Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue

August 1933

In the shadow of the woods, the blood covering his hands burned his skin.

It ran down his forearms, marking him out. He hurried away from the path, sure of the route he’d known since he was old enough to walk. Laughter and carefree conversation called to him from the party still going on, the guests doused in the lantern light that flickered through the tree trunks. The friendly sound, alien to him now, grew quieter and quieter with each step he took. Away from the others and the person he used to be. Away from the person he could have become.

Just beyond his reach the rest of the world continued with its story.

There was a snap, a branch breaking. He gripped the box he was carrying tighter to his chest. Was someone there with him, hiding in the darkness? He must not be seen. Nobody must ever know that he’d ventured so far out.

Silence. Probably just a hare. He scrambled forward, deeper into the woods. All he needed to do was bury the evidence. The grounds were so busy with the party in full swing, nobody would be looking at their watches. He could create an alibi easily. They would never suspect him.

He reached his destination; a place he’d carefully chosen. Dropping to his knees, he pulled at the foliage and yanked a wild pepper from the ground. Crouching over the hole left by its roots, he dug through the dirt with his bloodstained hands. The beat of his heart was too fast, hammering against his chest. His hands were shaking as he lowered the box, blinking his eyes clear. Were those tears? Was he crying? How long had it been? He could barely remember now, minutes or hours.

Just this one thing. Get rid of the box, then he could forget. He could forget this whole thing ever happened. Except how could he? He’d changed everything. Everything.

Dampness seeped through the knees of his trousers. The smell of earth laid heavy in his nostrils. Sweat dripped from his forehead, hardly daring to breathe. After scooping the soil over the top he patted the earth down, shoving the uprooted plants back in place. There. It was done.

Perhaps he should say something? A prayer for his family, for his friends. Or a prayer that they’d never find out the truth. Nobody else could know what he’d done. It was the only way to keep them safe. Nobody could know. He wouldn’t think of this night again. If he did, it would only make it worse.

Standing upright a breeze whispered through his hair, shirt fluttering around his waist, and he turned to trace his steps back through the woods. No. This secret would die with him. In the distance, he could hear the river water lapping against the bank. Soon it would be broken with a scream, only a matter of time until they discovered what he’d done. For now, he headed towards the crowd once more, oblivious to the tears staining his face.

Chapter Text

“Some moments become more vivid with the passage of time.

Yesterday’s many encounters and goodbyes existed for this moment.

Every alley and crossroad I walked through,

were all meant to lead me to this very place.

That kind of moment is what I mean.”

June 1994

The loud music blasting from the gym studio was beginning to grate on Jung Hoseok’s nerves. It wasn’t that he didn’t like music, after all, who didn’t like music? People who hated fun, that’s who. And, as much as the rest of the officers in Mapo precinct liked to claim otherwise, Hoseok didn’t hate fun. He took his work seriously, that was all.

This music, though, was too much. He took a long swing of water and resumed his place in front of the punching bag. The same bright beat had been playing on a loop for the whole time he’d been there. Hoseok would be hearing it in his sleep.

If it was bad out on the gym floor, he could only imagine how the people inside the studio were suffering. Poor souls.

Gritting his teeth and working hard to block out the music he spun his body, kicking his leg as high as he could. The punching back slammed to the floor. For the fifth time. Hoseok rolled his eyes, tugging the too-light bag back up straight.

If he was back in Seoul, he wouldn’t have to put up with this second-rate equipment or this Goddamn inane noise . But he wasn’t in Seoul, he was stuck back in Gyeongju and it was his own fault, and that was the worst part of it. The captain had called it a bonus vacation . Like Hoseok was some idiot who couldn’t see when he was being shoved to one side, even when it was plain as day.

The music stopped and moments later a stream of people spilled from the studio, decked out in the bright, tight workout gear that was all the rage with the fashionable young people. Hoseok eyed his own grey, worn t-shirt with a grimace and pushed his hair away from his sweaty forehead.

“Hi.”

From the crowd of people, a man appeared in front of him, wearing a wide smile that revealed a sparkling teeth.

“Sorry?” Hoseok stumbled, a little perturbed at being address so suddenly.

“Oh, I just said hello,” the man said, waving him off. “You’re new.”

The smiling man was shorter than Hoseok, black hair flowing in long waves around his eyes. A baggy jumper hid his hands, though it did nothing to cover his collarbones, the skin above them red and shining with sweat.

Hoseok frowned. “You know everyone who comes here?”

“By sight,” the man shrugged. He leant closer, letting Hoseok in on a secret, “I’m here a lot.”

Before he could stop himself, Hoseok groaned. “You don’t play that atrocious music all the time?”

Rather than taking offence, the stranger laughed, clear and bright like a bell. “Ugh, no. My tape went all wobbly, I had to use one from the gym’s collection. Sub-par,” he muttered, from the side of his mouth. Then he whacked Hoseok in the stomach. A complete stranger. “How about you come along next time?” he said, grinning like it was the best idea ever. “Dance. I promise the soundtrack will be better.”

As a rule, Hoseok avoided classes, he had gone to enough of them in the academy. “Sorry, man. I’m not here for long.”

The man pouted. “Shame,” he said, taking a few steps backwards. “You’ve got good form.”

Who was this guy? “Thanks?” Hoseok said, drawing his eyebrows together. As he watched the man go, he felt the need to hear his voice one more time. That sweet sound might be able to get him through the rest of the day. “What kind of dance?” he asked.

“Whatever I feel like,” the stranger called back, smile in his voice before he vanished around the corner.

Maybe Gyeongju wasn’t a total dead end. Just mostly.

Giving the gym up as a bad job, Hoseok headed out onto the street. Watching the traffic as it sailed past him, he sighed. What did people even do with spare time? Back in the capital, his evenings were filled with overtime, working out and, if he was lucky, a night at the bar with the rest of the detective squad.

At a loss, his feet started down the path towards his grandfather’s old house and the outskirts of the city. There wasn’t anything there for him, but where else could he go? Perhaps he could relax, actually use this downtime to catch up on some leisurely activities. The video store would be open, everyone had been telling him to watch ‘Seopyeonje’. Maybe he finally could.

And if he had any messages from the captain, then he could pick those up as well.

He stopped.

What if there were no messages? He’d only been gone from Seoul for less than twenty-four hours. God, how was he supposed to last away from the precinct for weeks? It was ridiculous. They couldn’t expect him to. Really, they needed him.

That was it. He could relax in Seoul. And if he just happened to drop by the precinct, then so be it.

The train station was only a five-minute walk away. He could be back in Seoul in less than three hours. The captain hadn't specifically forbidden his presence in the city, his leaving had just been a suggestion. It’s not like Hoseok would get fired if he turned up at the station. He was a good cop, one of the best. The Song case had been an anomaly.

He took several steps in the direction of the train station before he stopped again. A woman walked past him holding the hand of a small child who was clearly more interested in the plants creeping up over the fence and crawling towards the pavement. Even though he had nobody relying on him, his work was the most important thing to him. He couldn’t ruin it.

A growl escaped his lips and he turned tail. Hadn’t he spotted a public footpath further back? It was a nice day. A long run would do him good, stop his mind from running away with him. With that thought, he pulled his Walkman headphones from his pocket.

There must be something in Gyeongju that could focus his attention. Left at a loose end like this, he’d be talking to the walls by the weekend.

~

May 1933

The earth was cool under his back, protected from the early summer sun by the shade of the dense shrubs. Sandwiched between the green leaves and the brick garden wall Taehyung stretched out along the ground. Pleased with his spot, he settled down, watching Ilsung, their head gardener, and his apprentice conferring over one of the flower beds. They were overflowing with roses this time of year. Beautiful, yes, but it had been the same ever since Taehyung could remember. He had always thought that a pulsatilla would suit the surroundings well. A delicate purple, similar, but just a little wilder. Ilsung had frowned at him when he’d suggested the idea.

“The Master prefers the rose.”

And that had been the end of that.

Taehyung could appreciate the point. He closed his eyes, rays warming his skin, the conversation from earlier running through his head once more. Had he been unreasonable? No. It wasn’t as if he’d said he was running away to join the circus. There wasn’t anything so awful about landscaping. If architecture was an acceptable area of study, why not the same for gardens?

For a man who owned such a vast plot of land, who spent so much money on keeping it presentable, you would have thought his father would have held the profession in greater regard. All Taehyung had done was suggest it as an area of study, what was the problem with that? Business was so boring.

He sighed. And to think he’d woken up in such a good mood this morning. The sky was clear, there’d been a fish stew with breakfast, and his new sheet music had arrived from Seoul. What a waste of a good day.

“Is this where you’ve been hiding?”

Towering overhead, Seokjin raised an eyebrow at him. So long peace and quiet. He’d probably been sulking too long anyway.

“I’m not hiding,” Taehyung grumbled, not moving an inch as Seokjin dropped down next to him, crowding the already small space.

“No?” Seokjin leant his head on his hand, sending Taehyung a wry smile. “Then why are you lying in the dirt?”

“I’m talking to the faeries,” he decided, digging his fingers into the earth. He let it get under his fingernails. Maybe he could cover his face in it, let his hair get tangled with thorns, and his shirt stained with grass. That would show his father just how poor a fit he was for the company. He’d see it just as clearly as everyone else did.

Seokjin only nodded at him. “Oh, of course.” He nudged Taehyung’s side, a soft smile brightening his handsome features. “And what are they telling you?” he asked.

Taehyung stayed quiet. There was a butterfly circling above them, a Papilio Dehaani if the blue tint to its dark wings was anything to go by. He would have to make a note in his journal later, it was the first he’d seen that year. It didn’t land, instead, it flew up, higher and higher until it vanished into the sky. He sighed. “They’ve been busy. Their princess was captured and the best warriors were forced to leave their kingdom to save her. It was a daring rescue. Many were slaughtered.”

“I take it you spoke to Father.”

In the silence, Taehyung pouted. It was bad enough that his father had rejected his request, now he was going to have to tell the others. Namjoon would want to talk about it at great length, no doubt.

“And it went just as well as you planned in your head,” Seokjin continued, undeterred.

Turning to face him, Taehyung squinted a little at the beams of sunlight framing his brother’s face. “Seokjin,” he said, wincing when it came out more like a whine.

“I’m sorry.” To his credit, he looked to be. But then, a truly cross Seokjin was a rare sight, who had the patience of a saint. It must come with the territory. Taehyung would make an awful older brother. He grimaced a little, thinking of Jeongguk. “I am sorry, Taehyung,” Seokjin repeated, tone levelling out. “If he was going to say yes to any of us, I thought it would have been you.”

Seokjin ruffled Taehyung’s hair and he curled into it. “He just laughed,” he muttered to the ground, flushing at the memory. “Said I must have been spending too much time with my feet in the mud.” It had caught him off guard, the cruel taunt woven into his father’s words. It was what his grandfather and aunts always said; that he was too much of a daydreamer, that he had no ambition, that he was a weakling. Though he’d never voiced it, Taehyung had always thought he was his father’s favourite, but maybe not. Maybe the great Kim Jungsoo just didn’t think he was worth the effort. Maybe he’d been written off years ago and just hadn’t realised it.

“You never know,” his brother tried. “He might come around.”

“Like he did for you?” Taehyung scoffed.

Seokjin’s jaw flexed. “That’s different,” he said. Taehyung bowed under the weight of his gaze. Had he actually managed to push him over the edge? But Seokjin softened. “I’m the oldest, it’s my duty. You’re lucky, Taehyung. The world is your oyster.”

With a groan, Taehyung pushed himself upright, a few stray petals falling from his shirt. “Not with him as a father it isn’t.”

“Hush. Come on.” Seokjin followed his lead, rising to his feet and pulling Taehyung up with him. “Jeongguk’s after you.”

“Oh, for the picnic,” Taehyung said, realisation dawning on him as he dusted himself down. “I forgot.”

“Yes, and he’s in a good mood, so brace yourself.” Seokjin clasped Taehyung’s hand, taking over the job of brushing the dirt off his back. He ignored his own spoiled clothes that had been so impeccable just minutes ago. Taehyung watched, biting down a smile. “I’ve been playing the syllable game with him for half the morning. There’s only so many times I can let him win before it gets embarrassing.”

“Let him win,” Taehyung echoed, smirking.

Seokjin raised a finger at him. “I’m still better at him at word games, I’ll have you know. It might be the only thing, so don’t you take it away from me.”

Opting to stay quiet Taehyung followed him further up the garden, nearer the house, where Namjoon and Jeongguk were lazing around by the pond. Namjoon spared them a smile as they approached and dropped his gaze back to his book. He was perched on the edge of the water, spine curved in a way that must be uncomfortable. As was Namjoon’s way, his smart clothes had already wrinkled in the few hours since breakfast

“I found him,” Seokjin announced, dropping down next to Namjoon and straightening his collar.

Jeongguk grinned over to him as Taehyung joined him on the bench. “We’d thought maybe you’d fallen into the river, trying to talk to the fishes,” he joked, smile wide and eyes crinkled.

“Don’t tease me,” Taehyung pouted.

“Be nice, Jeongguk,” Seokjin called over. “He’s had a tough start to the day.”

“Your dad?” his friend asked, shifting to look at Taehyung more closely. His cheeks were red as if he’d already managed to catch the sun.

Taehyung shrugged, fixing his gaze into the distance. “He said no.”

“Ah, well,” Jeongguk sighed, clapping his shoulder. The power of it caught him off guard, breath hitching in his throat. “At least you tried.”

“And I’ll try again.”

“But he said no.” Jeongguk sent him a baffled expression, a small frown tugging at his lips. His eyebrows drew together as if he couldn’t quite process what Taehyung was telling him.

“What’s your point?” Taehyung asked with a huff.

Again, Jeongguk pulled an unsure expression. He looked down at his feet and shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s your father. What would people say if they found out you went against him?” As he finished he raised his eyes to Taehyung, who was squirming. Jeongguk had an innate talent for making him feel like he was disappointing him with every turn. It was never anything the other boy did, but Taehyung knew he looked up to him. It was a lot of pressure for someone who had no idea what they were doing.

“I don’t mean to disagree with him,” Taehyung started. “I just don’t want to work in the company.” He dropped his shoulders and clicked his tongue, aware that Seokjin and Namjoon were watching him from the sidelines. “If I could only explain it to him. I’d be awful at it, I’m not like you two.”

“Taehyung,” Namjoon let his book fall shut, page marked by his thumb, “it’s a nice day. Let’s not talk about it anymore.” Taehyung watched as Namjoon’s eyes flickered towards Seokjin, lips narrowed. Since when did Namjoon leave things unsaid? Next to him, Jeongguk wrinkled his nose. “You can try again soon, once he’s thought about it a little.”

“All right,” Taehyung drawled, not quite convinced. Contented, Namjoon returned to his book. A fruit ripe for the picking. Taehyung leaned closer, head cupped in his hands. “What are you reading today?” he asked, grinning.

Namjoon smiled and shook his head. “‘The World I Live In’.”

“Is it any good?” Jeongguk piped up, dark hair falling in front of his eyes. He’d need to get it cut before his parents returned.

Namjoon hummed, “It’s enlightening.”

“Sounds fun,” Taehyung teased. It was one of his favourite pastimes, teasing Namjoon. His brother was rarely bothered by it, though. He knew himself well; it was something that Taehyung especially admired about him when he was being sincere.

“Seokjin.”

Their father’s curt voice cut through the brief levity. “Ah,” Taehyung huffed.

“Seokjin, will you come here?”

It was coming from the study. After a short moment Seokjin moved towards the terrace doors, limbs moving slowly. A direct request from their father wasn’t one to be ignored, no matter how sunny it was outside.

“But we were going to go to the den,” Jeongguk whined, following Seokjin’s progress. “I brought my camera.” Sure enough, his treasured box camera was tucked by his feet, safely encased in its leather case.

Taehyung whacked him lightly on the arm. “Who wants to go against him now?”

“He’s not my father,” Jeongguk retorted, eyes wide.

“Another time, Jeongguk,” Seokjin assured with a warm smile. He nodded towards the other end of the garden and the path that lead down to the river. “You can still go.”

“Seokjin,” their father called once more, more tersely. It sounded closer. Taehyung could picture him at the door to his study, glasses sliding down his nose as his face pinched in frustration.

“You’d better go,” he warned darkly, though Seokjin had already reached the door.

“Cheer up, Taehyung,” he said over his shoulder, winking at him. “The birds are out. I saw a Horned Grebe at breakfast. Must be late leaving.” He smiled and vanished into the dark of the house. From the corner of his eye Taehyung saw Namjoon watch him leave with a solemn expression.

“Ah, stop trying to save the world, Namjoon, if only for the day.” He strode over to his brother, nudging his foot with his own. He’d had enough serious looks for one day. “Take a walk with us,” he urged. “You said it was a nice day and Cook promised to pack us a lunch.” Narrowing his eyes, he waited for Namjoon to mull it over.

“You can bring your book if you want,” Jeongguk added.

Namjoon closed his book, losing his spot entirely. They’d won. “All right. But only to the den,” Namjoon protested as Taehyung and Jeongguk cheered. “And I can’t be too long. Father wants me to look over some papers.”

“Dull,” Jeongguk chorused, camera case hanging over his shoulder, already passed them and heading directly towards the garden.

“Yes, it is,” Namjoon breathed, startling a little when he spotted Taehyung staring. He bit his lip and cocked his head. “Let’s go.”

Perhaps Taehyung wasn’t the only one dreaming of a different path after all.

~

June 1994

Spanish guitar filled his ears as the woodland closed in around him. The early summer sun broke through the tree cover in spots, providing Hoseok’s with the cool relief he needed. He continued the quick pace, his breath hot in his throat. Usually running helped clear his mind. Today, though, all it was doing was powering the churning, whirring machine that kept his thoughts focused on why he was forced out of his job, hidden from the inquisitive eyes of the press and the public.

Had they heard about the case here? It was a big place, a juicy story like that would soon spread. His feet pounded against the floor as he contemplated using a false name. No. He was letting his ego get the better of him. Nobody here would even know about the Song case, let alone the detective who had been working on it.  

The gravel of the path crunched under his trainers, the course through the trees clearly set out before him. As the dark green landscape tumbled past him, small gaps at the side of the path appeared to break up the shrubbery. Animal tracks, probably.

On coming across a larger gap, however, Hoseok could fight no more. Was it the investigator instinct in him that urged him to look closer into the dark overgrowth? With a wry chuckle, he remembered the days he’d spent as a child crawling into any gap he could fit through. Maybe he was reverting to childish instincts, in that case. In less than a day. More likely that his overwrung mind was grabbing quickly at the first distraction sent its way.

Pressing his lips together, he checked behind him. Although not sure why, he would rather no one saw him heading off into the forest. If he was experiencing the beginnings of a stress-related breakdown, he’d like to keep it to himself.

Twigs and branches clawed at his clothes. The denser it got the more determined he became to follow the small gap to the other side. Eventually, looking back, the path he’d started on was completely obscured and a thrill shot up Hoseok’s spine. He broke through the thick foliage into the woods proper and took a deep breath as he straightened, squinting at the tall trees spread out before him. How far did it go on for? Well. There was only one way to find out.

Tucking his headphones into his pocket, Hoseok smiled at the faint sound of birds chirping above his head.

There you go, Captain. A relaxing stroll through the forest, a proper vacation activity.

After several long minutes walking in what he hoped was a straight line, Hoseok paused, straining his ears. Was that running water? As he listened, the sound became more prominent, until Hoseok was sure it was a river, or at least a stream. Gyeongju had a river, didn’t it? His grandfather had a bunch of old fishing rods in one of the spare rooms, it only made sense.

He headed towards the rapid bubbling, pouting a little at the mud clinging to the sides of his shoes.

It didn’t take him long before he spotted the clear waters running alongside the treeline. It wasn’t that which captured his attention, however. Across the river, a grand house in a slight clearing emerged like a mirage in the desert. Hoseok frowned. How could a house like this be hidden in the forest? For it was hidden, he was sure of it.

Downstream an old-fashioned wrought iron bridge arched over the river, weeds tangling with the metal flowers, white paint peeled so badly that hardly any was left. Eyeing the wooden slats uneasily, Hoseok tested the first with a hesitant step. When no disaster occurred, he hurried across, keeping his eye on the house ahead of him.

The landscape was so still, he could have been looking at a photograph. The air felt different here, as if he’d walked into a mythical land. Even though the house was still too far to know for sure, he could tell that he was alone. He hadn’t been all too aware of the sounds of the city, but now that they were gone, blocked out by the tall trees surrounding him, he realised how loud it had been.

It was clear that the space between him and the house used to be a garden, left abandoned for who knows how many years. The high stones walls running along either side were covered with dense ivy, reaching out across the ground once the tendrils ran out of stone to cling to. He thought he saw the outline of what must have been flower beds, crumbling brick borders hidden beneath a sea of weeds.

As he edged closer to the house, his feet hit something solid and he navigated his way over shallow steps, invisible beneath the foliage. A patio, no doubt, where the old inhabitants had sat and watched the garden grow. Hoseok could imagine them now, some grand old gentlemen and his lady wife, drinking their tea and remarking on the news of the day with an unaffected air.

Old ornate benches sat abandoned and rusting in the shadow of the house. To one side, a deep pit plunged beneath the ground, its walls plastered with dried algae. If Hoseok concentrated hard enough, he could almost see the fish that must have lived there, wriggling just beneath the surface of the water.

The rear of the house looked just as abandoned as the garden, but Hoseok was a police officer, after all. He knocked on the glass door, short, sharp sounds unduly loud in the quiet afternoon air. Peering through the window pane between his hands, he bit down a grin at what he saw. He was no expert, but the furnishing inside looked in good condition. Like stepping into one of those model rooms his teachers used to take them to on school trips.

A long dining table stood in the middle of the room, the fabric on the chairs faded a little, but no less impressive. By the door a marble bust stood on a tall podium. Hoseok squinted, pressing his face closer to the glass as he tried to look into the hallway beyond.

“Come on, come on,” he chanted, squeezing his eyes shut as he pushed down on the door handle. The door remained resolutely closed, however. He slumped. It was probably too much to ask, he supposed, for the owners to be careless enough to leave the place unlocked as well as abandon it in the first place.

But what was this place? He frowned, turning back to the garden. It was as if whoever lived here had just got up one day and left forever. Had nobody back in the city noticed? Someone must still own the site, surely? People didn’t just walk away from a house like this.

In the bottom of his stomach he felt a familiar tug. The draw of a good puzzle.

He continued his exploration. Beyond the house the forest returned. It must wrap itself around this entire area, Hoseok thought, hiding the house and the lives of the people that had lived there from view. From the front it looked a little less mysterious, peeling front door and crumbling window frames not so obvious from the end of the long drive. The entryway, though, was almost camouflaged with how thick the wild plants had grown across the gate. If you didn’t know this place was here, you would think it was a hedgerow, for sure.

If someone did own this place, they hadn’t visited in a long while. Not by car, at least.

Through a large front window he spotted what could only be described as a library, walls lined to the rafters with old, heavy books. Even from through the glass, Hoseok could almost taste the layer of dust on his tongue. It must have been a well to-do family who had lived here. A library as extensive as that, hell, a garden that size. They would have needed to employ staff. It would have been a hive of activity. Ripe ground for gossip.

By the time he’d made a full circuit back to the garden, he knew he had to come back here. Who would leave such a beautiful old house to sit and rot like this? A gap in the wall caught his eye and he stepped forward, confident now in the quiet solace of the garden, the homely comfort that poured through each brick. A wooden fence hung precariously from its frame, leading through a dead kitchen garden. In the distance, past yet another wall, Hoseok spied another garden, as alive as this one wasn’t. From the sliver that he could see through the archway, it seemed that wildflowers had well and truly taken over.

Hoseok held back from investigating further. This place had got under his skin. He didn’t want the discovery to be over already. He’d come back tomorrow and explore the wild walled garden then.

Even just making that one promise to himself, he felt his mind settle. He was a good detective and he could prove it. He’d find out what had happened here.

He had a plan to follow.

Since he’d laid eyes on the house from the forest, a strange tingling had spread through his body, buzzing through his veins and into his heart. The old place gave him a feeling.

Hoseok’s partner had gotten feelings . About people, cases, whether they should walk or get the subway. Even if Cho usually got it right, Hoseok never took any stock in it. Feelings weren’t testimony, or evidence, or cold hard fact.

Of course, he’d had his own feelings about the Song guy, as well. Look at how ignoring that one had turned out.

He sighed, letting the gentle breeze flutter through his t-shirt. He hadn’t acted then, but he would now. Cho would be proud of him. Besides, this wouldn’t be so difficult. People were difficult. Houses couldn’t lie to you, couldn’t collude and trick and betray you. It was by far the part of the job that Hoseok had the most trouble with.

It was bizarre really, for someone who spent most of his day interacting with new people, he still couldn’t find what made them tick. His school friends had teased him no end when he’d told them about joining the academy. He lived with the wool over his eyes, that’s what they had always said. Meeting people was one thing, being friendly? No problem. The issue always came with spotting when someone was lying to him, when they clearly had an ulterior motive, or weren’t behaving as they should.

Hoseok blamed his mum. She was such an oddball that Hoseok had never had a very good basis for what was normal or not. Her head had resided permanently in the clouds, never concerned with such pedestrian matters like whether Hoseok had the right clothes for school, what they were going to eat for dinner, or whether she needed to turn up at work or not. When Hoseok had joined the academy she’d acted as if it was deliberate jibe against her.

People. He loved them, but they were an enigma.

It’s why he and Cho had worked so well together. Hoseok dealt with the facts, who was where, what they said, when they said it, and Cho rooted out those crying relatives who had secretly hidden the body in their basement.

Though he wasn’t sure he would be finding any bodies in this basement, an old place like this? It would have some hidden secrets. A scandal, an affair, housing resistance fighters. Hoseok would find something here to keep his mind occupied. And maybe he’d please some local busybodies at the same time.

He gave the imposing house one last look, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, before turning back towards the woods.

This building was like him. Happy to stand alone, but clearly designed to be surrounded by life. If it was going to spill its secrets to anyone, why not him?

~

May 1933

The coy carp broke the surface of the pond gathering around Taehyung’s outstretched palm.

He whistled. “Good morning fishes,” he cooed, the water splashing against his skin in waves.  

In the distance, the crunching of footsteps on the path distracted Taehyung. He straightened, narrowing his eyes. He couldn’t see the footpath leading to the front door from the garden, but visitors weren’t common at River House, and especially not on foot. Muttering a goodbye to the fish he scampered along the side of the building, not willing to let an opportunity like this escape him. His years of winning hide and seek as a child had equipped him well and he picked a spot out of sight of the path, crouched behind a flower bed. Through the stems he watched a well-dressed man approach the house. Small and slim, his pale skin glowed brightly in the sun. Something else that Taehyung learned while hiding: people were much more interesting when they thought nobody could see them.

The man had stopped in the gravel, nodding politely to the workman painting their garage door, and set his eyes on the house. He could have been frowning, it was hard to tell from this distance. Taehyung watched, enchanted, as the man bit his lip and nodded to himself before resuming his stride. What was waiting for him that he had to build himself up to it like that? Taehyung tried to recall if he’d met him before, but nothing was forthcoming. His suit was well fitting, maybe even expensive, but a few seasons behind the style. Not the kind of person that his father usually invited to his home. He was a mystery.

Something nudged against his side.

“We’ve been summoned,” Namjoon spoke down to him, ignoring Taehyung’s yell and the sight of him sprawled across the grass. “The new lodger’s arrived.”

Pouting, Taehyung shifted onto his elbows and watched his brother leave. The new lodger. Of course. It had been weeks since their father mentioned it and Taehyung had immediately shoved the prospect to the back of his mind, convinced that it would be some boring old man. They were to stay in the old boat house near the river after the attic had been converted into a room. Doing their part for those in need, his father had said.

Seokjin had rolled his eyes behind their father’s back at those words. Taehyung remembered the delighted laugh that he couldn’t stop erupting from his chest at the sight of it.

But the man at the door certainly hadn’t been old and he didn’t look like he was in need. What, then, was he doing at River House?

Taehyung squeezed into the parlour room behind Namjoon where Seokjin and their father were already in conversation with the new arrival. Seokjin’s face was molded into a blank mask, eyes twinkling as he contemplated the stranger.

“Ah, here they are,” Jungsoo announced, extending his arm to the pair hovering near the door. He broke into a charming smile, not quite reaching his eyes. “My second son, Namjoon. He’s back for the summer from his studies. The faculty are expecting great things.” Namjoon nodded, lips pressed together.

Close up, the man looked younger than Taehyung had first thought. Maybe even Namjoon’s age. The cuffs of his jacket were fading, though it had the effect of bringing out his flawless skin. Soft eyes and gentle lips, Taehyung found himself staring. The lodger’s gaze met his and Taehyung’s cheeks reddened.

“And Taehyung, my youngest.”

“I’m nineteen,” Taehyung clarified.

Jungsoo hummed, squeezing Taehyung’s shoulder. “He’s full of energy. He’ll be quite the contender once he settles into business, I can assure you.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the stranger said, stoney faced. Was he nervous? Or perhaps that was just his natural state. They’d have to change that. What good was it to have someone new around if they were just going to be serious all the time? It would be like having two Namjoons. “I’m Min Yoongi,” the young man carried on. The Kim brothers all nodded, polite and a little hopeful, waiting for something more. “Er, I’m a writer?” he tried, cocking his head a little.

“Not those novels that Namjoon reads so much of?” Jungsoo burst out. As if sensing the somewhat attacking tone of his voice, he laughed it off. “Spends hours on it, filling his head with nonsense, I’m sure. Got it from his mother.”

“No,” Yoongi replied, slowly. He looked more embarrassed than Jungsoo or Namjoon, not yet used to their father’s ways. Taehyung regarded him for a second; how he flexed his hands, shifted his feet. Was he lying? To the man who had agreed to give him a room? Risky move. Yoongi coughed.

“I was most impressed with your reference,” Jungsoo continued. “Jae Sungsoo was very complimentary.”

Yoongi shifted again. Clasping his hands behind his back he nodded. “He and my dad studied together.”

Unaware of the reticence in his answer, or perhaps just unbothered by it, Taehyung’s father took a step closer. He was eyeing Yoongi up like a fair prize.

“Shall I show him to the boat house?” Seokjin asked, closing in next to Yoongi. He had kept his expression decidedly neutral. “I'm sure he’ll be tired from his journey.”

Clearly not in favour of the suggestion, but not able to find any reasonable objection, their father took a step back, arm outstretched to the door. Taehyung was careful to give him a wide berth as he passed, sure he could feel the angry heat coming off him in waves. Sometimes Seokjin was brave to the point of self-sabotage.

“I'm not so tired,” Yoongi added, a few moments later. His voice was a deep rumble, as if he didn’t really want to be heard. “I slept on the train.”

Ducking to take Yoongi’s bag from him, Seokjin huffed out a laugh. “Five more minutes with father and you’d be in need of more,” he warned.

The new lodger ducked his head, but didn’t object any further, relinquishing his grasp on the bag. Taehyung smiled, rushing forward to open the door to the garden and the winding path down to the river. Yoongi met his gaze as he stepped over the threshold. There was something about it, the way he looked away so quickly. If he wasn’t sure before, Taehyung was convinced now. Min Yoongi wasn’t what his father thought.

Yoongi coughed. Avoiding Taehyung’s gaze, he homed in on Namjoon. “I can find my own way, I’m sure -"

“It’s not a problem, Mr Min.” Namjoon held up his hand, easy and welcoming; the epitome of his nature. “We’re happy to do it.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened at the formal address. He was so young, Taehyung reasoned. He probably wasn’t used to it. Instead, he nodded, letting himself be led down the path.

As Namjoon began to explain about the renovations their father had commissioned on the boat house, the figure of Jeongguk appeared from behind the hedgerow at the end of the garden. Jeongguk often appeared from the foliage like that, being one of the few that knew the hidden pathways leading to the forest beyond. Little sprite, that’s what Seokjin used to call him.

“That’s just Jeongguk,” Seokjin said now, at Yoongi’s slightly alarmed look. “He trespasses a lot. Taehyung?” Taehyung lifted his head from where he’d been bringing up the rear. “Think he wants you.”

Sure enough, Jeongguk was staring at him, outrage painted across his face. For someone who wasn’t even technically a family member, he got awfully sensitive if he wasn’t kept up to date with goings-on in the house.

With a small groan Taehyung jogged over. He’d get Seokjin to fill him in on any details he missed later. Together they’d form an elaborate backstory for Yoongi, no doubt. Maybe he’d been a soldier, only to lose all of his memories after coming home from war? Or perhaps a resistance spy? A young lover, torn apart from his beloved, roaming the country for any sign of her?

“Who’s he?” Jeongguk asked as Taehyung reached his shoulder, nodding to the rest.

“New lodger. Min Yoongi,” Taehyung said, daydreams cut short. He sounded out the letters, watching the gateway to the lower part of the garden swing shut, the hum of polite conversation growing quieter and quieter until it vanished. Next to him, Jeongguk sniffed, flapping away a bee buzzing around his head. “I like him,” Taehyung announced. He turned to Jeongguk. “We’re going to be friends.”

The corners of Jeongguk’s lips tugged downwards. “Hasn’t he just arrived?” he said, nonplussed. “He might not like you.”

“Jeongguk, please.” Taehyung scoffed, pulling his friend back towards the house. “I’m going to be charming,” he explained.

Their feet sank into the soft grass with each step. “Oh,” Jeongguk nudged his side as they walked, smile overtaking his tone. “Well, then he definitely won’t like you.”

~

Yoongi stared at his bag, placed squarely on the end of the neatly made bed. The oldest son had given him a sweet smile as he’d placed it there. Look at that, his smile had said, look how polite I am, how well-raised, how proper.

At least, that’s what Yoongi had expected. His plan had been to hide away in this room and write. Away from Daegu, the marching soldiers, and the watching eyes of his abandoned responsibilities. If that meant putting up with an old businessman and his entitled offspring for the season, then so be it. They could look down on him, he’d look right back at them. They could talk about their fancy education, he’d listen. They could float by in their smart suits and ruffled shirts, he’d let them keep on walking.

But what he’d seen the few hours he’d been there was much worse. They were beautiful.

He huffed, stalking over to the bed and hauling his bag to the floor. Dropping down on top of the covers, he sunk into the mattress, suppressing a scowl at the softness of it. From this position he could just see the tops of the trees beyond the end of the garden and into the wilderness. The Hyeongsan river bubbled out of sight. Even the disregarded boat house felt lavish and there he was, tainting it with his facade of belonging. This stupid suit. He’d looked like yesterday’s leftovers compared to those brothers. Maybe the letter from Jae Sungsoo had blinded the father, but the sons would see right through him if they just turned to look at him face on. He needed to change his plan. But how?

The room didn’t offer him any inspiration. He might have been generous calling it lavish. Comfortable, clean, tidy. There’s not much more he could want; a small stove tucked against the wall, a soft bed, a dresser big enough to fit all of his clothes twice over. Across the room stood a modest writing table. He could already picture himself hunched over the wood, late at night, moonlight reflecting in the water.

On the back wall three small frames hung in a row, flowers pressed against a white background. Were they from the garden? He’d only seen a small part of it on his way through, but he must have seen a thousand flowers in bloom. Yoongi smiled; the middle frame tilted to the left. The imperfection settled him.

Could it be that the sons had had a hand in furnishing this place? He couldn’t imagine Mr Kim taking the time to choose and hang such delicate things.

That father though, he was like something straight out of a fairytale. The way his fingers had curled around his son’s shoulder. Yoongi shuddered, shaking off the phantom pressure against his skin. The lie had been a bad idea from the start, but he’d talked himself into it. Now he was going to have to stick with it. Something told him that Kim Jungsoo wasn’t a man to easily forget or forgive.

That’s when it struck him. That was his story, sitting right in front of him. He rose, swinging his feet to the floor, ideas flying through his mind. That beautiful family, that large house with its blooming garden, that overbearing father. They couldn’t be as sweet and innocent as they first seemed. Something sordid lay beneath the surface, it must do. Yoongi would root it out, bring it to the fore.

If he didn’t find anything? Well, no matter what he’d told Jungsoo, he was writing fiction. He’d make up something that was suitably wretched. Yoongi may be ugly, but he could take their beauty and capture it. He could shove it into the light and expose their every defect. There was poetry in that.

The oldest son’s smile swam back into his mind’s eye and his excitement stalled. The self congratulation had vanished from the picture, now, washed away to reveal his genuine kindness, openness, and hope for friendship. His stomach churned as he recalled meeting him. From the moment that Yoongi had walked into the parlour room, had been alone with Seokjin and his father, he had seen it. A youthful glow hidden by the shadow of duty. Yoongi stood in that shadow as well.

Even during the short walk to his lodgings, it had been written across his face. Look at me, talk to me, tell me what it’s like. He must have known how obvious he was being and yet he continued even after Yoongi stood in the middle of his room, run out of things to say. Maybe it was even worse than he had imagined here if this handsome, charming, bright man looked at him like he was opening the door to some secret kingdom.

