…stops here.

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say, and – even though Namjoon is more than just difficult to read – he gets the feeling Namjoon doesn’t have an idea either.

Whether it’s this or that, he is clearly thinking about something really hard.

Yoongi doesn’t want to sit here and stare into his face, though. That is uncomfortable, weird, and Yoongi has no desire to stare in anybody's face, for that matter.

So, he looks to his side, out of the window again, watching the city.

The view is nice, different than the one from the guest room, different from downstairs, the living room.

He can hear the sound of fabric shifting, weight being dispositioned differently.

“I want to keep you updated about the…situation,” Namjoon says, and Yoongi turns his gaze towards him again.

Actually, Yoongi doesn’t really have any desire to hear anything about this, not right now at least. He is tired and feels wrung out, and he feels too heavy to follow whatever Namjoon wants to say.

“And I actually need information from you, too. So, I’ll ask some questions, you answer whatever you know, okay?”

That…sounds like an interrogation, and even less something Yoongi wants to endure now.

But Yoongi isn’t someone who says something, complains or demands – even though, right now, it would be more than great if he could just say

‘I’m tired, please let’s do this another day’

or

‘please, I’m tired, and I feel like I could break if you ask too much’.

He nods.

“Okay.”

Namjoon regards him for a moment, his attentive eyes flitting over his face, before he speaks, asking his first question.

“When you worked at the bar, with Minho, did someone ever bother you?”

That is…startlingly specific, and nothing Yoongi would have expect to be the first question.

It feels like getting thrown into cold water, a cold shock for his mind that was resting a few minutes before and lazily processing just fleeting thoughts.

“Why?” He cannot help himself to ask.

Maybe Namjoon means something specific, or maybe he is asking Yoongi about this because he know something Yoongi doesn’t, or maybe because he thinks Yoongi is hiding something - still.

“Because I am trying to figure out if  Paektu was already following you before your…father decided to work for them,” Namjoon replies, and Yoongi notices how his tone changes when he speaks about his father, when he mentions him - it doesn’t sound as if Namjoon like to mention him, or likes the thought of Yoongi’s father working with a gang that is Namjoon’s competitor, his enemy.

“So, did you notice anything? Anyone who was…strange towards you?”

There were so many people most of the time. So many weird and drunken glances, people who came too close or were too mouthy, too bold or too strange…how is he able to remember someone who stood out from all of those people?

Maybe…maybe…maybe there was -

“Someone who was rude, or stared too much, or got too close?”

Now that Namjoon mentions this…there was one night, one man who managed to make him even scared for a second, a minute, almost pushing him over the edge of a panic attack.

But was this something suspicious?

Yoongi wasn’t good with drunk people anyway, even less with men who were more the aggressive type of drunk.

Namjoon watches him patiently, but Yoongi can see that he is waiting for a response.

“There w-was one - one guy,” Yoongi starts, struggling how to describe someone he can barely remember.

“He was kind of…kind of aggressive? He - he was loud a-and..he wouldn’t leave me alone until Minho stepped in,” he stops, shudders as he thinks back and how trapped he felt, how the man just came closer and later still seemed to watch him through the crowd.

But at the same time –

“But I think he was just…just drunk?” He nods to himself, ” I think he was just drunk,” he murmurs, then  suddenly feeling stupid to think it was something else than just a guy being drunk.

Namjoon’s brow furrows slightly, looking as if he is absorbing his words, reading something hidden and coming to conclusions even before Yoongi explains more.

“Might have been someone from them, might have been just a drunk guy who had some repressed anger,” he says then, leaning back and sighing.

“There wasn’t anything else?”

Yoongi shakes his head – there wasn’t anything else, at least nothing he remembers now. He tends to kind of blend out everything around him but his tasks, especially if the environment is as stressful as a bar, a club.

“What about someone your father knows, someone who was recently around him and whom you don’t know? Someone who looked a little bit…like a gang member, rough, dangerous?”

Now Yoongi frowns, feeling a little bit weird that he kind of mimics Namjoon’s expression, but it is more like a reflex, really, as he thinks about Namjoon’s question.

It feels a bit overwhelming – too many memories, mostly bad memories, from that place that was his home but also never really was, afternoons and evenings when his father had friends over, drinking and talking and playing some card games and laughing when Yoongi scrambled back, trying to avoid a bottle and splintering glass, trying to avoid bruising grips around his wrist as they demanded his attention while ordering him to bring them food, beer, cigarettes and money to gamble, play cards and pay the woman lounging on their laps, demanding him to –

“Yoongi-ssi,” Namjoon calls, softly, not loud, but still demanding his attention yet again, why does it never end, why –

“Yoongi, look at me,” he says, leaving away the honorifics, and he leans forward but Yoongi doesn’t really see him, just a person bigger than him, body sturdier than his own, taller and towering and –

And he flinches back against the couch, a pillow beside him falling down with a soft thud, but his back is pressed against the backrest, and he feels frozen, his limbs tense and ready to jump, flight, get away before –

“Concentrate on me, alright? It’s just me,” Namjoon says but…but what does it mean?

What does it mean?

What does it mean, what does he mean, what does he want, what did I do wrong?

What did I do wrong?

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles fast, his tongue too clumsy and disconnected to formulate the words clearly, “I – sorry, I didn’t -,”

“Yoongi,” Namjoon repeats, getting around the coffee table to stand beside the couch, hovering close, too close, to tall –

“It’s just me, you’re safe.”

But he isn’t safe, too tall and too rough, too cold and too unfamiliar.

Not safe, not safe, not safe, “not…I’m not – isn’t – I need to…need to –“

He barely registers that he is hyperventilating, breathing too shallow and too fast.

Yoongi's chest rises and falls too quickly, and the air feels thick in his lungs, too thin to get a full breath. His hands tremble, and the world feels like it's pressing on him from all sides. His heart hammers in his chest like it's trying to escape.

"Yoongi, look at me," Namjoon's voice is firm, but there's something soft beneath it—like he’s trying to keep Yoongi grounded. It’s not harsh. Not cold. It’s almost... calm, like Namjoon’s trying to keep the pieces of Yoongi together, to keep him here and now so that the pieces don’t float away.

But Yoongi can’t—he can't focus, not when everything feels like it’s pressing down on him, shadows and phantoms of the past reaching out to him, squeezing his wrist, his lungs.

He looks away, eyes darting around the room, the light from the window making everything feel blurry and distant, but he cannot look at Namjoon any longer. His hands, clenched tight at his sides, won’t stop shaking. He doesn’t know what’s happening, why it’s happening.

“Yoongi, breathe with me,” Namjoon says again, a little closer now.

Yoongi wants to say something, anything to make it stop, to apologize or to say he is fine, but he isn’t and his mouth is dry. His throat tightens like he can't speak at all, like the words are stuck somewhere deep inside, and no matter how much he tries to pull them out, they won’t come.

Namjoon steps closer, his shadow falling across Yoongi’s lap. The older man doesn’t seem to want to intrude the safe space between them, but he comes closer, slowly.

Then he stops.

He just waits, and Yoongi isn’t sure if he’s supposed to say something or just... let it happen.

“Yoongi, hey,” Namjoon speaks again, and it’s soft this time, almost like a reassurance. “Look at me, okay? You’re okay. You’re safe here. Breathe, alright?”

Yoongi doesn’t know if he can breathe. He’s too dizzy. Too caught up in the rush of his heart pounding and his body trembling. But Namjoon’s voice—

it’s steady, it’s there, like something to hold on to.

Suddenly he wishes Seokjin was here, or maybe even Jimin, but both of them are not here and strangely...Namjoon doesn’t so different from both of them.

“Just follow my breath. In, out,” Namjoon murmurs, breathing in and out loudly through his mouth, loud enough for Yoongi to hear, a rhythm that Yoongi tries to latch onto, even if it feels impossible.

He takes a shaky breath in, and his chest constricts tighter.

“Yoongi…” Namjoon leans down slightly, just close enough for Yoongi to feel his presence without it being overwhelming. His voice drops lower, a little more comforting. “In with me. You’re okay. Just breathe.”

Yoongi tries again.

In.

Out.

In, out.

It’s still shallow, still not enough, but there’s something about Namjoon’s tone, his calmness, that starts to pull him out of his head, little by little.

The seconds stretch long, and Yoongi’s hand, the one still gripping the edge of the couch, slowly begins to loosen. His breath comes easier.

It’s still not perfect, but it’s there.

It’s something, it’s better.

Namjoon doesn’t rush him, doesn’t do anything but breathe.

He stays there, just close enough to be a constant presence, a reminder that Yoongi isn’t alone in this moment. His voice, steady and slow, keeps guiding Yoongi to take breath after breath.

“You’re okay,” Namjoon repeats, over and over, like a mantra.

And Yoongi— tries to listen to it, tries to be okay.

Finally, after what feels like forever, Yoongi’s breathing starts to level out. His body still trembles, but it’s not as frantic anymore. The weight in his chest isn’t as heavy.

“I’m... sorry,” Yoongi whispers, barely audible, his voice cracked and raw.

He feels ashamed, really.

It is embarrassing to break down just because he...he thought a little bit too detailed about his home, his father, the people he brought home and who were almost never nice to him, and so his mind took him down like a whirlwind, with debris and dusty clouds trapping him in the middle of the storm his mind created.

It is embarrassing, and also concerning.

What if he is still breaking, faster and faster, now that he is somewhere safer than before?

Is he breaking until there is nothing left, unable to function, unable to get back together?

But Namjoon doesn’t seem to accept the apology, doesn’t want to accept it, maybe.

Instead, he just nods slowly – why? – and his gaze is soft but intense.

“You don’t need to apologize for this,” he says, his words simple but grounding. “Just take your time.”

Yoongi can’t bring himself to look directly at Namjoon, not yet, but the quiet reassurance in his tone is enough to calm the storm inside for now. He feels exhausted.

Worn out.

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon says then, “this is my fault, I – I didn’t consider that the last few days, weeks -,”

Years, Yoongi adds in his mind absently,

“were difficult for you, so I should not have pushed you that far.”

“But...But you still need answers,” Yoongi says then quietly – because it is true, Yoongi cannot get around answering questions, because he knows these are essential to solve this whole situation. Namjoon needs Yoongi’s cooperation, even if he breaks, even when he threatens to shut down like he almost did.

“Yes, I – I do,” he replies, and then “can you look at me for a second? I like to look at the people who I am apologizing to.”

That is a strange request, Yoongi thinks. Unfamiliar, too.

People, in general, don’t really like to apologize to Yoongi, or just don’t deem it, him¸ worthy enough to apologize.

Namjoon is different than his first expression suggests, he begins to realize.

Still, it doesn’t really change that, coupled with the nature of the questions he asked, his whole outer appearance and expression almost sent him almost into a panic attack.

Still, he does as Namjoon asks, turning his head back around to look at him – the shirt he is wearing looks soft, nice, and it is a good point to focus on rather than his eyes.

He isn’t sure what he would find there, but neither pity nor some fake concern is what he wants to see right now.

He doesn’t see pity in Namjoon’s face, just concern, and a calming aura so similar like Seokjin’s.

“I am sorry,” Namjoon says, “it wasn’t my intention to upset you.”

That sounds genuine.

“I will leave you alone for now, with the questions, I mean. I will talk with Minho about what you told me, don’t worry about it now, he adds, and Yoongi nods quietly, not really feeling up to talk right now.

Namjoon steps back, just a few steps, and nods to the coffee table.

