Archive of Our Own

Seokjin had a wrist tattoo. Sometimes, he forgot it was there. But Hoseok was really interested in it, had always been interested in it, and in the way the falling white flower petals were illustrated delicately along the thin skin of his inner wrist.

To Seokjin, it was meaningful and meaningless all at once. A tattoo he had gotten in the heat of some moment that, this far removed, years and years later, had most of its context and details rubbed out. It was all... vague and hard to remember. But still, underneath it all, the tattoo held a general sense of this was important and this shaped our lives. Seokjin remembered Hoseok and Yoongi and Namjoon -- Namjoon. Namjoon.

There was a throbbing at the back of Seokjin's head, right at the base of his skull. Namjoon. That was making the pain increase, sharper and sharper.

"Stop it," Seokjin thought, and then said. He was batting Hoseok's hand away, inquisitive fingers tracing the tattoo. He was laying on the living room couch. Underneath him, Seokjin realized the cushions of the couch were soft. Softer than usual, maybe, their little old beaten up couch -- a hand me down. Or a rescue from curbside garbage. Which it was, Yoongi had never clarified.

The couch was usually too hard for Seokjin's taste, not worth laying on. Alright enough for sitting on. But he was tired, and laying down at all and on anything that wasn't the ground or floor was enough for him right now.

Stop it, he’d said to Hoseok -- but his voice, though tired, lacked any bite. It often did, especially when it came to Hoseok. So Hoseok was unperturbed, and he reached back for Seokjin's wrist, his fingers tracing the delicate skin, gentle and expert. Like he had done this a hundred, no, a thousand times. Maybe he had, if either of them stopped to think about it.

"Tell me about this," Hoseok said instead, undeterred. He was smiling. The apartment’s hardwood floor creaked underneath him, as he knelt by the couch and kept a gentle yet firm grip on Seokjin's wrist.

"You already know," Seokjin told him tiredly. It had started raining non-stop the last week or so. Or... so. Yes. Hadn't it? Something about the rain waterlogged his brain, and it was hard to keep track of everything. "And even if you didn’t know, then you could find out without me telling you. Go for it. Have at it. You have my permission or whatever."

Hoseok's grip tightened slightly, and when Seokjin looked him in the eye, Hoseok's gaze was imploring, though calm. "Seokjin."

Sometimes, Hoseok didn't appreciate this kind of levity concerning what Seokjin would let Hoseok do and get away with. And Seokjin didn't totally get that, sometimes. "Come on, you know I trust you -- "

"Seokjin."

Hoseok's tone was a little less calm, which confused Seokjin. Made something scratch at the base of his skull, same place where it was throbbing when he thought of --

"Hey," Seokjin said, trying to distract himself from the pain, reaching for Hoseok's face with his left hand, the hand not trapped in Hoseok's grasp. "Hobi, fine. Okay. It's from -- well. I don't know. Sometime after me and you and Yoongi and Namjoon -- "

The pain had intensified only a little before. Now, it increased by tenfold. A hundredfold. Seokjin hissed and shut his eyes. "Ouch. Ow."

Hoseok was pressing his lips to Seokjin's fingertips -- Seokjin felt it before he realized it, and definitely before he squinted his eyes open and saw it. Saw the way Hoseok bowed his head to meet Seokjin's hand halfway and tried to soothe him.

"Sorry," Hoseok said. "I'm sorry, take your time, that's my fault -- "

The couch was too soft underneath him. Seokjin wondered if that was really because he was tired or not. He wondered if Hoseok's lips seared with each kiss he left against Seokjin's crooked fingertips.

"Might not want to put your mouth on my fingers," Seokjin suggested lightly. The air was damp. There was a light patter of rain against the window sill. But the couch was too soft. It was too soft. And Namjoon was --

Hoseok's voice returned, soft and sure and unconcerned. "Why? I'm trying to make you feel better, I'm not worried about -- "

Seokjin blinked, and in the fraction of a moment between closing his eyes and opening them once again, he felt rather than intended and tried for the spark. Feeling rather than seeing -- that was a norm for him. That was the usual. That was okay... wasn’t it?

When Seokjin opened his eyes, Hoseok had burst into flames.

The first time Seokjin had met Hoseok, really really met him, it had been in a library, of all places.

Perhaps not 'of all places' -- perhaps something more like 'inevitably' because Seokjin, at the time, had been a library assistant in order to earn his stipend. And Hoseok had been a very good student who, of course, studied a lot. It was more a matter of time, then, from that perspective.

Prior to their official meeting, Hoseok's often frequenting of the library meant Seokjin had sort of remembered his face from a while back, even if there was no name to put with it. He remembered Hoseok's kind smile, the way he put books back where he got them, the way he waved kindly at any and everyone. Ultimately, he gave off a very nice and gentle aura. Even to Seokjin, who didn't really do auras. That was more Jaehwan’s thing, and Seokjin never asked him about that stuff.

