Chapter Text
When Yoongi had been told by Namjoon that he and the rest of his family would be moving to America, he was experiencing conflicted thoughts. There was a miniature court battle in his head, the angels and demons on either side of the large hall all loudly arguing in his ears, shouting every positive and negative there could possibly be, scales in the centre of the room tipping forwards and back.
He tried to ignore it as he was subjected to a company meeting, Namjoon talking about the details of the move, what they were going to do about certain threats and people they were keeping prisoner in Korea who could prove to be useful overseas. He also tried to ignore it as he watched Jimin execute a man seen trying to climb into Namjoon and Seokjin’s bedroom window, a gun strapped to each leg and a knife on his back. There was no way of ignoring it once he was alone with all his clothes to pack.
Every point was being made as he pulled an item of clothing from his wardrobe, hangers falling to the floor without a second glance as Yoongi decided what he wanted to bring with him, throwing each item in his semi-organised piles dictating if they were rubbish or not.
One black, baggy hoodie he was pretty sure belonged to Jeongguk was thrown on the ‘keep’ pile, a man of the jury standing to make his point.
He liked that it meant more freedom; some laws in Korea weren’t the best, and the general thoughts could be bad too. The sour cocktail of homophobia and stereotypical thinking was hard to swallow, and he knew that in America he could walk down the street holding his boyfriend’s hand, that he didn’t need to hide who he was to be tolerated by society. Seokjin and Namjoon could marry, they could be a real family, and less people would yell abuse in their direction.
A pair of jeans which had what looked like mud stained until the knees, dropped immediately in the discard pile. Blood was difficult to get out of grey fabric, especially when it was completely dried out.
He liked that he didn’t need to be fully respectful to every single older person he ever met, having to use honorifics even if the situation he was in didn’t deserve them. Calling people ‘hyung’ sometimes didn’t feel right, he felt as though he couldn’t trust people enough, didn’t want to call them something as affectionate as his brother when they may have been plotting to murder him. Not all elders deserved his respect, and it would be a breath of fresh air to not watch the elderly turn their noses in his direction as he refused to bow.
A shirt he knew was almost two sizes too big, pastel blue with long enough sleeves to cover his hands completely, gently folded and placed in ‘keep’.
He also liked the fact that his family’s company could access needed things much easier, weapons, drugs, and things like that are much easier to buy in the USA. Their general control of illicit items was much looser; people were much easier to sway in terms of loyalty, especially when a large sum of pay was up for debate. Business would prosper, and Namjoon and Seokjin would just get richer, feeding more and more wealth into their company and eliminating any competitors even more than they were subdued even now.
Yoongi paused in his ordering, turning to check how much he had done. Jeongguk had finished his side of the wardrobe earlier, the shelves looking far too bare and empty to be normal, a sense of unease settling in Yoongi’s stomach. It looked weird, to see the younger almost extracted from his life, even if Yoongi realistically knew he was sat in the room next door playing Overwatch with Taehyung.
A pair of socks, more holes than fabric, not even dropped in the rubbish pile but immediately in the bin.
Despite all the positives, Yoongi also felt nervous about the move. He would be in a foreign country where he maybe wouldn’t understand the language, having only learned English from Namjoon and media things, like music. He had never actually had a true conversation with an American himself, Namjoon handling negotiations along with Seokjin overseas most of the time, leaving the youngers to simply learn. When he was already so scared when talking to people, it wouldn’t help to do it in a second language, struggling to capture the right words to say when he needed them.
One of Jeongguk’s ties he had somehow managed to find in his draws, keep.
He was worried about the possible backlash from himself, a foreign teenager who had no blood relations, disliked speaking English and wasn’t straight. He knew he might be a target in school, but he hoped that being his introverted self could avoid any situation like that. Staying out of people’s way was his normal, go to method, and in general it helped to communicate his dislike of conversation, helped people to just overlook him and ignore his existence, even if his face was occasionally on the front of a newspaper. If not, he had a muscled boyfriend, three loyal friends and two slightly terrifying adoptive ‘parents’ that would help him.
Whilst eating dinner, Yoongi let his thoughts wander back again to the courtroom, the jury ready to make their verdict, still teeming with thoughts that floated from one side of his head to another. He could vaguely hear Seokjin talking about a new drama that he wanted to watch, Namjoon rolling his eyes at the cliché-sounding storyline but promising to record it the next evening.
The thing about his family being the founders and leaders in a large criminal organisation meant that if somebody ever did choose to pick on Yoongi; he had people who would stop it happening ever again. Technically he was the oldest out of the teenagers, months older than Hoseok and a year older than Jimin, Taehyung and Jeongguk, but yet he was the smallest (although not by height, Jimin was slightly shorter, but he also had muscles and wasn’t terribly underweight), and thus he was often picked on. He didn’t mind that he was probably going to be the smallest and slimmest in the family, Jimin still growing and the rest already taller and stronger, but he didn’t like when people insulted him about it.