“Text Seokjin if you need anything.”

And then, with one last, slightly concerned gaze, he leaves.

Yoongi doesn’t text Seokjin.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to, he was actually just taking the phone in his hands when a shadow appears in the corner of his eyes, and when he looks up, there is Jungkook, again.

Yoongi is glad that he is here.

“Hyung,” Jungkook says as he steps closer, carefully, quietly, his tattooed hand holding a small case, a pencil case.

“Hi hyung, can I sit with you?”

Yoongi nods, because why wouldn’t he?

Jungkook is comfortable to be around, and even if he doesn’t really feel like talking a lot or socialising a lot right now, he knows that being around Jungkook will calm him further, distract him.

Jungkook settles beside him, and he sets down the pencil case and two small notebooks on the table in front of them.

Then, he turns to Yoongi, simply looking at him, maybe even observing him for a moment, before he speaks again, ”would you like to draw a little bit? You brought a few notebooks with you, so I figured you like to draw.”

So attentive, those dark eyes.

“I don’t really...draw,” Yoongi says, his voice a bit scratchy, ”it’s more like...sometimes I sketch.”

“Oh, really? That’s nice. Tae-hyung and I have painting sessions, sometimes,” Jungkook replies, but then corrects himself, ”well no, these days it is a little bit rarer we get to do that, maybe twice a month? But we could do that together sometime,” he offers.

That sounds...nice.

He has no idea if he would like that.

The only times he had ‘painting sessions’ with other people was when he went to school and back then he didn’t really like it even though it was the only course besides music where he felt as if he was remotely good at something.

But over the years, he felt as if he lost his sense for colours.

Painting now feels like being stuck in a blank space, drifting and floating, too high and too deep, memories and fantasies overlapping, brush in his hands and colours dripping down, down, down –

red like blood, blue like his veins and yellow like fading bruises.

Black and white is easy.

Writing is easier.

“I write,” he says and surprises himself with that – how easy it is to tell Jungkook this.

“Hm,” the answer sounds from his right side – Jungkook had grabbed a notebook, a pencil, opening the notebook to an empty page.

“Namjoon does too.”

And with that, Jungkook surprises Yoongi this time.

“He...he does?”

Namjoon, the intimidating man, likes to write?

“Jep. He likes to write romantic poems for Seokjin. As far as I know, they met in high school, and this is something he does since they know each other.”

Yoongi can almost not believe it, even if he trusts Jungkook that he is telling the truth.

Namjoon likes to write romantic poems?

That sounds oddly...endearing.

Namjoon does not appear endearing.

“He also says that it helps to let go of things, or to give things a shape, you know? Just like drawing,” Jungkook says and at that Yoongi looks over, down at the previously blank page.

It’s not blank anymore.

It looks like flowers, just rough sketches for now, and flower buds, leaves.

“That’s why I – why I like writing, too.”

Jungkook humms as a reply, and Yoongi is content to watch him drawing.

He is good, really.

Some of them look like lilies, some of them might be roses and...is there lavender?

It might be another flower, he isn’t sure. Maybe when Jungkook adds some colour he would be able to recognize what type of flower it is.

Jungkook’s pencil glides across the page, the quiet scratch filling the space between them. Yoongi hadn’t known Jungkook liked to draw—had never seen him with a sketchbook before—but the way he focuses, eyes narrowed in concentration, makes it clear this isn’t just a passing habit.

Yoongi shifts under the blanket, still sluggish with exhaustion, but his curiosity lingers. He watches as delicate shapes begin to take form—petals, soft and layered, stems curling in elegant lines.

Flowers.

It’s almost surprising. He’d expected something else.

“You drawing flowers?” Yoongi asks, voice rough from earlier, still.

Jungkook doesn’t look up. “Yeah, looks nice, right?”

Yoongi studies the page, the way Jungkook’s fingers move with quiet precision. “Why flowers?”

Jungkook hesitates for just a second, barely noticeable, before he keeps shading in the delicate edges of a petal. “They just—look nice, I guess.”

Yoongi hums, unconvinced, but doesn’t press. His gaze lingers on his tattoos, then, small symbols, lines that creep up his hand and continue under the sleeve of his shirt.

“Did you design your tattoos?”

He wondered about this before. And now it would make sense why he has so many different ones, the little crown, the heart, the tip of a tail from something peaking out under the sleeve.

“Just a few.” Jungkook tilts his wrist slightly, glancing at them as if seeing them for the first time.

“I only had two when I met Jin-hyung and Namjoon-hyung. I think this might have been a reason why Namjoon thought I was already in some gang...I mean I was on the way to be, to be honest. But-,” he sighs heavily, letting the pencil pause on the paper without drawing.

“You know, he feels bad about earlier. He needs a little bit of time to warm up,” and then he chuckles, first just lightly. “But you’re like...Jin-hyungs kitten, and he will scold him so much later! So don’t worry,” he adds reassuringly, chuckling more, almost laughing now.

“I’m not a – a kitten,” Yoongi protests. “If anything, I’m an adult cat, not baby.”

At this, Jungkook laughs louder, the pencil hovering in a safe distance above the paper.

Jungkook grins, eyes glinting with amusement. “Sure.”

“That’s what you said!”

“I’m serious,” he still protests, but there’s no real annoyance behind it.

He looks away—but he’s smiling, too.

Chapter Text

The shelf is old, cheap wood layered with uneven coats of paint, the kind that chips at the edges if you run your fingernail over it. It wobbles slightly when Yoongi presses his hand against it, but it stays upright. Steady enough for him to lean against it, to reach the higher shelves.

His new friend sits beside him, playing with the fur of a dog plushie, making little pig tails all over his body.

Yoongi doesn’t like it, but stays quiet about it.

They wanted to play together, and Yoongi could convince his parents to have his new friend over, but now that they are here together, they both do their…separate thing.

Yoongi isn’t playing like his friend, doesn't like how he wants to make them look different, pulling at their fur and ears.

So, he isn't playing like his friend.

Not really.

He is just sorting, putting the bigger plush toys in the back, the smaller ones in front.

It makes sense that way. They have their own order, their own stories.

The little, fluffy baby plushies in the front, the bigger, older ones behind them, babies, parents.

His fingers hover over one of them, a bear with a missing button eye, and then he takes it and mutters absently, “the bad parents go in the back.”

A sharp breath behind him. A pause.

“You shouldn’t say that, that’s mean,” his friend whispered, “You’re a mean friend, I don’t like that”.

It sounds like a warning, and Yoongi fears that his still new friend is suddenly not really his friend anymore.

Then, quieter, “I’m telling your dad.”

Yoongi’s stomach flips, uncomfortable, a bad feeling.

He turns around, takes a step, “Wait, I —”

But the door creaks open before he can stop his friend, and the footsteps are already retreating down the hall while Yoongi stays rooted to the spot.

Light footsteps, quick, barely making a sound, too fast for Yoongi to react.

“Alright, get home you brat. Take you things and leave!”

A door creaks open, falls shut again.

And then a chair scrapes against the floor, a bottle clinks.

Then a thud—a hand slamming against something.

The wall?

The table?

Then footsteps.

Then teher are the footsteps, coming closer, closer.

Heavy.

Fast.

And Yoongi tenses.

“What did you just say?”

The voice is rough, slightly slurred. Still distant, and yet too close already, only a few steps away from his door, his room.

Yoongi takes a step back from the shelf.

The hallway light spills into the dim room as his father fills the doorway, his stance off-balance but no less imposing. His face is already twisted into something between anger and amusement. The kind of look that can turn either way depending on how the next few seconds play out, but he knows the chances are high that it will be not pleasant.

Yoongi knows this – unpredictable yet predictable in its own way.

“Say it again.”

Yoongi’s lips part, but no sound comes out. He swallows, his pulse loud in his ears, his hands curling into his long sleeves.

“You talkin’ shit now?” His father takes a step inside, the room suddenly smaller. His voice is louder now, shaking at the edges. “Got something to say, huh?”

“I didn’t mean—”

The air shifts.

Yoongi flinches before he even registers the movement.

A sharp sound, a rush of air, a sting blooming across his cheek before he can process it.

Not a slap, not exactly.

More like a shove, the heel of a hand against his face, knocking him off balance.

He catches himself against the shelf, the unsteady wood tilting under his weight.

A stuffed rabbit tumbles down, landing by his feet, the pale pink fur instantly dusty from the floor.

Tears spring up in his eyes, stinging, but not spilling over.

His father exhales sharply, a frustrated, angry sound.

“God, you’re so damn sensitive, and a goddamn brat.”

Yoongi doesn’t move.

Doesn’t breathe.

Doesn’t speak.

His father scoffs, shaking his head, stepping back but not leaving yet.

“Next time, think before you open your damn mouth, or there will be other consequences” he says, finally turning away. The moment is already over for him, action and frustration carried out, and now the bottles and tv are more important again.

Already forgotten.

The air still feels thick with his father’s presence, like the room itself is still too small, peace and childish joy vanished and replaced by a heavier atmosphere.

Yoongi shudders, but doesn’t move otherwise.

He stands frozen, pulse hammering behind his ears, eyes locked on the rabbit at his feet.

Tiny black eyes, stitched-on expression unchanged.

Still looking at him the same way it always had.

Empty and unalive, but still friendlier than the eyes of the man who is his father.

His breath hitches.

Something inside him curls in on itself.

He wants to curl into himself.

He turns around sharply, barely registering the tremor in his hands as he climbs into bed, shoving himself against the wall in the corner, knees tucked tight to his chest.

He pulls the dark blue blanket over his head, pressing his face into the fabric.

The darkness should help.

Should make him feel safe.

But it doesn’t.

He feels his tiny body shudder again and again, and the air is trapped inside his lungs, his throat feels both too thick and tight.

His body is too tense, too wired, every muscle still braced as if something else is coming.

His father’s voice still echoes in his head, words blurring together, sharp and cutting and angry.

His cheek still burns where the shove had landed, the phantom weight of it still lingering.

Stinging.

He squeezes his eyes shut, a stinging tear finally spilling over. His breath comes too fast, too shallow, and he presses his hands over his ears, as if that could drown everything out, as if that could undo the way his chest feels like it is caving in.

He wants to cry.

He feels like he would cry any moment now, more tears ready to flow freely.

The pressure builds in his throat, behind his eyes, a swelling ache threatening to spill over.

But he can’t.

He wants to be strong.

He bites down on his lip, digs his nails into his arms.

If he cries, he will feel more miserable, he doesn’t want to feel like this, he wants to be strong, he wants to play like before, he wants it to be okay again.

He doesn’t want to cry because it hurts.

And if he feels the hurt, then he would just feel alone, and he knows there is no one to make it stop, or to make it better.

His father is probably already slumped on the couch again, bottle in hand, everything forgotten.

His friend had gone home, as far as he knows.

And the rest of the house—the whole world, it seems—just moves on, like nothing has happened.

Like nothing ever happened, like Yoongi doesn’t matter.

Yoongi curls tighter into himself, shrinking into the smallest space he could take up.

Maybe if he makes himself small enough, he could disappear completely.

Maybe if he stays quiet enough, the fear and hurt would pass.

Maybe if he keeps his eyes closed, everything will be okay.

He stays like that for a long time, breath shaking, body aching from how tightly he holds himself.

The rabbit still lies on the floor, staring up at the ceiling.

It doesn’t move, never does.

Yoongi wishes it would be alive, could be a better friend than any he ever had.