He sighed, curling his knees into his chest. So maybe he would use some artistic license. Change their names, obviously. Perhaps it was the father that could be absent? Yes, and a distant mother, raised by nannies. Wonderful. The sons would never even find out he’d used them as inspiration. Why would they? They would forget him the moment the first leaves fell from the trees. Seokjin could continue his impotent rebellion against adulthood undisturbed.

That wasn’t even taking into account the second son. Yoongi chuckled to himself, recalling the continuous stream of consciousness that had spilled from Namjoon’s lips once he’d gotten going. And Yoongi had taken him as a kindred spirit to start with, a quiet soul who’d know when to leave him be. The man was clearly intelligent, miles beyond what Yoongi could claim, and yet he’d asked Yoongi questions as if he were an equal. As if Yoongi had anywhere near the education or skills that he possessed. Was it naivete? Perhaps Namjoon really had no idea what went on beyond the walls of River House. Yoongi doubted it. There was a mix of pride and guilt in those eyes. Maybe it was telling that he’d spotted Yoongi as a contemporary so quickly.

And then, of course, Taehyung. A smile to fall in love with, that’s what his mother used to say. But Yoongi wasn’t there for any nonsense like that. There was no denying he was enchanting, though. He’d managed to cast even the severe father Jungsoo under his spell, if only a little. Maybe he reminded the old man of his dead wife. Was she dead? Yoongi couldn’t imagine her leaving those three sons for any other reason. But then, life was a funny thing.

Was that the twist for his story? He chewed his lip, fingers itching for his notepad, buried deep in his bag. But travelling all morning had left him lethargic and, instead, he remained on the bed.

He pictured Taehyung, that delicate blush as he’d been caught staring. Lids heavy, eyes dark, lips curved down, there was an intensity to him that had Yoongi questioning. It was as if he knew, could tell already that Yoongi wasn’t to be trusted. He’d been glad when the other boy had dragged him away. The scrutiny had made his skin tingle in a way he wasn’t familiar with.

The loud rumbling of his stomach interrupted his thoughts. You couldn’t eat ideas, Yoongi knew that well enough. He heaved himself up, mind already contemplating the gate that Seokjin had spoken of, that led to the main city and supplies.

It was as he left the boat house, letting himself linger for a while to let the suns rays beat down on him that he heard it.

“Why would he come here?”

Someone was having a conversation just on the other side of the wall. A short but fierce battle raged in his head before he stepped into the hedgerow, careful not to rustle against the branches. If he was going to find out what made this family tick, he couldn’t pass up an opportunity like this when it presented itself so easily. The brick wall was hot against his fingers and he listened to whoever was beyond it.

“If you think he’s lying about something, I don’t know, Tae. Maybe we should tell your father.”

Tae. Was it that younger boy, who’d dragged Taehyung off? The voice had that whiny undercurrent to it, that came hand in hand with the last vestiges of childhood. As if it threatened to crack at any moment. What did they suspect him of? He’d barely said two words to the pair of them. Even if they had found him out already, they couldn’t have any proof of it.

“Tell him what?” Taehyung’s voice responded, distinctive and already so recognisable to Yoongi. He wondered what he sounded like first thing in the morning. “Besides, I said I think he’s interesting. What else would we be doing all summer?”

Yoongi grinned. Satisfied with what he’d head, he left them to it, returning to the path. Taehyung wouldn’t be telling his father anything, Yoongi was sure of it. If Taehyung found him interesting, then he’d use that to his advantage, without questioning why. Foolish of Taehyung, really, not to heed the warning signs.

As he scrambled behind the tall, coarse grass that hid the gate, he whistled happily to himself. He’d figure them out. A perfect puzzle to spend the summer solving.

~

June 1994

Hoseok slammed the pile of books on the checkout desk.

If there was one place in Gyeongju that he missed visiting when his grandfather had passed away, it was Hwangseong Park. Admittedly, he hadn’t set foot inside the library before, preferring to view it from the outside on his way to one of the football pitches. Even as a child he’d been a little in awe of the mystery of the building, wondering what important business the people going in and out were attending to.

He’d gone back to the house in the early hours of the morning, relieved to find it just as he’d left it. Even Hoseok realised, though, that the best place to start uncovering the history of the place was not the building itself.

It was the home of the rich. And if there’s one thing people liked to talk about, it was the mistakes that rich people made. If he pulled all the books in the library he could find on Gyeongju high society, he was bound to find something.

The trouble was that he was guessing. Though Hoseok was a good guesser, even going through a few decades was enough for a dozen books to pile into his arms. He’d started at nineteen hundred and five and carried on until nineteen twenty-five, more than enough for his first day.

“Sure is a lot of books for someone not staying long,” came a vaguely familiar voice from behind the wonky tower.

Hoseok drew his eyebrows together before the person at the desk shoved the books to one side. The man from the gym, still smiling away at him. Did he ever stop?

“Are - Are you everywhere?” Hoseok blurted out, somewhat incredulous.

The man chuckled and took the first book from the pile, opening the cover. “Been thinking about me?” he said. As the stamp clanked on the page, Gym Guy wiggled his eyebrows.

Hoseok hummed. “You made an odd impression.”

“I do that.”

“Say,” Hoseok drew out the word. He was either going to really regret it, or it was a masterstroke. Some local knowledge was precisely what he needed. “Are you from around here?”

He didn’t miss the smirk working its way across the other man’s face. “Uh huh.” He looked up at him through thick eyelashes. “You after a tour?”

“Not quite. I’m researching.”

The man snorted, waving the seventh book to be stamped. “I can see.”

Ignoring the teasing, Hoseok kept his focus. “Do you know where I could find out about families in the area? The older families, I mean.”

“My grandma, probably,” Gym Guy muttered. When Hoseok let out a long sigh, however, the librarian rolled his eyes. “I might be able to help,” he said. “I’m a bit of a local history buff.”

“Hence the library?”

He shrugged. “Guys got to eat. Oh,” he smiled again, tapping his fingers against the desk. “Are you one of those heir hunters, trying to track down a lost fortune?”

Hoseok knew just the kind of people he was talking about, he’d seen daytime television. The people who would light up at the idea of an old lady dying along, with no family to speak of. They’d find a distant cousin who had never even known of her existence and deliver to them an unexpected fortune. For a small commission, of course.

There was a moment after Hoseok had broken up with his last boyfriend that he had envisioned a future where he was that withered old dear, no one to miss him after he was gone. He’d stopped watching soon after that, embarrassed at his own melodrama.

He coughed, instead offering, “Sorry to disappoint. I came across an old house yesterday, wanted to find out who lived there.” It sounded bizarre to say it out loud, and he quirked his lip, hoping to show just how casual he was about the whole idea, nevermind the story the mountain of books told. “Kill some time.”

“Old house, huh? There’s a few of those.” Gym Guy narrowed his eyes. “Did the owners not know?”

“Looked abandoned.”

The other man leant back in his chair then, blinking up at Hoseok, slight twinkle forming in his eyes. “You don’t mean River House?” he said, a little breathlessly.

Hoseok paused. River House. That sounded nice. “I don’t know,” he replied. “Do I?”

Gym Guy raised his hands above his head. “Big old garden, backs onto the river? Sealed up like a time capsule?”

“Yeah, actually.” Holy shit. Was this random guy from the gym actually the answer to all of his questions?

“Oh, awesome. Eunji,” the man yelled over his shoulder. Hoseok startled. For a small guy, he had a loud voice. “Can you take over?” An older looking woman half hidden in the shelves behind them barely spared him a glance, waving him off with a grunt. Gym Guy squealed. It was quite cute. “You,” he pointed at Hoseok. “Let’s get coffee. No, no, no, leave those here.”

Hoseok raised his hands from where he’d been reaching towards his books and let himself be dragged with quite a force towards the stairs.

Twenty minutes later and Hoseok was sitting across from Jimin - he had learnt - in a small coffee shop a few minutes walk away from the library. Hoseok had never really felt old before, but surrounded by all these caffeine-fueled students, he was suddenly very aware of his light jeans and simple, stripy t-shirt. Did he fit in, or did they see him for the imposter he was?

He cleared his throat, turning back to Jimin, currently sipping on the largest milkshake Hoseok had ever seen. “Okay, so, River House,” he said. “What do you know?”

“I can tell you the local legend.”

“Legend?”

“Oh, yeah,” the other man nodded, eyes wide. “They should make a tv series out of it. Or, no, it would be a crime drama.”

That had alarm bells ringing in Hoseok’s head. “What crime?”

Jimin clearly heard the curiosity alive in Hoseok’s voice as he leant across the small table and waved his hands around his face. “Murder,” he said in a hushed voice.

“Murder?” Hoseok repeated, somewhat wrongfooted. That surely was a secret worth investigating. Though, could it really be counted as a secret if some random guy from the city knew about it? The police at the time must have been all over it. Perhaps they had even found the killer. The house might have been left in trust, no one willing to buy it, if someone had met such a brutal death there. People were funny like that sometimes.

His shoulders slumped, though Jimin didn’t notice. “Yeah,” he carried on, enthusiasm buzzing through him. “So, it’s nineteen thirty-something and this local fatcat is found dead at a party at his house.”

“River House,” Hoseok clarified, unwilling to let his plan fall down just yet.

“That’s it. Literally hundreds of people around and not one of them saw anything. He was beaten to death in his own study. It was the talk of the town, if my grandma is to be believed. Which she always is, she’s an angel.”

Hoseok smiled. “I’m sure. They solved it, then?”

The other man took a moment to answer, blinking at Hoseok for a few seconds letting out a heavy sigh. “Of a sort,” he said. “One of the sons was arrested.” He wrinkled his nose, stirring the last dregs of his milkshake with his straw. “I think they got it wrong, though.”

“The police?” Hoseok sipped his Americano, shifting in his seat.

“Sure. Were the police really bothered back then?” Jimin extended an open palm across the table and clicked his tongue. “No, just wanted an easy solve. It’s too obvious. Ambitious son murdering his father for the inheritance?” He scoffed. “Amateur hour.”

Settling his forearms on the table, Hoseok sniffed, levelling the other man with a steady look. “I feel like I should mention this now,” he started, “before you say something you’ll regret. I’m actually a police officer. A homicide detective, in fact.”

If Hoseok had been expecting disappointment, or even embarrassment, he got neither. “No shit,” Jimin exclaimed. He laughed, clapping his hands together at his chest. “Even better. You’ll see I’m right.” His expression straightened for just a moment, “I did a project on it, in school,” before he was smiling again.

“On a murder case,” Hoseok deadpanned.

“Local history,” the man added, as if that explained it all. “Hoseok - Can I call you Hoseok?” he asked.

It was Hoseok’s turn to smile. “Sure,” he said.

“You can solve it, then, Detective Hoseok. Properly this time. Find the right end to the story.”

Hoseok returned to his cooling drink. “That was my original plan. I don’t know,” he trailed off, not really certain why he was feeling so unsure about it now. If there had been a murder, if someone had been unjustly convicted, that was a real mystery to solve. It was so long ago, though. If the son truly hadn’t been guilty, something would have come to light by now.

“No, come on, it’ll be great,” Jimin tried, looking put out at his hesitance. “Justice will prevail, especially since,” he nodded, squinting a little.

“Since what?” Hoseok puzzled, not sure what Jimin was getting at.

The other man’s voice softened. “It never went to trial.”

“What do you mean? How could it not go to trial, if they charged him?”

Jimin’s gaze flickered across Hoseok’s face. “He died before the court could hear it.”

“Died? Shit.”

“Right. You need to prove his innocence. For his family.”

“I’m not proving anything,” Hoseok rebutted. Even if he hadn’t been a police officer, he wasn’t foolish enough to go promising things to perfect strangers. No matter how much he agreed. Or how cute they were. “I might look into it, though. As a hobby.”

Jimin grinned.

“You work at the gym as well then?” Hoseok asked. As interesting as he found River House, it was nice to meet someone new. He could tell Cho about it, when he got back to Seoul. See, could say, I can make new friends.

“Day classes,” Jimin explained. “Between my lectures. You know how it is.”

Hoseok didn’t. “You at the university here?”

“It’s easier, I can stay with Grandma.”

“Let me guess,” Hoseok grinned. “Performing Arts major?”

Letting out a small chuckle. “You got it the wrong way around. History,” he said, fiddling with his straw. “I like dancing, but not - Ah, anyway,” he shrugged. “How come you were down by the river, anyway?”

It was easy to talk to Jimin, Hoseok found. The pair chatted away for long enough that Hoseok ordered another coffee, Jimin joining him this time, avoiding a second milkshake. Hoseok noticed, however, that the other man steered away from personal questions almost as well as Hoseok himself. Cho would have had something to say about that, but Hoseok just took comfort in it. If Jimin didn’t want to talk about his own past, that was fine. Anything that relieved Hoseok from having to talk about the reason he’d ended up in Gyeongju was just fine.

The steady flow of students began to dry up and Hoseok stretched his arms over his head. “Well, Jimin,” he said, smiling over at the other ma. “Thank you for the history lesson. It’s been very enlightening.”

“The first of many,” Jimin replied.

“You’re alarmingly confident.”

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “Every great detective has a sidekick.”

Hoseok laughed, not missing the way Jimin’s smile grew wider. “You want to be my sidekick?” he challenged.

“I don’t want to, Hoseok,” Jimin said, fixing his expression into a serious pout. “I already am.” He lifted his hands in an apologetic shrug. “I don’t make the rules.”

“You’ve literally just made that one up.”

But his protests fell on deaf ears. By the time he left the cafe for the cooling pavement, he had Jimin’s number scrawled on the back of his hand and firm instructions to meet him back at the library after his shift tomorrow.

Something told him that once Jimin decided he was going to be your friend, you had no choice in the matter. And, perhaps, that was just the kind of friend that Hoseok needed right now.

Chapter Text

“The sound of cicadas that chirred like showers end in an instant.

In the abrupt silence,

I realise life’s intense beauty.

Just the fact that you are in it makes all the difference.

Even if this were all a dream,

this is where I choose to be.”

  June 1933

“Master Taehyung, your father was looking for you.”

Taehyung grimaced, slowing to a stop and turning to Ilsung. “Was it urgent?” he asked. He crossed his fingers behind his back. Seokjin would have laughed at him if he’d seen, but sometimes a little bit of extra luck was needed.

The gardener leaned on his shovel, scratching his forehead under his cap. “He didn’t say.”

“Maybe you didn’t see me?” Taehyung tried, smiling brightly. “Maybe I went through the walled gardens?” He leant closer, lowering his voice, “I have to be careful in the sun, you know.”

A wide smile cracked the old man’s grumpy facade. “Right you are, little Master. Wouldn’t do to burn.”

Taehyung let out a pleased hum and spun on his heel, skipping the rest of the way down the path. Take that, imaginary Seokjin. Ilsung’s chuckles followed him across the lawn and to the gate to where the boat house hid.

Stopping at the threshold Taehyung bit his lip. Would Yoongi find skipping silly? Something that children did? The more that Taehyung learnt about their new lodger, the more certain he became that Yoongi lived just the kind of life Taehyung wanted. Yoongi had travelled. He’d been all over the country, had met so many different people, seen so many different things. If Taehyung was going to have any impact on him, he needed to show him just how serious he was.

Perhaps if his father saw how well Yoongi did, out in the world, maybe Taehyung stood a chance, no matter how little.

He sniffed, nodding to himself as he tightened his grip on his journal and stepped on through the gate.

“Yoongi,” he called. The other man was already outside, his head ducked close to Seokjin and Namjoon.

“Ah, good morning, Taehyung.” Yoongi smiled at him, standing up quickly and brushing down his trousers. Were his eyes crinkled because he was happy to see Taehyung? Maybe it was just the sun making him squint.

Either way, Taehyung bounced on the balls of his feet. “Are you ready?” he asked, a little breathless.

Yoongi let out a low chuckle. “It’s ten o’clock, isn’t it?”

Down on the ground, Seokjin and Namjoon were sprawled lazily under the shade of the tall grass. Around them books were spread out, unopened, uncapped pens scattered in the mix. Taehyung frowned for a moment. How long had they been out here, distracting each other?

“What’s on the itinerary today?” Namjoon asked. His cuffs were stained with grass, but the relaxed glow in his skin painted him in a carefree light.

Taehyung coughed. “Mother’s garden and the woods.” His voice sounded stilted in his own ears, his brother’s leisurely mood wrong footing him. It wasn’t that Namjoon was unfriendly or standoffish, but this level of easiness with someone outside of the family was unheard of, not including Jeongguk of course. He’d had few friends at school, one of his more sensitive teachers going as far as to suggest that he tone down his vocabulary to save scaring the other boys off. But Taehyung knew Namjoon liked it that way, that it was by design. Seokjin, Taehyung and Jeongguk were enough for him. And now, perhaps Yoongi could be added to that list.

“Watch out for dokkaebi,” Seokjin sang, smirking into a book that he’d finally opened.

Next to Taehyung, Yoongi had shoved his hands in his pocket. He was squinting up at the sky, at a point just above Taehyung’s head. The closeness of his gaze had a strange affect on Taehyung. He was just out of reach. All Yoongi had to do was drop his eyes and he’d see him; he was right there. When Yoongi did just that, Taehyung’s stomach twisted.  

“I’ll protect him,” Yoongi said, casually.

“I can protect myself.” The words spilled from Taehyung’s lips without him thinking about them. He stuttered, blushing. “I mean, dokkaebi aren’t real.”

As if he could read Taehyung’s mind, Seokjin bit down a grin. “Are you sure?”

The blush was working its way down his neck now and Taehyung willed it away. “Yes,” he bit out. “Go away.”

Namjoon snorted at the display. “Okay, okay.” He raised a hand in defeat. “We won’t disturb you.”

All the while he could feel Yoongi watching him, expression blank, as if he had no idea how much Taehyung wanted to impress him. Taehyung spun on his feet. The quicker they got away from his older brothers, the better.

“I didn’t know your mother had her own garden here.” Yoongi’s voice was low and a little gravelly. He squinted in the light as they passed back towards the grass. A winter creature, maybe.

Taehyung nodded. He’d almost forgotten what he was there for. “Yes, just across the main lawns.”

With his arm outstretched, Yoongi demurred, “We’ll be sure to stick to the paths.”

When Taehyung pouted, Yoongi simply winked. It happened so quickly that Taehyung wasn’t sure he’d seen it. The other man had already stalked off towards the opposite path, leaving Taehyung staring opened mouthed and a little red-faced at his back.

Jogging to catch up and sparing a quick glance up towards the house - no Father in sight - Taehyung cleared his throat. He was the guide here. He was in charge.

“Is Jeongguk joining us again?” Yoongi asked.

“Is it okay?” Taehyung turned to Yoongi, wary. “He’s here most days. His parents stay in Seoul a lot and he hasn’t got any brothers or sisters,” he trailed off, unsure why he was bothering to justify himself.

Yoongi pursed his lips, dismissive, “Of course it is. I just - Well.” He laughed, scratching his nose and squinting towards Taehyung. “I just like our tours, that’s all.”

Heat coursed through Taehyung’s cheeks once more. “Oh,” he breathed, fiddling with his hair. “He won’t be here until a little later.”

It was so quiet that he almost missed Yoongi mumble under his breath, “Good.”

Biting his lip as he gripped the cast iron bolt on the gate leading to his mother’s garden, Taehyung took a breath. No matter how discombobulated Yoongi was making him feel, this was one of the few places that he could be truly quiet in, where he could think and relax and recharge away from all expectations; his own, or his father’s. Please let Yoongi like it.

The gate swung open and he heard a low whistle behind his shoulder. Pleased, he stepped further in, holding off on looking at Yoongi’s expression. It was the best part, when people saw it for the first time; he wanted to savour it.  

“It was a rose garden, apparently, but we have so many roses already. Mother turned it around, let nature take over a little.” He paused for a moment, watching the sunlight dancing across the surface of the pond in the centre. “Finding the right balance.”

Pushing forward, Yoongi explored. Taehyung held back, eyes tracking his movements. The garden was surrounded on all sides by high stone walls, though you could barely make them out behind the overgrown trees. All around the pathways, flowers and greenery encroached. Colours burst on all levels, distracting the eyes, red, orange, blue, purple, yellow. Tall stems towered over head from the central beds, leaves large and green. The splash of life in the small pond provided a calming accompaniment.

Yoongi eyes were wide as he followed the meandering path, fingers reaching out while he walked, skimming against the delicate petals.

After a few minutes, Taehyung wandered over to where Yoongi was crouched down, examining a collection of blue and white flowers, pointed like stars. “It really is beautiful,” he said, rising to feet. A swell of pride rose in Taehyung’s chest, he’d have to remember to tell Seokjin. “What was she like, your mother?”

Pausing, Taehyung considered it for a moment, eyes narrowed. He’d already shown him his mother’s garden, what harm would it do to take him to the grove as well? He licked his lips, nodding towards the gate hidden in the rear wall. “I could show you some more?” he asked, quite, hesitant.

It took barely a moment for the corner of Yoongi’s eyes to crinkle

“Come on,” he said, and he grabbed Yoongi’s wrist, pulling him along as he scampered towards the forest.

The grove was only a few metres away from their den, designed that way, to save them from wondering off and getting lost as children. Now, though, Taehyung - all of them, in fact - could find their way around the forest with ease. They’d been walking for five or so minutes when a path emerged through the trees. A small circle in the dense foliage, surrounded on all sides by the trucks of the maple trees. If you looked closely, you could spot the light reflecting off the birch tree’s further in.

Yoongi stopped short. “It’s like we’ve interrupted a conference for all the woodland creatures,” he said, smiling. When Taehyung responded in kind, Yoongi’s face dropped and he turned away, sucking on his teeth.

“It’s our Faery Grove,” Taehyung carried on, regardless. “Mother created it.”

“Busy woman,” Yoongi muttered, but Taehyung didn’t hear him.

“We used to come here every day. Seokjin and Namjoon and me. And Jeongguk, as well. We each had a seat.” He pointed to each tree in turn, ending on his old spot where he’d carved out pictures in the bark, so eager to have something for his own. “Mother would sit here and tell us stories about faeries and sprites, chollima and kumiho, haetae and inmyeonjo. All the myths, as well, Namu Doryeong and Barigongju.” He grinned at the memories, turning his twinkling eyes to Yoongi, listening intently. “When we’d got through them all, she’d make new ones up for us. And we play games, learn about the forest and the animals.” He sighed, slumping a little. “It was the most wonderful time. Then she got ill,” he said. “It felt like it happened so fast. One day she was running out to the den with us, the next, she was gone.” There had been doctors and family visits and people from the church. Every single one of them had looked at the small boys lingering in the corridor with undisguised pity. Like their mother hadn’t stood a chance. Taehyung coughed. “The grove is the only place I can really remember her now.”

As he talked, Yoongi had settled down on the ground. He looked up at Taehyung through narrowed eyes. “I think you must be like her,” he said. It was the finality of his tone that had Taehyung wondering, what exactly had he seen in him, to make him so sure?

“Really?” he asked, ducking his head when he was unable to keep the smile off his face.

“Yeah.”

“I’m not -” Taehyung started. He ground his teeth, staring at the spot on where he’d carved out his crown, so many years before. How could he get Yoongi to see? “I’m not a child. It’s just, I’m the youngest, so -”

“You’ll always be a baby to everyone, I know.” Yoongi shrugged, “Don’t worry about it, Taehyung. It happens in most families.”

“Does it?” he replied lightly. “We don’t really meet other families.”

“None? Not even growing up?”

The thinly disguised shock in Yoongi’s voice had Taehyung dropping his gaze. “Well, yes, Father throws parties, people come over,” he mumbled. “When we were younger we’d play with the other children, but nobody really visited a second time. Maybe the adults did, I can’t remember. If Mother had been around,” he trailed off. He’d said too much.  

Yoongi didn’t look perturbed. If anything, his smile was fond. “You’ve got a good family. Your brothers, Jeongguk,” he said. Taehyung tugged at a strand of his own dark hair, Yoongi frowning at him. “What?”

“You’re being so nice to me,” Taehyung replied.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Should Taehyung tell him? How poorly people hid their smirks when they spoke to him? How their eyes glazed over, uncomprehending of his enthusiasm? No. He had a sense that Yoongi already knew. “Can I tell you something?” he said instead. “And you won’t laugh?”

“Promise.”

“What I want to do, when I’m -” he stopped cut himself off.

“Grown up?” Yoongi finished for him.

Heat rose in Taehyung’s cheeks but he fought through it. “Yes. I want to design gardens. Make the things that I can imagine real.” He took a breath, feeling the air from the grove fill his lungs, making him braver. “I told Father and he said it was nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense,” Yoongi exclaimed. A crease had formed in between his brow though his eyes were wider. “It’s perfect. You’d be perfect at it.”

“Do you really think so?” Taehyung replied, softly. He had the distinct feeling that he was being closely observed and worked hard to temper his relief.

“I know it.” Yoongi nudged Taehyung then, waking him up from the slight daze he found himself in. “You’d better show me back to the house. I’d get lost in a second out here on my own.”

Taehyung laughed gently, nodding through the trees. “Stick close, then.”

He took them by the river this time, a slightly longer route, though Yoongi didn’t seem to notice. The other man kept pace with his long strides happily, hands clasped behind his back. Taehyung relished the shade against his skin, the sound of the river bubbling ahead.

“Were your parents happy about you becoming a writer?” he asked, unwilling to let go of the familiar atmosphere that had formed between them.

To his surprise, Yoongi let out a derisive huff. “I don’t think happy is the word.” There was a story there, one that Taehyung hoped he would learn someday. “But, it didn’t stop me. And it shouldn’t stop you.” Yoongi quirked an eyebrow at him. “I can see it now. Kim Taehyung, the country’s most sought after landscaper.”

“No,” Taehyung brushed off. He clenched his hands tightly at his sides. “That’s silly.”

“It’s not. You could design gardens for all the military generals,” Yoongi carried on, undeterred. “Be the biggest name in the business. You’d be drinking soju from silver goblets every night.”

Taehyung hummed. “And people say I have an imagination.” After a moment’s hesitation, he added, “I’d rather design a garden for the princess.”

The expression that worked its way onto Yoongi’s face was nothing short of delighted. “Princess? How romantic you are.”

Letting himself bask in the attention for a moment, Taehyung stayed quiet. The ground was soft beneath his feet, the birds sang in the sky, not another person was in sight. He didn’t think it would spoil the moment, to ask now.

“You write stories, don’t you? That’s what you lied to father about.”

Yoongi faltered for a second, panic-ridden eyes flicking towards Taehyung. His face relaxed, though, at the hopeful expression Taehyung wore. “Was I so obvious?” he grumbled, gnawing at his lip.

“Suspicious, maybe.” Taehyung shrugged. Acting on a hunch, he added, softly, “He won’t find out. Not from me.”

Yoongi was silent as they walked on and Taehyung let it be. The other man seemed to be doing some serious thinking. “You don’t think I’m a fraud?” he spoke up, eventually.

“No,” Taehyung replied. “Unless you’re hiding something else, too. Who are you, Min Yoongi?” He sent Yoongi a small smile. The other man’s mouth twitched. After satisfying himself that the way the Yoongi had slipped his hands into his pockets meant he was comfortable, not angry, Taehyung said, voice light, “You could write about us. Maybe you are already? Shall I be your tragic hero?”

Yoongi sent him a quizzical look before pouting a little. “How would it end?” he asked, eyes scanning Taehyung’s face.

“You’re the author,” Taehyung said, pressing forward and turning to look at Yoongi over his shoulder. “You tell me.”

They’d reached the edge of the river at this point. Taehyung spared a glance at its murky depths before striding along the bank towards the familiar figure waiting for him on the lawn.

“There you are,” Jeongguk called over, arms crossed over his chest. He flicked Taehyung’s shoulder once he was in reaching distance. “I was about to send out a search party.”

From behind him Yoongi explained. “Taehyung was showing me the Faery Grove.”

At his words Jeongguk’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead. “The grove? I thought that was a secret.” He sent Taehyung a look, as if to say ‘we’ll talk about this later, in great detail’.

Taehyung squirmed. “When we were children.”

“I see,” Jeongguk replied with a slight snap to his words. He wasn’t truly annoyed, Taehyung knew his friend well enough, but he wasn’t foolish enough to think that this was the last he’d hear of it.

“Yoongi thinks I could make it, designing gardens,” he replied, instead.

“Of course you could,” Jeongguk said, frowning a little. “Who said you couldn’t?”

Taehyung almost laughed. “Father did. Jeongguk, do you forget our conversations so easily?” he teased.

“No. Not at all,” his friend protested, though Taehyung was pleased to see a faint reddening of his ears. It did Jeongguk good to mess up sometimes. “Perhaps your father doesn’t know everything.”

“Someone alert the printing press,” Yoongi interrupted and the two of them jerked their heads towards him, eyes wide. Though Jeongguk was probably flustered at the comment, Taehyung was impressed. It was rare for anyone to pick up on Jeongguk’s willingness to bend to wisdom of his elders. Most people saw only a polite, respectful young man, barely noticing how oddly it sat with an otherwise stubborn and independent character like Jeongguk. “Sorry. I’m teasing you,” Yoongi commented at their alarmed expressions. “You’re so young, I’ll stop.”

Jeongguk bristled. “I’m getting older.”

“Yes, you are,” he relented. “Older and wiser.”

Taehyung watched with interest as Jeongguk worked his jaw, eyeing Yoongi up. “My mother’s cousin is a writer. Poetry,” he said. “He lives off an allowance, but he’s well respected. I suppose it’s more of a hobby, really, but,” he trailed off, gazed fixed on the other man.

Thankfully, Yoongi seemed to understand what Jeongguk was trying to say. “That’s good to know,” he said, slowly.

“I mean, it’s not so bad,” Jeongguk clarified.

“No. Thank you.” Yoongi pressed his lips together, eyes flickering to Taehyung for a moment before fully turning to Jeongguk. “Art isn’t limited to the realms of being a hobby.” He eyed the camera box strung carefully over Jeongguk’s shoulder. “The light was nice, in the wall garden,” he said, with a smile, before nodding a goodbye and heading back across the lawn to the boathouse.

Once he was out of sight, Taehyung shoved Jeongguk’s chest. “‘He lives off an allowance’?”

“Shush.”

Jeongguk fiddled with his hair, nose wrinkling. Taehyung cracked. “Thank you,” he mumbled, knocking his friend’s foot.

He would have thought Jeongguk hadn’t heard him if it wasn’t for the slight curve at the corners of his mouth as he pulled Taehyung by the elbow, towards the garden gate.

~

Namjoon closed his bedroom door, wincing as he released the door knob as quietly as possible.

His brothers had learnt years ago that he needed time to himself every now and again. Despite their best intentions, however, they often seemed to forget, interrupting Namjoon wherever he’d managed to secret himself away.

So it was with small hope that Namjoon sat down at his desk, thoughts of writing a letter to his mother’s brother. The other man had been missing for several years, but it would be wrong to give up on him entirely, the only link to their mother they had left.

His pen scrawled across the paper as he set about describing everything that had happened at the house since his last update. The death of old Yoo Byunggye from the nearby town, the early preparation for the summer party, the arrival of Min Yoongi. He’d almost finished, his pen hovering in the air, considering whether he should include his own worries about Seokjin when someone knocked on his door.

“Sorry.” Seokjin himself curled his head around the door, a guilty grimace on his face.

“It’s fine,” Namjoon said, turning in his chair to face his brother as he stepped into the room and sat on the bed. He wasn’t lying, Seokjin having left him alone for much longer than he had expected.

“Are you okay?”

Namjoon frowned at the question. “Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You snuck off,” Seokjin said, casually, eyes twinkling.

It was something he did a lot, offering insight into actions Namjoon always thought were innocuous. It would be annoying if he wasn’t always right. When they were younger Seokjin had tried to convinced Namjoon that he could read people’s minds. Namjoon always wondered whether there wasn’t a drop of truth to it.

Instead of answering, Namjoon cocked his head, wrinkling his forehead. “What do you think of Yoongi?” he asked.

Seokjin levelled him with a look, one that clearly told Namjoon he wasn’t off the hook, before leaning back on his arms. “Well, I like him,” he said. “I thought you did as well?”

“No, I do,” Namjoon nodded. “I just -” he licked his lips, eyes flitting to his bedroom door. “Taehyung likes him.”

Seokjin laughed. “Of course he does. Taehyung likes everyone.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

And his brother knew it, of course. The pair had come to an unspoken agreement about Taehyung long ago, that he must be protected. Men like him didn’t do well. The great and good of society would eat him alive, just because he was open with his affection. Namjoon had always thought that he would learn to temper himself before his tendencies came to a head. Perhaps that moment was closer that either of them had thought.

At his words, Seokjin sombred slightly. “I know,” he said, scratching his ear. “I can speak to him.”

“Taehyung?” Namjoon pouted. They’d said they would never mention it to Taehyung.

“No,” Seokjin scoffed. “Yoongi. Just - Nothing too - I’ll have a word, if you want.”

What would be the best thing to do? It was all so sensitive, Namjoon was nervous to rock the boat unnecessarily. “I don’t know, Seokjin. Maybe there’s no harm in it,” he said, biting his lip. “What do you think?”

“Honestly, I think it’s nice,” he said, lightly. “It’d be good for Taehyung to have more friends. I don’t think Yoongi is a threat.” He glanced out of the window, sun shining through the glass. “Plus, he’s -”

“Seokjin!” Their father’s voice echoed throughout the house.

Seokjin scrunched his eyes shut. “Oh, for the love of God,” he moaned. “Can he not give me just an hour to myself?”

“You should sneak off,” Namjoon offered, forcing down a grin.

Seokjin sent him a withering look.

Footsteps came thudding up the staircase, in the next second their father was swinging the bedroom door open. “What are you two doing up here?” he asked, expression stern. “It’s the middle of the day, don’t you have something to do?”

“I’ve been going over those accounts you left with me all morning,” Seokjin replied, rising to his feet.

Their father remained still, turning an icy glare to his brother. “All morning?” he said, sarcasm dripping from his words. “Well, Seokjin, you’ve clearly learnt all there is to know. Shall I sign over the business to you now?”

Namjoon looked to the ground as Seokjin stuttered, “I didn’t - Of course not Father, I simply meant -”

“You simply thought your opinion held more weight than mine?” Jungsoo carried on, ignoring, or revelling in, his son’s discomfort. “I know what is best for you. For all of you.” Namjoon clenched his fist. It had taken him many years to get back into his father’s good books. Only his desperation to be allowed to study had him silencing his thoughts. Having to remain quiet even now, it cloyed at his stomach, his skin flushing. It was easier this way. His father’s voice cracked like a whip around his room. “And frankly, I’m beginning to get tired of your attitude.”

“Sorry,” Seokjin croaked.

“If you think you can survive out there on your own, be my guest.” Silence. Namjoon dared to raise his eyes for a second, catching Seokjin’s locked jaw, seething impotently. “No?” Jungsoo sneered. “I thought not. Until then, Seokjin, you will do as I say. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Father.”

The tension left their father’s face, though Namjoon and Seokjin remained on edge. Letting your guard down too early with Kim Jungsoo was not a risk worth taking.  “Half an hour,” he said, eyes fixed firmly on Seokjin.

Seokjin nodded. “Thank you, Father,” he called after the man’s retreating back.

The door slammed behind him. In the silence that settled behind him Namjoon could practically hear the self-torment that he knew Seokjin was subjecting himself to.

“Seokjin -”

“No, don’t,” Seokjin cut him off. He sighed, leaning his head against the closed door. “He’s right, he’s right. If I am going to take over the business, I need to know it back to front.”

Before Namjoon could comfort him any further the door rattled, rousing Seokjin from his slump.

As Seokjin stepped back, Yoongi’s face appeared leaning into the room.

“Hello?”

“Oh, it’s busy in here today,” Namjoon groaned.

Pausing in his entrance, Yoongi looked caught out. “I’m sorry,” he said, clutching something close to his chest. His shirt tails were dangling at his sides, ink smudged up the side of his right hand. He was squinting a little, he must have been busy writing.

“No, not you, don’t worry,” he breathed, beckoning Yoongi closer. “Did you pass Father?”

The other man shook his head. “Mr Kim? No. I came up the backstairs.”

“Yoongi,” Jin scoffed from where he had dropped down onto Namjoon’s bed, staring a little morosely at the ceiling. “Those are for the staff, not you.”

Yoongi shrugged, scratching at his ear. He held out the item he’d been cradling. “You left your book near the boat house,” he muttered.

“Thank you,” Namjoon crowed, chair screeching against the floor as he rushed forward to take it. “I completely forgot.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Finished the tour, then?” Seokjin asked, sending Yoongi a small smirk, though he still looked tense.

Yoongi chuckled lightly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Yes. Taehyung is - He’s very kind.”

“He is,” Seokjin chuckled.

“He knows a lot,” Yoongi nodded towards the window, “about the garden.”

Seokjin sat up, swinging his feet to the floor, eyes twinkling. What was he so pleased about? “He wants to be a gardener.”