It wasn’t his fault his past medications made him lose any appetite he might have had before, the antidepressants and the pills for anxiety and sleep having bad effects on his body from when he used to take them. Over the last year, he had slowly stopped all the medication; slowly let his body learn to cope without them. It was one of his main peeves, to be so dependent on something as small as a pill, and even if Seokjin liked to explain that getting help wasn’t a weakness, something to hate, Yoongi really just wanted to let himself forget that there was something wrong with him, other than the things he could never escape.
He knew he was underweight, Seokjin told him when trying to make him eat, holding his wrist in his own hand and being able to easily overlap his fingers. Namjoon told him when attempting to train him to fight, staring guiltily at the bruises which adorned his ribs from hits and falls. His parents thought him fragile, and in all honesty Yoongi wasn’t surprised. When they found him, his ribs had poked out from his skin, his cheeks hollow and looking only hours away from death, almost already skeletal. Every step felt like his legs would snap, every movement feeling like his bones were just moments away from splintering apart.
His parents weren’t the only ones, weren’t the end of the concern written over expressions about his physique, his appearance. Jeongguk told him how delicate he looked when undressing him, worrying he might break. Every touch was as light as a feather, fingertips only gently tracing over his skin like he was made of glass, a porcelain doll. Yoongi was always aware of the looks the younger sometimes shot his way, the way he frowned as he realised he could overlap his fingers if he wrapped his hands around Yoongi’s upper thigh.
But Yoongi could do nothing about it. He just couldn’t eat enough to put on anymore fat, and he never felt awake enough to exercise to put on muscle. So many people always thought he wanted to look this way, and Yoongi didn’t know whether it was better or worse when people criticised him to when people complimented him. There was nothing about his figure that was to desire, and media comments about how healthy he was made nausea build in his stomach, especially when he knew it was so far from the truth.
Running a bath, Yoongi let himself sink under the water, closing his eyes and just letting the dark take over his vision. He should be relaxed, and to some extent he guessed he could be classified as calm when compared to how tense he normally was, but even now he could feel the small frown painted over his features, the lines in his forehead.
He knew enough training to survive a fight or kidnapping, and that was all he needed, all he had ever needed since he came to live with Namjoon and Seokjin. The others knew this too, which is why they never truly pressed him on the matter, didn’t force him to try and get better and better at any sort of fighting skill. It was a big reason as to why he loved his family the amount that he did, that they were so understanding of his limits, where he struggled and what he just couldn’t do.
Drying himself, he let his eyes wander to the mirror on the wall, one of those full length ones which showed all your imperfections, your flaws, reflecting everything in the room back at you.
He was worried he might be picked on for his scars, the ones from his father, the ones from fights, the ones he did himself. Maybe those were the worst, the ones on his thighs, the two deep ones on each wrist. He had mainly come to peace with them himself, managed not to feel sick as he traced the lines with his eyes in a mirror, yet other people who set their gaze on them could sometimes have different reactions, put their opinions in somewhere they definitely weren’t needed.
Yoongi knew the scars were showing a weakness that he had, and some had exploited that in the past, calling out his bad habits and claiming they knew about the help he needed, that they could ‘cure’ him. Some people he had been forced to listen to tried to ‘help’ him, thinking he was a child that was helpless, couldn’t control his own emotions. That was frustrating, he had six people around him that were helping him through everything, he didn’t need some sort of prying ‘specialist’ trying to explore his brain. That could reveal too many secrets; put too many lives at risk.
It was okay; Yoongi had enough help from Namjoon who studied psychology, who worked as the honorary therapist of the group. In their line of work, everyone had something they had nightmares about, struggled to process. Perhaps to some Yoongi was the worst, but he saw the shadows in his family’s eyes, the twitching of Hoseok’s fingers or the way Jimin turned just a moment too quickly if he didn’t notice someone who was behind him.
He trusted Namjoon, and he knew he would never do anything to harm him. Jeongguk also helped him so much, telling him he was beautiful, spouting some bullshit about how the scars just showed the fights he won against his own head or something. Jeongguk could tell Yoongi almost anything and he’d take it as the Bible, even if he stated the sky was green and that pigs could fly.
The scars from his father were a completely different matter. Yoongi still had panic attacks related to his father’s drunken rages, the reason he didn’t drink large amounts of alcohol, or felt comfortable around drunken people who could easily overpower him. He could still feel his father’s hands around his throat, around his waist, leaving him with black and blue skin and broken bones, unexplainable trips to the hospital filling more weekends than anything else he did.
His father was long gone, dead, killed by a car while he was trying to drive home, no doubt to give Yoongi even more hell. He knew it was wrong, but Yoongi almost celebrated the day his father died, the luck that it wasn’t even anything he did to himself that finally knocked him off the block. Something in his chest wished he had been there to see it, and something else wished he had done it himself. Most of his thoughts were happy, but the smallest fraction he could barely hear mourned the fact he was truly alone.