So, he'd seen Hoseok around. He'd known Hoseok, but in general way. Seokjin had known of Hoseok, like how he'd (at this same point) known of the kid Min Yoongi in his course track who was likely going to become his partner for the duration of the program because their powers were similar enough for them to keep each other in check. Like the way he'd known of Jimin because Taehyung liked him and talked about him and was constantly saying he was going to marry him. These were things that, at this time, Seokjin knew about, but not knew in-depth.

It wasn't until Hoseok had a meltdown in the library, however, that Seokjin really had a reason to talk Hoseok. "I was the one who had to talk you down, after all," Seokjin said to no one in particular. He was in this room all by himself.

This was his bedroom, he realized on closer inspection. Closer introspection. The air smelled of ash, of burnt human flesh and bones. Seokjin's fingers sparked beauty and danger. It was a good metaphor, if Seokjin had ever been better at being ruthless without the double edge of empathy cutting him wide open and vulnerable.

Seokjin wondered if that was a shared issue among their kind with distinctly offensive powersets. Yoongi was better at hiding it, but Seokjin suspected he maybe felt it even deeper than Seokjin did.

With the thought of Yoongi, Hoseok was of course not far behind. Hoseok's face drifted to the front of Seokjin's memory. “Wait, but back to my meltdown, Seokjin, what about that?"

Seokjin paused. What about it? It happened, and it was the reason they'd become friends in the end there. Became even more, in the actual end.

"Well, that's kind of mean," Hoseok said forlornly, acting out because when he was actually upset he didn't tell you. Seokjin knew that from experience. Hoseok's finger was tapping rhythmically against Seokjin's wrist, against his tattoo, as he found his next words. "You didn't think I was cute or interesting enough before then? Before I nearly brought the entire library complex down on top of all of us?"

"Yeah, Seokjin," Namjoon agreed, before Seokjin could reply or argue or anything. "That's messed up!"

Except -- Seokjin looked at Namjoon. Looked at Hoseok. Looked down at where Hoseok's fingers had been -- and there, at his wrist, were now Namjoon's fingers instead. But Namjoon didn't do that. He had never done that, even if he thought the tattoo was well-chosen and pretty.

Seokjin stared up at Namjoon staring down at his wrist. "...Namjoon?"

Namjoon looked at him, eyes curious but somehow blank. Blank and endless and intimidating and -- "Hm?"

Seokjin stared and stared and stared, until Namjoon, too, burst into flames.

Yoongi had acid at his fingertips. "I can secrete it from my palms. Like sweat, or maybe pus," Yoongi liked to say, and then liked to watch for the inevitable shudder or wince that came from the less poetic explanation. He was always poking and prodding for a reaction in this externalized attempt for control, was what Seokjin had decided made the best sense. It would explain why Yoongi always went around instigating with friends and foes alike.

But again, he and Yoongi were similar. Where Yoongi's hands gave him acid at his disposal, Seokjin's gave him fireworks. "It's not fire," Seokjin always had to explain. “It's more like combustion. Except pretty. Fireworks."

"You're not... doing that?" Hoseok had asked, freshly new to the crew and a few hours out from the nurse station. At Seokjin's inquisitive glance -- he didn't understand the initial question -- Hoseok elaborated. "I thought you were a pyrokinetic and were manipulating it to be different colors. That’s what I've heard around campus, anyway."

Someone ( -- Seokjin couldn’t remember who, which one of them, who -- but well, it didn’t actually matter, really -- ) hummed, sounding impressed. "You've been talked about 'around campus', Jin. That's exciting."

Seokjin had laughed. He remembered that. He remembered how his chicken sandwich had laid untouched before him. He was too busy chatting to eat. "Sounds like it."

It was surprising to Seokjin, to be talked about like he was a big shot or something. He wasn't a secret entity or anyone famous, but just a typical college student. He wanted to be a hero. He probably wasn’t going to be a very big one, since he didn’t have one of the easily marketed powers. No one was all that keen on having a walking fire hazard in their usual neighborhood or downtown fray.

Seokjin wasn’t trying to cause rumors on purpose. He simply never showed his power off outside of training, because there was no point in risking blowing up anything besides for class and program-sanctioned practice.

So this was interesting. Hearing about this outsider’s perspective, the student body’s spun tale of who he was and what his intentions were, was interesting. It was really interesting, and hearing it from Hoseok, who openly held no judgment and instead all wonder, made it even more so.

"No," Seokjin eventually answered Hoseok, calm and curious himself, watching Hoseok's mouth purse up in puzzlement. "No, it's just always been like that."

Hoseok was a psionic; a telepath with a few latent telekinetic abilities. Psionics usually crossed over into multiple powersets like that, were considered top-tier nine times out of ten, and yet Seokjin had never been envious of them. They got a raw deal in media, either the strongest character made to be broken down or the villain, and they got a raw deal in most things in life that weren’t hero programs and certifications. Seokjin would take D rank superhero-ing to having to grapple with the series of morals and values Hoseok had to be ready to explain at a moment’s notice in case someone thought he was behind an unseen incident, or behind a subtle change in someone’s thought process.