“Yes,” Yoongi hummed, a smile breaking out across his face. “Landscaper extraordinaire.”

“He told you?” Namjoon blurted out, eyes wide, before grimacing. “Sorry. I mean, he doesn’t usually mention it.”

It didn’t seem to bother the other man, who simply nodded. “He showed me the Faery Grove.”

Namjoon blinked, glancing at Seokjin, who was still looking at Yoongi with that strange, pleased expression. A bizarre feeling washed through Namjoon, then. Taehyung, his youngest brother, had always been a source of unburdened brightness. A friendship with Yoongi, someone who had seen so much more of the world than any of them, could surely only be good for him. Worry gnawed away at his stomach, though. Would it change him? A Taehyung without that carefree youthfulness that radiated from him, Namjoon couldn’t even imagine it.

“He likes you,” Seokjin announced. Namjoon wondered if he was setting a trap, though that wasn’t really Seokjin’s style.

It seemed that Yoongi was thinking something similar. He spoke tentatively, keeping his eyes on Seokjin, as he replied, “And I him.”

“Yes,” Namjoon interrupted. “Taehyung, though. He’s different.” He licked his lips. How best to put it? He needed to be careful. “He’s sensitive, I mean.”

“I have noticed,” Yoongi drawled.

“But he feels things differently,” Namjoon ploughed on, exasperated. “He’s special.”

A line appeared between Yoongi’s eyebrows. “‘Special’?” he repeated.

As Namjoon floundered, Seokjin rose to his feet. He clapped Namjoon’s shoulder. “I think he understands,” he said, looking over to him with a knowing smile.

“Perhaps,” Yoongi spoke up. The two brothers turned to look at him, his cheeks a shade pinker than they had been. “Perhaps, we both feel things differently.” His gaze flicked between the two of them. For the first time, Namjoon thought he looked legitimately nervous under that facade of indifference.

“That would be nice,” Seokjin said softly, breaking the silence.

His words had the desired effect and Yoongi’s shoulders visibly relaxed.

“Father doesn’t think it’s appropriate,” Namjoon added. As pleasing as it was to hear that Taehyung might have met a someone like him, he felt duty bound to warn Yoongi about what life at River House was really like.

“‘It’?”

“The way that he is,” Namjoon said, awkwardly. He grimaced. “Just, be careful.”

To Namjoon’s surprise, Yoongi actually laughed. “I’m always careful, Namjoon.”

It was infectious and Namjoon found himself smiling along, too. “Good. That’s good,” he said. “Sorry for the,” he trailed off, waving his hand vaguely around the room.

“He’s your little brother, I get it. He’s a gentle soul, it’s -” Yoongi pouted, squinting towards the light outside before turning back to Seokjin and Namjoon. “Refreshing.”

“But not just a distraction?”

“No. I don’t get distracted easily.”

At that Seokjin clapped. “Great,” he smiled, looking a lot happier than he had been before Yoongi arrived. “Now that we have that settled, I’ll be in Father’s office.”

Namjoon murmured a quick, ‘Good luck,’ his brother’s way before taking a deep breath. “Want a game of Seotda?” he asked Yoongi.

The other man rubbed his neck, a guilty expression working its way across his face. “I should write some more today.”

Namjoon scoffed, reaching out to guide his friend towards the corner table. “Just one game.”

With little resistance Yoongi dropped onto one of the chairs. “Fine,” he said. “But be gentle with me.”

Namjoon laughed. “Something tells me you’ll hold your own.”

~

July 1933

As Yoongi stood motionless on the patio, staring through the large window, it dawned on him. Who had he been kidding? Waltzing into this place, the realm of people like Seokjin, Namjoon and Taehyung, thinking he could tear it down like he always did? He was completely beaten. He’d hardly been able to put up a fight. Perhaps he’d lost the moment Taehyung had set eyes on him.

They only person he’d been fooling was himself.

Beyond the glass, Taehyung stood in one of the small reception rooms in the house, his back to the window. His polished dark clarinet was grasped between his fingers. The gentle reedy song washed over Yoongi, travelling the distance between them easily.

It had been almost two months since he had arrived at River House and, increasingly, he had been spending most of his days with the younger man. In the shade of the tall grasses, or beneath the roses, or even by the gentle ripple of the river, Taehyung had opened up to him. Yoongi grew to know him. The curve of his lip just before he smiled, the way his fingers curled around his hair when he was nervous, the wrinkle of his nose when he found something funny.

And Yoongi found himself wanting to share parts of himself in turn. He wanted Taehyung to know him, to be able to put a marker down in his own history and say that, yes, Min Yoongi and Kim Taehyung, they were friends, they were something to each other.

A sharp tapping drew him from his thoughts and he looked up to find the music had stopped and Taehyung’s smiling face behind the window pane, waving him inside.

It was rare that he went into the main house, into Kim Jungsoo’s domain. The elder man hadn’t been too involved in the goings-on of Yoongi and his sons, much to Yoongi’s relief.

The hallway was quiet as he made his way to the side room. By the time he stepped over the threshold, Taehyung was waiting for him, grinning at him even as he crossed his arms and clicked his tongue.

“Sorry,” Yoongi started. “I was going to - It was nice.” He quickly guestered at the clarinet Taehyung was still holding. “I didn’t know you played.”

“No, well, I haven’t recently.” Taehyung shrugged, looking up at Yoongi from beneath his long eyelashes. “Been busy.”

God, this man. Yoongi cleared his throat and squinted around the room. It looked smaller from the inside, a room filled with things that had nowhere else to go. Neat, but without order. Several trunks were stacked against one another, the furniture was a mismatch of fabrics. Even wall hangings where atypical to the classic art hanging elsewhere in the house. Here it was woven hangings, fans, wood carvings. Against one wall, almost shoved into the corner, an upright piano was hidden beneath a pile of books.

“What about the piano?” Yoongi asked, shuffling over and reaching out. The bright notes sang in the air when his pressed down on the cool keys.

Taehyung let out a sigh. “Ah, I’m not so good on that. It’s more Jin’s thing. Mother taught him.”

Yoongi nodded. He hadn’t imagined Jungsoo as a particular music lover. “My grandfather taught me,” he offered. “Can I?” He cocked his head, eyebrow raised.

Taehyung practically beamed. “Please.”

It had been a while, but when Yoongi raised both his hands to the keys, he knew exactly what he was going to play. As if a puppeteer were doing the thinking for him, his fingers started to move, the delicate melody of Clair de Lune filled the room.

He startled, however, when a few moments later he heard the clarinet accompaniment join in. He glanced over his shoulder to see Taehyung playing along, eyes focused on Yoongi. The other man inclined his head, swaying with the notes, as Yoongi grinned stupidly.

They carried on like that until the end of the piece. Yoongi willed the moment to continue, to let the warmth building inside him remain there for longer. How could he make this work? There must be way for Yoongi to stop this summer from slipping through his fingers.

“I missed you this morning,” Taehyung said, just as Yoongi let his hands rest on his thighs.

“I had some business in the city.”

Taehyung brightened at this. “Did you see Namjoon? He said had some things to do.”

“I didn’t,” Yoongi replied. “I was a bit all over the place, if I’m honest.” He sucked in a breath, hesitant for just a moment. “I got a letter from my sister. The army have been visiting the farm recently.”

He watched Taehyung’s reaction carefully as the other man frowned, small lines appearing between his eyebrows. “Army?”

“They appropriated some of our land early on, have been after the rest ever since. Seem to be getting more rigorous, now.”

The truth was, Yoongi had been expecting something like this for a while. The reality of it, however, was gnawing away at his stomach. He was so far away. His father would never ask him to return, would never want to give out the impression that he couldn’t handle it, but Yoongi was torn. He should go back, but, he didn’t want to leave.

“I can ask Father, perhaps he could help?”

Yoongi laughed, cutting himself off at Taehyung’s perplexed pout. “No. No, that’s alright, Taehyung.” He leant closer, nudging the other’s leg. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I feel like that’s all I do, these days.”

He frowned at Taehyung’s weary tone. “What do you have to be anxious about?”

The other man fiddled with his cuff for a moment, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, as if he was embarrassed at his own admission. “The future,” he said. “Going out into the world. Seokjin and Namjoon are having a hard time.” He dropped his voice. “They think I don’t know, but I see it. Father can be harsh on me, but he’s harsher on them.” It was such a blunt statement, Yoongi didn’t know what to say. He had always assumed that Taehyung was oblivious to his brothers’ struggles. Apparently he’d underestimated the other man, like everybody else had. “It’s because he loves us. He wants us to do well.”

“I’m sure he does.”

“And then there’s you.”

Yoongi looked up at Taehyung’s fond face. “What about me?”

“I don’t know.” His voice was light, and he was squinting at Yoongi like he was trying to work out a puzzle. Like he really didn’t know. Yoongi squirmed a little. “I suppose I’m scared that next time you lie to me, I won’t be able to tell.”

He sounded sad enough that the guilt washing through Yoongi was tangible. It twisted in his stomach and for a second he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Instead, he reached out, pulling Taehyung to sit next to him on the piano stool, keeping their fingers entwined. He prayed to God that Taehyung couldn’t feel the tremors in his hands.

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” he croaked. “I won’t - I won’t lie to you anymore.”

From the way that Taehyung regarded him, it wasn’t clear if he had believed him. And Taehyung, it seemed, didn’t want to press the matter any further. Perhaps he was nervous to know the truth, as well. Should Yoongi tell him? As soon as the idea form, Yoongi shoved it away, back down into the recesses of his mind. It was too soon.

Taehyung took a deep breath. “Tell me what your book’s about, then,” he said, brightly.

Yoongi whined, pulling his hand away to drag it over his face. “You know what it’s about.”

“But, tell me,” Taehyung teased.

“You,” he sighed. “And Seokjin, and Namjoon, and Jeongguk.”

“And Father?”

The honest answer was that Yoongi made the mother figure in his book the villain, the wretched source of neglect and treachery. He was sure Taehyung wouldn’t take kindly to anyone besmirching his mother’s memory, even in a fictional world. “Someone like him,” Yoongi settled on. He narrowed his lips. “I get scared as well.”

Taehyung scoffed. “That’s the lie, then.”

At the words, though said jest, Yoongi’s heart plummeted and he tried to keep the disappointment from his face. “Shush, no it’s not,” he replied. “Of course I get scared.”

“But you’ve done so much. You’ve travelled, you’ve gone off on adventures by yourself, you’re living out your dreams.”

“Yes, and that’s amazing, but terrifying as well. Every day I think that perhaps this is it, the day that I’ll have to stop, find a proper job, be a proper, upstanding citizen, you know?”

He’d dreaded it, when he was younger, watching all the adults around him fall into line, become what only months ago they’d been resisting with all their might. Even when he saw the consequences of going against the crowd, when his mother begged him to keep his head down, when his father got him a job at the railway, he couldn’t stick it. As long as he was smart about it, he knew he’d be okay. Just because he wasn’t rich or influential, it didn’t mean he couldn’t be free.

“You are upstanding,” Taehyung protested, pulling a chuckle from him. If only Taehyung knew.

Yoongi shook his head. “It’s not just that. I’m constantly scared that my parents will change their mind and cut me off after all. Or, something will happen to my sister while I’m not there, you know?” The thought continued to spill from his lips, one that he’d previously left dormant, deliberately avoided. “That maybe she’ll realise that I’m not the amazing big brother she seems to think I am.”

The weight of Taehyung’s undivided gaze was heavy and he dropped his eyes to the floor. The quiet enveloped him. Had he revealed too much? Then, soft fingers curled under his chin, lifting his head. “She’s your little sister,” Taehyung said, almost in a whisper. His eyes were crinkling in a small smile. “Of course she thinks the world of you.”

Yoongi swallowed. “But don’t you think that’s the most scary part of all of it?” he croaked. “That the more people care about you, the worse it will be when you finally let them down?”

The hand dropped from his jaw. Immediately, Yoongi missed the warmth. “You say that like it’s inevitable,” Taehyung grumbled. “And, you do realise I am quite literally the big disappointment in my family?”

“You’re not a -” Yoongi cut himself off. “Taehyung,” he started, leaning close. “You’re wonderful.”

As if pulled by a force greater than himself, Yoongi closed the space between them. His hand cupped Taehyung’s jaw as their lips met. He let his eyes close, savouring the moment before he was rejected entirely. But it never came. Taehyung’s fist, instead of colliding with his face, clenched tightly at his shirt. The other man pushed forward. Yoongi gasped, relishing in the gentle warmth. The fervour, rippling beneath the surface, assured him that this had been exactly the right this to do.

He could spend hours like this, he would be happy to die this way, in Taehyung’s arms, sharing his breath. Perhaps that was a little much for their first kiss. Taehyung’s first kiss, he was sure. He pulled back, heart racing and blinked his eyes open.

The vision of Taehyung’s face, the rosy dusting on his cheeks, the heavy lidded gaze, was one he’d remember for many days to come. He bit his lip and sat back on the piano stool. “Of course,” he sighed, “that’s the biggest fear.”

“Kissing me?” Taheyung hadn’t moved. Even as he spoke, he remained where Yoongi had left him, as if moving would break the spell.

“No,” Yoongi murmured. “Falling in love.”

Taehyung blinked. “Is - Is that what you’re doing?”

What the hell was he doing? Blurting out he loved someone just because they’d kissed? Get a grip. But the plumpness of Taehyung’s lips drew him in, the twinkle in his eyes as he waited for Yoongi to answer. “I didn’t think people like you really existed in the world,” Yoongi said. “I thought they were just characters in books.” He couldn’t help it. Leaning in close once more he said, “You’re ruining my worldview,” before pressing their lips together once more, relishing in the touch, the heat of Taehyung’s breath as it brushed his cheek.

Pulling away, Taehyung smiled. “Well, you’re ruining mine. It’s only fair,” he said, voice thick. “Dance with me.”

“What?” The declaration caught Yoongi off guard. He stared, bemused, as Taehyung rose to his feet, striding to the middle of the room.

“It’s too serious,” the other man announced, thrumming with energy. “We have to do something fun.”

“Dancing with me is not it,” Yoongi grumbled, even as he got to his feet, Taehyung pulling him in by an invisible string.

“Oh, I think it is.”

It was absurd, it really was. Taehyung giggled as he pulled Yoongi around the room, humming a waltz. If Yoongi hadn’t been so punchdrunk he would have insisted on music, at least. But Taehyung’s grin had his mind reconfigured. It was all he could see. As they spun, he rose onto this toes, capturing Taehyung’s lips once more. He felt Taehyung smile against him, humming and spinning still.

Yoongi barely heard it when the door swung open. It hit the wall so hard that one of the hangings fell to the floor.

“Shit.”

The curse fell from Taehyung’s mouth the second he pulled away. Yoongi spun on his feet, greeted by a wide-eyed Jeongguk gaping at them from the doorway.

“Oh - I - Sorry.” The boy stumbled over the words. Something in his expression twisted Yoongi’s stomach. “I -” Jeongguk stood for a second, mouth open, as if frozen in indecision. Then he turned heel and ran.

“Guk, wait,” Taehyung shouted after him. His heavy footsteps continued to echo from the hallway.

Yoongi groaned, pulling at his hair. “Jesus. I thought he was your father.”

He didn’t think Taehyung heard him. “Guk -” he called. When he glanced back over his shoulder, Yoongi could see his teeth gritted together, hands clenching. “Yoongi, I -”

“Go,” Yoongi interrupted, waving him out of the door. “It’s fine. Go .”

For a few moments after Taehyung left, Yoongi remained in the room, trying to set his mind straight. It wasn’t Kim Jungsoo, only Jeongguk. They hadn't been caught, Taehyung would set it right. Jeongguk wouldn’t say anything, would he?

He groaned, dropping his face to his hands. He needed out of this house.

Thanking higher powers that he didn’t meet anyone else as he reached the back door, he made purposeful strides across the garden. Just to the side of the gate that lead towards the boat house, Yoongi stopped in his tracks. A pair of feet were sticking out across the path. He crouched down, narrowing his eyes to squint at the shrubbery. “Seokjin? Are you hiding?”

There was a crunch of twigs snapping before Seokjin’s head rose above the canopy of green. “Only a little,” he said, bashfully. “It’s Taehyung’s favourite spot.” He cocked his head when Yoongi grimaced. “What? Are you okay?”

Yoongi almost laughed. Instead, he nodded at the bush. “Mind if I hide with you?”

Shifting to make space for him in the undergrowth, Seokjin asked, “What’s got you so glum?”

“Nothing. I always look like this.”

“Min Yoongi, you’re not as grumpy as you think.”

Yoongi groaned. He raised his hand to the stem of a particularly thorny looking weed, running his finger along the spike. “I was with Tae.”

“Is that supposed to surprise me?”

“No.” He hesitated. Seokjin had never done anything to cause him to worry about any reaction, the very opposite, in fact. But then, you never could tell for sure. He took a deep breath. “I kissed him.”

There was silence. Yoongi pressed his thumb against the thorn, waiting for it to pierce his skin. “That - That’s a little surprising.”

He turned a wide-eyed gaze to Seokjin. “That’s one of the better reactions I’ve had,” he marvelled, nonplussed.

“Kissing men is a habit of yours?” Seokjin smirked.

“No. Yes. I mean - If I’m kissing anyone -” Yoongi winced, before sending the other man a glare. “It’s not a regular occurrence,” he clarified. “I don’t want to misread the situation, Seokjin. Are you - You and Namjoon are okay with it?”

Seokjin regarded him from his position, lying in the dirt. “We had this conversation, Yoongi. Or, did you not understand our subtle code?”

“I understood it. Only, sometimes things are different in reality.”

“If we weren’t okay with it in reality, would you stop?”

“Yes. You two, you’re his family.”

The older man hummed and shifted onto his side. “Father would never accept it.”

If it weren’t for the sickness working through his body, Yoongi would have laughed. “I wasn’t planning on telling him,” he croaked. He didn’t want to leave River House, he wanted nothing more than to stay with Taehyung, with the others. For men like Yoongi, though, what they wanted didn’t always factor into it. “So?”

Seokjin reached out his hand, gripping Yoongi’s shoulder. “Of course it’s okay, Yoongi. It’s good, I told you. I’m just a little surprised that Taehyung went along with it so quickly,” he said, a smile on his face, as if Yoongi was a fool for thinking otherwise. Yoongi let his body melt into the ground. It was warm outside, he realised, the sun hitting him in bursts where it broke through the shrubbery. “My advice?” Seokjin carried on. “Go for it.”

“And Jeongguk?”

“I wouldn’t try to kiss him.”

“ Seokjin. ”

The other man chuckled before straightening his face. “Sorry. What about him?”

“Will he be alright with it?” Yoongi inclined his head, hair tickling his forehead.

When most people frowned, Yoongi had found, they looked older, cast in a shadow of worry. Seokjin, though, when he frowned, eyes narrowed, brows drawn together, Yoongi could see the face of the boy he had been so clearly. Like a young child fighting the march of time. Eventually, Seokjin sighed. “I don’t know. He’s young.” His eyes flickered over Yoongi’s face. “I don’t think he’d ever turn against Taehyung, but it might take him some time.”

That sounded okay. From the little he’d seen of Jeongguk it was clear how much he cared for Taehyung. How Taehyung cared for him. The utterly lost expression on his face when he’d opened that door worried him still. “He walked in on us.”

“Ah.”

Yoongi squeezed his eyes shut. “I thought he was your father. Almost had a heart attack.” What would have happened if it had been Jungsoo? Yoongi wouldn’t be here chatting under a bush with Seokjin, that’s for sure. He’d be on a train to anywhere else. Unless. What would have happened to Taehyung? He rubbed his face. No point worrying about that now. “Taehyung looked pretty shaken. Ran after him.”

“He’ll be fine. Taehyung will be able to talk him round. Those two are like twins.”

“Okay. God.” Yoongi squirmed, knowing his shirt would be ruined, rolling over to face his friend directly. “I’ve never - Families. They’re complicated.”

If Seokjin thought he was stupid for saying so, he didn’t show it. “That they are,” he agreed. “How’s the book coming along?”

Though Yoongi knew it wasn’t the end of the problem, he grabbed the opportunity with both hands. “Well, I really wish people would stop asking me about it, so, judge from that.”

“Too distracted?”

“No, I just -” How to put it into words? “I thought I knew what it was going to be about. I’m losing motivation in my muse.”

“I thought we were your inspiration,” Seokin gasped, hand coming up to his chest in faux indignation.

Yoongi couldn’t help the smile creeping onto his face, even as he shook his head. “How does everyone know things that I’ve never said out loud?”

“Taehyung is both observant and talkative.”

The two shared a smile. “It is about you. But, perhaps not how you really are,” Yoongi confessed. “I’m feeling a bit guilty, if I’m being honest.”

“Are we cold, distant, traitors?” Seokjin’s words froze Yoongi. That was exactly what they were, beautiful monsters, created only to show the shameful worst in people. “Is that what you thought when you met us?”

No. It was obvious even from the first moment that they were all too good for this place. “Maybe for a few seconds,” Yoongi mumbled. “Your absurd grin set me straight pretty sharpish.”

Seokjin beamed. “It’s alright. It’s fiction, isn’t it?” he remarked. “Sometimes you just have to accept the role given to you. If you want me to be the snobbish elder son, ready to inherit, detached from the problems of society, I can be that.”

Yoongi narrowed his eyes. “You’re good at acting, Seokjin.”

“Yes.” The other man met his gaze, eyes piercing. “I am. Taehyung isn’t. Not yet. I’m sure he’ll learn, he’ll have to.” Yoongi watched as he sat up, stray leaves clinging to his chest. He looked down at Yoongi. “With you, though, he has a chance that Namjoon and I didn’t get.” He smiled, nudging Yoongi’s arm. “He can be true to himself. Mother would approve.”

It was odd how much Yoongi clinged to it every time one of the brothers said that. Why was he so keen for a woman many years dead to like him so much? “Thank you,” he said, leaning up and brushing the dirt from Seokjin’s shirt. “For the record, from everything you’ve told me, I think she’d be really proud of you.”

“You don’t need to say that,” Seokjin protested, though the pleased smile that captured his lips told a different story.

“You’re looking after your family,” Yoongi said. “Better than I have.”

Seokjin nodded. He squinted up towards the house. Yoongi could only imagine that his mind had travelled straight to Jungsoo. “I don’t have a choice.”

Briefly, Yoongi thought of his own sister, back home, looking after their aging parents without him. He pushed the image away. “But if you did, you’d still do the same.” He flicked one of the branches above them and leaves twirled down to the ground. “Even if you have to hide every now and again.”

~

Taehyung rushed along the corridor, not bothering to quiet his footsteps. He was heading to the top of the house.

The first time Jeongguk had come to the house it had been Namjoon’s tenth birthday. Taehyung had spotted the small boy the second their new neighbours had arrived. Even when the adults had left them alone, he had kept his eye on Jeongguk, had watched as he snuck out of the room.

It was rare that the Kim brothers got to make new friends. Taehyung had followed him, determined for him to be involved in the party, even after he had had to search for what felt like hours to track him down.

That’s what Jeongguk did. He hid. Nowadays, though, Taehyung knew where to find him.

In the farthest corner of the highest floor, past Seokjin’s bedroom in the corner, the servants' stairwell was tucked away behind an innocuous door. A small gap in the staircase wall led to another set of stairs. A secret set. The family and some of the long-standing staff knew of its existence, but no one else.

Perhaps he should tell Yoongi about it. But, then again, his father would not be pleased to find Yoongi sneaking around the house and maybe, if Yoongi knew, Taehyung wouldn’t be able to tell him no.

The passage had originally been designed as an escape route and descended down into the earth beneath the house before tunnelling under the garden, surfacing in the woods. Taehyung didn’t have to go that far to find Jeongguk then, however. As if waiting for him, Jeongguk sat on the top step, staring into the burgeoning darkness below.

“Guk,” Taehyung breathed. He dropped down to sit next to him, eyeing him carefully. He didn’t look angry, just a little sad. “I’m sorry, please don’t -”

“It’s okay.” Jeongguk sent Taehyung a fleeting smile, hardly his most convincing.

He’d always been a terrible liar. God, was Taehyung going to lose him? It had never even been a possibility before, had never crossed his mind. Now, though, more so than the idea of Jeongguk telling his father about Yoongi, his stomach was lurching at the prospect that Jeongguk would want to have nothing to do with him.

“You don’t have to say that,” he said, not daring to speak louder than a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Jeongguk shot out. Taehyung winced and Jeongguk’s expression softened. “Honestly, Tae, it’s okay. I was - I’m just a little surprised.”

“Yeah?” Taehyung met his gaze. Maybe Jeongguk was as unsure as he was. “That was the first time,” he clarified. He needed his friend to know that he hadn’t lied to him, they told each other everything. He didn’t want this to be different.

Jeongguk smiled slightly, cocking his head. “You were right then.” When Taehyung just frowned at him, he added, “He’s coming round to you.”

It was so normal that Taehyung couldn’t help but laugh. “You don’t think it’s unnatural?”

There was a heavy sigh and Taehyung dug his fingers into his palms. “Can’t be, can’t it?” Jeongguk said, eventually. “If it’s happening.” He turned to Taehyung fully, then, eyes wide. “I won’t say anything.”

It was as if Taehyung had broken through the service of the river, without knowing he’d fallen in. He worked to keep his voice from wavering when he said, “I think Seokjin and Namjoon know anyway.”

“They’re smart. Not like me,” Jeongguk mumbled. He began to pick at a thread on his cuff.

Taehyung frowned. “You are smart, Jeongguk.”

“You like him? I mean, that much?” he asked, a small sense of wonder in his voice. “It’s a big risk.”

It was true. Taehyung hadn’t really allowed himself time to think about it, had never really thought that Yoongi would feel anything more for him, anything enough to act on it. Even with everything that he knew could happen to him if the wrong people found out, all that filled his mind was Yoongi’s sweet smile, the warmth of his voice, the comfort in his words. Jeongguk might think he was a fool, but he wouldn’t lie. “I think he might be worth it, I don’t know,” he said. When Jeongguk turned away from him, pout on his lips, he shuffled closer. “What is it?”

For a moment, his friend didn’t answer, just ducked his head. Taehyung elbowed him. “It’s stupid,” Jeongguk grumbled.

“No, it’s not. You’re upset,” Taehyung insisted. His words echoed around the cool passage. He leant closer, twisting to see Jeongguk’s face hidden behind his too long hair. “We’re friends, Guk, you can tell me. Please tell me.”

When Jeongguk looked up, his eyes were glassy. “We still will be, then?”

Taehyung floundered at the sight. “What?”

“Friends. Best friends. You won’t stop spending time with me?”

Oh, that silly boy. “Of course not! Is that what you were worried about?” Taehyung almost laughed at the absurdity of it. He reached his arm around Jeongguk’s shoulders, squeezing him close. The other boy fell easily at his side.“You’ll always be my best friend,” Taehyung murmured, softly. “Why would you think that?”

He felt Jeongguk shrug against his chest. “People leave, don’t they, when they get married. Grow up.”

The younger man squinted up at Taehyung, who met the look with wide eyes. “I’m not getting married,” Taehyung said, blushing somewhat at the idea.

“No, because you can’t. But it’s the same,” Jeongguk insisted, pushing himself away once more. He rubbed at his nose, staring at Taehyung with an intense gaze.

Taehyung paused. He’d always thought that he would never be married, or that he would marry someone for convenience, not for love. Visions of him and Yoongi, sharing a house, just the two of them, filled his mind. Like the end of one of Mother’s stories. He shook his head. It could never happen. “It’s not - I’m not -” He stuttered under Jeongguk’s innocent scrutiny. “No. I just, - I don’t know.” He sighed. His mind was heavy with the future. “It wouldn’t be the same anyway. Couldn’t be.”

“No,” Jeongguk agreed, gently. “What if your father finds out? He’d go mad. I’m -” he blinked across the stair with narrow lips. “I’m scared for you.”

“Funny,” Taehyung snorted. “I’m not scared anymore.” He wasn’t sure of his own words, if he truly wasn’t scared, or if he was lying to himself, to Jeongguk. To Yoongi. It was entirely stupid, he had all the reasons in the world to fear his father’s reaction, but at that moment he couldn’t summon anything other than excitement. Yoongi liked him. Jeongguk was okay with it. His brothers were happy. What was the worst his father could do? Throw Yoongi out? Well, then, Taehyung could just find him again. Maybe the fear would come later.

He felt Jeongguk’s eyes on him, a strange expression on his face, as if he couldn’t understand Taehyung’s words. Taehyung dropped his gaze, kicking at his friend’s ankle. “And I’m not grown up.”

Thankfully, Jeongguk took the hint. “A little bit,” he replied.

“Not even that. We can play hide and seek in the forest later and I’ll prove it.”

Jeongguk smiled and Taehyung could breath again.

The days and months that followed where among the most wonderful that Taehyung could remember. He and Yoongi whiled away their time under the sun. Day by day Taehyung discovered more of him, something new to fall in love with. In return Taehyung was more honest with Yoongi than he’d ever been with himself.

“I don’t want to suffocate here,” he said into the quiet of the boat house room. “That’s what happened to Mother, I think. She wasn’t ill, her life was squeezed out of her.”

They lay sprawled on Yoongi’s bed. The very idea of it, of being surrounded by Yoongi’s life, being a part of it, made Taehyung brave.

“You’re stronger than you think, you know,” Yoongi replied. The light streaming in from the window danced across his face, making his seem almost otherworldly.

“I could do it. Make my family proud,” Taehyung announced. He had never said such a thing out loud before. It was only as the words left his lips that he realised just how true they were. It was what he wanted most of all. “No one believes me, but I could. It’s just taking the first step.”

“What is the first step?”

Taehyung laughed, rolling over to rest his head on his arm. “Standing up to Father,” he said, putting on an ominous tone.

But Yoongi just shrugged. “A big one,” he agreed, “but you could do it. I believe it. Jeongguk does, your brothers do.”

“Really?” he grumbled, turning back to the ceiling. “They don’t act like it.”

He felt Yoongi poke his side. “They just don’t want you hurt. I can relate to that.” He opened his eyes wide. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but your father’s pretty intense.”

“I’m not some delicate flower, just because -” Taehyung gnawed at his lip, trying to word his thoughts right. “Just because I like the plants and animals and - and fairytales,” he snarled.

At his side, Yoongi sat up, looking down at him with a fond smile. “That’s what I’m saying, Tae. You don’t have to change, you can be both. You are both. Strong and sweet.”

Just like that, the knot in Taehyung's stomach loosened. Strong and sweet. He liked the sound of that. He smirked up at Yoongi. “You think I’m sweet?”

Yoongi rolled his eyes. “The sweetest,” he said, before leaning down and kissing Taehyung through his laughter.

That’s how it was. Yoongi was softer with him, that’s what Namjoon had said one day in the early morning. He’d meant to tease the other man, but at his words, Yoongi had simply smiled, curling his hand through the locks of Taehyung’s hair.

All in all, Taehyung couldn’t ask for anything more. He was blinded by his happiness, the first time he’d fallen for anyone. How could this end? It was too real, too solid. It would last forever.

It was an early July evening when Seokjin found him and Jeongguk in the den, his head deep in his journal. He had been somewhat remiss in his observations of late and was doing his best to catch up. He’d had his first sighting of three new birds for the year already.

Jeongguk was stretched out beside him, dozing lightly in the heat.

“Come on, up.”

Taehyung blinked at Seokjin’s silhouette, the sun sparkling behind him through the canopy. “Sorry?”

“Up,” he repeated, crouching down and pulling Taehyung up by the arm. “You have an appointment. Both of you.”

“What appointment?” Jeongguk groused, brushing down his trousers as he jogged to catch up.

“Dinner. In the garden.” Seokjin grinned over his shoulder. “Namjoon has decreed it.”

Taehyung should have known, really. Seokjin was due to leave after the summer party, Father keen to get him set up in the business proper. They didn’t have much time left to spend alone with each other, and it was rare that Father spent a night away. Guilt crept up his spine. He must have been neglecting his brothers if Namjoon had to summon him to a family dinner. It had always been him that had bothered his brothers before, not willing to leave them alone.

He picked up his pace, falling into step next to Seokjin.

The older boy led them to their mother’s garden, where Namjoon and Yoongi were sitting by an old iron table, painted white. They must have found it in one of the sheds, for Taehyung didn’t think Father would approve. He could practically see the legs rusting as he stood before them.

“Ah, you found them?” Namjoon called, looking upon them with a fond smile.

Next to him, Yoongi wore a similar expression.

“They like to make it easy for me,” Seokjin quipped, dropping into his seat at the head of the small table.

Taehyung’s mouth began to water as he laid his eyes on their meal. The cooks really had outdone themselves. Piles of gimbap and dumplings surrounded bulgogi, ox bone soup, pork belly slices, bibimbab, kimchi stew and so much more. And was that makgeolli he saw? He dived into his seat next to Yoongi, glaring impatiently at Jeongguk to join them.

The food warmed their hearts and the wine flowed freely. It was all too easy to forget in that instant that the morning would come. The five of them talked and laughed until they could laugh no more. If Seokjin noticed Namjoon’s eyes flicking towards him all evening, or the way his smile strayed from his eyes, laughter won a little harder than the rest? Well, he hid it well.

“Seokjin, why don’t you tell us one of your stories? Taehyung’s been going on and on about them,” Yoongi asked, hours later. The sun was beginning to set, leaving only the light from the distant windows and the small candles set around the garden to keep away the darkness. The cicadas were chirping in the trees and Taehyung’s lids dropped. If all his nights could be like this, he would be more than happy. Full of good food, surrounded by his family, Yoongi’s warm body next to his.

“Stories are for children,” Jeongguk jeered around a mouthful of beef.

“No they’re not,” Taehyung burst out. He leant across the table, gripping his brother’s wrist. “Please, Seokjin,” he whined. “Who knows when we’ll next get the chance.”

“I will be coming back, you know,” Seokjin said, rolling his eyes as if Taehyung was being dramatic. Taehyung didn’t miss the pleased twinkle in the other man’s eye, though.

“But then Namjoon will be gone,” he replied. “No, you have to. The one about the puddle that leads to the underwater city.”

From the other end of the table, Jeongguk let out a huff. “No,” he argued. “The blind king, that’s the best one.”

Seokjin raised his eyebrows as Namjoon cackled. “Is it, Mr Stories-are-for-children?”

Jeongguk sniffed, pulling back his lips while squinting out to the garden. “If you’re going to tell one,” he mumbled.

“You’ve shown your hand, little sprite,” Seokjin teased. “Alright. Just for you.” The eldest coughed and stood up, eyes that were alight with glee travelling over all of them. Taehyung bounced his legs up and down and silence fell upon them all as they waited for Seokjin to start his tale. “Long ago in a distant land there lived seven brothers. Their father, the King, was greedy and selfish, and sought to keep the very sight of his kingdom for himself alone. The townsfolk lived their lives blindfolded, in fear of the evil king’s wrath.”

By the time the story was over, night had overtaken the garden, candle wicks run low. Yoongi wished Taehyung a soft goodnight, lips pressed to his temple under the shade of the trees. The moonlight illuminated his steps from where Taehyung watched him vanish towards the boathouse.

As Jeongguk stumbled sleepily towards the forest path, Namjoon followed on wordlessly, waving Seokjin and Taehyung away. Soon, the pair had vanished into the dark of the trees, only Seokjin and the bubbling river keeping Taehyung company.

They trudged up to the house.

“Look, Taehyung,” Seokjin whispered, arm outstretched to the sky above. “Bats.”

“I miss you,” Taehyung mumbled in response, eyes following his brother’s directions, but not really seeing the hurried flapping of black, leathery wings. “When you’re gone.”

Seokjin pushed him forward. “I know.”

“Namjoon worries.”

“I know that, too.”

Taehyung hummed, stepping carefully through the side door to the house and making sure to avoid the creaking floorboards. “You know everything. You’re so smart.”

“Not really.” He could hear the smile in Seokjin’s words. “Not as smart as you or Guk. Definitely not as smart as Namjoon.”

“Yes, smarter,” Taehyung pouted. “The smartest.”

As they reached the base of the main staircase, Seokjin stopped. Taehyung waited for him. His eyes were adjusted to the dark and he could see clearly the firm set to his brother’s jaw. “I don’t mind. It’s not my job to be smart. You know what my job is?” Seokjin stared down at him and Taehyung shook his head. “To protect you. No matter what.” A firm hand curled around Taehyung’s shoulder, secure against his skin. “I always will, even if I’m not here. Okay?”

“Okay,” Taehyung repeated, heart full and beating. “I’ll protect you, too.”

~

June 1994

“Aha. I knew it was here somewhere.”

Hoseok flicked his eyes over to where Jimin was crouched near the bottom row of a tall library shelf. He had a yellowing book clasped in his hands as he made his way back to their table. Jimin had insisted on this particular corner and Hoseok, though initially nonplussed, understood why. He could see out across what seemed like the entire park. Kids were playing football, students sprawled across the grass in the sun, families out picnicking. It was a shame to be inside, really.