“That’s…really not necessary,” Yoongi says shyly as he looks at Jin.

“Huh? I don’t want to take it with us because it is necessary,” Seokjin says.

“It looks a little bit like our Jungkookie, right, hyung?” A third voice says.

Despite Jin’s and Namjoon’s plan to not leave him out of the house before the whole…situation is resolved, they are currently standing in a mall.

Yoongi isn’t quite sure how it came to that, but he overheard Jungkook talking to Seokjin and Namjoon one evening, and maybe there was Jimin’s voice too.

“Hyungs, you cannot just make him stay here all the time. We don’t know how long it will take,” Jungkook says.

“Kookie, it is too dangerous. Even though we managed to get more information about them, we are not sure when they will strike again.”

That’s Seokjin.

“But you can’t just lock him in here! I swear he falls asleep whenever he sits down, and I think that the lack of fresh air and sun really isn’t good, especially in his condition!”

“He is right, hyung. I think he needs to get outside at one point, he doesn’t really look that healthy,” says a voice that sounds like Jimin’s.

Yoongi feels a little embarrassed at the words.

Does he really look that bad?

He knows he looks tired and is too pale, always has been, and he also never really liked to go out that much, but he can’t admit that fresh air and sun sound…nice.

It would be nice.

He looks down the hallway, where the lounge is, and spots the sun filtering through the windows.

“How about you take him out during the day, maybe where it is busy, and…do something nice? Maybe nothing strenuous, I think his injuries are still bothering him, but something slow and relaxed so that he just gets out a little bit.”

Jimin’s suggestion sounds nice.

He wonders what they will plan, and when they are doing whatever they have in mind.

“Why – Why does it look like…Jungkook?”

“Doesn’t it? I always think Kook looks like a cute rabbit. Maybe not a pink rabbit, but you can’t deny they have some similarities, right?”

The pink plushie, pale pink, hovers in front of Yoongi’s face, getting swayed left to right, and he has to fight the urge to take a step back.

“I – I don’t think -“

“Don’t you like it, Yoongi-ah?”

Seokjin looks at him with a sad face, obviously not seriously sad, but nonetheless faked well enough to make Yoongi feel bad for refusing.

He is a good actor when it counts, Yoongi thinks.

“It’s…It’s cute,” he admits, embarrassed and mutters the last word so quietly that he isn’t sure they heard it.

“Well, then we will take it,” Seokjin decides and turns around.

“We still have to look for the towel section, and hopefully we will find the ones that Joon-ah destroyed accidentally. They were a set, so I hope they still have it.”

Yoongi has no idea what’s the story behind the towels, but he is sure that Seokjin makes it more dramatic than it sounds. Namjoon doesn't seem to be that clumsy, at least not to this degree that he would be able to destroy towels.

“Come on, Yoongi-ssi, let’s go! Maybe we’ll find something else for you!”

The cheerful voice beside him is still slightly more unfamiliar than everybody else’s.

It’s bright, lively, full of energy.

The oddly patterned jacket makes him stand out from the monotone, unshaped colours most people walking around here are wearing, and even though he hasn’t chosen to wear bright colours today, he is still like a beacon of light in the grey light of the day.

Hoseok still has the glow of a sun, even if he shines in another way.

He wonders if only he is seeing Hoseok like this, or if everybody sees him like this.

Maybe it is only Yoongi, though, because Hoseok, Hope, seems like the opposite of him.

And Yoongi wonders how someone can be this lively all the time, this bright, as he follows him and Seokjin to the towel section.

It's refreshing to walk outdoors for a change, seeing something different than the same rooms, albeit the rooms are nice. He doesn’t want to complain, would never complain about something like this, but…he is glad Jungkook could change their minds, convince them.

He was surprised, though, that Hoseok came with them.

It came kind of out of the blue, and he isn’t sure if it was a spur of the moment decision, or if Seokjin asked him beforehand and this was planned.

“Do you want to sit down, Yoongi-ssi? There is a chair, if you want to,” Hoseok says and points to a small, grey chair beside a shelf.

Yoongi thinks he is probably asking about this because he is still healing from bruises and just stopped taking painkillers a day ago. Some areas of his body still twinge and sting with sudden or odd movements.

“I’m fine,” he answers, a little bit uncomfortable how attentive Hoseok is, because he still doesn’t know him, doesn’t know anything about him other than that he is Hope, a rapper, energetic, light and fast and bright.

A sun.

Someone who is quite direct, apparently, but still a gentle warmth in his own way.

He mostly saw him on the stage, back in the bar, only watching and kind of…admiring his glow, his talent, his simple being.

And then he saw him in the house, a few times, but the only time he talked to him a little bit more was when Yoongi was just a guest anyone barely knew yet.

Now, he is sure Hoseok knows far more about him than Yoongi knows about Hoseok.

“We should take a break after this, though,” Seokjin says, seemingly searching the shelf in front of him for the towel set he wants to get, “it is almost lunch time, and I’m not letting you both starve. Lunch is important for a balanced diet,” he lectures.

Yoongi doesn’t say that he isn’t really hungry.

Their breakfast was plentiful, rich with delicious things he barely gets to eat otherwise, but he is still full, and he is sure he wouldn’t be able to stomach much now.

“Aw, hyung, you never let us starve. I swear, I’m eating far too much these days!”

Hoseok doesn’t sound serious, more playful than complaining, but Seokjin still bristles at that.

“Hoseok-ah,“ he starts but doesn’t say more, and Yoongi catches Seokjin’s meaningful glance towards him.

A warning?

“Sure, sure, let’s get something to eat after, hyung! Balanced diet and all, it’s important, right. Yoongi-ssi, what’s your favourite food?”

And so they go from store to store.

Seokjin didn’t get the towels he was looking for, but then Hoseok remembered something he wanted to look for in another store, and…

And so Yoongi just walks after them.

It’s not that he doesn’t like malls, or stores in general, but…if you don’t have any money to do anything else than just looking, it gets sad and frustrating really quick.

At some point in his early adulthood, he just stopped going to malls unless he really needed something specific that he couldn’t get at a convenience store.

He always felt a bit out of place.

Malls are built for consumerism. People who go to a mall are going there to buy something, maybe also eat in some of the delicious restaurants or get something at a popular food chain restaurant, wearing expensive and pretty clothes and accessories and Yoongi just…

Just feels out of place.

Always did, probably always will.

Even now, walking beside Hoseok and Seokjin, wearing a nice-looking padded jacket Jimin lent to him before they went out, he feels odd.

He knows his jeans and shoes are obviously cheap, worn out, and the way his eyes flicker back and forth between all these unfamiliar and expensive stores and looking tense doesn’t help him blend into the crowd of average mall visitors.

“It’s lunch time, so the restaurant area will be crowded. Is this okay for you, Yoongi-ah?”

Seokjin’s voice breaks through the increasing noise of all the people, and Yoongi takes a few seconds to concentrate on him, meeting his eyes.

In fact, both are looking at him.

There is the already familiar, warm gentleness and concern in Seokjin’s brown eyes, and he meets Yoongi’s eyes steady, ready to listen to whatever Yoongi says – or doesn’t say, only shows.

And there is Hoseok…Hoseok is still…new.

There is a slight smile on his lips, gentle in its own way but still different than Seokjin, and he looks at Yoongi just as Seokjin does but otherwise…he is difficult to read – because that openness and warm expression doesn’t waver, and Yoongi begins to wonder what’s behind it, and how long it will take for whatever is behind it to break through.

“Ah, yes, s-sure,” he answers belatedly.

“Really? We can also just go home earlier, and I can cook something –“

“Na, hyung, you always cook. If Yoongi-ssi doesn’t want to stay here, we could just get something delivered, no? Maybe –“

“Ho- Hoseok-ssi, Seokjin-hyung,” Yoongi interrupts them hesitantly, “it’s fine, we can – can eat here.”

He doesn’t want them to go out of their way for him just because he is nervous being around that many people, nervous and tense when there are people everywhere, close and feeling like they stare at him, perceive him and judging him – he knows places like this one make his anxiety spike, and he knows that he doesn’t want it to stop them having fun.

Because he knows Seokjin and Hoseok are having fun, and he doesn’t want them to stop having it just because Yoongi cannot pull himself together.

Seokjin looks at him, a few seconds longer, and then nods, his expression relaxing a bit.

“Well, then let’s go,” he says, and they walk towards some escalators leading down.

Down, down.

Yoongi wonders if he is in an exceptionally large mall or if he has only ever visited small or mediocre malls throughout his life, missing out on the architectural wonders that humans can create. 

The escalator descends for a long while, and they have to step off one escalator only to board another that takes them even further down. 

In the centre of the building, the open space appears almost intimidating—so vast and empty, so high and deep. The escalators are designed with only a waist-high glass railing, which offers so little protection that Yoongi feels off balance.

He can’t help but lightly grasp the hem of Seokjin’s jacket.

While it provides only a bit of comfort, it makes him feel more tethered, and the frightening possibility of somehow falling over the railing feels just a little less real.

Seokjin doesn’t turn around, but one hand reaches around to Yoongi’s that is attached to his jacket, and his warm fingers close around his hand – not to pull him off, no.

It feels like some extra support, security.

He is glad Hoseok is in front of them both, turned sideways, chatting lightly with Seokjin. He wouldn’t be able to see how Yoongi takes the offered support, how he lets go of the jacket to grasp at Seokjin’s hand – Seokjin’s back is broad and his brown jacket wide, hiding most of Yoongi behind him.

And then, after some more minutes, they are finally there: The restaurants, a wide seating and dining area.

So many restaurants, so many tables.

“So, what would you like to have, Yoongi-ah?”

And so many people.

They have warned him before they went here…there would be many people around lunch time, and they have been right. There are.

“Just…I’m fine with any-anything?” It sounds like a question when Yoongi answers, but he seriously has no idea what he would like to eat, anything would be nice but also…too much.

He feels a little bit overwhelmed - It’s been so long since he has been in such a crowded place like here.

“Well, I will get some Donkatsu,” Hoseok declares excited, already having his gaze locked on one restaurant in particular.

“Well, I will look for a simple noodle dish. What about you, Yoongi-ah?”

Yoongi doesn’t know if Seokjin does it on purpose or not, but the fact that he chooses to get some easy going, simple dish makes Yoongi’s decision so much easier.

Noodles taste good.

Nothing too fancy, too extra or too unfamiliar.

Noodles sounds good.

“Noodles sound nice,” he replies.

They chose a table away from the centre of the seating area, closer to the large windows that allow them to look into the enclosed green area outside.

It seems like every day it’s getting colder, the wind now uncomfortable cold and soon the air will bite too harshly into the skin – scarves and hats are what people opt to wear additionally now, instead of worrying too much about their hair.

Each of them has their serving tray in front of them. The side dishes take up a lot of space on the small tray and Yoongi eats his soup first, but Hoseok concentrates on his main dish for now.

It looks delicious, his own food looks delicious too, but it is a lot, a bigger serving than he thinks he can finish.

Seokjin and Hoseok are chatting away, something about Hope’s next stage performance and discussing some technical equipment stuff – nothing Yoongi really knows about, and therefore losing track of their conversation quickly.

It’s then that he notices something.

Someone.

It could be that Yoongi is simply seeing things, because maybe he is scared of encountering the man who almost kidnapped him this one night again.

But even from the high floor they are sitting in, looking down on all these people lingering and walking around in the small park, this man looks so much like the man Jungkook saved him from.

But it can’t be.

It can’t be.