“It’s not that bad, don’t be pessimistic,” Hoseok had fussed, when Seokjin shared that particular thought. “I’m sure the learning curve was terrible for you, when you make fiery sparkle explosions with your hands.”

This was not untrue. Hoseok had this amazing way of turning things around on Seokjin. On making him examine a totally different set of perspectives, without even using his powers. Not that Seokjin was unfamiliar with Hoseok’s power and the touch of it. The way he could use it on an ally or an enemy, as an intimate thing or an attack. It was part of their training, and it was a part of their relationship. Only sometimes, but that was enough-times.

Hoseok. Hoseok. Seokjin had met him by chance, once upon a time, and somehow -- somehow -- ?

(“Do you wanna go out for food?” Hoseok had asked, when Yoongi was too high-strung over impending midterms to function, and Seokjin loved him but there was only so much studying you could do after a certain point. Apparently Hoseok agreed with him on that.

Seokjin laughed, because the mere mention of a snack break had gotten him a death glare from Yoongi and Seokjin was actually plenty studious, thank you very much. “Can you really spare the time?”

Hoseok stuck out the tip of his tongue, making a silly face. “I’m gonna go stir-crazy otherwise! Come on, let’s do a sit-in place, all those kind of places around campus are going to be pretty empty.”

Seokjin had brightened up and demanded, “Japanese! I want at least three courses -- ”)

Hoseok was new to Seokjin, but old and familiar to him as well. He’d grown on him. He’d become inseparable from him, as quick as anything. Hoseok was kind, and he was open. But no -- he was closed off, as well. In a way Seokjin could understand. In a way that Seokjin was like as well. Keep them at a distance with a smile and a joke. Lie with I am open, so you can control what they see. Self-preservation didn’t have to come from anything, but it could save you from everything.

(“Do you wanna go out for food,” Hoseok had asked, when Yoongi was too high-strung over impending midterms and Namjoon was all hyperfocused on them too -- but Namjoon -- Namjoon,

Namjoon?

Namjoon -- wait. Wait, Seokjin’s brain felt like mush and like brimstone and like heat and like it was melting out of his ears -- and Seokjin loved -- them but there was only so much studying you could do -- but there was -- wait -- )

Hoseok was not Seokjin’s all and everything. Hoseok was immortalized in a tattoo along with all the others, but there was nothing that was only Hoseok on Seokjin. Seokjin didn’t believe in ownership, not singularly like that. And he loved Hoseok and Hoseok was incredibly, massively important to him -- but he was not Seokjin’s all and everything. Hoseok understood that this was not a slight, and it was probably one of the most impressive things about him, at least to Seokjin.

( -- and Seokjin had laughed, because the mere mention of a snack break had gotten him a death glare from Yoongi and a mumbly mini-lecture about grades from Namjoon -- Namjoon, fuck, what was going on with -- )

“I love you,” Seokjin had once said to Hoseok for the first time, years and years ago, while Hoseok was trying to add lemon to the curry he’d oversalted in an attempt to salvage the taste. Seokjin then immediately counterbalanced it with, “Even if you are insufferable sometimes.”

And Hoseok had shot back, “You don’t mean that.” And it hadn’t been a question or up for debate or anything. Was just Hoseok knowing, knowing Seokjin with all his heart, and knowing that Seokjin didn’t mean that, just wasn’t ready to bare his heart so sincerely and openly and vulnerable to getting hurt.

“Well.” Seokjin had said, startled and surprised and not entirely meaning to have said that single word. It just came out, and was left there, for Hoseok to take the reins on.

“Love you too,” Hoseok had said, looking up from his doomed meal, to smile, bright and true, at Seokjin. Like Seokjin was his all and his everything. And Seokjin wondered if he was really the one needing to worry about getting hurt. All of Hoseok’s heart was in his hand. He could crush a thing so fragile, without even trying. Without ever meaning to.

(They had met, once upon a time. In a library of all places.)

This was a memory. Seokjin was remembering. (Why, something in him asked and -- why not? Who cared. This was a memory.)

Seokjin was staring at the library. He wasn’t going to go in. He was just looking. This was a memory and he was on the outside looking in.

Seokjin didn’t so much remember Hoseok coming in the library the day he had a power meltdown -- if he raked his brain over it, it was probably right around midterms. So Seokjin had probably been preoccupied. The stress would also explain Hoseok’s usual quiet presence taking a turn for the biggest kind of disruption.

“Wait, you don’t remember?” came an unexpected voice.

Seokjin started -- he hadn’t heard Hoseok approach. He was more used to Hoseok having a more apparent, noticeable presence in his mind. This was a memory, after all. They’d done this before, in one of those enough-times.