“I still can’t believe my mum threw away my school project,” Jimin rattled on beside him. “No respect.”

It had taken him a while to adjust, but now that Hoseok was used to the constant chatter that poured from Jimin’s mouth, it was actually a comfort to him.

“I still can’t believe you actually asked her,” he challenged.

“Of course. I’ve gotta keep Mum updated with my life or she holds out on the juicy office gossip.” The other man rested his chin in his palm, smiling over at Hoseok, his hair falling in curtains around his eyes. “Did you know, Nahng Junghoon and Kim Mikyung have both booked holiday in Jeju at the same time and Nahng’s wife isn’t going?”

Hoseok rolled his eyes, wondering if the fondness he felt lodging itself in his chest showed in his face. “No, I didn’t know that about Junghoon and Mikyung from your mum’s work.”

“Scandalous,” Jimin breathed before pushing the book towards Hoseok. “Here you go, the best book about the case we have. It was written by one of our local investigative journalists,” he raised his hands, putting the words in inverted commas, “so take anything that isn’t backed up with evidence with a grain of salt.”

“Homicide detective,” Hoseok reminded him, already absorbed in the foreword of the book. “Thanks,” he muttered after a moment of silence. The pages fluttered beneath his thumb, falling open to the first chapter. “Kim Jungsoo, he’s our guy then,” he muttered.

“Our dead guy, yeah. Complete bastard, from the sounds of it.”

Hoseok raised his eyes. A small line had formed between Jimin’s eyebrows, the most unhappy Hoseok had seen him.

“It was a different time,” he offered, without conviction. Really, he didn’t care what time it was, people knew what was right and what was wrong. His superiors had repeated the excuse to him so many times, however, that the response was Pavlovian.

Jimin hummed. “Where bastards roamed free.”

Holding his gaze for just a moment longer, Hoseok bit his lip. “The mother’s dead,” he said, changing the topic. “Oh, there’s three sons - Four?”

“No, three.” Jimin leaned closer, his arm brushing against Hoseok’s. Hoseok blinked at the page. “Jeon Jeongguk was a family friend.”

Jeon Jeongguk. “That name rings a bell.”

Jimin nodded. “There are a few big names involved. Jeon Jeongguk is a photojournalist, I suppose you’d call him. He did that picture, actually, in Masan. Of those protestors running into the hospital.” Hoseok raised his eyebrows. He knew the picture well, remembered his teacher showing it in class. Jeongguk was a big name, Hoseok had no idea he’d been involved - however loosely - in a murder investigation. “And then Min Yoongi, of course,” Jimin added. Hoseok dropped the book to the table.

“Min Yoongi?” he whispered. “Shit.” Min Yoongi was one of the most renowned authors of the mid twentieth century, infamous in some circles, idolised in others. His books were modern classics, revered for their rawness and unblinking realism.

“I know, he's great, isn’t he?” Jimin sighed. “‘The Rose Garden’ is one of my all time favourites, but then I’m a sucker for a redemption story. I think one of the sons was something as well, I can’t remember.”

“Christ, and Kim Namjoon,” Hoseok groaned, eyes travelling further down the page. “What the hell?” He gaped at Jimin, who simply shook his head, bewildered. “He’s a big shot defence lawyer, or was. Specialised in - in cases where people were wrongly accused.” Jesus, of course. How were so many high profile figures involved with this? Hoseok hadn’t even realised they knew each other, let alone were involved in a murder scandal together. He rubbed his eyes. They’d have to tread carefully, he couldn’t afford to piss Kim Namjoon off, not with his career already hanging on a thread. He sighed. “It wasn’t him that did it, then.”

Jimin nudged him. “None of them actually did it,” he reminded before reading on, upside down. “Yeah, that's it.” He tapped the paper. “There's Kim Seokjin and Kim Taehyung left.”

Hoseok didn’t reply. Instead he scanned the page some more, keen to find the accused. It didn't take long.

“Oh, here it is. Our murderer, Kim Seokjin.”

Eldest son Kim Seokjin was overwhelmed with guilt for his crime and revealed everything to officers mere hours after the body was found, resulting in his immediate arrest. Led out of River House in handcuffs, the image caused quite a stir in the local news and fuelled the rumour mill for weeks to come.

“He confessed,” Hoseok pouted. “Interesting.”

“Yeah?”

At Jimin’s curious tone, Hoseok set down the book once more. “Confessions are sometimes a little,” he started, wondering how to word it. “Dicey,” he settled on. “My partner, she’s always saying that confessions should only be believed when evidence supports it.” If Seokjin did confess, well, that was either going to help their investigation or hinder it greatly. “Not always, but sometimes people just freak out. They cave into police presence when, really, they have nothing to actually confess.”

If Cho was here, she’d know whether the confession was forced or not. Maybe not straight away, but she would figure it out. But, no; this time it was up to Hoseok. He could do this.

“Arresting officers Detective Shigeru Kaihou and Detective Kiyoshi Ito, ah.”

“That’s a good ‘ah’, right?” Jimin asked.

“Well, maybe.” Hoseok grimaced. “Kaihou, well, his reputation precedes him. Dead now, but he made a lot of arrests in his time, one of the highest.” He tried not to look too optimistic when he said, “Not all of them turned out to be watertight. He liked to close cases, didn’t necessarily mean the right person got done.” He ran a finger across his lip. “Interesting.”

“It’s sort of a shame he’s dead.”

“This other guy might not be.” Hoseok tapped on the name. Kiyoshi Ito. “Probably moved away, though. Suppose we could call him. You speak Japanese?”

Jimin levelled him with a pained look. “I can say ‘hello’, ‘goodbye’, and ‘where is the train station?’”

“Probably won’t need to ask him that,” Hoseok sighed.

“What was it, again Kiyoshi -?”

“Ito,” Hoseok completed. “Why, what -?”

“Hang on a sec.”

Jimin’s voice trailed away as he vanished in the maze of shelves. Hoseok waited for a few long minutes. It was just as he started to wonder if Jimin had actually abandoned him that the other man returned, a triumphant smile plastered across his face.

“He’s still here,” he said, brightly. “Checked the directory. Hwarang-ro thirty-seven beon-gil.”

Hoseok sat back in his chair. He could feel the smile bunching up his cheeks. “You’re quite useful,” he said. “Ever think of joining the force?”

“Nah,” Jimin laughed. “Too many rules.”

“Look, if I pay him a visit, will you come with me? Could use a friend.”

Without hesitation, Jimin nodded. “Sure. I mean, I don’t know anything more than that book, really.”

Hoseok scoffed, ignoring the pleased warmth working its way through his chest at the ease of Jimin’s answer. “You’ve already been more than helpful. Two heads are better than one. That’s an official cop rule.”

Again, Jimin smiled. Did he ever cry? If he did, Hoseok knew that it would be all the worse for the brightness in his smile. “To tell you the truth,” the other man said, voice soft, “I’ve sort of been waiting for something interesting to happen around here.”

“This happened sixty years ago,” Hoseok frowned. “You didn’t need to wait.”

“I meant you,” Jimin replied.

Hoseok bit the inside of his cheek, suddenly glad Cho wasn’t there with him.

Chapter Text

“Why is it that the happiest of moments usher in sudden fear?

Looking back, I had known all along,

that underneath the glittering world before my eyes,

lay my deception,

that everything was to collapse with a breath of wind.

I turned away, sidestepped, simply closed my eyes.

Afraid I was, afraid to be loved for who I am.”

June 1994

The road outside the apartment block was deserted of people. Instead, cars lined up like sardines on either side. Hoseok shifted, turning back to face the blank door of Kiyoshi Ito’s apartment.

It was taking the old man a while to answer. Hoseok supposed that he wasn’t as mobile as he once was. It had taken some persuading, but Jimin had eventually agreed to wait until after Hoseok had called the retired detective and made sure it was alright for them to visit to drive over.

“I still say we should have just turned up,” Jimin muttered darkly at Hoseok’s side.

“There’s that aversion to rules. I wonder how I missed it before,” he teased, drawing a glare from the other. “Look, he’s about a thousand years old, be gentle.”

“Eighty-eight, but close.”

Hoseok jumped. “Shit, sorry,” he grimaced, taking in the old man that had opened the door. “Sorry.”

In his periphery, he could see Jimin hide a smile behind his hand.

Ito chuckled, “Don’t panic. I’m old, not miserable. The two aren’t quite the same, no matter what my son tries to tell me.” He stepped to one side. “Come on in.”

As the pair crossed the threshold, Jimin mouthed, “I like him,” while Hoseok worked to ignore his embarrassment. He needed his wits about him today.

Inside the apartment was neat, well kept, if a little dated for Hoseok’s tastes. Pictures lined the hallway walls, snapshots of a long life. Children appeared in most of the frames, ageing years between every shot.

“Tea?” Ito asked when they reached the kitchen area, crammed into a corner of what was clearly the main living room.

“Er, please,” Hoseok nodded, gratefully.

“You make it then. Bags are in the cupboard on the left.” Ito was tall, remarkably so for his age, his spine bending over only slightly as he steadied himself on the countertop. Wispy grey hair was relegated to the sides of his head, dark eyes glistening with water that Hoseok suspect was a permanent feature.

The old man lowered himself into a cushioned chair while Hoseok searched for supplies. “You want to know about the Kim Jungsoo case, isn’t that what you said?” he said, voice a gruff and loud.

“Yes, that - Anything that you can share with us would be appreciated.”

“Have you reopened the file?”

“No, I - I haven’t seen the file. I’m not, er, working on this officially.” Hoseok flicked his gaze to where Jimin had settled opposite Ito, smiling genially at the other man.

Ito smiled, thin and wavering. He wagged his finger at Hoseok and he was forcibly reminded of his grandfather. “But you’re police,” Ito said. It wasn’t a question. “I can tell.”

Cornered into the truth, Hoseok nodded. “Yes.”

Thankfully, Ito just grunted. “Shigeru Kaihou was my senior in those days,” he said. “Mean bastard, that man. Learnt a lot, but - I’d hazard a guess he didn’t become a policeman for the same reasons you did, son.”

Jimin grinned over to him at the compliment and Hoseok bowed his head, wobbling over to them with a tray of tea. While he set it on the bamboo coffee table, Ito sat forward. The old man let out a heavy breath and something about it made Hoseok wonder, had they done the right thing? Coming to visit him about an old case, digging up the past they knew hardly anything about?

“Wasn’t as confident back then,” Ito began once more. “Green, I’d say. Knew that boy hadn’t done it, could feel it in my bones, you know. None of it added up. But, Kaihou was keen to make an arrest. He’d confessed. Wasn’t much more to it.” He narrowed his eyes and Hoseok got a sudden sense of what it would have been like to be questioned by this man.

“You’ve been to the house?” he asked in his growling voice.

“Yes,” Hoseok rushed. “The outside, that is. It’s abandoned.”

Ito brushed him off. “Was different then. Intimidating, frankly. Big house, fancy furniture, all the food laid out still for the soiree they were holding. Couldn’t have said that, of course, policeman nervous visiting a Korean businessman's house? No, wouldn’t do at all,” he laughed. Next to him, Jimin shifted, edging closer to the edge of the seat cushions. “But still, I wasn’t at my best.”

“You can’t be right a hundred per cent of the time,” Jimin offered, his words a little softer around the edges than Hoseok had heard before. He had his tea cradled between his hands, looking up at Ito with wide eyes.

“No,” Ito reasoned. He wrinkled his nose, lines of his face deepening even more than before. “Eats at you, though. That boy died, before the trial. In police custody.”

Oh . Hoseok raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t know - I assumed he was held in prison.”

Shaking his head, Ito grumbled. “No, he died only a few days after his arrest. Nasty business,” he said. “Never got to the bottom of it, but - Nasty. A lot of things that happened back then would make your skin crawl.”

When Hoseok set his tea down the porcelain clattered against the wooden table. Ito frowned. “You said, ‘none of it added up’,” Hoseok pushed, before the man berated him. “What did you mean?”

The questioned worked as a distraction and the old detective sighed, looking out to the room. “Other evidence,” he settled on. “We were gathering a case together before the kid confessed. Wasn’t pointing towards him.”

“But it was pointing to someone?”

“You could say. All of them, apart from him, really,” the old man laughed lightly before his expression sobered. “They were lying. About what, I don’t know, but, liars. All of them. I’d bet my life on it.”

“You couldn’t take a guess what about?”

The ease with which Ito was recalling the events made Hoseok sure that the retired detective had his own theory. He’d had sixty years to think it over.

Ito didn’t let him down. “The young lad, Jeon?” he started. “Takes pictures. Said he was with the youngest son. Something about messing about in the garage at the time of the murder. All nonsense,” he scoffed. “The odd one, been living in the boat house for the summer? Min Yoongi. Something went on with him. According to the staff, he’d been sent away. He told us he’d arrived the morning after the body was discovered, caught the train, but the first train in that morning got delayed by an hour. He couldn’t have been on it, wasn’t time.” He paused. “It was strange,” he said, after a moment. “The Kims, they were all so delicate. Aristocratic. Jeon and Min were like rabid dogs.”

Rabid dogs. Hoseok considered this. The two men, standing around the three sons, fending off attacks from all angles. Guard dogs. It was becoming clearer by the second that something had gone down with these young men the night Kim Jungsoo had died. Whether it was murder, Hoseok wasn’t convinced.

“You think it was one of them?” he asked, tone deliberately light.

Straight away, Ito answered, “Min.” He pursed his lips. “He’s the one to watch out for. He’s not like them.”

“What do you mean?” Jimin chimed in, a small pout on his face.

Ito was quiet for a so long that Hoseok began to think he hadn’t heard. “Rough and ready,” he said, in the end. “Those kids had been kept away from the real world. You think they had a clue what was going on in the rest of the country? No, probably thought everyone was spending their days flouncing around in their oversized gardens, just like them. That Min Yoongi, though. He knew. Had a history with the police, though never got charged with anything.” He let out a frustrated groan then. “I just don’t understand why he stayed.”

People were funny. “Perhaps he didn’t want to risk raising suspicion,” Hoseok offered.

“Don’t think so. I told you, we weren’t looking for anyone else. Here, kid,” he motioned at Hoseok. “You want to see my notes?”

Hoseok made to stand up, hovering over the sofa, before Ito waved him off. “Did you not have to file them?”

“Wasn’t so strict in those days. It’s just a few notes from the time, anyway, the rest are thoughts I had afterwards.”

Still clutching his tea, Jimin followed Ito with his eyes as the old man began to pull boxes from a tall bookcase nearby. Hoseok fought the urge to go and help, sure that as old as Ito was, he’d be offended at the gesture. “They stayed on your mind?” Jimin suggested.

“The youngest brother. Had a -” Ito paused in his search, clearly thinking. “His face before Kim Seokjin confessed,” he sighed. “Distant, you know? Just like all those boys when they came back from the fighting overseas. Staring off into the distance for hours. Odd.” He turned back to the boxes, pulling at a manila folder stuffed to the brim with paper. “Min had a hold on him.” He shoved the whole thing towards Hoseok, who took it with both hands, alarmed at the size of it. These weren’t notes, this was an investigation. Stayed on his mind was a hell of an understatement. “Here you go. I’ll want it back, mind.”

“Thank you,” Hoseok half-whispered. For the first time, he saw the twinkle of determination behind Ito’s eyes. This man wanted the case solved as much as Jimin did. As much as Hoseok did. “We’re really going to try to get to the bottom of it.”

“I hope that you do. It’s a weight on the mind, that case. When I came back here, the first thing I did was visit that house. Just the same. It’s like they upped and left the moment they found out Kim Seokjin had died.”

“Maybe they did,” Jimin said, simply.

Ito narrowed his eyes at the other man. “Doesn’t strike you as strange?”

There wasn’t really any answer to that. Yes, it was bizarre, but not criminal. Perhaps the death of their brother had hit them harder than the lot of them had considered. “People are strange,” Hoseok sighed, at a loss for what else to say. “Thank you for all of your help. And the tea.”

“You’re welcome,” Ito said, kindly. He led to them back towards the door before lingering with his hand on the lock. “Have you read his books, Min Yoongi?” he asked, squinting at the pair of them.

Hoseok cocked his head, pinching Jimin’s side when he made to answer. “Books?” he asked.

“Famous author,” he said. “One of those homosexuals. All those type read them, full of that kind of stuff. All in code.”

Hoseok’s teeth dug into his lip. “Are they really?” he managed to force out. Turning a carefully crafted shocked expression towards Jimin, he said, “Code. Jimin, did you know that?”

Bless Jimin, he went with it. “No, I did not.” The other man nodded to Ito, sincerely. “We better check that out.”

With farewells shared and a promise delivered to update him as soon as they found out anything further, Hoseok and Jimin sat in Jimin’s car. The overflowing folder waiting ominously on the backseat.

“Aw, he ruined it at the end,” Jimin whined. “Mind you, the minute he said he thought it was Min Yoongi, I mean, come on.” The other man pulled an unimpressed face at Hoseok.

“Well, he makes a good point. ‘A history with the police.’” Hoseok countered. He met Jimin’s gaze. “Why did he lie about catching the train?”

To his surprise, Jimin laughed. “I don’t know,” he groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “I want them all to be innocent.”

Biting down a smile, Hoseok repeated some advice the captain handed out to all new recruits their first day on the beat. “This isn’t a drama, Jimin.”

“Why not, though?” Jimin muttered, pouting through his hands.

“Sometimes good people do bad things.” It was a fact that Hoseok had come face to face with on too many occasions to count. Self-defence, drunken mistakes, violence in the heat of the moment. Even as he said it, though, he thought of the Kim Seokjin’s confession. Killing his father for the inheritance. The more he heard about the family, to more that idea sat poorly with him.

“You think it was one of them, then?” Jimin asked, voice small.

“I think they were hiding something,” Hoseok replied, honestly. “Maybe not a murderer, but something worth Seokjin confessing for.”

Jimin sighed, sinking lower into the passenger seat. “What’s worth that?” he huffed.

That was the key question. Once they found out what it was that Kim Seokjin valued the most, then they’d have their answer. It was just a case of finding out where to look.

~

From somewhere in the hallway Hoseok’s grandfather’s old clock chimed. Two in the morning and Hoseok was still camped out on the living room floor, pouring over the reams of paper that spilled from Ito’s file.

Hoseok had quickly established that Ito had actually covered most of the key bits of case information in their conversation. Jeongguk and Taehyung’s alibis sounded a bit dodgy, but there was no basis in evidence to doubt them. Yoongi had lied to the police about when he arrived at River House, but there didn’t seem to be anything else tying him to the murder.

Ito hadn’t been wrong about Yoongi’s past brushes with the law, though. Hoseok briefly wondered how someone as well known as Min Yoongi had managed to keep that out of the public eye, as well as an involvement in a murder case. How much did it cost, these days, to maintain a reputation?

What the files did provide, though, was a wealth of background on each of the men involved. Old pictures, newspaper cuttings, original statements, notes from people who knew them. It was interesting enough that Hoseok was completely absorbed. It wasn’t until the clock chimed that he realised the hour, realised that the captain still hadn’t called. It had been almost a week now.

Stretching out on the floor, Hoseok stared at a faded photograph. Neat writing in the corner claimed that it was from the June of nineteen thirty-three. Jeongguk, he assumed, had taken it, like all the other photo’s he’d come across. He smiled at the scene. Kim Seokjin and Taehyung settled on top of a picnic blanket with Min Yoongi coming up behind them, carrying some pillows. Seokjin was looking just behind the camera, eyes twinkling in the sun. Taehyung, however, was looking directly at his brother. Not smiling, per se, but a pleased expression his face, as if he found whatever Seokjin was doing to be particularly amusing. Hoseok chuckled at Yoongi’s pout. He’d never seen anyone look so focused on carrying pillows and wondered what exactly had been going on in the young author’s mind.

It was the one thing he noticed about Jeongguk’s photos, that they were all candid shots. To Hoseok, who had only seen staged photographs from that time, of serious faces of people in seated rows, it sent a strange feeling coursing through his chest. Kim Seokjin would be dead within a few months, the handsome man with the sweet smile, reaching out to his friend behind the camera.

What had made him do it?

Over the course of the evening, Hoseok had made up his mind that he was protecting his family. What else could it be? He had no evidence, but a feeling. This time, he would listen to it.

Almost about to set the photograph aside, Hoseok froze with it in his hand. How had he not noticed before? There, far in the background, almost blurred with the tree line, was Kim Namjoon. Hoseok had seen enough photos of him that day to know for sure. It was the second figure that he was more interested in. Squinting in the dim light, he let out a frustrated groan. The man talking to Namjoon was facing the wrong way. Whoever he was, though, Namjoon didn’t look at all happy with what he was saying. Even at a distance, the frown on the man’s face was obvious.

Hoseok sighed. Did it even help? He could only assume the mysterious figure was Kim Jungsoo. Was it a secret that his sons didn’t like him? Not really.

When they’d parted ways earlier that day, Jimin had told him what he needed to do. “Write to Min Yoongi, or Namjoon, or Taehyung,” he’d insisted. “Jeongguk, even, it doesn’t matter. Write to one of them. We won’t get any further than Ito if we don’t speak to them about it.”

At the time it hadn’t felt necessary, Hoseok had been sure the file would give him all the information he needed. Now, though, he knew Jimin was right. He wasn’t going to make the mistake of ignoring his partner again.

The image of Mr Song’s face, full of sorrow and earnest desperation to find his missing daughter, that Hoseok had believed, swam through his mind. Cho had known, had said to him that there was something strange about that man. It wasn’t as if Hoseok hadn’t agreed, because he had, wholeheartedly. But, feeling strange about someone wasn’t evidence of any wrongdoing.

Well, the discovery of multiple bodies in the dumpster behind the man’s office had quickly changed his mind on that.

Even just thinking back on it, Hoseok’s stomach began to twist. The Captain had been right to send him away, to let the furore die down. Especially after - Hoseok shuddered. No, he didn’t need to think about that right now. He needed rest, if he was going to help the Kims.

He’d write to them in the morning. Kim Namjoon, he thought, was the best option. He could appeal to his procedural nature.

With that thought in mind, Hoseok rose to his feet, leaving the papers spread out across the floor and weaving a path through them to his bedroom. It was the same room he’d always stayed at when he visited his grandfather, not quite able to bring himself to move into the master bedroom, even temporarily.

Ready to settle into bed, he picked up the book he’d bought earlier that day on his way home. ‘From the Wild River’ by Min Yoongi. It wasn’t Jimin’s favourite, but it was perhaps his most well known. From what Hoseok could tell, it was released later in his career, but was the first novel that he ever written, only a few years after his stay at River House. For that reason alone, Hoseok knew he had to read it.

Letting the pages fall open beneath his hands, he raised his eyebrows at the first line.

Some moments become more vivid with the passage of time.

He knew that quote, it was one of those most cited opening lines, included in all those lists by literary types. Hoseok had never realised it was from this book. He smiled to himself, pleased with how well it fit with his current situation. Perhaps Min Yoongi was holding onto something. That settled it. He needed to speak to Min Yoongi, that man knew something and, come hell or high water, Hoseok would find out what.

~

August 1933

Namjoon let out a small moan, setting down his teacup. “Park Kyungwon’s died,” he announced to the lunchroom. Jeongguk raised his eyes from his plate.

“Who?”

“Park Kyungwon,” he repeated, frowning at the brief news article in front of him. “She’s a pilot, one of the first women to manage it.”

His father scoffed, narrowing his eyes behind his round glasses. “She’s dead, you say?” he asked. “Crashed her plane?”

Namjoon pinched the thin paper of the newspaper between his fingers and sighed. “Well, yes.”

“Tells you everything you need to know,” Jungsoo dismissed, refilling his glass of wine. Namjoon slumped back in his chair.

His father had gathered them all for a meal together that day and Namjoon had foolishly thought that perhaps he’d realised how little time he’d spent with his sons outside of the business. Of course, he’d simply wanted to make a fuss about some highflying military captain who had just accepted an invitation to the annual summer party. Of course. Naeseon Ilche, as the old man loved to say.

Taehyung had been absent for most of the day, no doubt with Yoongi somewhere in the forest beyond the river. Their hidden world. Their father had sent in his tracker dogs, however, in the form of the gardener’s apprentice, unlucky enough to be working on the flowerbeds outside the window at the time.

The young boy returned then, hat clutched in his dirt covered hands. He was breathing heavily, eyes flickering to the young men in the room like a mayday signal. Namjoon’s heart dropped. Something wasn’t right.

“I asked you to return with my son, Boy,” Jungsoo grunted upon noticing the boy hovering by his shoulder.

The boy bowed. “I’m sorry, Master Kim,” he stumbled out. “I did, I tried, he’s -”

“Spit it out.”

Sitting at their father’s side, Seokjin winced at the sharp tone.

“He was in the boat house, Sir,” the boy gasped.

“The boat house is not an impenetrable fortress. Go back and get him. He’s been far too remiss lately with his duties here. Just because he’s the youngest, it does not mean he can shirk his responsibilities.” The latter part of his tirade was addressed to Namjoon. He dropped his head in what he hoped was a respectful manner. Jeongguk was following the conversation, open-mouthed, chopsticks still in hand.

“Sorry, Sir,” the boy said, skin paling. Namjoon frowned. Doobak had been with them for a few years now, he knew better than to risk speaking back to their father like that. “It’s just - I did - I went in to fetch him out, Sir.”

Namjoon made to stand up. “Father, why don’t I just -”

“No, Namjoon,” Jungsoo was glaring at the boy. “You must stop trying to excuse such poor behaviour,” he set his gaze on Namjoon, mouth set straight. “Taehyung has been neglectful and he will have to address it.” He lifted his hand towards Doobak. “The boy has failed in his duties, he must explain to me why.”

“He was -”  Doobak hands trembled as he twisted his hat tightly against his chest. “Master Taehyung, that is, Sir - he was with Mr Min.”

“But of course. That man has been nothing but a nuisance. I’m starting to think he falsified that reference from Jae Sungsoo. I can’t believe a well-respected man like him would support such a character. A scoundrel, that boy. Once Ahn Youngchul confirms to me, he’ll be off my property -”

Namjoon could barely hear what his father was saying, however. He was frozen, unable to look away from the boy, clearly terrified. Whatever he had to say couldn’t be any good. His stomach churned. He knew what it was, what Doobak had seen.

Tearing his gaze away, he made a silent appeal to Seokjin. The other man, however, paid him no heed, his hands clenched on the table, staring at their father as if his life depended on it.

“They were - Sir, I’m sorry - They didn’t see me.”

The scraping of Seokjin’s chair against the floor filled the room as he rose to his full height. “Father,” he interjected, loud and clear.

“What do you mean? Speak clearly, Boy,” Jungsoo snapped, ignoring Seokjin.

As if he’d been whipped, Doobak startled and rushed out, “They were in the bed, Sir, I - Undressed, Sir.”

Namjoon bit his lip. The unnatural silence left in the wake of Doobak’s confession seemed to drag on for an age. He moved on shaky legs towards his father, who was sitting, stock still. “Father,” he gasped, ashamed to hear his own voice shake. “Let’s -”

“Boy, what’s your name?” Jungsoo barked.

The young boy cowered, shuffling a little towards Namjoon. “Yi Doobak,” he practically whispered.

Jungsoo rose as he spoke, towering over Doobak, venom spitting from his mouth. “You speak a word of this, Yi, and I will see that none of your family works again. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Leave.”

The boy ran out of the room as if flames were licking at his heels. A moment followed, like they were suspended in mid-air, waiting to fall. They were stirred into action as Jungsoo strode towards the door, not sparing them a glance.

“Father,” Seokjin called.

The three of them tore after him, his pace abnormally quick. “Mr Kim,” Jeongguk shouted down the garden.

Perhaps he was hoping to give them some warning, not a bad idea. “Wait, Father,” Namjoon joined in the yells. “Please.”

Of course, it was no use. He wasn’t a man to be stopped by words alone.

Namjoon held his breath as he watched the boat house door slam open, revealing the cobweb-covered equipment stored in the cool dark and the stairs to the quarters above. Before Jungsoo could make it any further, Yoongi’s bare feet brought him hurtling down the stairs. He certainly had the bedraggled look of someone who had gotten dressed in a hurry, with his hair sticking up in several directions. The icy glare in his eyes, though, was not to be mistaken.

A moment later, Taehyung appeared hands fumbling with the last of his buttons. His skin was flushed as he stared owlishly towards them all.

At his shoulder, he heard Jeongguk take a shaky breath and braced for impact.

~

Yoongi had got himself into a variety of sticky situations in his short life. He’d never seen anyone look quite so enraged as Kim Jungsoo did right now, though. And it was all directed at him. Wonderful.

Behind him he heard the creek of the steps. Of course Taehyung had ignored him and followed him down anyway. As if Yoongi could have expected anything else from the man with the curiosity and loyalty of a boy.

“Father,” Taehyung started, a poor imitation of his normal tone. “We were just going through -”

Even before Jungsoo cut Taehyung off, Yoongi knew it was useless, could see it in Jeongguk’s wide eyes, in Namjoon’s thinly pressed mouth, Seokjin’s blank gaze.

Jungsoo knew. He knew all about them.

The boat house walls closed in around him. Christ, this is was always going to happen. They hadn’t even stood a chance. Yoongi had never before appreciated quite how tall Jungsoo was, how he seemed to grow even more with his indignation, all composure abandoned.

“I don’t want to hear a single word from you, you disgrace,” Jungsoo roared. Yoongi barely managed to contain a flinch, couldn’t blame Jeongguk for taking a small step back.

Behind him, Taehyung was silent.

Clawing against the dread coursing through his veins, Yoongi pushed forward. “Leave him alone,” he demanded, pleased that his voice held out. He just had to show that he wasn’t intimidated, that was it. Jungsoo was a bully, Yoongi had to stand his ground.

“How dare you,” the older man spluttered. “How dare you. I let you into my home and this is the disrespect you show me.”

“It’s nothing to do with you,” Yoongi growled.

A twisted sneer worked its way across Jungsoo’s face. He’d never looked more different from his sons. “He’s my son, it has everything to do with me.”

Yoongi scoffed. He had the higher ground and in that moment, he was above everything. He couldn't lose. He would save Taehyung from this place, save Seokjin and Namjoon from the future they didn’t want. Like the hero in one of his stories.

“Your son when it suits you,” he hissed.

“You know nothing of life, do you?” Jungsoo wrinkled his nose, looking at Yoongi as if seeing him for the first time, like a piece of dirt stuck to his show. “Some gypsy boy, conning his way across the country. Not anymore.” His lips curled in the shape of a smile, too cold for the real thing. “I know you, Min Yoongi. The Chief Superintendent General is a personal friend of mine. You won’t get out of this one.” For a second, Yoongi’s confidence failed him. It wasn’t as if the police had any incentive to listen to what he had to say. But it was a bluff, Jungsoo wouldn’t want the rumours anywhere near him. Jungsoo, however, clearly thought he’d struck gold. “What else have you been up to? Stealing from me, no doubt.”

“He’s not a criminal.”

Yoongi startled at Taehyung’s words, the way he pushed against Yoongi’s back, running hot.

Reaching out to keep Taehyung behind him, Yoongi rallied. “I’m not scared of you, Kim Jungsoo. I’m not a thief, I’ve never lied about who I am. I love Taehyung, there’s nothing you can do about it. Nothing you can do will change that.”

In the wake of his confession, the six men in the boat house were silent. Yoongi chanced a look towards Seokjin, who was fixated on Taehyung, as if trying to send him a message. Outside, the river still bubbled away. Inside, Yoongi could feel the tension rising to the surface. Jungsoo’s face had turned strangely blank and Yoongi wondered if he’d actually done it. If the other man would really stand down in the face of his son’s happiness.

Taehyung, perhaps thinking something similar, pushed passed Yoongi, approaching his father slowly. “Father,” he said, reaching out. “Please, I’m sorry I lied -”

The crack of Jungsoo’s palm hitting Taehyung’s cheek cut through the room.

“No!”

“Don’t!”

The cries from the others went straight to Yoongi’s chest and he was at Taehyung’s side like lightning. His hair was still silky underneath Yoongi’s hands, just as it had been upstairs, mere minutes ago.

Taehyung appeared to be rendered mute still, cradling the side of his face in his palm, skin a shock of red, tears threatening to spill. Yoongi curled shaking fingers at the back of Taehyung’s head, sending him what he hoped was a reassuring nod, before rounding of Jungsoo.

“You don’t touch him,” he stormed, releasing the ball of rage inside him. “I won’t let you hurt him. I won’t let you hurt any of them.”

The other man dismissed him. “You think I would listen to him now, after the shame he’s brought to this family?”

“ He’s brought?” Yoongi exclaimed. As much as he had wanted to believe that Jungsoo would never actively harm his children, that he was simply an arrogant, ignorant, neglectful old man, he couldn’t find it within himself to be surprised. Was that worse? That Yoongi had almost been expecting this and yet had continued to steer him and Taehyung directly towards the fire?

As he spoke, Jungsoo raised his hand once more. This time, Yoongi was ready. He shoved Taehyung to the side. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jeongguk rush forward, pulling his friend towards the side of the room, arms circling his waist even as the other tried to break free.

“No,” Taehyung cried out when Jungsoo raised his clenched fists to Yoongi, instead.

Looking into the old man’s face, contorted with range, Yoongi thought he resembled more than ever the trolls and ghouls and evil sorcerers from Seokjin and Taehyung’s tales. A caricature brought to life.

The morning had been such a beautiful one, as near to perfect as Yoongi thought life could get. Lying next to Taehyung, sunlight dancing across his bare skin, bright smile lighting up his features, touch light and fleeting. The feel of Yoongi’s lips against his body, the delicate arch of his neck, the sound of him breathing Yoongi’s name.

That was the overwhelming thought that filled his head, as he watched Jungsoo’s fist fly towards his face. That Taehyung was too good for him not to pay a price. If the cost of it was to suffer at the hands of this creature, then so be it.

Pain blossomed across his jaw and he staggered backwards, collapsing into the wooden stairs. A strike to his stomach, the back of his head, his ribcage. It took his breath away. He dropped to the ground, panting against the wooden floor. His head was fuzzy. Trying fruitlessly to stand, he gripped ahold of the wall, only to fall once more when Jungsoo’s fist clipped his cheek.

He braced himself for the pressure of a boot against his skull, but it didn’t come. The sound of impact, but no pain. He squinted up to find Seokjin locked in a scuffle with his father. Seokjin gritted his teeth as he fought to keep Jungsoo’s arms by his sides.

“You idiot boy,” Jungsoo exploded, letting out a yell and shoving Seokjin away from him in a violent burst. The sound of his head knocking against the bannister was unmistakable. In his dazed state, he didn’t even attempt to move as his father brought his closed fist down across his face. Blood immediately began to pour from his nose.

Someone, more than one person, was yelling, screaming in the small space.

No, Yoongi thought desperately, mind still sluggish as he listened to Seokjin’s groans. Not Seokjin. He was one of the beautiful ones. Yoongi was the one casting a shadow on this family, not anyone else. He should be marred with the scars, not them.

He opened his mouth to draw Jungsoo’s attention away from Seokjin. All he could manage was a faint croak, coughing up blood that dribbling down his chin. It had the desired effect and Jungsoo turned away from his son, who was heaving on all fours in front of him, and delivered a sharp kick to Yoongi’s stomach.

“Stop,” Taehyung screamed when the older man dropped to his knees, leaning closer to Yoongi, fingers tightening around his neck. It reached Yoongi’s ears as if he were underwater. “Stop it. You’re hurting him. Stop it, please.”

But Taehyung was wrong. It didn’t hurt, at least, it was a pain that would fade. Even as his throat burned, Yoongi knew, as long as Taehyung was okay, as long as he was safe, then he could endure anything.

“Father, stop! You’ll kill him.” Namjoon’s voice joined the fray. Would he? As Yoongi’s hands scrambled against Jungsoo’s forearms he certainly felt more fragile that he had ever done before. “What would it look like?” Namjoon carried on. “You can’t have people talking, not after the chauffeur.”

The words were magic. Jungsoo stopped, his grip loosening just enough that Yoongi could breathe once more. The heavy breath of the others filled the room as if they too had been denied it. Yoongi’s ears throbbed where more that one hit had landed. Taehyung’s sobs danced above it all, dazing his other senses.

If Yoongi had any energy left he might have wondered what Jungsoo did to the chauffeur. As it was, he pushed himself upright and shuffled further into the corner. Seokjin remained at his father’s feet, blood dripping off his jaw and onto the floorboards below.

Jungsoo was still staring at him.

“Father, just think ,” Namjoon pleaded once more. He was standing straight, jaw fixed, eyes fierce. Yoongi had to hand it to him, he was an imposing figure.

At last, Jungsoo dropped his arm. He rose to his feet and brushed the dust from his trousers.

Yoongi’s jaw felt heavy and a dull pounding was building up behind his eyes. He turned his head slowly, trying to focus on Taehyung. His vision swam, but soon Taehyung appeared, blurry and distant, but safe in Jeongguk’s clutches.