His mother passed when he was younger, his older brother leaving one day then never coming back. It had been difficult for months, but Namjoon and Seokjin had saved him, found him about to jump off a building they were negotiating a deal on. Yoongi had marked that as one of the best days of his life, the day he was given a true place to stay, an actual family. Now all he had left of any fellow blood relations were the nightmares and the flashbacks that could make him unresponsive for hours, hiding under a blanket while Jeongguk held him tightly, telling him he was loved, that he’d never hurt him.
Perhaps it was for the best, Yoongi wasn’t optimistic he would ever have lived to his now eighteen years if his family was still around.
Trying to fall asleep was hopeless, Jeongguk not at home due to a task he had been commissioned, something to do with the chairman of a board of governors or something of the sort. Yoongi wasn’t sure whether the younger was killing or delivering a message, but either way he was aware of the fact Jeongguk wouldn’t be home for at least another hour, more if there was a body to dispose of. The silence just made his internal commentary resume exactly where it left off, like a paused programme on a television.
Yoongi was legally an adult now, eighteen years old, but he still sometimes felt like a child. He was grateful for Namjoon and Seokjin, who despite only being in their mid-twenties had taken in five troubled teenagers, Yoongi himself when he was fifteen.
Yoongi was not the first, that was Hoseok, who was taken in when he was thirteen from a single mother obsessed with pills and illegally bought medication. Seokjin had found him outside a restaurant, having run away from the debt and pain of watching his mother waste away, refusing to help him or herself. In a way, it had been easy. Hoseok was an only child of a crumbled marriage, a father who disappeared to live with a supermodel mistress. As much as Yoongi knew the other had loved his mother, there was only so much he could take, a bright personality hiding something sharp and tense. The younger was always going to snap, to leave, whether it be now or when there was no hope left for any sort of recovery from addiction, and Yoongi was grateful it was sooner rather than later.
Nor was Yoongi the second, in fact, or the third. That had been Taehyung and Jimin, who together had run away from the orphanage at a young age, making a living out of stealing anything they could get their hands on, and they were good at it, too. Namjoon had found them together after they had stolen his phone straight from his pocket, which he tracked to where they had been staying in an abandoned building in the bad side of town. Yoongi had been told it was love at first sight, Namjoon bringing the two twelve year olds straight home to the already family of three. They had no family to leave apart from each other, and even now they were attached to the hip.
The fourth had been Yoongi. Found on a building roof about to jump by the couple who were about to settle a deal on neutral ground, nobody left in the world who cared about him. They had talked Yoongi down, picked him up and took him to their apartment, and he had been with them ever since, them being responsible for practically saving his life, in more ways than one. They gave him a future, a family, a (relatively) safe environment to grow in, and Yoongi had never been more grateful. It was a turn in his life he could have never predicted, a dream come true, something he would have only ever wished for upon a shooting star.
The fifth, and last, had been Jeongguk. He had been living on the streets, kicked out of his home by a family which couldn’t stand the idea he wanted to study art, couldn’t stand that he liked boys. Seokjin had been about to meet with an associate, waiting in the shadows of an alleyway when he had heard a noise from deeper inside. After investigating he found the fifteen year old, bloody and bruised from a fight, trying to stand despite the blatantly broken leg he was sporting. The youngest had been quickly taken home, treated, then immediately adopted into their now family of seven, all the while Yoongi blushing as he watched the muscled boy practically bloom under the elders’ care.
But now Yoongi was eighteen, as well as Hoseok, and they were entering their last year of high school in America, of all places. The younger three were seventeen, the year below Yoongi and Hoseok. The thought that school wasn’t the best idea had ran through Yoongi’s head multiple times, the fact that every single one of them had had unstable education in Korea sometimes making it hard for them to progress. Yoongi was one of the lucky ones, probably missing only specific gaps of his studies while Jimin and Taehyung had practically missed half of their basic education.
Namjoon had, of course, caught everybody up, but he had a teaching method of only including the useful things, which could prove to be difficult when the education system demanded the knowledge of the finest specific details, especially when they knew nothing about American history, but could recite every single way to kill someone with a tablespoon. Some of them had certain subjects they just knew, like Taehyung and his classical painters and art, but there were definitely gaps in each of their heads. Yoongi could play an array of famous piano pieces, note for note, but was hopeless at anything to do with geography.
The actual move was easy; they had the services to simply move completely everything overseas at a reasonable price, taking weapons and tech without question. Just like every other cliché billionaire, they had a private plane, but it was being used for the movement of goods, so a first class booking had to be settled for.
The flight was okay as far as aeroplane flights went, Yoongi spending the journey trying to nap on Jeongguk while the younger played games with the others, avoiding the plane food at all costs and ignoring the looks from other passengers as Jeongguk pressed kisses into his hair. Even the food served to first class tasted like paper when miles above the Earth, and Namjoon did explain at one point the physics behind the whole thing, but Yoongi had been too anxious to remember. Being suspended in air tended to make him nervous, especially when there were so many unknown factors around him, strangers only meters away.