Seokjin sighed and tilted his head towards the sound of Hoseok’s voice. Hoseok was sitting beside him on the stone steps of the academic building across the street from the library. They’d done this before too, when they had first started dating. Just sat on these stone steps watching people mill about, going in and out of the library. Stopping to talk to friends, sit on the quad to eat snacks. Out of habit, Seokjin accepted Hoseok’s hand as it searched for his own.

“Don’t remember what?” Seokjin asked eventually. “What are you anyway? A shade or my actual Hoseokie?” The words came, unbidden, and once they had Seokjin knew with certainty -- this was a memory. And in memories there was the truth and then there were shades of it. Seokjin was in his own head -- and why? (Who cared? What did it matter?)

Hoseok, whoever or whichever or whatever version he was, laughed, sounding helpless. “It won’t matter what I say, because you probably won’t believe me. And I meant, don’t you remember that it wasn’t just once?”

Seokjin blinked and -- didn’t he? He did. Of course he did. “I’m just thinking about -- talking? About...? The one big time. The other two times weren’t that big a deal.”

Hoseok laughed again, more amused, and his grip on Seokjin’s hand tightened. “I got kicked out of the library for the rest of the semester!”

Seokjin laughed too, shaking his head to get his bangs out of his eyes, trying to search Hoseok’s expression for an answer to his question of this Hoseok’s realness. “The librarians were just worrying and playing it safe. The other two times really weren’t that bad.”

The library building was calm and silent from the outside. On the inside too, right now. Or maybe there was nothing on the inside without him there. Memories were motionless and lifeless unvisited. But if they went inside, it’d be tumultuous and loud.

Seokjin sighed and let go of Hoseok’s hand. He leaned back, resting his weight onto his elbows on the step behind him, looking up at the sky. It was gray. At least there was no rain. This was a memory. Why was he in his head like this? With a shade or with the truth that was Hoseok? It was worth asking about. “Alright, so what are we trying to do here? What do you want, real Hoseok or not real Hoseok or whatever?”

Hoseok was tapping his foot against the stairs. Seokjin could hear him doing it. “Well. I know there’s no concept of time here. So if I tell you about what’s been happening when, it won’t mean anything. So, harder question: Namjoon? Remember that?”

Seokjin winced, and the back of his head felt like it was on fire. He let out a small whine of pain unintentionally. “Namjoon -- ” What was this? What was this? What was this?

Hoseok sighed. “Okay. That’s okay. There’s no point in forcing it. And it answers my question of what he did, I guess. But, Seokjin,” and Hoseok’s hand in Seokjin’s tightened to the point of being painful now. Almost grounding, with Seokjin’s head feeling like it was trying to split apart. “Other than that, it’s really just about helping you piece yourself back together, isn’t it?”

Seokjin was blinking furiously, eyes watering with the pain. Was that the sky turning dusty red behind the clouds? “I don’t -- understand -- what you’re trying to say to me -- ”

Hoseok didn’t reply, though he did say, obviously to himself in a small murmur, “Ah, here it comes.”

Seokjin was still staring up at the sky, confused as the rain began to fall. It was a warm sort of rain, and the sun of his memories refracted beautiful and unnatural midair.

What was Hoseok trying to say -- ‘piece himself back together’? This was a memory. He was in his head. Okay. Okay, remember he told himself and he did: that meant he was asleep or unconscious or --

It was at this moment, lost in thought, that Seokjin realized it. Realized that what was falling, pitter pattering gently against his face, wasn’t rain. It wasn’t rain, but instead the same sparks that came from his fingers, impossibly liquid form and sparkling in a way only dreams could manage. Seokjin sucked in a breath, and he turned his head in time to see Hoseok go up in flames once again.

Here was a quiet memory: Hoseok softly touching the skin right under his shoulder blade. Seokjin was half asleep still, but he was awake enough to realize it was his right shoulder blade, and then realize Hoseok had never seen him with no shirt on before.

“Enjoying being a creep?” Seokjin yawned out, shifting to lay on his back.

Hoseok jumped a little, but then laughed softly and lifted himself up off the bed only to flop down on top of Seokjin, nuzzling into his neck. “Didn’t know you had a tattoo, is all. Kinda surprising.”

“Mm.” Seokjin patted Hoseok’s back sleepily. “Uh yeah, I got a matching one with my cousin for his eighteenth birthday. Taehyung? I’ve told you about him.”

“Ah! Uh-huh. Matching, you say?”

Seokjin laughed at Hoseok kissing the dip of his neck, affectionate as always. “Yeah. Tae’s is under his left shoulder, though.” Seokjin wriggled some fingers in the air and affected his voice pretentiously. “Parallels and symbolism.”

Hoseok laughed too, then pressed his lips to the side of Seokjin's throat, peppering him with more and more kisses for a long moment that had Seokjin squirming and snorting, ticklish. “Hobi -- ” Seokjin hit his back lightly to get him to stop. “Hey -- ”

Hoseok finally pulled back, shifting until he was framing Seokjin's head with his arms and peering down at him playfully. “Okay, okay. What do the feathers mean? Kind of looks like you’re molting.”