“I want you gone,” Jungsoo growled. Only when the other man barked out, “You understand me, boy,” did Yoongi turn back to him, blinking heavily, wrinkling his nose at the spit flying from Jungsoo’s mouth. “You’ll be on the next train out of here, or not even this excuse of a man can save you.”

Maybe it was triumphant look in his eye that made Yoongi say it, or the jibe at Seokjin. Perhaps, even, it was the very idea that distance could make his feelings for Taehyung lessen even a little. Whatever the reason, Yoongi found himself compelled.

He looked up at Jungsoo and grinned, hoping the blood filling his mouth emboldened his words. “It won’t make a difference where I am,” he said, enjoying the faint twitch of the other man’s lips. “You’ve lost, old man.”

A swirl of movement filled his vision and his braced once more. The blow never came, however, and Yoongi opened his eyes to the sight of the boat house door swinging in the open air. Jungsoo had vanished from sight and they were left with only the bright sunshine spilling in from outside.

If it was the last time Yoongi ever saw him, it would be too soon.

Movement at his side drew his attention and he groaned. It was all very well him being happy to rid himself of that awful man, but the other four still had to deal with him. With that in mind, he pulled himself up and clambered over to Seokjin, helping Namjoon get him upright.

Perhaps he had gone a bit too far, been a little too confident in his claims. What the hell were they going to do now? How could he leave the others there, with a man clearly unafraid and unbothered by the damage that he caused?

With the pounding in his head he could barely think straight. The last train was in six hours. They needed to come up with a plan by then, or who knows what misfortunes would befall them in Yoongi’s absence.

~

Taehyung couldn’t get his heartbeat to slow down. Even long minutes after their father had left, he still flinched at every sound from outside, expecting him to come back and finish the job.

Someone had got them to move upstairs and Taehyung took it all in. His shoes abandoned near the stairs, socks strew at the foot of the bed, Yoongi’s coat resting on the back of his writing chair. Just the same as it had been before. How could a person feel so happy only for it to be destroyed in a moment? He clinged to Yoongi’s side, his cheek still stinging from his father’s blow.

“I’ll go to the house, get something to help,” Namjoon muttered. Taehyung wasn’t fast enough to catch him leaving, only hearing the door swing shut below, his body jolting at the sound.

While he, Yoongi and Seokjin sought refuge in the soft, warm bed, Jeongguk paced. Taehyung followed the repetitive motion, he couldn’t look at Yoongi, or Seokjin, the blood covering their skin. How could Father have done this? A small voice in the back of his head nagged at him. Perhaps he had hurt others before them?

He couldn’t quite place what he was feeling, a fire building in his chest, fists clenching where he wound them in Yoongi’s shirt. The unfairness of it all, the injustice. He was angry. Angry at his father for how he’d hurt him. How he’d been kept on a short leash his entire life and Taehyung, because he was a fool, hadn’t even questioned it.

Is this what had happened to their mother? Had it been Father that had crushed the very life from her. Had he hurt her? Taehyung scoured his scant memories of her, looking past the rosy glow of her smile for something darker.

Heavy footsteps brought him from his thoughts and he curled his arms further around Yoongi. The top of Namjoon’s head appeared, a frown on his face. If only Taehyung had more limbs, he could reach out and take Namjoon’s hand, could wipe the worry from Jeongguk’s brow, hold Seokjin closer. As it was, he tucked his face into Yoongi’s shoulder.

“Right, it’s not much,” Namjoon announced, holding a small brown box between his hands, “but there’s some antiseptic in here.”

“Did you see him?” Jeongguk asked, eyes bright, skin flushed.

Namjoon licked his lips. “No. The car’s gone.”

From the bed Taehyung groaned. “How could he? He - How could he?” His voice was rough, scraping his throat as he fought to speak. He set his gaze on his older brother. “Has he done this before?”

“Not to me,” Namjoon sighed, kneeling in front of Seokjin, who was cradling his head in his palms. “Not to any of us.”

“That’s not really an answer.”

Yoongi’s words were slow, as if the the exhaustion was finally catching up with him. Taehyung could his chest rumble. God, Yoongi was just a person, just a fragile body and soft innards. How easy would it have been for Father to -

“Yoongi,” Taehyung cried. “Yoongi, I’m so sorry.” He felt Yoongi’s hand cover his own, squeezing tightly. At this side, Seokjin winced. “Seokjin.”

His brother, shook his head, face twisting as if he was attempting to smile. “It’s okay. Really, Tae.” He met Taehyung’s gaze, his eyes bloodshot, one side of his face already blossoming a deep pink. “It’s not your fault.”

From the centre of the room, Jeongguk burst out, “How could he? He’s your father. He shouldn’t - He wasn’t going to stop.” The expression on his face was a concoction of confusion, anger and fear. A dangerous mix. Taehyung reached out his hand, waving him closer.

“I know,” Namjoon sighed when Jeongguk settled onto the floor between Yoongi and Seokjin’s legs. “Let’s just, get these two to stop bleeding, then we can worry.”

While the two of them both insisted that it looked worse than it was, the lie was obvious. As Namjoon worked they winced and grumbled and bit down against their groans.

“Seokjin, stop it,” Taehyung snapped when his brother tried to take the swab from Namjoon’s hand.

“Really. Just a small headache,” he sighed. As well as the bruises on his face, the dark rings under his eyes showed a little of his exhaustion. “What does it matter, anyway? I’m not calling the doctor.”

Yoongi grunted. “Right, too many questions.”

At their feet Namjoon carefully closed the lid of the first aid box, setting it to one side. “Normally I would agree,” he started, raising is eyes to the older man. “But, Yoongi, I can’t believe you’re walking away from that without at least a broken rib or two. How’s your vision?”

“Fine,” Yoongi shrugged. “Better, even. I can see two of everything now.”

“ Yoongi ,” Taehyung whined.

“I’ll go to the doctor’s in the next town, how about that?”

“No.” He’d almost forgotten, in the sanctuary of the bedroom, that Yoongi had to leave. Almost. The words coming from his mouth added to the heavy tug in Taehyung’s stomach. Fear. Fear at Yoongi leaving, fear at him staying.

“You don’t want me to go to the doctor’s?” Yoongi asked him, as if this was all some joke.

“No, Yoongi, don’t be stupid.”

Yoongi’s expression softened beneath the swelling and drying blood. “I have to go,” he said, gently, taking Taehyung’s hands in his own. Taehyung focused on those hands, couldn’t look at his face, don’t just then. “I don’t want to, but I have to. What will he do if he finds me here again? This is the safest option.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” Taehyung sniffed, hating how he sounded like a whining child.

“I think he’s right, Taehyung,” Namjoon added, in his caring, resolutely logical way. “I’m sorry. I mean, look at Seokjin.”

“I’m fine,” Seokjin insisted again, even as he struggled to open his left eye.

“You’re not fine,” Namjoon stressed. He flicked his eyes to Yoongi and Taehyung picked up on the message. They were together on this, they wouldn’t let Taehyung win. “For his own good as well. I’m not saying you should never see each other again,” he added, when the inevitable tears welled in Taehyung’s eyes. He’d been fighting them for too long.

“Yes, you are! How on earth would we?”

Yoongi’s hand curled in his hair. “I won’t go far, just to the next town.” Thin fingers reached beneath Taehyung’s chin, forcing him to look into Yoongi’s glassy eyes. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. And it’s really goddamn terrifying, Taehyung,” Yoongi said, thickly. “I’m not giving you up, not even for Kim Jungsoo.”

“I’ll come with you,” Taehyung tried, fruitlessly. He could feel the dampness on his cheeks.

“No, absolutely not.” Yoongi pulled away then and Taehyung’s arms were cold. He watched as the other man dragged a bag from beneath the bed, dropping it on his writing desk.

“But I want to be with you,” he said. “We - we can all go. We’ll be safer away from here.”

While he’d been speaking, Namjoon had been staring at him with narrow eyes. “He’s not wrong,” he said now, crouched on the floor, shirt untucked, hair fallen completely out of its neat style.

“Namjoon, don’t be stupid.” It was Seokjin’s turn to reprimand now. He slid close to Taehyung on the bed, pulling the young boy to his chest.

“No, look,” Namjoon carried on, eyes flicking around the room, an idea formulating. “I’m not saying we all leave this second, but, maybe we could make some plans?”

Yoongi nodded, dumping a pile of books into his bag. “Yes, yeah. I could - I could look into it.” He rubbed at his jaw, then hissed, frowning down at his hand. “We’d have to be smart about it, but, I have some connections.”

“Connections?” Namjoon raised an eyebrow. “Are they legal?”

“Some of them.” Yoongi’s jaw flexed. He looked out of the window for a moment, gnawing on his bottom lip. “I - It’s not - I stopped all that, it was never my plan to steal from you. Or from him. I came here to get away from that. To write.”

“But you have. Stolen,” Namjoon replied, voice blank.

“It’s not really stealing, is it, when people gift things to you,” Yoongi sighed. Taehyung’s stomach lurched. “It’s not my fault if some people don’t live in the real world, can’t see a lie when it’s staring in them in the face. Perhaps I taught them a lesson.”

“They deserved it?” Seokjin scoffed, wincing after he did so.

“I never lied to you, any of you. Not about anything important.” He turned to Taehyung. “I didn’t break my promise.”

A more sensible person wouldn’t have believed him, but Taehyung knew it was the truth. Yoongi loved him. And he was a liar. One did not cancel out the other.

“Seokjin, come on,” Namjoon broke the temporary silence, eyes wide. “It’s still the better option. What will happen to us, if we stay here?” He wouldn’t agree to it if Seokjin said no, they all knew it. Taehyung buried his face into Seokjin’s neck. His eldest brother was losing a close friend in Yoongi, a confidant. Taehyung wondered if, like him, Seokjin saw the freedom Yoongi had, saw in him hope for the future, and wanted a piece of it. Sadness for Seokjin swirled in his heart, mingling with his own, and he wrapped his arms tighter around his brother’s waist. The older boy nodded.

“Okay,” Yoongi sighed. Perhaps it was Taehyung’s imagination, but he thought he saw relief in the way his shoulders sloped. “Okay. I’ll write, let you know what I find. If I address it to -”

“Roh Chunghee,” Namjoon interrupted. “At the post office. It’ll find me that way.”

Seokjin shifted in Taehyung’s hold, “Who’s Roh Chunghee?”

“Me. It doesn’t matter.”

Yoongi, who had been trying to carry all of his shirts from the small dresser, dropped several from the pile in his arms to the floor.

“Here, Yoongi, I’ll help.” Jeongguk, who had been quiet for some time, rushed to help the other man.

It was enough for Seokjin to drop the subject, they had bigger fish to fry, but Taehyung didn’t miss the way his older brother continued to eye Namjoon. Neither did Namjoon, it seemed, who retreated to the window, keeping watch.

Taehyung watched Yoongi pack like a dream. The few items that Yoongi cherished, that Taehyung had come to associate with him and his comforting touch, warm voice, funny laugh, vanishing one by one.

A gentle sniffing broke the depressed silence of the room and Yoongi frowned, ducking his head to better look at the youngest boy. “Jeongguk?” he said. “Jeongguk, don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry,” Jeongguk moaned, wretchedly, hurriedly wiping at his eyes.

“What for?” Yoongi asked, guiding him to sit on the space he’d left on the bed. Taehyung pulled his shirt, urging him closer. Was he upset because of what they’d said about leaving? They were Jeongguk’s only friends, his family. If they left he’d have nothing.

Taehyung pursed his lips, shuffling to Jeongguk’s other side and rearranging him so that he was pressed in between him and Seokin. The other man didn’t even seem to notice as his lip trembled and he fought to keep more tears from falling.

“I should’ve done something,” Jeongguk gasped. “I just watched.”

“No, Guk,” Taehyung burst out. This was worse, surely. He couldn’t have Jeongguk beating himself up about something out of his control. “What would I do, if you were hurt as well?”

Thankfully, opposite him, Seokjin was nodding. “You did the right thing, Jeongguk. You kept Taehyung safe.”

“You’re all I have,” Jeongguk said, so quietly that Taehyung struggled to hear. He blinked up at them with glassy eyes, cheeks red and blotchy. “I could write to my father,” he offered. “Tell him what happened, maybe he could do something.”

He was clutching at straws and it broke Taehyung’s heart. He’d talk to him about leaving, he would. If Jeongguk wanted to come too, then Taehyung would move mountains to make it happen. Right now, he just wanted to other boy to stop crying.

“I don’t think so,” Yoongi said. He crouched down in front of Jeongguk and placed a hand on his knee. “He’d want to know why, wouldn’t he?”

Jeongguk’s face crumbled. “Next time, I’ll do better. I won’t let it happen again.” He turned to Seokjin, eyes fierce. “I’ll stop him.”

From where he stood, surveying the scene, Namjoon ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, Guk,” he sighed. It was horrid.

After that it seemed like no time at all before Yoongi was pulling on his jacket and toying with the handle of his bag. He hugged them all, ignoring the pain it must have caused. For a long while Taehyung wouldn’t let go.

“Tae,” Yoongi muttered into his hair. “Tae, love, I’ve got to go.”

Taehyung gritted his teeth, pulling away.

“You’ll write?” he asked, voice wavering.

“As soon as I’m settled.”

He followed Yoongi down the stairs, lingered by the boat house door as he breached the sunlight. At the gate, when Yoongi paused, hand on the bolt, for a fleeting moment Taehyung felt a ball of hope rise in his chest. He’d changed his mind, he’d had another idea. The other man simply turned, sent Taehyung one last smile, and walked away, the gate swinging shut behind him with a clatter.

Tears fell freely on Taehyung’s sun warmed face.

~

June 1994

It was ten in the morning and Hoseok was sweating.

“You couldn’t have taken it easy on me?” he whined at Jimin who was fiddling with the cassette player in the corner of the studio.

The other man laughed, the evil glint in his eyes reflected in the wall of mirrors. “That was going easy on you,” he cackled. “Besides, you were late, so I was entitled.”

After suffering what felt like hours of nagging from Jimin, Hoseok had finally relented and agreed to attend one of his dance classes. It wasn’t quite what he had expected.

“I’m a police officer. A taekwondo black belt,” he spoke to the ceiling, sprawled, starfish-like on the floor. “What’s the point of me jogging at all if one hour of dancing kills me?”

“Beats me.” Jimin folded down onto the floor next to him. He had a healthy glow about him, Hoseok thought, nothing like the bright red that he knew was burning his cheeks as they spoke. “I don’t understand joggers,” Jimin carried on. He looked down at Hoseok, a shy smile breaking through his cool demeanour. “It’s been a few days, I thought you’d gone home.”

Though Jimin huffed out a small laugh after his words, Hoseok didn’t miss the undercurrent of uncertainty in his voice. He leant up on his elbows. “No. I -” Should he tell him about Song? It was too nice, having someone trust him unquestioningly. Just a few more days, then he’d come clean. “Extended vacation, I told you.”

“Do you always find cold cases to solve when you go on holiday?”

“I don’t know, haven’t had a holiday in a while.”

“No?” Jimin raised his eyebrows, waiting for him to expand.

Groaning, Hoseok dropped back to the floor. “Work is,” he clicked his tongue, wondering how to get out of revealing that he had no life outside of his job. It had never been something he’d had to hide before. Nobody ever asked. “It’s my focus.”

“That’s cool.”

Hoseok scoffed. “Is it?”

“Well, it’s a little lame, but a little cool. A hybrid.” He’d laid down on the floor next to Hoseok, his cheek pressing into the tile as he looked straight at him. “You’re an oxymoron.”

The words tugged at Hoseok’s chest. Could they stay here all day? Just the two of them talking away the hours. That might be nice.

He coughed. “How rude.”

Jimin laughed. “Shush,” he said, reaching out to whack Hoseok, but missing by a hair’s breadth. He didn’t seem to mind. “I’m glad you didn’t leave. I’ve been Watsoning.”

“‘ Watsoning’ ,” Hoseok echoed, sitting up.

“No, you’re supposed to say, ‘elementary’,” the other man pouted.

“Only if you earn it.”

Turning to face him, Jimin had a strange expression on his face, one that Hoseok couldn’t quite figure out. Was he happy or worried? His lip twitched a little before he said, “I told you, one of the other sons did something?”

“Er, what?”

“Taehyung, when you were going on about Nam - Never mind. I did some digging.” He pushed himself up to sit on his feet, palms resting on his legs. “Kim Taehyung, one of the front-runners in Korean abstract expressionist art,” he said, brightly.

Hoseok got a distinct impression that he should be more impressed.

“Abstract who-what-now?”

Jimin’s shoulders slumped. “Don’t be dense,” he frowned. “Hang on.” Hoseok watched as the other man scurried to the side of the studio, tugging a large book out of his rucksack. “Look,” he said after he dropped it in front of Hoseok’s folded legs.

Amused, Hoseok cocked his head and flipped the first page open. It was a picture taken, Hoseok would guess, in the nineteen sixties or seventies. The face smiling back at him was familiar, though it took a few moments of blinking, unseeing, until the young man in Jeongguk’s photographs seeped through.

“Oh, my God.” It was Kim Taehyung, but older, maybe in his fifties. It was hard to tell, he was staring so intently at a point just to the left of the camera. His face had lost the smooth glow it had held in his youth, but none of his joy. Greying hair fell in fly away waves around his forehead. Around his eyes the skin crinkled and Hoseok was endeared. This was a picture of a man who had lived an eventful life, and had somehow come out the other side gentle still.

Could such a person really have been harbouring a secret for so long?

“Still a handsome bastard, isn’t he?” Jimin interrupted his thoughts, nodding down to the black and white picture.

Hoseok didn’t answer. He flicked through the heavy pages, each one filled with bold colours, powerful strokes, landscapes that Hoseok could half see and half imagine. It was beautiful.

“You’re joking,” he mumbled under his breath. He looked up at Jimin. “How can every single one of them be so,” he shook his head, unable to form the words.

“Horrendously talented?” Jimin supplied, helpfully.

“Yeah.”

“I know. Seems lovely, too, if you read the introduction. Goes on about how he’s inspired by nature it’s impact on people.” The other man sighed. “Suppose they did have to live through, like, several wars, though.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok repeated. That was there, too, in the angry reds and browns and blacks. Red paint. “I wrote to Kim Namjoon,” he said, snapping the book shut.

“You did?”

Jimin sounded surprised. Had he been quite that dismissive of the idea? So much for trying to open up to other people’s ideas, Hoseok.

He nodded. “No response yet. You were right, though, we need to meet them.”

A smile crept its way across Jimin’s cheeks. “‘We’?” he asked.

Hoseok met his gaze. “We’re a team, aren’t we?”

When Jimin replied, his voice was small. “Yeah, we are.” He cleared his throat and laughed. “There’s - er -” He laughed again and Hoseok smiled, a little bemused, waiting for him to finish. “There’s an exhibition, um, up in Daejeon.”

“Oh, day trip?” Hoseok asked, a little surprised at how positive he felt about the idea.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jimin nodded. “We could get dinner or something.”

It was something in the way that Jimin held his gaze, jaw clenched together just tight enough not to be natural.

“‘Something’? Park Jimin,” Hoseok narrowed his eyes. “Are you blushing?”

“No. Shut up,” Jimin snapped before rolling his eyes at Hoseok laugh. “Do you want to go to dinner with me or not?”

Hoseok shrugged, sticking out his bottom lip. “That depends. Is this a friends dinner or -?” He raised his eyebrows at the other man, the question hanging between them.

“Or,” Jimin replied, somewhat abrupt.

“Or,” Hoseok repeated. He smiled. “Okay. Sounds elementary .”

The thing was, the more time Hoseok spent with Jimin, the more he thought that he could actually do it. He could be that person who knew someone that well; knew when they were worried about something but trying to keep it hidden, knew when they agreed to an invitation out of politeness alone, knew when they wanted to talk about it even though they said that they didn’t. With Jimin, it was getting easier and easier to just know.

It was the day after their trip to Daejeon when Hoseok arrived at his grandfather’s house to find the answer phone flashing red. His finger hesitated over the replay button for a second.

“Jung, Oh here. Checking in to make sure you haven’t gone completely off the deep end. Things are lightening up a bit here, but I think you need to stay low for a little longer. There’s still some talk of an internal investigation,” Captain Oh sighed on the tape. “I’m sure it will blow over. I’ll call in a few more days, see how it is.”

Click.

That was it? Hoseok had waited almost two weeks for that?

He picked up the phone, grinding his jaw and he dialled a little more ferociously than usual.

“Jimin? Are you free? How do you feel about breaking the law?”

“I should have done this years ago,” Jimin cackled an hour and a half later as they scrambled through the undergrowth. Hoseok had taken them around the back route to River House again. As blasé as he’d been on the phone, he wasn’t keen to alert anyone else to their presence on the site. Trespassing and breaking and entering were not crimes to be taken entirely lightly.

Their date had gone well. Really well. So well, in fact, that Hoseok hadn’t really taken much notice of Kim Taehyung’s art surrounding them, which was a feat of its own, considering how stunning some of the pieces were. Jimin had loved it, of course. He had stood for several long minutes staring wistfully up at one canvas, purples and grey dripping down the frame. “Like an ocean of flowers,” he’d said. He’d made a comment at one point, how he thought Hoseok was funny. Funny. Even now, Hoseok bit down a smile at the memory.

Nobody had ever thought he was funny before. Laughed at him, maybe, when he got so focused on a case that he became blinkered to everything else. Cho had always said he was charming, but in a mild-mannered kind of way. Open and welcoming, but once you reached further, you hit a brick wall. Hoseok had been in a foul mood all day after she’d told him that, because he already knew it.

After Jimin had dropped him off home from their date, he’d promised himself that he would be different. Just this one time, with this one person, who laughed at his jokes and smiled so brightly. What was the worst that could happen? He’d go back to Seoul no better or worse than he’d left and take up his place again in the never ending cycle of work and late night pick ups.

“Though, I have to say, this is a terrible idea for a second date.”

They had almost reached the river now. Hoseok could smell the roses that he knew were running wild through one of the walled gardens.

“I’ve told you, I’m a police officer. This is my idea of a good time.”

“I think that may have sounded more impressive in your head. Police officer breaking the law. I'm a bad influence,” Jimin joked behind him. The sound of shifting earth followed, a body hitting the floor. Jimin swore.

Turning around, Hoseok was welcomed to the sight of the other man picking himself up, dry dirt covering his side, all the way up to his face. “I’d have thought you’d be better getting through tight spots,” he mused. “Being so -”

“So what?” Jimin glared.

The ‘small’ that had been about to spill from Hoseok lips caught in this throat. “So graceful on the dancefloor,” he tried.

The other man narrowed his eyes. “Uhuh. Keep moving, Jung.”

River House appeared beyond the water not long after, as if Hoseok had summoned it himself. Reaching the rear glass doors they came to a stop.

“Are you going to smash the glass or something?”

Hoseok raised a hand to his chest, offended. “‘Smash the glass’? I’m not a delinquent, Jimin.”

Jimin raised his hands. “Well, I don’t know. I don’t make a habit of this, you know. My rebel without a care demeanour has you fooled.”

“That's good, stick with that. Do as I say, not as I do.”

Hoseok proceeded to pull a hairpin from his pocket and crouched down in front of the door lock.

From somewhere above his head, Jimin scoffed. “No way does that actually work. No way.”

Ignoring him, Hoseok continued to wiggle the pin, waiting for that tell-tale click. It only took a few moments of struggle before, “Aha.” The door swung open with a horrid creak as if it hadn’t been used for a great many years. Jimin stared at him. “Old buildings,” he shrugged, raising his arm towards the door. “Lead the way.”

Inside it was dusty. That strange, still smell of old houses lingered in the air. Though Hoseok knew the place was deserted, the manner in which it had been left, as if the Kim’s had just decided halfway through the morning to get up and leave, had him expecting someone to come round the corner any minute, cup of tea and morning paper in hand.  

It took hours. The house was even bigger on the inside than it looked. Corridors with innumerable doors, rooms that lead on to other rooms, dusty trinkets lining every surface. By the time they’d worked their way up to the top floor, Hoseok was exhausted, eyes blurring over whenever he came across a new item that turned out to be nothing helpful. It was a trove of a life left behind. Clothes still left in the wardrobes, books stacked on bedside tables, letter paper abandoned on desks.

But still, nothing that pointed towards Seokjin, Jeongguk or Yoongi.

The only thing that Hoseok found that was remotely suspicious was a letter addressed to Roh Chungee left on Namjoon’s desk. It had mentioned Kim Jungsoo, demanding payment for a secret to be kept. What was it with this place and secrets? He wasn’t sure quite who it linked to the case, but Hoseok pocketed it anyway. It reminded him of one of the statements in Ito’s file. Someone had seen one of the son’s talking to a stranger near the house, just before the murder. Ito had scrawled over it in red ink, convinced that it had been a mistake, that it was in fact Jeongguk meeting Yoongi. Hoseok wondered, however, if perhaps there was something more to Kim Namjoon than met the eye.

They came to the last door on the top floor, Jimin pushing gently against it. “Is this a cupboard?” he mumbled as it fell open. “Oh, no it’s not.”

Hoseok popped his head around after Jimin stepped through. “Servants staircase,” he said, quickly, taking in the whitewashed walls and stone spiral steps.

Jimin whistled, eyes following the descending iron bannister. “Fancy.”

“Better check the below stairs as well.”

“What about this?”

Already having taken several steps down, Hoseok frowned when he turned to face him and he’d gone.

“Jimin?” he called. “Jimin?”

From an invisible gap in the wall, Jimin’s head appeared. “Here,” he grinned, eyes mere crescents. “Come on.”

“What the -” Hoseok muttered under his breath. Now that he stepped closer, the gap was obvious. Only from viewed at the right angle, though, if you knew it was there.

“It’s a secret corridor,” Jimin chimed, clearly delighted at the idea.

When Hoseok stepped into the dark hallway, he had to blink for his eyes to adjust. “ Jimin . Right, let’s find out where this comes out.”

The floor descended steadily. When was this constructed? Why was this constructed? Alongside these questions, Hoseok couldn’t shake the glaring reality that, if someone wanted to sneak into the house and commit a murder, this would be the perfect way to do it.

After hearing him stumble several times, Hoseok grabbed Jimin’s hand, curling his fingers around the small wrist. If one of them injured themselves here, it would be a complete nightmare to get back to the main city.

At long last, the tunnel levelled out. The walls appeared boxier, less caked in mud, the ground became hard beneath their feet. Thin strips of sunlight broke through at the far end, as if a gate separated them from the outside world.

The pair grunted, shoving their shoulders against the wood until they were hurled onto the floor of the forest.

Jimin scrambled to his feet, spitting mud. “This is good, right?” he rushed, unphased by the dirt. “Is this good?”

“Depends on how you look at it,” Hoseok offered, standing up a little more slowly. “Renders some of the old statements useless. This tunnel could have been used to access the house without anyone knowing.”

The other man narrowed his eyes back at the entrance. “But who knew about the tunnel?” he wondered.

The murderer, Hoseok guessed.

“Come on, there were some storage crates back there.”

Even in their secret hidden tunnel, all that could be found were blankets and lanterns. Hoseok was beginning to get a little annoyed. He stuck his head in the last box. It took him a moment to process what he was seeing when his eyes fell on a small envelope at the bottom of the crate.

He frowned as he pulled, himself upright.

“Look,” he said.

Jimin turned to him, eyebrow raised and he waved the paper. “Open it, then,” Jimin urged, pressing into his side to read over his shoulder.

NJ. Where Mother told us stories, you will hear mine.

Hoseok blinked at the letter before dropping his hands with a groan. “Ah, what the hell?”

“This is turning into a bit of treasure hunt,” Jimin add, not in the slightest bit perturbed.

“What does this -” Hoseok shook his head. “This is incredibly frustrating,” he said, frowning back down at the neatly drawn words. “Who even wrote this? ‘NJ’ Kim Namjoon, perhaps? Could be code. Ah, it’s probably for some hide and seek game.”

“Maybe,” Jimin shrugged. “Maybe it’s a note from the real killer.”

“Why would the real murder leave a note?”

“Guilt. After Kim Seokjin died.” The other man squinted up at him. “Wouldn’t you?”

“I wouldn’t kill someone in the first place,” Hoseok muttered, darkly.

There was a swift smack to his arm and he let out an indignant squawk.

“You might,” Jimin insisted, eyes wide. “What if they were threatening you?”

Still rubbing at his bruised arm, Hoseok reminded, “I am a trained negotiator, you know. And I mean, you know, not in cold blood.”

It needn’t seem too impressed. “That’s what I’m saying, though. Maybe the killer regretted it, left some clues.”

“If they felt that guilty, they’d have gone to the police and gotten Seokjin out of prison.” As the words spilled from his lips, though, he wondered if Jimin had a point. Guilty enough to confess to the family, but not guilty enough to go to the police.

Jimin smiled and clapped his shoulder, stirring him from his thoughts. He stepped back towards the tunnel exit. “Come on, Mr Policeman,” he teased. “I hear your brain whirring. Sun’s going down soon. This place is creepy enough in the daytime.” Once they had emerged into the trees, he squinted, head turning in all directions. “Where’s home?”

Hoseok scanned the landscape around, trying to recall the twists and turns of the tunnel as they walked. “I reckon it’s quicker to go back through the garden. The forest goes all the way around.”

As they walked Jimin kept up a stream of conversation, about when he’d visited before, about other places he used to sneak into as a child, about how his mother used to tear her hair out. Hoseok hummed responses in the right places, but his mind was filled with the letter. Where Mother told us stories . What did that mean? There wasn’t a nursery in the house, they’d searched every room. The library, maybe? But they’d found nothing of interest there, either. You will hear mine. But who did it mean? Namjoon was the obvious answer, but it didn’t sit entirely well with Hoseok. Why would he have written a note and left it there for anybody to find? Who wrote it and who it was intended for, those were the answers he needed to figure out.

“What about the boat house?”

Jimin had stopped in the middle of the lawn, river in site ahead of them. Hoseok barely avoided walking right into him.

“Boat house?” Hoseok asked. “Is that part of this place?”

The corners of Jimin’s lips fell and he shrugged. “Don’t know.”

Hoseok eyed the small building, just visible over the wall. Where Mother told us stories. Could it be? Even in the seconds he thought it, the light seemed to vanish from the sky. He hummed.

“We’ll come back,” Jimin answered for him.

Yes. They’d come back and solve this puzzle. For now, Hoseok needed to read up more about their mother.

Back at his grandfather’s house, as Hoseok held the door for Jimin to follow him through, he spotted something lying on the welcome mat. His heart jolted in his chest.

“Letters. So many letters,” he mumbled, tearing the envelope open, aware of Jimin eyeing him, bemusedly. “Yes, Jimin, it’s from - Oh.” He frowned. “It’s from Jeon Jeongguk.”

“That’s great,” Jimin exclaimed, attempting to read it upside down.

Without taking his eyes away from the words on the page - not many, but enough - he said, “I - I didn’t write to him. I wrote to Kim Namjoon.”

When Jimin simply laughed, Hoseok pouted at him. “Well,” Jimin said slowly. “Maybe - brace yourself - they talk to each other.”

“Sounds suspicious,” Hoseok teased, pleased to see Jimin’s smile widen. “No, but, really, it’s a bit weird.”

“Weird’s good. Gives you questions to ask.”

“He wants to meet me.” We can discuss more over a visit, to put your mind at rest. “Twenty seventh of June. That’s Monday - tomorrow . ” He looked over to Jimin. “Will you come?”

The other man, clearly fighting from rolling his eyes, sighed. “Of course I will, you don’t need to keep asking, Hoseok. I don’t think I’ll help that much.”

Folding up the letter, Hoseok headed into the kitchen. “People like you,” he said. “You’ll help.”

Chapter Text

“If we could turn back the clock,

where should we go back to?

Once we reach that place,

can all our mistakes and errors be undone?

Will happiness be ours to stay?”

June 1994

The address Jeon Jeongguk had given them was on the outer edges of Daegu in Suseong. As they drove the mountains around them slid away into the city. Hoseok noticed a beautiful lake before they approached the house, cherry blossoms and greenery bursting around it at all sides, pedalos shaped like swans spread wide across the water.

Knocking on the front door, Hoseok was endlessly thankful that Jimin was with him. Jimin, on the other hand, looked a little ill.

“Are you okay?” Hoseok whispered to him.

Jimin nodded, face still pale.

The door swung open and an elderly man stood before them.

“Min Yoongi,” Jimin gasped. Hoseok didn’t hear him take another breath and raised a hand behind his back. Just in case he fell.

“Min Yoongi,” he said, attempting a winning smile. “I’m Jung Hoseok, this is Park Jimin. Jeon Jeongguk invited us?”

“I know. The detective,” Yoongi replied, not unkindly. Hoseok was taken aback at his voice. He was expecting something like his grandfather, gravelly and worn, but Yoongi’s voice still had the clarity of youth to it, like water running over smooth pebbles.

“I’m his Watson,” Jimin added and Hoseok fought down a smile. He wondered very much if Min Yoongi was doing the same. “And boyfriend. I’m his boyfriend.” He turned to Hoseok, somewhat flushed. “We’re boyfriends?” He didn’t wait for Hoseok to answer, too surprised by the sudden declaration to voice his wholehearted agreement. “Yeah, we’re boyfriends. So, so, don’t go getting any ideas.” Jimin chuckled weakly, before biting down on his lips.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow at him. “I will bear that in mind,” he said, softly, shuffling back to give them room to pass. “Come in.”

Although the old man was smartly dressed, shirt tucked into belted trousers, he had that thin, feathery look about him that seemed to take hold of people as they got older. Hoseok suspected a strong gust of wind could blow him over. He clasped his hands behind his back as they followed him into a large kitchen, socked feet shuffling across the tiles. Evidently this was his house, not Jeongguk’s.

“Tea? Coffee?” He raised a wild, grey eyebrow at them, matching his dark grey hair, losing ground rapidly to his forehead. “I’m having something stronger, if you’d care to join?”

“Oh, yes, please.”

Yoongi tilted the bottle of whisky in his hand towards Hoseok. “Er, coffee’s fine for me.” The other man frowned, prominent lines on his forehead creasing even further, before shrugging.

While he poured, Hoseok tried to get a feel for the house. It was a nice place, Yoongi had clearly done well out of his writing. Hoseok was pleased, though, that it felt lived in. Just what River House was missing now. There were magnets adorning the fridge in the corner, dishes drying on the rack, mugs clustered on a shelf next to the window. On the table a vase of fresh flowers caused a smile to spread across his face. Red, purple and white, they looked like tiny crowns reaching for the sky.

“Pulsatilla,” Yoongi offered, handing a mug to Hoseok, Jimin already cradling a tumbler of amber liquid. He headed back out into the hall, not looking back at either of them. For a moment the pair shared a look of muted excitement before following. “Taehyung is out walking, but the others are here.”

He was leading them further down the entryway towards the back of the house. Art lined the walls of one side, landscapes of rich green forests, vast skies and endless oceans passed by one by one. On the other side, photographs took up every spare inch of space. Hoseok blinked and veered closer. The same two people appeared in almost every single photo. Occasionally joined by others, people he recognised, Namjoon, Jeongguk, people he didn’t, several women, ageing along with them, children popping in and out of frame. In each, Yoongi and Taehyung smiled down at him, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand. Even as their shoulders stooped, their skin sagged and their hair thinned, they still smiled just the same.

Of course. Yoongi and Taehyung. Hoseok closed his eyes, letting out a quiet groan. Of course .

When he succeeded in pulling his gaze away from the last picture - Yoongi on a boat, waterproof coat down to his thighs, eyes crinkling in a smile as he held a gigantic fish proudly in his hands - he asked, “Others?”

“Jeongguk, of course. Namjoon.” Yoongi stopped and turned his gaze to Hoseok, a lifetime of experience pinning him down. “Isn’t that why you’re here? Can’t tell the story without the three of us.”

“No, that’s great. I -” Hoseok stammered. “So, you’re okay with it, then? Telling us what happened?” He glanced over at Jimin, who was watching them over the rim of his glass.

Yoongi grunted. He reached out, resting his hand on the handle of the door nearest to them. Hoseok felt his heart beat just a little bit faster. “To be honest, Namjoon was going to ignore your letter. I thought much the same. Jeongguk took it upon himself to intercept. Apparently you sounded sincere. I think he wants -” Yoongi smiled. The effect that it had was quite alarming, bringing out a strangely childlike sense to him. “He can be very persuasive. It would be good to talk about it.”

He pushed the door open and they stepped through.

There, on the sofa, not four meters away, were Kim Namjoon and Jeon Jeongguk. Glasses rested on the tip of Namjoon’s nose, his white hair cropped short to his haid. Tall and thin, he reminded Hoseok very much of his old headmaster, as if he had all the time in the world, and all the knowledge with which to outsmart you. He wasn’t smiling exactly, but nor was it a frown. More like he was waiting to form a proper opinion, though it was slightly undermined by his uneven collar and mismatched socks. Jeongguk on the other hand, was already on his feet, smiling away. His grey hair fell in long waves around his face. His tanned skin stretched across a broad frame, wrinkled from age and sun.

