jairang

3 MONTHS

Lookout duty is hard on you. When it’s your turn to camp out on the roof and watch for potential threats, you complain that staying awake all night is hard. Most of the other runaways are night owls, but you aren’t. You need your beauty sleep, you joke. You can’t get comfortable on the roof, even if there’s a flat landing with pillows and blankets to keep you warm. 

These are a few of your excuses, but you can’t bring yourself to tell the others the truth: you are scared. 

It’s close to midnight when you hear the creak of the trapdoor opening. The likelihood of it being anyone other than the group of Gifted runaways you live with is low, but you can’t trust that the impossible wouldn’t happen. You’ve seen the impossible happen far too often.  

Hopping down from the old milk crate you’d been sitting on, you crouch behind a giant bean bag with your bow and arrow ready. The harness you wear strapped around your torso holds your spare arrows. It digs hard enough into your shoulder that you form blisters if you don’t wear a thick enough shirt. 

The fluffy pink hair poking out of the trapdoor makes you sigh in relief. 

“Hey, kid,” the pink-haired man whispers. 

He gently closes the trapdoor and walks with a hunched back toward you, careful not to expose too much of his body beyond the roof’s railing. The abandoned warehouse you live in is on the city’s outskirts, with nothing for miles but empty concrete parking lots and overgrown plots of land. 

Still, you never know who might be out there. Although the Red Pins have only inflicted pain from within their research facilities, all the runaway Gifteds know that the government employs more than one type of evil to hunt them down. 

You try not to think about them, those scientists in long white coats that fall to their thighs and blood-red nametags pinned to their labels with names you often see painted on the walls of your nightmares. Lately, the frequency of the nightmares has lessened. It doesn’t feel like it, though, when you often wake in the middle of the night to your friends screaming in their sleep while they suffer through their own trauma. You wish the knowledge that the pain of being government lab rats is something you all share could be comforting. But, instead, it only makes you hurt more.  

“Yoongi,” you huff, returning to your perch on the milk crate. Now your hands are all sweaty. “You should be sleeping.” 

“Hi, Yoongi; nice to see you too! Thanks for coming to hang out with me!” Yoongi mocks your voice, clearly stating what he thinks you should have said. “Oh, no problem, Y/N. I just wanted to see how you were doing and hang out with my favorite kiddo.” 

You scrunch your nose at kiddo. 

“I’m not a kid.” 

Yoongi leans over to rub his knuckles into your head. “Nah, you definitely are.” 

Despite the lack of lighting outside, Yoongi practically glows. That’s always how it is with fire elementals. It’s like they absorb all the light and let it buzz inside them. Like fireflies, you’d once told Yoongi. He hadn’t found it cute to be compared to a bug. 

“If I’m a firefly, then you’re a fucking fish,” he’d teased. You’d promptly summoned water from a nearby puddle to throw in his face. 

For as long as you can remember, that’s how it has been between the two of you: fire and water. A push and pull. So different that you need each other to be whole. 

You watch Yoongi get comfortable in the bean bag, his skinny limbs spreading like a starfish and his eyes lifting to the sky. In quiet moments like this, you would give anything to hold him. And not out of fear like you had when the scary men came to take you away from your parents. And not out of anger like you had to when you stopped him from blowing up the research facility they’d held you in. 

No, you want to hold him and for it to be gentle, soft, and peaceful. 

Like now, when the world is silent except for the crickets calling to each other in the weeds and the rustle of wind in the trees. 

But he thinks you’re just a kid. 

You’re not that much younger than him. But, if you put in the effort to look at your relationship objectively, you’d see that Yoongi’s paternal nature comes out with you and the other runaway Gifteds. He cares for you as an older brother would. 

It’s not enough for you, though. It will never be enough.  

“Is everyone else asleep?” You rest your elbows on your knees and hold your chin in your hand. When you speak, you look out at the empty field. 

“Hobi sneezed and blasted a hole through the bathroom wall,” Yoongi says with a low chuckle. “So me and Joon found some supplies to patch it up the best we could. I think they’re all asleep now, though.” 

“How is it Hobi’s the one breaking shit and Namjoon’s fixing it?” You press your hand against your mouth to muffle the ugly snort bursting from you. There’s very little to find funny in this life, so you cherish how your chest burns with fond warmth. 

“The world’s all backwards.” Yoongi’s gummy smile lights up the night and tears into your heart. 

The two of you fall silent once again. Moving slowly, you reach out to hook your pinky finger with Yoongi’s, a small smile forming when you feel his pinky wrap tightly around yours. 

“Where are we gonna go, Yoong?” 

He watches you with eyes heavy with sleep, determined to stay up with you even though he doesn’t need to. Initially, you thought it was because he wanted to keep you company. Now, you often wonder if it’s because Yoongi is afraid to sleep, too. He never speaks about his experience at the Labs; the other runaways have learned the hard way not to ask. Singed eyebrows don’t look good on anyone. 

“I don’t know.” 

You already knew this would be the answer, but it scares you anyway. Yoongi always knows everything. 

Yoongi lets go of your hand to sit up in the bean bag. 

“Hey, kid,” he whispers. He gently presses his palm to your jaw, cupping your face. You hope he doesn’t hear your breath hitch in your throat. “As long as we’re together, you don’t gotta worry about anything, okay?” 

You stare at him for a long time, searching the bags under his eyes and the worry lines on his forehead. 

“You promise?” 

“I promise.” 

3 MONTHS, 1 WEEK

There’s a stream that cuts through the overgrown fields behind the warehouse. It’s man-made, flowing from a sewer tunnel beneath the cracked parking lot - and likely from somewhere else, perhaps connected to a lake beyond the woods at the property’s edge. The separation between industrialization and the natural world of the unknown hurts your heart. You’d never felt longing until you found yourself inside a cage of cinderblock walls and concrete floors. 

A rope of water whips across your face, drawing you from your thoughts of the woods. It’s muddy and makes your skin and clothes smell sour. 

Though the air is still crisp and bites at the tip of your nose, spring came early this year. It takes minimal effort for Namjoon to draw more water from the soiled stream as it’s not frozen over like it should be. With a flick of his wrist, another rope of water hits you, this time across your chest. 

“Aghh!” 

“Pay attention.” 

You lift your arm in enough time to block his next assault. The liquid rope freezes in the air before shattering into a thousand glimmering pieces, scattering jagged ice across the pale yellow grass. 

“I’m tired of this, Grandpa.” 

Namjoon rolls his eyes at the pop culture reference; you’re pleased he understood. Posed to speak, mouth already opening, he barely gets a sound out before another voice bellows across the field. 

“WELL, THAT’S TOO DAMN BAD!” 

Hoseok isn’t afraid to be loud. He smiles, all teeth and pink tongue, and throws his head back as he cackles. Everywhere he goes, he carries the smell of spring with him - cherry blossoms and morning dew that makes newly-grown pieces of grass stick wet against ankles. 

You close your eyes and let spring overpower the sour smell of sewer water Namjoon has thrown at you for the past hour. It lets you forget how your skin aches with welts and bruises. 

As Hoseok bounds toward you and Namjoon, a dark tornado spins beside him. When he gets closer, you can see Hoseok occasionally blowing a small gust of air toward the tornado. It appears to be made of smoke, a gradient of grays and blacks. 

“Look at this,” your friend announces with a mischievous grin. “Me and JK learned a new trick.” 

With a quick snap of Hoseok’s fingers, you and Namjoon watch in patient silence as the tornado begins to slow its speed. Almost gently, the smoke curls tighter and tighter until the darkness turns into a solid mass. 

Jungkook stumbles a few times as he attempts to get his footing. His limbs continue to propel his body into a small spin. 

Hoseok quickly reaches out to grab the younger man. Secure hands squeeze his shoulders, and then it’s only Jungkook’s head lolling about. 

“Cool, right?” Jungkook’s voice is gruff, but his lips curl into a weak smile. 

Namjoon lets out a long sigh. “You look like you’re going to be sick.” 

Although Namjoon is right, Jungkook does look like the effort of his little party trick took a toll on his body; you can’t help but match his smile. Especially when his eyes flick toward yours. You told his gaze for half a second before Jungkook quickly looks away. His cheeks flush pink, but you’re sure it’s from the exertion of all that spinning. 

“I think it’s really cool,” you praise the two while elbowing Namjoon in the ribs. With a grumble, your sparring partner returns to his previous stance a few feet away. 

“We should go again. Just for a little while longer.” 

Every muscle in your body feels stiff when you turn away from Hoseok and Jungkook. 

“I hurt all over, Joonie.” 

“Let her rest!” Hoseok adds to your whining. “All we ever do is practice fighting.” 

“Sparring.” 

Hoseok waves a dismissive hand at the younger man. “Whatever you want to call it. I find it to be fri-” 

You stifle a laugh by pressing the back of your hand to your mouth as Hoseok is tackled to the ground by Jungkook. The two men roll around, all arms and legs, kicking up dead grass and dirt. A lot of howling and teasing laughter rings through the open air. 

It isn’t until Jungkook is launched into the sky by a gust of wind you know comes from Hoseok, and lands roughly on his back, that the playful fight ceases. How Jungkook lands knocks all the air out of his chest, but he laughs once his lungs start working again. 

“Ridiculous, all of you.” Hoseok brushes grass from his clothes. It’s futile; they’re dirty and ragged anyway. Try as you and Namjoon might to use your Gifts to clean the clothes; water does little when there’s no soap. 

“I let you win,” Jungkook teases.

Still, he stands a bit further from Hoseok than he had previously. Not far enough for anyone to notice, aside from you. You notice although you don’t mean to. It’s hard not to when Jungkook keeps stealing glances, only to look away when you try to return his gaze. 

“You did not.” 

“Did, too.” His insistence makes you giggle. 

“And how did that work out for you? Hmm? How does your back feel? I know you landed on that rock.” 

“I-It, it doesn’t hurt.” Jungkook glances your way. His cheeks are still pink. “Would take more than that to hurt me.” 

“Jungkook is impossible to beat.” 

You startle at the gentle voice, spinning on your heels to see Yoongi approaching the group. He’s got a leather satchel strapped across his chest and resting at his hip. It bulges with what you assume are plants and fruits scavenged from the woods. 

“Boy Scouts” is what Yoongi offered when you asked how he knew so much about surviving in nature. It was peculiar; nothing about Yoongi seemed like the type. He’s tougher, more steel than wood or earth. A bulletproof shield, you think. Broad and strong. 

“Impossible?” 

Your question is meant to be a tease, but Yoongi’s face remains stoic. Such a severe look only reveals itself when he assumes his position as your misfit group’s leader. It would be extremely attractive if it didn’t scare you.   

“How can you fight shadows?” Yoongi deadpans. He stares into your eyes long enough to make your face feel hot, but you don’t look away. 

“I…” 

Yoongi hums at your lack of an answer. Suddenly, you feel unbelievably small. 

“It’s not impossible,” Jungkook whispers. His head hangs low, long bangs hiding his face. The rest of his hair is tied into a bun at the nape of his neck. “I’m just as beatable as you, hyung.” 

Something about Yoongi’s expression softens at the honorific. Formalities died long ago, along with many other traditions that once made Korea what it was. So many things died during the war - tangible and cultural - lives and ways of being. Now, the Republic is something you know your friends no longer recognize. Although it is not your home country, your heart aches for what it once was - something you will never have the privilege to experience because you arrived during the Restoration of the Republic - a fallacy of an era since the country was never restored to how it was. 

That may be best. It is easier to mourn the loss of something you never knew.

In moments like this, you feel terribly inadequate - when you speak with broken Korean or struggle to understand the foreign politics behind why Gifteds are hunted, no matter how many times Namjoon patiently attempts to teach you. All you know is that, at least here, to be Gifted is not a death sentence, per se. Other countries’ governments have been far less lenient with their mutant population. 

You’re simply seen as a science experiment to be tested on, poked and prodded, pushed until you’re driven mad, and then warped into whatever shape the government has the need for. 

“You have no match,” Yoongi smiles softly at Jungkook with a shake of his head. “I do.” 

Holding out his hand, a small flame appears in the center of Yoongi’s palm. It floats just above the skin, though he isn’t burned. You’ve seen Yoongi summon fire a million times from the heat of the air around him, and he never ceases to amaze you.

With a nod in Namjoon’s direction, Yoongi waits for a small rope of dirty water to splash against his hand. Namjoon is much kinder in his attack against Yoongi, only summoning enough water to extinguish the flame. 

“Water will always win against me,” Yoongi admits. This time, he holds your gaze when he speaks. “It is my match.” 

You feel something stir in your belly that migrates up your chest until it eventually threatens to suffocate you, nearly getting lodged in your throat. 

“You would do well to continue sparring with Namjoon,” he says after a moment before turning to Hoseok and Jungkook, who have otherwise been silent. 

It’s an order, even if Yoongi is gentle with his words. 

With a sigh, you turn back to Namjoon. It’s difficult to stamp down the heat Yoongi always manages to trigger inside of you. You would compare him to fire even if it didn’t already run in his veins. 

Drawing from the murky stream, you weave a ball of water between your palms.

“Let’s go again.” 

While you spar with Namjoon, Yoongi leads Hoseok and Jungkook to the other end of the field.

You and Namjoon spar as though you are dancing. It’s a push and pull, your rhythms falling into harmony, even when one of you performs a surprise attack or a new move that hasn’t been practiced before. Perhaps it is because you both fight with water. There is a fluidity to it that the others don’t possess. 

Occasionally, your eyes stray to where Yoongi, Hoseok, and Jungkook have begun to spar. The three men do not dance. Instead, they are a fury of elements intertwining in chaos. The wind snuffs fire, Yoongi and Hoseok blasting each other incessantly. Shadows allow Jungkook to disappear before being hit by an attack, only to reappear right behind his opponent to go in for the kill. 

And it would be a kill if this was real. You know Jungkook keeps a rather terrifying knife strapped to his thigh. You all carry weapons, though you don’t really need them. Even Jungkook, with a Gift that’s misunderstood and exceptionally rare, is never found without his weapon. 

Out of all the Gifteds you’ve met on your way to safety, you have never encountered another who can manipulate shadows. So, there is truth to Yoongi’s statement. 

Jungkook is terrifying, even with the wide, starry eyes he always seems to stare at you with. He’s quiet and shy, typically sticking to Hoseok. You assume it’s likely because you found the two of them together. Both were kept in the same room at the research facility in Busan. As unassuming as Jungkook may be, you’ve seen him manipulate shadows to wrap around a Red Pin’s neck. Those shadows twisted and tightened until the man crumpled. 

You didn’t need to have the Gift of blood manipulation to know when his heart stopped. 

It was one of the scariest moments of your life, even beyond the suffering you’d endured having lived in the research facilities since you were a teen. Before then, you’d never seen someone die. Even when Yoongi and Namjoon helped you escape, they shielded you from the worst of it. It wasn’t until the three of you came upon the newest facility that such horrors were unleashed. 

Jungkook hates himself for it. You know he does; you typically make your bed beside his, and he cries in his sleep. Self-defense protects the body in the moment, but harms the mind and heart long-term. 

You probably would have done the same. 

For as tragic as his story is - or what little you know of it - Jungkook has an undeniably beautiful soul. Those horrors have yet to turn him cruel or his heart black. Even when he spars, you can tell that he’s being gentle. He holds back and doesn’t reach his full potential out of fear of hurting others, you’re sure. You can see it in how he bounces on the balls of his feet to keep his movements light and how his back muscles ripple beneath his shirt as it clings to his skin. A bead of sweat runs along his neck, over the vein that bulges from his exerting effort. 

Something prickles under your skin. When you look up, it’s into those wide eyes full of galaxies you’ll never understand, are somehow okay with not understanding if it means you can continue to gaze upon them. 

A small smile pulls the corners of Jungkook’s mouth up. His expression is short-lived, though, quickly falling as a bright orange flame licks at his ankles. 

“Don’t let my words get to your head, Jeon,” Yoongi teases. “Impossible to beat, but easy to hurt.” 

This time, you catch Yoongi’s eye. You duck your head when he winks at you, just in time to block another blast of water from Namjoon. 

“Why is everyone so off today?” Namjoon grumbles to himself. You haven’t managed to successfully hit him even once. 

“I’m tired,” you whine again, dropping a ball of water to the ground. Dead grass quickly soaks it up once it splashes. “We should check on Jessi.” 

Your group’s sixth and final member is tucked away in the corner of the warehouse on the top floor. It’s dark up there, though Yoongi’s everlasting fire, paired with the windows Jessi managed to open, gives enough light for her to work. 

She has black grease smudged on her left cheek and across her forehead. Her long, thick hair is tied back into a ponytail, though strands have fallen out to frame her face. When you step closer, you hear her muttering, but you can’t make out what she’s saying. It’s not for you. She speaks, facing the black box placed in front of where she kneels on the floor. The floor can’t feel good on her knees with its bits of broken concrete and dirt. Everything hurts in this life; it hardly matters as long as you’re here and not there. 

“This piece of shit,” Jessi hisses, running her hands across her face. It smears more grease onto her skin, but she doesn’t care. 

“Not working?” 

“Beep beep boop beeping all over the fucking place, then static. White noise and shit. Like it’s telling me to fuck off even though I’m the one fixing it.” 

You hum, crouching down to stare at the box. It’s an old radio meant to transport messages back and forth. Perhaps left behind by the military after it had occupied this land while it bulldozed the vigilantes seeking to save Gifteds from the fate you all ended up sharing anyway. 

Jessi tweaks a few exposed wires. Every time they spark, you flinch. Mini white lightning, it’s deadly for anyone but Jessi. She grumbles and continues her work with deft fingers calloused from toiling away at the stupid thing for months. 

“I’m normally so fucking good at this, I swear to God.” 

Frustration colors her tone, even if her expression and cursing didn’t already give her feelings away. 

You don’t doubt her, though, and you tell her as much. Still, you know firsthand that it sucks when your powers don’t work how you want them to. As a technopath, fixing the radio should be easy work for her.

“There must be something wrong with it… Maybe the Red Pins did something to it?” 

You don’t know anything about technology. Even with the phone you’d stolen off one of the Red Pins, all you’d gotten to do was look at TikTok and try to find out where your parents were before Yoongi made you destroy the device. The government had ways to track you. Technology was as much your friend as a stranger on the street. 

With a sigh, Jessi leans back until she’s sitting flat on the grimy floor. 

“Maybe? Fuck if I know. I think I’m getting close, though. I’m getting some frequency when I concentrate really hard, but I wanna fix it so it’ll work even without me.” 

Your friend whispers the end of her statement. It goes without saying; each one of you knows the fragility of life on the run. 

“Thank you for working so hard.” Even in the dim lighting, you can see her watery eyes shine. It hurts your heart, but all you can offer is a light squeeze of her shoulder. 

Jessi shrugs. “It’s as much for me as it is for you.” 

You watch her stand and brush the dirt from her butt, her joints cracking from sitting down too long. When you first joined this mutant crew, you would have followed behind Jessi to comfort her. But, after months of running and fighting, you’ve learned that sometimes solitude is the best healing method. 

4 MONTHS, 2 DAYS

“What makes you think you’re ready? That any of us are ready?” 

Yoongi watches you with catlike eyes from where he sits at the kitchen table. The chairs circled around the battered wooden table are mismatched and in varying stages of deterioration from being abandoned for so long. The one Yoongi sits in is metal, and he leans on its two back legs, his right foot pressed to the floor to keep himself steady and his arms crossed against his chest. 

Although Yoongi isn’t raising his voice - he never does - you still feel like you’re being scolded. 

“I know we are,” you challenge him. Your voice is steady even as your fingers tremble. To stop them from shaking, you squeeze your hands into a fist, nails biting at the skin of your palms. 

You should sit down, but holding your energy in is hard. Instead, you pace the kitchen while Yoongi’s cat eyes and Jessi’s wide ones follow you. You feel like a lion looping its cage, the desire to run restricted and confined. 

“How?” 

“We can’t stay here, Yoong! We can’t. I can’t.” 

The front legs of Yoongi’s chair slam into the concrete floor. He allows the momentum to pull him forward, landing his elbows on the table’s surface. 

Looking at Yoongi hurts. You can tell from his face that the next thing he says won’t be pleasant. His lips are pressed into a fine line that curves downward slightly. It’s cute how he can pull off a straight-lipped frown, but not when it’s directed at you. 

It’s been at least an hour of back and forth between the three of you. Jessi tapped out a long time ago, resolved to watch the tennis match of an argument between you and Yoongi rather than exert energy on a fight she isn’t committed to. Yoongi and Jessi have the final say in all group decisions as the group’s elders. It’s another reminder of how you think Yoongi sees you as someone to take care of rather than an equal. 

“Have you ever killed someone before, Y/N?” 

You pause your pacing to stand in front of the table. Yoongi is an exceptional cook, managing to create delicious meals out of what little you all have to work with from the forest. But now, at this moment, you feel like you’re going to be sick from the food churning in your stomach. 

“No.”  

“No,” Yoongi repeats. He speaks slowly, like he’s mulling your answer over, letting it twist around his tongue until he’s satisfied enough with its taste to swallow it down. 

Leaning forward, Yoongi presses his palms against the table’s surface. He spreads his fingers and stares at them. The two of you seem to trace over the scars that line his skin, little nicks, and slices that healed light pink or blazing white. You’ve never seen Yoongi naked, but you have seen a good expanse of his body when you’ve used your Gift to help the others get clean. From what you’ve seen, you know Yoongi’s entire body is littered with battle scars. 

“I have,” he admits what you already knew, and the gravelly sound of his voice makes you shudder. “Jungkook has.” 

You wince at the mention of the younger man, but Yoongi doesn’t give you a chance to speak. 

“Do you want to ask him what it’s like to squeeze the life out of another man? He may have done it with shadows, but I guarantee he still felt it in his hands.” 

Yoongi lifts his eyes to yours when the first tear rolls down your cheek. Concern wrinkles his forehead. 

“Yoongi,” you start, but the pink-haired man shakes his head. 

“I don’t mean to upset you, kiddo.” The pet name twists your gut tighter with frustration - even though Yoongi’s voice is filled with gentle adoration when he calls out to you. “But I’ll be damned if I let us walk into that forest without knowing where we’re going or whose claws we’re running into. The Gifted Commune is, at best, a rumor. At worst - a trap.”

You want to tell him that falling for a rumor or getting caught by the government is better than sitting in a concrete cage. The prospect of finding a community of other Gifted runaways who have managed to create a society safe from the evils you’ve grown up with means more to you than the fear of the unknown. 

There’s no use, though. Jessi is nodding along to Yoongi’s words; the blank expression she wears when she’s upset already masks her face.

“I will not put you in a situation where you must kill or be killed, Y/N. I won’t fucking do it.” Yoongi clears his throat suddenly, and he looks away from you. You’re unsure, but think he might be blinking back unshed tears.

You’re still pissed, but now your anger is mixed quite prettily with debilitating guilt. You’ve never seen Yoongi cry, and you realize with a sinking feeling that you really don’t want to. 

“It’s too fucking risky,” Jessi finally speaks. She presses her fingers against her forehead, massaging it slowly as she, too, looks for words. “The radio is almost fixed; I can feel that it’s close. Then we will have a clearer line of communication with the Commune. It doesn’t guarantee anything, obviously, but it’s better than going in without fucking knowing anything.” 

There’s nothing else to say. Yoongi doesn’t look at you or Jessi, instead staring at something in the opposite corner of the room.

Jessi gives you what you think is a smile laced with pity - or at least an apology. 

How can everyone be so content to stay in the warehouse? You’re a bunch of sitting ducks, hiding out in the same location for months, practically waiting for the government to send their agents to either corral you into laboratories again or exterminate you. You don’t understand how becoming a moving target is a bad thing. 

But, ultimately, you don’t understand why Yoongi can’t just trust you. 

With a frustrated huff, you twist around to hurry out of the kitchen. As you cross the threshold, Namjoon appears in the doorway. 

“Oh, I need to ask you-” 

You don’t mean to shove Namjoon with your shoulder as hard as you do, but you don’t have the patience to comply with whatever he expects you to do for him. Probably more sparring and training. 

On the one hand, sharing your identity as a water elemental with someone else in the group is an affirming experience. On the other, it’s infuriating because Namjoon sees your potential and pushes you toward it - even when you fight against him. 

Namjoon sputters something, and you hear Jessi convince him to drop it. Whatever else they have to say is lost on you; you’re no longer interested in entertaining the conversations of the “leaders” of the group. Part of you wants to find Hoseok or Jungkook to force them to commiserate with you, but something about dumping your sludge of emotions onto them feels wrong. 

So you do what you’ve always done best: you repress. 

It isn’t until a few hours later when you’re lounging on your makeshift bed with the only tattered book you kept from your facility (Fahrenheit 451, how fitting), that you give yourself over to the gnawing need to interact with other humans. 

Jungkook bounces on the balls of his feet, items that you can’t make out pressed against his chest. 

“Will you cut my hair for me, noona?” 

The out-of-use honorific flusters you, making your face burn under Jungkook’s attentive gaze. 

“You don’t have to be so formal with me,” you insist, embarrassment ravaging your twisted stomach and fluttering chest. Something about the attention Jungkook gives you makes you feel nervous and giddy. 

“It’s not very formal, really. It’s… respectful? I just… You are, it means,” Jungkook lets out a huff. He blows his bangs out of his face as his cheeks turn pink. “You are special to me.” 

You duck your head, shocked by Jungkook’s honesty. It warms you in a way you’re not sure you understand, letting the feeling sit inside your chest rather than exploring it any further. 

“Where I come from, we don’t have words like that.” 

Jungkook gives you a shrug. Neither of you mentions that in Korea, those words don’t really exist anymore, either. 

“But, okay,” you relent softly. 

Jungkook stands beside the mess of blankets that make up your bed, holding a pair of scissors and electric clippers Jessi enhanced to operate on their own. Jungkook nicked them from a Red Pin on their way out of the research facility he’d grown up in. Hairstyling tools didn’t seem high on your list of items to steal, but they’d come in handy. Like now, with Jungkook’s bangs falling entirely into his eyes and his hair sweeping across his shoulders. 

The pout Jungkook wears lessens slightly. He holds out the tools with an expectant look on his face. It’s cute how his bottom lip juts out, pink and chapped from nervously chewing on it. You’d overheard Namjoon scolding him for something earlier that morning before you went outside to patrol the grounds with Hoseok and Jessi.

Taking the items from Jungkook, you lead him out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. The lights sputter briefly before they fully brighten the small room. Jessi was excited to learn that her Gift extended to electricity as a whole, not just that within technology like computers and radios. With all your Gifts combined, the warehouse is liveable, almost comfortable. 

Jungkook sits on the closed lid of the toilet, making you tower over him. He parts his legs slightly so you can stand between them as you run your fingers through his hair. 

You spread your fingers and sweep his bangs up, exposing his forehead. It opens up his face more and makes him look older. Jungkook is handsome; there’s no denying that. You’re sure in another life, he could have been a regular college kid with a sweet girlfriend and a bright future. 

“What would you like me to do?” 

“Hmm?” Jungkook hums with his eyes closed, and his head tilted back slightly. 

You don’t miss how he leans into your touch, completely pliable in your hands, as you massage his scalp and continue to play with his hair. It’s thick and soft, even without the proper haircare products to maintain the health of the follicles. 

“How do you want me to cut it, silly?” 

You reach for the hairbrush you keep tucked away in the bathroom cabinet. It takes a few more moments of silence while you brush out Jungkook’s waves before he finally speaks. 

“Short. Cut it all off, please? It’s too hard to take care of now, and it gets in my face.” 

“Don’t get mad at me if it comes out bad.” 

Jungkook lets out a frustrated sound. “You always do a great job. You gave Yoongi hyung an undercut. It looks so good!” 

At the mention of Yoongi, you feel your heart drop. Somehow you know Jungkook is here to make you feel better even if he hasn’t said anything about the argument, and he’s the one seeking your help, not the other way around. He’s a distraction - one you wonder if Yoongi sent himself. 

It isn’t that Yoongi won’t apologize; you just never give him a chance to before you run off to lick your wounds on your own. 

It’s the healing quality of solitude, you think as you prepare to cut Jungkook’s hair. However, this time, you’re not alone. 

You can’t help but smile when Jungkook starts singing a song of his own creation as chunks of his hair fall to the floor. His song drowns out the static that buzzes in your brain like the fuzziness Jessi’s broken radio emits when anyone but her fiddles with it. 

“This way,” you speak softly, not wanting to disrupt his singing as you press your fingertips against his jaw and under his chin to lift his face toward you. Your finger presses against the little mole just below Jungkook’s bottom lip. The angle gives you a better view of your work so far. 

A small smile flickers on Jungkook’s face as though he’s trying to keep it down, but the corners of his mouth won’t listen to him. 

“It feels nice. We don’t touch.”

You hum and nod your head, but Jungkook’s eyes are still closed. It’s true; kind touches are rare. Hoseok is really the only one who gives out hugs. Everything is tough all the time. There’s little room for gentleness, even amongst friends. 

So you understand when Jungkook’s smile wins out, and he finally surrenders to the happiness your light touches along his jaw bring him. 

4 MONTHS, 5 DAYS

It takes Yoongi three days to apologize. 

Perhaps you should have apologized first, but you struggle to see how you could have done anything that warrants an apology. Yes, you feel bad for upsetting Yoongi, but his attitude toward you lately has rubbed you the wrong way. 

During the three days it takes him to apologize to you, he seems to do his best to avoid you. 

On the days you’re assigned to go on patrol with Yoongi, Jungkook accompanies you instead. You don’t mind having Jungkook by your side, you discover, even though you’re upset that Yoongi is behaving so childishly. 

Neither Jungkook nor Yoongi talks much, but you learn that their silence feels different. Whereas Yoongi’s silence stems from feeling confident and content with not needing to fill the air with incessant babbling, Jungkook’s silence is awkward and heavy. He fiddles with the loose strings of his shirt, his reddened cuticles, and everything else. You don’t mind the awkwardness, though. It’s nice to comb through the woods with someone as powerful as Jungkook; you know there’s nothing to fear with him around. 

The only weapon Jungkook carries is the knife strapped to his thigh. You, on the other hand, stay heavily armed. Your fingers tighten around your bow. When you twist your torso, the harness that holds your arrows digs into your shoulder. You also have a knife, though you are honestly afraid of close combat. A gun would be even better, but ammo is difficult to come by. It’s easier to collect your arrows after you’ve shot them, although you haven’t needed to yet. Since finding refuge at the warehouse, no one has discovered your group. 

Apparently, all your friends are willing to keep testing fate. You aren’t interested in pushing your luck. Jungkook doesn’t comment on the group’s plans for moving forward - or lack thereof. Something tells you that he’ll do whatever Yoongi and Jessi tell him to do. 

Still, going on patrol with Jungkook does a decent job of preventing your thoughts from straying toward your argument with Yoongi. Your hands brushed together a few times as you walked side by side, and you could practically feel Jungkook’s brain shortcircuit from the contact. 

Part of you thinks he has a crush on you, but the more logical part of you knows he’s probably shy. The kid has gone through a lot in life. Not everything is always about you; you try to remind yourself. Yoongi doesn’t even want you. Why would Jungkook?

On the third day, bright doe eyes don’t greet you at the edge of the woods, just as the sun is kissing the sky for the first time. Instead, sharp cat eyes hold your gaze when you lightly jog over. 

“Good morning, kiddo.” 

Yoongi wears dark shorts with tattered edges cut from a pair of old jeans and a plain t-shirt the color of the forest in spring. It’s not warm enough to wear what he’s wearing, but fire elementals run hot like you run cold. 

“Hi,” you say, voice a bit stunted as you hold your jacket tighter to your body. 

You’ve foregone your bow and arrows today; you may or may not have snapped your bow in a fit of frustration that may or may not have anything to do with Yoongi ignoring you at dinner the night before. A knife and your Gift will have to do, but you feel it is enough. Namjoon insists on learning how to use your Gifts and weapons in tandem. For double the defense, or so he says. 

Carrying a knife seems ridiculous when you know how to choke someone with their own spit without touching them. 

Once you’re within arm’s reach, Yoongi offers his hand to you. He holds it as though he’s going in for a handshake. Yellow-orange fire licks at his palm and swirls in tendrils around his fingers and wrist. 

After a few seconds of silence, he makes a slight grunting sound and wiggles his fingers, beckoning you. 

It’s impossible not to cave. A prickly feeling tingles down your arm, beginning somewhere in your chest and eventually settling in your fingertips. A tiny hurricane of water stolen from the moisture in the air circles around your hand just as the fire does Yoongi’s. 

He lets out a pleased sound when your palms glide across each other. You hook your thumbs together, using the momentum to spin your hands around until your fingers are interlaced and pressed into your palms. You both squeeze your hands once, twice, three times in a heartbeat before pulling away. By the end, the fire and water have disappeared. 

When you meet Yoongi’s eyes, the warmth of the fire in his palm has transferred to his gaze. There is an apology in how you release each other’s hands. The handshake holds secret words of friendship and reassurance between you. 

The two of you stand in silence for a bit until Yoongi tilts his head in the direction of the woods. You nod in response and follow Yoongi along one of the many patrol paths your group has established. 

There’s never anything in the woods besides small animals like squirrels and rabbits, but everyone feels better knowing there is a consistent patrol of the area, just in case. 

“So,” When you look at Yoongi, his lips twist into a light smirk you absolutely do not like. “You and Jungkook.” 

“Me and Jungkook what?” 

Yoongi shrugs. “Just seems like you two been hanging out a lot.” 

“Yeah, because you were fucking ignoring me all week.” 

His smirk drops into a stern frown, but Yoongi continues following the path. He walks slightly ahead of you with his hands clasped behind his back. It feels like he’s taking a leisurely stroll through a garden rather than going on patrol in the woods for government assassins. 

“It was immature and irresponsible of me, and I’m sorry for that.” 

Forgiving Yoongi is too easy. It’s the way the morning sun shines through the canopy of trees above you, casting streaks of light against his fading pink hair. The way he carries himself with confidence is gentle and comforting rather than arrogant or misplaced. It’s how he looks at you; you know he would do anything for you.

“It’s okay,” you finally concede. You scramble a bit to fall in line with Yoongi again. “I was being dramatic.” 

“Life is one big drama, isn’t it?” Yoongi muses with a chuckle. It’s a question he doesn’t expect an answer to, which is good, considering you’ve got something else buzzing around in your head. 

Well, fuck it. You’re just gonna say it.  

Heart pounding, you eventually find it in you to say, “I still think you’re wrong.” 

After a moment, Yoongi hums in acknowledgment of your admission but doesn’t offer anything else. It’s better than nothing, so you tell yourself to be content with all that he offers. 

“Anyway…” You don’t want to drop the subject, but Yoongi’s question is nagging in the back of your brain now - a nagging question you now have a gnawing desire to know the meaning behind. “Me and Jungkook can hang out without it meaning-” 

Before you can finish your statement, Yoongi slaps his hand against your mouth. The calluses on his palms are rough against your chapped lips, and his skin is sweaty. His free arm comes around to the front of your chest near your collarbones. He draws you against his chest so tightly you can’t move. 

“Don’t talk.” His breath is hot against your face, and his voice is almost indiscernible. 

You give a tiny nod before locking your body completely still. You hold your breath, straining to hear what Yoongi might hear or see what he might see. There’s nothing, just the usual sound of life in the woods - birds chirping, small animals scurrying in the brush. You don’t see anything either. 

You can only focus on the frantic pounding of your heart and the calm beat of Yoongi’s against your back. How he can be so relaxed when he thinks there might be danger in the woods that you can’t even see is unreal.

Slowly, Yoongi takes a step back away from you. He holds a finger to his lips and silently mouths for you to stay where you are. Everything inside you screams to disobey as you watch Yoongi disappear further into the woods, the thick trees swallowing him whole. 

But you don’t. You stay put, fear rooting you to the ground even though your body desperately wants to follow. 

What lies beyond the thicket of trees? What is dangerous enough that Yoongi wants you to stay put but not so dangerous that he believes he can take it on alone? 

Just when your resolve is about to crumble, something catches your attention out of the corner of your eye. Barely breathing, you turn your head to watch a dark spot glide across the forest floor. It’s two-dimensional, not an object but a presence creeping along the ground.