Flying with his family was always either the best or the worst; they could attract attention from completely everybody, either from volume or appearance. They were well known enough in life to be recognised by at least one person wherever they went, and even if they weren’t somehow connected to be one of the richest families in the world, behaviour drew eyes. Whether it be because of displays of affection, looks, Jimin and Taehyung loudly arguing about whether Gucci was the best brand or not, people stared like they were animals in a zoo. It made Yoongi uncomfortable, especially when he was the subject of fascination, hands shaking and mind racing at thousands of miles per hour.
One particular man was looking at Yoongi and Jeongguk, a scowl scribbled all over his face as his beady eyes surveyed the couple. Yoongi had just woken from sleep, and Jeongguk was enacting his habit of whispering loving words in his ear, something which normally made the elder blush. Jeongguk was the most important thing in Yoongi’s life, and the elder was almost ready to murder when he saw the man looking at them, looking at his boyfriend, with such distaste. Fortunately, (or not, depending on viewpoint,) Namjoon had sent a killer glare to the man, Seokjin matching the man’s outraged expression, making him turn away. Yoongi would have preferred him to be disembowelled, but he guessed that that would have been improper.
“Just ignore him,” Namjoon had uttered, turning back to his book, but not before checking that Yoongi and Jeongguk were okay.
The whole group knew how protective Jeongguk was over anything to do with Yoongi, knew that he would have been ready to place a pretty bullet straight into the man, but fortunately he didn’t seem to have noticed the looks, looking slightly confused at Namjoon’s words. Yoongi was relieved; he didn’t want his boyfriend to get angry. Despite it not being aimed at him, in fact the complete opposite, but Yoongi couldn’t deal with angry shouting.
It reminded him of his father, and could sometimes make him panic, a fact which he hated. It meant that almost any argument ended with him hyperventilating on the floor, needing to be taught how to breathe like a baby. It was humiliating, but luckily people didn’t accidently cross that specific line often. The others had learned to argue quietly with one another, too concerned about their smallest family member to shout anymore. He hated it, the fact that the first few times he and Jeongguk had had disagreements; Jeongguk had had to suffer with the knowledge that he had been the one to scare Yoongi, to make him feel like he was drowning in air.
It was the worst thing to make Jeongguk feel like he was a bad person, the walking angel on Earth that he was, but Yoongi couldn’t help but feel threatened when a large male was yelling at him, fists clenched and eyes blazing. Of course Yoongi knew Jeongguk would never hit him, would never even lay a finger on him in anger, proven so many times and promised to the sky and back, but that didn’t always stop the waves of panic. He just couldn’t help but think of his father, of the broken bones and deep cuts from shattered glass.
Yoongi had nodded for both of them, watching Namjoon incline his head back in acknowledgement before the taller’s attention was back to Seokjin, the elder animatedly talking. It was the cue for Yoongi to let his eyes flutter shut, leaning again on Jeongguk’s shoulder and curling up under the blankets the air stewards had provided as soon as they had taken their seats, soft duvets and covers.
The journey from the airport terminal to the cars waiting outside was just as stressful as it normally was, reporters trying to shove microphones in front of their faces and random girls trying to grab onto the family member they thought was the most aesthetically pleasing. The whole experience was one of Yoongi’s worst nightmares, feeling panic pooling in his stomach even when Jeongguk tucked him under his arm, Hoseok trying to distract him with loud conversation.
It felt like there were hands surrounding him, reaching out and trying to grab his clothes, his arms and wrists and ankles, nails digging into flesh. Even as the guards around them pushed people away, tried to force people to keep their distance, faces still loomed in the gaps between men in suits, voices calling their names like a mantra. It only fell silent once they were settled in the car with the doors closed shut, Yoongi taking a deep breath as he reclined in soft leather seats, Jeongguk sighing next to him.
Their house in America was more extravagant than the one in Korea, having gotten a larger reputation and higher required standards since they bought their Gangnam apartment. It was also more equipped to home seven people, the apartment actually only meant to be used by Namjoon and Seokjin. Over years, their guest bedrooms slowly got taken up by teenagers with Yoongi included (although he often shared a room with Jeongguk, so space never really bothered him). The rooms were large and there was enough space for everybody to have what they wanted, a dance studio, a music room, a library. There was even enough room for a gym, Jeongguk’s eyes lighting up in excitement at the mention of new equipment, and Yoongi was secretly exited to watch him try them out.
As soon as they arrived, Namjoon went straight away to find all the guards and sort out security whilst Seokjin waited for some of the last moving vans to arrive, most of their possessions being brought months before the move with the exception of certain necessary items. It left the teenagers to be able to explore the new area, and eventually Yoongi found himself just with his boyfriend, immediately planning to climb to the third floor.
“We’re sharing a bedroom, right?” Yoongi finally asked Jeongguk as they climbed the large flight of stairs from the middle floor to the top, all grand with red carpets and polished dark wooden rails.
This was another thing that Yoongi was worried about, the sleeping arrangements. He had spent almost two years now sleeping next to his boyfriend, and he was honestly worried that that would change due to the increase in space. Jeongguk had helped him through so many things at night, his anxiety which plagued him, his nightmares which left him sobbing, his three in the morning thoughts which made him do things he never knew he wanted to do. Jeongguk was always there, and Yoongi was almost certain he wouldn’t last away from the boy.