“Jung Hoseok and Park Jimin,” Yoongi introduced, heading towards a chair to the side. He waved to the others. “Gentlemen, this is Kim Namjoon and Jeon Jeongguk.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, really,” Hoseok said as they shook hands.

Jimin followed suit. “Big fan,” he breathed, grinning up at Jeongguk.

The other man nodded, long hair falling towards his neck. “You’re interested in River House, Mr Jung?” he asked as the pair dropped down onto two cushions by the coffee table.

From his seat back on the sofa, Namjoon chimed in, “Detective Jung.” His gaze was firmly on Hoseok, who felt very much like he was giving evidence in court.

He cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. I stumbled across it. It, er, piqued my curiosity.”

Evidently, Yoongi didn’t quite believe him. Though he’d been friendly to them until that point, he leant forward then, frowning. “Let’s cut to it. You have questions, I presume?”

Hoseok bit his lip. It had been playing on his mind. He looked over to Namjoon. “Your mother, Yoon Soonja, she told you stories?” he asked. “Where?”

“No, no, hang on.” Jimin’s hand laid on his forearm. “That’s not what -”

Speaking over him, Namjoon’s words were slow, “She did. As I’m sure many mothers do.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I’m not sure that’s going to give you the breakthrough that you’re after.”

“I’m not here on official police business,” Hoseok said, quietly.

“Why are you here, Jung Hoseok?” Namjoon leveled him with a penetrating look.

“I said, I’m curious -”

“Well, go read a book about it,” the other man cut him off. Even at his age, he was an intimidating presence. “Why are you here, in this house, talking to us?”

Hoseok swallowed. If he wanted them to be honest with him, should he not do the same? Isn’t that how trust was built? Empathy and understanding? “I need to redeem myself,” he said, blinking up at the old man. He could feel Jimin’s gaze on him, but avoided meeting it. “I - My captain has stood me down, temporarily. There was a case, I messed up. I messed it up really badly.” His voice shook ran a finger across his bottom lip. Yoongi was staring at him, unblinking. “A girl went missing. It - I interviewed her father, let him go. As it turns out, he did it. Murdered her along with a couple of other young girls. One of them -” He took a deep breath. “One of them was killed after I spoke with him. I didn’t - I knew there was something odd about him.”

Finally, he summoned the courage to turn to Jimin. The other man reached out and clasped Hoseok’s knee. Even with that small gesture, the words loosened in his throat. “Felt it in my gut, you know. But it wasn’t - There was no evidence, so I didn’t pursue it, and a girl died. And that was my fault.”

“Hoseok, no,” Jimin gasped, but Hoseok shook off his words.

“No, it was. I should’ve -” He raised his eyes, to Namjoon, to answer his question. “I felt it, in my gut, at River House. That something needed to be put right. I’m not going to ignore it again.”

There was an extended moment of silence where Hoseok waited for them to be shown the door. It never came. Jeongguk clicked his tongue. He’d shifted, sitting down across from them on the floor. His legs folded underneath him like a man half his age. “Faery Grove,” he said.

Hoseok blinked. “What? Faery -?”

“Faery Grove, that’s where she used to tell her stories.” Jeongguk smiled at him. “In the forest, there was a little clearing.”

“Oh.”

“Not the answer you wanted?”

Hoseok ignored Namjoon’s words, knew the harshness in them was self defence. He’d seen it before. A lot of people tended not to trust the police. Namjoon had more reason then many.

“Sorry, he’s - We want to help,” Jimin explained, fiddling with the cuffs of his jacket, his knee brushing against Hoseok’s every time he moved. “We don’t think your brother was a murderer.”

“I know what my brother was, thank you,” Namjoon replied, voice sharp. “We don’t need you bringing it up -”

“No, wait. Namjoon,” Jeongguk held out his hand. “You’re not even listening -”

Cutting off the impending argument, Yoongi said in his deep voice, “It’s been a long time. Too long.” He narrowed his eyes at Hoseok. “What will you do, if we tell you the truth?”

“You know what happened?” Hoseok countered.

“Answer the question.”

But Jimin got in before him. “We can just listen, if that’s all you want.”

Hoseok watched carefully as Yoongi’s jaw flexed. Was that all he wanted? Really? For someone to hear his story?

Jeongguk’s voice came, scratching against the words, “To clear Seokjin’s name, Namjoon.”

“What about,” Namjoon trailed off, eyeing Jeongguk. A foolish thing to do in front of a police officer, Namjoon knew better.

“He’ll understand. We need to tell him. It’s not right, we’ve lied to him all these years.”

Unable to hold himself back any more, Hoseok said, “You lied to the police, as well, didn’t you? About where you were when the murder took place. The two of you.” He waved a finger between Yoongi and Jeongguk, not missing the way Yoongi clenched his hands by his sides.

“Yes,” the older man gritted out. “We all lied. About all of it.”

This was it. The truth finally coming out. “Why?”

Of course, Yoongi didn’t give him a straight answer. “You don’t have a theory?”

If Yoongi wanted to play a game, Hoseok wasn’t above joining him. “The detective, Ito, he thinks it was you,” he started. “That you were some revolutionary, coming into sweep the others away into a life of, I don’t know -”

“Literary misdemeanours?” Yoongi finished, with a smirk.

Hoseok held his gaze. “He thought that you and Jeongguk colluded,” he said, words flat.

Opposite him, Jeongguk snorted. “Sounds about right. Nobody would ever suspect a Kim.” He frowned. “Or, not before.”

“What do you think?” Yoongi asked, still focused on Hoseok.

“That Seokjin was innocent,” Jimin announced. “That he was protecting something, someone that he loved.”

Hoseok licked his lips. “Namjoon,” he added onto the end. The thought had been building in his mind for a while now.

“Me?” the old man asked. He didn’t seem worried at Hoseok’s suggestion. Or particularly shocked.

“You were seen, near the house,” Hoseok ploughed on. “You were the one to discover the body. You had a history of butting heads with him.”

Yoongi laughed at that. “Kim Jungsoo butted heads with everyone he ever met,” he said, taking a swig of his drink.

“Yoongi,” Namjoon admonished.

“‘Yoongi’, what?” the other man scoffed. “It’s true. I’m too old to be polite.”

From his seat on the floor, Jeongguk muttered, “You’ve been too old to be polite since the moment we met.”

It had a calming effect, and Namjoon smiled a little, revealing a small dimple in his papery skin. “It was - It wasn’t Seokjin,” he said, somewhat reluctantly.

Hoseok grabbed ahold of it. “Why did he confess?”

“He was good older brother. The best. You -” Namjoon frowned, eyes focused out beyond the window. “He didn’t deserve any of what happened to him, none of it,” he said, shaking his head. “He was the best of us, in the end. The only one of us that did what needed to be done. We can’t tell -” He cut himself off, taking a breath and he met Hoseok’s gaze. “There was a reason Seokjin did what he did and that was to protect us.”

There was something in that look, that Hoseok couldn’t work it out.

“Taehyung,” Jeongguk croaked into the silence. “It was Taehyung. Cracked his father’s skull in.”

“Jeongguk,” Namjoon made to interrupt, but Jeongguk didn’t stop.

“The man was a bully. He wasn’t missed, not by anyone,” he snapped. “The police were getting too close. Seokjin, he - he drew their attention away.” Jeongguk gnawed on his lip. “He wasn’t supposed to die.”

Hoseok blinked. Next to him, Jimin pouted, eyebrows drawn together as he tried to process what Jeongguk had said. Taehyung? They’d never even - There was no evidence pointing to him. Of course there wouldn’t be, his mind supplied. These three made sure of it.

“What happened to him?” he asked.

Yoongi side, rubbing a hand across his face. “Don’t know. Just, a couple of days after the arrest, one of the local officers came and told us. Died in his sleep. Spontaneous cardiac arrest brought on by the stress of his confession.” He grimaced. “Bullshit. They never let us see he body.”

“But, why did you leave? Just abandon the place? You could’ve sold it.”

“None of us wanted to be there anymore,” Namjoon replied. “We’d planned to leave, with Seokjin, and after, couldn’t bear to stay. The thought of it going to someone else, though,” he frowned. “No. It’s our family home. It’s where Mother lived, where Seokjin - Seokjin spent his life there. I couldn’t just let some strangers trample all over it.”

Leaning over the coffee table Jimin, in his gentle voice, asked, “Have you never been back? Not even once?”

Namjoon smiled, sadly. “The longer you leave it, the easier it is to leave it a little longer.”

“I don’t understand, though,” Jimin carried on. “If Taehyung - How could it be Taehyung? What happened?”

“We don’t know,” Jeongguk said, simply. “Taehyung - He doesn’t remember. Not when Yoongi and I found him, not after. That’s why - We didn’t just lie to the police, we lied to Taehyung as well.” He let out a breath and closed his eyes. “He didn’t remember a thing, so we just, made something up. And he believed us.” When Jeongguk looked over to Jimin, his gaze was glassy.

“Of course he believed us,” Yoongi added, voice harsh. “It’s a funny thing. The two of them, Seokjin and Taehyung, they -” He narrowed his eyes as if searching for the right words. “Life was pretty hard back then. By the time I arrived at River House that summer I’d convinced myself that in order to survive you had to be tough, not - not show any kind of weakness. Lie, if you needed to, betray, if it meant saving yourself. I was sharp around the edges.” A smile crept across his face as he spoke, “Seokjin was this gentle soul, but just as tough as me. Taehyung, too. They taught me that it was possible to be both.”

Yoongi seemed to linger on that thought for a while, before jerking back to reality. He shifted forward on the sofa, a sudden urgency about him. “You understand that I haven’t been lying to Taehyung for all these years because I think what he did wasn’t justified. I promised him I wouldn’t, ever again. But, Jungsoo - I don’t blame Taehyung, just as I wouldn’t have blamed Seokjin.” He pursed his lips. “We’re just as guilty he is,” he whispered. “Just, that night, he was so confused and - and then Seokjin died. How could we tell him?”

“Taehyung could have handled the truth, I think,” Jeongguk added. “If Seokjin had lived. But that’s not how it happened.” Hoseok considered the thought. What would Taehyung had thought? His older brother dying in a prison cell that was rightfully his. It was a horrid situation. Hoseok couldn’t say that he wouldn’t have done the same. “None of us are getting younger. I don’t want - Taehyung needs to know the truth.” Jeongguk turned to the other two, to his family. “Justice, I’ve found, doesn’t always come when you play by the rules.”

Hoseok had to laugh at that. “A bold thing to say to a police officer.”

“Are you going to arrest me, Mr Jung?” Jeongguk flashed him a small smile.

“Hoseok,” he corrected. “And, no. No, I’m not going to arrest anyone.”

Yoongi groaned, looking very weary all of a sudden. He dropped his head into his hands, speaking directly to his palms. “There’s no point telling him now. Someone else knows, that Seokjin was innocent.”

“And that’s enough, to clear your conscience?” Jeongguk asked.

Yoongi glared over to him. “That’s not what I said.”

Raising his hand, as if to stop the pair, Namjoon joined the fray. “This is all well and good, Jeongguk, you can go on about alternative justice all day. That doesn’t make any difference. Seokjin’s dead. Telling Taehyung the truth, what good would it do?” he asked. “We did what you wanted, we’ve spoken to the police.”

“Taehyung loved Seokjin. What would this do to him?” Yoongi pushed on.

A flash of something flared up behind Jeongguk’s eyes and Hoseok was forcibly reminded of what he’d spent his life doing. Fighting for justice. It made sense. “What would it do to you, more like,” he sneered. “You're concerned he’d leave you.”

Yoongi seemed momentarily stunned. “How dare you?” he breathed.

“Hello?”

A voice called from beyond the door and Hoseok relaxed. The sudden interruption extinguished a lot of the heat from the room.

The owner of the voice approached, footsteps getting closer and closer until the door swung open. “Holy shit,” Jimin muttered.

“How long have you been there?” Yoongi asked the old man smiling into the room.

Kim Taehyung simply grinned even more. “I’ve been walking, why do you look so guilty? Ah, you must be the police officers,” he said, making a beeline Hoseok and Jimin. They scrambled to their feet.

“How do you know -” Namjoon started, though he trailed off as Taehyung greeted them.

“Jung Hoseok,” Hoseok started.

“And Park Jimin, I know. Kim Taehyung.” Taehyung turned to the others. “I saw the letter. You can’t lie to me, Min Yoongi, remember?”

“They’re here about River House,” Yoongi said. If Taehyung caught the fear dancing behind his eyes, he didn’t mention it. In that moment, Hoseok began to understand where Namjoon and Yoongi were coming from. Would the truth do any good to this man, clearly happy with the life that he was living?

“About Seokjin,” Taehyung confirmed, taking a seat next to Yoongi. Like Jeongguk, he had a heavier frame than Namjoon and Yoongi. Apart from a few prominent lines around his mouth and eyes, he didn’t look much older than in the photograph of him they’d seen before. His hair gave him away, however, a brilliant white sticking out in several directions, as if he’d been caught in a strong wind.

For all of Hoseok’s hesitance, Jimin dived right in. “What do you think, about what he did?” he asked.

“Seokjin and I were very similar,” he began, after a moment. “I didn’t realise it at the time, when he was still here, but he must have felt just as trapped as I did, more even.” He quirked his lip in a strange, sad smile, like he was forcing a frown away from his face. “I just wish - I just wish I had told him more often that I loved him.”

“He knew, Taehyung,” Namjoon cut in, eyes soft as he listened to his brother. “God, he knew that. And he loved you, so much.”

Taehyung nodded. “I can’t remember. Still, now, I can’t remember much of what happened. Father was terrible. I should have seen it before. “

“We were young,” Jeongguk offered. The first thing he’d said since Taehyung arrived. It was clear that as much as he wanted to reveal the truth, he wouldn’t do so without Namjoon and Yoongi’s agreement.

“But still. He almost killed Yoongi, you know,” Taehyung said, looking at Hoseok and Jimin. “He found out about us and I thought - Seokjin - Seokjin got hurt. And Father didn’t care.” His voice broke a little. Of course, digging up the past was hardly ever pain-free. “I never blamed Seokjin for what he did. Just, if he’d have felt like he could have come to us. He had so much on his shoulders, being the eldest, you know. Of course he cracked. Anyone would have. He was still a good person. I still miss him.” He huffed out a small laugh, turning to Namjoon. “What would he be doing now, do you think? I always imagine that he might’ve gone into storytelling, like you, Yoongi. He was good at that.”

Namjoon nodded. “Butterfly keeper, I always thought.”

“Or that,” Taehyung smiled, before biting his lip. “It’s not fair, that he was pushed so far.”

Hours later, the landscape speeding past the windows, Hoseok slumped in the passenger seat, exhausted. Eyes focused on the road, Jimin sighed. “Well shit. I want to cry. Honestly, but I don’t have the energy. I’m drained.”

“I know, Jesus,” Hoseok groaned. “I wasn’t expecting - Well.” He glanced over to the other man. “What do you think?”

“You first.”

“What? Why?”

“I want to know your gut feeling.”

Oh, right. That. “Jimin,” he sighed.

“No, come on,” Jimin insisted. “We’re driving, I don’t want to get too deep about it, but, everyone makes mistakes. That girl's death wasn’t your fault. The guy that killed her, he’s the one that should be feeling guilty.”

Hoseok stared out at the road, the trees lining the streets, mountains in the distance. “Thank you,” he whispered. “You, um - What you said, about being my boyfriend.”

“I know, sorry,” the other man rushed, hands tightening around the steering wheel. “I panicked. I was trying to impress Yoongi.”

“Impress -” Hoseok almost laughed, but the fear that gripped his chest stifled any hope of that. “I mean, did you mean it? Do you still want to?”

He kept his gaze on Jimin who was looking resolutely ahead. Was he imagining the small smile tugging on the other man’s lips. “Be your boyfriend? Yes. Absolutely,” he said. And, yes, there was clearly a smile in his voice. Hoseok relaxed, sinking further into the passenger seat. “I know it’s not been very long, but, I like you,” Jimin carried on. “I need to introduce you to my friends at some point, though. They already think you’re a figment of my imagination.”

“I think I can manage that.”

“You haven’t answered my question,” Jimin added after a few moments.

Hoseok sighed. “I don’t think they’re right,” he said, eventually. “About Taehyung. I don’t think it was him.”

“Good,” Jimin nodded. “Me neither.”

~

August 1933

It had been a busy day for Namjoon. He stood in the garden, watching the last minute preparations for the summer party come alive around him. When this weekend was over, then plans could truly begin. To leave this place, for the four of them to put River House out of their minds for good.

The prospect left Namjoon conflicted. Of course, he was keen to get away from his father, now more than ever. As much as they’d disagreed in the past, Namjoon always held onto the belief that it was for their own good, that their father was just trying to protect them in the only way he knew how. Since the fight, he realised the truth. The man was a tyrant, pure and simple.

At the same time, however, this place had been his home for twenty years. He had some wonderful memories here. This was where his mother had lived, and he could feel her presence all over the garden. Would he forget her? As the memories of her garden faded, when their days spent in the den became more clouded in his mind, would the image of her face distort and vanish?

He had seen Jeongguk taking more and more pictures over the last few weeks. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one wallowing in such thoughts.

Namjoon sighed, turning back to the house. Guests would be arriving soon. As a dutiful son, he needed to be ready to receive them.

By dusk, the party was in full swing. Anyone who was anyone in Gyeongju high society had to show themselves at Kim Jungsoo’s summer party. Namjoon remembered it from when their mother was involved. She arranged it all, the menu, the musicians, the flowers, even the patterns on the tablecloths and the colours of the lamps. He was sure that the businessmen and their wives, the landowners and military officers would never notice it, all he could see was the lacklustre twinkle of lights, the bored servants and the plain roses stuck, uninspired, at the middle of each table.

The crowd milled around him, greeting each other with welcoming smiles, their magnificent jewellery glimmering in the light, just as they had intended. Namjoon’s nostrils filled with the strong scent of artificial perfume, overwhelming the natural floral fragrances of the garden.

He longed for an accomplice, but he hadn’t seen Seokjin since the start of the evening. His brother’s bruises had faded to a slightly more inconspicuous yellow, though he had been careful to keep away from the rows of string lights running across the garden. Namjoon lifted two glasses of baekseju from the waiter passing by him and headed down to the river.

On passing underneath the long wooden gazebo he came up short. Apart from two women fawning over the paper lanterns fluttering in the water, the riverbank was abandoned. He was sure he would have found Seokjin here. Or Taehyung at least, who’d barely left the riverside or the forest in the past weeks.

Establishing that the women weren’t watching he took a generous gulp from one of the glasses. Perhaps it was better that they weren’t around, after all, he had business to attend to.

“Namjoon,” a voice called.

Namjoon sighed, downing the rest of his drink and setting it on the ground. He knew that voice.

Turning on the spot he plastered a smile on his face. “Mr Tanaka,” he said, inclining his head. “How delightful. I’m sorry, Sir, did I miss greeting you?”

“I arrived late,” the old man said, his voice abrupt and booming, gripping Namjoon’s shoulder in his bulging palm. “Driver can’t get the hang of these roads. You’d think he’d know.” He elbowed Namjoon in the stomach, raising his eyebrows as if sharing a joke.

Makoto Tanaka was his father’s business partner, had been for a number of years. And for a number of years, Namjoon had fostered a growing hatred for the man who represented most of what he found abhorrent in life.

“He’s from Gyeongju?” Namjoon asked in strained Japanese, struggling to find a topic of conversation while scouring the twinkling lights towards the house for a saviour. He drained his second cup of baekseju.

“Never asked. All amounts to the same,” Tanaka dismissed. “Where’s your father? I was looking over the profit accounts for this quarter. I don’t know what you boys think you’re doing with my money. I didn’t hand it over for you to throw it away.”

“Ah, no, of course not, Mr Tanaka. We would never do so,” Namjoon pandered. Seeing an opportunity he opened his eyes wide. “In fact, he may be working now, you know how he is. I shall let him know you’d like to speak with him.”

Tanaka grunted, even as Namjoon began to back away. “Be sure that you do.”

Namjoon left Tanaka by the river, happily eyeing the two now unimpressed looking women. A pig and a charlatan, Namjoon had always considered that his father had had no choice but to go into business with him, that there had been no other way to keep the company running in such times. He shivered at the memory of Tanaka’s heavy hand on his shoulder. No. Father was just had bad as him. He’d seen a kindred soul in Tanaka and had jumped at the chance.

He was halfway up the garden, heading towards the house. He had no clue where his father was, truth be told, but would rather not be caught in a lie. Besides, it was almost ten o’clock. He could enter by the patio doors and sneak out the side gate, perhaps that would be better.

Mulling over his options, he spotted a shadowy figure walking up the garden parallel to him, head down, sticking to the edge of the lawn. Unnoticed by the rest of the guests, Namjoon stopped and stared at him. It wasn’t unusual for Jeongguk to want to slip by unnoticed, but why would he do so tonight of all nights, when the house was overflowing with people? If he wanted to see Taehyung, he could do so at the party. Too far away for Namjoon to call over without ruining his cover, he let it go, content in following his progress from afar. When Jeongguk split to the left once in the house, Namjoon chose the right, heading towards the kitchen where he was expected. Whatever Jeongguk was up to, he’d find out sooner or later. They were all in this together, after all.   

~

The darkness pressed against Yoongi’s skull. How had he forgotten it in the weeks he’d been away? It never got this dark in town. Was he even in the right place? Sounds of a party in full swing reached him, but where were they coming from? He and Jeongguk had agreed to meet near where the forest spilled onto the road, away from the house and all those prying eyes.

A twig snapped nearby and Yoongi startled, rising to his feet.

All he could picture was Jungsoo finding him there and knocking him out cold. It would all have been for nothing. As he leant closer, squinting into the darkness, his ribs screamed in protest. It was someone, it must be, staring back at him. Or, was it a deer? Christ, Jeongguk needed to hurry up before he gave himself a heart attack.

A bright firework burst overhead, sending a shower of light bursting through the tree canopy. Right at the spot Yoongi’s eyes were trained, a person appeared in the light.

“Jeongguk,” he hissed, the tension coursing through his body immediately replaced with mild frustration. “For the love of - Why are you just standing there?”

“I couldn’t tell if it was you,” Jeongguk whispered back to him, moving closer.

“Who else would it be?”

“I don’t know.”

Now that he was closer, Yoongi took in the sight of him. The other boy was wearing a tailored dinner jacket, his longer hair brushed away from his face. He looked smart, less like the boy Yoongi had left, more like a man. He’d clearly done some growing up in Yoongi’s time away, if the squareness of his jaw was anything to go by, a new kind of calmness radiated from him. Yoongi wondered if he’d let go of that desperate need to prove himself, to seek approval, or if he’d just become a better liar.

He sighed, “Okay,” turning to where he thought the house was. “Let’s get on with it, we need to move fast.”

“Yoongi,” Jeongguk rushed, already several steps behind Yoongi, who was moving fast.

Over his shoulder, Yoongi frowned. “What is it?” Every delay meant they were closer to getting caught.

Jeongguk grimaced. “There’s a bit of an issue,” he confessed. “I’m not sure where everyone is.” When Yoongi’s face fell, the other man shoved him. “Don’t scowl at me,” he protested. “They’re usually by the river, I said we should have told them the plan.”

“No,” Yoongi groaned, sucking on his teeth. The buzz of hundreds of people laughing and talking and enjoying themselves permeated through the trees. Were they in the crowds? Was Taehyung there, having to laugh and smile at their jokes, drink their wine, listen to their stories? God, he needed to see him.

“There are too many ears here,” he shot out, clenching his hands by sides. “Namjoon never thinks of it, but some of the staff might be loyal to Jungsoo. Or scared. Jesus. Right, we’ll just have to find them,” he said, simply. “We’ve got time before the party’s over.”

Seemingly relieved at Yoongi’s optimism, Jeongguk nodded. “All night.”

“Well, then.”

Perhaps Jeongguk had been right, about telling the others, but it had seemed safer at the time, to keep them in the dark. It was the mistake of one of the servants that had got them into this mess, after all. The fact that he’d just been doing his job made it all the riskier. Yoongi was going to take them all away, this evening, no delay. He’d made all the arrangements, had lodgings all ready for them back home. If there was somewhere that nobody would suspect Yoongi of hiding out, it would be back in his hometown, a hundred miles from Gyeongju.

The nearer they got to the house, the louder the celebrations became, until Yoongi was sure he could make out words. The light from the lanterns clawed its way through the trees and Yoongi’s darkness soaked eyes blinked away from it.

They both spotted it at the same time, someone heading towards them from the depths of the forest. They froze, staying close. The other person was making no effort to conceal themselves, mumbling softly, footsteps loud.

Yoongi nudged Jeongguk, eyes encouraging. Jeongguk had every reason to be here, at the party. It would make no difference if he was seen this close to the house.

The other man pursed his lips, scowling at him before he took a steadying breath. “Hello?” he called. “Who’s there?”

Of all the things Yoongi expected - Jungsoo lying in wait, a drunken party goer, one of the servants checking the house boundaries - Kim Taehyung staggering blindly towards them was not it.

At the sound of Jeongguk’s voice, Taehyung came to a halt. He was swaying on his feet and, Yoongi couldn’t be completely sure from so far away, but he thought that the other man was frowning. At least, Yoongi could feel a heavy-lidded gaze on him.

“Taehyung?” Jeongguk asked, hesitantly. Like Yoongi, he seemed unsure of the state Taehyung was in, waiting for him to make the first move.

After another moment of silence, Yoongi huffed. “Are you okay?” he tried, taking several steps towards him. It had been almost three weeks since he’d seen the other man, he wasn’t going to waste another second messing about in the dark.

On moving closer, however, Taehyung flinched, freezing Yoongi in his tracks. Something was wrong here. “It’s alright,” he said, taking hurried breaths. “Taehyung, what’s wrong?” Taehyung didn’t answer, just stared at him. His hands were shaking, he was paler than Yoongi had ever seen him. Something was horribly wrong. “It’s me,” he carried on, pressing his hand to his own chest. “Yoongi.” You know me .

“Yoongi?”

“Yeah.”

Taehyung’s drew his eyebrows together. “You’re here,” he said. “You - But you’re not here.”

A large part of Yoongi wanted nothing more than to reach out to him, to hold his hand, to wrap his arms around him. But something about his reserved stance, the lack of recognition in his words, had him holding back. “I came back. Jeongguk -” He waved over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off Taehyung’s silhouette, “Jeongguk’s here, too. We were coming to find you. To bring you back with me if - if you still want.”

Were any of his words going in? What the hell was going on with him? Why was he out here alone? Where the hell was Seokjin?

“Yoongi,” Taehyung whined.

“Yeah, Taehyung?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t know?” Yoongi gritted his teeth. “If you want to come back?” he asked, tone measured.

“I’m not -” Taehyung narrowed his eyes, looking down at his hands, then up at Yoongi once more. “The forest.”

“Not sure why you’re in the forest?” Jeongguk supplied. “I don’t know, Tae, we just found you,” he whispered. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Clearly he wasn’t. This was taking too long. Yoongi’s skin tingled with urgency. They needed to move.

He began to close in around Taehyung. The other man flinched again and Yoongi withdrew the arm that had been reaching for him. Slowly, Yoongi, slowly. “Taehyung?” he said, softly. Another step. Taehyung’s shirt was untucked from his trousers, one of his cufflinks missing. Yoongi’s eyes raked over several dark splotches covering the fabric of his shirt, flecks sprayed across his side. Another step. Dirt caked his knees, clung to the skin on his hands, under his nails. Another step. The side of his face dripped red, hair sticking together in bloody clumps.

Behind him, Jeongguk gasped and Yoongi watched as Taehyung startled, the whites of his eyes bright in the moonlight.

It was like a bucket of ice had been poured down Yoongi’s chest, working its way to his heart, freezing his lungs. He tried to remain calm, taking Taehyung’s hands in his own, a mixture of blood and dirt smearing against his palms. “Look, come here. We need to get away from the guests,” he rushed. “Do you know where your brothers are?” Nothing. “Taehyung,” he pushed, panicking. “What happened?”

At last, Taehyung answered. “I don’t know,” he gasped. From this close Yoongi could see the tears in his eyes, the distant lantern lights reflected in them. “I don’t know. Yoongi, please. I - I was by the pond and I went - I don’t remember.” His lips trembled. Yoongi tightened his hold. “Please.”

“Okay, okay, it’s alright,” he hushed. “Are you hurt? Here, come here, let me look.” He trailed his fingers across Taehyung’s shoulder, down his arms. “Does it hurt?” he asked. Would Taehyung even know? He seemed so detached from his surroundings. Jesus, where was Namjoon?

Taehyung shook his head. “No.” He was staring at Jeongguk over Yoongi’s shoulder. When Yoongi followed his gaze, Jeongguk had his hands clenched close to his chest, eyes flicking between them and the tree line nearby.

“Yoongi, the party,” he pleaded.

He was right. They’d been still for too long, especially in light of whatever had happened to Taehyung. “Yeah, okay, we need to move.” He racked his brains. They couldn’t make it to the boat house without being seen. River House would be ideal, but much too risky. He let out a frustrated groan. “Jeongguk, where -”

Jeongguk, however, was way ahead of him. “The tunnel,” he said. “It’s back, further from the house.”

Tunnel? Before he could press for any more details, Jeongguk grabbed Taehyung’s hand and was pulling him into the dense forest. Yoongi hurried after them. He could hear Jeongguk’s voice, low and imploring, “Taehyung, you can tell me. Did someone attack you? Was it your father? Tell me, Taehyung. I’ll sort him out.”

“No, you won’t. Think, Guk,” he snapped, pulling Taehyung’s other arm over his shoulder, surprised at how Taehyung leaned on him.

Jeongguk leaned forwards around Taehyung’s body, stumbling across the uneven ground. “Whose blood is it?”

“ Jeongguk. ”

The other man sent him a perplexed look that Yoongi could read loud and clear. Wasn’t he curious? Didn’t he care? Of course he did, the sight of Taehyung like that, it had been haunting his every sleeping moment. It had been exactly what he was trying to stop, that day in the boat house. And it had happened anyway. Taehyung was supposed to be safe without him here, but it had happened anyway. He was sick to his stomach.

Between them, a childlike groan emanated from Taehyung. “I don’t know,” he answered, slowly. “I can’t - I don’t feel well. My head.”

His head? A head injury? Christ, they needed to get to this tunnel sooner rather than later. “That’s okay,” he said, squeezing Taehyung’s hand where it fell near his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it just now.”

It took them a further five minutes of fighting through the forest to reach the tunnel entrance. They almost fell a number of times. If Taehyung had been out there by himself, in the state he was in, it was really no surprise that he was covered in dirt.

The entrance itself was camouflaged so well, hidden in a dip in the earth, wooden door coated with mud, that Yoongi was sure he’d have walked straight by it. Jeongguk hauled the heavy doors open, revealing a sheltered tunnel, strong beams supporting its walls. Yoongi’s lowered Taehyung carefully onto one of the seats lining the walls. He glanced down the dark abyss. Was this wise? Would someone sneak up on them this way? He pushed the thought from his mind. It’s not like they had much choice.

“Love, here, sit down,” he cajoled Taehyung, who was inclined to sprawl across the bench. He pulled him up, resting his head carefully against a beam.  

“There’s a lantern,” Jeongguk mumbled as he pulled up the other bench seats. “We used it use this as a secret base, when we were little, should be - Aha.” He turned, holding a rusted lamp aloft, smile on his face.

Now that Taehyung’s face was properly lit, it looked even worse. After Yoongi had contented himself that there were no obvious injuries, no bruises, not even a scrape - where had this blood come from? - he pulled out a handkerchief and began scrubbing Taehyung’s face clean as best he could.

“Jeongguk, do you think you could find Seokjin and Namjoon and bring them here?”

“I’m not leaving him,” Jeongguk replied, dropping to the bench next to Taehyung.

Yoongi rolled his eyes. “One of us has to.” The pair stared at each other for a moment before Yoongi sighed. There wasn’t time for this. “Fine,” he said. “Tae. Tae, love, can you hear me?” Eventually, Taehyung raised his eyes to Yoongi’s, long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. Yoongi smiled. “You’re okay, alright. You’re safe here. I know you said you don’t remember, but I really need you to think. Whose blood is this, Taehyung?” If there was someone out there who was hurt, who’d lost this amount of blood - Yoongi winced. “Is it - Is it a guest?” he tried after Taehyung remained quiet. “No? Is it - Is it Namjoon’s?” He held his breath waiting for a response, could see Jeongguk tense. A shake of the head. “Seok - Seokjin’s?”

Taehyung frowned, staring over Yoongi’s shoulder, as if trying to remember. “I don’t think so,” he croaked. “I don’t remember. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Murmuring assurance, Yoongi rubbed at his legs as he crouched in front of him. “Alright, okay, what were you -” He stopped short, maybe if they helped jog his memory. “Jeongguk, you start. Where have you been? Did you see Taehyung at all?”

The young man raised his eyebrows. “Er, at the start. He was with Seokjin and Namjoon, greeting the guests with Jungsoo,” he said, slowly. “Then I left, I went up to pack the bags, I think. I came back to get everyone, thought they would be by the river, but they weren’t. I checked the den, the boat house, but nothing, so I came to the forest to see you.”

“That’s it, you didn’t see anyone else?” Yoongi tried to keep the frustration out of his voice, though he wasn’t sure it worked.

“No,” Jeongguk groused. “That’s why I said to you, I couldn’t find anyone.”

“Okay, Tae,” he turned back to the other man, a little surprised to find the other man’s eyes fixed on him. “Where did you go, after you greeted the guests?” But Taehyung just shook his head. Yoongi grimaced, squeezing his knees. “I know, love, but it’s important.”

It was painful to watch as Taehyung closed his eyes, eyelashes wet with unshed tears. Eventually his spoke, “I - I spoke to Aunt Sookja for a while. Watched - Watched the band play.” He looked between Yoongi and Jeongguk, as if checking his answer was right.

“That’s good, that’s great Taehyung. What else? You mentioned the pond?”

“N - No. Mother’s garden, I was there for a bit. Seokjin was there, but he left.” Taehyung pouted a little, faint lines creasing his forehead. “Then the pond. To see the fish. T - To say hello to the fish.” He smiled at Yoongi then, “They get excited at all the people.”

Though it wasn’t any revelation, Yoongi’s heart rejoiced at seeing that smile again. It was all he’d thought of since they’d parted. Why did their reunion have to be marred like this? “And then?” he probed.

Taehyung shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just blank.” He groaned, suppressing a sob. “Yoongi, what happened? Where’s all this blood from?”

“It’s okay, we’ll find out,” Yoongi rushed, pushing Taehyung’s hair away from this face, wiping away his tears. Jeongguk shifted in his seat. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine. We’ll find out and then you’ll come back with me.”

“With you?” Taehyung questioned, voice thick. “Leave now?”

Yoongi nodded. “If you want.”

“Yes, please. Yes.”

The words had never sounded sweeter. Yoongi just hoped it was still possible.

~

Namjoon was frozen in the doorway. His father’s study was an impressive room, intricately patterned wallpaper, tall bookcases, rich gold fittings. The window behind the desk dominated the far wall. In the day it was filled with the landscape of the forest, where it edged onto the border of their land. At night, the shadows of the trees made inhuman silhouettes that swayed in the wind, tapping menacingly on the glass. He’d often been scared to enter when he was younger. Right now, that old fear echoed inside him.

His father’s body lay across the plush carpet, hand outstretched in a last-ditch attempt to fend off his attacker. Beneath his hair, matted with thick blood, a flash of white was clear. Bone, Namjoon knew. He shiver ran down his spine.

Blood was everywhere. On his father’s body, the carpet, splattered up the walls.

It was strange. As Namjoon stared into the room, into the pale, lifeless face of his father, his fear vanished.

Outside the party was sure to be in full swing still. There were no servants around. Namjoon was the only one here. He could do anything. He could walk on by, pretend he never approached the room, that he was never there. He could move the body. He could hide it. But no, that was absurd. A house full of people, what was he thinking?

Backing out of the room, he closed the door behind him. Nobody else needed to see that. There was a telephone in the entryway and he headed there in a daze. The police would have to be notified. It wasn’t preferable, with Seokjin’s face still a little bruised, but he couldn’t think of any way around it. Anything else would incriminate him. Unless he just lied? Rejoined the party?

Tortured by indecision, he floundered in the hallway.

“Namjoon.”

He jumped at the voice, twirling on the spot to see Seokjin leaning against the entryway wall.

“How long have you been there?” Namjoon gasped.

“Long enough to wonder what on earth you’re doing.” He pushed himself up and waved vaguely at his face. “I’m hiding.”

Namjoon hardly heard him. “Seokjin,” he breathed. All but falling into his older brother’s arms, he relished in the warmth. Without question, Seokjin embraced him, chin rest on his shoulder. Though Namjoon would have preferred to stay like that, the longer he put it off, the worse it would be. He pulled himself free, frowning a little when Seokjin resisted, but finally dropped his arms. Namjoon took a steadying breath. “Father’s dead,” he said.