How would this man be able to find him here?

There is no way.

Seoul is big, and there are probably at least around a hundred malls, bigger and smaller ones, and there is no way that this man would be able to search for him somewhere and find him here accidentally.

It must be another man.

Maybe he needs glasses, he never wants to admit it, but his eyesight is sometimes a little bit blurry and –

“Yoongi-ah, is everything alright?”

He whips his head up, away from the window and facing Seokjin and Hoseok, both looking slightly concerned, worried.

Should he?

But maybe he is wrong, he probably is wrong, so –

“Yeah, I – everything ‘s okay,” he replies.

Neither Hoseok nor Seokjin looks convinced, but they don’t press further.

When Yoongi looks out of the window again, scanning the people out there for this one particular person, he can’t find him again.

At one point, Seokjin passes him the small shopping bag with the pink rabbit, the plushie, with an excuse that he just needs his hands free for a minute or two.

“I’m just going to text Joon that we will be back in a few hours. Can you take it for a moment?”

And of course Yoongi takes it.

The pale pink ears peek out of the bag, just reminding him that now he has this in his hand and it looks just like the one he had back then, so many years ago.

It’s been so long since he thought about one of his favourite plushies he had as a kid, and it seems like a small reminder that he cannot really escape his past, all the things that still linger in his mind as dark and sometimes blurry memories and feelings.

Resurfacing again and again, again.

He just didn’t expect that he’d have to think about this, it again.

Now.

It’s just…just a plushie.

What was its name back then?

“You like it, right?”

Hoseok looks at him, a little bit curious, smiling.

Yoongi nods.

“I had a similar one,” replies quietly, “when I was a kid.”

But he doesn’t really remember the feeling of the fur under his fingers, when he clutched at it as if it was his only comfort in his dark room.

It was, kind of. He didn't have a lot of comfort items as a kid.

Was it soft or was it scratchy from all the times he hugged it so tightly?

“Oh? Then you have two now!” Hoseok doesn’t seem to have noticed that Yoongi used past tense while speaking, seems to not have heard the indication that he doesn’t have it anymore.

“Ah, it’s not...I don't have it anymore.”

He really doesn’t like thinking about it, now that he is thinking about it.

There are no clearly defined emotions bubbling up inside him when he thinks about that one incident when he was a kid. It’s one of those memories that is a bit blurry. Even though he remembers most of the details, the feelings are harder to recall, to remember, to grasp.

“Did you give it away? I remember that most of them fell apart as I got older, but I donated a few that were still in good condition,” Hoseok tells him.

Yoongi thinks that it matches his whole…sunny and hope radiating personality.

But…

“Ah, not – not really,” Yoongi replies vaguely.

Actually, Yoongi has no idea where most of the things from his childhood are.

Maybe…maybe someone took some things with them when they left him and his father.

He doesn’t remember when it was, or how, but at this time, many things that made his life happy and bright vanished without a trace, or only with faint and very few traces left behind.

Hoseok must have noticed that he had struck a sore topic, because then – “I’m sure Jungkookie will be jealous when he sees the small guy. He has a collection of stuff we gifted to him, somewhere in his room I think” he says and laughs, obviously finding it amusing and adorable at the same time.

And it is, Yoongi gets it.

He remembers the big dog plushie, and wonders if it was also a gift and from whom it might have been.

“Yah, my dongsaengs, let’s look for some books,” Seokjin makes himself known again, putting his phone into the pocket of his jacket.

The library is huge.

There are books everywhere, and Yoongi feels as is the calmness and quiet atmosphere of the library seeps into him immediately.

The smell of books, the muted noise of everything and everyone.

Hundreds and hundreds of beautiful, artistically book covers.

Some pretty or just cute decorations here and there, useless but also not really, because it isn’t useless when Yoongi can’t see enough of it, right?

When was the last time he was in a library?

“Yoongi, just look around if you want. I’ll be in the poetry section. Hoseok-ah can stay with you,” Seokjin tells them before heading in the direction he pointed to, and for a second or two, Yoongi is stunned, stopping where Seokjin left them, him so suddenly.

“You’re okay?” Hoseok asks him, and Yoongi startles, somehow surprised even though he knew Hoseok is standing beside him, was, in fact, walking beside him since they entered the library.

He shouldn’t feel so…left alone and a bit betrayed that Seokjin left his side – just for a moment, not for long, he is sure - to look for something that Yoongi is sure Seokjin is seeking for Namjoon.

He is a damn adult, he should be able to be on his own.

Seokjin isn’t responsible for Yoongi, and he also isn’t obligated to stay at Yoongi’s side all the time, just because Yoongi doesn’t feel very comfortable in crowds.

It’s just…

“What kind of books do you like?”

It’s just that he still can’t shake the feeling that the man, the one he saw earlier, is indeed the one he saw before.

It’s not a good feeling, but he still isn’t sure if it wasn’t just his imagination.

And so Hoseok and Yoongi are standing between the shelves.

Well, more like Yoongi is standing on one side, while Hoseok is on the other side, and the only glimpses Yoongi gets of him are through the books when he moves, a shadow, not really here but also not far.

Yoongi skims over the covers of some comics, the bag with the pink plushie dangling from one hand, the other hovering over the books, sometimes pulling one out to be able to read the back cover. It’s been so long since he was just kind of…enjoying doing nothing, just mindlessly looking at things.

He won’t be able to buy anything, since he isn’t working at the moment and has neither his small stash of savings with him – where is it? Is it still under the thin mattress at the apartment? – nor his almost empty wallet.

The sound of the library – all the people moving, talking, the relaxing music from the speakers, the beeps and dings register, the clatter of a small café island in the middle of the library – makes him feel way more comfortable than out there, in the busy mall, especially while he is standing between the shelves here, quiet, in a corner.

It seems like not many people are interested in comics, but that’s fine for Yoongi. That way he can comfortably get absorbed in the moment, just looking at the comics, reading some pages or just the summary.

And so he doesn’t really notice at first that Hoseok is gone from the other side of the shelf, no longer there, gone to somewhere else, probably not really far but certainly not close enough for him to see where –

 - a hand clamps down on his arm.

Firm.

Too hard.

It hurts.

The hand is yanking him forcefully around before he can react, pushing him against the hard bookshelf behind him, and his back slams against the wood. The edge of the wood digs into his back through the jacket, the impact rattling him. He can’t do anything, doesn’t do anything, doesn’t fight back.

Too stunned, paralyzed, immobilized, one hand trapped in the unrelenting grasp of the man, the other almost crushed between his back and the shelf, fingers still clenched around the handle of his bag.

A sharp gasp escapes his lips but the air in his lungs isn’t enough for much more than that, he can barely catch his breath as the man presses his other hand and arm against his chest, keeping him pinned.

“You,” the man says and leans in, “I knew it was you I saw earlier.”

Chapter Text

“What –“

Fear surges up in him, tingling and then burning in his veins, muscles.

Where is Hoseok?

His heart pulses in his ears.

Where is Seokjin?

His breath is short and fast, heaving as he tries to get air, but his body is so tense that even his lungs are too inflexible to work properly.

Why are they not here, why don’t they notice that he is here alone?

Fuck, why now?

Why, how could this man catch him alone?

His fingers clench the handle of the bag, the pink plushie hidden, safe – but he is not safe.

Why is no one else doing anything?

“It’s pure luck that I stumbled over you, but I’m not letting you go again,” he says threateningly, angry.

And because the man is still so close, Yoongi can see some almost healed scratches on his face.

This time, though, Jungkook is not here.

It feels like back then, completely alone and against someone who is so much stronger, bigger. Someone who is not afraid to get physical even in public, even if they are only hidden by a few bookshelves.

And the only two people who care about him, might be able to save him, are close, but not close enough.

Just out of reach, just around the corner.

Just…a little bit too far away.

“Come on, and keep quiet!” The man hisses, yanking him away from the bookshelf and Yoongi stumbles, and it’s only then that he reacts.

He will not go without fighting, not again.

“Le-let me go!”

He shoves the man, hits him at the chest but the man only huffs, barely moving an inch.

The grip around his arm only gets tighter.

“Get going, you –“

This time, Yoongi gives him a kick right in the shin, and it clearly hurts if his sharp hiss is anything to go by.

“You -“

“Hey!” A voice calls out, sharp but more fearful than assertive.

Yoongi is startled by the voice but also relieved that someone else noticed that something is wrong here.

“This – This is a library! N-Not a fight club!” The woman is obviously scared, but not scared enough to stay quiet about it.

Yoongi tries to get out of this man’s grasp again, but he still doesn’t budge, even if most of his attention is now on the woman.

It happens so fast.

Yoongi flinches violently the second he registers what the man suddenly pulled out of his pocket.

It glints silver and metallic in the light, cold, and the sharp edge catches the light dangerously.

The woman shrieks.

Her eyes go wide with fear, locking onto the knife in the man’s hand, and she stumbles back.

“Leave,” the man says, his voice low and threatening. “and don’t even think about calling for help or I’ll come after you too.”

The threat is effective.

In an instant, the woman is gone.

Leaving them alone, leaving Yoongi alone.

“And you,” the man turns back to him again, and Yoongi is still frozen, staring at the blade in the man’s hand, “you’re coming with me, quietly. Got it?” He underlines his words with the knife, moving it over the thin jacket, just above his stomach. The motion is slow, deliberate, full of a silent threat.

The knife is almost hidden between them, shielded by their jackets.

Almost.

But Yoongi sees it, feels it.

Too real.

Too close.

“I only need you to answer questions,” the man continues,” but you don’t have to stay unharmed,” his tone darkens. “So don’t make me use it.”

He’s trying to scare Yoongi into submission, into complete compliance.

And it’s working.

Until there is suddenly a commotion at the café bar, something falling down and shattering, the sound loud and jarring in the quiet comfort of the library, and both of them turn around to the sound, Yoongi still in the man’s grasp, still so uncomfortably close –

“Shit,” the man curses, probably seeing something that Yoongi can’t, because he is too short to look over the shelves –

“fuck, that bitch!” The man curses and Yoongi flinches backwards as much as he can, cringing away from these aggressive words, from the hate, away from the violence but there isn’t anywhere he can go –

“Never easy, damn,” the man mutters and suddenly Yoongi is turned around, pressed against the bookshelf and the hold on him loosens slightly –

The man is distracted while he rummages in his pocket, searching for something, and Yoongi uses the moment to push back against his slackened hold –

“Stay here!”

And he gets violently jerked back, and suddenly -

Suddenly the books beside him, on the shelf, are in flames.

Fuck, fuck!

What is happening?

Everything happens so fast, he....he doesn’t know what is happening, how everything turned so quickly from a relaxed and comfortable noon to this.

The books in the shelf are burning, first just a glimmer and then bright, and then the next ones are smoking and then suddenly catching flames too, one after another.

“What are you – “ Yoongi murmurs quietly but panicked.

“A fucking distraction, “ the man replies nevertheless and yanks him back, ready to use the distraction to his advantage, to get away with Yoongi.

“Yoongi?”

There is it, like a spark that ignites the fire in his chest, the one voice that makes his will to fight grow bigger than the fear, giving him the courage to at least try to fight.

“Yoongi-ah?” Seokjin calls for him again, now definitely more stressed, a slight undertone of panic swinging with it.

“Yoongi-ssi?” Hoseok is with him, their voices coming from the same direction, not far but still not close enough.