He knew he slept better in Jeongguk’s arms, encased in his presence, hidden from the world, which is why he was worried now that Jeongguk wanted his own space. Of course, Yoongi wouldn’t be angry; understanding his need for individuality, his need for his own environment, but it still scared him. He realised he shouldn’t be worried when, straight after his question, Jeongguk turned to him and engulfed him in his arms, relaxing Yoongi in his scent.
“Of course we’re sharing a room, I’d be lonely without you, love,” he murmured, although Yoongi truly knew it was because Jeongguk was aware of the fact that Yoongi would probably do something stupid if nobody was there to hold him.
He knew because it had happened before, many times before he was with his new family, and even sometimes when he was simply left alone for a night earlier on in his stay. There had been instances where Jeongguk had had to ration Yoongi’s medication in the fear of him taking too much, instances where Namjoon and Seokjin had to stop any training with sharp objects or any weapons at all. Hell, even before that there were instances where his father had had to take him to hospital because Yoongi had slit his wrists sitting in the bathtub, and his father had theorised he might be able to get an increase in the money for Yoongi from the government, which he could spend on alcohol (when that didn’t work out, his father almost attempted to slit his wrists a second time using a knife over dinner).
Trying to shake the haunting thoughts away, Yoongi smiled at his boyfriend, following him into the room they would share. It was great being the eldest of the younger members as well as being the one the others liked to dote on, because he was able to claim the first room with little debate; of course having a tall, muscular boyfriend also helped.
They had chosen the room furthest from the others, separated from the nearest bedroom by a bathroom and having no room on the other side, facing the large back garden. This room decision was partially due to the fact that the others could be ridiculously loud, creating a barrier would probably help for Yoongi and Jeongguk to have peace while the sunshine line decided to play video games, or when Namjoon was being scolded by Seokjin for his clumsiness or attempts at cooking (or other activities the practically-married couple decided to engage in). Another reason was to protect the others from the noise coming from within the room, whether it be because of nightmares, or because of other certain acts which Yoongi would rather not be shared with others.
Passing through the dark oak door, Yoongi immediately set his eyes on the wooden four poster bed, curtains draped at the sides and the headboard decorated with patterns. It was grander than the last place they slept, the apartment being more modern than the manor house they now found themselves in, but it looked just as comfortable. Bookshelves lined the walls, with a desk and a dresser, and Yoongi could imagine all the furniture being in an episode of a period drama of some sort.
“This is nice,” Jeongguk murmured as he collapsed onto the bed, the red sheets wrinkling under his back.
Yoongi smiled at his boyfriend, watching him for a moment before joining him in lying on the bed, using Jeongguk’s chest as a pillow, the younger wrapping his arms around Yoongi loosely. They lay in a comfortable silence, Yoongi too caught up in his thoughts to speak.
He was worried about the teenagers having to go to school, him included. He was doubtful that he would have the luck to have every single class with Hoseok, the only person in the year with him. Sure, he could see Jeongguk and the others at lunch and between lessons, but he was scared to be alone. He hadn’t been completely by himself since he was first taken in by Namjoon and Seokjin; they were always too paranoid over him, only ever being in the next room, or having sent one of their workers or other kids to watch over him. He-
“Stop thinking so loud,” Jeongguk said quietly, lifting his head to look Yoongi in the eyes.
When he was met with silence they shifted, so that they were lying side by side on the mattress. Once the younger realised Yoongi wasn’t going to do more, he slid one of his hands under Yoongi’s head, arm acting as the pillow, the other limb holding his waist to pull him closer. It made Yoongi’s hands grip onto Jeongguk’s shirt, fingers winding into the fabric. Their eyes met and Yoongi was entranced by his boyfriend, and as always he was flustered at the way he could see the love reflected towards him, warm gaze and soft touches. He stared for a while, Jeongguk lifting his hand from his waist to trace over Yoongi’s cheek, making him smile softly.
“I’m worried,” Yoongi almost whispered, the couple not moving from their positions, Jeongguk still stroking his skin. “School will be... I don’t know. I don’t want you to leave me.”
“I don’t want to leave you too,” Jeongguk murmured, his eyes sad. “But it’s for Namjoon and Seokjin, and I’ll be in the same building the whole time, waiting to see you as soon as possible.”
That was true, he was never further away from the others than a number of doors, and they could see one another throughout the day in the scheduled breaks given. Despite that, it didn’t seem like enough, an hour sounding far too short for lunch, minutes probably like second in the day between lessons. Yoongi knew it would be painful, and he didn’t want to know the feeling of being taken off his addiction to his boyfriend’s presence.
“Anyway,” Jeongguk continued, stroking strands of Yoongi’s hair away from his eyes. “You might want to be away from me, since I’m in classes with Jiminie and Tae,” he smirked, eyes now gleaming with mischief. “They’re not planning on the teachers having a smooth time, that’s for sure.”