Scouring Seokjin’s face for the loss and distress that he couldn’t feel himself, he came up lacking. His brother blinked, more of a twitch, and shifted where he stood. “What?”

“He’s dead. Murdered.” It felt better to say it outloud, like Namjoon wasn’t just imagining what had happened. “His body’s in the study.”

“Are - Murdered. Murdered. ” Seokjin, stepped closer, sending a furtive look around the entryway before whispering, “Namjoon, are you sure?”

“Yes, I was going to call the police.”

“Hang on.”

Namjoon frowned. There was something not quite right about Seokjin, his words, the thin line of his mouth. He looked stressed and Namjoon could not bring himself to believe it was due to the loss of their father. “Why?” he asked, baffled. “Seokjin, someone’s killed him. Somebody else will find his body soon.”

“I know, just, damnit.” The older man rubbed his neck, dropping his hands to stare, defeated, at Namjoon. “Yoongi’s back,” he signed. “Guk was meeting him in the forest, they were going to take us all away, tonight.”

“Yoongi.” He had come back for them. “No, he would have said,” Namjoon eyed his brother a little uncertainly.

Seokjin just shrugged. “We just - Let’s make sure he’s gone before we call the police, alright? They’ll suspect him. If they look into his past, even just a little, he’ll be arrested on the spot.”

It occurred to him that Seokjin hadn’t made any comment on what had happened to his father. It may have been under duress in the past, but he’d always been the first to defend the older man if needed. “You’re taking this very well,” he said, slowly.

The sad smile that Seokjin sent him then said it all. “You look quite alright yourself,” he replied. “He wasn’t loved.”

The sharp crack of his father’s knuckles colliding with Seokjin’s face played in his mind. His own voice, taken from him and moulded into a conduit for his father’s opinions. Taehyung’s dreams crushed with a few careless words. And what of their mother? Had she ever been happy there? “No,” Namjon settled on. “He wasn’t.”

“They’re meeting in the forest. Let’s use the tunnel, we won’t be seen.”

As they went further back into the house, Namjoon spared a look at the door to the study, still as innocuous as ever. He breathed deep and followed his brother up the stairs.

The tunnel was always dark and damp and caked in mud. Namjoon had avoided it growing up, finding its very existence disturbing. What could possibly happen to them that they would need to flee their home without being seen? For now, though, he was most thankful.

They marched over the spongy earth in silence, eyes trained on the faint light in the distance, growing brighter with every step. Once they had the door almost in their sights, however, the light vanished.

“Who’s there?” a harsh voice demanded of them.

The pair stopped short and Namjoon felt Seokjin’s fingers curl around his wrist.

“Yoongi?” the other man called.

In an instant, Yoongi’s tired face was illuminated, a small lantern clasped in his hand. “Where the hell have you been?”

Even in their current predicament, Namjoon couldn’t deny how good it was to see the other man again. Even just his presence calmed Namjoon’s racing heart, reminding him that the world was bigger than the boundaries of River House. “Yoongi, there’s a situation.” He grimaced at his own words. A situation . Yoongi wasn’t some delicate flower, he didn’t need to skirt around the issue.

Before he could go any further, Yoongi cut him off. “I know there is,” he said.

Seokjin and Namjoon shared a confused look. “You know?” Seokjin asked, words coming out a little stilted. “How?”

“You found someone lost a lot of blood, is that it?”

Against his will, Namjoon recalled Seokjin’s words from earlier, they’ll suspect him . What had Yoongi done?

“A little more than that,” he croaked. “Father’s dead. Hit over the head, by the looks of it.”

Yoongi’s face fell. “Jesus Christ,” he gasped. Namjoon watched as the other man shifted on the spot, his eyes flickering in their sockets. With a start, he realised Yoongi was panicking. “Oh, shit .”

“Yoongi, what?” Seokjin pushed. “How did you know?”

“Taehyung,” he gritted out, muffled enough that Namjoon strained to hear it.

Namjoon shook his head, baffled. “Taehyung? What do you mean?”

His eyes flicked between them, miserably, before Yoongi beckoned them further down the tunnel.

Curled into Jeongguk’s side, his little brother was revealed in the weak light. Covered in blood, clothes a mess, face a picture of inner torment.

“No,” Namjoon groaned. “No, Taehyung.”

“He’s a bit confused at the moment,” Jeongguk said, voice soft. He smiled at them, looking tired, as Seokjin approached the bench, crouching down by Taehyung’s feet. Namjoon stayed back, staring. No. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be. Taehyung wouldn’t hurt a fly, he should never be involved in something like that. The blood and bone visible under the skin of his father’s skull, such a violent way to go. Not something that was planned, though, his treacherous mind supplied. Sometimes even the sweetest of creatures reach their limit.

“Tae, darling,” Seokjin whispered, palms resting gently on Taehyung’s knees. He spoke to him like they were children again. Like Taehyung had been scolded for playing too loudly. “Taehyung. You’re okay.”

“Seokjin.” Taehyung blinked, as if seeing Seokjin for the first time. “I was looking for you,” he said, words slurring together. It was almost as if he’d woken up from a nightmare.

“Well, here I am,” Seokjin calmed. He stood up, leaning to curl his fingers around Taehyung’s upper arm, urging him forward. Namjoon almost said something, told him to stop, that Taehyung was too sensitive. Taehyung went easily, however. Seokjin knew best, had always known best, how to comfort them when they were upset. “Come on,” he said now, eyes glimmering. “We need to clean you up.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know -” Taehyung started.

“It’s fine, Taehyung, don’t you worry about a thing,” Seokjin soothed, guiding him back down the tunnel to the house. “I’ll sort everything out, okay. You were with Jeongguk this evening, weren’t you? I saw you.”

Jeongguk frowned where he’d fallen into step with Namjoon and Yoongi. “No, I was -” Yoongi elbowed him.

“We’ll talk about it,” Yoongi said as Taehyung brought his eyebrows together, thinking hard.

“Jeongguk?”

“Sure,” Seokjin nodded. “Just had an accident in the woods, I’m sure.”

Namjoon turned to Yoongi, then, whose eyes were trained on the back of Taehyung’s head. He was nodding to himself. Perhaps Seokjin had the right idea after all.

~

Nausea churned Yoongi’s stomach as they went up and up, hauling themselves towards what must be the very top of the house. Had Taehyung really murdered his father? If he had, Yoongi wouldn’t blame him, not for one second. What made him sick was the thought of what could have driven Taehyung to it. What had Jungsoo done to him to push him to that extreme?

His beautiful Taehyung. Yoongi wouldn’t let him suffer for this. He would keep him safe, keep his secret, would never breathe a word. This wasn’t for one of his stories, it wouldn’t see the light of day.

The door to the house creaked open as Seokjin peered through.

“Alright, quickly,” he said in a faint whisper.

Shuffling into the empty corridor, it almost felt to Yoongi like they were in a dream. The warm lights of the party still flickered through the tall window above the stairs. The house was quiet. He’d barely seen the upper levels before and they looked even more foreign to him in the dark. When Seokjin caught his arm, jerking his head towards the top of the stairs, he knew why.

He peeled away with Namjoon as Jeongguk led Taehyung further down the corridor.

“Where are you going?” Taehyung asked. His loud voice bounced off the walls and Namjoon winced.

“Nowhere important,” Yoongi replied, casually. “Jeongguk will stay with you.”

Taehyung didn’t believe him. Even in his disorientated state, he could see through Yoongi’s lies. “Don’t leave,” he pleaded.

It tugged at Yoongi’s heartstrings and he retreated back up the stairs towards the other man. “I’m not, I’m not going anywhere.” And he wouldn’t, ever again, if Taehyung needed him. Kim Jungsoo’s of the world be damned.

“He should come,” Namjoon interrupted. Where he stood on the steps, he was half in the shadows, he voice emanating from the dark. “He needs to know. We can’t keep this from him, Seokjin.”

“Keep what from him?” Jeongguk asked, eyes following the silent battle being ferociously fought between the two brothers.

Namjoon ignored the question, holding Seokjin’s gaze. “He’s not a child.”

Instead of answering, Seokjin let out a weary sigh. He raised his hands, letting them fall at his sides in defeat before hastening down the grand steps.

Yoongi reached out and curled his hand around Taehyung’s, leading him down to his father’s body.

It wasn’t the first dead body that Yoongi had laid eyes on. He’d seen men shot before, their bodies crumpling to the ground like paper. His uncle had died when he was young and Yoongi found his body in the kitchen, cold as stone. Perhaps, though, this was the most bloody. Surrounded by his books, his precious work, Jungsoo’s body appeared small. How easily had he been felled in the end? A blow to the head was all it had taken. Blood was drying into the carpet. He found himself wondering whether it would ever come out. Perhaps the stains be there for the rest of time, marking this as the place that Kim Jungsoo came to an end.

They stood in a semi-circle around Jungsoo’s body, looking down at him.

“Is he - Is he hurt?” Taehyung’s quiet voice wavered as he spoke. The little colour that had been left in his face had vanished and he stared, unblinking, at the unmoving body.

“Yes,” Seokjin replied, simply.

“Terribly hurt?”

“Yes.” The older man sent a hopeless look his way. “He’s dead, Taehyung.”

“Dead.” Taehyung finally looked up then, eyes glistening. “I killed him,” he said, thickly.

The words had a strange effect on everyone the room. All of them, even Yoongi, flinched away from them. Even though he’d known it must be true, to hear Taehyung say it, so plainly like that, was a lot. Like walking in the dark and not being able to find a wall to guide you.

“No, no you didn’t,” Seokjin countered. “You couldn’t have, you were with Jeongguk. I told you that. We don’t know who killed him.”

“But the blood.” He began to cry, sucking in heavy breaths. Yoongi watched, helplessly and curled an arm around Taehyung’s waist.

Jeongguk shook his head. “No,” he said, brightly, as if there wasn’t a dead body lying at his feet. “It’s not blood, Tae. It’s paint.” Yoongi held himself still. Where was Jeongguk going with this? Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Namjoon whip his head towards Seokjin. “We were messing around in the garage. They’ve painted the doors, remember? You bumped into the shelves, a tin fell on you.” Jeongguk nodded, raising his eyebrows at Taehyung. “Remember?”

A faint crease appeared between Taehyung’s eyebrows as he struggled with what Jeongguk was telling him. “I don’t -” he whimpered. “The garage?” There was hope in his words. Yoongi had to look away. Taehyung couldn’t see the pain in his face.

“That’s right,” Seokjin added.

There was silence for a moment, as they all waited for it to take. When Taehyung seemed unable to argue, Namjoon spoke up. “Yoongi, you need to go.”

It took Yoongi a few moments to process what Namoon’s was saying. Leave? Now? As if he could even entertain the idea, it was ridiculous. He drew his mouth into a thin line, fixing Namjoon with a glare. “Funny.”

But Namjoon didn’t back down. “No, really,” he insisted. “The second someone finds out what went on with you and Father, you’ll be the prime suspect.”

Of course, it was true, Yoongi had known as much since the moment Seokjin had told him what had happened. Even so, he couldn’t go. Look at what had happened last time he left. He wanted to be there. If the other’s were to face police questioning, the local gossip, the press interest, he should be there too.

“I don’t care. I’m not leaving.”

“But the police -”

“Namjoon, I’m not interested. I’m staying, that’s it.” It occurred to him then, if Namjoon was so keen for him to be gone, maybe he could quite literally take Taehyung out of danger’s way. They couldn't question him if he wasn’t there. “Or, I’ll take Taehyung,” he started, quickly, before the nagging in the back of his mind could stop him. “We can leave right now and you can follow on, once it’s all blown over.”

“Are you mad?” Namjoon spluttered. “How would that look? That would be worse than you turning up here in the first place.”

Yoongi shrugged, ignoring the heat in his cheeks. “It’s either that or I stay.”

“Fine,” Namjoon muttered, rubbing at his temples. He had been keeping his gaze studiously above ground level, only letting his eyes drop then for a moment. “We should clean Taehyung up and call the police,” he said. “The longer we wait the more suspicious it looks. We’ve been missing from the party for too long.”

God, the party.

Seokjin sprung into action. “Right. Jeongguk, Yoongi, get Taehyung sorted. Namjoon, you call the police. I’ll deal with the guests.” The all made to move at his orders, acting on reflex. “But, no, wait,” he rushed.

“What?” Jeongguk jumped, looking immediately alarmed at his own sharp tone.

Unbothered, Seokjin spared a glance at Taehyung, still lost in his thoughts, gaze seemingly fixed on his father’s right hand. “We need to be clear,” Seokjin said, voice low. “About what happened. To help the police in their search.” He fixed Namjoon and Yoongi with a firm look. The message was clear. Keep the youngest two as far from any implications as possible. That would be their last stand, it seemed. If Yoongi had told himself, even a few short months ago, that he’d happily lay himself down on the line for two men he hadn’t even met yet, he wouldn’t have believed it.

At his side, Namjoon nodded. “I found him,” he said, gravely.

“I -” Jeongguk looked between them and whispered. “Should I go to the garage?”

Seokjin’s nostril flared. “Yes. Yes, now,” he said. “Quickly, go now. Take - Take some clothes with you. Jeongguk?” he called, as the other man pulled the door open. “Do not be seen.” Jeongguk nodded, then disappeared from sight. “Yoongi. I know you won’t go, but how about arriving tomorrow morning? Namjoon could telegram you. The first train in is early, it would look better.”

Practically, he didn’t have much choice. It would be far too suspicious. Even the idea of leaving the grounds for a night sat uneasily in his chest.

“We’ll make sure he's okay,” Namjoon added, watching as Yoongi sent a concerned look towards Taehyung.

“Okay,” he said, eventually. “I’ll go after Taehyung’s cleaned up. Just to the station, no further. And I’ll be back before breakfast.” There was a small alcove behind the signalman’s hut he could bunker down in for the rest of the night. He’d head back first thing. Might even overhear any police reports, as well, if he was lucky. God, this was absurd. If he wasn’t living it, he would have thought its straight out of a novel.

Seokjin had already moved on. “Namjoon, you can stick to your actual story, if we can sneak some truth in there, that would be good.”

Namjoon nodded. “What about you?” he asked.

“I was in Mother’s garden.”

“Taehyung was with you,” Yoongi blurted out, not quite sure what he was trying to say. Was Taehyung any less guilty if he’d been in the gardens before he’d beaten his father to death?

“For a bit,” Seokjin agreed.

“All evening?”

Seokjin frowned at Namjoon’s words. “Most of it,” he said, slowly, scratching his ear. “The crowds, my face. You know. Then I came to the house, into the library.”

“Not a great alibi,” Namjoon muttered, almost to himself. “We can’t give them any cause for suspicion. If they don’t have grounds for arrest, then -” He looked over to Taehyung, the other two following his gaze. The poor man seemed ready to pass out. Yoongi needed to get him cleaned up soon if the police were going to be in the house. It had to be spotless. He’d take the clothes he was wearing with him, bury them somewhere. “They need grounds,” Namjoon continued. “We won’t give it to them.”

With a sinking stomach, Yoongi thought back to the police he’d encountered in every other place he’d visited. By the book were not words he’d use to describe them. They might be different here, though, with this family. The years of good behaviour, their impeccable reputation, the generous buttering up of authority that Kim Jungsoo had so studiously administered might finally pay off. Just not for him.

With an air of finality, Seokjin said, “We stick together. No matter if - No matter who did it. Mother would want it that way.”

If their mother could see them now, Yoongi thought, her heart would surely break. Seokjin, who’d been trapped for so long by his father, only to walk head first into a web of lies. He was too good for River House, that much Yoongi was sure of. Namjoon, earnest and wise. All he wanted to do was make the world a better place and yet here he was, covering up a murder. Taehyung, darling Taehyung. Yoongi prayed that he would never remember tonight. He was so desperate to become a man. What happened here had surely done it, but at a terrible cost. And then Jeongguk. Would this night shape him? Make him a different person to the carefree boy, who’d been jealous of Yoongi for stealing his friend away?

When Yoongi spoke once more, his throat was dry. “And once we’re in the clear, we can all leave?” he asked. He’d cling onto that dream until it was a reality. Where everyone could be rid of this house, the memory of Jungsoo. It was all he had left.

“That’s right,” Namjoon echoed. His tone was so sombre that Yoongi wondered, was he thinking the same thing? “We’ll stay together.”

If he had to break his promise to Taehyung, well, at least everyone agreed. It was for the best. He just hoped Taehyung would forgive him.

Chapter Text

“Though many seasons pass,

there are places that cannot be reached.

Yet another storm to be faced,

and be weathered head-on.

Loving without fear.

Hesitating and parting.

Merely living as the person I am.”

July 1994

“I just - He said it himself. He didn’t realise how horrid his father was.” Hoseok sat at Jimin’s dining table. Or, rather, Jimin’s grandmother’s dining table - as if the floral plates hanging from the wall would let him forget. “If he didn’t know, or if he’d only just realised, why would he murder him?”

Opposite him, Jimin took a long sip of wine. They had spent the evening together, taking advantage of Jimin’s grandmother going out of town. Hoseok had managed to stick to his self-imposed ban on River House talk for almost all that time until Jimin had brought it up at dessert. “Surely because he’d only just realised,” he said now. “But I agree with you, it doesn’t feel right. And what the hell happened to Seokjin?”

“I dunno. I think I’m gonna ask Cho to pull the old file. If anyone could find it, she could. And if you think about it, about what they all said, none of them actually saw it happen. Taehyung never confessed to them.” Hoseok jabbed a finger towards Jimin, a victorious smirk taking over his face. He hadn’t exactly been counting how many glasses he’d had, but he thought now that maybe it was a few. “They don’t know for certain that it was him.”

“They must have a reason for thinking it was him,” Jimin countered. “Why would Taehyung have blocked it out, if something didn’t happen that he wanted to repress?”

“Maybe it wasn’t something he did. Maybe it was something he saw.”

The second that Hoseok said it, he knew he was right. That was why he felt like he did. There wasn’t any proof that Taehyung did it. Before they’d left Daegu, Hoseok had cornered Jeongguk on his own, had tapped him for details about how exactly he and Yoongi had found Taehyung. Covered in blood, that’s was Jeongguk had said. Covered in blood and shaking from head to toe. But there was no murder weapon. The police had never found it, it had been a sticking point for Ito. If he was in such a confused state, Taehyung wouldn’t have been able to hide a weapon that well. Well enough that even after sixty years it couldn’t be traced.

Only the real murderer could have done that.

He let out a frustrated groan. “I need to prove this.”

Smiling serenely, Jimin replied. “You don’t need to. But we will.”

The other man was looking lovely this evening, Hoseok thought not for the first time. His hair was particularly soft, shining it the low light. His silky shirt clung to his shoulders, small hoop earring dangling from one lone ear. Hoseok was underdressed. Always was when they went out and Jimin always reassured him that it didn’t matter. He hadn’t realised he was going to be going on so many dates when he’d packed his bags. Such a sweet man. How on earth did a failed cop like Hoseok manage to land a chance with him?

“I do. I can’t -” Hoseok struggled to voice his thoughts. “Since that case - I just need to solve this.”

“Did your captain blame you?” Jimin countered.

“Huh?”

“Or your partner, did they think you’d done something wrong?”

“No.”

“So it’s only you.”

Hoseok scowled. “Me and every journalist in Seoul,” he muttered.

“Well, what do they know?” Jimin laughed. He reached across the table, clasping his hand around Hoseok’s. “The fact that you’re still trying, Hoseok, that’s proof enough that you’re good at what you do. You haven’t given in.” His eyes twinkled and Hoseok got a little lost. “I admire that about you.”

“Ha, that’s funny. Admire,” Hoseok mumbled. “Case with a confession and I still can’t find the murderer. It just doesn’t fit.”

Jimin sat back in his seat. “You know,” he said, slowly, levelling Hoseok with a considered look. “I used to want to be a dancer. Got pretty close.”

Hoseok pouted. “You are a dancer.”

“Professionally.”

“What’s teaching if not a profession?” Hoseok countered, pleased with the way that Jimin smiled.

“You know what I mean.”

“Not really.”

Jimin pushed his hair out of his face, small lines forming between his eyebrows. “I was a trainee for one of those new entertainment companies,” he said. “Spent a good few years there. Nothing ever came of it.”

The image of Jimin as a teen pop sensation sprang to mind. Of course, Hoseok thought, one of life’s performers. “Why not?” he asked.

“I wasn’t good enough.”

“Shut up,” Hoseok shot out. “You’re amazing.”

“Not to them. It was my dream, but, they refused to renew my contract. I gave up, went back to school.” The other man shrugged, smiling over the table. It didn’t reach his eyes. “One company said no to me and I gave up completely.” He huffed out a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m not great at rejection.”

Mulling his words over, Hoseok found himself frustrated. “You are good enough, Jimin,” he insisted. “Doesn’t it make you happy? Dancing?”

Jimin nodded. “Yes, the happiest. I shouldn’t have stopped pursuing it, but I did. It wasn’t meant to be,” he said simply. He leant forward, gaze focused on Hoseok. “You’re meant to help people like this. You’re meant to find the answers, not because you’re good at it. I was good at dancing. The difference is, you won’t quit.”

“I like watching you dance.”

“I like you watching me. Makes me feel like I’m enough.”

It was only a few words, but they managed to simultaneously restoke the fire in Hoseok’s chest and send a tidal wave of fondness for the other man coursing through his body. He must have stayed smiling stupidly at Jimin for far too long, but he couldn’t think of the words to say to him. If the blush creeping up Jimin’s cheeks was anything to go by, though, the other man seemed to get the message.

“So, let’s look at what we know,” Jimin finally pushed, cheerful once more.

It spurred Hoseok into action. “The facts,” he started, listing them off on his fingers. “Yoongi got to the house earlier than he told the police, the day before, in time to find Taehyung after the murder. Taehyung said Jungsoo nearly killed him. He wouldn’t want Jungsoo to know he was around, so he snuck back in.”

“Why?”

“For Taehyung,” Hoseok answered. It had never been said outright, but there could be no other reason. “If you knew the man that you loved was under threat, you wouldn’t just leave them there,” he said, as Jimin nodded along with his words. “Second, Jeongguk wasn’t with Taehyung when the murder happened, he lied to the police. He was with Yoongi. Third, Namjoon found the body. Before that I think he met with someone near the house, maybe a staff member, I’m not sure. There was something underhand going on with him and Jungsoo.” Hoseok clasped his pinkie finger and pursed his lips. “Seokjin and Taehyung are unaccounted for.”

“What does that mean?”

“Something happened there. I want to have another look in Seokjin’s room,” Hoseok announced, voice loud. “If he was prepared to confess, maybe he knew more than he was letting on about what happened with Taehyung.”

Jimin’s eyes lit up. “The note we found?” he rushed.

“Perhaps there’s more,” Hoseok agreed. He felt a rush of energy sweep through him. “We need to go back to River House.”

With a wide grin, Jimin clapped his hands. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

He had such a lovely smile.

“Not now, though. Tomorrow,” Hoseok added. A sudden warmth spread through his body, soothing his nerves away. “It’s late. Maybe we should go upstairs now?”

Jimin’s eyes brightened. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that, too.”

~

August 1933

The detective’s voice washed over Taehyung. His sleep that night had been fitful, at best, his dreams filled with stains of red, trees looming in the dark, distant hurried footsteps. The police had arrived late last night, insisting on questioning them all then and there.

It troubled him, that he couldn’t remember going to the garage with Jeongguk but, as Namjoon had repeated to him last night, and again this morning, it wouldn’t do to tell the police he had no memory of the events at the party. Not when they were on the lookout for someone behaving suspiciously.

That’s why he couldn’t mention Yoongi, either. Or the fight.

So much that he had to keep a secret, he wondered if he could do it.

And then, the image of his father’s body lying on the study floor, he was sure that was something he could never forget, no matter how much he wanted to. He’d seen the police take it away in the early hours.

The study was off limits now, of course. A crime scene. It was as if he was hearing about it all from the newspapers, he couldn’t quite accept that it was Kim Jungsoo that had died, that the police had their investigators all through River House, that he was being scrutinised with untrusting eyes by two of Gyeongyu’s detectives.

Rather than attempt to listen to the words being said, faces sombre all around, he closed his eyes and leant his forehead to Yoongi’s shoulder. Thank God the other man had come back early this morning.

Taehyung wondered if Yoongi, his brothers and Jeongguk were the only things keeping him together. With so many thoughts whirling around his head, he was liable to burst at the seams.

Yet, there was that small part of him, that part he never usually ignored, that said something wasn’t right . The others were hiding something . It was clear to him in the looks his brothers shared, in the way Jeongguk spoke with just a little too much confidence, in the sharp grinding of Yoongi’s jaw. This time, though, Taehyung pushed those thoughts aside. He was tired. They were all tired.

When he opened his eyes once more he spotted a woodpecker on the window ledge eyeing up the wooden frame. A Tristram’s woodpecker, he noticed. Where had he left his journal? He should make a note. He lifted his head towards Seokjin and pointed. The other man smiled at him with weary eyes.

The older detective coughed, his gaze settled on Taehyung, who dropped his arm immediately. “You’ll understand my confusion, of course,” he said, clearly picking up from a previous point. What was the man’s name? Shigeru Kaihou? Something like that. The younger officer had introduced himself as Kiyoshi Ito with a polite nod. This one, though, this old man with mean eyes and gruff voice had grunted something that Taehyung had barely been able to register. Now he was speaking again, his beady gaze flitting between all of them gathered there. “Only I’m having a difficult time getting the time frames to match up. Some of the guests, well, seem to have a different view of things.”

“Oh?” Namjoon replied. “Well, it was dark. There was a lot of drink, I’m sure you can forgive a few inconsistencies.”

“Are you now?” Kaihou said. Beside Taehyung, Yoongi shifted. “It’s this line here about Kim Seokjin seeing Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jeongguk heading down the east side of the house from the, what do you call them? Walled gardens?”

“That’s right,” Namjoon said, slowly.

“I don’t believe it.”

“You don’t -” he stammered. From near the door, Jeongguk shifted, squaring his feet. Taehyung had never seen such a fierce expression on his face before. “We’re wouldn’t lie to you, Sir,” his brother continued. “We want our father’s killer found.”

The detective hummed and flipped his notebook shut. It seemed oddly final and Taehyung heart pounded in his chest. He could hear the detective much more clearly now. “That’s just it. I’m not so sure,” the old man wondered out loud. A strange smile spread across his face. “This is a big case, you know. Your father was well respected by the authorities. Not an easy feat in these times.” He leant closer and Taehyung pressed himself into the cushions of the chair. “I will get someone for this.”

The library was silent until Yoongi said, a growl in his voice and words stilted in the rarely used language, “I’m glad to hear it. This family have suffered enough already.”

Taehyung ground his teeth. His brothers were behaving oddly, squirming at the detective’s words. It was true, of course they all wanted the murderer to be found. Was Taehyung sad that his father was gone? He thought perhaps he mourned the loss of the idea of his father more than the actual man. Still. It had been a particularly bloody death. Whoever did it was still out there, a danger to the rest of them.

“Yes, Mr Min, was it?” Kaihou replied eventually, waiting for Yoongi to nod before taking a deep breath. Almost as if he was about to deliver a heavy blow. “But still, there’s someone who says they thought they saw a man who looked like Jeon Jeongguk walking along the west side of the garden ten minutes after you say you saw him, Mr Kim.”

Seokjin licked his lips. “Ten minutes. I suppose I might have been mistaken in the time,” he said, weighing his words carefully.

“What else might you all have been mistaken in?” The detective turned to Jeongguk, who tensed, body almost vibrating with something. Anger? Nerves? Taehyung couldn’t tell. “Perhaps, Mr Jeon, you weren’t with Mr Kim Taehyung at all that night. Perhaps he was elsewhere.”

Jeongguk didn’t answer.

“A tin of paint fell on the pair of you, isn’t that what you said?” With a laugh that cut through Taehyung’s chest he said, “You do realise, Mr Jeon, how absurd that sounds?”

Absurd. It was absurd. God, why couldn’t he remember? He turned towards Jeongguk, but the other man had locked his jaw, expression blank.

“Okay.”  Seokjin’s voice was quiet at first. He stood up, speaking more clearly. “Okay, I’m sorry.”

“Excuse me, son?” Kaihou said, Seokjin’s sudden rising apparently surprising him, as well.

Taehyung shifted in his chair so he could see his brother full on. The other man looked paler than Taehyung had seen him all last night. “It was me. I killed him.”

The stunned silence in the room was palpable. What? What was he saying? Taehyung looked to Namjoon, needing to be assured that it was all nonsense. Namjoon looked just as dumbfounded as the rest of them.

The warm weight of Yoongi’s palm pressed down on his shoulder.

“No, what?” Jeongguk shot out. “Seokjin -”

“I lied about seeing Taehyung and Jeongguk,” Seokjin spoke over him. He was talking directly to the detective. Taehyung wondered if he didn’t dare look at any of the rest of them. “It was a mistake. I didn’t - I was speaking with him about the business. He kept saying that I wasn’t cut out for it, that I’d disappointed him.” With a sick twist to his stomach, Taehyung knew that was just what Seokjin feared hearing. And exactly what their father might have said, if he’d been angry enough. “He was going to change his will, so I wouldn’t inherit,” Seokjin continued, words becoming more and more desperate with each moment. “I’ve worked for the company for years, I’ve worked hard, he - I just, reacted poorly,” he finished in a mere whisper.

“‘Reacted poorly’?” the younger detective echoed. His pencil had laid unmoving in his as Seokjin had spoken. “You bashed his skull in.”

Taehyung winced. No. Seokjin wouldn’t, he couldn’t have. His older brother wasn’t like that, he was kind and - and - he wouldn’t .

“Detective Ito,” Namjoon admonished, still managing to inject some authority into his voice.

Kaihou narrowed his eyes. His jaw was twitching like he was trying not to smile. Taehyung hated him, he hated him.

“But, Mr Kim, that doesn’t quite explain -” Ito started.

“Ito, a word,” Kaihou snapped. He cocked his head and Taehyung found himself astounded. They didn’t even leave the room, just retreated to the far corner and whispered to one another. All the while, the rest of them were stuck there, trapped in silence, Seokjin stood in the middle of the room awaiting his fate.

When the pair returned, the younger didn’t speak. He retrieved a set of handcuffs from his pocket, glinting in the early morning sun.

“Kim Seokjin,” the old detective said. “You are under arrest on a charge of murder. You have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions.”

Taehyung couldn’t breathe.

“No, hang on a second,” Namjoon rushed, jumping up to Seokjin’s side. “You can’t just -”

“He’s confessed, Mr Kim,” Kaihou cut him off, hand outstretched. “I think you’ll find I can.” He turned back to Seokjin. “You have the right to consult an attorney and anything you say may be used against you in a court of law.”

“It’s alright, Namjoon,” Seokjin said, softly. It was strange that he didn’t look upset. He almost looked relieved. Taehyung frowned. What on earth was happening here?

Namjoon wasn’t calmed. He shook his head, curling his fingers around Seokjin’s arm, even as Detective Ito pulled his hands forward. “I’ll speak to Lee, he’ll sort it out.”

The firm click of the handcuffs sounded far too final for Taehyung and he rose to feet, not sure at all what he was intending to do. He stumbled closer to his brother.

Behind him, he heard Yoongi moan, “Come on, you don’t need those,” even as Seokjin was lead out of the library.

“Seokjin,” Jeongguk yelled, surging forward. Kaihou fended him off, however, blocking his path with his towering body.

They were getting closer to the door, closer to leaving the house, when panic took hold of Taehyung’s body. He shoved his way past Jeongguk, past Detective Ito. “Seokjin, wait. Seokjin,” he called, falling back into Korean. “You can’t take him. Stop it, don’t -” He had his hand on Seokjin’s shoulder, pulling him closer, when Kaihou shoved him off. “What are you doing? Listen to me, you can’t -”

The summer breeze caught in his hair as they left the house and he tripped on the path. “Taehyung,” Yoongi fretted, kneeling down next to him. “Just calm down.”

“No, why aren’t you -” But he couldn’t finish the sentence, he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. All he could do was watch Seokjin be led to the detective’s car, that blank, defeated look on his face. “ Seokjin. ”

Moving from the the front step to the kitchen was a blur. He was vaguely aware of Yoongi’s arms around his waist, of Jeongguk’s huffed breaths, of Namjoon’s gentle murmuring. Their mother used to take them to the kitchen if they couldn’t sleep. She’d make a steaming cup of ginseng tea and hold Taehyung in her arms until he could keep his eyes open no longer.

What were they going to do?

“It’s not fair,” Jeongguk gasped out, struggling to calm himself as a frustrated flush stained his cheeks. “Seokjin isn’t like - he’s not like Jungsoo. It should be him, arrested,” he spat. “All Seokjin ever did was try to keep us safe.”

The words settled in the air, the truth in them weighing heavily in Taehyung’s heart.

Eventually, Yoongi let out a deep sigh. “Exactly, Jeongguk. He’s keeping you safe,” he said. “Remember that.”

Keeping them safe. Seokjin had spent his life doing just that. When the time came for them to return the favour, they were helpless. “But he didn’t -” Taehyung cut himself off. Even if the police had it right, and Seokjin had killed their father, Taehyung couldn’t be angry or upset at him. The warm embers of affinity flared in his chest. “He shouldn’t go to prison, he shouldn’t. If - Father was horrible to him.” He slumped in his seat, thinking only of Seokjin curled on the ground by their father’s feet, his fist waiting to strike again. “He was horrible to all of us.”

“Maybe,” Yoongi agreed. “It’s not always that simple, Tae.”

Taehyung had lost his mother, his father, and now his brother. As if he’d become the hero of one of the stories he adored, he needed to rise up and defeat the evil overlord. But, maybe, Yoongi was right. What could they do?

“We’ll fight,” Namjoon started. “Lee’s worked with father for years, he’ll help us.”

“No,” Taehyung found himself saying. “No, he won’t.” As he thought over Namjoon’s words in his head, the more he realised he was right. They couldn’t rely on anyone anymore. Not the family lawyer, not the police, not anyone. “If he thinks that Seokjin did it. If Seokjin did do it, then why would he help? We’re alone.”

“We’re not.” He looked up at Yoongi’s voice to see his face overcome with some unidentified emotion, eyes fierce. “We’re together,” he said to all of them gathered in the large room. “As long as the four of us have air in our lungs, we won’t stop until Seokjin is home again.”

There was such conviction in his voice, that Taehyung believed him. This wasn’t the end of Seokjin’s story. They could bring him back.

~

July 1994

Hoseok clasped his thermos close to his chest, letting the warmth seep through his skin and into his bones. The sun was already out, even at this early hour, but it hadn’t quite reached the shady corners of River House. He and Jimin were standing in the middle of Seokjin’s room, surveying the work cut out for them.

“We want to know for sure who wrote this note,” Jimin said, pink nose peeking out from over one of Hoseok’s sweaters. Neither of them had mentioned it yet, that Jimin had grabbed it from Hoseok’s house that morning and Hoseok sure wasn’t going to complain. “First things first.” Jimin strode over to the writing desk and flipped open one of the many notebooks piled there. “Policemen are all handwriting experts, aren’t they?” he said. “What do you think?”

Letting out a faint snort Hoseok set down his flask on the desk, careful to avoid any of the stray paper littering its surface. Taking the proffered notebook, he pulled out the old note from his pocket. The words still stood out in unexplained ink. NJ. Where Mother told us stories, you will hear mine. Seokjin’s writing in the notebook, a simple list of engagements, some bird sightings, books he wanted to read, a whole amalgamation of parts of his life, had the same thin and delicate air about it.

“I mean, they look similar,” Hoseok sighed, scratching his head. He groaned, second guessing himself. “But then all handwriting from then looks so fancy, I don’t know.”

“I think they’re the same,” Jimin said, leaning his chin against his shoulder. He pointed to the note. “Look at the flick on the ‘s’.”

Hoseok smiled. “Well, if the flick on the ‘s’ is the same,” he teased. “Let’s go with it.”

Jimin preened, taking a sip from his own drink as he exposed Hoseok’s back to the cool air once more.

The thing was, now that they were there, Hoseok was on edge. What if he didn’t like the answers that they discovered? What if they found proof that it actually was Taehyung? On any other case, Hoseok would follow the evidence and accept whatever conclusion it brought him to. River House, though; it was different. He had invested his personal time and feelings into this case. If the outcome wasn’t what he wanted, he was a little worried that he would cast it aside. How could he go back to Yoongi or Jeongguk or, hell, Namjoon and say, ‘Sorry, I ignored your explicit request to leave it alone and succeeded only in making it a whole lot worse’?

But the truth was here, somewhere in this building. It was Hoseok’s duty to find it. He owed it to the Kim’s, somehow. This house, their house , had reconnected him to himself. Had connected him to Jimin.

Promising himself that he would accept any finding, even one that named Taehyung as the killer, he got to work.