“Come on now, you –“ Yoongi interrupts the man by swinging his head back and then forward again, crashing his head into the man's face, feels and hears something crunch and the man stumbles back, a very pained sound coming from him but Yoongi doesn’t wait, doesn’t take a second to look if it was the man’s nose that he hit or his mouth. He turns the second the man stumbles back, almost flying around the shelf’s corner, the smoke of the burning books and wood hitting his nose and accumulating slowly but steadily, the smoke alarms apparently too high above them and not picking the smoke up yet.

He runs around the shelf, but he hears footsteps following him, and he hopes that Seokjin and Hoseok will find him, or that Yoongi runs into them.

Where are they?

As he turns around the next shelf, he stops just for a moment. He is out of breath, so quickly already, and even though he feels the adrenaline burning through his veins, he needs to stop for just a moment, a moment please.

Where is Seokjin, where is Hoseok?

And then, even before the fire alarm, the people notice it.

The fire.

Yoongi’s eyes widen in horror as the fire creeps along the rows of books, the delicate paper and thousands of letters erupting into flames, smoke wafting between the shelves, spreading the bitter and chemical smell of printed books.

And the people finally noticed.

The once-muted murmur of patrons has erupted into panicked shouts as the fire spreads with ravenous hunger, the clatter and noise of people leaving in haste, as fast as they can, shouting and screaming to

Get out, get out!

Hwan-ah!

Where is noona? Noona!

Yoongi!

Yoongi!

“Yoongi-ah, where are you?”

Yoongi’s heart pounds as his body betrays him, his lungs heaving for air but all he smells is smoke, thick and heavy, and he still hides behind the shelf, not able to run, go further away. His legs shake, and his mind is filled to the brim with the chaos around him, panic, panic, chaos and panic –

The comfortable environment of the library has warped into a disorienting nightmare.

He can barely focus on the chaos around him—the frantic scrambling of feet, the clatter of falling books, the shouts of the people –

He tries to steady himself, gripping the shelf for support, but the wood feels suddenly too hot, and he jerks his hand back, stumbling away from the scorching wood, the heat searing his skin even if he only touched it for a few seconds.

He wants to call out, wants Seokjin and Hoseok to find him, and for a second he thinks he caught a glimpse of them through the chaos around him, but then they are gone again.

“Hyung!” He calls out, “Seokjin-hy-“ but his voice cracks as a cough forces itself out of him.

Did they hear him?

Maybe they are –

A sudden, violent tug snaps him from his daze. A hand clamps down on his arm—again, firm, unyielding—and he is jerked sideways, pressed against a row of books that are luckily still untouched by the fire but already far too warm in the rising heat. The shock makes another cough break out of him.

“Here you are,” the man says, like a nightmare, always coming back, always haunting and hunting him.

It’s like a repeat of earlier, the man finding him, pressing him against the shelf, the cold gleam of the knife’s blade and its weight pressing into his side once again.

“You’re not –“

“Yoongi!” The call comes louder now—a desperate, echoing cry from Seokjin, so much open emotion swinging in it, and only a few seconds pass by when he sees them, just a few steps away, so close yet still so far.

“Hyung,” Yoongi whispers, turning his head around as much as he can in this position, eyes wide and lips trembling, but he cannot move, will not move because he can still feel the knife and the man behind him, still holding him in a tight grip.

Seokjin and Hoseok stop as soon as they see him and the man. He can see when they spot the knife that is pressed against him, and both of them look suddenly so…

So dangerous, they look dangerous.

Yoongi shivers even in the heat of the flames, and he is scared of what will happen.

The man behind him freezes too, but he doesn’t let go of him.

“Oh, you’re lucky here are cameras and people around, otherwise - ,” Seokjin says threateningly as he takes a step forward.

“Stop right there!”

The man behind Yoongi jerks him away from the bookshelf and suddenly Yoongi finds himself in front of him, the knife not at his side anymore but at his neck, and at the cold feeling he can’t supress the scared sound that slips out between his lips.

“Yoongi-ah, hyungs will get you out of here, alright?” Seokjin says while Hoseok reaches to his pocket, slipping out a phone.

“Put it away! Now!” The man barks from behind him, and even over all the chaos of the still panicking people around them, it’s so loud that Yoongi flinches.

Hoseok takes his phone down again, his eyes fixed on the man, not straying away for a second.

The flames around them flicker and spread, from book to book, smoke making the air thick and heavy, toxic to their lungs.

His eyes burn.

“What do you want?” Seokjin asks and his hands are held up, hovering in the air, showing that he doesn’t have anything in his hands either, and Yoongi notices soot clinging to the fair skin of his hands.

Hoseok’s eyes are sharp, so dangerously sharp while he watches them.

The man behind him laughs.

It sounds a bit breathless, insane, as if the man is holding onto the last threads of his patience.

“I’ve been trying to fucking find this boy, to make him talk so that we could find you!”

He laughs.

“What a fucking job, really,” he continues, still not moving the knife away from Yoongi’s neck, keeping it there, his leverage.

“Well, now you found us, so what do you want?” Seokjin asks sharply.

“I want to –we want to find all of you! So we can finish you finally! Not the fuck here!”

The yell echoes in Yoongi’s ears, vibrates at his back where he is pressed against the man, and he squeezes his eyes shut so tightly that it pulls the skin around his eyes painfully, but he cannot move away even when he tries to get away instinctively.

It makes so much sense.

It really makes so much sense now.

It was weird that this man, and the other men at his father’s apartment, were trying to get to him, to kidnap him even when someone else was around.

Like that one time when Jungkook was with him at the bar, when they were out together to eat, or that other time when he and Jungkook – and then, luckily, Seokjin too – were at his father’s apartment to retrieve some of his things…

It makes sense now why they still tried to take him, and why they didn’t when he was at Namjoon’s and Seokjin’s home.

They found him easily when he was out walking around the city, but they didn't when he was at their home.

They didn’t know where he was.

They didn’t know where they were.

They want to hit Namjoon and the other ones where it hurts the most, somewhere where they feel safe, somewhere where they will have their guard down.

Home.

Their home.

They want Yoongi because he knows where they are unguarded, knows where they live, and when they attempt a hit at their home while they deem themselves safe and sound, they will finish them.

Yoongi is an easy target.

But they are not.

Just one hit.

That’s probably all that it takes, instead of six single attempts.

Instead of them being a danger to Yoongi, Yoongi – with all his knowledge about their home, maybe even about some of their strengths and weaknesses – is a danger to them.

“Fuck it, Jin, we need to -” Yoongi hears Hoseok’s voice, but he still hasn’t opened his eyes, can’t.

I can’t.

“Yoongi, Yoongi-ah,” Seokjin says over the crackle of the burning wood, the faint sound of sirens getting closer, louder, the people still leaving the library in chaos, still shouting but there is also crying, people calling for their loved ones, searching for the ones who they fear might be still lost in the smoke, too close to the flames.

“Don’t fucking dare getting closer!” The man drags him with him, back, and Yoongi’s eyes fly open when he almost stumbles.

“Don’t look,” Seokjin says when Yoongi meets his eyes.

He feels paralyzed, and his eyes burn, and the man behind him is everything Yoongi is scared of –

 - he shuts his eyes just as tightly as before.

Because he trusts Seokjin.

“What now, huh?” The man’s heavy breathing brushes his neck and he shivers as the man speaks.

There is a clicking noise, and even though Yoongi is scared of what that might be, he doesn’t look.

“You shoot me, I’ll kill him,” the man behind him says and the knife cuts into his skin.

“Hyung,” he can’t help but whimper.

Her hears the sirens.

Then there is the click again, a loud, deafening sound, and then the man screams and he is suddenly jerked back, the man’s grip on him tightening for a seconds to nearly unbearable and then –

- then he is suddenly free.

He falls to his knees as the man behind him groans and gasps in pain, clearly still alive but in pain.

But he still doesn’t look.

He barely hears the footsteps before there are suddenly hands on him, gripping his shoulders and pulling him against a broad chest.

“You’re safe, you’re safe,” Seokjin repeats, words spoken into the crown of his head, strong arms encircling him.

He smells smoke, he smells lavender.

The mix of both smells almost sickening. He never wants to smell it again.

A second pair of feet steps past them, towards the groaning and gasping man.

“Fuck you,” Hoseok says to the man, and something more that is too quiet for Yoongi to understand, before turning back to them. ”We have to go, hyung. The police will probably here soon and deal with him, but we need  to get away from here,” he adds, and Yoongi feels Seokjin nod.

“Yoongi-ah, hold this over your nose and mouth,” Seokjin instructs, pressing his jacket to Yoongi’s face, prying Yoongi’s hands off him and placing them to hold the jacket over Yoongi’s face himself. 

“Come on, get up.”

Seokjin helps him up, and he stumbles. His legs feel weak, and he feels himself shaking.

The man is quiet, and Yoongi makes the mistake to look over.

There is blood.

There is so much blood at the side of his head, pooling on the floor.

His left ear is just…just a mangled mess.

Red.

So deep and bright at the same time, thick and yet liquid enough to spread.

He feels sick.

He hopes the man is unconscious.

He doesn’t look like he is dead.

“Don’t look, Yoongi-ah,” Seokjin says but it’s already too late, and the image stays behind his eyes even when Seokjin and Hoseok lead him away, trying to find the exit through the flames and smoke.

It feels like a dream, a fever dream, the whole way through the burning library.

Everything is blurring in front of his eyes, and he hears Seokjin and Hoseok coughing. Seokjin’s hand pulls him along, one hand tightly gripping his arm. But Yoongi doesn’t mind the tight grip, not when it means they will all get out of here, that they all will be safe.

It feels like too many minutes until they finally stumble through a door, and Yoongi only registers that they took the same exit as most of the other people when he hears them- a cacophony of sounds crashing over him.

He wonders distantly if they will wait for one of the medics from the ambulances, which flicker their blue lights against every surface – a stark contrast to the red of the flames.

But they don’t.

Even though they must feel the effects of the smoke too, coughing and - if Yoongi notices it right - feeling a little weak on their feet as well, they don’t stop.

Together, with Yoongi between them, they mingle among the people, getting one with the crowd, becoming anonymous.

The cool, fresh air almost burns in his airways when he drops Seokjin’s jacket from his face and breathes in greedily.

“Just a bit further, Yoongi,” Hoseok’s voice rings out, and it seems Seokjin needs to hear it just as much as Yoongi. When Hoseok says this, Yoongi gets tugged along faster until they are just far enough from the burning library, out of the crowd and beyond the perimeter where anyone could easily see them.

Seokjin lets go of him and he doubles over, wheezing, and Hoseok braces his hands on his knees and pants, and Yoongi has to lean against the cold wall, the stone hard against his body, but it is a steady crutch.

Seokjin and Hoseok look dishevelled, soot clinging to their clothes and skin.

“I hope that guy dies,” Hoseok mutters and looks up.

I hope he isn’t dead, Yoongi thinks.

All that blood, red, red -

“He isn’t,” Seokjin says,” you’re too good to kill someone.” He straigthens himself and looks over to Yoongi, concern clearly written on his face.

“Yoongi-ah,” he says and is in front of him just a second later, hands grasping his shoulders – gently, so gently – and searches his face for injuries, then looks down and searches for the same on the rest of his body but finding nothing.

“I should have never - never left you alone,” a hand cups his cheek, “never again,” he says and Yoongi is stunned when…

…when Seokjin’s eyes glisten, and…and are those tears?

“Hyung,” he whispers, and not even his own rattling breath can distract and stop him from suddenly worrying about his hyung.