Suddenly, the spot grows. It spreads, turning its shape from a flat, uneven circle to a thing with tendrils sticking out of it, each new tendril moving independently. You gasp when one of the tendrils creeps up your leg. Despite being two-dimensional, you can feel the darkness. It’s firm and cold, like a snake slithering up your body. 

Every inch of you trembles as the strange darkness slowly spreads across your body. You squeeze your eyes and hold your breath. Perhaps this is the thing that Yoongi saw, a phantom stalking the trees. But now you’re left behind to be absorbed into its darkness, eaten alive. 

You’re startled when the cold disappears; instead, strong arms pull you against a firm chest. Warmth envelopes you, and when you open your eyes, you see familiar ones looking back at you.

“I got you,” Jungkook murmurs. He has you tucked under his chin, and he tilts his head down when he speaks to you. You shiver as his lips lightly brush against your forehead. 

“Where did you-”  

“Shhh.” 

Jungkook’s heart isn’t steady like Yoongi’s had been. On the contrary, it’s beating rather furiously. You can hear him attempting to regulate his emotions, taking in mindful breaths and exhaling in a way that tickles your skin.

You don’t know how long you stand there pulled against Jungkook’s chest. After a while, your breathing matches his until you fall into a gentle rhythm that makes you sleepy. The adrenaline is making you crash, your body hardly strong enough to hold yourself up after panicking so severely - still panicking. Luckily, when you lean into Jungkook, his hold on you tightens. 

In another situation, pressing your fronts together would have flooded your body with heat. You can feel all of Jungkook like this, from the bulging muscles of his chest to his thigh pressed slightly between your legs from how he holds you up. But fear of the unknown and Jungkook’s clearly distressed state prevent those other thoughts from materializing. 

Jungkook’s body doesn’t relax until Yoongi appears around the corner of a large tree. He keeps his arms wrapped around you, and for a second, Yoongi looks around at the clearing you’re in as though he can’t see you. 

It isn’t until Jungkook lets go of you that recognition flashes in Yoongi’s eyes. 

“There you are,” Yoongi murmurs to the two of you. He looks like he rolled around on the ground, little pieces of leaves and sticks caught in his hair and stuck to his clothes. His left knee is bleeding from a few superficial scrapes. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” 

Yoongi looks at Jungkook before he answers your question, which irritates you. “I tripped when I rushed in, but it was nothing. Just a large fox I heard making noise back there.” 

A fox is likely the largest animal in the woods, with no bears or wolves in the area. Still, you don’t trust Yoongi. You can pick up on the charred smell coming off of him. He smells like a barbecue, which means only one thing… 

“Have you been practicing turning yourself invisible?” 

Jungkook ducks his head down but no longer has long bangs to hide his face. It takes a second for your brain to process Yoongi’s question - and the change in the topic - but Jungkook is already answering him by the time you figure it out. 

“It’s not really invisibility,” he says softly. “It’s more like… an illusion.”

Yoongi hums and motions for the two of you to start walking. You’re returning to the warehouse, you realize, even though you only just started the patrol route. 

“Yeah, I can… adjust the lighting, I guess? To make it seem like you can’t see me. Or, us, this time.” 

Jungkook gives you a small smile when you whip around to look at him.

“I didn’t know you could do that.” 

“Yeah,” Jungkook repeats. He draws his bottom lip between his teeth and wiggles it like he has more to say but doesn’t want to let it out just yet. 

The three of you walk in silence until you reach the warehouse. When Yoongi walks ahead of you, you can tell he’s limping, even as he does his best to walk normally. 

“He’s okay.” 

Jungkook stands beside you in the field behind the warehouse, watching Yoongi reach the backdoor. 

“He’s bleeding.” 

Jungkook’s ears are pink when he responds, “He’ll be okay.”

“He’s lying to us.” 

Jungkook absentmindedly runs his fingers along his bottom lip. It droops as he speaks through a pout. “Maybe. But I trust him, even if he is.” 

It’s a strange thing to trust someone who is lying. 

All you can do is nod. All you can do is accept that the people around you are doing what’s right because, aside from them, there is no one and nothing you can trust in the world. 

As you approach the warehouse, Jungkook curls his fingers around your wrist to stop you. He watches you with the same wide-eyed look he gives everyone, though something about this time feels different. His expression is more open and vulnerable. He looks at you like he’s waiting for you to hurt him. 

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he apologizes softly. 

“But you didn’t?” 

Your eyebrows crease your forehead, trying to recall what you may have done to make Jungkook feel like you feared him. Sure, his sudden appearance in the woods was startling, but he’d brought you a feeling of comfort and safety - not fear. 

Jungkook doesn’t correct you. Instead, he lets go of your wrist as shame warms his cheeks, but he doesn’t look away from you. The timidness is still there. You can see it in how he chews on his bottom lip. Still, his eyes take on a more guarded, hardened expression for a split second, and then… 

He’s gone. 

“What the fuck?” You mutter to yourself. 

Now that you’ve seen the darkness before, your eyes quickly notice the spot on the ground that creeps and grows into odd shapes, slinking along the grass before taking form up your legs, curling around your arms. 

It’s Jungkook. You knew it in the woods, somewhere deep down. Your fear for Yoongi’s safety - and your own - prevented you from processing the situation. But now, as the darkness envelopes you again, you know what to expect when you close your eyes and open them to see Jungkook’s broad chest as he crushes you against him. 

“You never showed me before.” 

Maybe it’s weird that you’re still clinging to each other, but Jungkook is warm and solid, and his heartbeat guides yours into a slower rhythm. 

“That’s because it’s creepy.” 

“Well, I think it’s cool. Even though, yeah, you kinda scared the shit outta me.” 

Jungkook lets out an embarrassed whine and squeezes you tighter. You knew he could command shadows but hadn’t realized he could become one or move within them. Sure, the tornado trick he’d done a few times with Hoseok had been cool, but you’d always thought he was merely swirling the darkness around himself. You hadn’t realized he was the darkness. 

Honestly, it made him all the more terrifying and equally as endearing. 

“I just had this… feeling something bad was happening…” Jungkook whispers into your hair. “I needed to check.”

“Good thing it was only a fox.”

Jungkook nods in agreement; you know he believes it more than you do. 

“I’m just happy you’re safe.” You can feel his cheek press against the top of your head for a moment before he finally releases you. 

There’s a feeling there as Jungkook leads you to the warehouse. He laces his fingers with yours, and you can’t help but hear Yoongi’s question on a loop in your head. 

You and Jungkook? 

4 MONTHS, 3 WEEKS

“What if they think we’re the feds and feed us false information?” 

“We’re too stupid to be the feds. It would be obvious.”

“I don’t know… we all escaped the government, so they must be pretty stupid.” 

“What if they’re the feds?” 

“Shit, I never thought about that.”

“They’re not the fucking feds.” 

“How do you know that?!” 

“Can all of you please just shut the fuck up?” 

The six of you crowd around the radio on the kitchen table. Jessi shows you how to operate it, which flip to switch to activate the microphone, and how to adjust the volume. You’re all muted for now. When Hoseok goes to flip the switch, Jessi smacks his hand out of the way. 

“Listen to me,” she says sternly, turning in her seat to get a good look at all of you. “No one talks.” 

“But-” 

“No one talks.” 

Five heads nod at her command, including Yoongi, which feels very satisfying to you for some reason. 

Details of the Gifted Commune somewhere beyond the woods traveled by word of mouth. Coordinates and radio frequencies were exchanged in hushed tones between the Gifteds who dared dream of a life beyond the Labs. You’re sad to admit that you were never one of those Gifteds. It wasn’t until Yoongi helped you escape that you even realized escaping was an option, so brainwashed into thinking the Labs were all you had. You were in a new country, stumbling through an unfamiliar language, taken from your family. Sure, you’d learned enough to get by over time - but missing your adolescent years made you feel hopeless. 

Jessi is the only one who had communicated with the Commune leaders in the past when she and another Gifted managed to break into a control room in the Labs she came from. 

That’s why she’s the one to speak into the radio that you find operates much like a long-distance walkie-talkie. You’re glad it’s not you. She introduces herself, her whereabouts, and her credentials with an even voice you know you could never replicate. 

Despite the distrust you’re all afraid of, Jessi’s previous connection to the Commune makes it easy for her to request to speak to the Commune leader, a healer named Kim Taehyung. 

Sitting with your fingers gripping the edge of the table so tightly your knuckles are beginning to ache, you lean forward as though you can get closer to the gentle voice that floats from the radio’s speakers. 

Taehyung doesn’t sound anything like you’d imagined, though you aren’t sure what you were expecting, to be honest. Maybe someone with a rougher voice made harsh by the trials of life as a fugitive of the Republic. Instead, he’s soft as he asks Jessi how many there are of you and what your coordinates are. This man, already larger than life even though none of you knows what he looks like, is patient as he gives Jessi instructions on how to reach the Commune. 

“I can assure you,” Taehyung speaks, and you don’t know what he’s about to say, but you find yourself already believing him, “You will be safe here. It won’t be a short trip.” That makes your gut twist, but you focus on his following words. “But there are abandoned shelters along the route to find refuge in. The nights get terribly cold.” 

Namjoon scribbles some notes down on a worn piece of paper. It’s been written on and erased to add more notes over the months you’ve been at the warehouse since there are only a few pieces of paper between the six of you. There’s a small hole in the middle of the page where someone erased too hard - or too many times, you suppose. 

“Thank you, Taehyung-ssi.” 

The line is quiet for a moment. Jessi’s gaze shoots up to glare at Jungkook’s interruption, but Taehyung speaks before she can chastise the younger man. 

“Anything for my dongsaeng,” the man on the other side of the radio states. 

You don’t know him, so there is no way to tell if the subtle lilt to his voice indicates affection, but it seems like it as the two men use polite terms no one ever uses anymore. It’s old-fashioned and reminiscent of a time lost to all of you. 

Jessi steers the conversation back to planning the group’s journey to the Commune. Excitement makes you jittery as you skip out of the kitchen, the men - aside from Yoongi - following after you. The boring stuff is what follows, and you’re all content to let the leaders discuss that stuff. 

“Do you think we’ll be able to do it?” Hoseok clasps his hands together, occasionally squeezing them. When he speaks, he keeps his eyes on the closed kitchen door. 

Namjoon shrugs at the same time you respond, “We have to.” 

5 MONTHS

Later, when you look back on this time in your life, you’ll see that everything that transpired during those precious months at the warehouse led up to this. 

At the moment, though, you don’t see anything but the beginnings of spring attempting to sprout from the hard winter earth. 

You sit on the roof atop the old milkcrate with your elbows on your knees. Your eyes follow a small butterfly floating through the light breeze. It’s quiet, just like any other day. 

Yoongi, Jessi, and Namjoon are inside, preparing for the trip you all will make through the woods to the Commune. Hoseok and Jungkook are somewhere at the perimeter of the woods, gathering whatever they can as food for the trip. 

You’ve learned that there is a runaway at the Commune whose Gift allows them to disguise the Commune, similar to Jungkook’s Gift of optical illusion through shadows. Except this Gifted can alter reality, bend the shape of time and space to make the Commune simply…. disappear to anyone they don’t want to find it. 

It sounds otherworldly, something you can hardly wrap your head around, but you must remind yourself that before your Gift had revealed itself to you, you had never believed in the supernatural or fantasy. Now you were everything a younger version of you couldn’t have begun to believe. 

A tiny part of you had been worried that you would get nervous, but you find you can’t sit still from the enthusiasm building up energy in your body to the point you might explode. It’s exciting, the knowledge that in a few short days, you won’t have to sit on top of this roof with your bow and fear that has seemed to make its home deep inside your chest. 

Soon you’ll be safe. 

You hold your breath as the butterfly gently flutters toward you. With a slight dip in its flight, the beautiful insect descends until it rests on your shoe. You’re pretty sure you learned somewhere that butterflies shouldn’t be touched, but you want to run your finger along its wings so badly. 

Just before you can touch it, a scream rings out, echoing against the warehouse and reverberating across the industrial park’s empty fields and parking lots. Crows take off into the sky, their cawing harmonizing with the shouts coming from behind you. 

With your heart beating in your throat, you stand and run to the other side of the roof toward the woods. 

“RUN! Y/N, FUCKING RUN!” 

You just barely catch a glimpse of Jungkook’s face as he sprints out of the woods before suddenly disappearing. Your blood becomes ice, piercing your veins as it glides through your body. Jungkook is a shadow now, you tell yourself. He didn’t really disappear.  

Hoseok stumbles out of the woods behind Jungkook, the wind at his feet enabling him to run across the field faster than an average human. 

At first, you think they’re just playing some silly game. Jungkook and Hoseok always mess around, pranking each other and playfighting. This seems like some elaborate joke until you watch Hoseok use his Gift to lift a giant chunk of concrete from the ground near the warehouse and throw it toward the woods. 

You watch with wide eyes as multiple masked men, wearing all black except for the blood-red insignia of the Republic on their chests, crash through the woods like a spring flood. 

Red Pin agents. 

They’re armed with guns, some still on their hips while others are holding them out in front of them as they swarm the warehouse’s perimeter. 

One of the men tilts his head up, his dark eyes locking with yours before you drop to your knees to hide behind the protective barrier around the roof. 

You throw your bow over your arm and head so it rests across your chest and back and crawl as quickly as you can toward the trapdoor. 

Your limbs tremble so terribly that you miss the last few rungs of the ladder and fall flat on your back, knocking the wind out of you. With a gasp, you touch the back of your head and try to blink away the stars swarming your eyes. When you bring your hand back, your fingers are coated red. 

“Shit! Get up, Y/N. Get the fuck up!” 

A pair of strong hands squeeze your biceps, and once your vision clears, you see that it’s Jessi hauling you to your feet. There are grease streaks on her face. You wonder if they’re from…

“The radio,” you croak, your lungs still struggling to work properly. 

“It was fucking rigged,” she spits, “I don’t know how I couldn’t sense it. But it was.”

And now they are here to collect you - or kill you, you aren’t sure. 

Maybe they would spare Jungkook. He has a Rare Gift; they would be stupid to harm him. The rest of you, though? Common Gifts - although Jessi’s is Uncommon, but certainly not Rare.

You feel lightheaded, likely from the fall and blood loss as it trickles down the back of your neck. It’s thick and wet. The smell of iron floods your nostrils and makes your stomach curl inward. It doesn’t matter, though. Jessi throws your arm around her shoulders and practically drags you through the warehouse. 

Inside is a tornado. Namjoon and Hoseok are scrambling to gather as many supplies as they can. Luckily, many of the essential items are already packed, though Jessi quickly tosses out the radio from the duffle bag she flings over her shoulder. 

“Stupid piece of fucking military bullshit,” she grumbles, giving the item a harsh kick with her steel-toed boots. “Gonna get us all fucking killed.” 

Hoseok lets out a whine. “Please don’t say that.” 

His face is bright pink, and his hands shake while he shoves clothes, random notes, and anything else he can find into his duffle bag. 

“We need to get the fuck out of here,” Jessi growls in response. Her tone has Namjoon and Hoseok picking up the pace. 

Somewhere below you, likely on the first floor, you hear the sound of glass breaking. 

“Fuck,” Namjoon hisses. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him curse before, and in any other situation, you would have giggled. But right now, he looks so grim it makes all the hairs on your arms stand. “They’re inside.” 

The sound of shouting and boots slapping against the concrete floors gets louder the longer the four of you stare at each other. Even Jessi, with her commanding presence, seems to stand frozen in place. The shouting becomes easier to understand as death threats if your group refuses to cooperate and willingly turn yourselves in to the government. 

As if any of you would actually go back to the Labs. At least, not without a fight. 

“If we stand here, we are going to die.” Your voice trembles just barely above a whisper. It’s enough, though. 

Namjoon gives a curt nod and looks around the room you’re in - the room that was once your bedroom. Your little nest of blankets is in the corner, along with Jungkook’s and Jessi’s. The beds have been rifled through, likely by Namjoon and Hoseok collecting the warmest blankest to bring on the trip. 

“The window,” Hoseok finally says with a quiet hiss. The warehouse is relatively large, so it will take some time for the Red Pin agents to figure out which room you’re in. 

The four of you rush to the window and peer out of it. From what you can tell, there aren’t any Red Pin agents below. Even if there are, it would be a smaller number than is currently bulldozing through the warehouse. 

It’s a long drop, though. You’re on the third floor. 

“I’ll ease you down,” Hoseok insists. He props open the window and rests his hip against the wall. “Sit on the edge, with your feet out like that.” His fingers are delicate but firm as he positions Namjoon the way he needs him to be. Sweet Namjoon, willing to put his life in Hoseok’s hands and go first in case something terrible happens. 

Hoseok’s hands shake as he uses his Gift to slow Namjoon’s fall when the other man finally jumps from the window. 

Tears burn the corners of your eyes as you watch Jessi do the same as Namjoon. The two land on the ground roughly but without injury. Hoseok looks exhausted, likely from the pressure of not fucking up and less because of the exertion. 

“Come on,” he urges you as the Red Pin agents’ shouting gets louder. “They’re close.” 

You climb into the window, letting your legs dangle out the other side. Before Hoseok conjures a gentle breeze between his hands, you grab onto his wrist. Something is tugging at your chest; it has been since the moment you saw Hoseok and Jungkook escape from the woods. 

“Hobi,” you hope he hears the plead in your voice. “Where is Yoongi?” 

The way he grimaces shoots anxiety through you so severely that you feel your entire body jolt. 

“He and Jungkook are down there.”

“Down there…”

“Figh-”

Hoseok cuts himself off by letting out a shrill shriek when Jungkook suddenly materializes beside you. He has a deep gash on his cheek, blood pouring from the wound, coating his chin and neck deep red. His hair is matted and stands up on end, and there’s more blood all over his clothes, enough that you can’t tell if the blood is from him or someone else. 

“Get out,” he wheezes. When he grabs Hoseok’s arm, he leaves blotches of blood on his skin. “Hyung’s gonna blow it up.”

“Blow it up?” You hiss, twisting around to stare at Jungkook. 

It’s a mistake. 

His irises are dark and wide, so vast that his eyes are almost entirely black. It gives him a crazed look, like a wild animal backed into a corner with its teeth bared. 

What’s worse, it’s not just his eyes that are black. The veins in his neck are black like dark spiderwebs climbing up his throat and spreading down so far that it reaches the raised veins in the backs of his hands. He looks like he’s possessed, like the darkness of his Gift is consuming him whole. 

“Get out.” 

Before you can argue further, you feel Jungkook’s palm press between your shoulder blades, and suddenly you’re falling out of the window. 

When you open your eyes, you’re on the ground. Your upper body is propped up by Namjoon. His arms are wrapped around your torso, your back pulled against his chest to stabilize you. His chest rapidly raises and falls against you, but you hardly notice this. All you can focus on are the eyes staring back at you. 

“You okay, kid?”

Yoongi looks much like Jungkook. Blood is splattered across his face and staining his clothes. His faded pink hair is plastered to his sweat-drenched skin. He crouches beside you and Namjoon, one hand pressed into the grass to keep himself steady. 

From behind Yoongi, you can hear gunshots and screaming echoing through the warehouse. If Hell had a sound, you were sure it would be this. 

You try to turn to look at the building you’d just jumped from, but Yoongi grabs your chin. 

“Hey,” he lightly squeezes your cheeks. “As long as we’re together, you don’t gotta worry about anything. You remember that?” 

You nod once Yoongi drops his hand from your face. You try not to shiver when the air blows against your now wet skin; try not to think about how your skin is now stained with someone else’s blood. 

“Hyung!” 

Yoongi turns toward the warehouse. Now that he’s distracted, he can’t stop you from peering around him to get a look at the building that you’ve made your home for the past five months. 

What looks like black smoke furls around the building. From how the tendrils move like snakes through busted-out windows, you know it isn’t smoke but shadows. Through an open window, you watch one of the shadows slip around a Red Pin agent’s throat like a noose. It tightens and tightens, squeezing the man so hard his face turns purple and his eyes water. 

Before you can witness more, your view is again obscured by Yoongi. 

“Hyung!” 

Jungkook’s shout sounds more desperate than the first, and you feel your heart constrict at the pained edge of his tone. 

Yoongi must notice the desperation, as well, because he quickly grabs your hand. Fire swirls between his fingers as he presses his palm against yours. 

“Yoongi, please-”

“You need to listen to me.” 

He presses his hand against yours even harder, only letting up when you give in and summon little streams of water to intertwine with his fire. You don’t like how rushed your secret handshake feels.

“I need you to look after Jungkook. The kid’s stubborn as fuck, worse than you.”

“Why are you saying this?” 

Yoongi’s gives you a small smile, lifting his hand to swipe his thumb against your cheek. The blood there mixes with the tears you hadn’t realized you’re shedding. 

“Because it’s what I need you to do.” 

Taking your face in his hands, Yoongi pulls you close to kiss your forehead. You feel Namjoon lift you to your feet when Yoongi lets go. Hoseok had cushioned your fall from the window, but you’re weak from blood loss and the exhaustion that fear can instill in the bones. 

Before you can say anything more, Yoongi sprints toward the warehouse, disappearing through the backdoor and into the darkness that surrounds the building. 

“Namjoon, let me go!” You scream as your friend squeezes his arms around your waist to haul you toward the woods. Jessi and Hoseok wait for you there, hidden within the trees, as the sounds of fighting and death from the warehouse get louder. 

Your friend lets out a low grunt when you dig your heels into the ground, but he’s stronger than you, and the action only deters him for a moment. He lifts you a bit, practically carrying you. 

Namjoon only stops when a flash of bright red light turns the entire industrial park dark for a split second before a deafening crash rings through the air. Even though your feet aren’t on the ground, you can feel the ground shake with the explosion that busts all the windows out of the warehouse. The entire building bursts into flames, turning the walls black. Balls of fire fly out of the broken windows, igniting the grass below. 

You crumble to the ground once Namjoon reaches the woods.

“We have to go,” Hoseok pleads. When you look up at him, his cheeks are streaked with tear tracks, too. 

Turning back to the fiery scene across the field, you watch a dark spot slither from shadow to shadow in the grass until it merges with your own shadow beside you on the ground. You tremble when Jungkook wraps his arms around your shoulders. His body is still crawling with dark veins, and the whites of his eyes are now entirely black. 

“Where is he?”

You glare into Jungkook’s eyes and swallow down the fear they strike in your heart. Like black holes, ready to absorb anything unlucky enough to fall in their path. 

The frown Jungkook wears intensifies. 

“Jungkook. Where. Is. He.” 

Jungkook closes his eyes and shakes his head, jaw clamped shut so tightly you can see the muscles ripple under his skin. When he opens them again, black tears pour from his empty eyes.

It’s like all the air is sucked out of your lungs, like a punch to the throat. You’re breathing in as hard as you can, as fast as you can, but nothing’s staying. Everything is too cold. You can feel the blood crusting on your skin, the throb in the back of your head. Black ash falls from the sky, further obstructing your ability to breathe.

Everything is too much. 

“Get off of me.” 

You try wiggling out from Jungkook’s grasp, but he doesn’t let go. 

“We have to keep moving.” 

“Get the fuck off of me!” 

Jungkook lets you push him away. He leans back on his heels and watches you. Or, you think he is. It’s hard to tell where those black eyes look, but it doesn’t matter. 

“Yoongi,” you moan, sagging forward to dig your fingers into the ground. You rip tufts of grass until all that’s left is dirt. 

With closed fists, you beat into the now bare ground, over and over, until your knuckles split open, and Jungkook has to scoop you into his arms to stop you. Your fingers are raw and bloody, and you don’t feel any of it. Nothing at all. Just numb. Numbness spreads through your body like Jungkook’s black veins spread through his. 

None of this is real. 

“Jungkook,” you sob into the crook of his neck with your arms thrown around his shoulders. He holds you bridal style with one arm wrapped around your torso and the other under your legs. 

“I know.” 

“He’s coming back, right? How will he find us if we keep going?”

Jungkook tightens his hold on you, cradling you against his chest. You assume he’s following the group deeper into the woods, but your eyes are closed, and your face is buried in his neck. He smells like smoke and blood, but you all do now. 

“Jungkook, he’s coming back, right?”

A wet sob cuts through the otherwise quiet woods somewhere in front of you. You think it’s Hoseok, but you can’t tell. 

“This way,” Jessi whispers. 

There’s shuffling, then only the sound of feet crunching dead leaves and snapping twigs. Jungkook jostles you slightly to adjust his grip on you, murmuring gentle apologies every time he does. 

“How are you holding up?” This time it’s Namjoon. He sounds close, like he’s walking in line with Jungkook. 

“I can keep us hidden until we’re deeper in, but then I’ll have to stop,” Jungkook says through gritted teeth, as though he doesn’t want to admit what he must say next. “I’m exhausted.”

“Want me to carry-”

“No.”

Jungkook barks his response with an aggression you’ve never heard from him. He squeezes you, almost protectively close to his chest, as Namjoon assures him everything is fine. It’s hard to focus on the men’s hushed voices when you waver in and out of consciousness. 

Eventually, all you can see when your close your eyes is a flash of bright light, like fire engulfing your brain. 

And then everything goes black.

SHELTER #2

Hoseok’s hands shake as he holds the flint rock in one and the steel knife in the other. Twigs snap beneath his boots as he adjusts his squat. Each fidget draws your attention despite your desire to keep your eyes off the sight of Hoseok struggling. 

After three failed attempts at creating a spark, Jessi quickly snatches the items from Hoseok’s grasp and kneels beside the fire pit. 

“You’re gonna fucking stab yourself,” she grumbles, though she, too, struggles the first few tries. Eventually, the little pile of tinder ignites, filling the circle of rocks you’d gathered with a hot fire whose heat licks at your ankles. 

Namjoon fists your jacket sleeve and drags you backward, nearly toppling you over and making the wet grass stain the butt of your pants a dark green. 

It rained today. You can’t help but wonder if it washed away the blood and soot from the warehouse or if more Red Pin agents will show up and find evidence of what happened there.  

“You’re sitting too close.” 

“I’m cold.” 

“You’re too close, Y/N.” 

You glare at Namjoon, opening your mouth to retort that you’re an adult who can take care of yourself when a sob cuts through the tension between you. 

Hoseok shudders with each heave of his shoulders, nearly folding in on himself, with his elbows on his knees and his palms pressed against his eyes. 

“Hyung,” Namjoon calls out; his voice barely registers over Hoseok’s crying. 

“It makes me think of him.” It’s all Hoseok says, all he needs to say. 

Namjoon and Jessi’s expressions crumple like Hoseok’s body in the dirt. You watch them lock eyes with each other, something silent and private passing between them. You don’t know why, but it pisses you off. It shouldn’t, though. 

Something dark and sick is growing inside you, this angry mass doubling in size every time someone cries for Yoongi. He was your best friend. He found you, saved you, and helped you see that there was more to life. The rest of them don’t get it. Yoongi didn’t mean to them what he meant to you. 

Attempting to hoard grief all to yourself isn’t fair to you or the rest of your group, but you want to do it anyway. You want to be selfish because you feel you deserve the right to hurt the most. The rest of them don’t get it. 

Rather than voice your frustration, you bite your bottom lip and dig your fingers into the dirt, winding up your whole body into a tight fist that’s not quite ready to spring but prepared all the same. If you let yourself loose, you know you’ll say something you shouldn’t – something you know you don’t actually mean and that you’ll regret, if not tomorrow, then ten years from now. Assuming you survive that long. 

For now, survival should be the only thing on your mind. 

The fire sputters slightly. A section of the tinder is wet from the morning’s rain. You hold out your hand, palm facing the sky, and wait. 

Hoseok’s sobs have subsided by the time you’ve drawn the moisture out of the wet wood. It sits in a small pool of water in your palm. A reckless part of you wants to plunge your hand into the fire, but you spread your fingers apart instead. The water falls through your fingers and soaks into the grass. 

The fire’s crackling overpowers the silence that blankets the four of you. Each of you stares deep into its flames, streaks of orange burning in your eyes. You wonder if Jungkook’s invisibility shield (“Optical illusion, guys.”) is strong enough to hide the fire. You’d never thought to ask if he can maintain the shield when he’s not even around. 

Twigs snapping in the distance make you reach for the knife sticking out of the ground beside you. Hoseok doesn’t seem concerned by the sound, but his sense of smell as the air carries it to him may be compromised from all the crying. His nose has been running since your group left the warehouse. 

You haven’t cried since you woke up inside the first abandoned shelter Taehyung mentioned would be on your path to the Commune. Even if you wanted to cry, you wouldn’t be able to. The part of your chest where the sobs should come from just feels empty. 

The rustling in the woods increases until you hear the sound of someone clearing their throat. 

Jungkook emerges from the darkness with a satchel – Yoongi’s satchel – thrown across his chest and a stone bowl in his arms.  

“Rabbit. I skinned them already. I thought you guys might not wanna see…” Jungkook trails off when his bright eyes fall on Hoseok’s tear-stained face. With a quiet sigh, he crouches beside the fire and slides the satchel off, handing it to Namjoon. 

“Fruits,” he mumbles, not looking in Namjoon’s direction once the older man takes the bag from him. Instead, and unsurprisingly, Jungkook’s eyes are on you. 

You look away. There’s too much in those eyes, full of constellations of stories you’re too weak to learn. Bending your knees, you draw your legs against your chest and hug them, returning your gaze to the fire while Jungkook prepares to cook the meat and Namjoon handles the other food. 

Yoongi asked you to look after Jungkook, but it’s he who has taken care of the group. Namjoon seems too busy fussing over Hoseok, and you know you aren’t any help. Jessi is the leader by default now that Yoongi isn’t here to take charge. She’s strong and has kept the group on a tight schedule. You know it’s her way of coping. There’s no time to lose herself in mourning if she charges ahead. Having an end goal gives her purpose. 

If only you knew what yours was. 

SHELTER #3

Your feet sink into the ground with each step you take. The sand feels soft between your toes as you wiggle them, watching the little black grains roll across your skin and make your toes disappear. Your steps halt just before you reach the water’s edge, where bright orange waves lap at the black shore. The shore stretches in both directions, a black stripe for as far as you can see. A ghost of a memory tickles your brain. Jack-o’-lanterns lit by tealight candles, and the smell of cinnamon. 

Suddenly, the orange waves kick up in speed, crashing against the shore more violently. The force causes black sand to spray into the air. You can taste it in your mouth, feel it gritty against your teeth and harsh on your tongue. 

You try to lift your hands to cover your face, but you find that you can’t. They’re trapped to your sides by long vines that wrap around your wrists and dive deep into the sand, rooting you in place. You try to pull out of the vines’ grasp. Thorns dig into your skin so deeply that black blood oozes from the jagged puncture wounds the thorns leave behind. 

“Don’t struggle.” 

The voice brings stillness to the whirlwind of sand and the crash of waves. 

You already know who it is, but your body still feels surprised when Yoongi takes slow steps toward you from the other end of the shore. He’s dressed in a flowy white shirt and loose white pants. When you look down, you realize you’re matching. 

“What do I do?” 

Yoongi ignores your question. His fingers run along your forearm, his index finger dipping into one of the holes in your wrist, still dripping black blood. It doesn’t hurt, even though you know it should. 

Dark cat eyes examine the black that stains his fingers. After another silent minute, Yoongi wipes your blood on the front of his shirt. You don’t know why you’re worried that he’ll ruin it. 

“Jungkookie is here.” 

“What?” 

Yoongi walks toward the orange ocean. You scramble to keep up, but the sand grabs your ankles and pulls you back every time you step forward. 

“Yoongi! Wait for me!” 

“You don’t need me anymore. This is a good thing.” 

Your friend nods his head before stepping into the water. The moment his foot touches the orange waves, the entire ocean bursts into flames. 

“Yoongi!” You shriek, running as fast as possible, but the sand won’t let you go. It sucks you down until you’re up to your knees in the soft grains trapped in the hold of the shore. Your brain knows it’s hopeless, but your body keeps struggling even though Yoongi told you not to. 

Suddenly, you feel rough hands grab your arms, and you’re being pulled into the sand, the grains filling your mouth and nose until your lungs are full and you can’t breathe.

“Hey, hey, shhh, it’s okay.” 

Fingers trail along your hairline, dragging down the length of your face and tracing your jaw. Rather than cold sand, you feel something solid and warm wrap around your body. 

“Breathe. In and out, okay? Inhale… exhale… I got you. It’s okay. I got you.” 

As your body returns to you, you realize your face is pressed against smooth skin. You can taste salt on your lips, but no sand. When you blink, your eyelids feel heavy and wet. 

You’re crying. Sobbing, actually. 

“I miss him, too. So fucking much.” 

Jungkook is crying, too. His voice remains steady, though. He’s always so steady now. The shy, fumbling boy of the warehouse is no more. In the time since the Red Pin attack, Jungkook changed. You all did, but he seems to have changed the most. His eyes still hold the stars, but the darkness seems… deeper now. His aura has lost its boyishness. 

The abandoned building where your group has taken refuge is dark, only lit by the moonlight filtering through the slotted windows. You think it may have once been a cabin for a couple or small family. 

Jungkook cradles you in his lap. The two of you are wrapped in thick blankets, cocooned away from the world. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

Jessi is asleep in the corner of the room, while Namjoon and Hoseok have made their beds in the room across the hall. You’re all accustomed to loud noises at night. Nearly all of you have suffered from night terrors at some point. 

“It’s okay. You’ve had to listen to me cry in my sleep, too,” Jungkook points out with a small smile. 

It’s a breathtaking smile. Jungkook’s cheeks shine with fresh tears, but his bunny teeth poke out, and his eyes crease with the sincerity in that smile. It warms the empty parts of your chest – like hot tea poured into a cool mug. Perhaps the odd feeling in your stomach is similar to the bubble of water boiling. 

“You’re cute when you cry. I’m an ugly crier,” you sniff. It’s stupid to say, but you don’t want to think about how sad you all are. 

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am. All the boogers and the dumb faces I make.” 

Jungkook shakes his head. His hair is getting long again. 

“I think you’re beautiful.” 

“Don’t lie,” you try to joke, but your voice comes out small and unsure rather than teasing. 

“I would never lie to you.” 

As if to seal the promise, Jungkook presses his lips against your forehead in a kiss. Your fingers ache from how tightly you squeeze the fabric of his shirt into your fists. 

Every day you trudge through the woods in search of the Commune, and every day you live in fear of the Red Pins finding you once again. But being in Jungkook’s lap, face nuzzling the crook of his neck, his strong arms holding you against his chest… It’s the only time you genuinely feel safe. 

SHELTER #4

“When was the last time,” Jungkook pauses to pull his shirt over his head, “you took a bath?” 

Your eyes roam the expanse of his broad chest, the dips and valleys of his abdomen, and the sparse dark hairs disappearing into the waistband of his pants. You’ve seen Jungkook shirtless before. It’s a treat every time, although you feel a twinge of guilt from looking now. Running along his ribcage is an extended cut, red with scabs. Jessi did her best to stitch Jungkook up with whatever she had in the supplies Namjoon and Hoseok snatched before you fled the warehouse. It’s a pretty nasty wound, but it seems to be healing well. Part of you wonders if exposing it to lake water is a good idea, but you keep the thought to yourself. Jungkook is tired of everyone babying him. He hasn’t told you as much, but you can tell.    

“I’m too ashamed to answer that question.” 

“You and me both,” Jungkook snorts. 

He removes the harness strapped around his thigh, taking the large knife off along with it. After the Red Pin attack, you now know how pointless it is to carry any weapon other than a gun. However, none of you have guns, though you still believe your Gifts are better than any human-made weaponry. 

“Too bad we don’t have, like, soap and shit,” you grumble, stomping a cluster of wild mushrooms growing along the bank of the lake you’d found. 

Jungkook’s tattooed fingers play with his belt buckle while his big, brown eyes flit up to meet yours. 

“Sorry!” You rush to apologize and turn your back to him. Heat creeps up your neck, spreading across your cheeks and biting at your ears’ tips. 

Your discomfort worsens when you hear a quiet chuckle rumble from Jungkook. There’s the rustle of clothes and, soon after, a light splash that tells you he has eased himself into the lake. 

“You’re good.” 

