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his outfit is purposely chosen to melt into the city, shades of grey and black to imitate dark glass and mental and smog. he keeps his hood pulled over his head and everything is heavy and soaked to the bone with rain. itâs fitting. itâs the first time this environment reminds him that growth requires rain. maybe spring will come.
maybe heâll ruin it. it wouldnât be the first time, and heâd be foolish to think this could be the last thing he breaks in his trembling hands-- more foolish, perhaps, to hope he wonât. he chooses foolishness this time.Â
finally, he is as dead to vanguard as they are to him, and yet even as he leaves, he feels like heâs leaving tracks in a different way than he ever anticipated. attachment he tried to avoid. he hates them, and yet he isnât immune to the compassion some of its members showed him. he doubts theyâll feel any grief, but he feels some remorse regardless. for as eager as heâs been his entire life to escape it, part of him will haunt vanguard forever.Â
when he stands on yoongiâs doorstep, he feels like a skeleton that left his skin somewhere else. maybe itâs suitable for a dead man walking. heâs something nonexistent now-- protocol is dead and jeongguk was laid to rest years ago. heâs nothing more than a concept-- an illusion, and maybe he wants it that way. all heâs wanted for years is to disappear, but thereâs one person he wants to make clairvoyant.
jeongguk looks over his shoulder, careful to make sure no one is watching-- that he isnât about to pull the trigger on both of them. he knocks, because doorbells seem too flamboyant when he intends to vanish after he leaves a trace of himself here. (even if he left now, without a word, a trace of jeongguk would still be here. he knows.)
itâs yoongi that opens the door; jeongguk exhales a breath he didnât know heâd been holding. he stands there for a moment, wide-eyed, bathed in shadow from the hood still over his head, and then he speaks:Â âiâm leaving.â
he doesnât leave yoongi any room to speak; jeongguk raises his eyebrows at him and hopes he understands it means donât say anything yet. let me. words never came easy to him and they still donât. instead, he shows him-- lifts the bottom of his t-shirt to reveal a large bandage below his ribcage, stained with dried blood. he lets the fabric cover it again. âvanguard thinks iâm dead, so iâm leaving. i tried to do this before, but i was stupid and they-- killed jeonyul. so i donât have much time, and iâm--â he pauses. even though he knows what he needs to say, itâs still hard. âsorry. iâm sorry.â for everything. he trusts that even now, he doesnât need to explain.Â
maybe another day, heâll get to. maybe heâll allow himself the hope of seeing yoongi again, and maybe itâll be another life then, too-- one that doesnât feel like they constantly teeter on the precipice of death by simply breathing each otherâs air. he wants to tell him to leave black lotus, too-- that it isnât worth all the money in the world and that he doesnât want yoongi to feel the same pain he has. he could kill hex too; maybe protocol and hex should end the same way they began, anyway: together. an impulsive part of him wants to say come with me, but itâs foreign and frightening and heâs already risked enough. jeongguk knows better than to push too much of his luck.
âi canât tell you where iâm going,â is what he says at last, without knowing if yoongi even cares about any of this. maybe he hates him. if he wants to slam the door in his face jeongguk would understand. he thinks heâd deserve it. he feels like a fog present in his mind for years has finally lifted-- like at 20 years old the dam he barred his emotions behind finally burst and he finally gave in. (maybe itâs jeongguk that wins after all; protocol is no champion.)
âbut i wanted you to know. if anyone tells you iâm dead, iâm not. in case you worried,â he almost mutters it, losing his resolve. because i worried; thatâs why. he canât look yoongi in the eye anymore. jeonggukâs gaze drifts to the door frame and the shoddy brick outside the apartment and his shoes and yoongiâs dumb pastel hair. ânot dead yet, anyway,â he adds sardonically, lips quirking up into the tiniest lopsided smile.
thereâs a bomb timer inside his head, ticking down until he blows it. he blinks, and canât shake the image of one of vanguardâs assassinâs coming up behind him and holding a gun to his head-- pushing into yoongiâs apartment and shooting him in the hallway. history repeats itself. he needs to leave. heâll regret endangering yoongi more than heâll ever regret leaving anything unsaid.
âand i wanted to say iâm sorry. for everything,â because jeongguk needs to say it. he knows.
thatâs it. his words dry up, likely reaching his quantity of dialogue for the entire year. itâs not enough, he realizes, as dread settles into his stomach. even as he runs, he canât shake the need for more, but now, itâs this: painting yoongiâs face into his memory with honesty. in the end, all he does is run and want.
the second foolish decision: jeongguk crosses the threshold, through yoongiâs doorway and into his arms. itâs a mistake because as soon as he wraps his arms around yoongiâs back in a hug, it roots him in reality. his adrenaline fades and his legs feel weak and he doesnât know how heâs going to do any of this. he doesnât know if heâll survive or if he will usher in death for his parents too. he is painfully young and small and powerless and alone and yet there is warmth here-- the first spark of it in so long, in the way yoongi hugs him so tightly, like it was never even a question.Â
âplease take care of sarang,â he whispers, and then he pulls away before he stays forever.