His hyung who is always so steady, a pillar, an everlasting comfort and support. Stable.

“Hyung, we should go,” Hoseok says, getting closer to them.

“I’m so sorry, hyung will never let this happen again,” Seokjin continues, his voice a little bit more stable than before.

Hoseok’s cough brings his attention back to their surroundings, and Yoongi is reminded that they all inhaled far too much smoke, and not only Yoongi was around those flames far too long. He still feels slightly sick, his throat scratching when he tries to swallow.

He just wants to go.

He wants to go home, to the place Seokjin and Hoseok call their home, because it is the most comfortable place he has ever known, somehow, and it feels safer than any other place these days.

It feels safer than there, safer than here.

“Can we…c-can we go back?”

Hoseok coughs, and Seokjin opens his mouth to answer Yoongi, maybe to promise again that they’ll go home and will be somewhere safe soon, when a voice barks from behind them.

“Hey! You three—stop right there!”

It cuts through the thick air like glass shattering.

Yoongi jerks at the sound. His heart skips, then slams into a sprint inside his chest.

Seokjin turns his head slowly, the way someone does when they already know what they’ll see. Hoseok, beside them, goes still.

Three uniformed officers are jogging toward them from around the corner, one already talking into his radio, the other pointing directly at them, the third gripping something at his hip, stance suddenly changing.

“They saw us,” Hoseok mutters.

A statement, not a question – he knows someone must have seen them with the man, the kidnapper, the attacker, the arsonist, and they must be at least suspects in the whole thing.

Trouble.

Seokjin doesn’t hesitate. “Hoseok, go.”

Hoseok blinks. “What?”

“Go,” Seokjin repeats, sharper now, not taking his eyes off the cops. “Warn Namjoon. Now.”

“But—”

“Go!”

And Hoseok runs.

The police officers are shouting out, “Stop!” and “Don’t move!”, and the third one immediately takes off and runs after Hoseok.

Yoongi watches them disappear around the corner, long, athletic legs pumping fast, and he feels an ache in his chest that has nothing to do with smoke. His ears are ringing now — from all the noise, from his pulse, from the sudden white panic building behind his ribs.

He looks up at Seokjin, who turns to him, both hands on Yoongi’s shoulders again. They shake, just slightly.

“Yoongi. Listen. You didn’t do anything wrong. You hear me? This is not your fault.”

He nods, too fast, too small, even if he doesn’t believe any of those words.

It is his fault, and whatever comes happens just because of him, too.

“Don't say anything. Not a word. Not even your name. Don’t fight back.” Seokjin bends down until their foreheads nearly touch. “I’m here. I’ll be with you. You’re safe, and we’ll be home soon, okay?”

Yoongi wants to believe him.

He really, really does.

The officers reach them. One grabs Seokjin’s arm hard and yanks him back.

“Turn around. Hands where I can see them.”

Yoongi instinctively steps forward, panic surging in his blood, in his lungs. “He didn’t—!”

“Hey! You too, kid!” The second officer grabs Yoongi’s wrist, wrenching his arm behind him, painfully, too tightly once again. The movement is too quick, too rough, and Yoongi stumbles, bag slipping out of gis hands. He sees the small shopping bag in his hands drop, handles slipping through his fingers, hit the ground — and the pink bunny tumbles out, bouncing once, then landing on its side on the cold ground.

No one notices.

Not even him, not really — not until it’s already too far behind.

Seokjin doesn’t say anything as he gets treated just the same as Yoongi – but Yoongi wishes he would just say something.

Anything.

The handcuffs that suddenly close around his wrists and restrain him bite into his skin. The officer’s grip on his elbow is like iron. He can’t even breathe right — the burn in his lungs returns, worse now that he’s panicking.

His throat hurts, his lungs too, and everything smells like smoke.

He loses sight of Seokjin when he gets roughly turned around, pressed against the stony, cold wall.

Vaguely, he sees two more police officers coming closer, closer.

There is a click of a button, a radio in the hand of the officer behind him.

“We got two suspects matching witness descriptions. Near the fire site. One minor, one adult. Might be injured. Bringing them in.”

Yoongi’s not a minor.

He wants to say that. Wants to say he’s innocent. Wants to say he can’t breathe, that he needs his bag and bunny, that his hyung’s here, that he’s not alone, that they are innocent.

Are we?

But then the other cop slams Seokjin against the wall, more roughly than Yoongi, and Yoongi flinches, turning his head around to catch a glimpse of Seokjin to his left, his neck painfully twinging from the tight angle.

“Don’t-!” he blurts out, voice cracking.

He cannot stay quiet when Seokjin gets treated like this – even when Seokjin told him to don’t say anything.

He just can’t, not when Seokjin, his hyung, gets treated like this.

“Shut it.” The officer behind him cuts him off and squeezes his arm harder, and a second officer stops just right beside him. “Should’ve thought about that before torching a public building, boy.”

“We didn’t—we didn’t do a-anything!”

“Yeah, that’s what they all say.”

Seokjin turns his head too, catching Yoongi’s eyes.

“Yoongi. It’s okay.”

It’s not.

Nothing is okay.

The bunny lies on the pavement. Alone.

They don’t give them time to breathe.

Yoongi stumbles forward, dragged more than walked, legs too unsteady beneath him. One officer holds tight to his elbow, the other hovers just behind, palm still resting on the butt of his weapon like Yoongi might try something. Seokjin’s being escorted the same way—two cops, one on each side—but he walks steadier, shoulders drawn up, face unreadable.

The air is still thick with smoke, even outside. It clings to his throat, his hair, his skin. He coughs once, then again, deeper this time, and it scrapes something raw inside. His eyes are stinging. His lungs feel like they’re collapsing in on themselves.

The mall perimeter is crawling now—people everywhere. Police shouting, firefighters moving back and forth in streaks of reflective yellow. One paramedic jogs past them carrying an oxygen tank. Someone else yells for more space.

“Keep moving,” one of the officers snaps.

Yoongi doesn’t know where he’s being taken. He can barely see. His vision blurs at the edges, everything vibrating from adrenaline and leftover smoke.

They’re walking past the library now, its shattered windows visible just across the street through the glass facade. The smoke still trails from the upper floors, black and ominous. One window is cracked wide open, spider-webbed with impact, and through it, Yoongi swears he can see flickers of orange—still burning, somewhere inside.

People crowd nearby, phones raised, filming.

His face burns in a different way now.

"Don’t look," Seokjin says lowly, like he can sense Yoongi turning toward the wreckage. "Eyes down."

But Yoongi can’t help it. He sees a firefighter coughing into his sleeve. A woman crying. News vans pulling up at the curb. And then—

Flashes. Cameras.

Someone shouts: “Are those the suspects? Are they being arrested?”

The lights from the firetrucks and police cars paint the world in red and blue. Reflections dance across every surface, blinding, dizzying.

Yoongi’s shoved toward the escalator. He stumbles and almost falls, but one of the officers grabs the back of his jacket and yanks him upright again.

“Easy,” the cop behind him says, sarcastically. “Wouldn’t want you taking a tumble.”

His knees buckle slightly on the first step, and the movement of the escalator beneath his feet makes the world sway. His stomach lurches. Every breath tastes like ash and metal.

Seokjin is a few steps ahead, flanked by his own two officers, hands cuffed behind him. Their eyes don’t meet this time – can’t.

Yoongi can’t see his face, and he isn’t sure if he needs to see it or needs to keep looking away.

Yoongi’s too busy trying not to collapse.

When they reach the bottom, the chaos doesn’t lessen.

There are more officers there now, closing off parts of the entrance with bright yellow tape. The police cars sit just outside the glass doors, engines idling, police officers barking orders around, trying to coordinate the people, the chaos. The lights flicker like warning signs. People still haven’t stopped watching.

As soon as they hit flat ground, the officers split them up.

Yoongi is pulled to the right. Seokjin to the left.

Panic flares in his chest once again, sharp...sharper than before.

“No, wait—” Yoongi twists instinctively, heels skidding on the tile. “Hyung—!”

One of the cops jerks him hard in the opposite direction. “He’s fine. Keep walking.”

“Move,” the other says, and Yoongi is pushed forward again. His eyes strain to follow Seokjin, who’s already at the car, already halfway inside.

He is not resisting.

“Yoongi!” Seokjin finally calls back, his voice faint over the noise. “It’s okay!”

Yoongi wants to believe him, but he can’t.

How can he, now, like this?

He wants to believe in that voice, in his hyung, steady even now, like the one, guiding star in the darkest night.

But then the door closes.

And then Seokjin is gone.

Hoseok is gone.

His hyungs are gone, and Yoongi is alone.

Yoongi is guided—no, forced—into the other car, and when the door closes, the shutting noise echoes in his head even with most of the chaotic noise from the outside now muted.

This is worse than being outside amidst all the chaos, he realizes.

In here its too dark, too tight, too cold.

How many criminals sat here before him?

The metal grates separating the back of the car from the front make him feel claustrophobic, as if he is already sitting behind bars—like a convicted criminal who is innocent, but whom nobody believes.

His wrists throb against the metal cuffs, and the smoke scratches in his lungs.

He leans forward, trying to breathe.

But all he tastes is smoke.

His hyungs are gone, and Yoongi is alone.

Chapter Text

The car’s door jerks open and a gust of frigid air and city stench floods in, smacking Yoongi in the face like a hand.

“Out.”

He hesitates—just for a second—and the officer grabs his arm, yanks him hard enough that his cuffed hands dig into the small of his back and his bad shoulder twinges. He stumbles, feet catching on the lip of the car, knees shaking and barely holding him up as he’s marched forward.

The building looks familiar, the parking lot vaguely too, and everything is huge.

He doesn’t know where they are exactly, which district, but considering the size of the parking lot, the building, and how busy it is, he guesses it is the district’s main police station.

They step inside, but Yoongi is escorted and pulled forward more than he moves on his own. The police station is as large as it appears from the outside, yet everything is entirely unfamiliar and somehow intimidating. Inside the station, it isn’t as calm and organized as he expected.

He never was at a police station before, but he never would have thought that it is like this.

It’s loud.

Voices overlap, shoes squeak on linoleum, phones ring endlessly. Radios crackle and people talk about strange and cryptic things Yoongi doesn’t understand. People move quickly, doors slam open and shut, officers bark out commands Yoongi doesn’t have the brainspace to understand. He’s jostled through the chaos like a box being passed down a conveyer belt – restrained and unable to do anything else but watch, being processed.

Everything is bathed in cold, sterile light.

It’s bright, too bright.

He hates it.

The fluorescent lights pierce through the haze in his head, reflecting off every surface and glass and polished linoleum tiles. The walls blur past as they walk down a hallway, passing a reception desk, and something that looks like a big office.

The hallway tilts slightly in his vision. He coughs and it feels like it tears something inside his chest.

His knees buckle a little.

“Still coughing?” One cop mutters behind him. “Might’ve taken in too much smoke,” the other one says,

“but no ambulance, it’s too much trouble. Med staff can look him over.”

They are talking about him as if he isn’t worth talking directly to, as if he is just...just a criminal.

Everything’s beige, white, gray...it’s cold, it’s suffocating.

He’s just trying to breathe, but he feels too restricted, and the air is too thin and heavy.

Each inhale is shallow, his chest tight. It feels like someone’s sitting on his lungs, like the smoke followed him in and is still inside him.

A cough rattles out of him.

His fingers tingle. His vision pulses at the edges.