Yoongi laughed, imagining the hellish time that the duo would give the whole entire school, Jimin being the flirt he was, and Tae being a rare type of genius, to put it simply. The two of them together was always a recipe for some degree of chaos, and Yoongi knew first hand that once that pair decided they didn’t like someone but couldn’t kill them, they made their lives so much harder to live.
Jeongguk smiled widely at him, matching his amusement, and Yoongi almost wanted to take a picture, capture this moment forever. He was so happy every time he was with Jeongguk, he felt safe, secure. Despite the potentially dangerous environment they were in, the Kim family having countless enemies all over the world, right at that second he had never felt safer.
Once the laughter had died down Jeongguk pulled Yoongi closer, tucking his head under his chin, where Yoongi could feel Jeongguk’s breath on his bleached hair. It made him feel even calmer than before, the cascade of affection even making almost all of his worries seemed to melt away in his boyfriend’s arms, his sanctuary. He could stay here forever, wouldn’t regret a single thing.
Looking to the side, Yoongi caught sight of a clock, the metal hands displaying the time making him groan. He really didn’t want to move, wanted to stay enclosed in Jeongguk’s arms for the rest of time. As the seconds hand ticked forward, the warmth seemed to get more and more tempting to hide in, but distant voices downstairs elsewhere in the house made him sigh.
“We should probably go back down for dinner,” Yoongi muttered, voice muffled by Jeongguk’s chest. “Jin will be pissed if his food goes cold.”
“In a minute, love,” Jeongguk whined, pulling Yoongi closer, making him laugh.
It was even more torturous when he knew Jeongguk would rather just not move as well, would rather stay cuddled up and sleepy in their bed. It was almost like there were now two forces pinning his mind to the bed, not letting him source the energy to shift a muscle. But it was true that Jin would give them hell for being late to dinner, especially when he was the one to make it.
“We’re going to be killed, you moron, just because you want to cuddle,” Yoongi choked out, trying to push him away.
“But I love you,” he crooned, prolonging the ‘you’ until Yoongi let out a loud burst of laughter.
Jeongguk had a special skill of crawling into Yoongi’s heart and making himself at home right at the bottom, wrapping himself in the heartstrings and pulling whenever he felt like it. It made a flush paint itself over his skin, red blush like roses on his cheeks. It was warm, so, so warm, and Yoongi savoured every second of the younger making him feel like he was about to combust.
“I love you too, brat, but we still need to go,” Yoongi groaned, pressing even harder against Jeongguk’s chest.
It wasn’t what he wanted to do, and he could see that Jeongguk shared exactly the same idea, but playful defeat shimmered in the other’s eyes. He huffed, burying his nose in Yoongi’s hair like an affectionate puppy, letting out a small whine before shifting them to the side.
“Fine.”
At that, Jeongguk grabbed Yoongi, pulling him into his arms as he got up from the bed, Yoongi struggling in his grip. As Jeongguk walked out the room Yoongi gave up and just allowed his boyfriend to carry him, still admiring the fact that he hadn’t even looked strained at carrying Yoongi’s full weight (although, Yoongi reasoned, he didn’t actually weigh much in the first place. It may have been different if he was carrying one of the others, who actually have muscles).
Jeongguk waltzed down the two flights of stairs, peering into rooms until he reached the new kitchen, and all Yoongi could think was that Seokjin would be ecstatic. There were modern shelves and cupboards everywhere, stoves, ovens, microwaves. It was almost like a restaurant kitchen, enough space for almost ten cooks to work at once, a large kitchen island in the centre of the room.
Seokjin himself was at the stove stirring a boiling pot, the smell wafting through the air and reaching Yoongi’s nose in the doorway, the teenager relishing the sweet scent. Jimin was sat on a counter talking to the eldest, occasionally handing him things from his other side, speaking louder every time there was noise somewhere else in the room. He seemed to be trying to hide the fact that Taehyung looked to be looking around all the storage compartments, probably searching for something with a high sugar percentage.
“Oh, hello boys,” greeted Jin with a large smile. “I’m just finishing dinner, Tae put that back or so help me-”
Taehyung looked up from his place crouching on the floor, a cupboard open in front of him. He quickly put back the sweets he found, trading a look with Jimin, probably about the fact that Seokjin didn’t even turn around to know what he was doing. The duo dashed out the room after Jimin hopped to the floor, and Seokjin sighed, checking the food on the stove again.
“One of the dining rooms is just to the right;” the eldest informed them, gesturing vaguely to the door. “I’ll bring everything over in a minute.”
Yoongi found himself carried to the directed room, along a hallway full of pictures he recognised from their last home, expensive paintings and serious portraits. Jeongguk struggled slightly to open the large door, and Yoongi laughed without offering to help, making the other grumble before the dark wood gave way, allowing them to enter.
As they entered, the room left Yoongi looking in awe; the high ceiling adorned with a crystal chandelier and sculpted patterns. There were deep red walls and dark wooden furniture; it looked like something out of an antique movie, a home fit for royalty. A long table was placed in the centre of the room, but it only had eight seats, just enough to fit their family. It meant there must be another dining room somewhere for business purposes, things like company dinners and deal negotiations.