Seokjin thought back on it. He sometimes forgot exactly what it looked like, since it was a little out of sight and out of mind. It was three feathers, carefully etched to look like they were drifting down the expanse of his back. Taehyung had wanted to avoid it looking like sparse wings or anything. Envy hadn’t been the point. “Tae always wanted his power to turn out to be flight or something. This was, I guess, a way to immortalize that.”

Hoseok hummed. With him hovering above Seokjin like this, Seokjin felt strangely protected. Definitely loved. “Right, he didn’t develop any powers.”

Seokjin nodded, then reached up to loosely drape his arms around the back of Hoseok’s neck, lightly to not choke or hurt him but firm enough to slowly begin pulling him back down to the mattress. Back down to Seokjin. “Yeah. Are you jealous? We can get matching tattoos too, if you want.” Now, he was teasing.

Hoseok knew this and scoffed, even as he let himself be pulled in. He went cross-eyed watching Seokjin dot a tiny kiss on his nose. “I don’t want a matching tattoo, and neither do you. It’s just interesting, because I didn’t know you had one. Think you’d ever get another one?”

Seokjin kissed the tip of Hoseok’s nose again and thought about it. “Maybe. It’d be nice to have one that meant something just to me, I guess.”

Hoseok’s expression lit up. “You should get one!”

Seokjin reached up to ruffle his hair. “It’s not going to be about you, I’m warning you.”

“No, I’m serious, you should. That’s really fine.” Hoseok wriggled against him happily, and Seokjin laughed and kissed him, slow and sweet.

Here was another memory: the dinner after their first group assignment. They were officially heroes, instead of aspiring heroes. They were registered with the Heroes Bureau and everything, even if their current ranking was low because two out of four of their powersets were considered mediocre. Even if that ranking meant they were paired with a pretty small sponsor company. Even if that all meant their living quarters were a little dismal and underfurnished.

Yes, they were going to get D rank assignments until they proved capable enough to handle better things and bigger issues. And yes, their monthly stipend split between the four of them definitely wasn’t big enough for the celebratory Korean barbeque with all the expensive cuts they were treating themselves to right now. But to compensate they were splitting the bill seven ways instead of four -- Taehyung had come, and he brought Jimin and Jungkook along. They were celebrating. This was worth it.

Jimin and Jungkook were, by this point, not necessarily new, but they weren’t the same regular fixtures that were the four of them together all the time, training for the certification exams. Even Taehyung was outside of that, close but not in the same intrinsic way that was Seokjin-Yoongi-Hoseok-Namjoon (Namjoon -- ). But Jimin and Jungkook, they were clearly on their way of being constantly included in the fray of this friendship, and things that night felt perfect with them there.

The happiest parts of this memory were not about the bad, but of course the good. It wasn’t about all the ways trying to be a hero were still difficult for them, but instead about all the ways things were clicking into place. They’d been commissioned to stop disorderly conduct and had been praised for doing it well. Hoseok was playing with Taehyung and Jimin like they’d known each other all their lives. Seokjin remembered being able to strike up easy conversation with Jungkook and being reminded of how hilarious and sweet he was. Yoongi kept putting the most expensive cuts on Namjoon’s plate --

Ah. Headache. Seokjin knew to back up off the thought. He moved on.

It was a fun night. Good food and good company. The best things to have.

Somewhere in there, Seokjin looked up at the same time as Hoseok, and by chance they caught each other’s eyes. Seokjin made a kissy face at him and Hoseok made an overdramatic surprised expression, round open mouth and huge eyes and one hand flying up to his cheek, before he sent a kissy face back, making high-pitched cutesy noises and everything. And somehow that -- that and the groans it elicited from the rest table -- made this night imprint itself on Seokjin's heart.

(It was later that night, curled up on the couch together, that Seokjin whispered to Hoseok, “I think I might want to get a tattoo about the rest of you? Even Jimin and Jungkook. I like our little friend unit.”

Hoseok didn’t seem very surprised. “Sounds like you. Do you know of what though? And won’t Taehyung be insufferable because he’ll be part of both your tattoos?”

Seokjin snorted. “Oh, yeah, he’s going to gloat forever. It’ll be awful. And no, I’m not sure of what. Something pretty, though. And somewhere I can see it.”

“Makes sense,” Hoseok said, and that’d been that.)

“I told you it wasn’t meaningful. Or meaningless, either,” Seokjin said to Hoseok. They were on the steps across the street from the library again.

Hoseok paused for a long moment. “...Did you?”

Seokjin paused too. Maybe he didn’t. Hoseok was being vaguely diplomatic, like he didn’t know what Seokjin was talking about. “About the tattoo. It’s not...” Seokjin blinked.

Hoseok was looking at him closely. His eyes were wide, like he was hanging on whatever Seokjin's next words would be.