When you turn around, Jungkook isn’t facing you. He dips his head back to wet his hair, running his fingers through it a few times before righting himself again, still facing away from you. The water reaches his lower back when he’s standing, but you can tell he is crouching slightly because the gentle waves lap higher up on his back. It’s not dirty water since the lake has a fresh stream feeding it, which ensures that the water isn’t stagnant, but it’s murky enough from the plants growing at the bottom that you can’t make out the rest of Jungkook’s body. Not that you want to, considering he’s naked. 

Thankful for the privacy, you quickly strip out of your clothes and step into the water. You keep a respectful distance between you, choosing not to drift too far into deeper water. You much prefer to at least touch the sandy bottom with your tiptoes. 

Slipping deep enough that only your head remains above water, you watch Jungkook as he uses an old rag to scrub his arms. You’re both disgustingly grimy. 

“Lucky we found this place,” you think aloud as you begin to work on scrubbing down yourself, as well. 

“We are.” 

“Jungkook. You can look now.” 

His head snaps up, gaze locking with yours for a split second before he averts his eyes again. You’re close enough to see pink bloom across his face. 

You clear your throat to fill the silence when he says nothing. Part of you thought it might spur him to talk, but the tension between you remains. 

You’re not sure when it first developed. Part of you knows it has always been there, perhaps dormant or less noticeable. Much of it falls back on Jungkook’s behavior, you think as you watch him slide the rag down his chest. The tension has always lived in the dark expanse of his eyes and how he searches for you, always you, maybe without even realizing it himself. It’s gotten worse since you’ve started waking up every morning wrapped in his arms and nuzzling his neck. 

“What’s the first thing you want to do when we get to the Commune?” Jungkook finally speaks. When he does, you force yourself to drop your gaze, focusing intently on continuing to wash yourself to the best of your ability with the lack of soap.

“Eat food that isn’t rabbit, hopefully.” 

“Hey!” 

A giant splash of water hits you in the face. You gasp, rushing to wipe away the droplets clinging to your eyelashes. 

“F–fuck you!” You sputter. 

“It’s not my fault rabbits are the easiest things to catch around here. I’m doing my best!” 

Another splash slaps into you. It isn’t hard enough to sting, but it’s a splash all the same. 

“You’re real dumb if you think you can start a splashing war with someone who has a water Gift,” you challenge. 

“I’m not scared of you,” Jungkook sticks out his tongue after he challenges you. 

All it takes is a flick of your wrist and a wave higher than most nearby trees descend on Jungkook. It doesn’t ever reach him, though. The sheer panic that contorts his face is enough to warm your body with evil satisfaction. You gently let the wave descend into the lake, barely kicking up enough to splash Jungkook against the chest. 

“I showed you mercy. You’re welcome, young man.” 

Jungkook lets out a loud snort, eyes rolling into the back of his head in defiance. “You’re insane.” 

“You provoke me.” 

You don’t like how high his eyebrows arch, unable to decipher what an expression like that is supposed to mean. 

“I provoke you? In what way?” 

You narrow your eyes at him. “You literally did it just now.” 

Jungkook straightens up a little. The action makes more of his torso rise from the water. You can’t help but drop your eyes to the water level that has fallen so dangerously low on his hips. 

When your gaze finally returns to his face, Jungkook is wearing an exaggerated pout. 

“I’m innocent.” 

“Pfft,” you scoff. 

By this point, your fingers are starting to get wrinkly, and the position you’re standing in to ensure your whole body is covered in the water is becoming uncomfortable. You’re just about to tell Jungkook that you’re done playing games – that the two of you need to hurry up before the rest of your group gets worried about you being gone for too long – when the man disappears. 

“Oh my god, Jungkook-ah, why?” 

Your eyes dart around the lake, eyeing each shadow suspiciously. You don’t think you see Jungkook’s actual body underwater, so all you can guess is that he’s doing his creepy crawly shadow-walking just to bother you. 

“This is doing the exact opposite of proving that you’re innoce–” You interrupt yourself with a loud gasp when you feel fingers squeeze your bare hips. 

“Boo,” Jungkook deadpans, but his face quickly cracks into a smile. 

You want to laugh at yourself for being so easily startled, to match Jungkook’s joyfulness, but all you can focus on is the feeling of his fingertips pressing into your skin. 

“Jungkook…” 

“Hm?” 

He’s absentminded as his gaze drops down to stare at your lips. You automatically lick them, almost on instinct, unable to stop yourself. Jungkook follows your lead, though he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth instead of settling his face. If that action didn’t already make your stomach twist into a knot, the darkness of Jungkook’s gaze does. 

“I…” Jungkook rubs slow circles into your hips with his thumbs, following the curve of your hip bone and effectively interrupting your thoughts. 

You don’t know who leans in first, but it doesn’t really matter. The moment Jungkook’s lips connect with yours, it’s as though your brain completely empties. 

It’s a hesitant kiss, just a light press of Jungkook’s closed mouth against yours. He grows bolder when you don’t pull away, parting his lips slightly. He nibbles at your bottom lip, prompting you to part yours as well, allowing him to slot your lips together. 

You bring your hands up to squeeze Jungkook’s biceps, coaxing a slight whine from him when your nails lightly dig into his skin. The sound is gentle but needy, making your skin prickle with goosebumps. You’ve never heard Jungkook sound like that, never heard anyone sound like that. 

You’ve never even kissed anyone before. 

It’s not what you expected, though you haven’t spent much time thinking about physical intimacy. Being trapped in the Labs, it never seemed like something you’d have the privilege of exploring. Once you escaped, there was only one person you ever thought about being intimate with – and even then, it was far more wholesome than this, you now realize. This… is different. 

Jungkook trembles, and you feel his hands flex against your hips as he tilts his head to the side, deepening the kiss. 

A few times, the two of you fumble, noses bumping into each other and teeth nipping a bit too hard. It makes you wonder if this is Jungkook’s first kiss, too. You decide it doesn’t matter if it is. It’s warm and soft, and Jungkook tastes sweet, like the berries Hoseok picked earlier today. You’re dizzy; Jungkook stealing the air from your lungs. Your body screams for you to pull away, but you cling to him tighter.  

Something firm brushing against your inner thigh brings you back to reality. You nearly jump out of Jungkook’s grasp, chest heaving and fingers trembling beneath the water. 

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook hurries to speak before you do. 

Before you can say anything in return – though you’re not sure what you want to say – Jungkook is gone. All that’s left are his clothes still neatly folded on the grass beside the lake and a thrum of excitement beating through your body to the tune of guilt and shame. 

Kissing Jungkook felt good. And that is why it can never happen again.  

SHELTER #5

If you ever told Jessi that you see her as a mother figure, she would probably kill you. You consider this as she wields a machete, hacking away at the brush that blocks your path as you continue toward the Commune. The muscles in her bicep and shoulders flex with each swing. It’s sexy and terrifying, and you can only admire her strength when the rest of your group is floundering. 

The guys trail behind, practically dragging their feet. It’s Jungkook’s fault (and maybe yours, but you won’t think about that). 

Ever since the kiss, Jungkook has avoided you. You haven’t interacted with each other in days, aside from the cuddles you share at night when nightmares overtake you. 

Hoseok and Namjoon have also noticed the shift in his behavior, though they believe it’s grief causing him to distance himself from the group. They hang back, letting you and Jessi march forward, so they can talk and do whatever boys do to cheer each other up when the world is falling apart. 

You try not to think about it too much, but Jessi and her motherly instincts don’t let you know peace. 

“Yoongi wouldn’t want us to be so fucking sad all the time.” Jessi lets out a grunt as she hacks at a particularly thick tree branch blocking your path. “If he was here right now, he’d kick all of our asses with a quickness.” 

She’s right; it goes without saying. 

Letting her arm fall to her side, Jessi uses her free hand to wipe away the sweat that collects on her forehead and drips down the side of her face. She looks at you like she’s waiting for you to do something. The expression makes you feel uneasy. 

“What?”

“Did you even hear the shit I was saying?”

“Yes.” 

“Okay then, what’re you gonna do about it?”

You scrunch your eyebrows together. “About what?” 

Jessi lets out a frustrated huff and again brings the machete down on the tree branch. It splinters and breaks, providing enough weakness for Jessi to stomp down on it with a steel-toed boot. 

“Did you and Jungkook fuck?” 

“What?!” 

When you gasp, you’re sure you inhale a bug, sucking it right down your throat and probably into your fucking lungs for all you know. It sparks a terrible coughing fit that makes Jessi pause to slap you between the shoulder blades a few times. 

“Why–” you heave, tears in your eyes, “why would you think that?” 

Jessi pushes forward through the forest brush with a roll of her eyes. 

“It’s obvious there’s something going on. The poor boy’s moping around after you like a lovesick puppy. Even worse than usual.” 

If you weren’t already sweating your ass off, you would be heating up from Jessi’s astute observations. 

“I don’t know what you're–” 

“Aish, fucking save it, babe,” Jessi interrupts you with a wave of the hand that isn’t holding the machete. “All I’m trying to say is that it’s okay to feel good. Life is fucked as it is. Stop ruining good things for yourself and live as best as you can in the circumstances we got, alright?” 

She gives you a stern look from the side, a look that you quickly try to avoid by ducking your head down. Suddenly, the ground is fascinating. 

“I’m fine.” 

“Right, and I don’t have a fat ass.” 

“Really!” You insist. The desperation in your voice is pathetic and telling. 

“Yoongi would want you to live, hun. I know he would. And you wanna know how I know?”

There isn’t a need to say anything; once Jessi has her mind set on something, she sees it through until the end. 

“There wasn’t a fox in the woods. It was a Red Pin scout.” She gives you a pointed look. “But ignorance is bliss, and he wanted you to be happy. He wanted you to live without more fear, so he didn’t tell you. So do whatever you need to do to fix things with Jungkook and be fucking happy.” 

You fall behind as Jessi speeds up, the path much clearer now than it had been just a few feet before. The guys are still meandering further back, so you fall somewhere in the middle, close enough to see everyone at either end but far enough that you can be alone with your thoughts without interruption. 

Jessi is right, but it feels wrong to let yourself feel good. How can you be happy when Yoongi isn’t here? There is a bit of survivor’s guilt clutching at your heart, but most of your struggle is from the pain of simply not having Yoongi around. Being happy feels like it would be a betrayal of some kind. 

Yoongi would disagree. He would give you that gummy smile and poke you in the ribs until you cry, and then he would tell you that you’re being an idiot. 

With a sigh, you break into a light jog to catch up with Jessi, Yoongi’s voice echoing for the millionth time in your head. 

You and Jungkook.

COMFORT

You are ashamed to admit that you take longer to apologize to Jungkook than Yoongi took to apologize you to. 

In fact, you never apologize to Jungkook before your group makes it to the Commune. It never seemed like the right opportunity came. There was always someone else around, or Jungkook looked exceptionally sad, or you told yourself you would say something once he woke up but got caught up watching how beautiful he looks when he sleeps cuddled against you every night. 

It’s always tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. The thing about tomorrow is that it always comes until it doesn’t. 

And then suddenly, you’re all stumbling into a clearing in the woods that leads to what looks like a hole in the trees, and there is magic dancing in your bones that pulls your thoughts away from anything but the man who stands to greet you.

Kim Taehyung is not what you expected from the leader of a notorious Gifted runaway commune that has evaded the authorities for years. Admittedly, you had few expectations – too busy worrying about surviving the trek to think about what the man would look like when he finally greeted you. Still, it’s a lot to process. 

“Welcome, my little Gifts!” 

The lithe man stretches his long arms out as wide as his wingspan will let him. Your group exchanges looks when Taehyung doesn’t move, his eyebrows arched as he waits. 

The six of you stand at the Commune entrance, marked by two trees manipulated into forming a magical-looking arch. Large flower bushes and more trees flank the arch, hiding whatever may lie within the Commune. Try as you might, as you peer over Jessi’s shoulder, you can’t see through the thicket. 

Taehyung lets out a quiet sigh, but his arms don’t seem to tire. He wiggles his fingers as though he’s beckoning you into his arms. The movements, although small, make the numerous gold bracelets that line his wrists clink together like wind chimes. He wears loose slacks and an oversized white silk shirt. A knitted shawl with intricate patterns stitched into it in earth tones hangs over his broad shoulders. The tassels sway in the wind. You don’t know how, but he smells like summer. 

“Do you not seek comfort?”

A loud whimper erupts from the middle of your huddle, and suddenly Jungkook pushes past Jessi and Namjoon. He stumbles the few steps it takes to reach Taehyung. 

“Jungkook-ah,” Jessi whisper-yells, but it’s too late. Jungkook has his face buried in Taehyung’s chest, a sob tearing through his body. 

“Shhh, my little Gift, you are home.” 

Taehyung keeps his eyebrows arched, giving the rest of your group a pointed look. It takes hardly a second before Hoseok follows Jungkook, launching himself into Taehyung’s embrace with such power you’re shocked the Commune leader manages to stay upright. Hoseok’s cries harmonize with Jungkook’s until Namjoon eventually joins. 

Never one to open up about sadness, Jessi stares down the Commune leader with a challenging look that would make the bravest soldiers shit themselves – and yet Taehyung merely smiles the strangest, most charming smile you’ve ever seen. 

Before you know it, you’re standing alone because Jessi has a singular tear sliding down her round cheek, and Taehyung has one arm curling her against his chest, too. 

Comfort. 

It’s funny, isn’t it? Funny that we want it, crave it, even from a complete stranger. Comfort provides no solution to our problems and is even sometimes used to avoid problems altogether. You have known little comfort since Jungkook carried you away from the warehouse.  

Okay then, what’re you gonna do about it?

You meet Jessi’s gaze, and the realization hits you that this is the first time you’ve seen her cry. 

“Be happy, Y/N.” If Jessi speaks out loud, you can’t hear her but can read her mouth clearly. 

It’s like something shatters in your chest. It’s shocking; you were convinced nothing was left inside to break. But when Taehyung finally lowers both arms to wrap them around your group – yourself included – no pain or sadness plagues your heart. You feel strangely at peace. Taehyung’s summer scent envelopes you. It’s freshly-cut grass, sea salt, and cherry blossoms. Warmth spreads from the man, what you imagine it feels like to be a plant absorbing nutrients from the sun. 

“Thank you for trusting me,” Taehyung speaks softly. “This is my Gift, and it makes my heart happy to share it with you today.” 

You remember that Taehyung is a healer Gifted when he gently extricates himself from what became a group hug that lasted for eternity. 

“Are we feeling better now?” 

You all find yourselves nodding. Taehyung beams at that. He claps his hands together, startling Hoseok into a small giggle. 

“Wonderful!” Taehyung turns on his heel, his shawl billowing out behind him as he swiftly crosses the archway. “Now, come with me. We have many things to take care of!” 

Your group hurries to keep up with the man who’s all legs. Beyond the arch, the Commune is more like a small village than whatever tent city you’d expected. Little houses similar to the abandoned ones your group found refuge in on the way here line the dirt paths – except these are full of life. Odd markings are painted on the brick and concrete buildings, all in the bright colors of summer: sunny yellows, healthy greens, and vibrant pinks. 

You notice that in the doorway of every building is a small basket, sometimes more than one, resting on the ground. Some are full of items you can’t quite make out because Taehyung is walking so quickly that you don’t have time to peek into any of them. 

“I can’t quite remember how many there are of us,” Taehyung says over his shoulder as he leads you down a road lined with shops. There’s clothing, produce, and other wares for sale. You feel embarrassed by how your mouth waters simply from seeing an apple. “I would say at least three hundred, but Seokjin hyung would know better. He’s the brains of all this. I’m merely the handsome face of the operation.” 

“Yah, I heard that, Kim Taehyung!” 

“Oh, so you heard me singing your praises, hyung?” 

Taehyung leads you to what you guess is the center of the Commune by the way the buildings form a half circle around a grassy quad. In the middle of the quad, there is a large pile of tinder – tree branches, dead grass and hay, planks of wood, and other items stacked on top of each other to build what will most likely be a giant bonfire from the looks of it. 

The man known as Seokjin approaches your group just to shove Taehyung’s shoulder with his own. “I am both the brains and the beauty, thank you very much. You can be second-best.” 

“You’re demoting me? In front of our new friends?” Taehyung pouts. 

Seokjin twists his broad torso to get a good look at your ragtag team of misfits. Facing this new man’s beauty head-on, you are quickly reminded of how disgusting you all probably look and smell, having fought through the woods for weeks without even a proper bath. 

Even though you all look like hell, Seokjin beams just as Taehyung had. 

“Oh good, you didn’t run away!” 

You feel Jessi tense beside you. “Why the fuck would we run away?” 

“Taehyung is insufferable, that’s why.” 

“Hey!” The leader shoves his friend much harder than his friend had shoved him. “You’re so grumpy. Do you need a hug?” 

Seokjin swats at Taehyung. “Don’t you have things to do? Summer is here soon. Go make daisy chains or something. Jimin and I will take care of our new friends.”

“Daisy chains?” You blurt out in question as Taehyung wiggles his fingers at your group in a goodbye. In the blink of an eye, he’s gone, disappearing into the crowds of people going about their day in the Commune. You’ve never seen so many Gifteds, free and all together, in your life.  

Seokjin hums, beckoning your group to follow him deeper into the Commune. 

“In a few days, it will be the First of Summer. I assume you all have never celebrated Summer?” 

You find it odd that Seokjin speaks of the season as though it’s a holiday. When no one responds, he lets out a long sigh. 

“You’ve missed out on so much, trapped like lab rats.” He spits the end of his sentence. It’s in anger at the research facilities rather than a judgment of you, but it makes your heart sting just the same. You wish Taehyung was here. 

Leading you to a three-story building that looks similar to a warehouse or an office building, with plain concrete walls decorated with more colorful markings, Seokjin pauses to let your group enter the front door first. 

“This is my home,” Seokjin welcomes your group. “My husband and I sleep on the first floor, but there are a few empty guest rooms on the second and third. Newcomers tend to stay with us until we’ve built them their own homes.” 

“That’s so generous of you, Seokjin,” Hoseok speaks up for the first time. The crackle in his voice tells you he’s still on the verge of tears, but he smiles when you turn to look at him. 

“Please, call me hyung if you’d like.” Seokjin smiles. 

Taehyung and Seokjin’s use of honorifics warms your heart, even though you don’t have the same emotional attachment to the custom as the others. When you look out of the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook smile at the honorific, too. 

“We’ll get your rooms situated, but first, are you hungry?” 

“Fuck yes,” Jessi groans.

The group and Seokjin laugh when you ask, “Do you have anything besides rabbit?” 

In the kitchen, your group meets Seokjin’s husband, Jimin, a fire Gifted. When Jimin pulls you into a tight hug, tears prickle in the corners of your eyes because his body burns, and he smells faintly of smoke, just like Yoongi. 

While chomping away at fresh vegetables and meat that isn’t rabbit, you learn that Seokjin is the legendary cosmic Gifted you only half-heartedly believed to be real. His ability to bend time and space wipes the Commune off the radar, ensuring the Red Pins never find it. Despite his large personality, he seems too shy to demonstrate his Gift, even as Jimin pesters him. 

They’re cute, Seokjin and Jimin. They fuss over your group as though they are your parents, making sure that you each get a turn taking a shower and that you have enough blankets and pillows in your bedrooms. Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jungkook share one, while you and Jessi share another. Jimin apologizes profusely about not being able to provide you with your own bedrooms, which you all dismiss. 

“We anticipate a few additional newcomers soon; I’m so sorry we don’t have enough room to spread out,” Jimin bemoans as he plays with his fingers. 

“Are you kidding?” Namjoon teases with a smile that crinkles his eyes. “We’ve been living in an abandoned warehouse for months.” 

“Sleeping on the floor gave me fucking arthritis, and I’m barely thirty,” Jessi chimes in.

“That’s not how that works.” 

“Fuck off, Jungkook-ah. Tell that to my broken back.” 

Jimin looks appalled by your previous living situation, making your group joke around more. Laugh through the pain, right? It’s a coping mechanism you’ve all done a decent job of perfecting. Sometimes being alive is enough to laugh about because, well, at least you’re alive. 

After a whirlwind of a day getting settled into Seokjin and Jimin’s home, you can finally ease your bones into a real bed with a thick, fluffy mattress and clean sheets. Your tummy is full of delicious food, your body clean and well-moisturized thanks to Jimin’s homemade skincare products, and you finally allow yourself to sink into the one thing you’ve been scared to find: comfort. 

Just before sleep overtakes you, you hear a quiet, almost timid, knock at the door. You wrack your brain, thinking about who it could be and why they need you. It feels like too much effort to get out of bed when you’ve only just been able to relax, so you call out to the person on the other side of the door. 

“Hi.” 

Jungkook’s wide eyes peer at you through the dark, a sliver of moonlight peeking through the window blinds highlighting parts of his face. 

“Hi,” you say, pausing to quietly clear your throat. “What’s up?”

“Can’t sleep.”

Your heart feels like it will fly out of your chest when Jungkook hesitantly steps into your bedroom. You watch him eye Jessi’s sleeping form in the bed on the opposite side of the room, perhaps weighing the pros and cons of being in the room if she wakes up. 

Apparently accepting the risk, Jungkook scurries over to stand beside your bed. 

“Can I sleep with you?” 

It’s the most Jungkook has spoken to you since he fled the lake. His request shouldn’t make your stomach flip with nerves; you’ve cuddled together every night since your first nightmare about Yoongi. So it should be easy when you respond, 

“Of course.” 

You quickly scoot over to give Jungkook room when he slips beneath the sheets. 

“Thank you,” he whispers into the dark. 

Holding out your arms, you encourage Jungkook to curl against your side, a position you usually take, but something tells you that Jungkook needs this more than you do. Part of your assumption is due to the timid, gentle boy who entered your bedroom – a different person than the one you watched murder multiple Red Pins at the warehouse with frightening ease. 

He’s still the same, though, deep down, a lonely boy with nothing to his name, just like the rest of you. 

Jungkook stays quiet while you run your fingers through his hair. You’re reminded of the promise you were supposed to make to Yoongi, the one about taking care of Jungkook. It’s time for you to finally fulfill that promise, and you already know what the first step should be. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize softly. “I don’t like not talking to you.” 

And it hurts more than you realize. Saying it out loud makes it real, this scary uncertainty in your relationship that you’ve never experienced before. Jungkook has always been there – a steady comfort to fall back on, soft eyes to search for in moments tainted with fear and grief. Not having Jungkook in your life… It’s unfathomable. 

“I’m sorry, too,” Jungkook whispers into the crook of your neck.

You’re not sure what he’s sorry for, though you remind yourself that a relationship is a two-way street. The two of you should have talked rather than dance around each other. Even now, you’re not really talking. You want to bring it up – the kiss. What it means for him. What it means for you. Why it happened in the first place. If it’s… okay, okay to like how soft Jungkook’s lips had felt on yours and how sweet he’d tasted. Okay to feel an unfamiliar heat spread throughout your body, starting at his fingers gripping your waist. 

“I’m sorry I did it without asking first,” Jungkook elaborates after a few minutes of silence. 

Even though he doesn’t say what it is, you don’t need him to spell it out before you reply, “It’s okay.” 

“It’s not, though.” 

You shiver when Jungkook’s lips brush against your neck as he talks. His breath is cold, even though his body is warm. You wonder if it’s the darkness inside of him seeping out when he breathes. 

“I swear, it is. I forgive you. We both kinda went for it, right?” You say with an awkward laugh. 

“I’m not sorry about doing it.” Jungkook squeezes you tighter, but you’re already holding your breath. “I’d do it again.” 

His confession is whispered so quietly you likely wouldn’t have heard him if it weren’t for the fact that his lips brush your neck just below your ear. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” 

Jungkook’s lips travel higher. You close your eyes and let out a shuddered breath when his lips brush against your earlobe. 

It’s getting harder to relax, your body completely rigid and your breathing on the verge of frantic as Jungkook drags his nose down the length of your neck. The touch sends tingling sensations across your body. A strange feeling, like your stomach is flipping around inside of you, consumes you. His nose on your skin tickles, but it’s somehow more than just a tickle. It feels… good. Makes your stomach tense and heat spread, chasing after the goosebumps. 

“Goodnight,” Jungkook finally whispers into the crook of your neck. 

It takes you a long time to fall asleep.

THE EVE 

Apparently, the First of Summer is something to celebrate at the Commune. It seems as though everyone has a task to complete on the Eve of the holiday to get all the preparations in order, even you and your misfit crew. 

“Our Gifts are at their strongest during the Summer; haven’t you noticed?” 

Jimin flutters around like a hummingbird, gracefully darting between about a dozen small baskets lined up in the grass beside his home. The fire Gifted places a variety of items in the baskets: flower bouquets, fruits and vegetables wrapped in protective cloths, and other little trinkets and handmade presents. 

“Is that so?” Namjoon perks up from where he’d been watching a line of ants march into a small anthill. He sits in the grass next to you and Jessi while Jungkook and Hoseok stand closer to where Jimin flits around. 

“Mhm. We are more in tune with the Seasons compared to humans.” 

Jessi scoffs, “We are humans.” 

Cradling a bouquet of tiger lilies in one hand, Jimin puts his other hand on his hip. It’s supposed to be sassy and, perhaps, stern, but he just comes off as adorable in your eyes. 

“We are not humans.” 

“Then what are we?” 

With a huff, Jimin gently places the flowers in a basket that’s nearly full. 

“We are Gifts from Nature. Don’t you feel it? The Earth flows through our veins, Jessi. She broke pieces off herself to gift to us; pieces of the Universe exist inside of us. Humans don’t have that.”

There mustn’t be a good comeback for such lofty talk because Jessi remains quiet after Jimin finishes speaking. You don’t blame her; the perspective Jimin offers isn’t one you’ve ever heard of before. Everyone talks about Gifteds as mutants, genetic abominations. It’s scientific and clinical, although no scientist has figured out how or why Gifteds exist. 

Jimin’s perspective sounds like… magic. You decide that you quite like the idea that some omnipresent entity chose to give up parts of herself to make you special, a lot more than believing you’re an unnatural freak. 

“What are these for?” Hoseok asks, bending at the waist to peer into one of the baskets. 

“They’re gifts,” Jimin says with a little giggle, likely at the tease around the word he uses. “It’s customary to give gifts on the First of Summer. You’re supposed to leave them on your neighbors’ doorsteps, though you could directly gift them during the Bonfire.” 

Brushing his hands onto his pants, Jimin straightens up and looks around at your group. In the few days you’ve known Jimin, you’ve noticed that his lips poke out when he’s thinking. It reminds you of a little beak on a baby bird. You’ve told Jungkook as much, and he agrees. 

Your eyes fall on Jungkook, hoping he’ll look your way. It doesn’t take long for him to tilt his head to the side and meet your gaze. Sometimes you wonder if Jungkook can sense you somehow. You don’t understand how his Gift works, but it seems mysterious enough to be capable of anything at this point. How else would he somehow know when you’re looking in his direction every time? 

With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you subtly pucker your lips. 

Jungkook catches on quickly. His eyebrows shoot up, and a small smirk etches itself into his features. He pinches his lips into a pucker, too, and wiggles his eyebrows at you. 

You have to press your lips together to stop yourself from laughing. 

“Jungkook?” 

The younger man quickly straightens his posture and schools his face when Jimin calls out to him. 

“Yes, hyung?” 

“Want to help me finish up with some decorations? Jessi, too?” 

Jungkook nods hard enough that you worry he might give himself a headache. 

As Jessi pushes herself off the ground, Jimin turns to you, Namjoon, and Hoseok. 

“How about you all help Seokjin down at the quad with the Bonfire? He’s working on setting up the tables and food stalls for the Morning of Summer. We gather to have a breakfast feast and celebrate the first Morning together.” 

Hoseok beams at the idea, turning to you with his hands held out. You squeeze them and let him help haul you onto your feet. 

“It sounds so nice,” Hoseok chirps with excitement as the three of you make your way through the winding dirt road toward the quad, past rows of unique homes and community gardens scattered across what is essentially a makeshift neighborhood. 

“Having a community… I feel like I don’t know how to enjoy it,” Namjoon says softly. 

“What do you mean?” It seems odd to you; haven’t they all wanted something like this?

“I don’t remember how to be social. I was, I think, at some point. Before the Labs. And, of course, I feel comfortable with you all. But…” 

“Being around strangers is hard,” you offer. 

Namjoon nods in agreement. He isn’t sad, though, like you’d assumed he’d be. Namjoon wears a smile as Hoseok wraps his arms around his waist. 

“The good thing is we have all the time in the world to figure ourselves out, now. We get to be whatever we want to be, and exist however we want to exist. No more running, no more hiding, no more fighting,” Hoseok says with a grin, and it’s impossible to not believe him. 

The air Gifted nuzzles his face into Namjoon’s neck, and you swear there is light pink that mixes with the honey of Namjoon’s cheeks. 

Hoseok’s display of affection reminds you of your nights with Jungkook. They’ve become more frequent; nearly every night, he slips into your bed to cuddle with his lips dragging along your neck, just lightly enough to seem innocent but still present enough to make your body burn with an unfamiliar heat.  

You haven’t done anything more than cuddle, and you’re having a hard time telling yourself that you’re okay with that. 

Seokjin doesn’t give you time to ponder what you think is your budding love life. He gives you, Hoseok, and Namjoon a variety of tasks to complete throughout the day, from painting what you learn are ancient runes on the sides of buildings to helping the farmers harvest their produce to bring to the food stalls. Manual labor doesn’t bother the three of you; for months, you’ve all lived in a world where you work hard to survive, hunting and building your shelters. This work is easy in comparison and much more entertaining. 

At some point, Taehyung strolls through the busy quad to check on the outdoor dining space coming to fruition a safe distance from the large bonfire. He plops down on the bench at one of the tables, elbow on the table and chin resting in his hand as he watches you, Hoseok, and Namjoon take a break to munch on some snacks one of the farmers had given you. 

“Having fun, little Gifts?” 

Taehyung’s eyes sparkle in the late afternoon sun, and you can’t help but melt into the comfort that radiates from him. 

“I could stay here forever,” Hoseok mumbles around a large bite of an apple. 

“Oh?” The twinkling of Taehyung’s eyes morphs from adoration to teasing amusement. “I thought that was already the plan.” 

Hoseok nods, giving the leader a sheepish look. 

“That would be dope, yeah.”

“Then it is done.” 

The exchange makes you and Namjoon giggle, though the sweet sounds quickly die out when familiar figures jog down the dirt path toward where you sit. 

Jimin is beaming, his entire aura nearly glowing, though you know part of that is due to his Gift. Your gut twists from the memory of Yoongi, but the pain doesn’t cut as deeply as it used to. At first, you thought the lessening of the pain meant you were forgetting him or no longer caring about him, and you felt even more grief from that. But a late-night heart-to-heart with Hoseok taught you that this isn’t apathy; it’s healing. 

So you acknowledge the little prick of pain that sits in your chest but choose to use the memory of Yoongi to fuel your new love for Jimin, who you know Yoongi would have loved, too. 

“Jiminie!” Taehyung calls from his seat at the table. He holds his arms open, eagerly pulling the other man into a spine-crushing hug. 

The call of your own name draws your attention away from the men. You turn to see Jessi flashing you an uncharacteristically large grin. It makes you extremely suspicious. 

“What do you want?” You question her with narrowed eyes. 

“Oh, nothing. Jungkook wants something, though,” she says in a sing-songy voice before skipping - literally skipping - away to talk to Hoseok and Namjoon. 

Jungkook stands at the opposite end of the long wooden table. In his hands is a small wicker basket and he shuffles from foot to foot, staring at nothing in particular. 

“Jungkook-ah?”

He looks up at you with large, startled eyes. In a split second, he’s gone. The only evidence that the young man had even been there is the wicker basket now rocking from side to side in front of you on the table. 

You can’t help but giggle as dark shadows slither from table to table. 

“Do you think he can still hear me when he’s in his shadow form?” Jessi slides onto the bench beside you. She looks around at all the shadows, likely wondering which one is Jungkook. 

“I have no idea.” 

“Hey, Jungkook-ah!” Jessi looks over her shoulder to survey more of the quad. “You’re a fucking wimp!” 

Ignoring Jessi’s comment, you turn your attention to the basket. Inside is a small bouquet of white mugunghwa, a modern-looking pale pink jeogori, and a brand-new hard copy of Fahrenheit 451. Your heart pounds in your chest as you lift each item from the basket and gently place them on the table in front of you, inspecting them with soft eyes and careful fingers. 

“Where…?” 

“He picked the flowers himself and did odd jobs around the Commune and hunted some meat to trade for the jeogori and the book,” Jessi answers your unfinished question. 

You feel your eyes tingle at the corners, with tears threatening to burn your cheeks if you blink too hard. From what it sounds like, the Summer gifts are extremely meaningful - something you share with those you care about to wish them a fruitful year and good health. To think that Jungkook has spent the few days you’ve been here preparing such a gift for you warms your heart, so much so that you feel like you’re catching fire from the inside out. 

“This is very special,” Taehyung speaks as he caresses one of the flower’s petals. 

You’d almost forgotten about Seokjin, Taehyung, Jimin, and the rest of your group. 

“It is,” you agree. You carefully return the items to the basket to keep them safe. “I don’t have a gift for him, though. Is it fair to show up to the Bonfire empty-handed?” 

Jimin rests his chin on Taehyung’s head and hums as he thinks.

“Typically, we don’t give gifts to each other during the Bonfire. The gifts you bring to the Bonfire are offerings to Nature to ask for health and prosperity in the upcoming year. You’ll toss them into the fire and recite the offering prayer - but you don’t have to since you don’t know it yet.” 

You’re not sure you have anything to offer the Bonfire, either, but it seems Taehyung reads your mind. 

“There are other ways to give an offering to Nature, if not through the Bonfire,” Taehyung supplies with a small smirk. He looks mischievous and sneaky; the expression makes your skin tickle with goosebumps. 

“Yeah, you can fuck,” Seokjin adds with a smirk of his own. He looks too proud of himself when you choke on your next inhale of air. 

“You can what?” Hoseok nearly trips over his feet in his attempt to get closer to hear what Seokjin has to say. 

“It’s not an official part of the Summer celebration,” Jimin interjects with a roll of his eyes at his husband. 

“It’s a part my sweet Jiminie doesn’t mind partaking in.” 

“Seokjin!” 

Taehyung throws his head back in a loud cackle as Jimin’s face turns bright pink. The poor fire Gifted sputters as he tries to defend himself. 

“N-no! No! It’s, no!” 

Seokjin shrugs and stretches his arms over his head, leaning on each side long enough to make his joints pop. 

“Sex is part of Nature, is it not? It represents vitality, fertility, birth, new beginnings,” Seokjin points out. “Nature takes all that we give her with equal value.” 

If Jimin is uncomfortable, you’re downright mortified. You can’t help but look around at the quad as Jessi had, every shadow lurking around the corner more suspicious than the next. What does it mean that they mention sex, and your thought immediately turns to Jungkook? Shame burns at your cheeks, but you can’t get the image out of your mind. You know pretty much nothing about sex and can barely even imagine what it would be like, yet you latch onto the idea that Jungkook might be… 

Well…

You can’t say it. You can’t bring yourself to think about it. Shaking your head, you quickly stand and scoop the wicker basket into your arms. 

“I’m going to put this in my room,” you announce to no one and everyone. 

The group shouts teasing comments about your shy behavior as you do your best to walk calmly in the direction of Seokjin and Jimin’s house, avoiding everyone’s gaze and especially the shadows.

FIRE

You expected the Bonfire to hurt. Not physically, since there are plenty of fire Gifteds around to ensure the celebrations stay safe and under control. No, you expected the pain of the Bonfire to be internal, an emotional pain like the pain you’ve been failing to run from in the months since Yoongi left you. 

It has taken you a long time to let go of the anger you’ve let fester inside of you. Your anger verges on hatred, and hatred helps no one. Who is there to hate? Yoongi, for sacrificing himself to save his friends? The rest of your group for mourning your best friend just as profoundly as you have? The Red Pins for taking everything away from you? 