Seokjin’s old writing desk had many drawers, filled to the rafters with paper. They hadn’t looked at everything in there last time, with too much to go through in the rest of the house. This time, though, nothing would go unread.

Pulling an entire stack of paper from one of the draws, Hoseok claimed a spot on the floor opposite Jimin and picked up the first letter.

Sixty years had taken its toll on a lot of the contents, mould creeping in around the edges, ink fading where it had been left in the sun, thin paper disintegrating at the edges. Little things made Hoseok smile, however. The tidy bow that encased bunches of letters. The intricate pattern engraved on the stem of the fountain pen. The photograph of Soonja and her three children, Taehyung a mere baby, that he found under the top layer of note paper.

The hours passed.

If at first Hoseok felt a little guilty about reading personal journals and correspondence, it soon vanished. Seokjin was a good writer, his journal entries full of witty observations. It was clear from the letters he received from others that he was well respected and well liked. Hoseok kept expecting to stumble across a love letter or two, but it seems the youthful Seokjin had been preoccupied with his life at River House. If Hoseok noticed anything, it was that, unless it was related to business, Kim Jungsoo was never mentioned. It was as if he didn’t exist. He reached the final notebook in his stack and raised an eye at the date.

“I’m not going to lie,” Jimin spoke after a while, stretching his arms above his head, wrists clicking loudly in the empty room. “All I’m finding out about this guy was that he loved to doodle.” He sighed. “Anything from you?”

Hoseok continued to frown at the notebook in his hands, lips pressed together. “I found this diary from the summer Jungsoo was killed,” he said. “Stops at the beginning of August, though.” He clicked his tongue, looking up at Jimin. “He does say some interesting stuff about Namjoon.”

“Oh, what?” Jimin crawled over to him.

“Seems like he’d gotten on his father’s bad side a few years before, took part in the student independence movement. Jungsoo had him on a tight leash.”

Hoseok felt Jimin’s chin move where he was leant on his shoulder as he said, “Had them all on a tight leash.”

“Yeah.” Hoseok let the diary fall shut. “Nothing here to confess to murder over.”

“Maybe -”

“What?”

Jimin pursed his lips, shaking it off. “Nothing.”

Outside birds chirped in the garden. If you listened carefully, you could hear the bubble of the rivers, still running away.

“Maybe it was Taehyung?” Hoseok finished for him.

The other man slumped. “I don’t want it to be, but it seems like the only reason Seokjin would do it,” he whined before rallying himself. “Look, there are a few more drawers.” He shuffled towards the desk. “You never know, perhaps there’s a hidden compartment, like the tunnel?”

At that Jimin began to poke at random panels of wood, a look of intense concentration on his face. Hoseok licked his lips. His gaze had fallen back to the original note, left abandoned on the floorboards between them. “Namjoon,” he mumbled to himself. “NJ. NJ .”

“I thought we were looking for Seokjin?” Jimin paused with his arm curled around the back of the writing desk. He grimaced, his cheek pressed against the wall, forcing his eye closed.

“No, we are, but -” Hoseok replied, distracted. “That note had NJ on it. For Namjoon. If Seokjin was writing another note for his brother, what if he left it where Namjoon would find it?”

“His room?”

Hoseok jumped to his feet, already heading towards the door. “You carry on looking here. I’ll go check,” he called over the shoulder.

Two doors down Namjoon’s room was not too different to Seokjin’s. A little smaller, a little more haphazard - wooden chest askew, books piled on the floor, a vase of long dead flowers on the windowsill - Hoseok made a beeline for the desk.

Unlike the rest of the room, the desk was mostly clear. Hoseok suspected that he’d simply taken all of the letters important to him with him when he went. It made Hoseok’s job easier, at least. Something Jimin had said stuck with him. Seokjin would want Namjoon to find a note, but he certainly wouldn’t want the police, or even a servant, stumbling across it.

He pulled the desk away from the wall, trailing clean lines on the dusty floor. Much heavier than he had expected, he grunted at the effort. Sure enough, at the side of the back panel was a small ridge cut out in the wood. Hoseok bit his lip, refraining from crossing his fingers as he pressed down on the concealed lever.

A click. Yes .

It had worked.

Hoseok took a step back, eyes narrowed as he tried to locate where a door could have popped open. It took him a few seconds, but he soon spotted a small compartment jutting out from a smooth panel in the side of one of the upper drawers. He didn’t think he’d ever moved so fast, pulling it out. When he spotted the letter inside he let out a whoop of joy.

The envelope opened easily under his frantic fingers.

NJ. have written you a story that you must hear. Go to the place where we found them.

‘Found them’? Hoseok’s heart was beating to fast for his brain to catch up. He stared at the now familiar writing for a moment longer. Yoongi and Jeongguk found Taehyung that night. Where did Seokjin and Namjoon meet them? As soon as he thought it, Hoseok realised. He closed his eyes. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. It just directed them to the first note. It must be the note Seokjin meant, there had been nothing else in those boxes.

How long had they wasted searching for the first step when they’d already reached the second? Of course Seokjin wouldn’t give away the location of all the answers where anyone would find it.

He almost ran back to Seokjin’s room, the second note clutched tightly in his palm.

“Jimin,” he burst out, swinging through the door frame. “We have to find Faery Grove.”

Startled by his sudden appearance, Jimin slowly lowered his eyebrows. Legs folded beneath him, he had papers spread out all around him where he sat in the middle of the room. “You’re in luck,” he said, taking in Hoseok’s hassled demeanour. His fingers tapped lightly against the large sheet in front of him. “Treasure map.”

It took Hoseok a moment to completely understand what Jimin meant. He edged around the makeshift perimeter of paper to peer over the man’s shoulder. The large drawing in front of him, on closer inspection, had been scrawled across what looked like a cutting from a bedsheet. The lines crisscrossing all over it formed a crude child’s rendition of the house and its grounds. “Holy shit,” Hoseok muttered as his eyes followed the lines of the river, from the forest, past the boat house, curving around the walled gardens, and back into the forest once more.

“Found it in that last draw,” Jimin said. He was speaking quietly, as if they were in a museum. “I think maybe Taehyung or Jeongguk drew it? Must have kept it for posterity . It was with a bunch of other game stuff.”

“X marks the spot?” Hoseok smiled, urgency momentarily put on hold. He could imagine the three young Kims as children, Jeongguk running behind them as they explored the forest for hidden gold.

“Not quite. X is near the boat house.” Jimin leaned over tapping the map. “But the grove is marked, near the den, look.” He sighed. “So much space, must have been fun growing up here.” He sent Hoseok a slightly crooked smile. “If you ignore all the death. Did you find it?”

“Sort of,” he murmured, handing over the second note. As Jimin read Hoseok stared at the small words written halfway into the forest, across from the river. Faery Grove. To sit and hear Seokjin’s tale. “Jimin, do you think we’ll actually find something?” he asked.

The other man puffed out his cheeks, handing back the message. “Maybe,” he said, shrugging. He rose to his feet, reaching down and dragging the map up in front of him. As he folded that thin fabric up Hoseok stood, brushing the dust off his trousers. “Looks like Seokjin’s definitely hidden something. Or, someone’s hidden something. Hiding means secrets. More than we already know.” He sucked on his bottom lip. “So,” he added. “Just to be on the safe side, how about we swing by the old sheds?”

Hoseok quirked an eyebrow. “You’re not the best at reading maps, are you?”

The sweet and bright sound of Jimin’s laugh filled the room and he wiggled his fingers in Hoseok’s direction. “I’m not digging up treasure with my bare hands,” he said. “Let’s go and get geared up.”

~

Faery Grove was not as easy to find, however, as Hoseok had been hoping. After traipsing around in what Hoseok was sure were circles, they took a break for lunch.

“I guess we placed a little too much trust in the accuracy of a child’s doodle,” Jimin sighed, taking out his doshirak from his rucksack and handing Hoseok a piece of gimbap.

“We can find it,” Hoseok insisted. “We just have to think a little less literally.”

The light breezed weaving through the trees brushed against his cheeks. Above them, birds chirped and fluttered from branch to branch. The earth around them was alive with colour and scent. It was a lovely day for a picnic in the woods.

“Can we think a little less literally tomorrow?” Jimin grumbled, mouth full. “I’ve got a lecture at two.”

Hoseok deflated. “Yeah, alright.” He looked around in the last hope of finding a helpful sign. ‘Faery Grove this way’ perhaps. None was forthcoming. “I was supposed to call the precinct today anyway. Captain wants to speak to me.”

“Wants you back?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, wondering if he’d imagined the way Jimin frowned a little. “He gives very little away in his messages.”

After packing away their lunch, they set off back towards the forest path. They’d made it a step closer, after all. Step after step, they’d get there. And, Hoseok thought, the longer it took him to solve this, the longer he could spend in Gyeongju with Jimin. Maybe he could convince the captain that he needed more time away.

Through the dense foliage, something twinkled. He smiled, spotting the pale silver birches scattered between the taller trees. Hoseok stopped.

“Jimin.” He reached out his arm, blocking the other man’s progress. “Jimin, look,” he whispered, nodding towards the pile of wood and canvas he’d spotted, hidden in the branches of one of the larger trees. The remnants of cushions gathered at one side, moss reclaiming the space. At the base of the tree trunk an old toy soldier guarded a rooting rope ladder.

“The den,” Jimin’s voice was full of wonder that anybody else might think out of place at such a sight. “We can’t be far off.”

A knot formed in Hoseok’s stomach. “Your lecture.”

But Jimin was already ahead of him. “It’s only Gija Joseon,” he dismissed. “Boring anyway.”

Hoseok laughed, jogging to catch up. “Park Jimin,” he teased. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing - Oh.”

They’d only walked a few steps when they broke into a small clearing. Perhaps double Hoseok’s arm span, it was surrounded on all sides by tall trees, several jutting out into the clear earth. He blinked up at the small section of the sky revealed above his head, a thin sliver of clouds slowly moving across the vast blue.

If he was going to call this place anything, Faery Grove might work.

“This can’t be, I mean, it was half a forest away on the map,” he spluttered, standing in the middle of the small clearing.

Coming up next to him, Jimin smirked. “What were you saying about not thinking literally?”

“But, come on. ”

“No, look, this must be it.” The other man moved forward, crouching in front of one of the trees. “There’s something carved on here.”

“Is it a name?” Hoseok followed him down, squinting to see the pattern in the bark obscured by moss.

Jimin picked away at it. “No. No, it’s - huh. A crown?” he said, dubiously. “Hoseok, this has to be it.” He stood tall, reaching to pull his shovel out from where he’d tied it to his rucksack. “Where do we dig?”

“Okay, okay” Hoseok thinned his lips, rubbing at his chin. “Let’s think about this. If the four of them used to come down here with Soonja, then, that’s these five trees, right? All in a circle. That’s why they chose it.”

“Sure.”

“Where would Soonja sit?” he asked, starting to walk around the edge of the clearing.

Jimin scrunched up his nose. “Why do we need to know that?”

“We can use it to work out where Seokjin would sit, that’s where we start digging.”

“I don’t - Okay. Um.” Jimin took a deep breath, looking around him. “Here,” he said, pointing towards one of the trees, small blue flowers circling the trunk. “It’s a little bit out of sync. So, she’d be facing the other four a bit more.”

The made sense. “Oh, yeah. Okay, so, this one,” Hoseok nodded. He walked over to the tree next to it, knocking it with his shoe. “Seokjin’s the oldest. He would have sat to the right of his mother, for sure.”

If it took them forever to find Faery Grove, it took mere minutes before Jimin’s shovel hit something hard in the ground in front of the tree. The pair dropped to their knees, brushing away the dirt with their hands until the dark brown top of a chest broke through.

“Oh, shit, shit, shit,” Jimin mumbled under his breath. He kept his hands in the earth, looking up at Hoseok with wide eyes. “ Hoseok . There’s actually something here.”

“Come on,” he rushed. He grabbed the shovel and cleared the sides and soon Jimin was dragging the box up into the clearing.

“Open it,” the other man gasped, setting it down on the ground. “Oh, my God.” He let out a nervous laugh. “I’m freaking out.”

The box itself, now escaped from the confines of its earthy grave, was impressive. Intricate patterns had been carved into the wood, the hinges made from heavy iron.

Hoseok lifted the lid.

He frowned for a moment, mind racing. It was just an old blanket. Grimacing, he pulled out the material with the handle of his shovel. A heavy thud sounded as something fell from the folds of the fabric into the chest. The blanket was almost completely stained brown. “That’s a lot of blood,” he said.

“Must be Jungsoo’s.”

“I don’t -” The item that had fallen into the corner of the box caught his attention. A round glass weight, smeared with something, a dark mass clumped at one side.  “Fuck,” Hoseok breathed out. He reached out to touch it, mindless, before coming to his senses.

“A paperweight?” Jimin asked

Hoseok shook his head. “The murder weapon,” he whispered. He looked up at the other man, a thrill running up his spine. “Jimin, this is it.”

It was strange to be smiling in such a situation, but Hoseok couldn’t help himself. “Look. Another note,” Jimin motioned, crouching down next to him.

Sure enough, wedged behind the paperweight was a yellowing envelope. Carefully, Hoseok pulled it out, eyes dancing over the familiar writing that greeted them.

To Kim Namjoon.

Jimin let out a whine. “You have to read it, I think I’m having a heart attack.”

It was almost like he was possessed, he couldn’t recall telling his hands to move, to rip open the paper and unfold the letter held within. “My dear brother, I must -” he started.

“No,” Jimin exclaimed. He hid his face in his hands. “Don’t read it out loud, just tell me how it ends, I can’t wait any longer.”

Hoseok read the letter. Every word that Seokjin had carefully considered of his pleading explanation; his guilt, his shame, his sorrow. His love, his warmth, his hope.

He dropped his hands. “Shit.”

“What?”

Turning blinking eyes to Jimin, gnawing at his lip, Hoseok let out a long breath.

“It was Seokjin all along.”

~

It was not quite the news he wanted to be delivering, Hoseok thought, as he knocked once more on Min Yoongi’s door. It was later in the day than when they’d first visited. Hoseok and Jimin had spent the majority of the day before and that morning debating whether to share what they’d found, and what exactly to share.

Ultimately, what could they do? They had to tell the truth, it was the only option, and - Hoseok reminded himself as he stared at the door - the right option. Hoseok had been the one to open the old wound, it was only right that he should make sure Taehyung and the other’s knew what really happened to Seokjin that night.

“We did the right thing,” Jimin had repeated, like a mantra, throughout their journey.

Even so, it didn’t stop the sick clench of trepidation from curling around his stomach.

Hoseok raised his fist to knock again, to get this over with, when Kim Taehyung opened the door. He narrowed his eyes before the spark of recognition flashed within them.

“Detective Jung,” he said, welcoming. “Park Jimin. I didn’t expect to see you again.”

“No, sorry. We’ve -” Hoseok grimaced. “We need to talk to you. I know it’s late, sorry. It’s, er, important.”

“Okay, come in,” Taehyung stepped aside. “Namjoon and Jeongguk are here, we’ve just finished dinner. And Jeongguk’s wife.”

“Awesome,” Jimin replied, voice strained.

Though the welcomes were pleasant after Taehyung led them into the kitchen, it was clear that Namjoon and Yoongi, at least, were nervous at their presence. For the hundredth time since they’d discovered Seokjin’s letter, Hoseok questioned if they were going about this properly

Thankfully, Jimin took the choice out of his hands. “We found something, at River House,” he said, straight to the point.

There was a pregnant pause where Jeongguk’s wife, a tall woman with neatly curled hair and carefully powdered face - a strange contrast to Jeongguk himself - stood up. “You know, I said I would visit Sunghee,” she announced, voice soft. “Now seems like a perfect time. Pick me up later, okay?” She kissed Jeongguk’s cheek and waved farewell to the others, nodding to Hoseok with a knowing glint in her eye as she left. It gave him a small burst of confidence.

“What is it?” Yoongi croaked. He looked even smaller now than Hoseok remembered.

Here goes nothing. “Seokjin wrote you a letter,” he said, pulling the old envelope from his pocket. “Here.”

It took Yoongi a while to reach out and take it. Hoseok watched as the old man swallowed and read aloud.

“My dear brother,

I must explain myself. I can only start with an apology, I have failed in my duty to you and Taehyung. I should have protected you better from Father to start with.

Taehyung is innocent. I’m sorry that I ever let you believe anything other than this. I was too cowardly to speak the truth. Even now, I cannot say these things to your face. I hope you can forgive the words I write and the manner in which I write them to you.

I had no plan in mind, I hadn’t even intended on speaking to Father. If only I hadn’t gone back into the house. But then what would have happened it I didn’t? Understand this, Namjoon, that I only ever acted to protect you. It was ill thought through, I didn’t think it through at all, in fact, but still now I see no other way out.

He was mad, you see. It was like that night in the boat house all over again. Yoongi was right to be wary. One of the servants had learnt of his plan, I don’t know how, I did not care to ask, but Father knew before either you or I that Yoongi had returned to River House.

He was mad with it, like the devil himself. He would not listen to reason, he meant to kill Yoongi. Taehyung as well. I believe he would have done it.

I hit him. I must have hit him hard, Namjoon, he fell down and didn’t get up.

I’m not proud of it, but I do not regret it. You and the others are safe and there is nothing I would not do to ensure you remain so. My only regret is that Taehyung saw. He must have, it is the only reason I can think of for him to be covered in blood. Not because he killed Father, because he tried to help him.

If I’d have known at the time, that he’d seen me, well - I don’t know.

When we found the others, I realised, but he didn’t remember and I couldn’t bring myself to say it to all of you. He’s done nothing wrong, please make sure he knows this. I’m taking responsibility for my own actions.

In the morning I’m going to confess. Not everything, I don’t want to lead them to Yoongi and Taehyung, but I will tell them it was me.

Don’t worry about me, I’ll be okay.

I love you, and Taehyung and Jeongguk. Please do what I can’t now and live out from under Father’s thumb. You have the chance now to be who you truly want, please grab it with both hands. I know you will be brilliant.

Your loving brother,

Seokjin”

The silence seemed to go on forever. The vision of being banished from the house, screams and shouts hurtling behind him whirled before Hoseok’s eyes until he blinked them clear.

“I don’t understand,” Taehyung said, words slow. He was gripping the side of the counter like a lifeline.

Yoongi looked frozen. “Where did you find this?” he asked, gruff, as shaking hands handed the letter over to Jeongguk, reaching out for it.

“He left some notes for Namjoon,” Hoseok rushed to explain. He didn’t fear their reprimands for going back to the house but was growing ever more uncomfortable under Yoongi’s scrutiny. It wasn't that the old man looked angry, more upset, dark eyes glassy and bright. “They would have led him to Faery Grove. There was box buried there. This and, um, the murder weapon,” he finished in a whisper.

Namjoon groaned, dropping down into one of the breakfast stools. “Father’s paperweight,” he said. “I always wondered where that was.” He shook his head and Hoseok’s heart went out to him. It seemed Jimin felt something similar, as the other man wrapped his hand around Hoseok’s own. “I never saw any notes.”

“In your desk.”

He turned sad eyes towards Yoongi. “We left so soon afterwards.”

“But, what does he mean? You thought it was me?” Taehyung old eyes were wide now as he, too, stared at Yoongi. His voice trembled and he waited for an answer. Hoseok bit his lip. What would Yoongi say? Taehyung couldn’t really hold anything against them. But then, Yoongi remained silent, caught in the spotlight.

“We never went to the garage, Taehyung,” Jeongguk responded instead, stepping closer to his friend and resting a rough hand on his shoulder. “We found you, Yoongi and I, wandering the forest, covered in blood. You were a mess.” His voice broke and he finished, quietly. “And then Namjoon said he’d found a body.”

Taehyung seemed to take this in for a moment. “It’s all - Why didn’t you tell me?”

At last, Yoongi spoke. “It could have been any of us,” he said, and Hoseok bit his lip as the tears spilling from his eyes. “We all - You know what I thought of your father. I’m sorry I lied to you, I’m so sorry, but I couldn’t - Seokjin died,” he groaned, covering his face with his hands. “I didn’t - I was scared that you would think it was your fault.” He dropped his arms again, looking over to Taehyung, defeated. “I underestimated you, underestimated Seokjin. I should have known you didn’t need protecting.”

He reached out a hand and Taehyung immediately went to him. Jimin gripped Hoseok’s hand a little tighter.

“No, it’s - I knew something was wrong about that night,” Taehyung admitted, pressing his face to the top of Yoongi’s head, he words muffled. Yoongi relaxed into the touch, his skinny arms curling around Taehyung’s waist. “I always knew you were keeping something from me. I suppose I didn’t push it. Paint,” he scoffed. “Of course that was nonsense. Another story that I chose to believe.” Taehyung sighed before closing his eyes, eyebrows drawn together. “Poor Seokjin.”

“He never -” Namjoon started. “He was - He was a kind soul. Father never gave him credit for it.” He grimaced, dragging his hand to the back of his neck before he cursed. “God, I wish he had said something. I should’ve found those notes.”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference, Namjoon,” Jeongguk piped up. “He would still have gone to prison. He would have died anyway.” He flexed his jaw a fierce look in his eyes for someone so old. “I’m glad Seokjin did what he did. I was glad when I thought it was Taehyung and I’m glad still.”

“Jeongguk,” Namjoon sighed, but there was no heat behind it. Hoseok supposed it was just habit, after almost eight decades of knowing each other.

“No, I am,” Jeongguk insisted. He huffed out a laugh. “It’s just like Seokjin, to save us all and not say a word.”

Jeongguk’s words were met with silence, as if they were all remembering. Hoseok hoped they were. He hoped that they were thinking about Seokjin fondly. As if reading his thoughts, Namjoon asked, “You won’t think any less of him, Taehyung?”

Still enveloped in Yoongi’s arms, Taehyung frowned. “Of course not,” he said. “Never. He was scared, I can understand that.” He smiled slightly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I was always too scared to ask any of you what really happened, even though I questioned it myself sometimes.”

Namjoon reached out and ruffled Taehyung’s hair, as if he was a child still. He sighed. “We’re free because of him, no matter how he did it.”

Taehyung nodded. “I hope he’s proud of me. Of us,” he said. “I hope it was worth it.”

“Of course it was,” Yoongi retorted, stepping back to look Taehyung in the eye. “Look around you, Taehyung. Look at the lives we’ve all lived. We’ve been so happy. That’s what he wanted.”

Heat rose behind Hoseok’s eyes and he cleared his throat. “I did a little digging, actually, into what happened to Seokjin, if you wanted?”

He let the question hang for a moment before Namjoon stepped forward. “And?”

“The file says he collapsed after Kaihou questioned him. But, it also includes a doctors report from when he arrived at the station, probably for evidence collection. That report said he had some pre-existing symptoms of skull fracture.”

“Father,” Taehyung said, simply.

Hoseok nodded. “I’d say so. If the questioning he went through was even a little rough -”

“He was in a weakened state, is what you’re saying?” Yoongi cut in, his gaze on Hoseok piercing.

“That’s my guess.” The other men were silent, though Hoseok didn’t sense any sadness. More like he had confirmed something they already knew. Perhaps he had. “There is something I wanted to ask,” Hoseok spoke up, a little hesitant to ruin the moment.

“Yes?” Jeongguk looked a little pained as he asked, as if expecting another blow to his world view.

“Yeah, Namjoon. You met someone, that night, didn’t you?” Hoseok questioned. Even if they’d solved the big mystery, this little one was still bugging him. “You were seen talking to a stranger near the house.”

Namjoon let out a bark of surprise. “I’d forgotten,” he said. “Not a stranger.”

“Who?”

The other man smiled. “You really did think I was colluding to kill Jungsoo, didn’t you?” he almost teased.

“It’s not that far fetched an idea,” Hoseok defended.

“No,” Namjoon relented. With a heavy breath, he said, “Father had a violent streak. I didn’t really realise how much until - Anyway,” he shook his head. “He beat his old chauffeur the winter before, fired him. One of our best drivers. The man was struggling, decided the only way forward was to blackmail Father. Was threatening to go to the authorities with made up allegations unless we paid him off. Perhaps I should have let it play its course, would have seen Father off. But I didn’t. I tried to sort it out for him.” He wrinkled his nose, almost bashful. “Trying to make up for my own past indiscretions.”

Of course, Hoseok thought. Kim Jungsoo, the thriving businessman. It wouldn’t do to have his son’s political view spread too wide. Still, though. “I’d hardly call protesting an indiscretion,” he muttered.

“It was at that time.”

“For what it’s worth,” Jimin added from where he’d taken to leaning on the kitchen island. “I think your brother sounded like a good person. I wish I could have met him.”

Taehyung beamed at him. “He would have liked you, I think, Park Jimin.”

“Cheerful,” Yoongi agreed. “He was very cheerful. Saw the best in people. Just like you.”

A blush spread across Jimin’s cheeks and Hoseok prodded his side, smiling. “I will try to be as brave as he was, then,” he said and Hoseok couldn’t help but feel that he should try it as well.

~

September 1995

Hoseok raised his hand in a wave, unable and unwilling to stop the wide smile spreading across his face.

The walk from the car felt longer and longer each time he visited but he kept his eyes on Jimin, leaning against the doorframe.

“Hello, Mister,” Jimin beamed at him, baggy jumper hanging down low around his thighs.

“Hi,” he sighed, finally able to breathe again. He let himself melt into Jimin’s embrace, the other man’s warm breath tingling against his neck.

He loved his new position in the cold case unit; the challenge, the mystery, the sense of satisfaction, not to mention the grateful people who finally got some closure. It was strange working without Cho, though his old partner spent enough time moaning to him about his replacement that he knew he was missed, too. It made the change more bearable. But, if he was honest, the distance from his boyfriend was beginning to wear him down. Not for much longer, hopefully.

“Well?” he asked as Jimin picked up his bag and flung it into the corner.

Jimin smirked and Hoseok wondered precisely what he’d done to end up with such a little shit in his life. “‘Well’ what?” the other man replied, eyebrow quirked, eyes wide and innocent.

“I’m still a policeman. I will arrest you,” he grumbled. “ The Institute .”

“Oh, that little thing. They want to take me on.” Jimin shrugged, eyes twinkling. “Of course they do.”

Hoseok rolled his eyes. If he hadn’t been on the receiving end of dozens of worried phone calls, he might have believed him. It had been all Jimin had been talking about since graduating.

“Jimin,” he exclaimed, nudging the other man’s shin with his shoe. “Well done. I knew you could do it.”

Ignoring the wet kiss that Hoseok planted in the middle of his forehead, Jimin wrinkled his nose. “It’s a junior position and there’s a whole probation period, but,” he trailed off, a shy smile on his face.

“You’ll be dancing again,” Hoseok finished for him, voice soft.

He nodded. “I’ll be dancing again. And it’s only a few subway stops away from your office. You won’t be able to ignore me now.”

Hoseok chuckled. “And when have I ever ignored you?” he said, but Jimin was already elsewhere.

“It’s crazy. I mean, I could have my own studio in a couple of years, maybe?” the other man said, full of hesitant wonder.

The warm bubble of pride that had lodged itself in Hoseok’s chest when Jimin started to talk about taking his dance teaching more seriously swelled.

“I’m sure that you will,” he said, squeezing Jimin’s shoulder. As they headed into the living room, Hoseok narrowed his eyes. Usually, they’d have been intercepted by now by numerous relatives asking after his health. He craned his neck around, taking in all he could see of the small house. “Where’s your grandma?”

“She’s taken mum and dad to the shops,” Jimin said, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Last minute Chuseok essentials that she needed to supervise.”

“I’m sure. So,” he shucked his rucksack off his shoulder and began to unzip it. “I have a surprise for you.”

From the bag he pulled out a heavy book and presented it to Jimin with both hands. The other man let out a scream, snatching it from him. “He actually sent it,” he gasped. Immediately, he jumped over the back of the sofa and flipped open the first page.

“He said he would. The postman came just as I was about to leave.”

In truth, Hoseok had been as surprised as Jimin when Yoongi had contacted them again. Though they’d parted on good terms, he had thought that the older family would want nothing to do with them. Almost six months after Hoseok had returned to Seoul, however, the author sent him a letter. He wanted to dedicate his latest novel to him and Jimin. Hoseok was not too proud to admit that he had teared up.

“What’s it about?”

“Er,” Jimin squinted, glasses resting on top of his head. “‘Eunjung finds herself overcome by the shadows across her memories’,” he read out from the back cover. “‘Hounded by the past, and the mystery of events of a day she cannot remember, she returns to the house she grew up in to try and uncover a forgotten history.’”

“Sounds familiar,” Hoseok commented, dryly.

“I’ll tell you how it ends.”

Hoseok pouted, eyes on Jimin’s fingers as they ran across the edge of the paper. “He can’t have written that so quickly,” he said.

Looking up at him where he was leaning against the back of the sofa, Jimin clicked his tongue. “Must have been playing on his subconscious for a while.”

“It’s sad,” Hoseok hummed.

“No. I mean, yes,” Jimin shuffled up to sit straighter. “It is sad that it happened. But they all had each other. They lived good lives, are living good lives.”

“Inspirational, huh?”

Jimin nodded. “I’d say so.”

They remained quiet for a while. Was Jimin thinking the same as him? That if they managed do as well as the Kim’s, Yoongi and Jeongguk if life, and in love, they’d be doing okay. He dropped into the cushion next to Jimin and leaned his chin on the other man’s raised knee. “What’s the dedication?”

“Oh, um,” Jimin flipped back to the front page and cleared his throat. “‘For Hoseok and Jimin, who never gave in and rediscovered a story that was lost.’” He smiled. “Never gave in.”

The small quirk to Jimin’s lips was too much for him. He pushed forward and caught the rosy smile in a kiss. Fingers curled around his neck and he leant closer, the hard cover of the book digging into his chest. He grunted and Jimin giggled beneath him.

“I think this calls for a drink,” Hoseok announced, jumping to his feet.

Jimin laughed at him. “It’s two in the afternoon,” he said, bemused.

“So what? We solved a mystery, you’re moving to Seoul, we’ve got a book dedicated to us by the Min Yoongi.”

Leaned forward, Jimin interrupted. “You transferred to a new team that you love.”

“Exactly,” Hoseok nodded, holding out his hand. “We have some celebrating to do.”

~

August 1933

Seokjin sat at his writing desk, contemplating his letter, ink still drying on the final few sentences. It would be far too much of a risk to leave it in the house. What if that detective searched the place? Seokjin had been unnerved by his questions already, far too close to stumbling across the web of lies he’d created.

Sleep tugged at his body, his eyes tingling with it. He was weary, to his very core. The adrenaline that had powered through him last night had vanished, leaving only unfiltered worry and guilt. What would his mother have thought of him? He was never going to get away with it. He’d brought his bloodstained clothes back into the house, for heaven’s sake. They lingered, now, beneath his floorboards. He imagined that he could smell it, that metallic cloying of his father’s blood. The man would never let him rest, not even after death, when his body was gone.

The sky was starting to lighten outside. How long did he have left at River House? In the relative calm of the early morning, the events of the previous night were much clearer to him, the path he needed to take far more obvious. From the second that he’d struck Jungsoo, he’d known in his heart that this was how it would end.

He had to confess.

It was the only way to clear Taehyung’s name, with the police and in the minds of the others. It was too much for his little brother to bear the blame for something that Seokjin had done. Oh, why had Taehyung followed him after they’d spoken in the garden? Why had he not noticed sooner? It had been obvious the Taehyung hadn’t wanted to be left alone.

It was pointless to ask the question now, but the very thought of Taehyung seeing it, seeing him at his very worst. Well, Taehyung had grown over the summer, he was a man now, this wouldn’t destroy him. His brother had overcome many things in his life, more than he knew. Even so, Seokjin wished his shame was his own, that he didn’t have to taint the others with his guilt.

How would they cope without him? Seokjin knew they would adapt, but he hoped it wouldn’t be too painful for them. They had Yoongi, now. An equal for Namjoon in many ways, a partner for Taehyung, a teacher for Jeongguk. Would the man regret ever coming to River House? From the way he looked at Taehyung, Seokjin thought not. He’d stood by them all last night, when many would have left. His true colours had shined through, bright and good.

Seokjin sighed, taking a moment to listen to the trembling beginnings of the morning chorus. Through the window the garden appeared like a ghostly vision, faint mist creeping up from the river, rolling across the lawn. The tables from the party were still strewn across the grass. The servants would be stirring soon.

The letter was folded and sealed away, to be read only after Seokjin had completed what needed to be done.

Without fully knowing why, on leaving his room, he headed further along the corridor, away from his intended destination. Coming to a stop outside of Namjoon’s door, he turned the doorknob slowly, inching his way inside.

He’d just wanted to reassure himself that they were okay, that Namjoon was still in one piece. The other man always claimed their burdens as his own and Seokjin was loathed to add to his troubles. On finding his brother asleep at his desk, Seokjin sighed. “Namjoon,” he whispered, not wishing to fully wake the sleeping man.

A small groan emanated from Namjoon, his forehead wrinkling.

“No, no, no,” Seokjin hushed. “You carry on sleeping.”

It seemed that the day had worn Namjoon out well enough that he heeded Seokjin’s advice. Even as Seokjin lifted him to his feet and guided him to the unmade bed, Namjoon’s eyes remain shut.

He smiled at the small pout on his brother’s face as he clambered under the covers, Seokjin pulled them high under his chin. He hoped Namjoon would do as he’d said in the letter. Such promise shouldn’t be hidden away. The fire in Namjoon’s heart burned fiercely, it should be allowed to spread. Now, with Father gone, maybe it could.

Pausing at Taehyung’s door, Seokjin winced. Jeongguk was in there with him, he knew, but he still felt like he was abandoning his youngest brother to the wolves. He’d had no idea that Taehyung was near the study when he’d been arguing with Father. If he had, well, he would have done things differently. Seokjin could only imagine the way Taehyung’s eyes must have widened as their father had fallen to the floor, the way he must have cried out. He must have gone to the body, after Seokjin had left, to be so covered in blood. The made-up visions played on a loop in Seokjin’s mind.

He loved him so much, the free spirit in him reminding Seokjin so much of their mother. He prayed that Taehyung could forgive him, that they would remember him well. One night of hurt couldn’t destroy the years they’d shared together before. If only Seokjin had been stronger, sooner. He could have stood up to his father earlier, could have held his ground. Or, perhaps, he could have made the proper sacrifices instead of resisting them. If he’d done better at the company, would Father have let Namjoon and Taehyung pursue their own dreams?

There was no point thinking on it now. He couldn’t change it, he could only make it right with the police.

He stepped into Taehyung’s room, smiling at the two young men curled around each other as they slept. He couldn’t stay long. Leaning close, he pressed a light kiss to Taehyung’s cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “Forgive me.”

Kissing the top of Jeongguk’s head lightly, he rose. The youngest boy was just on the cusp of adulthood, it tugged at Seokjin’s heart that he wouldn’t be around to see how he bloomed.

The sound of a door closing in the distance brought him back to his senses and, sparing the two boys one last look, he fled the room. Pulling open the tunnel door for the third time, he winced at the loud creak that burst through the quiet corridors. It would be over soon for him, but the others, they had so much more to give. His freedom was a fair price to pay for that.

The letter clenched in his hand, he strode through the darkness. He would bury the letter with their father’s bloodied paperweight. Perhaps he would leave Namjoon a note on where to find it. It would have to be a little cryptic, but Namjoon would understand it. He was smart that way.

As the air got cooler the closer he got to the forest door, his heart was filled with conviction. This was the right thing to do. The only thing he could do. For once in his life, he had control over his future. This was the path that he chose.

Retracing his steps from earlier in the night, the woods looked so different in the faint morning light. Dew drops clung to the shrubs covering the floor. He would never now become the person that he’d dreamed of, the man to lead his family into the light, to fight for those he loved.

The walk to the Faery Grove was longer than normal, his steps shorter, pace languid. It was odd, to seal one’s own fate in such a way. At the base of the birch tree he called his own, he clawed at the still fresh earth. The box was still there, waiting for him. Inside, the bloodied paperweight sat, innocuous enough. How could such a small thing cause such change in a person? Without lingering too long he placed his letter next to the polished stone, covered it once more with the blanket and replaced the box in the ground.

Around him birds chirped. He closed his eyes, imagining he was a child again. Namjoon, Taehyung and Jeongguk smiling and fidgeting in their own spots. Mother, in the middle, her summer dress trailing through the twigs and the dirt. Her voice, full of wonder and hope. He’d felt invincible in those days, like he could fill the entire woods, as if he could command the elements.

His brothers wouldn’t think badly of him. They loved him, just as he loved them. As he loved Yoongi and Jeongguk.

The truth would be known. The world would know how his father had seeped the joy out of their lives, had cast a shadow over the memory of their mother, had kept them hidden from the wonder of the world. How Seokjin had finally gotten tired of the dark.

A fairytale to be passed on, of an evil king, defeated. Of love conquering all.

With his mother’s voice filling his heart and mind, he returned to River House.

He was free.