Then—a flash of something familiar.

Someone familiar.

Seokjin .

Seokjin, just a few paces ahead, turning a corner. He is flanked by officers, but his head is held high, his mouth tight. His hands are cuffed, and his gaze is steady, emotionless.

He looks composed even in such a situation.

Then, their eyes meet for just one second.

But it’s long enough.

Yoongi wishes it were longer.

He wishes they were anywhere else but here.

Seokjin doesn’t speak, doesn’t say anything at all. His expression doesn’t change, revealing nothing at all, but his eyes — sharp, attentive, cold and warm and furious and worried at the same time — he says everything without making a sound, and Yoongi hears everything.

“I’m right here. I’ll be with you. Nothing will happen, and we will be home soon, alright?”

Then he’s gone, pushed through a door just a little further down the cold, grey hallway, and Yoongi’s being shoved through another door.

It shuts behind him with a final-sounding click.

The interrogation room smells like metal and old sweat, and he wonders, disgusted and scared of all the germs and dirt at the same time, if they ever clean here.

One table, metal.

Two chairs, metal.

No windows, cold, fluorescent lights.

A camera in the top corner with a red light blinking steadily like a clock counting down to eternity.

Is he ever going to get out of here, or will he get stuck here, in a system that doesn’t care about innocent or guilty? Just money and reputation, and power...and money.

One cop, the only one who still has him in a tight grip, yanks him forward and pushes him unceremoniously down onto the chair – he hisses as his ankles hit the leg of the table, but they don’t pause.

Yoongi’s knees give immediately, and he almost collapses onto the cold metal chair. His cuffed wrists are suddenly set free, but he has barely time to catch his breath as the other cop steps behind him, pulling his hands forward and slamming them on the table, just to chain him once again – this time, his cuffed hands are tightly attached to the table.

The table is cold, and the two men, the cops, stare at him – like someone who looks at a thing that’s just causing trouble, and they would like nothing more than to just get rid of it.

The one who looks older sits down on the chair on the other side of the table.

How is he supposed to endure all this, all alone?

This is completely different from putting up with his father, or with any other situation he ever was in.

He is used to feeling powerless, used to people who use their physical advantages against him, but he always still could do something.

Even if something was to run away, talking back, or just backing up against a wall until he couldn’t.

But this, here?

He can’t do anything, he cannot say anything – he trusts Seokjin, and he is sure that talking about anything, everything that happened, telling the truth, would get himself, Seokjin and everyone else in much deeper trouble.

He can’t do that.

But...but he needs...

“I need to see—” Yoongi’s voice breaks.

The officer behind him doesn’t even let Yoongi finish the sentence. “You won’t see your buddy. Someone will be in to look at you, and then we will talk.”

He leans forward and grips the edge of the table, the cuffs and chains pulled tight and biting into his skin -  he needs something to hold onto, just to stay upright, to feel anchored to something.

The door opens again.

Someone in a regular uniform steps in, but the outfit is paired with gloves and a small medical case, and Yoongi shudders.

He hates doctors, medical examinations – but now here, with other people he doesn’t even know?

If the burning library felt like a dream, a fever dream, this feels like a nightmare, slowly but surely.

The woman doesn’t ask his name. Doesn’t smile. Doesn’t even look at him, not really.

It’s just a brief examination to make sure he is alive and not severely injured.

He flinches at her cold hand on his wrist.

A pulse count.

A light in his eyes.

He flinches.

“He’s fine,” she mutters to the two cops, doesn’t really spare him a second glance and then she leaves.

The heavy door falls shut again.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, and the officers don’t say anything, too.

One officer, the one who is standing and leaning against the wall behind the other officer, looks younger than the one in the chair, hair buzzed short, sleeves rolled up. Maybe he isn’t that much older than Jimin or Taehyhung, maybe just a little bit older than Yoongi.

His badge dangles from a lanyard around his neck and swings above his chest as he adjusts his stance.

“Alright. Let’s make this easy,” says the older officer in front of Yoongi.

Yoongi doesn’t move. His mouth is too dry to speak.

If he talks, he’s going to sob or choke or vomit.

He doesn’t know which would be worse.

“You were seen inside the library. With a man who started a fire. And then you ran and fled the scene with your friends.” The officer leans slightly over the table, not really threatening, intimidating, but enough to make him feel slightly crowded without being able to lean back. “You wanna explain that?”

Yoongi shakes his head.

“You were spotted talking with him. Then the fire breaks out. And now here you are — black-stained clothes, blood on your jacket, not uttering a word. Doesn’t really make you or your friends look innocent.”

Yoongi shrinks under his scrutinizing gaze.

He is aware how all this looks, and he doesn’t really want to know what it could mean for them.

“You’re what? Eighteen? Nineteen?”

Yoongi blinks. What?

He knows he looks young, but there is no way they really think he is that young. What are they trying to achieve with that?

Make him look and feel like a stupid teen, make him feel small and helpless in the face of authoritative force?

He shakes his head again.

Don’t say anything.

“Not talking? Alright. That works too.” The officer flips open the folder. “You’re protecting someone, right? The one who got away, your one friend who is here, too. Tall guy, blank face. Was he the one who set it off?”

Yoongi stiffens.

“You think he’s gonna protect you too?” The officer's voice dips, low and pressing. “You think he’s worth this?”

He is, Yoongi thinks, they all are. They protected me so many times.

Yoongi’s jaw clenches.

Yet, he cannot help himself.

“I—I didn’t… they didn’t do anything.”

His voice barely scrapes out.

“Then talk. Names. Tell me who was with you, who the other man was.”

Yoongi shakes his head, harder this time.

“Let me help you, kid. Give me something.”

The silence between them stretches.

“You know he did it, right? He put you in danger. He is here too, putting all the blame on you. He used you.”

Yoongi’s hands tremble against the cuffs. His shoulder is starting to ache so bad it’s making him nauseous, all the strain and stress just amplifying the slight pain he felt earlier.

He hates how this cop tries to blame someone who didn’t do anything, how he tries to break Yoongi by trying to make him believe that Seokjin would abandon him, betray him.

“H-he… he didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

Yoongi hesitates, then manages, “Didn’t s-set… anything.”

The officer leans closer. “So you were with him, and you saw someone setting the fire.”

Yoongi bites down on his bottom lip.

He said too much, even though he thought he wasn’t saying much at all.

“Thought you weren’t talking.”

“I—I’m not.” He hunches further in. “I just… ,” he cuts himself off.

The cop glares, harder. He is obviously annoyed how uncooperative Yoongi is.

“What’s his name?”

Yoongi stares at the table, at the scratched metal surface, at nothing.

He doesn’t know who exactly the cop means, who’s name he wants to know.

Seokjin?

Hoseok?

The man who attacked him and set the fire?

“I… I don’t know.”

“You sure about that?”

Yoongi just nods.

He will not tell their names.

“You keep this up,” the officer growls, “and you’ll end up alone in a cell with no one who gives a damn if you burn for someone else’s mistake.”

“I’m not…” Yoongi’s voice trails off. “I’m not saying anything else.”

The officer studies him for a long, silent second.

Then he stands up, signalling the other cop to follow him when he steps to the door – the other cop doesn’t say anything, just watches, quiet, a hard and blank face.

The older one turns back before the door falls shut again. “Fine. You wanna play it that way, I guess. Wait here.”

Yoongi watches his back disappear through the door, and he only catches a glimpse of the grey, empty hallway, and then the door shuts.

Then the room is silent again — except for the sound of his too-fast breathing, and the endless, steady blink of the red camera light above.

This silence is...it’s horrible.

It’s almost unbearable, suffocating.

There are some vague, heavily muted sounds coming from the outside, but they are so quiet that they are almost indistinguishable – his pulse in his ears drowns them almost out.

He wishes Seokjin were here, wishes he would just take him out of here, wishes that he could hide from the world again just like he did the days before – drown reality out, hide behind heavy curtains and under lavender blankets.

But he isn’t there, he is here.

All he can do is trying to not panic – although that proves to be very, very and increasingly difficult – and trying to breathe.

Breathe, in, out.

Seokjin said they will be home soon, and Yoongi is clinging to his last words like a lifeline.

The short moment – the short pause where he could gather himself just slightly - is broken by sounds, footsteps, heavy, loud and close enough to be audible even through the seemingly sound-isolated door.

The door opens again.

The man who enters along the older cop from before is dressed in a uniform too, but not the same as the other cop is wearing —the dark, expensive fabric is clean and starched too perfectly. There’s no badge in sight, no name tag. But it is obvious that he is a police officer too. The stitched, golden bars on his shoulders almost glint under the cold lights, and the equally golden stripes on his sleeves are symbol enough - even Yoongi, who doesn’t know much about the police at all, understands what that means.

High rank.

Well, a higher rank than the other cop.

Not the kind who walks a beat, follows orders without a thought. He is the kind who walks halls like a king walks a throne room, the one who gives orders.

He shuts the door gently behind him - not like the others who let it slam. The older officer steps aside instead of sitting down at the table again, stops to stand close by the door, as his position in rank just changed and now he isn’t the one who has the first word anymore.

For a second, no one says anything.

Then the man turns and looks at him - his eyes cold and hard.

And Yoongi’s blood turns to ice.

The man doesn’t even say anything, but...It’s the smile, polite yet chilling, sharp.

It’s the way his eyes stay still, fixed, like he’s not seeing Yoongi as a person but more like an object of extreme interest, and he will not stop taking him apart until he has what he wants.

He looks at Yoongi like he isn’t a person, like he is only worth what he knows.

“Yoongi, isn’t it?”

The voice is smooth, polite on the surface. But it carries something underneath – and Yoongi dreads what that might be.

Yoongi stiffens at the man’s words, eyes widening.

He never gave them his name.

Did they...did Seokjin say anything?

Did they find his information in a database?

Seokjin would never say anything, he is sure...he is.

The man smiles wider at his reaction, and the older officer by the wall suddenly shifts.

“You can wait outside,” the man says to the lower-ranked officer, calm but absolute, a command.

The older officer hesitates - maybe even looks confused for a second - but then nods once and slips out without a word.

The door clicks shut again.

This time it echoes – maybe it does so only in Yoongi’s head.

Now, they’re alone.

The man doesn’t sit.

Something over the head of the officer catches his attention for a second –

The little red light in the corner blinks twice, faster than before…and then it goes dark.

Yoongi stares at it.

No one’s watching anymore.

How?

Why?

The man in the crisp uniform exhales, just once, like now he feels more relaxed without the other officer, without anyone else watching them. Yoongi looks at him, and notices that the officer looks at the camera too, turning his head back towards Yoongi just a second later.

“I hate paperwork,” he murmurs, as if they are not in an interrogation room because Yoongi is under arrest for arson, as if this is just another day at the office for him.

“This would all have been easier if we had met outside of this building.”

He moves again - slowly and deliberately - circling back around the table with the same unhurried confidence.

It’s quiet.

There is no sound but the man’s footsteps, the faint air rush through the vent high up in the wall.

It’s not a comfortable silence that, otherwise, would be calming to him.

No, this is the kind of silence that Yoongi dreads just as much as loud anger. This quiet is a subtle threat, and it feels just as intimidating as his father’s loud, aggressive moments.

He doesn’t know what will happen.

If it's loud, he can expect what will happen, but in this silence, he has no idea.

This kind of quiet is scary in its own, terrible way.

It’s the kind of threat you can’t escape from, because it freezes every muscle in your body.