The Bonfire crackles and hums like it’s trying to speak to you, but its voice is drowned out by the singing and shouting of the Gifteds dancing in a circle around its flames. The flames reach nearly as high as the buildings surrounding it. Jimin and the other fire Gifteds occasionally pull out stray flames, letting them lick around their arms and bodies to entertain the children fascinated by Gifts they have yet to master within themselves. 

The performance is beautiful just as much as it hurts your heart to watch. You’re mesmerized by the dancing flames and swaddled by the heat of the Bonfire, so you don’t notice another Gifted approaching you until you’re standing shoulder-to-shoulder. 

“Have you given your offering yet?” 

The fire reflects in Jungkook’s eyes like an orange light show, hues swirling and dancing to the tune of whatever ancient language the Gifteds sing in.

“Not yet,” you respond, turning to look at him. 

Jungkook’s gaze drops to take in the jeogori you’re wearing – the one he gifted you the day before. It fits you well, loose enough that you don’t feel restricted, but still cut in a way that compliments your body. You’re glad it’s short-sleeved, or you’d be sweating in the summer night air. 

“Me either.” 

“What did you bring?” 

Jungkook pats his thigh. When you look down, you see that he has his knife strapped to his leg. 

“The fire probably isn’t hot enough to melt it, but… I think it’s the thought that counts.” 

It’s a serious matter, what the two of you are discussing, but you can’t help but giggle as you crouch down to retrieve your offering from where it sits at your feet. 

“Your bow?” Jungkook whispers as though he’s scandalized. 

“And my arrows.”

“Are you sure you want to do that? You always–” 

You shake your head. “We’re giving our weapons up for the same reasons, aren’t we?”

Jungkook nibbles at his bottom lip for a few moments. He turns away from you, those big doe eyes focused again on the fire. 

“Yoongi gave them to us.” When Jungkook speaks, his voice quivers, but his cheeks remain dry. “And we’re done fighting.” 

“We’re done fighting…” 

You mull over the thought, let it roll around in your head, test out its taste on your tongue and see how it weighs in your heart. No more fighting, just like Hoseok said. In the place of fighting, you have a community, like Namjoon wanted. Like you all wanted, no matter how afraid you are to embrace it or admit that you aren’t sure how to join it. 

Yoongi never wanted any of you to have to fight.

“Yeah.” Jungkook’s shoulders sag. “I don’t think I could keep it up even if I had to. I’m… ready to be happy. Like the hyungs. They are so bright.” 

Your heart cracks with every word, nearly spilling out onto the floor when you watch Jimin sprint across the quad to launch himself into Seokjin’s arms. He wraps his legs around Seokjin’s waist as the two kiss, the fire illuminating their faces like angels’ halos. 

Reaching over, you squeeze Jungkook’s hand, lacing your fingers with his. You don’t need to speak; gently tugging his arm has him following you through the crowd toward the base of the Bonfire. The rest of your friends are somewhere around the Bonfire, but you aren’t interested in looking for them. 

“1… 2… 3.” 

When Jungkook stops counting, the two of you toss your weapons into the fire. Your hands are still intertwined, even if the heat makes your skin sweaty and stick together. You’re both willing to stand at the Bonfire for as long as you can, letting the flames burn your retinas as you try to follow the path the fire takes to eat away at the weapons you’ve surrendered to it. 

Letting go feels good, even if you’re letting go of something Yoongi gave you. In a way, he has given you far more than just a bow and some deadly arrows – or a knife and thigh harness. He gave you love, hope, and a second chance. He showed you what it means to love and be loved selflessly and unconditionally and taught you what it means to be a leader in the face of unbelievable hardship. 

You don’t think you could have been even half of the person Yoongi was. 

The press of fingers at the tip of your chin pulls you out of your melancholic thoughts. Jungkook cradles your face, swiping the pad of his thumb along your cheek once a few tears slip from your lash line. 

“Sorry, this is ridiculous,” you croak out. “This is supposed to be a happy celebration.” 

Jungkook’s eyebrows furrow as a pout turns the corners of his lips downward. You think he’s about to scold you over apologizing for your feelings – which you know you shouldn’t do – but Jungkook is always full of surprises.  

“Can I take you somewhere?” 

Forests will likely always scare you. Too many unspeakable things have happened within the woods, too many sad souls wrapped around tree roots and branches. You’re unsure what the woods around the Commune have seen - or if they’re even real; Seokjin’s Gift confuses you. Are the woods here the same ones you traveled through to get here? Are they imaginary, crafted by Seokjin’s mind? Does any of this exist? 

The woods certainly feel different here than at the warehouse. Jungkook leads you by the hand down a winding path through trees decorated with brightly-colored garlands draped across their luscious green branches. You recognize the decorations as ones Jungkook, Jessi, and Jimin helped the children make while the rest of your group worked with Seokjin on the Bonfire. 

“I found this spot when I was looking for your gifts,” Jungkook murmurs. 

“With Jimin?” 

“Mhm. He said, I know a place. It was funny.” 

The sound of the Bonfire festivities is far in the distance, muted by the quiet rustling of life in the woods. Jungkook stops to brush a few vines away that hang from the trees. When he steps to the side to let you walk through the opening he created, you feel your breath get caught in your throat. 

Before you is a circular clearing littered with white and pink mugunghwa shrubs. The flowers nearly glow in the dark, and their sweet scent permeates the air. But what really tugs at your heart is the smattering of tiny fireflies that meander above your head, exploring the peaceful little world away from the chaos of the Commune. 

“Jimin hyung said he doesn’t think anyone else knows this place. He comes here to be alone. Or… with Seokjin,” Jungkook whispers, giving you a sheepish look with pink cheeks. “I think it’s supposed to be, umm, you know, for what the hyungs were talking about, but, I, uh, I’m not…” 

You suddenly feel hot, warmth prickling at your skin and making moisture collect along your hairline despite being far from the fire. What is Jungkook going on about? You have an idea but are too nervous to respond to his rambling. 

Jungkook nudges you with his shoulder before carefully weaving through the shrubs until he finds a more open spot to sit in the grass. 

You follow him, the two of you sitting face-to-face, your knees bumping into each other as you cross them. 

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you whisper. “And for the gifts. I didn’t get to talk to you about them…” 

There’s no need to speak so quietly, but something about this place makes you worry being too loud would disrupt the magic of it. 

“Of course,” Jungkook responds just as softly. “I wanted to show you something special because you are special to me.” 

Your stomach flips at the memory of Jungkook’s similar confession when you last cut his hair at the warehouse. His gentleness has been a saving grace for you in a world so dark, even when the darkness sometimes consumes him, too. 

“You’re special to me, too.” It’s easy to admit; it flows from your mouth as easily as water flows from your soul. 

“Thank you… I think we deserve something soft. Does that make sense?” 

You tell him that it does because even if you aren’t entirely sure what that means to him, you know that you desire softness in a life that has been so hard. 

Jungkook gives you a small smile. A shake of his head flips his bangs out of his eyes so he can look at you properly. It feels different, the way he looks at you. Darker, more intense, but not scary like you’ve seen him look at you before. There is the same power in his gaze, but it’s gentler. 

You don’t know what to make of it, so you don’t comment on it. Instead, you reach up to brush Jungkook’s bangs out of his eyes. 

“I need to cut your hair,” you muse, a small smirk pulling up the corner of your mouth. 

Your fingers linger on his face, migrating from his forehead to drag down the bridge of his nose. When you get to the tip, you mean to bop it lightly, but Jungkook tilts his head back. The adjustment makes your finger slip, and you end up pressing against his lips instead. 

Jungkook watches you with curious eyes as he puckers his lips slightly to kiss your finger. It’s a closed-mouth kiss, nothing scandalous, but you feel electricity shoot up your arm and spread through your body. 

“Oh,” you quietly gasp when Jungkook takes hold of your wrist. He kisses each of your other fingers, ending with a lingering one on your palm. 

“Can I tell you something?” He asks, bringing your hand down to hold in his lap. 

You silently nod because you’re afraid of what you might say or sound like if you open your mouth. 

Jungkook takes a deep breath, and his grip on your hand tightens slightly. Whatever it is he’s going to say seems like it’s taking a lot for him to sort through in his head from the way his breathing picks up and his eyebrows furrow. 

“Jungkook-ah, you don’t have to…” 

Jungkook shakes his head and takes your other hand, too. 

“No, I have to do this. It’s… we’re just, ahh.” He tilts his head back to stare at the starry sky. After a moment, he exhales loudly out of his nostrils and drops his gaze to yours again. “I’m in love with you. And for some reason, I feel like I shouldn’t tell you that ‘cause it seems selfish to dump this on you ‘cause everything is so… fucked up. It’s so fucked. I don’t know why I feel like I’m not allowed to… to be like this, to feel like this. But Jimin hyung said love is in our Nature and is never bad. And, yeah. I guess, yeah. I’m in love with you, and I think you need to know ‘cause I can’t keep pretending I’m not.” 

Out of breath from expelling his words as fast as he can, Jungkook clamps his mouth shut and waits silently. Waits. Waits for you to do something, to say something. 

He’s right. Everything is fucked up enough that you can relate to the guilt Jungkook feels for wanting to love, to be happy. He didn’t call it guilt, but you’ve felt it, so you know. It’s precisely what Jessi scolded you about – on numerous occasions. It’s what Hoseok, Namjoon, and Seokjin and Jimin have shown you that you can overcome. 

Are you in love with Jungkook?

As you watch him bat his pretty eyelashes at you, those large eyes bearing his entire soul and the love and hurt inside, you think that maybe you aren’t in love with him, not right now. But you do love him. And you think, maybe one day, when your heart no longer hurts, you could be in love, too. 

So it feels right when you scoot closer to Jungkook and slide your hand against the side of his face to bring your lips to his. 

Something flutters in the pit of your stomach, like the fireflies above your head, when Jungkook’s lips move with yours. There’s a push and pull to your movements, a hesitant dance that reminds you of how Jungkook spars. His touches are light yet calculated, showing strength when he holds himself back. 

“It’s okay to be happy,” you whisper against Jungkook’s lips when you finally pull away – just barely because you want to cocoon yourself in the warmth of his body. 

“You make me happy,” he whispers back. 

It takes more kissing, the exchange of air and spit that would normally gross you out but somehow feels good before your brain finally lets go of the negativity you’ve been holding. 

Jungkook kisses away your shame and guilt as he squeezes your hips and pulls you into his lap. You settle on his thighs with your legs wrapped around his tiny waist and let him kiss you until you can’t breathe. And just when you feel like you’ll suffocate in the most pleasant way, he begins planting kisses along your jaw. 

Your hands find the hair at the back of Jungkook’s head, and you run your fingers through his hair to distract yourself from how your hands are trembling. Your entire body vibrates with a desperate feeling you’ve never had before as Jungkook sucks on the sensitive skin of your throat. The sensation makes you squirm.

“Fuck,” Jungkook groans into the crook of your neck. He sounds pained to you, which makes you panic. 

“What? What’s wrong?” You feel like you’re blinking sleep out of your eyes from how dazed you are. Embarrassment creeps along your burning skin; how can you be so out of your mind that you start behaving like this? 

Jungkook presses his hands flat against your back, the pads of his fingers massaging your muscles while he lowers his touch, slowly and gently, until his hands find the curve of your ass. 

“Jungkook-ah,” you nearly scold him when he squeezes you. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he confesses, encouraging you to grind against his crotch. 

It’s only then that you feel his erection in his pants. The knowledge that he’s reacting this way because of you makes the electricity in your veins spike through you even stronger. 

“Me either.” 

Jungkook finally lifts his head to look at you, and it’s a wonder how he manages to wear innocent doe eyes yet bite his kissed-pink bottom lip in an air of seduction that makes your body tingle. 

“I want to be good for you.” 

His words do something to you that you’re too scared to address, so you opt for humor when you reply, “Well, I don’t have anything to compare you to.” 

With a roll of his eyes, Jungkook brings trembling hands to the side of your jeogori where the strings are tied into a bow to keep the clothing in place. 

“Can I take this off?” 

“Please.” 

Getting naked in front of Jungkook is a lot less terrifying than you thought it would be – not that you’d ever thought of it before! Not like this, at least. The two of you have bathed together, but that’s different. It’s easier to hide in the water, and both of you are respectful enough not to take peeks. So it’s most likely the calming presence Jungkook holds that keeps you relaxed once you kneel naked in front of each other. In the moonlight, you both let your eyes wander each other’s figures, drinking in each other like you want to savor it. 

You let Jungkook’s hands wander, experimentally pinching your nipples to draw a moan out of you and tickling your stomach as his touches make their way down your body. He whispers gentle words of encouragement and proclamations of your beauty when you fall back in the grass and open your thighs for him. 

“I want to touch you,” Jungkook says into your chest. Your skin glistens from how his tongue explores where his hands just had, but you’re more focused on his fingers ghosting over your hips. “Please?” 

“Yes,” you whimper. 

You’re both shaking when Jungkook slips his fingers through your folds, his thumb lightly pressing against your clit while his fingers reach your entrance. It’s an odd sensation, but you’re quickly a moaning mess beneath him. Even if the rhythm of his fingers pumping in and out of you isn’t consistent, and he’s touching you almost too lightly as though he’s afraid of hurting you, it still feels good.

“Am I doing okay?” 

You can’t help but laugh. 

When he gives you a pout, you throw your arm around his shoulders and pull him down to kiss him. He hovers over you, spreading you open further because your thighs press against the outsides of his hips. You both notice when his cock – which you’d nervously ignored until now – brushes against the crease of your thigh. 

“Fuck,” Jungkook moans, and it’s the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard. “I want… I wanna, ah, fuck.” If you’d thought Jungkook’s usual flustered state was cute, this is downright deadly. 

“Me, too.” You guess what he’s trying to say – are confirmed when he lightly bites your shoulder and ruts against you.

“Are you sure?” 

It’s a valid question, and you surprise yourself when you say “yes” without hesitation. But you’ve wanted this for much longer than you can admit. Your desire for Jungkook has grown with every soft late-night cuddle and almost kiss. 

Jungkook rolls his hips, gliding his cock between your thighs, the motion wet and slippery. It takes some fumbling before he manages to line himself with your entrance and slowly sink inside you. 

Gentle, careful, he whispers that he’ll take care of you even though he has no experience. With each thrust, you promise him that it doesn’t hurt, speak praise into his ear that makes his entire body shiver. 

Your legs ache from your unusual position, and your sweat mixes with Jungkook’s in a way that’s honestly disgusting if you think about it. Still, you can’t deny how good the building pressure feels as it seems to start between your thighs and at your clit, slowly spreading like wildfire up your stomach and into somewhere deep inside of you. 

The only time you’ve heard anyone talk about sex is Jessi, and it was typically in a negative light. Something about men not knowing where the clit is or how to use their dicks. Jungkook seems like a natural; he’s the golden maknae for a reason. Maybe it’s not mind-blowing, but you’re both starting with nothing to guide you. 

Rather than a life-changing orgasm, you’re more interested in how Jungkook looks like he’d give his heart to you, no questions asked. Like he already has. 

You’re more interested in how softly he kisses you and holds your leg against his hip and caresses it like you’re something worth treating with care. 

You’re more interested in how he moans, “I love you, fuck, I love you so much,” and lets you bite his bottom lip because he knows you aren’t ready to say it back, and he’s okay with that. Because he’ll wait for you for as long as you need him to. 

“I’m so sorry,” Jungkook moans against your throat, where he’s sucked blossoms nearly as pretty as the mugunghwa. “But I’m gonna come, like, ahh, fuck, like right, fuck, shit, like right now.” 

From Jessi’s complaints, sex is supposed to end with this: Jungkook finding his release against your inner thighs because he has enough sense to pull out, and you’re left on your back, discarded and unsatisfied. 

So when Jungkook slides down until your thighs are propped open by his shoulders, you watch in confusion because you thought it was over. 

The flick of his tongue against your clit has you lifting off the ground from how sharply you arch your back. You frantically exhale a raspy chant of Jungkook’s name in time with each pump of his fingers he’s managed to slip inside you while you struggle to lie still. 

“Let me make you feel good,” he murmurs with shiny lips, and you see stars just from that image alone. 

Later, when you’re both sweaty and exhausted, you curl together under the protective barrier of Jungkook’s shadows. He hides you from the world and keeps you safe until morning when you’ll return to the Commune to bring in the First of Summer with a breakfast feast. 

But until then, you hold each other with promises of never letting go, forgiveness, and understanding. 

“We’re gonna be okay,” Jungkook whispers against your hair. 

“You just have to stick with me, right?” 

When he laughs, you feel it rumble through his chest. “By your side is the only place I wanna be.” 

You fall asleep among the mugunghwa shrubs and fireflies to the sound of Jungkook’s heartbeat. 

@rkiveslibrary @mar-lo-pap

Taehyung sits on the edge of Yoongi’s bed with his legs spread wide enough for Yoongi to stand between them. His hands rest on his knees, occasionally reaching out so his long fingers can trace patterns into the exposed skin of Yoongi’s thighs. Despite the gentleness of Taehyung’s movements, Yoongi can tell that he’s nervous by the way he avoids his gaze. Although Taehyung knows prolonged direct eye contact bothers Yoongi sometimes, this isn’t one of those moments of him being considerate.

Yoongi doesn’t believe in dating people to “fix” them, but there are certain aspects of Taehyung that he wants to help him with—Taehyung’s confidence being a top priority.

“I’m not sure this will turn out any good,” Taehyung murmurs, eyes darting toward the floor as Yoongi lifts his chin towards him. 

“Do you think I won’t do a good job?” Yoongi asks with a small pout, a bit hurt over Taehyung’s lack of faith in him, though he’s sure Taehyung doesn’t mean it like that. “I think my skills are pretty fantastic. Now close your eyes, please.” 

Taehyung complies immediately, but Yoongi hesitates.

Taehyung’s skin is so tan and smooth, and it sparkles from the glittery pink blush Yoongi has dusted across on his cheeks. Yoongi has already applied the lightest of pink lipstick on Taehyung’s pouty lips to match, and now he’s preparing to add purple eyeliner to his soft look. Taehyung has never worn makeup before, which was unsurprising for Yoongi to discover. It took a bit of convincing (lots of pouting and threatening) to get him to cooperate. Now, Yoongi has the honor of taking in the softness of his face beneath makeup that accentuates his beautiful features rather than masks them.

Taehyung’s eyes flutter slightly beneath his eyelids and he cocks his head to one side after he realizes Yoongi still hasn’t done anything. 

“Hyung?”

“You’re so pretty…” Yoongi admits softly. He has overused the compliment, but he earns a boxy smile from his boyfriend every time he gives it. 

“Not as pretty as you.” 

“Shhh,” Yoongi hushes him. He adds the finishing touches to Taehyung’s makeup and takes a step back to admire his work. “Jagi, get up so I can look at your outfit.” 

Taehyung stands with straight limbs and a stern frown that pulls his pouty lips down. Yes, the outfit Yoongi put him in is… different from his usual aesthetic, but as he’d explained a million times, Pride is Taehyung’s opportunity to experiment in an environment that won’t make him stand out. Yoongi would know; the idea of standing out is usually his worst nightmare.

“It seems like a lot of… skin.” Taehyung pulls at the rainbow tie-dye muscle shirt he’s wearing and gestures to his hot pink shorts. 

“Tae, it’s so hot outside. You cannot go to Pride Fest wearing an over-sized hoodie and thick, baggy jeans.” Yoongi crosses his arms against his chest and gives Taehyung a once-over. “At least I didn’t make you wear the mesh crop top, right?” 

Taehyung visibly shudders. “Right.” 

Yoongi swallows a smile as he watches Taehyung continue to mess with his outfit. It has taken Yoongi a long time to become comfortable with his gender expression; hell, sometimes he feels like he’s having a gender identity crisis daily. But overall, he feels comfortable being whoever he wants to be in the moment, even if it changes from day to day.

Now, being able to help Taehyung figure things out is a new adventure Yoongi is eager to begin. 

The adventure starts on the train to downtown, where the Pride festival takes place. Yoongi sits with his fingers interlaced with Taehyung’s, their hands resting in Taehyung’s lap. Typical train rides into the city consist of quiet small talk between the two. But today is different. Taehyung’s eyes are wide, fixed on the passengers boarding and getting off of the train. 

One group of train riders in particular steals Taehyung’s attention. Yoongi follows his gaze to see a group of scantily clad men. Most of them wear tight leather shorts or jockstraps, and leather harnesses or mesh crop tops like the one Yoongi tried to push on Taehyung. The men are all muscles and obvious dick prints.

Yoongi watches Taehyung’s eyes devour the men, searching every inch of their outfits and physiques.

“Tae.” 

Taehyung blinks, ripping his eyes from the men to look at Yoongi. Even though his cheeks are already pink from makeup, Yoongi can see a bit more color spread across his face. His eyes widened like a little kid who’s been caught doing something bad. 

“Yeah?” 

“What are you thinking?” Yoongi gives him a sly smile, raising his eyebrows and ever so slightly nodding toward the group.

“Is that how I’m supposed to dress?” 

“No,”—Yoongi’s gummy smile slowly fades into a slight frown—“the only thing you’re supposed to do is have fun. There’s no gay dress code or something. What I said early about how you dress was about the weather, not any kind of unspoken rules.” 

Taehyung nods, his eyes slowly returning to the group of men. Two of them are making out, their bodies pressed together. Lots of tongue. Perhaps a dick grab or two. Taehyung fidgets in his seat, but he doesn’t look away.

Maybe it should bother Yoongi that his boyfriend is ogling other people, especially in such a sexual context, but it only makes him more excited about the day. 

He leans into Taehyung’s ear, speaking low enough that only they can hear each other over the train’s rumbling. 

“But you’d look really hot in a leather harness and a jockstrap.” Yoongi pulls away with a wink and a smug smirk, knowing he’s flustering Taehyung beyond belief. It hasn’t gone unnoticed that lately Taehyung works out more often. It isn’t a coincidence that Yoongi chose a muscle tank shirt for his outfit.

Taehyung’s breath hitches, a quiet puff of air escaping his lips before Yoongi grabs his hand, pulling him along. “This is our stop!” 

Yoongi’s favorite gay bar is understandably packed, but its outdoor patio provides more breathing room and space to spread out. It’s on the corner of the street, which means it has the perfect view of the Pride parade that will march through the street soon. 

Yoongi sits across from Taehyung at the patio table closest to the sidewalk, sipping on a fruity cocktail he let Taehyung order for him. He hisses at the sweetness of the drink. Getting Yoongi to accept a fruit drink probably felt as challenging as persuading Taehyung to wear revealing clothing. 

“Whiskey is not a Pride drink, hyung,” Taehyung insists, slapping his hand down on the table. He’s being silly, mocking. He has no idea what he’s talking about. Yoongi finds it adorable.

“Why not? I think it should be.”

The waiter stands at their table with an amused look on his face as he watches the two bicker over alcohol. He, like most of the waiters, wears a leather harness that makes his muscular pecs pop, and his ass nearly busts out of the tiniest metallic silver booty shorts Yoongi has ever seen in his life.

Taehyung does a terrible job of hiding the way his eyes immediately shoot down to look at the very clear bulge in the guy’s shorts. 

If that interaction hasn’t completely rocked Taehyung’s world, Yoongi tries hard not to laugh at how Taehyung’s eyes bug out of his head when the shots girl comes around to their table. She’s wearing nothing on top except for sparkly, heart-shaped pasties to cover her nipples, and she’s carrying a handful of plastic penises—one of which she offers to Taehyung. 

“Want a shot? They’re five bucks and you get to keep the dick,” she says with a wink. 

Taehyung’s mouth falls open, his head slowly turning to face Yoongi with a question in his eyes. 

“It’s like a water gun. You push the pump on the bottom and the alcohol comes out of the tip.” Yoongi presses the butt of his palm against his mouth to stop from laughing. How can Taehyung be so naïve? Yoongi already knew he’d had relationships with men in the past, so why is he acting brand new?

Never did Yoongi have to live “in the closet”. It’s been hard for him to imagine what being in a queer relationship is like without having the freedom to engage in all the fun that comes with being part of the queer community. 

“We’ll take one,” Yoongi finally says, passing the shot girl the money. He picks out a bright purple plastic penis, admiring the fairly realistic veins and curve of the head. “Do you think it’s cute?” Yoongi waggles the dick in front of Taehyung’s face.

“You are so immature.” Taehyung returns to sipping on his fruity drink, nose scrunched. “I don’t have the patience for your childish delinquency.” 

“Is that really how you feel?” Yoongi quirks an eyebrow at him before lifting the plastic dick to his mouth. He sticks his tongue out and slowly rolls it around the head. Locking eyes with Taehyung, he inches the plastic dick further into his mouth, pressing the head against the inside of his cheek to create a bulge.

Taehyung’s lips part slightly and he looks like a dumb little baby with his mouth hanging open as he watches Yoongi slowly squirt the vodka. Yoongi tightens his lips around the head to make sure he sucks up all the alcohol, a bit of the vodka dribbling down his chin. 

“Oops,”—Yoongi giggles, wiping his face—“you know how messy I can get, right, jagi?” 

By this point, Taehyung leans forward, crossing his arms on the table. Yoongi leans in as well, making the gap between the two of them smaller. Now that Taehyung’s closer, Yoongi can see the perspiration accumulating on his forehead beneath his fluffy, blue bangs. It’s definitely hot outside and there’s little shade on the bar patio. But Yoongi highly doubts the mid-June sun is the only reason Taehyung’s sweating. 

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Taehyung’s voice drops low, and the tightness of his tone says more than any words can. 

“What are you gonna do about it, jagi? Punish me?”

They both know Yoongi is the one who hands out punishments in this relationship. There’s nothing prettier than having Taehyung grovel at his feet. That he would try to dominate Yoongi is laughable. 

Taehyung sucks the rest of his drink down, his sharp eyes flicking up to find a waiter, clearly avoiding Yoongi’s gaze. “Maybe.” 

“Oh, I think you need some more alcohol in you,”—Yoongi speaks with a gummy smile, knowing it will annoy Taehyung further—“before you start talking crazy like that.” 

Taehyung ignores Yoongi, instead focusing his attention on ordering another round of drinks for them. Taehyung is already one drink and one shot in. Considering Taehyung doesn’t drink often, Yoongi is sure that he’s feeling the alcohol by now.

The heat only makes it worse. When their drinks arrive, Taehyung presses the cool glass against his cheek. 

“How are you so annoying, yet so cute?” Yoongi muses aloud. 

“You love my annoying ass.” A tongue stuck out in his direction. 

“That I do.” 

Though Yoongi loves Taehyung’s boxy smile, there’s something particularly attractive about the small smiles he gives him, the toothless ones that still meet his eyes and make his cheeks go puffy. It’s absolutely adorable. 

Interrupting Yoongi’s soft thoughts about Taehyung, loud music blasts from the patio speakers. It’s easy to get lost in the little world he and Taehyung have created for each other, completely oblivious to everything else. 

“What’s happening?” Taehyung asks with raised eyebrows.

As if to answer Taehyung’s question personally, a bar employee appears near the patio entrance with a microphone. 

“I hope you queers are having a fan-fucking-tastic Pride! I’m Georgie, your resident DJ and bubble butt extraordinaire, and I’m sooo excited to be MCing our fourth annual Pride Fest Drag Show!” 

The crowd of bar customers cheer at their respective tables, including a few hoots as the employee wiggles his butt to the music. 

“I’ve never seen a drag show before,” Taehyung mumbles around his straw. Yoongi, however, has been to countless drag shows. He even performed in an amateur one just for fun with a few of his friends when he was in college. 

“So please get ready to sweat and make it rain for our first queen,” Georgie continues, “the one and only, Miss Mochi!”

As Georgie disappears, the music switches to an upbeat pop song. Possibly the most gorgeous drag queen Yoongi has ever seen takes position in the center of the patio. Her long blonde hair and dramatic yet soft makeup automatically makes her features stand out. She twirls for the crowd, showing off extravagant lingerie, complete with white angel wings and fake tits that look even better than Yoongi’s when they aren’t bound tight to his chest. 

“Oh shit, I know her,” Yoongi remarks casually, his gaze shifting between Miss Mochi’s dancing and Taehyung, who is entranced by the queen. Yoongi can’t blame him; Miss Mochi is known locally for having the most seductive dance routines. While other drag queens are often goofy, Miss Mochi has the technical skills and fluidity of a true dancer. 

“Miss Mochi?” Taehyung’s eyes follow the queen as she makes her way around the patio, every body roll and shake of her firm ass only pulling him in further.

“Her real name is Jimin,” Yoongi says, speaking just above the music. “We went to college together. Probably doesn’t remember me, though.” 

Eventually, Miss Mochi ends up at a table near theirs, stopping to run her manicured fingers down the length of a seated man’s jaw as he slips a twenty-dollar bill under the thin band of her thong.

Taehyung gives Yoongi a sideways look. “Are drag shows always like this?” 

Done with teasing the man to the left, Miss Mochi dances her way along the patio until she reaches their table. Now that she’s closer, Yoongi notices the men’s tie in her hand, which she uses as a dance prop as the soundtrack transitions to another classic, “S&M” by Rihanna. 

“Well hello, daddy,” Miss Mochi purrs, looping the tie around Taehyung’s neck in one swift motion.

Yoongi has to hide his laughter with the back of his hand, desperately trying to stop himself from cackling at the look on Taehyung’s face as Miss Mochi addresses him. He’s got those wide eyes once again, his pouty lips falling open.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” Miss Mochi flips her hair to the side and body rolls herself into Taehyung’s lap, grinding her ass directly onto his crotch.

With pure panic on his face, Taehyung looks over at Yoongi. But Yoongi is of no help. No, he’s full-on giggling now, unable to hide the tears welling in his eyes.

The entire patio hollers with excitement as Miss Mochi puts in work on Taehyung. There’s no denying it; the whole thing is hot. Miss Mochi clutches holds onto Taehyung’s thighs as she rolls her hips, grinding circles against him, and all he can do is sit back and watch. Yoongi feels a spark of heat shoot down to his core when Taehyung’s tongue slips out to wet his bottom lip.

Though the lap dance only lasts a moment, it’s enough to leave Taehyung shy. He runs his hand along the back of his neck and ducks his head, cheeks puffy with the weird, lipped smile he wears when he’s embarrassed, as Miss Mochi finally lifts herself from his lap. 

“Don’t worry, babe, it happens to everyone,” Miss Mochi coos, probably realizing how nervous Taehyung is. “Might want to get someone to help you out with that, though.” She flashes Taehyung a wink as she moves past their table, but not before Yoongi hands her a tip.  

The audience quickly follows Miss Mochi, but Yoongi’s attention locks onto Taehyung. “Help you with what?” 

Taehyung opens his mouth and then closes it again.

“Help you with what?” 

“I…” Taehyung’s eyes drop to his lap.

Although Yoongi can’t see anything because the table blocks his view, Taehyung’s inability to speak and his subtle body language gives him an idea. 

“Ohhh, Taehyung.” Yoongi’s gummy smile returns. He grips the edge of the table to steady himself. “Are you hard right now?” 

The bluntness of his question takes Taehyung by surprise. 

“It’s fine,” he says after a moment, scooting closer to the table to prevent anyone from seeing his crotch. But that’s not what Yoongi wants to hear. 

“Is it, though?” Yoongi reaches under the table to grab Taehyung’s knee, causing him to jump slightly. “You have to spend the rest of the day out here, surrounded by so many new, exciting surprises. Do you really want to be uncomfortable? I know you’re uncomfortable.” 

Taehyung chews on his bottom lip, his eyes heavy and glossy from drinking. Yoongi isn’t sure how much convincing it may take to get Taehyung to let him suck him off in public, but the throbbing in his body is enough to make him try. 

“Come on, daddy,” Yoongi repeats the pet name Miss Mochi had given Taehyung. The way Taehyung hollows his cheeks and glowers tells Yoongi that he’s got him right where he wants him. Taehyung always looks so stern when he gets horny. 

“I told you to stop teasing me like that,” Taehyung mutters. 

“Is it teasing if I’m gonna give you what you want?” 

There’s that pouty frown again, like the baby he is.

With a grin, Yoongi stands, squeezing Taehyung’s hand as he pulls him up, too. “Oh, wow.” He stares down at Taehyung’s crotch, the outline of his hard cock stark in the tight little shorts he dressed him in.

Taehyung glances at Yoongi with a familiar look of horror. It’s cute how he can so easily flip from being sensual to panicking.

Yoongi quickly drags him inside the bar and weaves through the crowd until they make it to the restrooms. “Fuck me,” he grumbles, yanking down on both door handles to find them locked. 

Ignoring whatever babbling Taehyung is doing, trying to tell Yoongi to let it go and that he’ll be fine, Yoongi’s eyes fall on a door marked for employees only. Checking over his shoulder, he swings the door open and shoves Taehyung inside, quickly locking it behind them. 

“We are not supposed to be in here,” Taehyung whispers, untangling his arms from a bunch of mops and brooms propped in what is apparently a janitor’s closet. His protests are weak, and he watches with bated breath as Yoongi drops to his knees.

Yoongi’s nimble fingers quickly tug Taehyung’s shorts down, finally setting his cock free from the torturous confines he’d placed it in. Yoongi has to admit, the shorts are cute, but they’re definitely tight. 

“It’s Pride Month. We can do whatever the fuck we want.” It’s funny; Yoongi is normally the rule-follower. Pride changes something in him.

Mimicking what he’d done to the plastic dick, Yoongi swirls his tongue around the head, flicking lightly over Taehyung’s slit to taste the precum already leaking from him. He runs the tip of his tongue along the length of his cock, tracing each prominent vein.

Taehyung lets out a shuddered breath, his hands quickly gripping Yoongi’s head, but he knows not to force him even when Yoongi continues to tease him with his tongue. 

“Please,” Taehyung begs, perspiration accumulating on his forehead once again despite being in the air conditioning. “I’m so hard it hurts, please, hyung.” 

Yoongi sits back for a moment to look up at Taehyung, admiring the way desperation twists his mouth and makes his jaw set tight. “I thought you said you were fine?” 

“I lied, okay? I lied. Just, please, stop teasing me.” 

God, Yoongi loves it when Taehyung whines. 

“Only because you said please.” Yoongi smiles, gummy and smug, before taking Taehyung completely into his mouth.

Taehyung’s strangled moan rumbles through the closet, and Yoongi struggles to stop himself from gagging as a funny thought enters his head: here they are, two queers, having sex in a closet. During Pride Month, no less! 

Getting past that minor mental disruption, Yoongi easily falls into a consistent rhythm of bobbing his head, humming every time he feels Taehyung’s cock hit the back of his throat.

Taehyung strokes Yoongi’s hair as he swallows him down, gathering the long strands into a ponytail to hold on to. Legs shaking. Trying not to go weak in the knees when Yoongi’s nose presses against his abdomen. 

“Fuck…” Taehyung hisses. Looking down, he notices Yoongi’s hand disappear into his shorts, middle finger extended to rub light circles against his clit. If Taehyung is going to have fun, Yoongi is, too. 

Taehyung draws his bottom lip between his teeth and slowly pulls away, taking a half-step back. “Hyung, let me fuck you.” 

This time it’s Yoongi’s turn to be surprised. “Here? Now?” 

Taehyung wanting to fuck Yoongi in an unfamiliar public place? Who the hell was he? 

He motions for Yoongi to stand up, and Yoongi’s knees appreciate no longer having to dig into the concrete floor. Taehyung kisses him hard, swirling his tongue around the inside of his mouth as though he’s gathering up the taste of himself. Then he roughly turns Yoongi around to press his chest against Yoongi’s back. 

“I didn’t realize men in drag was going to have you feeling some type of way,” Yoongi breathes, watching Taehyung’s hands shimmy his shorts down his thighs until his pussy is exposed. The feeling of Taehyung’s fingers swiping through Yoongi’s wet folds from behind sends his head reeling.

“Me either,” Taehyung admits with a soft laugh that’s more deceitful than it is cute, because at that moment he thrusts two long fingers inside of Yoongi. “How can you make fun of me when you’re already so wet?” 

“Are you really compl—” Yoongi inhales sharply as Taehyung massages his g-spot. “Are you really complaining about me wanting to have sex with you?” 