Seokjin felt weightless and dizzy for a moment. Lost. “Well. Everything doesn’t have to be... doesn’t have to have a deeper meaning, Namjoon. Everything doesn’t have to -- ”

Seokjin cut himself off, staring wide-eyed at Hoseok, who was faintly smiling. Wrong name. Wrong conversation. That was another memory with another person, who...

Seokjin was shaking his head, trying to clear it. Hoseok’s smile was getting a little bigger. “...Yeah?” Hoseok prompted when Seokjin wouldn’t start back up.

That was because Seokjin felt slightly queasy, sick with sudden realization. “I... Namjoon’s been compromised. Namjoon’s -- I forgot, but he’s in trouble.”

(Namjoon. "You've been talked about 'around campus', Jin. That's exciting," Namjoon was the one who had hummed and said that, impressed. Namjoon. Namjoon, Namjoon.)

Hoseok pushed up off the steps to lean into Seokjin's space and press their faces together, cheek to cheek. His mouth was by Seokjin's ear as he whispered. “I knew you could do it. Good job, Jinnie.”

Seokjin's head was hurting again but -- he could push through it. He wouldn’t shy away this time. “He disappeared. But then he showed up and I -- went with him.” After that was hazy. Or flat out gone. But it made sense. It all made sense.

Seokjin blinked, once and then a few times extra, rapidly, feeling the scrunching up of his face as he did so. He was thinking. The sky was turning cloudy and dark again, the gray making way for black storm clouds. But this was definitely Hoseok. Hobi. This was his Hoseok, and he was trying to help.

Somehow, Seokjin's hands found their way to Hoseok’s shoulders, holding on tightly. “I don’t know if I can help?” Seokjin said, voice soft. He wasn’t scared, but he wasn’t sure what was happening outside his own mind right now. He had no information. He had no footing, beyond Hoseok here in front of him.

“Well, you are safe,” Hoseok reassured him gently, nuzzling against Seokjin’s face. “Namjoon brought you back and left you where we could find you. I just need you to put yourself back together, okay?”

Seokjin laughed weakly. The first hot raindrop (not rain, not rain -- ) hit the crown of his head. “If Namjoon left me for you to find, then I’m probably scrubbed clean of information.”

Hoseok’s hand was squeezing Seokjin's knee. He was nuzzling against Seokjin's face, as if to say don’t worry. As if to say hang in there. More fire-rain began to drizzle. This was Seokjin's mind and memory, so he told himself he wasn’t going to hear the sizzle of Hoseok’s skin.

“We’re already on that,” Hoseok’s voice was still airy and reassuring and calm, even with the inevitable that was Seokjin's mind burning him out. “All we need from you is for you to unscramble yourself and wake up, okay?”

Seokjin took a deep breath and pulled back enough to be able to kiss Hoseok’s forehead. “Okay. Can do. I think I’m mostly there. It was just memories of Namjoon, I think, messing me up. I can do it now that I know.” Knew to look for Namjoon, in his thoughts. In his past.

Hoseok pulled back a bit more so he could beam at Seokjin. He looked beautiful, even in the disparate landscape of Seokjin's mind. Maybe because he was here to help Seokjin find his way home.

“I know you can do it,” Hoseok said, nothing but pure, unadulterated conviction in his voice. What choice did Seokjin have but to believe him, even as he became nothing but dust and ash in Seokjin's arms?

Here was a -- no, no. Here were many memories:

Seokjin meeting Namjoon at freshman orientation, awkward and tall and sticking out like a sore thumb. Namjoon eager nonetheless, and blurting out first thing during an icebreaker, “Well, I’m a telepath, but I swear we’re not like all those movie villains, really -- ” and it was such an endearingly awful first impression that Seokjin couldn’t help but laugh.

Namjoon helping Seokjin take one of Hoseok’s hands and lead him to the infirmary that first time. Namjoon knowing what to say when all Seokjin could offer was distraction, because Namjoon was a telepath and he knew how this went and what actually helped. (“But you did help, I swear, levity and jokes really do help,” Namjoon had assured him, again and again, later.)

Namjoon helping the rest of them drill for finals; Namjoon and Seokjin going off to the computer lab to finish a project together because they were the only two in their entire year apparently who didn’t procrastinate on assignments (and people were always surprised about that from Seokjin, and eyerollingly insufferably annoyed about that from Namjoon); Seokjin helping Namjoon scrub a cranberry juice stain out of his graduation gown because, “Of course Namjoon, of course,” “Well, it’s not my fault!” --

Namjoon at the barbeque restaurant with them, Yoongi putting expensive cuts on Namjoon’s plate, like Namjoon would forget to eat here at barbeque like he always did everywhere else, head eternally up in the clouds.

Namjoon -- at the tattoo parlor. God, how had he forgotten that?

Namjoon at the tattoo parlor along with Hoseok and Yoongi, because Seokjin needed the emotional support. “Why flower petals, though?” He had asked, and Seokjin, nerves frayed and anxiety mounting in his chest, had snapped, “Just because. Everything doesn’t have to have a deeper meaning, Namjoon.”

