#assassin!

“Think back.” Yoongi’s voice echoed. Where? Everywhere. He felt it reverberate in his chest, even though the words were whispered through the downpour that refused to stop.

Back? How far back? Back to the exact second the light disappeared from his brother’s eyes? Back to the first time he held him, a tiny infant blind and dumb to the world?

“What was the last conversation you had with him?”

“I didn’t. I didn’t talk to him. The last time I saw him was-,” Taehyung froze and squinted his eyes in confusion, “Wait a minute. Jungkook is- Jungkook isn’t dead.”

“What?”

“I just saw him, he was there when I got my orders to kill you.”

“That’s impossible.”

“-and then you came back without cleaning up your mess, hands shaking, tears in your eyes, and whimpering. I thought this was the end of your little foray into the dark side. I thought you might just go back to being a dirty cop somewhere, but no.”

Tae remembered. He finally remembered.

“I’ve been seeing him,” He whispered, “Memories. Memories that seem real.”

“Jungkook is dead, Taehyung.”

“I know. I know he is, sometimes I- I forget. Sometimes he isn’t.”

Yoongi looked at him, and then slowly pulled him into a gentle hug. They sat there for a little bit, rain beating bruises into their backs, and memories beating bruises into their hearts. Tae closed his eyes and focused on the thereness of Yoongi’s arms. They were encircling him with no amount of reservation. They were punctuated with periods instead of question marks. They were like a blanket on the longest day of winter. Warm even though their owner was so damn cold all the time.

“I’m so sorry,” Tae whispered into Yoongi’s soaked chest, trying to distinguish the rain and the tears, “I’m so sorry you fell in love with me.”

“Don’t be. Love shouldn’t be apologized for, it just is. The actual concept of love should be celebrated. Sometimes people warp it into the shape they decide it should be, and that’s when it isn’t love anymore.”

“What is it then?”

“Hate.”

“Hate?”

“They’re twins you know. Love and Hate. They feed off the same emotions, and exist in the same hearts. They are a constant as old as the universe itself.”

“Do you really like art, Yoongi?” he laughed at Tae’s question.

“I’m truly a student here, Tae. Art is the form love takes in my heart,” Yoongi looked down at Tae’s shivering body, and smiled fondly, “Come with me, let me clean you up.”

Yoongi took Taehyung to his apartment. It was a tiny one bedroom studio on the twentieth floor of a building downtown. It had a view of the art district, and half-finished paintings hung everywhere. They offered the only color, and Tae had to squint against the stark expanse of ivory that covered his place from floor to ceiling. In a few minutes, Yoongi had changed Tae out of his clothes and into an oversized sweater and joggers. He thrust a cup of hot Americano in his hands and wrapped a comforter around his body as he pushed him on to his futon/couch.

“Sit. Drink.”

Tae did both of those things.

“Don’t speak, it’s my turn now.”

“I-,” Tae started, but Yoongi’s hand was faster than his words and covered his mouth in a flash, “Do you ever listen?” Tae shook his head from behind the older boy’s hand.

“Shh. I told you it was turn now. I suppose I should start by telling you that Namjoon and I are related. Not by our blood, but the blood of others if you know what I mean. We were inseparable at one point in our lives. I regarded him as though one might regard a statue of a deity. Respect. Admiration. Terror. I felt that he was always watching; always judging,” He looked out of the window at a flock of birds passing by, “You could even say he was my best friend.”

“How did that change?”

“One day I got a message from a rival group. They told me in very few words that I was about to be double crossed. I didn’t trust it of course. Why would I?”

“Well?”

“They were right,” Tae had noticed Yoongi’s fingertips had started to trace patterns in his leg as it jumped up and down slightly, “and you can guess who did it. Namjoon had waited until I was vulnerable and then-,” Yoongi lifted his shirt to show Tae a scar six inches in length and one inch in width.

“That’s a pretty nasty scar.”

“It’s a pretty nasty memory too,” He laughed bitterly, sipping on his Americano to disguise the taste, “It turns out that Namjoon had received an offer from the same rival group to terminate me. They wanted us to take each other out.”

“Who is this group?”

“Ironic really.”

“What?”

“You’re working for them. After Namjoon attacked me; he went back and killed their leader and took her place.”

“How does my brother fit into all of this?”

“It was an accident. Neither of us knew he would follow us.”

“Follow you?”

“-on the mission. He was better than we could imagine. Neither of us had any idea. He had seen Namjoon try to take me out, and intervened in time to save me. Then-,” Yoongi paused.

“It was him wasn’t it,” Tae whispered, looking at his reflection in his coffee. Yoongi just nodded.

“I’m going to kill him. I’m going to cut him to pieces. I’m going to make him scream for his life, and then I am going to end it just as soon as he thinks he might live,” Tae looked up into Yoongi’s eyes and he saw a change in them. The line between Tae and V had drawn itself there, as though Tae had vanished completely. Yoongi swallowed, letting his fear cut his throat on the way down.

“I will take what is so precious to him and I will destroy it.” V lifted an eyebrow and downed his coffee in one gulp. Standing up from the couch, V rolled his shoulder back and forth, stretching the weakness from his muscles.

“Show me your weapons.”