Taehyung rolls his hips against Yoongi as he thrusts his fingers, his cock slicking up as it slides against his pussy. The movement pushes Yoongi forward, and Yoongi presses his hands into the wall in front of him to hold himself up. They’re truly making it work in such a cramped space. 

“I’m not complaining.” Taehyung nuzzles Yoongi’s neck, giving him a gentle kiss as he drags his fingers out of him. Wet with Yoongi’s arousal, Taehyung brings his fingers to Yoongi’s lips. “I’m very appreciative of you.”

“You’re supposed to be the adventurous one, captain.” Yoongi opens his mouth to suck Taehyung’s fingers clean.

“Just learning new things from my hyung,” Taehyung murmurs with his fingers still hooked in the corner of Yoongi’s cheek. “People would be shocked to know how dirty you are.”

Smooth and slow, Taehyung lines up with Yoongi’s hole, gradually sinking his cock inside of him. Both of them being half-clothed makes their movements awkward, but Taehyung still manages a slow, sensual stroke that makes Yoongi’s legs shake and his heart launch into his throat. 

They’re lucky Taehyung’s fingers are still occupying Yoongi’s mouth to muffle the moan that would’ve been loud enough to get them caught. What comes out instead is a low groan, and a garbled attempt at saying Taehyung’s name. None of it matters, though. Yoongi’s brain is hazy. Not a single thought passes through his mind except for Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung… 

“I’m sorry I didn’t suck you off,” Taehyung whispers into Yoongi’s ear. He slides his free hand forward to squeeze in between Yoongi’s thighs and stroke circles against his clit as he continues fucking him. “I know better than to leave my hyung’s cock neglected.”

How badly does Yoongi have Taehyung wrapped around his finger that he’s apologizing for that? 

“But I’ll do it all night when we get home.” 

Yoongi lets out a small whimper, and Taehyung finally removes his fingers from his mouth. 

“What the fuck, Taehyung,” Yoongi exhales, pressing further into the wall. He tries to turn to look back as Taehyung pounds into him, jiggling his head around so his line of sight is blurred. Yoongi doesn’t even attempt to keep his head up; the alcohol, paired with the heat of Taehyung sliding in and out of him, is further turning his brain into a scrambled mess. 

“What?” 

Taehyung presses his hand against Yoongi’s waist to hold him in place as he continues to play with Yoongi’s cock. From how his thighs tense, trapping Taehyung’s hand between them, they both know that means he’s getting close. At this point in their relationship, Taehyung is a pro at working Yoongi’s body. He’s a master at quickies, not because he can’t last long, but because he knows how to efficiently get Yoongi to where he needs to be. 

All because Yoongi trained him well, of course.

Yoongi shakes his head, letting it hang as he holds onto the wall for dear life once that sweet, hot spring in him finally snaps. He struggles to keep quiet while Taehyung fucks him through his orgasm, his walls spasming and legs quaking. 

“You’re… you’re…” Yoongi doesn’t know where his thoughts are going, a train barreling off course. Just closes his eyes and falls back against Taehyung’s chest.

“I’m so lucky to have you, hyung.”  

Taehyung holds Yoongi up as he chases his own high, murmuring sweet sounds into his ear until he’s coming, too. It’s sticky and sweaty, how they hold on to each other as Yoongi calms his breathing, but neither of them cares.

“You know what I was thinking earlier?” Yoongi watches Taehyung struggle to pull his tight shorts back over his ass once they’ve both cooled down. “I was thinking that we just fucked in a closet during Pride Month.” 

Taehyung pauses his movements to look at Yoongi, the tiniest of smirks lifting the corner of his mouth. “That’s so problematic of us.” 

“Just means we have to be extra gay to make up for it.” Yoongi wiggles his eyebrows at Taehyung’s confusion. “Let me peg you?” 

“Really?” Those wide eyes are back. 

Suddenly, the door handle to the closet jiggles. Yoongi and Taehyung exchange a quick, worried glance as the door bursts open, bright light stabbing at their eyes. The employee on the other side of the doorway lets out a high-pitched shriek, startled by the unexpected sight of people inside the locked closet. 

“Happy Pride!” Taehyung shouts as they slip out of the closet, throwing the employee a peace sign.

Laughing, Yoongi links arms with Taehyung. He appreciates the adrenaline pumping through him; it’s just enough to mask the horror he’s going to feel later, when he’s back home and the introverted side of him reflects on the day.

“Let’s get out of here,” Yoongi says as he checks over his shoulder to see if the employee has run after them. “I think that sex store off Sheridan is calling our names. Get strapped up, right, jagi?” 

Taehyung’s wide eyes do all the talking. 

The only thing fun about freezing your ass off at the annual winter market is the mulled wine. You’re wearing leggings under your pants, a thermal shirt under your hoodie, and a thick parka on top of everything, yet the decorative mug of hot mulled wine in your gloved hands is what’s keeping you warm. You can feel the heat of the cup through your gloves, and the alcohol is doing a great job warming up your face and chest. 

It’s been over three years since you last went to the winter market in your hometown. Standing in the middle of downtown, shivering despite the layers as some lady rams into your ankle with her kid’s stroller, reminds you why you always hated going. 

“Do you think dad would like this?” Malik holds up a wooden clock. It’s hand-carved by a local artist, the intricate designs creating the image of a lush forest across the clock’s face. 

Malik is your stepbrother, but you’ve loved him as though he’d always been a part of your family, despite only joining when your mother married Reggie during your sophomore year of college.  

“Yeah, I think so.” You take a small sip of your wine, trying to make it last the rest of your time at the market so you don’t have to spend money on a refill. “Might inspire him to carve something like it.” 

Between starting your new job and settling into your new house, buying Christmas gifts has been at the bottom of your to-do list. Quite frankly, you don’t have the time, not to mention it’s hard. What can you possibly buy that your parents can’t just get themselves? Or that they don’t already own? At least Malik is a teenage boy. You can’t go wrong buying him video games and crew socks with marijuana leaves printed on them. 

He patiently waits while you slip your credit card from the little pocket on the back of your phone case. It’s funny being the adult in this relationship. You’re twenty-seven and still needed your mom to go with you to buy your house, but Malik stares at you with appreciative eyes because you’re the one with a salary to pay for all the gifts. 

“So, are we gonna do it?” His round, innocent eyes narrow into slits. He’s barely got the clock tucked away in his shopping bag before he gets hyper again. 

“No.” 

Malik’s slitted eyes remain, this time accompanied by a pout. “But you said-” 

“I lied to you.” You hold your cup above your head, and you both pretend Malik isn’t tall enough to reach it without even trying. Being the oldest, yet shortest, sibling is bullshit. 

“But they’re gonna come back soon!” 

“Didn’t mom say they want us to go find them?” 

Text messages in the family group chat are reminders that the two of you are supposed to find your mom and Reggie inside the bookstore. It’s family-owned, like most of the shops downtown. Your hometown isn’t tiny, but it’s a somewhat secluded suburb located about an hour outside of the city. Even calling the center of your town’s “downtown” area doesn’t feel right; it’s far too small to be a true “downtown”. There are no skyscrapers or busy city streets, just local shops and a large outdoor music venue that doubles as the location for the winter market and the Christmas lights showcase when it’s too cold for concerts. It’s a stark difference from living in California for the past three years. 

Malik lets out a few more huffs and juts his bottom lip out even further. He knows you’ll give in, and you do. 

“Fine, you little shithead.” 

You hold out your mulled wine, and he grabs it with eager fingers. Though, his squeal of glee is abruptly cut off by a scowl. You press one gloved hand to your mouth to suppress your laughter and snatch your mug from Malik with the other. His face is twisted in disgust as he follows you through the crowd of equally-bundled-up market visitors. 

“I told you you’d think it’s disgusting.” 

Malik grumbles at that, unwilling to admit that you were right. Instead, he adjusts his earmuffs and pouts some more. 

You’re not worried about Malik’s attitude. By the time you reach the bookstore, he’s already forgotten that he’s supposed to be mad at you. No, there’s something else you should be worried about as you push open the door. 

A light ring of a bell indicates that the two of you are entering the store, making the woman at the register lift her head.

“Happy Holidays!” She says with a bright smile. “If you’re here to sign up for the Annual Christmas Decorations Contest, it’s in the back, near the children’s section.”  

You have no intention of competing against your neighbors to win some stupid prize for having the gaudiest decorations draped over your roof and across your front yard. On the other hand, your parents live for this type of shit. That is why you and Malik weave through the aisles of books until you’re met with a small group crowded around a long table. Sign-up sheets are already overflowing with names. It’s all the wealthy stay-at-home moms in their too-tight yoga pants and $2,000 Canada Goose parkas, sipping mulled wine and plotting how they’ll destroy their competition because they have nothing better to do with themselves while their husbands fuck their secretaries. 

Well, maybe you’re being a bit dramatic, but you’ve got your fucking MFA degree, so can anyone blame you? Besides, these are the people you went to high school with. You think you know at least a little bit about what’s going on in this stupid town. 

Although some things have changed in the three years you’ve been gone, most things feel normal. And some things feel normal when they shouldn’t. 

“Seokjin!” 

You shouldn’t be surprised that Malik betrays you. You did call him a shithead not even five minutes ago, but it still stings to watch your little brother launch himself at your ex-boyfriend. The teen’s gangly arms wrap around Seokjin in a sideways hug. The force of the hug nearly spills Seokjin’s wine, but the mug is quickly taken from his hands by none other than your mother. 

It’s rather insulting, actually, seeing your parents crowded around Seokjin. Your mom is holding his mug like it’s a newborn child. The movement is quick, but you think Reggie lifts his hand from gripping Seokjin’s shoulder once he notices you’ve arrived. 

Ridiculous. 

“Hey, bud!” Seokjin beams down at Malik. He murmurs something to the teen before gingerly picking a few pieces of white fuzz that had nestled in his hair, making his hi-top fade look like it had snowflakes dusting it. “Were you rolling around in the fake snow?” 

Malik ducks his head at Seokjin’s teasing. “Nuh-uh.” 

“I wouldn’t blame you if you were. It looks pretty comfy, doesn’t it?” 

You know you’re staring at him. You know it, but you can’t bring yourself to look away from his crinkled eyes as he looks down at Malik with an adoration that never disappeared, even once you were hundreds of miles away from here. It takes you a moment to recognize what he’s wearing wrapped around his neck. The scarf has a pattern of various shades of blue and silver snaking around each other like the swirls in marble. It’s handmade. You know this because you’re the one who knitted it. Seeing Seokjin wearing a gift you made for him nearly five Christmases ago makes the air you breathe in stall in your lungs as though you don’t remember how to exhale. 

Hands that you know are soft rub Malik’s upper back in soothing circles. Seokjin is the only person you’ve seen calm Malik down. No matter how hyper or sassy the kid is, there’s something about Seokjin that neutralizes him. 

It’s because he’s so sweet and gentle, you think to yourself. 

You blink, and the thought is gone. 

Malik finally lets go of the death grip he has on Seokjin; Reggie is the next victim, which is no surprise. With his newfound freedom, Seokjin does exactly what you don’t want him to do. He looks at you. 

“Hey, Y/N.” 

The utterance is breathy and soft, clearly only meant for you despite the cheerful crowd around you. It’s the first time you’ve heard him speak despite having seen him twice already since arriving. Seokjin’s eyes still crinkle, his perfectly-straight teeth shining in a smile that somehow manages to meet his eyes. He has always been kind and attentive, as though he was put on this earth to make sure life is a bit more bearable for everyone he meets. 

You’ve known Seokjin since the two of you were twelve years old, and you’ve never seen him run out of that energy — not even at the end. On the other hand, no one expects that level of sweetness from you, and you’re thankful for that. It’s not because you’re a mean person, but because you’ve had a hard time establishing yourself. Being back home makes you feel like a kid again. San Diego allowed you to develop yourself as an adult separate from your family. Without that separation, it seems as though you’re regressing. It feels like someone else is standing in front of Seokjin now. You’re sure your face is devoid of emotion; the thousand-yard stare he used to tease, no matter how many times you told him the phrase was about going into battle. Right now, though, a battle doesn’t feel too far off from whatever the fuck is going on inside you. Or maybe indigestion. 

Whatever it is, you tell yourself it’s not adoration. 

“Y/N! Just in time for the contest sign-up.” 

It’s a blessing and a curse when your mom yanks you by the wrist toward the crowded table. She doesn’t allow you to respond to Seokjin, but you’re not sure if you would have said anything anyway. The action pulls you away from staring at Seokjin’s plump lips, the feral part of your brain frantically remembering the shape his lips make when he says your name. It’s a dangerous slope you’ve clawed yourself up twice already since being back in town. 

The first time was at the grocery store. Your dramatic ass swears you could have caught pneumonia from hiding in the frozen section to avoid your ex-boyfriend, but there was no way you were going to confront him with no makeup and wearing three-day-old sweatpants. You were lucky at the grocery store; he hadn’t seen you (or, at least, you don’t think he did).

The auto repair shop was another story. It’s impossible to avoid your ex when you’re both stuck in a tiny room waiting for the mechanics to finish up with your cars. You spent most of your time in the bathroom which, now that you’ve had time to think about it, was a terrible idea. Thankfully, the receptionist is an old friend of your parents. The old woman was kind enough to let you know when you could come out of the bathroom once Seokjin left. You could cry some other time over the fact that Seokjin probably thought you had some kind of gastrointestinal malfunction. Lovely, right? 

“Mom, I’m not signing up for this,” you groan and try to twist your wrist out of her grasp. It’s called boundary setting. You highly recommend it. 

“Oh yes, you are. This is your first year with your own home!” She screeches louder than Mariah Carey singing Christmas songs over the bookstore’s speakers. “It would be silly not to.” 

“I’m pretty silly. A real hoot.” You earn a glare for that one. 

You love your mom, you really do. It’s her incessant need to shape you into a miniature version of herself that you struggle with. For nearly thirty years she has been unsuccessful, but nothing has stopped that woman from trying her best. You have to give her some credit, though. She’s got determination and grit. 

You tell yourself it’s your love for her that guides your hand toward the sign-up sheet. The only pen available is shaped like a candy cane, and the plastic is warm from whoever was using it before you. That realization makes you shudder. You wish you had a bucket of hand sanitizer to dive into. Where’s a mall Santa when you need one?

“See, even Yoongi signed up.” Your mother points to a signature higher up on the page. 

The bastard. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You’re already reaching for your phone to send your best friend a scathing text message when an arm is slung across your shoulders. 

Yoongi has his dark bangs brushed forward so they peek out from beneath the floppy Santa hat snug on his head. The hat goes well with his ugly sweater. “Merry Elfin’ Christmas!” the sparkly text on the front of the sweater demands. He doesn’t even care about Christmas, but he loves to dress up for the occasion. 

“Yup, I did. And I hope you’re ready to get your ass kicked ‘cause I’m pulling out alllll the stops this year.” 

The guy buys a townhouse with the tiniest front yard and he suddenly thinks he’s the Christmas King. 

“Nah, not the Christmas King. That’s Seokjin hyung.” 

With a grimace, you shove Yoongi’s arm off your shoulder and try not to think about the fact that you’d voiced your frustrations out loud without realizing it. “Seokjin is the Christmas King? What the fuck does that mean?” 

“Y/N, can you please stop cursing so much? We’re in the children’s section, for Christ’s sake.” 

Yoongi clucks his tongue while waggling a finger at your mother. “Tsk, tsk Mrs. L/N, you’re the one cursing now.” 

Whatever weird shit your mother and Yoongi are going on about is none of your business, so you take a slow step backward, ready to escape. The opportunity never comes, though, because another person slips into the conversation faster than you can get away. 

“Ah, the King himself,” Yoongi deepens his voice to sound more dramatic than you know he already is. For a guy who works in tech, he’s always had a larger-than-life personality. With the candy cane pen in hand, Yoongi shoves it near Seokjin’s face, the hooked part standing in as a microphone. “Tell us, Seokjin hyung, how does it feel to be the winner of the Annual Christmas Decorations Contest for three consecutive years?”  

Seokjin quietly laughs at the sudden attention, but you know he’s uncomfortable by the way the tips of his ears turn bright red. His eyes meet yours for a moment before he’s quickly looking away. 

“Oh, Yoongi-yah, leave me alone.” He rubs the back of his neck, but his grin never falters. 

“Since when did you like decorating for Christmas?” You immediately regret how you spit out the question with venom you didn’t know you had in you. If Seokjin’s ears can get any redder, you swear they do. 

“I, um—” 

“Mr. Kim got super into decorating one year, and Seokjin helped him out.” Yoongi comes to Seokjin’s rescue. He nods his head at Seokjin and they share a look that makes your stomach twist. 

You have another question: when did your best friend and your ex-boyfriend start sharing looks? 

“Mhm,” Seokjin confirms. “After he… Um, well, I guess I’ve just kept it going.” 

At the mention of Seokjin’s father, the twisting in your stomach morphs into nausea. You feel like utter shit and the silence that follows makes you feel even worse. Not only have you killed the Christmas cheer by making everyone remember the recent passing of Mr. Kim, but the reality that you’ve missed a lot in the three years you’ve been gone hits you in the gut. At one point, you’d have laughed at the ludicrous idea of there being things about Seokjin’s life that you wouldn’t know. Now? He has entire traditions, and a reputation behind them, that you aren’t even aware of. It hurts. It hurts because you’ve always been the one who knows Seokjin the best. 

Of course, rather than apologize or do something comforting to fix the situation, you listen to the impulsive, angry part of you that’s still hurt. 

“Well, don’t get your hopes up for a fourth year,” you say with your arms crossed against your chest. “‘Cause I’m winning this.” 

Yoongi lets out a loud snort that you remind yourself to fight him for later. “You? Do you even own Christmas decorations? I thought California city life was too good for that. What did you decorate with? Palm trees instead of wreaths? Leave sunblock and sugar-free, reduced-fat cookies for Santa?” 

His snickering would continue if your mom didn’t intervene. 

“When we visited Y/N last Christmas, it was funny to see Santas on the beach!” Your mother’s winter wonder and innocence can never be trampled. You’re impressed, even if it’s annoying sometimes. 

“I’m sure it was fun,” Seokjin agrees with her softly, but he’s still looking at you. 

You want to tell yourself that you don’t feel shy under his gaze, but you can’t lie, even to yourself. So you look away before further emotions threaten to bloom in your chest. 

“Y/N will have to get used to a real winter again,” your mother continues. She’s not wrong, but the comment feels like just as much of a jab as Yoongi’s. “Speaking of that! Reggie needs to check your car’s tires before the snowstorm hits. We should probably head back home.” 

Yoongi and Seokjin say their goodbyes to your family, and thankfully Seokjin cuts his gaze from yours. Your mug of mulled wine is still halfway full, so you thrust it into Yoongi’s hands before following your parents and Malik into the maze of bookshelves. It’s not the worst way to run into your ex, but that knowledge doesn’t make you feel any less like shit on the car ride to your parents’ house. 

Despite previously agreeing to spend the rest of the evening with them, you work on your boundary-setting and decide to go home. It might be the wrong decision, but you stick with it because your pride has already been hurt once today. Returning to an empty house (quite literally empty, since you barely have any furniture to fill it) seemed a lot more appealing before you stood in the middle of your living room, alone and in the dark. Your apartment in California had been tiny. A two-bedroom house in the suburbs feels like a castle in comparison, and you’re not sure what to do with the space. It’s not like you have anyone to share it with. 

With a sigh, you toss your coat onto the couch and kick off your shoes. Your socks are slippery against the wood floors as you shuffle to the bathroom, nearly running into the wall on the way because it’s dark and you don’t know the layout like you knew the layout of your apartment. You feel like you’re having a sleepover with no one, like this is a stranger’s house. The lack of furniture and decor makes you feel like you’re merely a guest. If you’re just a guest, though, you’re not sure where home is. 

Gradually, you fill the space and your mood improves without you realizing it. 

The spare bedroom turns into a craft room packed with shelves whose cabinets hold color-coded yarn and knitting needles. Knitting patterns and fantasy books practically burst from the bookshelf. A loveseat with blankets piled on top sits in the corner. It’s your “reading nook” when you want alone time, and doubles as the location for your bi-weekly “stitch and bitch” — a knitting group you created to make an effort to reconnect with members of your community. It’s mostly all your old lady neighbors and a few teens who have old souls, but the bitching is good nonetheless. Any gossip is fun gossip, in your opinion. As long as it’s not about you. 

Your bedroom is less chaotic, only decorated with photos of family and friends, as well as a few music posters. The wall where your desk sits is reserved for your college friends — most of them moved out of your hometown after graduation. There are a few photos of your friends from graduate school, but those two years were less about fun and more about surviving your master’s thesis. Your graduate school friends are also scattered around the world. It’s a bit sad, not to have your closest friendships nearby, but Yoongi makes up for that. He has always nurtured the parts of your soul that needed comfort when parents failed to do so. When your parents got a divorce, Yoongi was there for you — even before Seokjin. 

So it’s natural that you call your best friend in a panic on a Sunday morning when you realize it’s less than a week before Christmas and the outside of your house is bare. You’ve spent all your time decorating the inside. 

It’s not that you forgot about the outside; no one can shut up about the stupid contest. Your neighbors already have their decorations up. Some are simple while others are more involved. You try not to think about the “King of Christmas Decorations”, but it’s hard not to check on his progress when he lives across the street from you. 

No one told you that Kim SeokSeokjin had also recently bought a house… literally across the street from the house you bought less than a month ago. 

“I thought you knew!” Your mother had clucked her tongue at you to hide the smirk you knew she wanted to throw in your face. She, Reggie, and Malik helped you move into the one-story house nestled in the quietest suburb just outside the city limits. You want to be offended, but there’s a tiny part of you that’s curious. About what? You’re not quite sure.  

Yoongi was right that evening at the bookstore; you don’t own any Christmas decorations. That doesn’t stop you, though. Your town is small, but there are plenty of stores around to get everything you need. 

When Yoongi arrives at your house, you have boxes and shopping bags full of decorations scattered around your kitchen and living room. It was hard to decide if you wanted to go cute or gaudy because you didn’t know the preference of the judges. Did they want something creative? Or something that truly screamed Christmas? Using your neighbors as references was impossible. The varying aesthetics were too chaotic to find a pattern in. And you couldn’t just copy Mr. King of Christmas. 

“Don’t you think you’re being a little bit unreasonable?” 

“Unreasonable, Yoongi? Unreasonable? You think I’m being unreasonable?” You watch your friend lean back in his chair with his fingers tightly gripping the edge of the kitchen table.  

“I just meant—” 

“What else do you think?” You shake the string of multicolored Christmas lights in your fists. The twisted wiring had taken you nearly twenty minutes to untangle. “That I’m being hysterical? Is my uterus floating around in my fucking body, Min Yoongi?!” 

Yoongi’s eyes narrow and he lets the front legs of his chair slam back onto the kitchen tile. The thud echoes against the bare kitchen walls and down the empty hallway. 

“That’s not fair, and you know it.” 

Your best friend is probably the most caring person you’ve ever met in your life, but he sure knows how to strike fear into your heart. It’s that deep voice, you figure. The finality of his tone leaves little room for argument, so you choose to hang your head in shame instead. 

He’s right; it wasn’t fair for you to yell at him. You both know your frustrations are misplaced. And maybe, maybe, you are being a little bit unreasonable. 

Not that it’s your fault. 

Buying a new house was the next on the list of adult milestones you were meant to accomplish before you hit thirty, according to your mother. You tried to tell her that being thirty in the 90s was very different than now, but her expectations never shifted. Thus, neither had yours. It all worked out fine, though; the path was practically laid out for you from birth. Graduate from high school, then college, then graduate school to get your MFA (that one put a slight wrinkle in your mother’s plans, but she couldn’t deny that the job you scored as a lead editor for a well-known fashion magazine wasn’t impressive). In the midst of all that, buy a new car. Get a dog (Muffin, the two-year-old corgi). 

Albeit, those milestones were manageable. You’d always loved school, so the degrees were a given. Cars were a necessity in your town; the public transportation was so shitty it was nearly nonexistent. And who didn’t want to get a pet? 

But now it’s time for The Big Three, the ones you dread the most. 

Get married. 

Buy a house. 

Have a kid. 

The Big Three are the most important milestones after getting a degree and are meant to be completed in that order. One, two, three. The end. No questions asked, no negotiation. Your mother has spent her entire adult life on this, setting you up for success. No millennial nonsense! No avocado toast instead of a house! No pets and succulents instead of human babies! 

And, to be perfectly honest, you’d been okay with that. At least, for a little while. The Big Three didn’t seem too scary or unrealistic for a little bit because you had someone you planned to share those future milestones with. 

Keyword: had. 

Now that person is standing on a metal ladder propped against his house to give him the additional height he needs to string up the most beautiful Christmas lights you’ve ever seen. Even with the bulky winter coat, you can see how broad and lean his back is, shoulders shifting beneath the material when he lifts his arm to secure the string of lights. You can’t see his face, but you know his cute button nose is probably bright red, just like his plump lips probably are from the strawberry chapstick he always wears when it gets windy and cold. 

And here you are clutching your less-impressive Christmas lights in your fists in a house you were supposed to have bought after getting married to him. 

“What’s winning the contest going to do for you?” Yoongi’s previously strict tone softens as he reaches over to cover your hand with his much larger one. “If you want to talk to Seokjin hyung, just walk over there and talk to him. He’s quite literally a stone’s throw away.” 

“I have nothing to say to him.” You jut out your chin, and Yoongi is all too familiar with the unhinged look of defiance in your eyes. “I’m going to win the damn contest because I win at everything, not because of him or anything that has to do with him, thank you very much.” 

The dark-haired man lets out a long, overly-dramatic sigh. You both know you’re in denial, but Yoongi has learned that he needs to let you crash and burn so you can learn life lessons the hard way. 

“Fine.”  

“Great! Now help me put up these stupid fucking lights.” 

As was true for his entire life, Yoongi swallows any further protests and does whatever you want him to do because he loves you. He’s the older brother you never had and you are not above taking advantage of the soft spot he has for you. It’s all for good! But still. 

“What are your decoration plans?” You stomp into your snow boots while Yoongi wrestles his hand into a glove that is entirely too small for him.

“Can’t tell you.” 

“Are you for real?” 

“The realest.” 

With a huff, you fling the front door open. If Yoongi wants to be difficult, he can shove his freakishly large man hands into those little gloves all day without getting any help from you. You’ve got lights to put up. 

The snow is fresh; it’s the only time you’re somewhat willing to put up with it. There’s something about the crunch of undisturbed snow beneath your feet that makes you feel all tingly inside. Perhaps it’s because the rest of the world is muted. The sky and ground meet with their color drained out of them, turning into an expanse of white only interrupted by the reddish-brown bricks of houses peeking out of the snow. 

And the reddish-brown color of a certain neighbor’s jacket that you fail to see makes his way across the street. 

You’re laying out the multi-colored lights on the bushes lining your front yard when you hear the crunch. You know it’s not Yoongi because the poor guy is still inside struggling with his gloves.

“Good morning.” Seokjin clears his throat. It must be the first time he’s spoken to someone today because his voice comes out gruff and strained. It’s his old man voice, you used to joke. 

You clutch the lights in your gloved hands to have something to hold onto as you turn to face him. You were right — his cute little nose is bright red and his lips shine with chapstick. You wonder if it’s the same chapstick he’s always used. All it would take is a kiss to find out. 

Banishing that thought is harder than you expect. 

“Good morning.” You sound more confident than you are.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to join in on the contest after all,” he says with a small smile that makes you melt despite the cold. What are you, Frosty the Snowman? 

If only he wasn’t so nice. It would make this so much easier. 

“I’ve been busy.”

Seokjin hums at that, a small nod of his head. You’re both probably recalling how Seokjin spent college making sure you ate in between study sessions and slept enough to feel rested for exams. You couldn’t have survived college without him, even though the school the two of you attended was in the city — only an hour away from home. 

“Editorial work, right?” The question may seem like meaningless small talk, but Seokjin’s leaning forward with an eagerness you’re shocked by. You shouldn’t be, though. Everything about your ex-boyfriend has always been genuine. 

“Mhm, a fashion magazine.” You look down at your baggy, dingy gray sweatpants shoved into your dirty snow boots. “Makes a lot of sense, right?” You say with a small laugh. 

Seokjin joins in, those pretty eyes crinkling once again. “If I remember correctly, you certainly had an eye for a good outfit when you forced me to go to those fraternity parties.” 

“Ughh, don’t remind me of that,” you groan. Memories of little black dresses that barely covered your ass and see-through tops flash before your mind’s eye. You hardly know who that person was. 

His comment also drudges up memories of your bodies sweaty and pressed against each other as the two of you danced to the trashy music college kids play at house parties. You remember the way Seokjin’s hands cradled your waist, how strong and big he felt when you leaned your head back against his chest so he could bend down to kiss you while you continued to grind into his crotch.  

Fuck, you’re going to lose your goddamn mind if this man doesn’t stay away from you. 

“You looked really good,” he compliments, and you assume it’s to make you feel more confident in your new job. But then he continues, “You still do.” 

You don’t know what to say to that, but your mouth usually makes decisions before your brain can. “So do you.” 

Seokjin seems shocked even though he was the one to lead the route this conversation is taking. You’re not lying, though. Seokjin looks different, but not by much. He looks bigger now. He’s more filled out as he grew into his adult body. It makes sense. The last time you had a real conversation with him was when the two of you broke up halfway into your first year of graduate school. 

It was mutual, supposedly. You wanted to stay in California; he wanted to stay home to be with his father. Long distance wasn’t working, so you offered to take a break. You thought he’d fight for you, but he’d simply… agreed. 

“Okay.” 

Your relationship must not have meant much if he could agree to end it with one word. 

Later, Yoongi would point out that you were the one to initiate the end of the relationship. You probably confused Seokjin, Yoongi insisted. But you can’t get over the fact that you weren’t worth fighting for. 

You and Seokjin stare at each other in the silence of the winter wonderland surrounding you. He looks so cozy and warm, buddled up much better than you are. You got rid of all your winter clothes when you decided to stay in California after you graduated from your master’s program. You’d genuinely believed you would never move back to your hometown. 

And here you are, after accepting a job with better pay and the opportunity to spend time with Malik before he goes off on his own, too. 

Standing in front of Seokjin with rosy cheeks and a look that feels familiar, a lot like affection and… maybe something else, painting his face. You’re tired of trying to figure out how you fit in this community again without regressing. And how Seokjin is meant to fit in, too. 

Without thinking, you reach out to touch the edge of his scarf. The yarn is warm from his body heat, but you can’t feel it through your gloves. 

“You kept it?” You don’t want to ever admit that you locked away everything that reminded you of Seokjin. You couldn’t get rid of any of it, but you couldn’t bear to look at photos or wear the jewelry he bought you. 

“Of course.” He reaches up to catch your wrist before you pull away. “You made it for me to wear, didn’t you?” You swear you can see the sparkle of the morning sun shining on the snow in his eyes. 

You wish the two of you weren’t wearing gloves. 

“I couldn’t find the ladder, but I found this step stool that we could probably— Oh, hey hyung.” Yoongi stops a few feet away from you with a stool in hand. You can see his eyes lock onto Seokjin’s hand wrapped around your wrist, but neither of you pulls away. 

“I was, um, just checking on Y/N’s progress.” Seokjin finally lets go of you and shoves his hands into the pockets of his coat. 

“Trying to cheat?” Yoongi teases, placing the step stool in front of the lone tree in your yard. You don’t think it’s going to be tall enough for him to drape the strings of lights around the lower branches, but you’ll let him figure that out on his own. 

“I would never,” Seokjin scoffs. “Besides, it might be nice for someone else to take the crown.” He shoots you a wink and you feel your chest constrict. 

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Yoongi’s attention is on the tree now, so Seokjin turns back to you. 

“I don’t want to keep you out in the cold any longer than you need to be,” he admits softly. “I’d love to find a time to catch up if you’d like.” 

You’re nodding your head before you can stop yourself, and the grin that lights up Seokjin’s face makes standing in the cold feel much more bearable. He ducks his head in a silent goodbye and crosses the street. As Yoongi said, Seokjin is a stone’s throw away, but it feels like that side of the street is worlds away. 

You should have known “catching up” would be a complete disaster. 

As usual, your mother decides to meddle in your business without your consent. It leads to an extremely uncomfortable Christmas “party” that ends up just being your family, Yoongi, Yoongi’s boyfriend, Hoseok, and Seokjin. 

You spend most of your time in the kitchen hovering near the sugar cookies Malik. You and Hoseok take turns mixing each other experimental cocktails with whatever alcohol your parents have in the fridge because you both get nervous at parties, even one thrown by people you trust. The kitchen is the safest place for introverts. 

“Looks like the mad scientists got a little too enthusiastic about their experiments,” Reggie calls you and Hoseok out with a chuckle. Malik appears around him with a smirk, always looking forward to teasing you, too. 

You wrap your arm around Hoseok’s waist and squeeze him close, shooting Reggie a pout.

“Hey, we’re not as bad as Yoongi,” Hoseok insists. 

Yoongi is in the living room clutching a red solo cup of straight whiskey. The longer you watch him talk to Seokjin, the further left you can see Yoongi lean.

 Spending a night like this, with drinks and snacks and cheer, is nothing new for your little group. Well, Hoseok is a new addition, but otherwise, there’s nothing unusual about your family and friends getting drunk together and having a good time. Your mom was always “the cool mom” (her words, not yours). She was okay with you having your friends over. Once Reggie came into the picture, your house became even more of a safe space for your college friends to hang out without feeling like your parents were going to kill the vibe. 

But things are different now. 

Alcohol in your system makes you more social, but you stick to Hoseok until your mother is beckoning you toward the record player halfway through the night. 

“Do you know how to fix this?” The record is skipping. You don’t mind Nat King Cole, but he’s not great when his music is stunted like this. 

“Mom, you know I don’t have any idea how this works.” 

You’re drunk and whiny; it’s nothing she shouldn’t expect. You wish you knew what was going on because suddenly Seokjin is flanking your right. The first thing you notice is that he’s very sober. For some reason, it bothers you. 

“Oh, Seokjin, sweetie.” Why is your mom calling Seokjin sweetie? “You have a record player. Please, can you fiddle around with this?” 

Seokjin is obediently nodding his head because your mother has always adored him. She likes him more than you; you’ve always been convinced of that. But you have little time to think about it when your mother starts to walk away. Right before she’s out of earshot, she stops in her tracks to look at you over her shoulder. 

“Oh, would you look at that?” 

You follow her gaze to see something red and green hanging from the ceiling. It takes you a while to figure out what it is because you’re more curious about how your mother managed to get something to hang from the ceiling. Your thoughts are disrupted by Seokjin clearing his throat. 

“Do you think your mother is trying to tell us something?” he muses. 

And then it hits you. 

“Oh fuck, that’s mistletoe.” 

Seokjin full-on laughs this time, but you’re mortified because you think you might do it. You really might lean in just a little bit further, stand just a bit taller on your tiptoes, and part your lips with a swipe of your tongue… 

“Y/N…”

The raspiness of Seokjin’s voice makes you open your eyes. You hadn’t realized they were even closed, but you also hadn’t realized you were posed to kiss Seokjin under the mistletoe, just as you’d imagined. Your brain was thinking, but your body was acting without you knowing. What is wrong with you?

You jump back as though Seokjin is a live wire you’ve managed to zap yourself with. Without a word, you turn on your heel and frantically search the room for the one person who can save you from trying to drunkenly kiss your ex-boyfriend. 

“Yoongi, you need to take me home,” you slur into his ear. You’re both clutching each other like Jack and Rose debating death. 

“I’m drunk,” he says plainly. 

“Yoongi, Yoongs, the precious love of my life, soulmate, please.” By this point, you’re about to lose your mind because you catch Seokjin’s eye. He’s standing frozen in place at the record player and you want to die. “I just tried to kiss Seokjin, I need to get out of here.” 

Now it’s time for Yoongi’s eyes to bug out of his head. He’s lucky Hoseok is swept up in a game of dominos with Malik so he can slip out the front door without hearing his boyfriend flip out on him for agreeing to do something very irresponsible and dangerous. 

“I really don’t feel comfortable doing this,” Yoongi grumbles as he inserts his key into the ignition. The pickup truck sputters, so he has to restart it a few times before the engine fully rumbles to life. 