Namjoon was already seated at the first head of the table, Hoseok to his left, deep in a conversation, probably about new deals or whether Hoseok can find a dance school to attend with Jimin. That was something he was most curious about; wanting to find a studio as soon as possible. Jimin himself and Taehyung were sitting to the right of Namjoon, their heads close together as they whispered to one other, probably up to no good if history was to repeat itself.
Yoongi was gently put down by his boyfriend on a chair next to the second head of the table, Jeongguk on his other side next to Hoseok, and the youngest leant down to give him a small kiss. He smiled as he pulled away, grasping Yoongi’s hand and giving it a small squeeze, an action Yoongi happily echoed.
“PDA!” Taehyung almost yelled, pointing at where Yoongi was sitting and covering his eyes dramatically. “We are at a table, get a room,” he exclaimed, pausing slightly before smirking. “A bedroom.”
“I’m going to kill you,” Yoongi muttered, sending Taehyung a dirty look, which the younger just shrugged off with a smile.
Acting angry at his family had worked for under a month, everyone realising there was completely no bite to Yoongi’s bark in no time at all. It opened a door for excessive teasing, Jimin and Taehyung happy to mess about and Hoseok not caring when Yoongi looked grumpy if he was interrupted doing something or another. Dismissive or angry looks had never worked with Jeongguk, the youngest of their family immediately pegging Yoongi as a sweetheart the moment he met him.
“No killing at the table,” Namjoon interrupted, still facing Hoseok as he paused in their conversation.
Yoongi huffed, lacing his and Jeongguk’s fingers together under the table instead of just holding them. He knew first hand that that rule was utter bullshit, having watched his parents murder people over dinner as well as actually on the table itself, multiple times. It was pointless trying to argue, Yoongi knew. Business and free time were separate, Namjoon and Seokjin focusing on keeping their company affairs out of family time, the teenagers copying suit.
“Dinner,” almost sang Seokjin as he carried a large pot into the room, careful not to spill anything over the sides. “I hope you’re ready, because it’s our first Korean home cooked meal using American bought ingredients,” he stated, straightening his shirt as he sat at the other end of the table, opposite Namjoon and in between where Yoongi and the empty chair was, Taehyung sitting the closest on the other side. “I have to say, lots of the stuff looked the same, thank god for migration. I was able to get most things from Korean owned shops.”
That, and Yoongi knew it would be easy for Seokjin to request specific ingredients directly from their home country. With their family’s connections, they could get foods they needed on the day they requested them, the only advantage of food being bought locally was that they wouldn’t have to pre-plan meals. With the amount Jeongguk ate, it was probably for the best that they could buy what they pleased.
“It looks amazing, dear,” praised Namjoon, smiling at where Seokjin was sitting. “I’m sure it’s as delicious as everything you cook.”
The eye contact was a bit too lingering for Yoongi to keep looking at the both of his parents, a blush creeping up his cheeks. He watched the same happen to his boyfriend, faces flushing red with embarrassment whilst Jimin and Taehyung just rolled their eyes. He couldn’t see Hoseok’s expression, but he imagined it was close to the same as his own, the younger never good at hiding when he was blushing.
“As I’ve said, bedroom. Can we eat now?” Taehyung interjected, glancing from Namjoon to Seokjin repetitively as they were jolted out of their bubble.
“Aish, you brat,” Seokjin muttered, but he gestured for everybody to serve some food from the centre of the table.
Dinner is never a silent affair in their household, alike to every other food related family situation. Their home life almost revolved around meals, where they would forget any petty arguments, Seokjin not letting his food’s enjoyment be ruined with differing opinions. Seokjin’s cooking along with the whole family being together made it one of Yoongi’s favourite times of the day, able to see that his family was okay, was healthy. After so much trauma with his first family, it was good to see that everyone was still accounted for, was still here and living.
Namjoon cleared his throat, taking a sip of his drink as he moved his food around briefly with his chopsticks. There was less noise at the table than normal, conversations dampened by either travel fatigue or apprehension for the days to come, and Yoongi knew his lack of speech was due to a healthy dose of anxiety about the new situation they were in.
“So, you all have school soon, we should probably talk about some things,” Namjoon said, trying to keep his voice as casual as he could while eating another mouthful of food.
“Do we have to go?” Whined Jimin, tapping his chopsticks on his plate, almost like a toddler starting a tantrum.
“Yes, you have to,” Seokjin stated, his look silencing Jimin’s taps. “It will be good for you to learn more, especially in an actual educational environment. The heirs of our company must at least have an undergraduate academic qualification of some sort.”
Yoongi sighed, putting down his chopsticks, having finished his small portion of food. He kept his eyes fixed on his plate, not wanting everyone to know how much he really didn’t want to go to something like a school of all places. It wasn’t that he hated learning; it was that he hated people. Well, people who weren’t his family. He loved them, of course.