Seokjin remembered apologizing later on. He remembered Hoseok urging him to (“You and I both know that hurt his feelings, even if he won’t say it.”), and Yoongi -- always a brat, Seokjin would heatedly maintain -- refusing to talk to Seokjin until he did. He remembered his raw, throbbing wrist hurting, and every twinge serving as a reminder that he’d been unnecessarily snappy at his best friend.

So he apologized. And Namjoon -- kind, sweet Namjoon -- easily shrugged it off, even while looking relieved. “I was just asking. I was just wondering. It’s no big deal -- and it looks good, Seokjin!”

Seokjin remembered, in memories of the more recent variety, Namjoon being restless. They’d only really been upgraded to C rank assignments, and Namjoon and Hoseok as a requested duo had been occasionally contracted for a few, rare B ones the past year. Yoongi was aggravated and looking for the right people to bark at about the years of stagnation their team was facing. Hoseok was trying stay optimistic, and Seokjin was trying to stay supportive of everyone.

Seokjin remembered Namjoon, in his restlessness, had begun researching and investigating and trailing some cases he’d managed to get the briefing information on. Some kind of underground organization doing something unsavory and luring people away in the dark of the night. Seokjin knew Namjoon was doing this, and it worried him. He wasn’t sure if Hoseok knew in full, but he was sure Yoongi didn’t know at all -- because Yoongi (always a brat, Seokjin would solemnly maintain) would have fussed about it and been very against it.

And for good reason. Because soon after, Seokjin remembered Namjoon looking gaunt and tired, getting headaches and acting slightly off. They’d thought he was just coming down with something. But instead, really, Namjoon was in too deep with something that had been a void he'd been recreationally staring into, all without realizing it had been staring right back into him.

Seokjin remembered Namjoon going missing deep into the night, without a word. Just like the people in the case. Seokjin remembered a week of panic and worry and neverending paperwork as the Bureau tried to decide whether or not Namjoon was officially compromised to the point of needing rescue, or instead release. Seokjin remembered all of them (the three of them, the six of them) panicking more, privately and quietly and amongst themselves, at the possibility of release. Because release was a dark euphemism.

And here was the important part: Seokjin remembered the end of that week. When Seokjin had opened the apartment door at midday, to Namjoon standing there on the steps like nothing was wrong. And Seokjin had been surprised and relieved and hopeful for exactly two seconds, before the terror set in. Set in right along with the overwhelming weight of Namjoon's powers pressing in from all sides, Namjoon’s eyes boring into his own, blank and endless and intimidating and frightening. Seokjin had never really been attacked ruthlessly by a telepath, and it was frightening how it forced Seokjin, banished him, to the back of his own mind. He felt crushed down into a curled up, muted version of himself, trapped and shivering. Felt as raw and painfully new all over as his tattoo across his wrist had been once upon a time all those years ago.

Seokjin remembered, after all that... nothingness. An inky black gap, like something was missing. And Seokjin knew, knew if anything would convince the higher-ups that some mostly C ranked hero needed to be released, it would be friendly fire. It would be a casualty incurred by Namjoon’s own hands.

So, Seokjin needed to put himself back together and pull himself out of it. There was no question to it. He just would. Now. Now -- Now, please, come on, now --

There were birds chirping. Seokjin realized that before he opened his eyes. When he did, the light filtering in the window was brighter than usual -- and he realized that the blinds and window were both open. There was a breeze drifting in, damp and wet from the long rainy season still going.

At least it was more a sun shower than an overcast and gloomy drizzle. Seokjin sighed and shifted in the bed, then saw -- across the room, curled up in a desk chair and dozing, was Hoseok.

Seokjin blinked. He was also realizing his body ached dully like it usually did when he lazed in bed too long. His throat was dry. This was definitely Hoseok’s bed he was in, not his own.

“Hos’k,” Seokjin tried to call out, but his mouth felt unused and foreign. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Hobi.”

Hoseok grunted a little in his sleep, before shifting and slowly rousing. Seokjin knew he could get a better response by reaching out to Hoseok with his thoughts. But he’d had enough of that. Hoseok probably had too.

Hoseok snuffled a little, smacked his lips a little, as he sat up out of his sleep slump and stared blankly at Seokjin. Seokjin stared woozily back.

Then Hoseok jumped to his feet. “Seokjin!”

Seokjin would have normally waved or blew a kiss, something just ever so slightly cheeky and good-natured. As it was, he smiled tiredly. “Good... morning?”

Hoseok shuffled over to the bed and fell to his knees so he could look Seokjin in the face. Their noses were almost touching. “I am so glad you’re awake. Feeling okay? I can check you over.”

Seokjin knew Hoseok was going to have to shuffle through his mind anyway, to get a good idea if Seokjin was more alright than not. But for now, Seokjin wanted to stay soft and sleepy and warm. Just appreciate being awake and here for a little longer. “Later. I’m fine,” he told Hoseok. He cleared his throat again, trying to work the frogginess out of his voice. “Um. I see we’re not at a hospital. Trying to sort things out under the radar?”

Hoseok huffed out a laugh. “Oh, you have no idea. Yoongi did some very illegal things. Jimin and Jungkook helped. Why Tae’s boyfriend and best friend are such good hackers, I never want to know.”

Seokjin nodded, even though he perhaps should have been appalled at them dragging (or rather allowing) powerless civilians into their mess. He couldn’t really find it in him to be upset about it, and instead his eyes drifted sleepily closed. For someone who had been asleep and pseudo-dreaming and re-experiencing their own mindscape for heaven knew how long, he was awfully tired. “No, I get it.”

“It was for the best,” came Hoseok’s gentle voice. “If I couldn’t help you, though, we would have taken you in for infirmary care. Things are messed up, but the Bureau’s got the best telepaths on staff.”

And wasn’t that part of the problem, Seokjin thought to joke. But maybe not now. Too close to home and all that.

Anyway, there was something more important he wanted and needed to say, something from his dreams -- but he was forgetting it. There was old faded urgency buried in him, and he was trying to locate and identify it. Seokjin pried his eyes open to look at Hoseok. Maybe focusing on the way Hoseok was watching his every movement would help him focus.

There was soft affection and pride in Hoseok’s eyes, which Seokjin recognized easily. And then he remembered -- Hoseok praising him, the two of them sitting on the steps across from his memory of how they first met.

Oh god. Seokjin's heart broke as he thought of all Hoseok had gone through for him. He had never wanted to Hoseok to suffer at all, especially not on Seokjin's behalf. Hoseok was too-caring and too-giving and he’d sacrifice way too much if no one told him to stop. And wasn’t that exactly what had happened? Hoseok had willingly gone through psionic torture for him. God.

“I am so sorry I kept killing you in my mindscape,” Seokjin murmured, voice hazy and sleep warmed. All in direct opposition to the words themselves. Seokjin felt like he was talking through cotton balls in his mouth, slurred and muffled.

Hoseok was shaking his head, smoothing a hand down Seokjin's arm, from shoulder all the way to his hand, tangling their fingers together. “No way. That’s good. That meant your defenses were up. It’s why you weren’t so bad off in the first place. You could have been way worse after the way your memories were messed with. But you knew how to protect yourself.”

Seokjin made a faint sound in the back of his throat that was meant to be something like, that’s because you taught me, and that’s because you worry about me, but he couldn’t get it out. Instead he tugged on Hoseok’s hand, and Hoseok understood. He leaned in and carefully kissed Seokjin's waiting mouth, chaste and light but the real thing. A real and true comfort.

“Thank you,” Seokjin managed to say, squeezing Hoseok’s hand. But. But the more he was coming to, the more he was realizing the severity of the situation. “I -- but, Hoseokie. We can’t... I haven’t. Um. They haven’t? Namjoon.”

There it was. The urgency. It was about Namjoon. Seokjin was worried because -- because the higher-ups put out death warrants for telepaths who’d gone rogue, willingly and meaning to or not. And they were under the radar for now, but that wouldn’t work forever. Namjoon had incurred friendly fire, Namjoon had probably been supposed to kill Seokjin afterwards but instead left him where the others could find him, Namjoon was still out there, lost in the void that had hijacked him and stolen him away from them --

Hoseok nipped playfully at Seokjin's bottom lip, which made Seokjin pause. It was too light-hearted to be -- to mean -- but Seokjin was afraid to get his hopes up. “Hobi...?”

Hoseok’s thumb was stroking over Seokjin's, the pads of his fingers soft and soothing. “I told you,” he said gently. “Jimin and Jungkook helped. And Yoongi did some very illegal things.”

Hoseok kissed him again, for only a half a second, and then his eyes flickered meaningfully behind Seokjin.

Seokjin stopped breathing, as Hoseok gazed softly into his eyes and smiled a little. He pulled his hand out of Seokjin's, and let his eyes shift and linger behind Seokjin again.

Seokjin's pulse was ticking up, because he didn’t want to believe in the wrong thing. He didn’t want to misunderstand and end up gouging out his own heart. But Hoseok wasn’t cruel, and that was a reality Seokjin could cling to. So Seokjin slowly turned over, first onto his back and then stiffly onto his other side, and --

There, asleep atop the covers and snugly burrowed between a makeshift barrier of pillows and the wall beside the bed, was Namjoon.

Seokjin breathed out. Faintly, he realized Hoseok had taken his hand again, and now was running gentle fingers along Seokjin's wrist tattoo. Of course. Of course he was.

Everything and nothing. This would be everything and nothing, nestled among his memories. One day, Seokjin would look back on this, would remember this as everything and nothing. Meaningful and meaningless. Next to him on the bed, Namjoon murmured serenely in his sleep.