It’s a terrible idea, but you tell yourself home is only a few miles away. What can happen in a few miles? The answer is a lot, but common sense slipped out the door after your fourth glass of wine. 

“You’re fine, Yoongs! You’re the safest driver I know.” You want to think you sound convincing, but the few hiccups that disrupted your otherwise smooth sentence make a facade of sobriety a bit hard to swing. “If we get pulled over I’ll just show the cops my tits.” 

“Jackson is not going to appreciate that.” 

Jackson, the preacher’s kid who grew up to be a cop. It’s hard to bribe the cops when everyone knows everyone in this stupid town. But that also means you know that Jackson saw his fair share of tits when the two of you were in college, preacher’s kid or not. 

Yoongi crosses his arms over the steering wheel and leans forward. It takes him backing out of the driveway and nearly hitting the old lady who owns the bookstore and her dog before you both realize he’s forgotten to turn on the headlights. 

You hope he’s wearing his contacts. 

The air inside the truck is hot and stuffy and reeks of whiskey. As you rush to leave the party, Yoongi accidentally brings his red solo cup with him. It’s nestled between your thighs because there’s already a water bottle and a stack of empty Starbucks coffee cups in the middle console cup holder. It’s so painfully bisexual of him. The smart thing would have been to dump the whiskey out, but neither of you is very smart. 

“You need to clean out your car. This is so gross.” You’re pretty positive you’re sitting on something sticky, but you don’t want to investigate for fear of freaking yourself out. “Aren’t you rich? Why do you live like this?” 

“Shut up,” he hisses with a heavy breath. “I’m trying to focus.” 

Yoongi parks in front of your house with no issues (not counting the bookstore lady). The two of you sit in silence for a few minutes, collecting yourselves. A lot goes unsaid, but it’s Yoongi and you know you don’t have to verbalize how to feel for him to know that you feel like shit. 

“Sooo…” he starts slowly, bloodshot eyes staring down the street. 

“Yeah.” 

You look out the window, the twinkling of Christmas lights attracting your attention. Seokjin’s house is a beacon of light shining through the darkness. A little sign in the yard prompts visitors to tune into a specific radio station. Your curiosity overpowers your desire to just jump out of the car and sabotage the whole setup. You reach over to adjust the radio, switching over to the channel the sign calls for. 

Yoongi gives you a strange look, but he’s too tired to question you, and would rather wait a few seconds to find out what’s going on. 

Christmas music filters through the speakers and you’re almost disappointed. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but this channel is just like any other station. It’s the holidays, after all. Christmas music is expected. Any hint of disappointment melts away, though, when you hear Yoongi gasp. 

“Holy shit, look at that.” He gestures to Seokjin’s house. “Am I fucked up or are the lights going to the beat?” 

Yoongi’s fucked up, but he’s not wrong about the lights. As the music plays, the lights draped across Seokjin’s house change color to the beat. It almost looks like the lights are singing the songs themselves. It’s a beautiful light show and unlike anything you’ve ever seen. 

“How the fuck did he do that?” you whisper. 

Yoongi shrugs. He’s back to crossing his arms over the steering wheel with his chin resting on top. The angle gives him a better view of Seokjin’s house around your shoulder. 

“Yeah, you’re not gonna beat him,” Yoongi puts bluntly. You don’t have it in you to argue. Part of you knows Seokjin deserves to win for this. It’s creative, cute, and interactive. Never would you have come up with something this cool.

The peaceful moment is interrupted by blinding white headlights as another car pulls up behind Yoongi’s truck. 

“Fuck, is that Jackson?” Yoongi breathes into his palm to attempt to smell his breath. 

You roll your eyes and try to make out what type of car it is through the mirrors. “The entire truck reeks of alcohol, bro. There is no hope for you.” Not to mention there’s a whole open cup of alcohol in your lap that you’ve nearly forgotten about. 

“Or you,” he challenges you through a pout. “You’re the accomplice. You made me do this.” 

Luckily, it’s not Jackson who approaches your window. You lower it despite the cold so Seokjin can speak. 

“Glad to see the two of you are alive,” he smirks. 

“How did you know we were here?” You can’t help but stare at him, this time because you’re envisioning him coming up with such a cool fucking decoration. 

“You left without Hoseok, so I assumed that meant Yoongi was coming back,” Seokjin begins, flashing Yoongi a smile that your friend tries to ignore out of embarrassment for getting caught. “And you seemed pretty intent on getting out of there after trying to woo me under the mistletoe.” 

This time it’s your turn to internally panic with embarrassment. Seokjin doesn’t give you any time to recover before he’s opening the door. “Come on, let’s go.” 

“Where are we going?” You question him, but you still follow. You’re a little wobbly on your feet. You bring your weight down on a patch of ice and nearly bust your ass, and Seokjin holds your elbow to right you again. 

“First, I’m getting you inside. And then I’m driving Yoongi back to your parents’ house to pick up Hoseok, so I can drop them off at home too.” Seokjin was always the designated driver when you went out with your friends. He wasn’t against drinking, but he preferred to suffer through parties sober if it mean he could take care of his friends when they had no one else to watch over them. 

Yoongi reluctantly exits the truck and slides into the passenger seat of Seokjin’s car with plenty of grumbles to express his annoyance. He doesn’t even bother telling you goodnight, but you’re not worried about that. 

“Keys, please.” 

With his arm wrapped around your waist, Seokjin leads you through your front door. You try not to think about how strong he feels pressed against your side. So maybe you lean in a little more than you need to and let your body go slack a little more than necessary, but who needs to know that? 

Seokjin has never been in your house (why would he have?), so you mumble out directions to arrive at your bedroom. You’re too drunk to worry or care about the state of your house. Did you have bras thrown all over the place? Was your vibrator put away? You have no fucking idea. Whatever Seokjin sees won’t be anything he’s never seen before, you decide. 

He gathers some medicine for the headache you’ll inevitably have in the morning, as well as fetches you a glass of water, while you change into your pajamas. It’s a routine you’re familiar with, even if you haven’t engaged in it in years. 

“I put medicine and water on your nightstand,” Seokjin explains softly, even though you saw him set everything down. “You can call me if you need anything, you know that, right? If you need anything at all. I’m here.” 

“Yuuuuuup, you are here, in my house.” You blink up at him but your eyes have a hard time focusing on his face.

“Mhm, I am,” Seokjin confirms, and his smile makes your chest feel weird. “But I meant, I’m here for you.” 

“It’s nice.” You know exactly what you’re saying, but it’s like your brain can’t figure out how to tell you that it’s bad. “We were supposed to be here together.” 

He chews on his bottom lip and you want to bite him. Instead, you twist beneath the covers to get comfortable and tell yourself to behave. It’s just the alcohol, right? That’s it. 

You’re not sure if he understands what you’re trying to say. And if he has a response, you don’t hear it. You’re already floating off to dreamland with a nasty hangover to follow you once you wake up again. 

In the morning, the medicine and water are greatly appreciated, and you find yourself feeling more taken care of than you have for the past three years. 

Still, you’re terrified of walking outside and seeing your ex-boyfriend-turned-neighbor after he was forced to tuck you into bed the night before. It’s embarrassing, to say the least, no matter how caring Seokjin is and how familiar the two of you are with each other. So you’re thankful that you manage to slip out of the house without running into anyone, and you hope that your shopping spree is equally as uneventful. 

Silly of you to forget that Target is a dangerous place. 

The bright lights are hypnotizing. That has to be the reason why you always walk in with the plan of buying one thing and end up spending a hundred dollars on what? You don’t even know. Not this time, though. You’re determined to stick to your shopping list. No wiggle room allowed. It helps that your shopping list is short; all you need is a package of white string lights. They’re the final touch to the candy cane-themed decoration for the tree in your yard. The judging is in two days and you’re determined to have something presentable, even if you already know Seokjin’s display is going to kick your ass.

Likely due to the stupid contest and how small your town is, the aisle with all the outdoor decorations is surprisingly bare. There’s only one package of white lights left, and it’s currently being eyed by the last person you want to see. 

“No, you cannot have those.” You march over to Seokjin with confidence that you’re pulling out of your ass. “I need these more than you.” 

He looks up at you with the same sparkles in his eyes that you saw outside your front yard, so you know it wasn’t because of the fresh snow. “Do you?” He asks with a grin, shifting the package from one hand to the other. 

Without answering him, you reach out to grab it, thinking you’ll catch him off guard. But Seokjin has a firm hold on it, so you end up tugging without getting much slack. 

“SeokSeokjin, let it go,” you grumble, trying to yank on it. Seokjin doesn’t budge and the sparkles remain. 

“No.” He’s beaming at you and it makes you furious. This time Seokjin tugs on the package. He’s much stronger than you, so his movement sends you stumbling forward. You crash into his chest, head tilted upward to meet his eyes. 

“You didn’t even say please,” he murmurs, and fuck you’re getting that feeling you had at your mom’s phony Christmas party. But now it’s Seokjin who leans forward and you’re the one frozen in place. 

You can feel yourself getting lightheaded from a lack of oxygen, but you can’t bring yourself to breathe when Seokjin’s lips ghost over yours. The touch is so light you almost can’t feel it, but then you feel his breath on your cheeks and you can smell the fake strawberry scent of his chapstick, and, fuck, his lips are slick enough with the chapstick that his bottom lip sticks to yours for half a second when he leans a bit too close. 

You pull away with your eyes even wider than they had been under the mistletoe. 

Seokjin lets go of the package with a chuckle. “You can have it.” He tucks his hands into the pockets of his coat and grins as you hurry down the aisle. “Hope you’re feeling better, by the way!” 

You don’t bother looking back. 

Needless to say, you give up. 

The White Light Fiasco was enough of a sign that the crown was never going to be yours and you should have seen it all along. By the time you’re hovering over the spiked punch bowl at the Annual Christmas Decorations Contest party, you have made peace with the fact that you are positive the president of the Home Owner’s Association is going to announce that Kim SeokSeokjin wins this year’s contest. You are fine. It’s fine. Clearly, this decorating thing is not for you and that is fine. 

You haven’t seen Seokjin since the White Light Fiasco and that is also fine. It’s not like you’ve been stressing out over it or anything. It’s not like you keep having recurring dreams about his warm body pressed into yours as he tucked you into bed or anything. 

“So, are you ready to take the cake?” The way your body involuntarily tingles at the sound of his voice is honestly pathetic.

Seokjin pours himself a cup of punch and smirks as he lifts it to his lips. You give him a roll of your eyes, but the amusement in his expression never fades. 

“It’s obviously going to be you again, radio boy.” You don’t have time to say anything more because the Association’s president takes over the mic. He stands holding a rather ridiculous trophy on the stage of the auditorium. It’s a golden Santa Claus about the size of a baby. 

“Seriously? That is the prize?” 

“It was a golden gingerbread man last year.” Seokjin chuckles beside you. “You also get a hundred dollars cash, so that’s nice.” 

You’re pretty sure you spent more than that on all the stupid fucking decorations. Now you really aren’t interested in winning. (And not just because you know you’re not going to. Obviously.) 

“Thank you, everyone, for participating in the Annual Christmas Decorations Contest!” The Association’s president drones on about whatever nonsense homeowners are supposed to care about, but you’re not ready to be that type of an adult just yet, so you don’t pay attention until it’s time for the winner announcement. 

“Better get your game face on, radio boy,” you whisper out of the corner of your mouth. You don’t see Seokjin’s reaction because, again, the president interrupts you. 

“And this year’s winner is…” Cue cheesy drumroll. “Min Yoongi!” 

“What?!” You whip your head around to look at Seokjin, but his eyes are on the stage. “What?!” 

And sure enough, there’s your best friend in his stupid “Merry Elfin’ Christmas!” sweater making his way up the stairs to stand on the stage with his new golden Santa and one hundred bucks. On the screen behind them, a photo of Yoongi’s townhouse is projected for everyone to see the winning decoration. 

“You mean to tell me that Yoongi fucking won this contest because he had a twelve-foot-tall skeleton left over from Halloween, so he sat it on his front yard with a giant Santa hat on it. And that’s it? That’s all it took?” 

Seokjin just looks at you with a shrug. “I guess so.” 

“You should have fucking won!” You throw your hands up, nearly knocking Seokjin’s punch out of his gasp. Noticing his jostled cup reminds you that you’ve left yours somewhere. “You had the cool radio thing and the dancing lights. Who else could have figured out how to do that?” 

“I’m sure lots of people…” Seokjin mumbles, but you cut him off. 

“No, no, that was dope and Yoongi is just, he’s just,” you huff, words escaping you. 

“Your best friend?”

“Yes, but he doesn’t deserve to win!”

Quite honestly, you’re shocked by how intensely you feel about this turn of events. Maybe it’s because you’re drunk, but you think you’re valid! It doesn’t help that Seokjin breaks out in full laughter now, windshield wiper sounds galore. Maybe he’s a little bit drunk, too. 

“What’s up, party animals!” Yoongi brandishes his golden Santa and red envelope that you assume holds his prize money. 

“You’re stupid,” you say with a pout. 

“You’re jealous,” Yoongi quips and sticks out his tongue. “Maybe if you stopped complaining about Seokjin so much, you’d have time to befriend all the cool kids in the neighborhood and they could have voted for your decorations instead.” 

You shoot a quick look at Seokjin with a bit of fear in your heart, but he’s all smiles, his teeth bright white against perfect pink lips. Of course, he is. You’re the cranky one here. 

“I’m really sorry, Y/N. Looks like you might be replaced as the best friend by a bunch of teenagers,” Seokjin teases. 

“I mean, Yoongi’s got the maturity level of one, so it makes sense.” 

“Hm, he does, doesn’t he? Still playing with dolls and everything.” Seokjin gestures to the golden Santa and the two of you wheeze through laughter. 

A petty, selfish part of you is thriving; it feels good to gang up on Yoongi with Seokjin. It feels the way it used to feel. It feels normal.

“Oh shut the fuck up,” Yoongi huffs while tucking the Santa under his arm. “Let’s get out of here before they try to take a picture of me and put it in the monthly newsletter.” 

It’s Christmas Eve, but you still question why the Association made the punch so strong. Sure, it’s after five o’clock, but it feels too early to be drinking. Your first step outside is onto a patch of black ice. In a panic, you squeeze onto Yoongi’s hand to steady yourself, fully expecting a grumbled protest in response from your touch-averse friend. But the grumbles never come. Yoongi is already halfway to his truck and you’re squeezing the life out of Seokjin. 

“Please be careful.” You watch his breath turn smokey white in the air. It’s an attempt to not stare at his lips, but you’re failing at that, too. “Malik has told me many times that he’ll murder me if I hurt you. I’d guess you getting hurt on my watch would count, even if it’s not my fault you’re clumsy.” 

You’re thankful half your face is wrapped in a scarf. Hopefully, it masks your embarrassment because you want to tell him that he’s already hurt you. With a nod, you carefully slide into Yoongi’s truck and make a mental note to talk to Malik about toxic masculinity.

“Why did we ask you to drive?” 

You try to angle your legs so Yoongi can reach the gear stick without sticking his hand between your knees. You’re sitting in the middle console, in place of water bottles and coffee cups smashed between Yoongi in the driver’s seat and Seokjin in the passenger’s seat. If there wasn’t half a foot of snow in the back, you would have just ridden in the bed of the truck, like you used to do.

Yoongi doesn’t bother sparing you a glance, too focused on safely navigating the snowy parking lot. “Because your car is in the shop and Seokjin refused to drive.” 

“It’s a Porsche,” Seokjin says with a sheepish look, not fully meeting your eyes. “I don’t want it to get dirty.” 

Yoongi launches into a heated lecture about why it doesn’t make sense to own a car in the Midwest if Seokjin’s not prepared to face the elements with it, but you’re only paying attention to how close Seokjin is. You’re practically sitting in his lap. The weird angle has your legs half-draped across his knees and your torso twisted so his arm is looped around yours to hold you in place when the truck jostles down the icy road. 

You’re not sure who moves first, and later you’ll decide that it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that it happens. 

It’s not as cute as your first kiss with Seokjin. That one had been picture-perfect and so cliche it kind of hurt, in a good way. It was an ice cream date at the shop in town that Seokjin’s aunt owns. It was cold and sweet, maybe a little bit sticky but you didn’t mind. You remember the way Seokjin held your face with shaking hands, not because he thought you were fragile, but because he was nervous. 

This time you’re both shaking, but you think it’s probably because the shocks on Yoongi’s truck are shot. 

Seokjin’s lips are just as soft and plump as you remember, and you remind yourself that it hasn’t been that long. In a whole life, three years is nothing. But it certainly felt like forever. 

He tastes sweet like the spiked punch; you’re sure you do, too. You hope it makes him think of that ice cream date so many years ago. You expect this kiss to be just as chaste, but then Seokjin is pressing his palm against the nape of your neck to pull you closer and you’ve got your fingers digging into his thigh to steady yourself. You may have made a sound, or maybe it’s just incredibly obvious that you’re making out with your ex-boyfriend in a truck that technically only fits two people.  

“Get out! Get out get out get out!” Yoongi bellows. He slams on the brakes, making all three of you lurch forward. “I hate you both!” 

You swear you hear a dog start barking in the distance as a response. Only a small part of you feels bad. 

Seokjin practically falls through the truck door once he figures out how to use the handle, which sends you tumbling after him. You both collapse into a fit of hysterical laughter as Yoongi speeds away, holding out his middle finger through the window as he drives.

“We’re never going to hear the end of that,” Seokjin wheezes, dropping his keys multiple times before finally unlocking his door. You don’t question why you follow him into his home when yours is only across the street, and he technically hasn’t verbally invited you over.  

You both barely have your outerwear off before you’re shoving Seokjin against the wall with a strength you didn’t know you had. You find that it’s easy to kiss him again, and there’s no hesitation as he kisses you back. You tug on his bottom lip with your teeth, pulling back and enjoying how he chases after you by leaning forward. 

“We should,” Seokjin pauses to groan into your mouth. You’ve got your leg in between his and you’re pressing your thigh directly against his cock which you now know is already fully hard. That knowledge makes you feel irrationally smug. “We should talk.” 

“Later.” You want to sound commanding, but your voice comes out as a breathy whine when Seokjin presses back against you, bringing his thigh between your legs. He grinds into you, his fingers bruising your skin when he squeezes your hips to hold you in place. 

You’ve only slept with one person since breaking up with Seokjin, and it wasn’t anything worth noting. The sex was bad, and it made you realize you needed an emotional connection with the person you were sleeping with if you wanted it to be any good. So you can barely keep it together when Seokjin flips your positions, and now you’re the one pressed against the wall. 

“Later will be too late,” he breathes into your skin before running his tongue along your throat. “We. Need. To. Talk. Now.” He punctuates each word with a sloppy kiss along your neck, eventually reaching your shoulder. 

You try to respond, but every time you open your mouth you moan. Seokjin sucks your skin so hard it’s almost painful. You already know you’ll have dark hickeys scattered across your neck, shoulders, and chest by the night’s end. You want to decorate him, too. 

You make quick work of removing Seokjin’s shirt, nearly popping the buttons off as you frantically undo them. Shirtless, his skin is hot and flushed. You run your fingers down his sternum, letting your thumb drag against one of his nipples on the way down. The action has him tensing against you, and the alcohol in you makes you giggle. 

“Still sensitive,” you muse. 

Seokjin groans a response, something that sounds like a mix of arousal and annoyance. It’s cute. It’s familiar. You’ve played this game before, just under different circumstances. It feels good to know that you still know how to rile him up, even when so many other things have changed. 

“What do you want?” Seokjin pulls your shirt over your head and slides his hands behind your back to tweak the clasps of your bra. He doesn’t undo the hooks — just plays and waits. 

You tilt your head to capture his lips, sucking them so aggressively that they’re puffy and pink, and shine with your spit when you pull away. 

The look he gives you isn’t what you expect, and it catches you off guard so much so that your mouth falls open. It’s something in his eyes. They’re gentle and bright despite the heaviness of alcohol that should be weighing them down. No, there’s a sober clarity to them that practically sobers you up, too. It’s not the lustful, carnal gaze you were expecting. The softness of his expression makes the floodgates open up, as much as you internally scramble to hold yourself together. 

“I want you to love me,” you answer truthfully through weak tears. “I still love you and I fucking hate it because you… you…” With anyone else, it would feel pathetic to beg someone to care about you, but Seokjin is different. He feels like home, no matter how complicated home is to you. No matter how angry you were, you never stopped trusting him. 

Seokjin practically melts in your arms. Removing his hands from your bra, he chooses to cup your face instead. Your tears trickle in between his fingers. You’re sure it feels gross, and probably looks gross, because your makeup is getting washed away, too. But Seokjin doesn’t flinch when he holds you; he merely watches you with wide eyes. 

“I do love you,” he speaks softly, but loud enough to hear over your sniffles. “I never stopped loving you, baby.” 

The term of endearment makes your eyes flood with even more tears. This is the most unsexy you’ve ever felt in your life, and yet Seokjin leans forward to kiss your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, and your lips until every inch of your face is covered in his kisses. 

“But you said okay.” You’re squeezing his biceps, digging your nails into him so deeply you know you’ll leave marks. You don’t mean to hurt him, but you need to keep it together. You need him here. And even though you’re not making any sense, Seokjin understands. You can tell by the way he holds you against his chest and how fast his heart is beating against yours.  

“I shouldn’t have ever let you go.” He shakes his head solemnly, and you think you feel his own tears when he presses his face into the crook of your neck. “I thought it was what you wanted, but I should have tried harder. I didn’t, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not trying.” 

There’s a part of you that wants to remain angry. The hurt became familiar; it was dull and ever-present. But Seokjin’s love is familiar, too.  

“I love you,” Seokjin repeats. He says it again and again, planting kisses down your shoulders. He tips your chin up, forcing your head backward so he can kiss along your throat and across your collarbones. “I wanted to give you space, but it was hard. It was really hard.”

You slide your hands up until your arms are around his shoulders, forcing him to lift his head and look at you. He wipes away your tears once the two of you realize more aren’t coming. 

“I’m sorry you’re dealing with a boner and I’m over here sobbing,” you say with a stuffy laugh. 

Seokjin looks down at his crotch before returning his gaze to your face. He gives you a shrug and a goofy grin. “It’s not the first time I’ve made you cry during sex.” 

“Kim SeokSeokjin,” you gasp and give him a light slap against his shoulder. “I can’t believe you’d say something like that. We aren’t even having sex.” Even though it’s tactless, his jokes have always managed to ease any tension that builds inside of you.

“But we could be,” he says with a smirk. He receives another slap, but there’s nothing in his expression that tells you he feels any ounce of remorse. If anything, you’re unintentionally instigating him. 

“I thought you said we needed to talk.” 

Another shrug, and then you’re being tossed over the same shoulder you were just slapping in annoyance. “I decided later is okay.” 

You can’t be mad when Seokjin gently places you on his bed, nor when he eases you out of your remaining clothes. You definitely can’t be mad when he pushes your thighs forward and gets comfortable between your legs to press a kiss against your pussy. 

“Since you forgot that I love you,” he murmurs against your skin, and you already can tell from the tone of his voice that you’re in trouble. 

“Seokjin, that isn’t—” 

“Oh, but it is what happened,” he stares at you from between your thighs with a raised eyebrow. “And I’m wondering if there’s anything else you forgot about me.” 

You shudder as he drags his tongue up your lips, dipping slightly to push through to your clit. He flicks at it a few times and your leg involuntarily kicks his shoulder. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” you groan into the arm you have draped over your face. You’re fucked if the twitching has already started and all he did was flick the tip of his tongue for half a second. 

“Don’t apologize.” 

It’s spoken so softly that you have to lift your arm to look at him again, but he’s now focused on spreading your lips apart. With you opened up, even more, he leans in to suck your clit with those strawberry-red plush lips. Every flick of his tongue makes your leg jiggle, but he keeps a strong grip on your thighs to prevent another kick from flying his way. 

It’s messy; Seokjin always liked it messy. He lets saliva mix with your arousal and uses it to lubricate his fingers before he eases two inside of you.

“This okay?” He lifts his head for a moment and you feel bad because you did forget how caring he is. It used to confuse you as to why he checked in on you while you fucked, but after sleeping with someone else who was far less thoughtful, you were unbelievably grateful. 

“Mhm.” You can’t trust yourself to speak in a coherent sentence as Seokjin goes back to sucking your clit. 

He alternates between swirling his tongue around you with his mouth closed, maintaining the suction that sends tingles throughout your body, with open-mouth licks that cause him to breathe heavily against your pussy, allowing you to hear his moans and experience just how affected he is by you. 

You moan his name as he drags his fingers against your g-spot repeatedly, easily building up the fire that burns beneath his mouth until you’re digging your nails into his hair and cumming so hard you feel like sobbing again. 

You don’t, thank god, because you can’t bear to see the smug look on his face when you prove him right. But that doesn’t mean your eyes don’t prickle at the corners with the threat of tears. 

In true SeokSeokjin fashion, he doesn’t let up until you are crying, though, because he wants to be right. No one has ever made you writhe from overstimulation the way Seokjin does. You know you’ll have bruises on your thighs from how hard he has to hold you down, and you accidentally pull his sheets from his mattress with how tightly you squeeze them, just to have something to grab onto that isn’t his hair. 

He props himself up on one arm as he hovers over you, using his free hand to wipe the tears from your cheeks. You don’t want to know what you look like, but Seokjin will say you’re beautiful regardless. 

“How do you want me?” He asks against the shell of your ear. If the goosebumps down your arms mean anything, it’s that you don’t care one way or another. 

“I don’t care,” you admit, turning your head to the side to grant him access to your neck for more kisses. Kisses, so many kisses. You’re greedy for them. Three years’ worth is missing and you’re demanding them. “Just fuck me, please.” 

It’s not sweet or romantic by either of your standards, the way Seokjin sits back to strip off his remaining clothes. It’s honestly not even carnal when he kneels between your legs. The only thing you can think of as he slowly slides himself inside of you is that this — the sex, Seokjin, all of it — feels reassuring. 

If Seokjin has always felt like home, then having his body, sweaty and hot, stick to yours as he picks up the rhythm of his thrusts feels like some kind of validation. It’s validation, affirmation, a statement that tells you, yes, it was the right decision for you to come home. 

You want to slap yourself in the face because how corny is it to think, this is where I belong, while your ex-boyfriend is balls deep inside of you? 

“You’re doing that thing.” 

Seokjin tries to speak with a level voice, but his words come out with a gasp as you clench around him. It’s not your fault your body is reacting this way. He should be blamed since he’s the one who decided to suck on his thumb before bringing it down to circle your clit while he fucks you. 

“Wha-what, fuck, what thing?” 

“That thing where you look at me like you’re in love with me.” Seokjin props one of your legs over his shoulder to angle your hips better. “Like under the mistletoe and at Target.” 

You want to tell him to shut up so badly, but you’re all moans and that’s it. 

His cheeks are dusted pink, his sweaty bangs are brushed off of his forehead, and his eyes are bright with mischief. Too many parts of you are at war with each other when you drag your nails down his forearms. It’s hard to use your brain to sort through it all when you feel your orgasm knock the air out of you. You desperately reach for Seokjin, pulling him forward to squeeze him as you shudder through the remaining waves. 

“I am in love with you,” you finally choke out. 

If Seokjin cums because of your confession, that’s no one else’s business. 

When it’s all over, you keep your legs wrapped around his waist, preventing him from getting up. Cockwarming isn’t something you’ve ever been interested in, but right now you can’t bear the idea of him separating himself from you. It’s been too long since you’ve held him, and even though the two of you have a lot you need to talk about, you need this more right now. 

“Need to clean you up,” Seokjin murmurs into the crook of your neck. When he tries to untangle himself from you, you squeeze your legs around him even tighter. 

“Later,” you repeat your earlier sentiment. 

Seokjin lets out a weak laugh. The warm puff of his breath makes your already hot skin prickle.

“I’m going to crush you.” 

“Crush me then.” 

“Kinky.” 

Despite your spike of annoyance at his teasing, you agree to a compromise by allowing Seokjin to roll the two of you onto your sides. It’s impossible not to melt into his embrace when he leaves gentle kisses just below your ear and along your jaw. 

You already know you’re doing “the thing” again, though Seokjin’s eyes are closed as he nuzzles you, so he doesn’t notice this time. It has nothing to do with what happened under the mistletoe or at Target. If you’d known what your expression looked like the morning after he tucked you into bed, as you swallowed the ibuprofen he’d left you on your nightstand — that is what “the thing” looked like. Yes, you’re in love with Seokjin, but it’s not because his gaze makes you shy or your body yearns to be close to him. It’s the little ways he cares about you, even when you’ve been too stubborn to let him in. 

“I missed you so much,” he murmurs against your skin and his hold on you tightens. You attempt to mumble a response, but the soft praises he’s cooing are a soothing lullaby. 

When you eventually wake up to the winter sun weakly shining through the gaps in Seokjin’s bedroom curtains, the headache pounding against your skull is the only regrettable consequence of the night before. That fact should be more surprising than it is, but you remind yourself that this is how it should have always been — with you waking up to the tickle of Seokjin’s hair as he snuggles against your chest.

“Merry Christmas.” Seokjin must have felt you stir because he lifts his head to give you a chaste kiss. 

“Oh fuck, it’s Christmas.” 

Seokjin snorts and dips down to rest against your chest again. “Yes, that’s what I said.” 

“What time is it? Oh fuck, my parents expected me to come over.” 

You try to scoot out from beneath him, but Seokjin holds you down. It’s then that you realize you’re wearing clothes. You’ve got on a t-shirt you’ve never seen before, soft and so large you’re swimming in it, and a pair of boxers that have been folded a few times at the waistband to keep the clothing around your hips. You must have slept deeply if Seokjin could clean you up without you knowing, although you vaguely remember soft words of encouragement as you tossed and turned. 

“It’s okay. I told them you’re with me.” Seokjin nuzzles against your neck and you swear you can’t breathe. 

“You told them…” 

“That I invited you over this morning to exchange friendly neighbor gifts.” 

More like exchanging bodily fluids, but you decide not to say that. It’s Christmas, after all. 

“But we both know your mom is going to see through that,” Seokjin admits with a grin. You can’t see it, but you can feel his teeth against your skin. She probably will see through Seokjin’s lie; it’s an uncanny mom ability, it seems. It makes life more difficult to navigate, as far as you’re concerned. 

“What in the hell is wrong with her?” You can’t really be mad at her desire to meddle, but you won’t give her the satisfaction of thinking she’s the reason why you and Seokjin are back together. Well, if you’re back together. That’s probably one of the agenda items for the “talk” you’ll eventually need to have. 

“I would have told you that she’s been plotting our reunion for literal years, but you’ve spent the last two months running away from me.” You know the way he says it is all in jest, but you feel a pang of guilt stab your stomach anyway. He’s right; you never gave him the chance to even attempt to reconnect. 

In your silence, Seokjin forces himself out of bed. You prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him sort through dresser drawers. 

“Seokjin,” you blurt out when he pulls out a fresh pair of briefs. “Who do you spend Christmas with?” 

He gives you a small smile and an even smaller shrug. “No one. It was always just me and dad.” You’re sure the look on your face isn’t as controlled as you originally thought because Seokjin’s ears burn bright red. “It’s okay. I don’t mind, honestly. It’s nice to just have some time to myself.” 

You know he’s lying. You didn’t date him for five years and be his friend for longer to not be able to tell when he’s lying. It’s a lie because his ears are red and he doesn’t look you in the eyes when he talks. 

You let out a hum and push yourself up to sit on the edge of his bed. Hopefully, you’re subtle when you bury yourself deeper into the t-shirt swamping your form just to breathe in more of the laundry detergent you remember once washing your clothes with. 

“Will you come with me? To my parents’ place?” You force yourself not to cave under Seokjin’s intense gaze. “And then maybe we can… talk…” 

It takes only a few steps for him to stand before you, his index finger tilting up your chin. Seokjin leans down to slot his lips against yours, still just as smooth and chaste, but longer and deeper than the one before. The closeness makes you shudder, and you do your best not to make a noise when he finally pulls away. Comfort. He’s always brought you comfort. 

“Only if Yoongi’s willing to drive us there.” 

You scowl and swat Seokjin out of the way. “Are you kidding me?” 

“Nope,” Seokjin says with a laugh, letting the “P” pop as he slings a towel over his shoulder. “I was so serious, I don’t want my Porche to get dirty.” 

He’s clearly about to shower — something you need to do, as well — but you feel too shy to ask him if you can, too. The man just had his tongue shoved in your pussy and you can’t ask him for a shower. What was all that, about comfort? You’re being ridiculous. 

“What do you do when you have to go to work?” You take a look around his bedroom for the first time. Your clothes are neatly folded on top of the dresser; it doesn’t surprise you how orderly everything is. Seokjin’s house looked like it was plucked straight out of HGTV. 

“Make Hoseok drive me. Here—” Seokjin tosses you a towel. You catch it and give him an appreciative smile, but he’s rifling through his dresser again. “You can join me if you want,” he says without looking you in the eyes. His ears are still red. “But I want to give you something first.” 

You shift on the bed to give Seokjin room to sit down beside you. He looks silly with a towel around his neck, shirtless in a pair of boxers that you just realize match the ones you’re wearing. In his hand is a small pouch. It’s velvet, the ones that typically hold earrings or other jewelry if not in a box. You wouldn’t be able to describe how you feel with butterflies somersaulting in your stomach even if you wanted to. 

“Um.” Seokjin can barely get his words out and he’s only just started. “This was dad’s. I don’t really wear, well, I guess it’s just that, hmm…” He drops the pouch in your hand and clamps his mouth shut. “Can you just open it?” 

It seems that silence is a good option, so you undo the drawstring at the top and slowly let the object inside fall into your hand. It’s a ring. A thin, silver band. The color is dark enough that it almost looks deep charcoal. 

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” Seokjin whispers hoarsely like he’s afraid to use his voice. “I wanted to give it to you before… Well, before. And now that dad’s not here, I kind of thought, I don’t know.” Seokjin purses his lips as he lets out an exhale that sounds like a hiss. 

“Thank you. It’s beautiful, Seokjin.” It’s the simplest response, but you know it’s what Seokjin needs to hear. Simple, straightforward, and nothing difficult to interpret. The two of you have always balanced each other out. When Seokjin blabbers, you know how to rein him in. You’d like to think that it’s similar to how Seokjin can calm Malik down. You hope so, at least. 

As corny as it is, the urge to kiss him floods your senses. Despite the pressures around you, you’ve never been one to limit yourself. Self-control is self-sacrifice, but there is nothing sacrificial about bringing your lips to Seokjin’s. No, it’s quite the opposite. You feel life bloom inside of you when you press hard against his mouth at the same time you slip the ring on. Just your middle finger because Seokjin said it doesn’t have to mean anything. 

But it does. You want it to. 

His fingers press into the nape of your neck and you try to hold back a moan because it’s Christmas and you’re supposed to be giving Malik video games and marijuana crew socks right now. 

“We should shower.” Seokjin is the voice of reason that murmurs softly against your lips. It’s been three years, yet you fall in place with him so easily. 

You nod, making your noses rub against each other. It’s without protest that you allow him to lead you into the bathroom. It’s cute, the way he shows you around, pointing out where his skincare products are and showing you how to turn on the shower even though he’s going to be there to do it for you. And when the shower doesn’t turn into a carnal mess but instead is an opportunity for Seokjin to wash you, you realize he’s putting you together rather than taking you apart. You don’t need it; you’ve always been whole, even without him. But it feels good to be touched with care. It feels good to let Seokjin wash the hurt away. 

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Taehyung twists his head to the side to spit a mixture of blood and saliva into the gravel. At the sight of blood, the crowd cranes over the wooden barrier separating them from Taehyung and his opponent and begins to roar with a feeling Yoongi can’t identify. Yoongi guesses some of the crowd’s anger is directed toward the opponent – Donghun, they’d called him? – for landing such a destabilizing blow against their most beloved fighter. Of course, Yoongi knows some audience members are angry at Taehyung, and others thrive off the drama of it all, regardless of who is winning. 

People are sick. 