School just seemed like such a big risk for such a small reward. There were so many possibilities that could go wrong, with their family’s enemies or even just people they met in the dreaded establishment. It just appeared to be such a bad idea from his point of view, but Yoongi always worried more than he should. He knew his anxieties were shared by the others to some degree, but nobody was as opposed to the idea as him, and maybe Jeongguk.
“I’m sure you’ll all be fine,” Namjoon told them, taking another serving of food from the pot Seokjin brought in. “I’ve entered most of you in as family, although I had to keep it slightly more complicated due to Yoongi and Jeongguk, kissing siblings isn’t exactly common practice, even when adopted,” he laughed, making the others let out small huffs.
“Jimin, Tae and Yoongi, one set of adopted siblings, Jeongguk and Hobi you’re another. We wanted a mix of year groups for each, although we’ve entered all of your legal guardians as myself and Jin,” Namjoon explained further, everyone nodding in understanding, Yoongi copying with an inclination of his head. “You’ve also all got the Kim surname, to make it more ‘official’, and remember that here they put the surname last. So, ‘Taehyung Kim’, for example.”
“Ugh, that sounds weird,” complained Taehyung, scrunching his nose up in distaste.
Yoongi couldn’t help but agree, the words sounding alien to his ears. It would take some getting used to, hearing his full name in the format used in the west, but it was nothing he couldn’t do. ‘Yoongi Kim’ wasn’t the worst thing he had ever heard, especially when it was Namjoon and Seokjin who entered his name, the English translation of the Hangul bound to be how Yoongi liked it. ‘Yunki’ sounded too harsh to his ears, even when the pronunciation was almost exactly the same, but American accents would be better with his chosen spelling.
“It’s just something we’ll have to get used to,” laughed Seokjin as he watched Namjoon almost drop his chopstick on the floor as he moved his plate. “It’s not for long, even Jeongguk only had two years. You know you don’t need to go to university, although it’s always an open option to choose.”
Yoongi knew that in their family, university wasn’t completely compulsory. They were always ensured a high paying job within the Kim operation, but Yoongi knew that Namjoon and Seokjin wouldn’t force anyone to work with them, to feel obliged to fill out their legacy. Despite that, Yoongi felt like he could almost completely predict his family’s career choices. He was fairly certain that Hoseok would want to dive into his parents’ world of business, although he may only take on a leadership job after time for experience, maybe exploring other things in his free time like his dancing.
Yoongi was also sure that Jimin and Tae would work alongside Namjoon and Seokjin as well, even if they dabbled in side jobs at the same time. Jimin had his passion for contemporary dance, and Taehyung had a fondness for the arts, maybe drama and acting. The younger could lie between his teeth, convincingly too, as well as Jimin could and better than the rest of them. There was no doubt that the both of them would end up at the right hand side of their parents in the end, however. Maybe it was the power, or the rewards, or even the actions, but they loved the work they saw Namjoon and Seokjin doing. Yoongi should probably be slightly concerned about how good the two seventeen year olds were at killing, but they would never hurt Yoongi, so he might as well just forget it.
Jeongguk would probably also take on a role, wanting to help his family in any way possible. He had talked to his boyfriend about it, a while ago when they had only been dating for months, and Jeongguk had told him all about his past dreams revolving around art, his love of the details in the world around him. As time went on, however, Yoongi knew the youngest’s thoughts were changing. As Jeongguk got more involved with everything, he seemed more and more sold on their family’s operation, more and more invested in exactly what Namjoon and Seokjin were doing.
In the past year, Jeongguk had spent more and more time in their business’s headquarters, sitting in on meetings with what seemed like everyone but Yoongi, meeting allies and watching deals. Yoongi was certain that Jeongguk would be amazing at their family company, would excel in every aspect of the word. He was smart, level headed, and was often able to get his way, as well as being charming and intimidating. It was almost like he was designed as the dream child of Namjoon and Seokjin, the perfect candidate for everything they need, but Yoongi wasn’t jealous. He knew they were all loved equally, knew that they would all be welcomed with open arms into anything they chose to do.
Maybe that was what worried him the most, that at some level he knew Namjoon and Seokjin would love having every single one of their children by their sides, relish in the idea their company was safe in their children’s hands. Yoongi didn’t know whether he’d ever want to fully get involved, despite sometimes doing jobs already here and there. He had always dreamed of music, writing, producing, and the more he listened to meetings or details, the more his mind strayed back to his piano. His dream of music seemed so unimportant compared to his family’s legacy, the role which he knew he was meant to fulfil. It made it worse, being the eldest; even he wasn’t named the sole heir.
All five of the teenagers were set to inherit equal amounts in the far future, and each had the same claim on company profits that Namjoon and Seokjin had allowed. In a way, Yoongi’s life was already predetermined, the road he was meant to go down lain at his feet. It was just a matter of whether Yoongi decided to comply and wander along the path, or whether he would turn another way.
Namjoon interrupted Yoongi’s train of thought, accidentally loudly setting his glass down, cringing at the sound.
“Okay guys, I think we need to talk about some business.”