Yoongi doesn't dare move, can’t. He barely breathes.

“You know,” the officer says, “I’m going to be honest with you, Yoongi. I don’t care if you set the fire or not. That library can burn for all I care.”

Yoongi looks up, startled.

What?

The man smiles.

It looks...dangerous.

“I only care about where they are.”

He places both hands flat on the table and leans in close - close enough for Yoongi to smell faint cologne, cigarette smoke, and the stale coffee on his breath.

No smell of alcohol, but this is just as unpleasant.

Yoongi leans back – he tries to, at least.

“You’re going to tell me where they live. The house. The location. A little extra information. That’s all I need. Maybe, then, you’ll get out of this, who knows.”

Yoongi’s heart is slamming into his ribs now.

Because this — this is what it was always about.

Is.

Everything is about this, right?

He is -

People are after him because of this, because of them, because of Seokjin Namjoon, the others.

People are after Yoongi because of that, and he knows that he is the only one to blame for his situation.

Even now, here in a place that should be safe – isn’t a police station supposed to be safe?

He is -

It’s not about the fire.

Not the fire, no.

It’s also not about the blood on his jacket.

Not about him, not really.

Them.

He is from the other group, the Paektu.

“I-” he stammers, “I-I don’t…”

“You don’t what?” the man cuts in sharply, “You don’t remember? You don’t know what I mean? Do you think you’re protecting someone if you don’t talk?”

He’s so close now Yoongi flinches back again, but the cuffs hold him tight against the table, not letting him retreat much further.

There is nowhere to go.

“I don’t-” Yoongi tries again, voice barely audible, “I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

The officer suddenly stands straight, scoffs under his breath, then turns around — and for a second, Yoongi thinks maybe he’s done for now.

Then the man lashes out - not really hard, not a punch either, but a sharp, controlled strike - an open palm cracks across the side of Yoongi’s head.

Not enough to draw blood – at least not as far as he can tell without a mirror. But it’s hard enough to send a jolt through Yoongi’s spine, enough to rattle his vision, a shockwave that flares through his body, fast and burning like a lightning strike.

He gasps and squeezes his eyes shut, a reflex. The metal of the cuffs bites into his skin as his whole body jerks against the chain.

“I’m only going to ask one more time,” the man says, his voice low and ice-cold. “Where. Are. They?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer.

He can’t.

He’s breathing hard now, shaking, eyes squeezed shut, but still -

Nothing.

Not a word.

Seokjin-hyung told him not to say anything, and he won’t.

He won’t betray them, or sell them out. He isn’t like his father, he refuses to be like him.

The officer watches him for a long moment, jaw ticking. Then, without warning, he grips Yoongi’s face - not a slap this time, but fingers pressing hard into his jaw, forcing Yoongi to look at him.

Yoongi has no chance but to meet his dark, cold eyes.

“You think they really care? That’s what they told you, right? ‘Don’t talk, then we’ll get you out. You will become a part of the family’, it’s what they promised, right?” He almost spits out and snorts then, disdainfully, “Well, guess what, boy – life isn’t a fairytale, and those guys are certainly not trying to save you from it or make it better.”

Yoongi stares at him, wide-eyed, mouth pressed into a trembling line. The words wash over him, he tries to let them just wash over him. He hears them, but he doesn’t listen, tries not to, doesn’t let them get processed in his brain.

“So, talk!”

The fingers press into his jaw, jerking his head further up. His head throbs, his vision is still pulsing.

It feels just as much like a nightmare as the library, just a different one.

He won’t say anything more than he already did. It’s clear that he cannot just play innocent – even though he thinks he is, actually – and that, no matter how many times he repeats it, no one here, least of all this man before him, will believe that he doesn’t know anything, didn’t do anything.

Life isn’t a fairytale, he knows that all too well. But, contrary to what the man thinks, Seokjin and Namjoon, Hoseok and Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook are trying to save him – he is sure.

At least they are making it better, he thinks, when he is with them –

- and remembers the tea he drank with Seokjin, the morning he cared for his bruises, remembers Jungkook drawing and Jimin’s hug, remembers Taehyung’s hug and his colourful, red hair, remembers Namjoon and his clumsy attempt to calm him down from a panic attack, remembers Hoseok pointing at the pink, plush rabbit –

- Where is the rabbit?

The rabbit with its soft, pink fur in the paper bag, now lying somewhere, lost, alone.

The officer releases him with a small shove and Yoongi’s back meets the hard chair again, cuffs and chain pulling tight, and then he straightens his jacket like nothing happened, like he didn’t just…just physically threatened Yoongi.

Doesn’t this count as physical assault?

Isn’t this…prohibited, especially here? Why won’t –

Oh, right.

The camera is still off, he notices with a quick glance up towards where it is located. The red light is still out.

“You have one chance to get out of this whole thing unscathed and not end up in jail or who knows where. Think hard about your options and chances.”

Then he steps towards the door, regards Yoongi with one last, hard look, and then steps out.

Click.

And the door falls shut behind him.

Again.

After a few seconds, the red light blinks again, and Yoongi still sits there, the tremble in his limbs and the shaky up and down of his chest the only movements in this room.

He isn’t sure how many minutes go by, or how many hours.

It feels like hours.

There is absolutely nothing in this room, this cell, that can be used as an indicator as to what time it is, how much time has passed.

But it feels late – early evening or maybe even later?

He feels exhausted, mentally as well as physically, and he feels cold too. His wrists are aching, his back and shoulder twinging in this position he has to remain in since he was put in this room and those cuffs – his space and movement restricted by these cuffs and the chain attached to the table, and the only position that felt the most manageable is starting to get painful.

The adrenaline from earlier must have faded already, and all that is left behind is the exhaustion and coldness that have settled in his stiff body.

There is no reflective surface in this room to see his face, but he is sure that there are bruises in the shape of fingers painted on his skin, slightly throbbing.

The camera is still blinking, and even though it would help, in some way, to indicate how much time has gone by, he stopped counting the red blink a while ago.

No one has visited him since the officer left this room, and it’s starting to gnaw on his mind.

Why?

What is the use of just letting him sit here for hours if they need something from him?

Why has nobody come by again to ask something, anything at all?

Or water.

Yoongi is sure that, usually, they would provide water, right?

He has no idea, actually, how this really works here, and he is starting to think that everything he thought he knew about police investigations and everything around it was just…stuff made up by authors who were too lazy to do research about how things really work in police stations.

But this feels…not right.

Something feels –

The door opens again and the sounds from the busy police station flow in before it shuts again behind the two officers who enter the room.

It’s the one officer from earlier, the one who is certainly not a trustworthy officer, and another one he didn’t see before.

The unfamiliar man stops at the door, the other one takes out a key and steps around the table, unlocking the chain that has kept him tethered to the hard metal for the last hours.

“Get up,” he commands and doesn’t wait for Yoongi to answer or move, or react, and with a quick step forward and a rough hand around his arm he pulls him up and out of the chair.

“We’re going to take a little trip,” he says and Yoongi…Yoongi’s stomach swoops down, a cold, dreadful feeling rushing down from his middle to his feet and…and this is certainly not right.

Something, everything about this feels wrong, so wrong, but he cannot do anything, because the short moment of freedom when the cuffs around his wrists loosen only lasts for a few seconds, and then his arms are forced back and the same cold metal binds his hands together once again, and he feels even more restricted than before.

This feels wrong, but he cannot do anything.

“Where is -,” he swallows down his question, the name he wants to say on his tongue but not leaving his mouth, ” W-where are we going?”  He asks instead, his voice rough from not using it for hours, dry.

The coughs have lessened, almost entirely, but his throat feels so dry, like smoked sandpaper.

“New station,” the officer answers and pushes him forward to the other man, the other officer he didn’t see before. This man, unlike the other one, has a name tag pinned on his chest – Park.

One of the most common names, absolutely unhelpful if he is ever going to get out of…this.

Whatever this is going to be.

“Jurisdictional change,” the officer behind him adds and the other, Park, nods.

“Order just came through.”

Somehow, Yoongi doesn’t think that’s true.

Park steps behind Yoongi and the door opens again, the definitely not clean and trustworthy officer stepping out before them and the other one taking his cuffed wrists in a tight grip and pushing him forward.

The station is busy, if the sound of voices, telephones and steps is anything to go by, but the hallway they are in is still slightly isolated from it.

Immediately, Yoongi looks to the right, down the hallway to the door he knows Seokjin vanished through earlier.

Is he still here?

Will he be moved too?

“Your friend isn’t going to join us,” officer Park says behind him when he notices Yoongi’s hesitation, and then he pushes him forward again when the other officer gestures them to move forward impatiently.

The noise of the station washes over him like a bucket of ice cubes, making his body flinch and his arms jerk, the energy fuelled by adrenaline picking up once more, rushing through his veins and muscles like a cold lightning and setting them alight and burning.

Here, in this building, this office full of police officers, he should feel safe, but…he feels the opposite, really.

Shouldn’t they, someone, notice that this man in front of him is not who he says he is?

Shouldn’t they be aware of suspicious things, strange things, going on around them?

Shouldn’t they notice?

He should feel safe, but he does not, because he is not.

And he should feel surrounded by people who care, but all he feels is being isolated and alone, without anyone noticing him.

This is – this is not going how it should be, he realizes with a shockingly clear mind.

This is wrong and he cannot do anything, and he is sure no one here will do anything either, no one will get him out of…of this.

Park pulls his arms down and painfully straight again, and the officer in front of them leads them to a reception desk, holding up a paper that Yoongi only now notices.

There is a stamp, red and big, bleeding through the white paper from the front side, and it’s the only thing he can make out on it, the backside otherwise snow white and unblemished.

It looks like a seal out of blood.

Blood was spilled or will be spilled?

“Jurisdictional change. Move to the West Station,” he says to the woman sitting there and inspecting the form briefly, uninterested.

“Is this the one responsible for the library?” She asks, looking at Yoongi as if he were an exceptionally dirty rag floating in the air, and any word that he maybe might have said gets stuck in his throat, and he misses the answer the officer gives her, their voices drowned out by all the noise around them and his heart pulsing in his ears.

This woman wouldn’t listen to anything he would say, he thinks, neither would anyone else because they just don’t look and notice, and there wouldn’t be a chance to say anything at all either, because as soon as she takes the paper form and sets her own stamp on it, he gets pushed forward again, towards another door, not the main entrance.

It feels as if he is being led towards yet another nightmare, and he hopes this one will not be any darker than the other ones, but…but he suspects it might be.

The officers, if they real are ones – but they must be, they obviously weren’t strangers in the police department, Yoongi thinks - pick a car that looks like one that’s usually used for a more undercover occasion. It’s black, nothing really marking it as a police car.

He gets unceremoniously shoved onto the back seat and they both get into the front of the car, the doors falling shut loudly, and the car starts only a few seconds later.

In comparison to their earlier actions, and considering how long they left him sitting alone in the interrogation room, this, now, seems almost hurried. Yoongi doesn’t dare to ask where they are really heading – he is sure, very sure, that they will not drive to another police department because of jurisdictional changes – and he doesn’t say anything else, either.

What can he say anyway, he muses as he watches in an almost detached way how the lights of the police department pass by and then vanish behind them as they drive through the gates of the fenced parking lot.

He is at their mercy, probably. His hands are literally bound, and no one is here to help him this time.

This time, he isn’t sure if anyone will get to him in time.

So, he doesn’t say anything, and the two officers in the front don’t, either.