The greasy-haired man beside Yoongi, with glee on his face as Taehyung stumbles backward, is sick. The two men clad in slate gray suits to Yoongi's right, standing out like the capitalistic pigs that they are, hurriedly bickering over the large-sum bet they placed on whether Taehyung would climb out of the circle alive or not, are sick. 

People are sick.

Taehyung brings his forearm to his face to wipe off whatever is left behind on his mouth. His curly hair sticks to his forehead and frames his face in clumps, so soaked through that the locks look a darker shade of brown. Without a shirt on to collect his sweat, Taehyung’s bare chest gleams in the dim lighting of the arena.

Cliche as ever, the underground boxing scene takes place in an abandoned warehouse located miles from the city. The police don’t bother patrolling the rural farmland, though Yoongi is sure there are cops amid the crowds here tonight, betting on his boyfriend’s wellbeing. Dirty money passed between clean hands is worth more than an arrest.  

“Looking for someone, pretty?” One of the suited men presses his fingers to Yoongi’s waist. He dares to slip his fingertips under the hem of his t-shirt to feel the warm skin of his side, just above the waistband of his jeans. 

“No,” Yoongi mutters, stepping to the side to distance himself from the man. A slimy feeling slithers down his back. 

Despite attending Taehyung’s fights for weeks, Yoongi made a rookie mistake: he let his eyes wander. Looking around makes a person appear lost, and nothing is worse than giving off an air of helplessness in a place like this. Sharks swarm any pretty face that stands alone in a sea of violence. 

Returning his attention to Taehyung, Yoongi does his best to keep the creepy man in his peripheral vision, just in case. 

When Taehyung pulls his arm back, Yoongi can barely make out a flash of teeth before his lips are clamped shut again. Yoongi is pretty sure Taehyung’s left incisor is chipped so severely it looks like it’s broken in half diagonally. Not surprisingly, Taehyung’s bottom lip is split straight down the middle. Yoongi has taken Taehyung to the hospital to get stitches in that same spot so often that he has started to expect the seam to bust open every time Taehyung steps inside the bloody circle.

Still, Taehyung’s split lip is nothing compared to the damage he inflicted on his opponent. By the end of the fight, the other man crumples into the gravel with ribs Yoongi knows are broken by how he wheezes through his mouth. 

Taehyung spits a final glob of blood and saliva before he hauls himself over the wooden barrier as the crowd screams and raves in enthusiasm and disappointment. It makes no difference to Yoongi how the sick people around him feel; he only has eyes for the tall, lean man shouldering his way through the crowd to the table of men near the warehouse entrance. 

Yoongi weaves through the crowd, too small to push anyone out of the way and instead forced to follow the natural flow of everyone shuffling toward the front doors, some to leave and others to collect debts. It feels like he’s swimming through molasses as he does his best to keep Taehyung in his line of sight. Sometimes Yoongi wonders if someone will assault Taehyung after a fight, some belligerent man hopped up on the high of testosterone and violence, upset that he’s lost yet another bet against Taehyung. Yoongi feels that as long as he can keep his eye on Taehyung, he’ll be safe. Never mind the fact that Yoongi could never protect him. 

Finally reaching the table, Yoongi watches Taehyung shove a wad of cash into his front pocket. It isn’t subtle in how it bulges against his thigh, but it’s the safest place for it to be. 

“Tae,” Yoongi calls over the roar of the crowd. 

When Taehyung turns toward him, he doesn’t smile. Yoongi receives a curt nod as Taehyung takes the flannel button-up he offers him. Button-ups are easier to put on. Yoongi has noticed that Taehyung often can’t lift his arms high enough to put on a t-shirt after a fight. Even with a buttoned shirt, Yoongi is careful to help Taehyung ease his arms into each sleeve. He pulls the front over his chest and begins buttoning the shirt. No longer does he cringe when his fingers get coated with sweat and blood from touching Taehyung’s dirtied body. 

Stepping back, Yoongi lets Taehyung lead the way out of the building once the crowd has died down. The fight officials count up their money, making Yoongi sick to think that Taehyung’s broken body puts money in the pockets of men who should be making an honest living elsewhere. 

“Can you drive?” Taehyung’s voice sounds like each breath flowing in and out of his throat hurts. Yoongi is sure his throat is raw from the animalistic sounds he makes during a fight. 

All the boxers make terrible sounds – cries, screams, and growls that rumble from deep inside their chests. Yoongi is convinced that there is nothing human about fighting. 

Taehyung doesn’t show the extent of his pain until he carefully eases himself into the passenger seat of their car. He groans a low sound that rumbles in his throat. He doesn’t bother putting on his seatbelt; twisting his torso around to reach it would be too much of a feat. Yoongi is a safe driver, though he wishes Taehyung would let him help. It’s pride that stops him. Yoongi is only allowed to assist Taehyung once they’re at home, far away from the judgmental eyes of the underground scene. 

It pisses Yoongi off, but he would never go against Taehyung’s wishes. As much as he cares for Taehyung’s well-being, he knows that Taehyung’s involvement in underground boxing is non-negotiable – no matter how many times they’ve fought because of it. 

They’re silent as Yoongi drives through the dark, with no overhead lights illuminating their journey toward the small town on the outskirts of the farmland. It’s nothing special, just a little farming town an hour or so outside the city. Yoongi and Taehyung grew up here, a speck on the map, one of those sleepy towns that people stop at during road trips to eat at the diner or fill up on gas. It seems more people are passing through the town than living there, though Yoongi knows that’s an exaggeration. 

With a sigh, Yoongi taps his fingers along the steering wheel to a song he’s made up in his head, too afraid of Taehyung’s potential mood swings to turn on the radio. Sometimes, Taehyung is hyped up after a fight, pumped full of testosterone and aggression. On those weekends, he wants to shout along to heavy metal on the way home and fuck Yoongi up against the front door when they get there. 

Some weekends, Taehyung is silent. 

On silent weekends, Yoongi knows not to say anything that might disrupt Taehyung’s attempt at finding peace within himself. He’s on edge during those moods, grappling with himself. 

Why? Why does he fight? Is the money worth it? Yoongi thinks they manage just fine without it, but it isn’t just the two of them that Taehyung has to worry about. There’s his mom, who is too sick to work, and his little sister, who is barely starting high school and too young to hold a real job. In a town like theirs, poverty runs rampant, and there are few resources to help struggling families get by. They’re all in the same boat, scraping together what little money they have to live a life worth sharing. 

It’s why Yoongi dreams of one day becoming a famous writer. It’s a pipedream, he knows, but that doesn’t prevent him from trying. When he isn’t waiting tables at the local diner or tending to Taehyung’s wounds, he’s holed away in their living room in his favorite armchair by the window, a leather notebook in his lap and a ballpoint pen staining his fingers. There are millions, no billions, of lives Yoongi could live through the pages of the short stories and poems he writes, written collections stashed away in a cardboard box in his closet because he doesn’t have a computer and isn’t sure if he’s brave enough to pursue publishing his work, anyway. But those lives he could live through his writing – oh, how attractive they are. Why be stuck in this one? 

Yoongi slowly pulls up to their driveway to be mindful of the potholes and bumpy gravel that might jostle Taehyung, whose face is scrunched in pain. Yoongi wants to fuss over him, but he thinks Taehyung is in one of those nasty moods and doesn’t want to risk irritating him. 

The arguments that come from Yoongi’s fussing when Taehyung is in a bad mood always end the same: 

Taehyung would fist rubber-banded rolls of money stained with his blood and hold them to Yoongi's face. 

“Do you know what this is, Yoongi?” Taehyung would say.  

Dirty money is what Yoongi typically wants to snap at him, but he always holds his tongue. Instead of speaking, he’d let his eyes wander. Taehyung is always breathtaking beneath the cuts, scabs, and purple-turned-yellow bruises marring his honey skin. 

“This is what keeps you off the fucking streets, love.” 

He’s never wrong. 

It’s in the darkest corners of town where Taehyung’s name is whispered. Women sigh his name when he walks past. They wonder how the rippled muscles of his back would feel beneath their delicate fingers or how the intensity of his dark eyes would feel staring down at them from above, the thin gold chain he never takes off, even in a fight, swaying in their face. Men speak his name in terse murmurs and can’t bring themselves to meet his gaze when he approaches them. The power that thrums from Taehyung like an electric current is palpable no matter where he goes or who he encounters. 

It’s understandable that Taehyung carries this reputation. In all the time Yoongi has known him, he has never seen Taehyung lose a fight. Taehyung can’t afford to lose.  

Once inside the house, Taehyung tosses the wad of money onto the coffee table. He already has his soiled shirt off by the time Yoongi hands him an ice pack. Watching him ease back onto the couch with an ice pack to his cheek where Donghun punched him is painful. His tooth isn’t as severely damaged as Yoongi thought, but he’s still worried. Yoongi is always worried. 

“I don’t want you coming anymore.” 

Yoongi's eyes grow wide. “What?” 

“It's not safe.” Taehyung doesn’t look at Yoongi, instead casting his stern gaze toward the bloody money. His voice is deceivingly soft, words slurred together, and teeth stained red. “I see how they look at you. You think I’m in there not paying attention, but I fucking see it.”

The air is heavy with testosterone during fights. Yoongi would be lying if he said the violently hungry, aggressive vibe doesn’t scare him just a little bit. Even though people in the underground scene respect and fear Taehyung, plenty of men are stupid enough to entertain the thought of taking Taehyung’s boyfriend for themselves, with or without Yoongi’s permission. The slimy guy in the gray suit tonight is a perfect example. 

But Taehyung often underestimates Yoongi’s strength. Sure, he is book-smart and dreams of a life more than this, but it doesn’t mean he’s soft. He can shoulder the weight of the world just like Taehyung can; it just looks different.

“I can take care of myself.” 

Taehyung drops the ice pack from his face and turns toward Yoongi. “I’m not asking for your opinion.” 

Yoongi tries not to flinch at the dangerous edge of Taehyung’s tone. He nods with his jaw set and his fists squeezed so tightly that he can feel his nails dig into his palms. 

“Good,” Taehyung rises to his feet, “I’m gonna take a shower.” 

Yoongi waits in the same spot on the couch while Taehyung showers, washing away the grime and hurt he inflicted on himself and indirectly on Yoongi. It’s the only time Taehyung lets himself cry; Yoongi knows because he heard him once. Tonight is no different, although Yoongi knows better than to comment on the red in Taehyung’s eyes when he returns with his towel wrapped low around his hips. 

New bruises have formed over the splotchy old ones, decorating Taehyung’s body in an array of yellows, reds, and purples. His torso bears the brunt of the abuse, though his black eye and bruised mouth are darkening as well. 

Taking Taehyung’s hand, Yoongi leads him back into the bathroom to sit on the closed toilet lid while he retrieves the first-aid kit from the bathroom cabinet. The zipper pouch has become his best friend over the months since Taehyung allowed Yoongi to take care of his injuries. Tonight, the open wounds are small, just minor cuts on the bridge of his nose and the corner of his mouth. When Yoongi gently pinches Taehyung’s nose, he hisses. 

“Fuck, Yoong,” he tilts his head back to meet Yoongi’s eyes. His eyes are still wild, like an animal teetering between its fight-or-flight instincts. 

Ignoring Taehyung’s curses, Yoongi disinfects his wounds and does his best to focus on the task at hand, not on how pretty Taehyung’s moles are or how kissable his lips look, even with a bloody split down the middle of his bottom lip. However, it’s hard to focus when Taehyung stares at Yoongi with such dark intensity in his eyes. Perhaps Yoongi is wrong in assuming that Taehyung is in one of his nasty, quiet moods tonight. Although he may not be speaking, Taehyung’s presence is loud in their tiny bathroom. 

Yoongi shuffles between Taehyung’s legs to better reach the minor cuts on his face. With light touches, he brushes Taehyung’s damp hair away from his face to reveal another cut that slices through his eyebrow and part of his forehead. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Yoongi questions suspiciously and purposefully avoids looking into Taehyung’s eyes as he finishes dabbing the alcohol-soaked cotton ball on his cuts. 

“Looking at you like what?” There’s a tease in Taehyung’s tone that makes Yoongi’s cheeks grow warm. 

He lets out a small huff and straightens his posture. “You know.” 

“Do I?” Taehyung quirks an eyebrow. When Yoongi tries to step away, Taehyung’s hands squeeze the backs of his thighs, just below his butt, to keep him in place. “I don’t think I do. Maybe you should explain it to me.” 

“Maybe you should go to bed. It’s late,” Yoongi huffs again as he threads his fingers through Taehyung’s dark hair. “I need to cut your hair soon…” he mutters, accidentally letting his eyes wander toward Taehyung’s. He can feel Taehyung’s breath against the base of his throat from Taehyung tilting his chin up to stare at him. Their proximity makes Yoongi shiver, especially once Taehyung begins rubbing his palms up and down the backs of Yoongi’s thighs. 

Yoongi shouldn’t find a thrill in this. The fighting is morally wrong and bad for Taehyung’s mental and physical health. Excitement shouldn’t poison Yoongi’s veins and raise goosebumps across his arms as Taehyung’s hands lift higher to squeeze Yoongi’s ass in his large palms. Arousal shouldn’t build in his body when Taehyung roughly pulls Yoongi toward him, forcing Yoongi to grip his shoulders to keep stable. The only thing he should feel is guilt. 

He does feel guilt, but it’s drowned out by the heat that simmers in his body. Guilt is cold and ugly, quickly chased away by the fire Taehyung ignites inside him when he pops open the button of Yoongi’s jeans. 

“What did that piece of shit say to you at the fight?” Taehyung demands the answer as he rips Yoongi’s pants down his thighs, pulling his briefs down with them. 

It feels like a bad idea to answer him, but Yoongi wonders if refusing will be worse, so he chooses honesty. “He asked if I was looking for someone. And he…” Yoongi bites his lip to hold back a moan when Taehyung’s calloused hands slide over Yoongi’s bare ass, one hand pulling his cheek back while the other runs his fingers along Yoongi’s exposed rim. 

When Yoongi doesn’t continue his sentence, Taehyung lands a harsh slap against his ass. It doesn’t hurt, but it stings, making Yoongi’s entire body tingle. 

“What else did he say?”

“Nothing,” Yoongi says with a gasp when Taehyung’s middle finger slowly pushes past his rim. It's dry, but Taehyung is gentle, and it's only a quick teasing touch before both of Taehyung's hands are resting on Yoongi's hips. “But he touched me. Nowhere bad, but it made me uncomfortable.” 

Taehyung isn’t so much possessive as he is overprotective. He fully believes in Yoongi being his own person and has always been Yoongi’s loudest, most reliable supporter. His boxing money doesn’t just go toward supporting his mother and little sister. Taehyung deposits a portion of his earnings into a bank account he created to save money for Yoongi to attend the fancy university in the city one day. In addition to wanting to become a writer, Yoongi’s other dream is to graduate from college. Taehyung would do anything to give him that opportunity. 

So Taehyung’s anger at the gray-suited man isn’t because he wants to own Yoongi but because he knows this man put his hands on him without Yoongi’s consent. 

“I wish I knew who the fuck he was. I’d fucking kill him,” Taehyung murmurs, his voice soft despite how aggressive his words are. Some people hide behind bold claims, but Yoongi knows not to underestimate Taehyung. He has seen him beat a man half to death because in this world, it is beat or be beaten, and Taehyung is never beaten. 

“I wouldn’t let you.” 

Taehyung gazes up at Yoongi brightly, though his left eye is half-closed from the skin around it swelling. His black eye will be a nasty one this time around. He’s sure to wear it proudly. For the first time that night, a smile blooms across his face. 

“Are you the boss of me, little Yoongi?” Taehyung muses. 

“Obviously,” Yoongi quips now that he knows Taehyung is in a better mood than he initially thought. “You’re just bad at listening to what you’re told.” 

“You’re right about that.” Taehyung’s smile grows into a grin that shows his large teeth still stained a light pink from blood. It reminds Yoongi that there are parts of Taehyung that he can’t fix. 

It’s hard to concentrate when Taehyung’s hands roam Yoongi’s body, running up and down his bare thighs but never touching the place that aches for him. If Yoongi wasn’t used to Taehyung’s antics, their position would be humiliating. Taehyung’s legs on either side of him and his jeans halfway down his thighs trap Yoongi in place. The tight fabric is restricting, and he wants to step out of them, but Taehyung won’t give him any room to move. It doesn’t help that Yoongi is already getting hard, much to Taehyung’s pleasure. Taehyung’s dark eyes flit down to Yoongi’s neglected cock, and he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth to suppress a smirk. 

“You like it, though.” Twisting the hem of Yoongi’s t-shirt into his bruised and busted hand, Taehyung pushes his shirt up, slowly exposing his soft tummy. 

“Like what?” Yoongi swallows as Taehyung’s free hand follows the path of his shirt. The callouses on his palms scratch his sensitive skin. Opposites attract, Yoongi thinks. 

“When I don’t listen.” Taehyung brings the hem of Yoongi’s shirt to his face. “Bite.” 

Obediently, Yoongi’s mouth falls open to receive the fabric Taehyung shoves inside. With his shirt in his mouth, all of Yoongi’s torso is on display for Taehyung. Smooth, sensitive skin exposed for Taehyung to drag his fingernails down and watch the red tracks they leave behind and the goosebumps that follow. 

“You always listen, though,” Taehyung says with an appreciative hum when he flicks one of Yoongi’s nipples until it turns hard and perky. “Well, almost always. Sometimes, you give me trouble, but not tonight, right? You’ll be good tonight?” 

Yoongi nods his head but doesn’t dare open his mouth. 

Taehyung put his shirt there because he doesn’t want to hear Yoongi. It’s nothing against Yoongi, and he knows that. Impressed by his intellect and eloquence, Taehyung has always admired Yoongi’s mind. Whatever random facts or fantastical worlds Yoongi wants to share with Taehyung are eagerly accepted. However, tonight is different. Fights are draining. The overstimulation of dealing with screaming onlookers and hateful taunts by his opponent alone is enough to drive any person over the edge. Add in the jarring sensation of being punched and kicked multiple times, the smell of sweat and blood, and the disorienting lights shining on the ring, and Taehyung leaves each fight with his senses pushed into overdrive. 

Even though tonight doesn’t seem like it will be a quiet night, Taehyung is still tired. Yoongi knows him well enough to see the signs. Taehyung grabs Yoongi’s wrists and holds his arms behind his back, one hand large enough to squeeze both of Yoongi’s dainty wrists in his palm. His grip is loose, though. Yoongi could pull out if he wanted to because Taehyung has used all his strength to fight for his earnings tonight. 

Still, Yoongi stands patiently with his arms behind his back as Taehyung flattens his tongue against one of his nipples and licks a stripe up his pec. He doesn’t need Taehyung to tell him to stand still despite how the sensation makes his body quiver and his cock leak. He told Taehyung he would be good. 

“You look good, all marked up,” Taehyung praises once he pulls away from Yoongi’s chest. 

When Yoongi looks down, he sees multiple hickeys darkening the skin around his nipples. He can’t help but think that he matches Taehyung now, except his bruises are made from love. 

Sucking dark hickeys down the middle of Yoongi’s chest, Taehyung’s mouth travels along Yoongi’s stomach until it hovers over his cock, now fully hard and throbbing in anticipation. Though Yoongi can’t get his hopes up that Taehyung will touch him. When Taehyung gets like this, Yoongi’s pleasure isn’t at the top of his mind. 

It’s okay, though. Yoongi wants to help Taehyung however he can. 

Rather than touch him, Taehyung pauses to blow on the wet tip of Yoongi’s cock. It makes Yoongi shiver, and he can’t stop himself from bucking forward slightly. The natural response makes Taehyung chuckle, something deep and dark that makes Yoongi tremble even harder. He whimpers into the fabric in his mouth, and Taehyung grins up at him with mischief in his eyes. 

“Am I being mean to you?” 

Yoongi nods and wiggles in Taehyung’s grip. One day, Taehyung’s exhaustion might make him go easy on Yoongi. 

Taehyung sticks out his tongue to lap at the very tip of Yoongi’s cock, licking clean the precum that has collected there. “I could be meaner, you know.” 

Ice glides through Yoongi’s veins when Taehyung releases his wrists. In one swift movement, he pulls Yoongi’s shirt off. 

“Turn around,” he commands, and Yoongi does so rather ungracefully, for his jeans are still tight around his thighs. Once Yoongi has his back to Taehyung, he feels him grab his wrists again, tugging them to the small of his back. He anxiously flexes his fingers as Taehyung ties his wrists with the t-shirt. The hold is much stronger than Taehyung’s earlier grip on his wrists, the knot tight even with the bulky fabric. Yoongi wouldn’t try to get out of it anyway. 

“Feel okay?” Taehyung’s voice is hoarse with desire and exhaustion. The sound of it makes Yoongi’s cock twitch. 

“Feels okay,” Yoongi confirms with a slight nod. “Feels good.”

“Because you’re safe with me, right?” Taehyung hums against Yoongi’s skin when he kisses the middle of his back. Yoongi’s heart flutters when he feels Taehyung push down between his shoulder blades, forcing Yoongi to bend forward slightly. “Right, hyung ?” 

“Yes,” Yoongi squeaks while Taehyung’s teeth dig into his right asscheek. Taehyung only uses honorifics when Yoongi is in trouble. 

“Good.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Yoongi sees Taehyung reach into the cabinet to retrieve a small, light purple bottle. It’s difficult to stay still when he hears the bottle cap pop open and the obscene squelch of the bottle being squeezed. 

“Now, don’t do that,” Taehyung scolds with a tug of the t-shirt tied around Yoongi’s wrists. “Behave, or I’ll fuck your mouth instead.”

It isn’t much of a threat because Yoongi likes when Taehyung fucks his mouth, but he knows behind Taehyung’s words is the possibility that he won’t let Yoongi cum, and that isn’t ideal. 

“Sorry,” Yoongi apologizes softly. He lets out a shaky sigh as Taehyung slides two lubed fingers inside him. The glide is easy, and Taehyung soon presses a third in without any resistance. 

Yoongi is already stretched from them fucking the night before. Still, Taehyung fingers him because he likes to watch Yoongi struggle to stand up as he abuses his prostate, rubbing over it in tight, intentional circles until Yoongi begs him to stop. 

“Please, Tae, please fuck me,” Yoongi begs. He squeezes his eyes shut and does his best to stand still without his knees buckling underneath him. 

“You want my cock that bad? I give it to you every day, baby. Is it that good?” Taehyung laughs, and the embarrassment of resorting to begging makes Yoongi shake even harder. Taehyung removes his fingers and squeezes Yoongi’s hips to maneuver him out of the way when Taehyung stands. “Up against the counter. No, keep your pants on.” 

There’s something exciting for Yoongi about being tied up and restricted by his clothes when Taehyung is entirely naked. He faces the bathroom counter and confronts himself in the mirror. His eyes glisten with unshed tears from the frustration of Taehyung fingering him with no relief, and his dark hair is in disarray. 

Taehyung is worse for wear, though a guilty part of Yoongi finds his disheveled look attractive. He looks tall and strong, standing behind Yoongi. His towel has fallen in a puddle around his feet. The muscles in his chest and arms flex as he presses down on Yoongi’s back, forcing him to bend over the counter’s edge. He leans forward as well, draping himself over Yoongi’s back to bring his lips to the curve of Yoongi’s ear. 

“I want you to watch me fuck you,” Taehyung whispers, and Yoongi thinks he could cum just from the feeling of Taehyung’s tongue running along the edge of his ear and his thick cock brushing against the inside of his thighs. 

“I can do that,” Yoongi says with a quick nod. He locks eyes with Taehyung in the mirror once Taehyung stands upright. 

Taehyung runs his tongue along his bottom lip. Tapping the inside of Yoongi’s thighs – twice on each side – Yoongi knows it’s a silent command to spread his legs further. Without breaking eye contact with Yoongi, Taehyung pulls back one of Yonogi’s cheeks and uses his other hand to guide his cock to Yoongi’s rim. He doesn’t need to look down to know where he’s going; they’ve memorized each other’s bodies. With one last swipe of his thumb against his rim, Taehyung slides his cock into Yoongi in one sharp thrust that forces Yoongi’s body against the counter and knocks the air out of his lungs. 

“Fuck!” Yoongi curses, unable to hold himself up because Taehyung has tied his wrists behind his back. He slumps forward when Taehyung pulls back and snaps his hips into him again. 

The edge of the counter hurts when it presses into his lower stomach every time Taehyung thrusts into him, not to mention how his cock is caught between his thigh and the side of the counter. The discomfort increases when Taehyung grabs Yoongi’s wrists and yanks hard on the t-shirt, forcing Yoongi’s upper body to lift from the counter. 

“What did I tell you?” Taehyung hisses as he fucks into him because Yoongi stops looking at the mirror. 

Yoongi’s vision is blurry when he finally returns his eyes to the mirror. He can’t make out their faces; the tears are too thick on his eyelashes before they spill down his cheeks. Taehyung’s pace is relentless as he fucks into Yoongi with all the frustration, stress, and insecurity inside him. 

Giving Yoongi a reprieve, Taehyung reaches to tug Yoongi’s jeans down further until he can step out of them. Free from that restriction, Taehyung taps the back of Yoongi’s right knee. 

“Up here,” Taehyung grunts, helping Yoongi lift his knee onto the counter's edge. It opens him up even further and gives Taehyung a better position to grab Yoongi’s hips and slam into him more forcefully and precisely. 

The discomfort from the counter mixes with the mind-numbing pleasure of Taehyung hitting Yoongi’s prostrate with every thrust. It creates a haze in Yoongi’s mind that’s difficult to pull himself out of. However, he isn’t so far gone that he doesn’t notice when Taehyung’s rhythm falters. He breathes heavily against Yoongi’s shoulder, now slumped over slightly. The weight of Taehyung’s body on his is almost too much. 

“Tae,” Yoongi cries out, trying to blink away the tears in his eyes to see Taehyung in the mirror. “I’m here, okay? I can take care of you.” 

Slowly, Taehyung’s thrusts come to a halt. He stays inside of Yoongi, thick and pulsing against his walls. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, and his skin is flushed with exertion. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. It’s as if he’s a sleepwalker finally coming back to himself, blinking away whatever fantasy world his mind had transported him to and returning to the reality in front of him. Yoongi watches with a broken heart as Taehyung’s face crumbles. 

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung apologizes in a small voice. He pulls out of Yoongi and steps back with his head hanging low. “Fuck, I’m just…” 

Yoongi gives him a gentle smile. “Can you please untie me?” 

With a sheepish nod, Taehyung unties Yoongi’s wrists and silently follows him into their bedroom. It’s dark there, not artificially bright like their bathroom. There are fewer stimulants to mess with Taehyung’s senses as Yoongi guides him onto the bed.

Yoongi’s knees dent the mattress where he straddles Taehyung’s hips. He leans forward to cradle Taehyung’s head to his chest with one hand and uses the other to position their fluffiest pillows behind Taehyung so that he can lean back on them once Yoongi lets him go. 

“You’re exhausted,” Yoongi points out, careful to be soft in his tone rather than make Taehyung feel like he’s disappointed in him. “Let me take care of you, okay?” 

Taehyung melts into the pillows. Despite the darkness of the room, moonlight illuminates Taehyung’s eyes as he stares up at Yoongi. His eyes are softer now than they had been, no longer blazing and wild. They stay soft, even as his fingers grip Yoongi’s hips as he sinks down on Taehyung’s cock. 

Rarely does Yoongi get on top, and the muscles of his thighs scream at him as a result, but he maintains a slow, sweet pace. Taehyung murmurs his praises, occasionally instructing Yoongi on how to shift his hips and what speed to take. 

“I love you,” Taehyung says with a shaky breath as he cums inside Yoongi, doing his best to pump Yoongi’s cock in his fist to bring him to his release quickly after. 

Yoongi presses his lips to Taehyung’s forehead as he whispers into his skin, “I love you, too.” 

A low whistle welcomes Yoongi to JK’s Diner. He rolls his eyes at his coworker once he slips through the front door, the little bell atop the door ringing in harmony with his coworker’s obnoxious tune. 

“Hello to you too, Hoseok,” Yoongi grumbles through a smile. He rushes past the bar counter to escape through the kitchen door, but Hoseok is hot on his heels. 

“Does your boy ever catch a break?” Hoseok flicks a thin wooden toothpick with his tongue from one side of his mouth to the other. It helps with avoiding cigarettes, apparently. Yoongi keeps his vices to a minimum so he wouldn’t know. 

Stashing his backpack in the employee closet, Yoongi trades it for a firetruck-red apron. He folds it in half, only tying it around his waist. In the pocket goes a little notepad and a pen clipped to the edge. 

“What?” Yoongi bows his head in greeting at the kitchen staff before he hurries out into the dining room again. There’s no need to rush; JK’s Diner never has busy hours unless a large group of travelers pulls into town. Yoongi is just like this sometimes. 

“I could’ve seen that shiner from outer space.” 

Yoongi doesn’t have many friends. A solitary child, he grew up with his nose in a book and his back to the rest of the world. It also doesn’t help that most people who amount to anything in life move away from their small town, leaving behind everyone too poor or too stupid to make it someplace else. 

Hoseok is one of Yoongi’s few friends from childhood who stayed home once he reached adulthood – for what reason, Yoongi still doesn’t understand. Highly intelligent, charismatic, and creative, Hoseok always seemed destined for greatness in Yoongi’s eyes. There’s an air of regality that Hoseok carries with him wherever he goes. His sharp features, stylish presentation, and heartwarming personality make it clear that Hoseok deserves to be somewhere much more interesting than here. 

“What shiner?” 

Hoseok rolls his eyes. “I just watched that man drop you off not even five minutes ago. The windows in his car aren’t that heavily tinted. He looks like shit.” 

Ignoring Hoseok’s unsolicited commentary on Taehyung’s appearance, Yoongi sits at the counter with a rag and a stack of laminated menus to clean. He tries not to think about how many grimy hands have touched all over them. 

“Are you going to work today?” Yoongi quips with a little tilt of his head, his eyes on the menus. 

“There’s no one here!” Hoseok scoffs. He slumps onto the barstool beside Yoongi and faces the door with his elbows propped on the counter behind him. “Don’t you ever worry about those city slickers getting revenge on him or something?” 

Yoongi pauses his work to look at Hoseok. “Revenge? For what?” 

“Well,” Hoseok begins with a shrug. “They’re all bigshots, right? Lots of money and power, coming down here to get off on poor people selling their bodies. You ever wonder if they get mad about losing money over Taehyung every weekend? I’m not trying to put anything in the universe, but I don’t know. Money makes people do crazy shit.” 

“Yeah…” Yoongi mumbles, slowly setting down the menu he’s been cleaning. Money makes people do crazy shit. “Taehyung is fine. Most of the people who watch don’t even know him. He doesn’t go by his real name.” 

If anyone knew that Taehyung had chosen “V” as his alias because of his love for Vincent van Gogh, he’d probably crawl into a hole and die. 

Hoseok doesn’t have a chance to explain himself further. The bell rings, and he claps Yoongi on the shoulder, saying, “I got it,” before slipping into his customer service persona to greet whoever has entered the diner. 

It’s hard not to mull over Hoseok’s question as Yoongi finishes up the menial tasks no one else wants to do. Wiping down ketchup and mustard bottles is anything but exciting, and it’s mindless enough that more stressful thoughts can occupy Yoongi’s mind instead. Is Hoseok right? Would someone hurt Taehyung over a lost bet? Yoongi can’t imagine why someone with lots of money would seek revenge over a bad gamble. If they’re so rich, wouldn’t the money they gamble hardly make a dent in their wealth? 

With a sigh, Yoongi moves on to his next task of updating the whiteboard hanging behind the counter with the diner’s daily specials. His handwriting isn’t the greatest, but it’s better than Hoseok’s and the kitchen staff’s. 

He’s finishing up a clever joke to go with the special when he senses someone hovering behind him. 

“Hoseok.” Yoongi looks over his shoulder to see Hoseok leaning against the counter. “Your nametag is upside down.” 

“Did you finish your scholarship application yet?” 

“You sure have a lot of questions to ask me today,” Yoongi points out with a glare. “No, I did not finish it.” 

Hoseok grabs a fork from a tub of dirty dishes he cleared off the tables after the last customers left while Yoongi was cleaning the coffee maker. Mustering a menacing expression, Hoseok points the fork’s oddly bent tines at Yoongi. 

“Are you self-sabotaging right now, Min Yoongi? This should be so easy for you! You’re so…” Hoseok waves the fork around like it’s a wand and he’s trying to poof everything away. “Creative, whimsical, an out-of-the-box thinker. You’ve got all these stories in your head.” With lightning speed, Hoseok taps the top of Yoongi’s head with the fork. 

Yoongi swats Hoseok’s hand away. “I’ve been busy.” 

“There is literally nothing to do here! How could you be busy?” Hoseok tosses the fork back into the bucket. “I guess getting stuffed by the town’s biggest dick probably takes up a lot of your time.” 

With lucky accuracy, Hoseok ducks when Yoongi throws the whiteboard marker at him. The marker flies across the restaurant and slides under one of the red booths, forever lost to the dust bunnies. 

“It does, actually,” Yoongi snaps, but he’s more flustered than anything. It sends Hoseok into a fit of maniacal laughter that has him gripping onto the chipped edges of the counter to hold himself up. 

“All I’m saying is,” Hoseok finally composes himself by standing upright and brushing off spilled salt from sticking to the palms of his hands, “that there’s no way to know if you’ll receive the scholarship if you don’t apply for it.” 

Biting his bottom lip, Yoongi lets his gaze wander past Hoseok to squint through the midday sun shining through the large windows. Today is Friday, which means Taehyung will fight tomorrow night. Since Yoongi can no longer attend the fights, he’ll have a few hours to himself. 

“It’s due soon, hyung. Promise me you’ll apply?” 

Yoongi holds out his pinky to answer Hoseok’s question. When Hoseok hooks their pinkies together, Yoongi reminds himself that he has always been a man of his word.

For the past few weeks, Yoongi has become obsessed with a man at the library. 

Well, “obsessed” makes him sound a little crazy. Perhaps “intrigued” is better – Yoongi has been intrigued by a man at the library. Yoongi isn’t sure why he pays so much attention to this man. The man is somewhat unassuming. He sits in the same corner of the library every Saturday afternoon. Considering how small their town is, Yoongi finds it odd that he doesn’t know who this man is. Then again, newcomers aren’t entirely unheard of, and Yoongi tends to keep to himself, rarely meeting new people anyway. 

Still, he feels like he should introduce himself to this man eventually. Perhaps if Yoongi wins the scholarship, he’ll tell the library man that he won it because he submitted a collection of short stories and poems he’s written, one of which was about the library man. 

The Library Man (is this title stupid? Boring? It seems boring) by Min Yoongi The library man is all mouth, eyebrows, and paper cuts on either hand. This one here is Parker.   He points. A slit between two fingers. Another one Gwen Brooks. For some, poetry reads as chicken scratch. For him, It is chicken scratch up and down brown fingers. Do we ask him why he doesn’t invest in some good lotion?   Perhaps a kindle? Clearly, he is far too brittle for Pantoums, haikus, and sestinas.  (should i make this stanza longer?? is "kindle" supposed to be capitalized?)  (is my audience going to understand the literary references in this?? i hope they know who gwendolyn brooks is at least) Who would like to break the news? Library man,  (do i write it like "Library Man"?)  We admire your dedication, but don’t you think It’s time We banned you from your self-destructive pining?   Take a vacation, library man, from your sedentary lifestyle. 

There is more to life than thinly sliced books and paper cuts.   The library man touches his hands with literary war wounds.    What is a life without pantoums, haikus, and sestinas? (reminder: send to hobah for edits) (due date when??) (make sure tae knows this is about an old man and not some hot guy i've been staring at all month)

Yoongi slowly leans forward until his forehead rests against the table. 

He’s been sitting at the public library for two hours trying to summon the energy and, quite frankly, the courage to ask for access to one of the computers. Even though Hoseok still needs to edit “The Library Man,” Yoongi should type it up with his other poems and short stories. It will make the editing process faster and force Yoongi to live in the 21st century. 

So why can’t he just get up?

While tapping his pen on his notebook, Yoongi’s dark eyes scan the room. Aside from the old guy, there are only two other people in the room with him: the librarian and a little girl coloring at one of the tables. Yoongi knows the librarian, yet he can’t ask her for help. 

His pen slips out of his clammy hand and lands with a soft thud against the carpeted floor. No one looks in Yoongi’s direction, but he still worries. About what? He isn’t sure. There’s something kind of scary about being seen. Yoongi has felt like he has eyes on him in the past few weeks. Perhaps it’s because of his conversation with Hoseok at the diner and the seed it planted in Yoongi’s anxious brain. Will people start questioning Taehyung? 

Initially, Yoongi brushed the concern off, but now he wonders if that was a mistake. Just last week, Taehyung got into an unplanned fight as he was leaving the warehouse after a match. Two guys jumped him as he was walking to his car. Taehyung wouldn’t give Yoongi any details, but Yoongi isn’t stupid. 

There are only two reasons why someone would attack Taehyung after a boxing match: to steal his money or out of anger at the results of the match. Yoongi isn’t sure which is better of the two evils. In both situations, Taehyung comes home more broken than usual, and Yoongi must figure out how to heal the physical and emotional damage. 

Regardless of the motives behind the attacks, the situation has put Yoongi on edge. Despite asking numerous times, Taehyung still won’t let him go to the fights. Yoongi would say fuck it and go on his own, but they only have one car between them, and Yoongi would never ask someone to drive him to the warehouse. Even though most people in the town know how Taehyung spends his weekends, Yoongi won’t ever confirm it. It’s not necessarily embarrassing, but it makes Yoongi feel inferior as if he’s in the wrong. 

These circumstances aren’t ideal for writing. Yoongi has very little time before the end of the summer when his scholarship application is due. It’s a new scholarship the university provides for students interested in writing. On top of a scholarship for Yoongi’s good grades in high school and the handful of community college classes he took right after graduation, this writing scholarship could likely pay for all of Yoongi’s expenses – or at least most of them. Not to be dramatic, but this scholarship could completely change the course of his life. 

He just has to receive it first. 

To do that, he must finish the application and edit his writing portfolio. 

Yoongi’s phone loudly vibrating on the wooden table forces Yoongi out of his ruminations. He quickly grabs his phone so the sound will no longer disrupt everyone else in the library, though a quick scan of the room shows that no one is looking at him. 

Taehyung’s contact photo flashes on the screen. Looking at the time, Yoongi curses under his breath. He was supposed to pick Taehyung up from the auto shop fifteen minutes ago. 

After sending Taehyung a quick text, Yoongi crams his notebook and loose papers into his backpack. He grabs the lanyard with his keys and hurries out of the library. All his nervous fidgeting and overthinking made him lose track of time, and today is his day to have the car. 

Luckily, the auto shop isn’t too far away. Everything is close in a small town like theirs, which is a blessing and a curse in Yoongi’s opinion. It’s convenient, but sometimes Yoongi fantasizes about wandering the busy city streets, getting lost in new sights, and bumping into people he doesn’t know. The anonymity is highly attractive to a man who has grown up with the same people for twenty-three years. 

Taehyung isn’t outside when Yoongi pulls up to the auto shop. It’s hot outside, so Yoongi doesn’t blame him. Not that the inside of the garage is any better. The garage doors are open, allowing the smell of oil and car exhaust to waft out into the driveway. The smell mixes with the humid summer air, creating a disgusting layer over the atmosphere, making Yoongi cough as he enters the garage. 

To his right is a car raised on a lift just high enough for someone to walk underneath it. Hydraulic equipment and other strange tools Yoongi knows very little about hang from the ceiling and connect to fixtures in the wall. 

A brain-rattling clanking comes from the car to the left. A pair of long legs stick out from under the car. Black grease stains the person’s blue jeans in black streaks, as though the person wiped of their fingers on their thighs. 

Approaching the legs, Yoongi gently nudges the pair of steel-toed boots with the toe of his once-white Converse. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey, yourself.” 

Taehung grins up at Yoongi from where he’s scooted out from underneath the car. His hair is pushed up with a grey headband and lays around his head like a lion’s mane. His black eye is healed now; the only thing marring his face is the black grease smeared across the apple of his left cheek. 

Why is it so hot that Taehyung knows how to fix cars? There’s no real reason for it to be attractive, but Yoongi can hardly keep his thoughts in order as Taehyung stands up and brushes off his grey muscle tee. Sweat glistens on his skin, and the veins in the backs of his hands and traveling up his arms rise to the surface. That shouldn’t be hot, either, but it is. 

“Did you forget about me?” Taehyung snakes his arm around Yoongi’s waist and pulls him against his chest to give him a quick peck on the lips. As chaste as it is, the kiss leaves Yoongi breathless. 

“I’m sorry. I was editing my writing, and you know how I get…” Yoongi rubs the back of his neck. 

Taehyung is nothing but endeared by him. He kisses the top of Yoongi’s head before letting him go. Yoongi follows him with his eyes as Taehyung puts away the tools scattered on the floor around the car. 

“Next week’s match is gonna be a big one,” Taehyung speaks without looking at Yoongi as he works. “I was looking at the numbers, and I think I could get you that laptop you were looking at. Eomma’s been feeling better, so she’ll probably get back to work soon, and I–” 

“No,” Yoongi interjects. 

Taehyung spins on his heel to narrow his eyes at Yoongi. “What do you mean, ‘no’?” 

“I’m not buying a laptop with that money.” 

“What’s wrong with my money?” 

Yoongi walks around the back of the car to where Taehyung leans his hip against the closed trunk. His heart is pounding in his chest as he stands in front of Taehyung, close enough for the toes of their shoes to touch. 

“You already know how I feel about it, Tae. Please don’t turn this into an argument.” 

“I’m not turning this into anything. You’re the one pushing back on me trying to help you. That’s the whole fucking point of participating in the matches, Yoong.” 

Yoongi mirrors Taehyung’s body language by crossing his arms against his chest. Typically a quiet person, Yoongi tries not to start shit with Taehyung, but sometimes it’s unavoidable. He has had this conversation with Taehyung far too many times. 

There’s so much potential in Taehyung that flows deeper than how well he can punch. 

“Yeah, and I hate it!” Yoongi feels the childish urge to stomp his feet. “You’re never around, Tae. You’re always working or fighting, and when you’re home, you’re hurt and angry and nothing like how you used to be. We used to have fun. We used to spend time together…” 

Taehyung grabs Yoongi’s wrists to pull him forward. The abrupt action makes Yoongi stumble slightly, and he falls into Taehyung’s embrace despite the frustration boiling in his chest. 

“You miss me?” Taehyung asks quietly, his eyes flitting between Yoongi’s gaze and his pink lips that Yoongi instinctually runs his tongue over. 

“Of course, I do,” Yoongi insists with furrowed eyebrows. “Do you really think I don’t?” 

Taehyung rubs his hand on his thigh. With his hand clean of any grease, he cradles the side of Yoongi’s face and encourages him to tilt his face upward. 

“That’s cute, love,” Taehyung says with a smirk that irritates Yoongi and turns him on. He hovers over Yoongi’s lips for a fraction of a second longer before slotting their lips together. 

Taehyung groans into the kiss. It’s wet and desperate how they devour each other, swirling their tongues together and pulling their lips between their teeth, nibbling until the other squirms. Yoongi fists Taehyung’s shirt to bring their bodies as close together as possible. When he feels Taehyung’s hard cock brush against his thigh, Yoongi presses harder against him without thinking. 

“I want you to show me,” Taehyung requests against Yoongi’s lips. Yoongi doesn’t have to ask him what he means. 

Gritty dirt and oil spills cover the garage floor, but Yoongi ignores the discomfort as he kneels in front of Taehyung. He looks up at Taehyung and watches him unbuckle his belt. Hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans, he tugs just far enough to release his cock, already hard and wet at the tip. 

They both have a fucked up way of showing each other they care. Taehyung puts his body on the line to make sure Yoongi has everything he needs and pushes himself to the brink of insanity to continue to provide for him. 

And Yoongi? He also gives his body to Taehyung to do whatever he wants with it because he knows Taehyung needs physical affection. When he spends his weekends getting hurt, Yoongi only wants to give him loving touches. 

Yoongi knows they’re going about everything in a fucked up way, but he still hollows his cheeks and sucks Taehyung’s cock into his mouth. He lets Taehyung dig his fingers into his hair and fuck his mouth, gagging every time his cock hits the back of his throat. 

It’s fucked up, but it’s hot. Yoongi digs his nails into Taehyung’s thighs and keeps his eyes locked on Taehyung’s dark gaze. It stirs the fire in the pit of his stomach and shoots electricity straight to his hard cock. 

“Fuck, baby,” Taehyung groans when Yoongi’s eyes turn glossy. He leans against the car when his legs start to tremble. “I’m sorry I’ve been so, shit, sooo…” Cutting himself off with a moan, Taehyung holds Yoongi still as he cums down his throat. 

Yoongi drags his tongue along Taehyung’s cock as he pulls back, keeping his mouth open to show Taehyung when he swallows. 

“Shit,” Taehyung pants. He motions for Yoongi to stand up and reaches between his legs once he has. “Did you already…?” 

Cheeks on fire, Yoongi nods sheepishly. He’s never cum like that, untouched and just from giving head. Maybe it was because of the possibility of one of Taehyung’s coworkers walking in on them or because it’s been over a week since they’ve been intimate. 

Taehyung kisses Yoongi to taste himself on his tongue. 

“You’re so hot.” 

“Shut up.” 

“Okay, but that doesn’t change the fact that you are.” 

Yoongi presses his face into the crook of Taehyung’s neck in embarrassment. He stays there even when he feels Taehyung’s hands in between their bodies, tucking his cock back into his jeans and zipping them up. 

“I need to shower,” Taehyung whispers into Yoongi’s ear. “Wanna go into the city after? Have a date night?” 

“Yes, please,” Yoongi speaks into Taehyung’s skin, gently kissing his neck. 

Yoongi would be happy simply staying here in Taehyung’s embrace forever; he has never needed to be wined and dined. Anything is worth doing if Taehyung’s with him.

“Alright, here you go. Don’t try to tell me you don’t need it because I know you do, and I’m determined to make sure you finish this fucking scholarship application.” 

“But I don’t need it. I can just go to the library; it’s really not that big of a deal.” 

Hoseok slaps his hand on the table. The force makes the salt and pepper shakers rattle. “Listen to me, Min Yoongi! You’re living in the 1800s without technology in your home, so you are going to take my laptop, and you’re going to do all your creative magic to get this scholarship to go to college and become the influential writer we all know you can be, whether you want my help or not.” 

Yoongi opens his mouth to protest, but Hoseok pushes on. 

“If you don’t do this, I’m rescinding my friendship.” 

Yoongi gasps. “You cannot do that.” 

“Yes, I can. And I will.” 

Yoongi glares at Hoseok, who very eagerly glares back at him. They’re friends, so the tension between them is playful at its core, but it’s still tension nonetheless. 

Yoongi caves first because he doesn’t know how to say no to people. 

“Fine.” 

Hosoek squeals with glee and claps his hands together. His enthusiasm makes Yoongi smile as he goes back to refilling the salt shakers. It’s another slow day at JK’s Diner. Yoongi’s little notepad is meant to be filled with customers’ orders, but instead, it’s lined with little drabbles of story and poem ideas that pop into his head as he works. 

There’s supposed to be a bad thunderstorm later in the evening, so the diner closes early. The diner’s owner reassures the staff that they’ll still get paid for the hours they would have worked, which is kind of him considering the economy they’re in right now. 

With Hoseok’s laptop under his arm, Yoongi walks to the auto shop because Taehyung has the car today. He doesn’t bother asking Taehyung to come pick him up because he’s off early; the walk is good for him, and he knows Taehyung is busy. Besides, Yoongi enjoys watching Taehyung work. 

When Yoongi enters the garage, Taehyung shoots him a wink and presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek. He swipes his tongue along the inside, exaggerating the obscene way it makes his cheek bulge. Although his coworkers don’t pay them any mind, Yoongi attempts to shoo Taehyung away out of embarrassment. He doesn’t need a reminder of what they’ve gotten into in this garage. 

“Do your job!” Yoongi hisses with pink cheeks. Why is he the only person in this town who actually works hard? Everyone else goofs off too much.

Taehyung sends Yoongi a flying kiss, smooching his palm loudly enough that the sound carries through the momentary quiet of the garage. A few of his coworkers snicker, and one even wolf whistles, much to Yoongi’s dislike. 

“Men,” Yoongi mutters under his breath like he isn’t one, too. “Gross.” 

There’s a waiting room inside the auto shop that’s air-conditioned and surprisingly clean. It’s there, in an uncomfortable plastic chair beside a coffee table stacked with old magazines, that Yoongi spends many of his afternoons when Taehyung works later than he does. With Hoseok's laptop balanced on his thighs, Yoongi click-clacks away on the keyboard. 

The days turn into weeks, only the bruised and bloody weekends serving as timestamps for Yoongi to keep track of how much longer he has before the scholarship application is due. Despite Taehyung and Hoseok's confidence in Yoongi’s writing abilities, he isn’t convinced that his skills are refined enough to receive such a considerable scholarship gifted to only a handful of incoming students yearly. 

But, fuck, would it feel divine if he received it! Not only would it completely shape Yoongi’s future, but it would be the validation he secretly craves.

When the dreaded deadline sneaks around the corner, Yoongi is so nervous about pressing the submit button on the form that Taehyung has to do it for him. They’re at the kitchen table, Yoongi sitting in front of Hoseok’s laptop while Taehyung bends over him from behind. 

“I can’t do it.” Despite Taehyung’s strong fingers massaging into Yoongi’s shoulders, he’s stiff with worry. 

“Well, love, you have to.” Yoongi crosses his arms against his chest in protest, and Taehyung sighs. “Or I can do it.” 

With his stomach churning like spoiled milk, Yoongi watches Taehyung’s large hand curve around Hoseok’s wireless mouse. His knuckles are scabbed over. It’s been a few weeks since Taehyung attended any warehouse fights. One of their neighbors has had some trouble with his farming equipment, and as the most skilled mechanic in town, Taehyung has spent a good deal of overtime working on the equipment. 

Yoongi isn’t pleased that it’s yet another thing taking time away from them being together, but he’s not-so-secretly happy that work has forced Taehyung to take a break from fighting. 

“Done.” 

The webpage congratulates Yoongi on submitting his application. It’s cute, but genuine pride swells in his chest when Taehyung wraps his arms around Yoongi’s shoulders and presses a kiss to the top of his head. 

“I got a good feeling about this, Yoong,” Taehyung murmurs, and Yoongi can feel the rumble of his chest against his back. While others may fear Taehyung, there is nowhere safer for Yoongi. 

“Do you?”

“You’re such a good fucking writer; are you kidding me?” 

Leaning back into Taehyung’s embrace, Yoongi closes his eyes and lets the stress melt down his spine. “You barely know how to read.” 

Taehyung’s teeth press into the apple of Yoongi’s left cheek. “Shut the fuck up. I know how to read.” 

“I don’t know…” Yoongie presses his hand against his mouth, but Taehyung knows he’s laughing at him from how his shoulders shake. 

“Hyung!” Taehyung whines, his lips having migrated to the side of Yoongi’s neck. “I’ve read your stories! Remember that one you wrote? The fantasy one about a demon and an angel falling in love? I cried over that. Did I tell you?” 

“Oh, that one was fucked up, wasn’t it?”

“Mhm, you’re wrong for that.” Taehyung nuzzles his face into Yoongi’s hair and inhales loudly. It makes Yoongi giggle. 

“You’re so weird, Tae.” 

“Sorry, I wasn’t the one who wrote about gay demon sex.” 

Embarrassed, Yoongi shrugs Taehyung off and abruptly stands up. “Don’t say that!” he exclaims, pressing his finger against Taehyung’s chest. Taehyung merely smirks back. 

“You’re such a freak, you know that?” 

“Oh, like you aren’t?” 

It’s the wrong thing to say. Yoongi presses his palms against Taehyung’s muscular chest as Taehyung tries to crowd Yoongi against the kitchen table. He’s got that look in his eyes that means nothing but trouble for Yoongi. 

“Want me to show you just how much of a freak I am, Yoongi-ssi?” Taehyung purrs. 

“I’m busy!” Yoongi ducks under Taehyung’s arms and sprints out of the room. It’s no surprise that Taehyung’s not far behind, a tiger hunting his prey. 

If Taehyung follows through with proving himself, that’s nothing anyone else needs to know.

The email stares at Yoongi, bold and marked with a red exclamation point to indicate its significance. Taehyung isn’t here to force him to open it, so Yoongi goes to Plan B: he calls Hoseok. Not even three rings sound and his best friend picks up, screeching into Yoongi’s ear, “DID YOU FIND OUT YET?!”

“I haven’t opened the email yet,” Yoongi admits in between chewing on his bottom lip. Hoseok’s laptop sits on the couch next to Yoongi. He’s curled up with his knees pressed to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs. “What if I didn’t get it?”

“OPEN THE EMAIL!” Hoseok screeches again. This time, Hoseok’s voice is less painful because Yoongi sets the phone on speaker and rests it on the cushion beside the laptop.

As he hovers his mouse over the email, all Yoongi can think about is how he wishes Taehyung was here. The auto shop is closed on Sundays, but their neighbor with the farming equipment issues called Taehyung for an emergency earlier in the day. Now it’s evening, and Taehyung still isn’t back yet. Yoongi wanted to wait for him, but the nerves were eating him alive.

With a sigh, Yoongi checks his messages with Taehyung one last time, just in case. He's been checking every few minutes, so he knows he won't find anything, but he checks nonetheless.

"Yoongi? Hello? Did you read it? Are you not going to tell me what it says? Do I need to come over because I will?”

Clearing his throat, Yoongi closes out his messages with Taehyung and returns his focus to his email. “Okay, I’m going to open it now. I might throw up.” It’s not an exaggeration. Yoongi made sure the coffee table was out of the way in case he needed to jump up and run to the bathroom.

“Stop being such a drama king and read the damn email!” Hoseok is supportive but also a bit annoying. It’s endearing, so Yoongi keeps him around.

The email isn’t long, but Yoongi skims it after seeing the first word: CONGRATULATIONS. Everything else is secondary. His eyes roam the white page, but all he sees is that first word, repeated in his vision until it’s a black blur of bolded letters and a money amount somewhere in the mix. Even the money is too difficult to process right now because, fuck! Congratulations! He just read the big C word on a scholarship email, and,

“I’m going to college. Oh my god, Hobah, I’m going to college.”

“FUCK YEAH YOU ARE, BABY! LET’S GOOO!! I’M GONNA START SOBBING, MIN YOONGI! THAT’S MY BEST FUCKING FRIEND, YASS BITCH!!” Hoseok whoops over the phone, and Yoongi hears something crash. He isn’t concerned; Hoseok is known to flail when he’s excited.

There was never a doubt in anyone’s mind about Yoongi getting into college. He applied to the university the moment Hoseok told him about the scholarship because he needed to be accepted into the university before he could possibly receive the scholarship.

Getting in was the easy part. Paying for college was the problem, and now Yoongi has enough money to pay for classes and have a little left over to cover book expenses, too.

“Oh my god, okay. We need to go out. Fuck, I hate that today’s Sunday. But we're going clubbing on Friday when we get off work. Just think, you’ll be able to spend all the time you want in the city! Oh, will you live in the dorms there? Taehyung is going to miss you…”

Hoseok continues rambling, his excitement fueling him as he talks himself in circles. It’s sweet, but Yoongi isn’t paying attention. He can see the front door from where he sits on the couch. He watches the doorknob turn as whoever is on the other side unlocks the door and pushes it open.

When Taehyung steps into the house, Yoongi’s heart falls like a dead weight in his chest.

Taehyung is covered in blood.

It stains his jeans around the holes ripped into them – holes that weren’t there when he left the house this morning. It stains the corners of his mouth and the edges of his nostrils. It gathers just beneath the surface of his skin as deep bruises form around his eyes and collarbone. It trickles down the side of his face, a red river flowing from the forest of his hair.

“Hobah, I need to call you back, okay?” Yoongi doesn’t wait for a reply. He slams the laptop shut and tosses his phone as he shoots up from the couch, going over to Taehyung’s side.

“What the fuck happened to you!” Yoongi shouts though he doesn’t mean to. His hands are shaking so violently it hurts his wrists. He keeps reaching out to touch Taehyung but stops short because he doesn’t know, “Where does it hurt? Where are you bleeding? I can’t.” Yoongi struggles to speak through his sobs. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, Taehyung-ah.”

“Shh, I’m okay,” Taehyung attempts to reassure Yoongi, but it only makes Yoongi cry harder.

“What’s wrong with you! You’re hurt, Taehyung! Why are you comforting me?”

Taehyung winces when Yoongi grabs his bicep to drag him down the familiar path to the bathroom. How many times have they made this journey? Knowing the exact number would make Yoongi feel sicker than he already does.

“Take off your clothes,” Yoongi instructs harshly, but he’s trying to pull himself together. Taehyung has been silent, and that scares him. “And get in the shower. I need you to get clean so I can, so, so I can s-see.” Yoongi tilts his head back and exhales out of his mouth while Taehyung strips out of his clothes.

Despite the potential mess, Taehyung keeps the shower curtain open while he showers. The washcloth Yoongi gave him turns red, then pink, as it bleeds out in the stream of water. The water in the bottom of the tub is pink, too. Yoongi watches it swirl down the drain because he fears looking at Taehyung’s wounds.

Taehyung clearing his throat startles Yoongi from where he sits on the edge of the bathroom counter, waiting.

“Did you get the scholarship?”

“Excuse me?” Yoongi nearly shouts again.

Taehyung blinks at him as he scrubs his chest clean. Blood still trickles from his head, and a few cuts across his ribs are long and deep enough that Yoongi worries Taehyung might need stitches.

“I asked if you got the scholarship.”

“You…” Yoongi covers his face in his hands and howls with full-bodied laughter that shakes him to his core. “You asked me if I got the fucking scholarship! You’re standing in a pool of your own fucking blood, and you want to know if I got the scholarship.”

“Yes, I did, and I do. Can you hand me a towel to dry off?”

Yoongi looks up at Taehyung, who has now finished his shower. He stands with the washcloth pressed to his temple. Yoongi feels insane.

Retrieving a clean towel, Yoongi forces Taehyung to sit on the closed toilet lid. At the same time, Yoongi tends to the wounds he can, muttering about how he will, yet again, need stitches, but he supposes they can wait until the morning to go to the hospital, considering how late it is now.

He waits for Taehyung to say anything more, but Taehyung stares expectantly at him. After a few minutes, Taehyung finally quirks his eyebrow at Yoongi.

“Oh my god, yes, I got the fucking scholarship.”

Letting go of the towel, Taehyung pulls Yoongi into his lap, crushing him against his chest despite the apparent discomfort it causes him.

“I’m. So. Fucking. Proud. Of. You.” Taehyung punctuates each word with a kiss on Yoongi’s forehead, eyelids, cheeks, lips, any inch of skin he can access.

No matter how upset and shaken Yoongi is, it feels good to melt into Taehyung’s embrace. His shoulders slump, and he lets Taehyung hold him upright, his large hands cradling Yoongi’s face. It’s exhausting, this emotional rollercoaster they put themselves on.

“I told you I had a good feeling about it,” Taehyung murmurs with a final kiss to Yoongi’s forehead. Once Taehyung pulls back to look at him, Yoongi opens his eyes, not realizing he’d had them shut.

His voice is small when he asks again, “What happened, Tae?”

Dropping his face into the crook of Yoongi’s neck, Taehyung lets out a shaky exhale. Blood might get on Yoongi’s t-shirt, but it’s an old one he doesn’t care about anyway. Taehyung’s comfort will always come before anything else.

“I went to the warehouse.” Yoongi tenses, but Taehyung coos and murmurs reassurances to him. “I went to the warehouse to tell them that I’m done, love. I was thinking about it ever since you submitted your application. I kinda thought, I don’t know… I wanna be good for you, Yoong. You’re gonna go to college and kick ass, and I’m so proud of you. I realized I wanna be someone you can be proud of, too.”

“I’ve always been proud of you, Tae,” Yoongi says with a slow shake of his head. “I hate that you hurt yourself like this, but I’ve always been proud of you.”

Taehyung nods slowly, and Yoongi knows he’ll need time to process that. Selfless to a fault, Taehyung doesn’t always do well with raw emotions and affection, especially in an emotionally charged situation. It’s fine; Yoongi is patient.

“Well, they didn’t like that I was backing out. Three guys, I don’t know them, but I know of them. I’ve seen them in other fights, never went up against them myself. Just a bunch of fucking dickheads those rich pieces of shit hire to do their dirty work. Fought dirty, too. Had knives.”

Taehyung doesn’t have to tell Yoongi the rest; the story tells itself. The image of three men attacking Taehyung when all he was trying to do was leave the right way, the honorable way. He owed them nothing, yet they punished him like he did.

Once Taehyung’s wounds are dressed to the best of Yoongi’s ability, and he’s dressed in clean clothes, Yoongi wraps Taehyung up in a blanket on the couch. He puts Animal Planet on the television because it’s Taehyung’s favorite and keeps the volume low so as not to contribute to his overstimulation. The two cuddle, Yoongi pulling Taehyung’s much larger body into his so Taehyung can lie between his legs and rest his head on Yoongi’s chest. It’s comfortable, even if Taehyung feels like he will crush Yoongi. There’s a comfort to that weight because Taehyung is here.

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung whispers. Cute little meerkats scurry across the screen, but Taehyung’s dark eyes scan Yoongi’s face.

“Shhh,” Yoongi pushes back Taehyung’s bangs to plant a kiss on his forehead. “I love you.”

Taehyung burrows into the blanket with a cute little smile and rests his head on Yoongi’s chest again. “I love you, too.”

In the morning, Yoongi will drive Taehyung to the hospital, even though Taehyung will insist that he doesn't need stitches. He'll hold Taehyung's hand while he gets them because Taehyung can handle getting punched in the face, but he's afraid of doctors. As a reward for bravery, they'll get ice cream, and Yoongi will wonder if perhaps this is how things will always be now, if he'll finally have his Taehyung again, beautiful and whole.

“I fucking hate you.”

Jungkook tastes blood as he watches you stumble up the marble stairs, break-ankle stilettos grating into the stone like his molars grate against each other when he chews the inside of his cheek.

It takes three steps before you give up, bending to slip your finger under the thin black strap that hugs each ankle to keep the red bottoms in place. Off-balanced from holding your leather jacket balled up under one arm, you teeter on one foot, and Jungkook has to fight the urge to grab your waist.

Air rushes out of Jungkook’s nostrils, a scoff that mixes with the wind. It’s one of the last days of summer before autumn cuts the nights short and chills the air. If Jungkook could have his way, he would be sitting out on his balcony right now with a fat blunt and his phone on silent.

Instead, he’s dealing with you.

“Are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna fucking help me?” you snap, words slurring together when you pout through them.

Jungkook tongues the inside of his cheek where he’s bitten into the fleshy skin. The metallic flavor mixes oddly with the aftertaste of his half-smoked blunt from earlier.

“Thought you said you hate me,” Jungkook sucks his teeth, tattooed fingers squeezing your bicep to steady you while you unclasp your shoes.

“I do.”

“Hmm.” Jungkook exchanges a grip on your arm for the heels, black and deadly like the Glock clipped to his waist.

Your dress rides up far enough that your asscheeks are exposed when you bend down again, your skimpy black thong doing nothing to cover you. The sheer pair is one Yoongi bought you for Valentine’s Day last year. Yoongi hadn’t batted an eye when he dropped thousands of dollars on a lingerie set that he isn’t even patient enough to appreciate on your body before he rips it off.

Not Jungkook, though. Jungkook is patient.

“Carry me,” you whine, pushing up against Jungkook’s side, nimble fingers wrapping around his wrist and tugging.

Jungkook knows not to look up at the columned overhang, but the many cameras lining the mansion’s exterior weigh heavily on him as he helps you up the stairs to the front door.

“I can’t,” Jungkook grits his molars, jaw flexing beneath taunt skin, “And you know that.”

The keypad at the front door unlocks with Jungkook’s thumbprint. Inside, the foyer is dark. It’s nearly four in the morning, and the rest of the guards are either monitoring the cameras or asleep. They’re all lower-level and easily bend to Jungkook’s will, meaning none of them will rat you out for slipping off in the dead of night to go party with your friends despite being under strict orders not to leave the house until Yoongi returns from his business trip.

As second-in-command, Jungkook should be in Japan with Yoongi, handling what will likely be one of the largest arms deals in Bangtan’s history. But Yoongi is paranoid, and paranoid men don’t leave their girlfriends with just anyone. Especially when their girlfriends are trouble.

And you? You’re trouble in a tight little black dress, hips swaying as you walk with new purpose through the foyer, your leather jacket thrown on the floor for Jungkook to pick up as he trails behind you — always trailing, following just a half step behind you, only in front when he puts his life on the line over yours. And he does, has the scars on his body to prove it, scars you like to bite to remind him of everything he’s willing to lose for Yoongi. For you.

There are only three types of rooms in the house that don’t have cameras installed: bedrooms, bathrooms, and arms rooms. You like to have Jungkook fuck you in all of them.

Tonight, it’s one of the basement-level arms rooms, the one Yoongi likes to use for entertainment because there’s a full bar and a conference table typically littered with guns, drugs, and money.

And sometimes, if Yoongi is in a shitty mood, girls.

You don’t care what Yoongi does, though it wouldn’t matter even if you did. As Bangtan’s leader, there’s no room for criticism of the boss — unless someone wants to lose a limb or their life, and Yoongi is known to be trigger-happy.

You learned that from him.

Jungkook lets out a shuddered breath as you drag the muzzle of his gun from the middle of his sternum down his abdomen. The metal is cold, and you move slowly, taking your time over every hill and valley of his muscles, painting goosebumps across his skin until you reach the waistband of his underwear.

The chamber is empty, but it still makes Jungkook’s heart jump in his throat when you press the gun against his clothed cock.

“Yoongi is going to kill us one day,” you whisper, rolling your bottom lip between your teeth to bite back a smile.

Jungkook leans back with his elbows against the table where you’ve sat him at one of the chairs. You’re in your heels again. Jungkook loves it when you stand over him, a powerful force far too often squandered by Yoongi’s overbearing leadership and desire to be the most feared person in the room. It’s one of Yoongi’s greatest mistakes.

You’re gorgeous, stripped down until all you’re wearing is another man’s Valentine’s Day gift, your own body a present Jungkook has the unholy pleasure of opening again and again — but only after you’ve opened him up, gutted him like a fish.

Or blown him open, a bullet bursting like shrapnel to cut him from the inside out. Jungkook would let you do it.

Jungkook stares up at you with innocent eyes that tell nothing of the secret horrors his hands have done, of the horrors he has endured and inflicted upon others. He stares up at you with innocent eyes and his lips wrapped around the muzzle of his gun that you hold with your finger on the trigger.

“Bang, bang,” you giggle as the gun clicks, and Jungkook lets you slide it further into his mouth, the tangy taste too similar to blood and nothing he hasn’t tasted before.

Maybe it’s fear that makes Jungkook crave you. Maybe Jungkook has a death wish. Maybe Jungkook likes the idea of you being his lifeline, the sole decider of whether he lives or dies. All it would take is one tiny confession twisted into a lie, and you could convince Yoongi that Jungkook came onto you and tried to seduce you.

Jungkook knows Yoongi would enjoy making him suffer if he thought Jungkook was treating you unkindly. Yoongi would enjoy violently murdering Jungkook even more if he knew just how good Jungkook treated you.

You don’t pull the gun back until Jungkook gags. Tears collect along his eyelashes, but he blinks them away as you toss his gun onto the table.

“You’d let him kill you.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook’s voice is hoarse from the gun, and it cracks when you sit on the table in front of him and spread your legs. “I would.”

“You’re fucking stupid.”

“So are you.”

Jungkook’s cock throbs as he watches you slip your thong down your legs. You drag his spit-slicked gun along your dripping pussy, parting your folds and getting the muzzle shiny with your arousal. When his eyes flit up to meet yours, you let out a broken moan, tongue slipping out to lick your bottom lip.

“Come here,” you beckon, the curl of your finger tugging Jungkook forward like a red string tied in a noose around his neck. He fits perfectly between your thighs, his clothed cock pressing against your exposed pussy.

“Can I kiss you?” Jungkook whispers against your lips. His body crowds yours, forcing you to tip your head back to look into his pretty doe eyes.

“Be a good boy and clean this up first,” you say as you hold up the gun in front of Jungkook’s face.

Jungkook doesn’t look away as he licks a stripe up the length of the gun’s muzzle, too turned on by how intensely you watch him lick and suck your juices off it. How eagerly he bends to your will is pathetic, but he doesn’t care.

When you toss his gun away to dig your nails in his hair and tug him into a bruising kiss, Jungkook feels like he can finally breathe.

You taste sweet, like whatever fruity cocktails you’d been drinking with your friends. Jungkook sucks your tongue, and he feels the vibration of your moans go straight to his leaking cock.

“Fuck me,” you moan with nails in his back, “And make it hurt.”

Jungkook helps you off the table to bend you over it. He may prefer sex that is slow and face-to-face, but Yoongi is coming home in a few hours, and sometimes, you like to punish yourself by denying yourself the sweet, sensual care that Jungkook prefers to give you. Sometimes you like it dirty and fast like this, Jungkook fucking into you with your wrists behind your back and your face pressed into the conference table’s cold, sleek surface.

You look forward to the tender bruise you’ll have on the apple of your cheek and against your hips from where Jungkook fucks you hard enough that you slam into the edge of the table. It’s a gamble, wondering if this will be the time Yoongi finally notices.

Sometimes Jungkook wonders if Yoongi already has noticed, and he’s just biding his time, waiting for the opportune moment to kill you both.

“Fuck, jagi,” Jungkook moans. The table squeaks and grunts as the force of Jungkook fucking you pushes the table back and forth across the floor.

“Do I feel good, baby?” you gasp, twisting your hands in Jungkook’s so you can wrap your fingers around his wrist, too, to have something to hold onto.

“So good,” Jungkook whimpers, tightening his grip on your wrists. “Can I cum? Please?”

Your skin is probably chafing from how hard you’re being bounced against the table, but all you do is moan and clench around Jungkook’s cock, taunting him.

“Jagi, please,” Jungkook begs, hips faltering slightly. You’re so wet and creamy. There’s something about fucking you in the arms room that always makes you feel and sound better.

“You wanna cum? Baby boy wants to cum?”

“Wanna cum so bad, you feel so, fuck, so, so good.”

Jungkook lets go of your wrists to dig his fingers into your hips and pull you onto his cock with each thrust. You lift off the table slightly so he can wrap one arm around your waist and slip his fingers through your folds, playing with your clit as he fucks you. He knows he needs to make you cum first before you’ll let him.

“Just like that, you’re doing so well,” you pant, pussy clenching and pulsing around Jungkook’s cock so hotly that he knows you’re going to cum soon.

Luckily, it doesn’t take long. Jungkook has you so worked up that you cum once he pinches your clit, rolling it between his fingers while you writhe and squirm on his cock, whimpering his name.

“Come on, baby,” you moan, “Cum for me, now.”

Tilting your head up, you let Jungkook kiss you. He squeezes his eyes shut as he cums inside you, mouth hanging open and completely useless to kiss, so you press light kisses along his sweaty throat instead.

“Thank you,” Jungkook whispers once his body has calmed down, gently easing out of you. His hands shake as he collapses into the chair and pulls you into his lap.

You kiss him properly this time, sliding your hands through his sweaty hair. He’s pussy-drunk, fucked dumb, nothing but static in his head as your lips glide with his. He could stay like this, pliant like clay in your hands, let you mold him into whatever you want him to be. Let you make or break him. Jungkook doesn’t care.

“Tell me you love me,” you demand, nails sharp against Jungkook’s scalp.

“Jagi,” Jungkook whimpers when you pull his hair, “I love you so much. I love you more than anything.”

“More than yourself?”

“More than myself.”

You hum into the next kiss, and Jungkook feels his body melt. 

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen