Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“A map in the hands of a pilot is a testimony of a man's faith in other men; it is a symbol of confidence and trust... A map says to you, 'Read me carefully, follow me closely, doubt me not.' It says, 'I am the earth in the palm of your hand. Without me, you are alone and lost.” - Beryl Markham, West with the Night, 1942

The morning begins slowly, quietly. 

He wakes up naturally at dawn, or a bit before, while the world is still greyish. It’s unnecessarily early; there’s nothing to do at this hour, but old habits, deeply ingrained, are difficult to cast off. He draws back the curtains covering the bridge’s wide bank of windows, and Woori, disturbed, huffs and licks his chops, yawning and stretching before settling back down on his cushion. 

Jungkook takes one of the less threadbare blankets from the top of the divan and wraps it around his shoulders, puts on his pair of slippers before opening the door and stepping out onto the deck. He wrinkles his nose slightly at the quality of the air, quickly spotting the culprit: a big ship that’s come in to the airfield overnight, docked just a few spaces down the strip, emitting a steady, dark stream of exhaust from its smokestack into the still air. Yet another reason to wrap up his business here as soon as he could. Get back to flying among the mountains.

He lifts up the wooden hatch embedded in the deck surface and slips down the companionway to the living area nestled between the two cargo holds. It’s a bit warmer down here, so he tosses the blanket onto one of the seats as he works to resuscitate the cranky stove, feeding it bits of wood until the fire’s glowing strongly enough to boil water. His hands hover above the hot cast iron as he waits, and he rocks back and forth mindlessly, basking in the sensation and in the light starting to peek in through the wide bank of windows. The impulse to start humming bubbles up in his throat, maybe even to sing; he reflexively swallows it back down, a long sigh escaping his lungs instead.

Once his hot water is prepared, he climbs back to the upper level, mindful not to burn himself. One hand covering his nose and mouth with a corner of his blanket, the other hand holding his tea, he sits pressed against the deck railing, legs dangling off the side. He looks down at a port town that’s not interested in looking back at him. Smoke rises actively from nearly every vent and large building’s chimney; lights in windows and doorways are being put out one by one as the sun rises. The fortress atop the hill on the other side of the town slumbers, sentries around the wall still and barely visible in the haze. All is quiet, too, at the train station. Teams of ponies pull goods and equipment down stone streets, interspersed with autocarts lumbering behind on their treads, all driven by people who probably have no time for nonsense, who probably have more than enough of their own problems. 

He’s nobody; he’s alone; he’s safe. To be unhappy now, he thinks — wouldn’t it be ungrateful? He’s already been dealt many more cosmic favors than he really deserves. How could he think of asking for anything more? 

Woori chooses this moment to rise and greet the morning, gliding through the closed door of the bridge and approaching him, pushing his cold snout into Jungkook's leg to ask for his due affection. Jungkook wouldn’t dream of depriving him. He likes to think that, over the long year of their acquaintance, he’s become well-attuned to the dog’s wants and needs, including his favorite ways to be pet. Woori's pale fur is cool and frankly unpleasant to the touch, but it’s something he’s become used to by now. He likes it, even. He gets a lot of fulfillment from being the person Woori has chosen to depend on. (What else is he doing these days that he can feel proud of? Nothing comes to mind.)

He’s wary of stepping foot outside the ship — both for his own safety and the fact that petty thieves might not be deterred by a single guard dog that’s also a ghostly, benevolent spirit — but he goes into town later that morning nevertheless. His first and only stop is the shipping office at the railroad station, a new, high-ceilinged building with a stone and tile edifice already stained here and there with soot. He enters the building with a loose-fitting hood pulled low over his face, just barely looking up long enough to scan the faces of the administrative workers, checking for familiar faces, finding none.

He used to dread these conversations — he had no understanding of the ins and outs, and on top of that figured that one day he’d inevitably run into that one overly diligent bureaucrat (because it would only take one) who would uncover his identity. Now, though, he understands that he’s just one of a dozen shady characters these people will encounter today alone; he’s armed with the conviction that none of them could care less about who he is, as long as he doesn’t cause them problems. And if anyone does get curious, he knows nearly anyone’s silence can be bought. 

(Not that he wants to be put in that situation. He barely has the money for fuel and food for himself, let alone bribes.)

The exchange is brief and unhelpful. The train is running late, he’s told, and the manifest hasn’t arrived yet, either. Check back later this afternoon. Well, fine. The delay isn’t out of the ordinary, but it’s still a nuisance. 

He gives in to temptation on the way back to the dock and buys himself a sack of oranges. Bright, round, firm, and small. He clutches one in his hands as he walks, tugging at the skin a bit with his fingernail, then bringing it up to his nose, breathing in the delightful tangy sweetness of it. 

Two scarred, wrinkled hands dance in front of his eyes, unpeeling a tangerine. He could easily do it himself, and she knows this, but sometimes she likes to pretend to be his mother. The fruit is dropped into his outstretched hands, where it appears larger. “Don’t want you getting sick now, hm?” One of her hands reaches towards his hair, but he ducks away from it, and someone else in the room guffaws in amusement.

He places the fruit, gingerly, back into the bag.

When he returns, Woori is absent — probably off bounding across rooftops, confusing and terrorizing the local birds. Soon the smell of Jungkook's lunch — rice porridge with a bit of meat in it — brings him back, even though the creature lacks the ability to actually eat. And after lunch, the two settle around the residual heat of the stove, lounging, waiting for the time to pass.

When he came into possession of this vessel, it, like himself, lacked basically everything. With the supplies having been thoroughly picked over by scavengers, certain things needed replacement more urgently than others, ‘ways to pass the time’ falling very low on that list (even lower than fresh oranges, apparently). He’s taken to carving pieces of firewood into crude little figurines and, when that doesn’t seem interesting, sketching out landscapes, airships, and animals on leftover hemp sackcloth with bits of charcoal. Woori is one of his favorite subjects and he often finds himself as he is now, trying to capture the elegance of the pale mane and the fabric of the cushion slightly visible through the body of the listless ghost. 

Woori suddenly becomes alert, his long nose pointed intently at the forward cargo compartment. Jungkook puts his work aside and listens; a few seconds later, he does hear a thumping from that direction, like footsteps coming up the ramp from the airstrip. Woori growls, Jungkook shushing him so he’s still able to hear, rising and stepping quietly into the mostly-empty room.

Four knocks in quick succession echo through the compartment, Woori unable to resist the urge to bark at whoever’s on the other side of the hull. Jungkook eyes the wide cargo door, tightly sealed; the smaller, person-sized door next to it, locked and bolted; and the loaded rifle hanging from its place close by, on the wall. He doesn’t usually get people walking right up and knocking on his front door — but that doesn’t mean whoever’s out there is bad news, necessarily. The most likely story is that they want to hire him to transport something, right? And they don’t want to go through the regular channels at the shipping office. Jungkook can relate to that. 

So he opens the door. 

Standing on the ramp just outside are two men, both young, both wearing nondescript, tidy overcoats and pleasant expressions as they politely greet him. At first glance neither appears to be armed, but it’s hard to tell. 

“Are you the captain of this craft?” the taller one asks. “Or, if not, can we speak with them?”

Jungkook cringes internally at the absurd title, but there’s only one answer he can give. “I am.”

“That’s great.” Both of the men reach into their front pockets, and they produce two very similar leather billfolds. Held at eye level, falling open, the wallets reveal something he doesn’t want to see. “I’m Agent Moon Hoseok, and this is Agent Kang Yoongi . You can inspect our credentials yourself if you’d like. We just want to ask you a few questions.”

Agent . What sort of title is that? They’re government people, obviously, or at least pretending to be — but even if he gets his hands on their identifying documents, he doesn’t have the ability to distinguish real from forged. The more trouble he causes, the more dangerous the situation will be for him. “Okay,” he answers. He doesn’t have anything to hide — not any physical artifacts, at least. He can only incriminate himself through what he says or how he says it, but that knowledge can’t prevent him from feeling tense or from being afraid.

“So what brings you into this town?” The other agent, Yoongi, poses the question. He seems like the more intimidating of the two at first glance, either less willing or less able to paste on a bright and cheerful demeanor, but Jungkook knows better than to judge so quickly. 

“I’m here to undertake shipping contracts from the rail station.” The honest answer rolls smoothly off his tongue. 

“And are you currently under any outstanding contracts or obligations?”

“No…” 

The two agents exchange a glance that has him holding his breath and wondering if the answer he gave was somehow the wrong one. Do people usually juggle a bunch of contracts at once? He honestly doesn’t know. Did he just give himself away?

“And how many crew do you have?”

“No crew. It’s just me.”

They share another look, this one even more meaningful, but they seem pleased when they turn back to him. “Well, Captain…” 

“Jungkook,” he cuts in, not willing to hear that word directed at himself more than necessary. “Just Jungkook, that’s it.”

“Jungkook,” Yoongi continues. “I some have news you’re probably not going to like. As stated here —” Hoseok produces another document from his pocket, unfolding it and holding it to Jungkook . “Unfortunately, circumstances force us to exercise the authority to coopt privately held transportation resources for urgent government matters. In other words, we need your help to transport a certain minister to the east side of Baekdudaegan. This is not negotiable.”

He stares down at the paper that was handed to him, grips the doorknob and thinks about what he was just told. It’s not the worst possible reason two government agents might show up at his doorstep — it seems like he’s not being specifically targeted — but it does put him in a tough situation. 

They want him to accommodate some important person, travel with him for what would be at least multiple days. And how can he say no? He can’t prove that the credentials he was shown are fake. If he makes a fuss, he’ll make himself look like he has something to hide — and if these people are actual authorities, that could turn into a big problem. He needs to act like they expect him to act.

“Non negotiable?” He flips over the paper to pretend to examine the other side. “Is he going to pay me?” He looks up to see them looking at each other — again, they seem to do that a lot — and adds, “I mean, I realize that I don’t have much leverage, but —”

“It would be very rude of us not to reimburse you in some way,” Hoseok acknowledges. “For the same reasons we need this emergency transportation, we don’t have a lot of money on hand. We want to commit to covering our expenses, with payment after we reach the destination, and we can give some form of collateral before then. If that isn’t satisfactory, well… It’s the best we can do.”

“I get it.” What on earth could have happened to the minister’s entourage in this little town? If he’s a minister at all. “If it’s not a net loss for my business, I’m not going to protest too loudly.”

“That’s good to hear. We’d like to leave as soon as later this afternoon,” Yoongi says. “When can you be ready to go?”

“I’m available to leave whenever. The sooner the better. Oh, but — I don’t know, depending on how many passengers you have and how far we’re going, there might not be enough to eat…”

“Mm, we can bring what we need. Thanks for pointing that out.”

“And do you want to… take a look around before you make a final decision?” Jungkook gestures behind himself. Maybe if they come in and see the old furniture, the bare rooms, they’ll change their minds and leave him alone. 

But Hoseok shakes his head. “We don’t need to. It’s settled; we’ll be back in a few hours. I’m sorry again for springing this on you, but. We wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t for an urgent cause.”

The agents leave. Jungkook stares after them as they walk away, almost expecting them to turn around and say it’s all a joke, but they don’t. They disappear into the midday haze, and Jungkook goes back inside. 

“We’re going to have visitors,” he tells Woori. “I hope you’ll be on your best behavior.” 

The dog huffs at him, aloof. 

Jungkook spends the rest of the afternoon cleaning. It’s not that he wants to make a good impression on this... group of people that’s going to show up. As long as they don’t cause him problems, he shouldn’t care what they think. But as long as he’s waiting for them to arrive, he doesn’t have a reason not to sweep, dust, clean the stove, make the place as pristine as can be. So that’s what he does, thinking about leaving and running away, thinking about all the ways this could go wrong and destroy his life, but eventually slipping into a more meditative state where a few hours flutter quietly past. 

As it starts to get dark, he sits in his cushioned chair in the bridge, looking out the wall of windows. Fidgeting, watching, biting his nails, tensing whenever he spots a set of people walking together near the airstrip. 

Eventually, he spots a slow-moving group, shapes of both people and baggage coming his way. He has a feeling that it’s them, so he gets up, Woori paying him no attention as he eases the door open and shut. He goes downstairs, stands in the forward cargo hold, and waits for the knock. Even then, he waits another several seconds before answering the door — he can’t look like he’s too concerned about this. He shouldn’t make them feel overly welcomed. 

Still, he greets the men politely as he opens the door and ushers them inside. He understands that an important person is probably going to be accompanied by an entourage, but still, as they physically filter into the room, it seems to him like a lot of people. There are the two “agents” from earlier today, both carrying heavy-looking bags, along with a third guy, who seems to be carrying the most despite his small size. Next, the man he has to assume is the all-important minister based on the way he’s concealing himself, a cloak covering his form and a mask that he removes when he comes in, revealing someone surprisingly young. Finally, there’s a man with bandages covering one leg and a wooden crutch under one arm; and under the other arm, Taehyung.

Taehyung? What is he doing with these people?

Jungkook carefully keeps his expression blank, but Taehyung fails to do the same, his face betraying his shock for a long second before he’s able to break his gaze away. 

He understands the reaction, of course. Taehyung saw Jungkook's assassination with his own two eyes, after all. 

“We really appreciate that you haven’t left us stranded here,” Yoongi says. “Would you like to show us around or something?”

“Right, of course. Sorry, I’m… not accustomed to having visitors.” He shuts the front door, locking and bolting it as well. “This is one of the cargo compartments. You’re welcome to make use of it however you wish. You’ll probably be more interested in this room, though.”

Discarding their outdoor shoes, they follow him into the living area, where Taehyung immediately helps the guy with the wounded leg — nobody’s bothered to introduce themselves, he realizes — settle into a chair. 

“Are you, um. Are you okay?” He can’t stop himself from asking, even as he berates himself for the uncertain wording. “I don’t mean to overstep, but if you need —”

“No, no, I’m quite all right.” The man dismisses the question with a gracious wave of the hand. “I’m recovering from something.” 

“Ah, okay. Anyway… There’s not much by way of luxurious sleeping arrangements, as you can see.” There aren’t even enough non-floor surfaces for all of them to lie down at once, but he supposes they could rest in shifts if that's the sort of royal arrangement they expect. “There are blankets and things in here.” He pats the front of a cedar wardrobe that’s bolted to the aft wall. “More cargo space through there, although it’s cramped. And that door is the water closet; the water should be boiled before drinking.” He gestures in turn to one door, and then the other. The guests follow with their eyes. He can’t help but feel a bit awkward being the center of attention again after so long; he just hopes it doesn’t show. “Would you like to see the deck? We can head up the stairs.”

Leaving their bags on the lower floor, they filter up through the hatch, only the ‘recovering’ man remaining downstairs. The breeze is blowing away the exhaust from the huge ship down the strip, which is nice; he reaches for a panel on the outer wall of the bridge, flipping up the weather-protective cover and turning a switch so that the outdoor lamps come on, bulbs buzzing and illuminating the half-dark. 

“This room is the bridge. There’s no real reason to go in there unless you’re trying to find me.” He doesn’t want to be rude, so he won’t word it more strongly, but his hope is that they understand and don’t attempt to invade his personal space. He directs their attention to the other main feature of the deck, an area shaded by a tarpaulin canopy. The deck surface there is covered in thin stone tiles to prevent the main feature, a wood-burning fire pit standing on three legs, from igniting the surroundings. “Use all of this however you need. There’s more firewood downstairs. And that’s just about all there is. I know it’s not very elegant…”

“It’s everything we need.” The minister finally deigns to speak, his voice deep and charming. “Thank you for doing this; I realize it’s an unpleasant burden.”

“You’re right about that,” Jungkook replies. “I’m sure you also realize that I’m not doing this so I can earn your gratitude, Sir.”

“Oh, I know that very well.” It seems like the minister appreciates the insolence, or at least finds it amusing, which is a relief. It reduces the tension, at least. 

“Should we talk about where we’re going?”

“That would be good, yeah,” Hoseok says. 

“I’ll bring some maps downstairs. We can plan out a route.”

As the other five file back down to the living area, he slips into the bridge. He doesn’t allow himself to stop and greet Woori or even think about anything, focusing instead on paging through his maps, picking out a couple that seem most relevant, and getting back to the group. 

Returning downstairs, the others make room for him to spread the biggest map out over the rectangular table that’s to the side of the main seating area. “All I’ve heard is that we’re headed over the mountains…”

“That’s right.” Yoongi reaches out to tap a spot on the other side of the mountain range, almost due northeast, a town on the coast. “We’re trying to get to Wonsan, here.”

“Okay; that’s not too difficult.” Jungkook traces a path through the mountain range with his finger. “This is the way I would usually go, but you guys might know a better one.”

“We might.” It’s Taehyung speaking, looking over his shoulder. “Do you have anything with more detail?”

“I do.” He pulls the detail map of the middle bit of the Baekdudaegan mountain range out of his stack, laying it on the table and stepping to the side a bit to allow Taehyung to get through. 

“I’d actually recommend going this way.” He indicates a valley that’s further north. “It looks like it’s a lengthy detour, but the terrain here is easier to navigate than here , and in my experience that’s made up for it. The fact that there’s a lot less traffic also makes it easier.”

“On the other hand, the weather up there can be unpredictable. We’d have to go north either way, but we’d spend more time up there.” Jungkook appreciates the added nuance, but he already knows he’s going to follow whatever path Taehyung recommends. The comment comes from the last passenger to speak for the first time, the guy with an obnoxiously pretty face who came in carrying a bunch of luggage. “Just something to consider.”

“That’s true. But since the journey is only four or five days in the first place, it’s not a huge difference,” Yoongi says. 

“I recommend this,” Taehyung repeats, as if Jungkook might not have understood him the first time. 

“We don’t mean to criticize your established methods.” The minister’s voice comes from somewhere behind him. The nicety is unnecessary, of course; Jungkook knows very well that his only expertise to speak of is compiling advice from actual experts, as he intends to do in this case.

“Understood, Sir. But let’s try going that way,” he says. “I’d like to see it, at least. Is there anywhere you need to pass through on the way there? Anywhere you’d like to avoid?”

“No — but we should talk about the area around Wonsan. There are a few different airstrips to choose from,” Yoongi says, and as he speaks, Jungkook pulls out a more detailed map of the seaboard. “And there’s restricted airspace east of the city, around the naval base.”

He hands over a pencil, and Yoongi and Hoseok and Taehyung sketch out the areas to avoid and the potential hazards at various points along the route. It’s impressive, the extensive understanding of the terrain that several of these men appear to have. Are these the sort of well-educated aides the government is hiring to accompany important people as they travel? Or did the others, like Taehyung, gain their encyclopedic knowledge through less traditional channels? 

Once that’s finished, he returns to the bridge, where Woori still rests lazily on his cushion. Finally, alone. He closes the door behind him, kicks off his slippers, and collapses onto his futon, grabbing the pillow from the head of it and holding it tightly against his chest, pressing his face into it, breathing in and out. It’s been a long time since he’s had to interact with so many people. And he did fine, not really embarrassing himself or making any big mistakes; now he just has to continue pulling it off for another four or five days. 

He doesn’t allow himself to stay in that position for long, sighing and dragging himself over to the control panels at the front of the room. There’s no use in delaying, even though it’s getting to be late in the afternoon — they have a clear course through open sky as the first leg of the journey — so he starts the process of lifting off and getting them going in the right direction. The airship’s automation is advanced enough that he can ignite the boiler, inflate the balloons, and adjust the sail fins all from these consoles, with sensors and indicators to let him know how it’s going, although he likes to duck out onto the deck to visually supervise the Roziere balloons’ inflation. There are two of them, both larger than the volume of the ship itself, and it’s a headache — a dangerous one — when they get tangled in the gas lines or something goes wrong with the hot air.

As always, he spends the better part of an hour on liftoff, climbing to cruise altitude, and flight configuration. Then, though, he can sit down and let his mind wander for a second. With all of the new acquaintances made today, there’s plenty to think about, but to say he’s reflecting on them would be a lie. 

He’s thinking about Taehyung. 

He remembers hiring Taehyung about two and a half years ago, during the long, grueling period of Yiseul's illness. 

In her office, he and the head navigator sat across from the applicant, learning about his background, piecing together why the man wanted to join a venture such as theirs. It was unconventional to take an adult without prior flight experience into the crew, but his raw talent in cartography, his ability to glance at the two dimensional map and intuitively extrapolate the three-dimensional features, had impressed the head navigator so much that Jungkook had offered him the job right away. 

He remembers how well Taehyung grasped his training, the natural affinity he had with the controls and the beautiful, fluid way he fought with a sword.

He remembers liking Taehyung, getting along well with him. Becoming closer to him over time. Liking Taehyung a lot . Jungkook remembers the night he realized they were becoming too close, and that it was his own responsibility to pull away, to increase the distance between them before things became unprofessional. 

(And oh, how he agonized over that decision. How lonely he thought he was back then, when Yiseul's health was quickly slipping away. But drifting apart from Taehyung may have saved both of their lives.)

He remembers the last time he saw him: the mutiny, the coup, whatever you call something like that — the event he tries so hard not to think about any more than he has to. He remembers desperately surveying the assembled crew, realizing he had no way out without their help; seeing Taehyung among them, looking on, expression totally blank; all details after that lost inside a fuzzy haze of pain and the sensation of falling a long way down into nothing. 

Jungkook understands why Taehyung acted the way he did. It was self preservation, preservation of his career, and he can’t hold it against him. But that was a year and a half ago — so what happened in the interim? How did Taehyung end up with these people ? And, crucially, does their association with him suggest that they aren’t the government officials they say they are?

Over the next two hours, the sun sets and the sky becomes dark. He remains holed up in the bridge, intentionally avoiding everyone, listening for any of his indicator bells to warn him that something’s wrong — although nothing happens — and watching the weather. 

He also smells whatever the passengers were cooking for dinner. He’s getting increasingly hungry, but that’s still overshadowed by his unwillingness to force himself into any more interactions right now. He may not have a choice, though, because there’s a knock at the bridge door, and he has to answer. 

It’s Yoongi outside, greeting him with a mellow smile that Jungkook can’t find it in himself to reciprocate. “Hey,” Yoongi says. “Hoseok and I made — Oh, hello there!”

Woori's head pokes out from the bridge wall, and Yoongi responds enthusiastically, extending one of his hands for the dog to smell before starting to pet him. Woori shimmies happily in circles underneath the newcomer’s hands without any hesitation. Seeing this makes Jungkook feel a bit better, actually. He thinks it says something positive about Yoongi's character. “Aren’t you friendly? What’s their name?”

“Woori,” Jungkook answers. “That’s what I call him, at least, and he doesn’t seem to mind it.”

“Woori, it’s nice to meet you.” Jungkook catches a flash of metal coming from Yoongi's direction. One of his hands — maybe more than just the hand — is metal. A prosthetic. He’s seen mechanical prosthesis just like it before, always on war veterans. Maybe Yoongi is a former soldier; that isn’t implausible. “Anyway, as I was saying: we made stew. We wanted to offer you some.”

“Oh, ok.” He does smile, now. It’s probably better to accept, right? And he’s hungry, after all. “Thank you.”

Yoongi straightens up and Woori bounds away from them, followed by a shout that sounds like it comes from Hoseok. “ Oh, puppy!”  

Under the canopy, Hoseok mans the stove and the fire, presiding over the mouthwatering smells. “Jungkook, is that your dog?” he asks, then turns. “Yoongi, will you take these downstairs? Joon and Jin won’t come up. I don’t know about Tae.” Yoongi wordlessly scoops up the tray that’s resting on one of the crates and takes it away.

“Woori's mine,” Jungkook confirms when Hoseok turns back to him. The spirit is busy zooming in circles around the edge of the deck. “He adopted me, really. It might be the other way around.” 

“That’s sweet.” Hoseok hands him a full, steaming bowl of soup. Jungkook thanks him, takes off one glove and lets the warmth seep under his skin. He thinks it would be impolite to leave, so he perches on one of the crates arrayed around the fire so he can start eating.

The soup is mostly barley, but he can see bits of rehydrated vegetable, a few tiny anchovies here and there. It’s warm, it’s spicy, it’s so nice he finds himself blinking rapidly to keep himself from tearing up. He’s surprised — is he really so deprived that an okay meal made by someone else is enough to make him so emotional? Maybe he is. It’s funny.

“Is it any good?”

“Oh, yes! It’s so nice. Thank you again for feeding me. And I'm sorry there's not enough brassware for a proper meal... and no banchan, either. You've left the civilized world behind, now.”

"Ah, we'll manage." Hoseok  sits back with a satisfied smile, and the small-and-overly-pretty guy, whose name Jungkook still hasn’t discovered and who was already eating when he arrived, traipses across the tiled space to sit between them. It seems he plans on having a conversation, so Jungkook steels himself for it. 

“By the way, I’m Jimin,” he starts. “This is Hoseok. I realize we haven't done a good job of introducing ourselves…”

“Well, secrecy and all that,” Hoseok interjects.

“Jimin,” he repeats. “I’m Jungkook.”

“I know.”

Jungkook doesn’t know what to think of that comment and the smile with which Jimin says it. “Anyway… have you run into any issues so far?”

“Well. No.” He says it delicately, like there might actually be something wrong but he doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it. “It’s all been fine. I’m surprised at how cold it is up here, though. I guess that’s a problem with my expectations, given the altitude…”

Jungkook for the first time takes in the many layers Jimin is bundled in, the cloth wrapped around his head, and he jumps up from his seat, mortified. “I didn’t tell you about how to use the stove downstairs! Oh —” 

“Hold on, wait, sit down.” Jimin looks up at him with eyebrows furrowed. “I think they already figured out how to use it. But even if they didn’t, it could wait another few minutes.”

Jungkook sits back down, slightly embarrassed by his own outburst, and continues eating.

“Is it this cold all year round?” Hoseok asks. “Or is it specific to winter?”

“It’s not this cold all year . But, yeah, as soon as you climb high enough in altitude, it’s cold and windy no matter what.”

“So you’re saying you live like this all the time ?” Jimin sounds like he’s not enthused with that idea. 

"I take it you aren’t a great lover of winter,” Jungkook says, glad that the part of his brain that understands how to make small talk hasn’t shriveled away yet. “Where are you from?”

“What is it to you?” 

Obviously Jimin thinks this is too personal of a question — otherwise he would have answered it, if Jungkook correctly remembers how people have conversations. But the smile on his face indicates he’s not taking it too seriously. “All right, keep your secrets.” He tacks on a chuckle for good measure.

“Are you from very far north? You seem awfully accustomed to this,” Jimin remarks. 

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.” Jungkook's similar response makes Hoseok snort in amusement, and Yoongi returns up the companionway to the sound of laughter. 

He smiles as he comes over and sits across from the other three. “What's so funny?”

“It’s just hard to carry out small talk when we’re all paranoid about giving away personal information,” Hoseok says, and Yoongi hums with understanding. 

“It’s not unreasonable, though. We’ll just have to get creative in our conversations…” He turns to Jungkook again. “Do you play janggi?”

“Janggi?” He distinctly recalls the routine humiliation of losing games of janggi to Yiseul's oldest friends while she watched critically over his shoulder. Maybe if he’d worked harder to improve, the same people wouldn’t have tried to kill him later. He reaches down and pulls himself out of the memory. “Yeah. It’s been a while, though. I don’t have the pieces.”

“We might be able to hack a set together out of what’s lying around. It could be a way to pass the time.”

“Sure. It’s possible.”

He’s not able to escape without promising Yoongi to play multiple rounds of janggi with him, and he also makes sure the guests have everything they need to keep the stove going over the night before bidding them good night and retreating back to the bridge. 

He’s satisfied; the heaviness and dread he felt before Yoongi came to his door to summon him has lifted, somewhat. The minister’s entourage isn’t bad company, and honestly, they don’t seem like they’re out to get him. He can do this for four more days. He’ll keep being cautious and it’ll all turn out fine.

Ah, unless they’re mercenaries who are strategically luring him into complacency so they can kill him, destroy the evidence (which would be unnecessary, as no one’s looking for him), and steal his stuff. (All they really have to do is toss him overboard. It wouldn’t be the first time…)

He has the lights off so that he can get a better view of the weather outside. It’s a clear night, stars peeking through the few clouds very high above. Woori, tired out from running around the deck, steals back into the room and lies down. It’s peaceful, despite his worries. 

It’s peaceful until there’s another knock on his door, at least. The knock is quiet, and Jungkook stands but doesn’t have a chance to cross the room before Taehyung is letting himself in and shutting the door behind himself. 

Taehyung stares at him and he stares back. The seconds tick by awkwardly. There are things Jungkook wants to say — he wants to ask what’s really going on, he wants to understand how Taehyung got here, he wants to make sure Taehyung knows that what happened back then wasn’t in any way his fault. 

But he doesn’t bring up any of that — it doesn’t feel like now is the time. “What is it?”

Taehyung seems to shake himself. “I wanted to tell you,” he says, “that the others don’t know anything. And if you keep quiet about me, I’ll keep quiet about you.”

He searches the other’s face — moonlit, Taehyung looks troubled, slightly pained, but that doesn’t tell him anything. “Okay. I won’t say anything.”

“I have to get back to them.”

“Okay.”

Taehyung leaves as suddenly as he arrived. The door closes, and Jungkook falls back into his chair, sighing. 

He wishes he could trust Taehyung. He can’t.

On a typical solo journey, he would find a place to land for the night, either at a port town or somewhere deep in the wilderness. Now, though, he just wants to keep pushing forwards. He doesn’t feel comfortable enough to sleep with these people on his ship anyway, so the sooner they reach the destination, the better. 

He settles in for a long night.

Chapter Text

Taehyung slips back into the room quietly, but everyone notices — of course they do — turning their heads collectively to double check who’s just come in. Taehyung's eyes are downcast, and he quickly walks over to where the other five are gathered, clustered closely together around the room’s long bench. He drops to sit on the floor next to Jimin, keeping a slight distance. Not quite touching him.

Jimin reaches over to take the other’s hand in his own and pull him a bit closer. Taehyung doesn’t resist, or really react at all. There’s clearly something going on with him — he was already pessimistic about their plan to get out of town, but ever since they boarded there’s been something more than that.

Jimin isn’t going to press him about it, though. Taehyung said he was okay, so, he believes it. He’ll wait, at least. 

“I think you’re getting blinded by the fact that he’s unexpectedly young, attractive, and has a cute… dog… thing.” Afraid they’re being listened to, Seokjin speaks quietly, everyone leaning in to hear him. He’s sitting at the end of the bench, wounded leg draped over Namjoon's lap. “But none of that matters; it doesn’t make any difference —”

“You’re not saying we made a mistake, though. Right? In choosing this ship, I mean,” Hoseok clarifies.

“Right, that’s not what I’m saying. We’re probably better off the smaller the crew is, so I think you chose really well. But we all need to stop acting like he isn’t going to sell us out or turn us in to the authorities at the first opportunity.”

“I get what you’re saying. I still think — We’re much safer now that we’re here and airborne; we shouldn’t have to torture ourselves with this constantly-guarded mindset,” Yoongi says. “Chatting with the guy isn’t going to kill us.” Jimin nods in agreement. Weren’t they just joking about how neither party was willing to give away personal information?

“The likelihood is low, yes. Wouldn’t it be a shame if it did kill us, though? We need to take steps to prevent that.”

Jimin resists the urge to roll his eyes at what Namjoon says. “If we act like secretive assholes that might not exactly work in our favor.”

Namjoon exhales, clearly frustrated, clearly tense, and Jimin feels bad. He feels tired. 

“I just feel a little concerned that you three even feel the need to argue this,” Seokjin says. “You’ve had two conversations with him — you don’t know even remotely enough to let your guard down at this point.” He’s right. Of course he’s right.

After a span of silence, Taehyung withdraws his hand from Jimin's. “There’s something I need to tell you. Should have already told you, and I’m sorry for not speaking up earlier.”

Everyone turns their attention to the youngest, whose gaze skims over each of their faces before falling back to the floor. “I know him.”

Jimin blinks. “You know Jungkook?”

Taehyung nods. “ Knew , I guess. It was a while ago… and only for a year…”

“Well, you’ve known us for a year. That’s a pretty long time,” Jimin points out. 

“Sure. We weren’t close the entire time, though… I don’t want to say too much about it, if that’s okay.” He glances up again. “Please.”

“Of course, honey. We only want you to share what you’re comfortable with.” Seokjin's voice has become much softer. “Can we ask a few questions though? So we get a better idea of what situation we’ve planted ourselves in.”

“Yeah.” Taehyung straightens his posture a little. “Yeah, that’s why I brought it up.”

Jimin really wants to pull Taehyung back into his arms and pelt him with a million questions and reassurances. He grips his knees to keep himself from fidgeting too much.

“So what is he going to do?” Namjoon leans forward. “Do you think he’ll consider… undermining us in some way?”

“No. I do think he suspects that we aren’t who we say we are, especially because I’m here, but… I’m guessing he’ll have a huge aversion to getting tangled up with authorities of any kind. He wouldn’t try to turn us in for that reason.”

“You’ve been thinking about this,” Hoseok observes. 

“I’ve been thinking about this.”

“He doesn’t have to do it himself, though,” Namjoon points out. “He could pass on a tip to another shady character, and, you know, collaborate.”

“But as long as he thinks there’s a possibility that we’re legitimate, he’s not going to want to mess with us. It would be way less risky to just drop us off at the destination, from his perspective.”

Taehyung isn’t generally forthcoming with information about his past. Jimin has been around rogues, ne'er do wells and men generally on the wrong side of the law for much of his life, so the idea that Jungkook is a fellow outlaw isn’t all that intriguing. What does interest him, though, is their host’s previous presence in Taehyung's life. “There’s no harm in, say, getting to know him more, then, right?” he finds himself asking. “I might even find out something interesting or useful.”

“I’m of the opinion that there's no need to become overly involved,” Namjoon says. “It’s your choice, but, well, we’re already hoodwinking the guy. Let’s just get where we’re going and get out.”

Let’s get where we’re going . Arrive at another city where everyone’s out to get them, where they have to hide and spend every moment worrying about each other and try to get important work done in the shadows. Then flee to the next place, always glancing over their shoulders. 

That’s unfair. Let’s get to where we’re going really means — let’s stick together, let’s arrive in one piece together, and let’s see what we can accomplish.

Despite Taehyung's statements about what Jungkook may or may not do, they decide to stay awake in shifts as an extra precautionary measure. Taehyung asks to take the first watch, and no one objects. 

Seokjin sprawls over Namjoon on the long, cushioned bench. Yoongi and Hoseok seem perfectly content on the floor, of course. Jimin surveys his options and ultimately curls up in the the window seat, his head on Taehyung's lap, under as many blankets as he can reasonably claim for himself. 

His nose is cold, the environment is unfamiliar, and the engine that he didn’t really hear before now seems louder than everything else. But he drifts off to sleep easily with Taehyung's hands resting gently on his head, fingers buried in his hair.

Jimin's own shift is around dawn, Hoseok nudging him awake before retreating back under the blankets, on the floor next to Taehyung and Yoongi. Yawning, sniffling, and rubbing his eyes, Jimin gets up and stretches his limbs, making sure he’s not going to fall asleep again, and returns to his perch in the window, blankets pulled closely around his shoulders.

It’s not light out yet, not quite, but around the horizon glimpses of blue sky peek through wispy cloud cover. Strands of fog wind through the valleys passing by not so far below. Though dim, the scenery is gorgeous.

An even more welcome sight, though, is that of his five partners sleeping peacefully in this room. Every one of them together, safe, and resting within his field of view. He wishes it could be like this more frequently; for now, he’ll treasure the serenity while it’s available. 

An hour easily passes like that, Jimin looking between the window and the room as pale sunlight begins to trickle in. It’s easy to forget why exactly he’s sitting up while the rest of them are asleep, but a noise from the deck above reminds him. Right. Their mysterious trustworthy-untrustworthy host.

On the far side of the room, the hatch in the ceiling opens and Jungkook quietly descends the stairs. A wave of hostile, overprotective feeling washes over him as Jungkook glances over the five still bodies in the main part of the room. But Jungkook clearly notices him in the window seat, too, making eye contact, acknowledging his presence in a way that puts Jimin more at ease.

Instead of starting a conversation, though, Jungkook disappears into the aft cargo hold, a room Jimin still hasn’t seen. Curiosity, both about what’s in the room and what Jungkook is doing in there, leads Jimin to cast off his blankets, shivering in the cold, and follow.

The aft cargo hold is very similar to the forward one, although with no doors leading to the outside and with more storage containers and machinery here and there against the walls. Jungkook briefly glances up when he walks in, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“Good morning,” Jimin says.

“Morning.” Jimin watches as he drags one of many heavy-looking sacks over to a large, metal funnel that feeds down into the floor where most of the heavy machinery must be. Jungkook takes a short knife from somewhere and uses it to cut through the bag seal near the top of the sack. With a grunt he lifts the thing to rest partially at the top of the funnel, at which point he lets it tip over, and the contents — many individual lumps of coal, fist-sized and variously shaped — disappear below, kicking up a cloud of fine, dark powder. 

Jungkook shakes the sack to encourage all the bits and pieces to fall out, and Jimin stares at his hands. Even though they’re dirty with coal dust, there’s a certain elegance or delicacy about the way he uses them; and he cant help but notice the multiple faded scars littered across his fingers and stretching over the tattoos on his forearms, another revealing itself with every new patch of skin. 

It’s interesting. Jimin has scars too — who doesn’t? — but most of his come from burns, and Jungkook's are obviously different. The thin lines, which are present even here and there on his face, were surely left by wounds sustained in combat. That’s strange, though, because how many fights could this guy who lives alone be reasonably getting himself into?

Yawning, Jungkook rolls the empty sack into a neat cylinder and places it in a pile that’s accumulated next to the funnel. That, as well the darkness around his eyes, prompts Jimin to remark: “You really look tired.”

Jungkook seems taken aback by the comment, his eyes narrowing. “What does it matter?” he asks. “Do you think I’m endangering you? I don’t want you to feel unsafe —”

“No, no,” Jimin rushes to clarify, although Jungkook brings up a good point. “I was just concerned for your health. We do have multiple pilots among us, though; we could help alleviate the burden of flying if you’d like.”

“There’s no burden.” His response doesn’t surprise Jimin; he obviously doesn’t trust them, doesn’t want them hanging around the bridge — is he afraid of their incompetence? Or does he actually think they’re going to hurt him? Maybe it’s both. Jungkook seems a bit paranoid overall. “It’s fine. Thanks for offering.”

“Right. Sure. And if you change your mind… yeah.” 

Jungkook doesn't acknowledge him, just moves to continue filling the coal chute. It’s undeniably awkward, so Jimin slips away, making his way out. In the main room, most of the others have gotten up, probably awoken by the noise. Jimin's watchkeeping job is over, in that case, so he shakes off the alertness, grabs a blanket from where he’d left it on the window seat, and joins Taehyung where he’s still lying on the floor, basically smothering him.

Even among the morning commotion, the others bustling around them in the process of getting ready for the day, no one bothers them, and the warmth makes it easy to drift off, the surroundings gently fading from his awareness. 

He wakes up again what feels like half an hour later, finding the room deserted except for the two of them on the floor. Even Seokjin, with his injured leg, seems to have gone upstairs with the others. Multiple ways to take advantage of the privacy come to mind, some more advisable than others.

“Tae,” he says, testing the other’s awake-ness.

“ Mmh .”

“Tae, Taehyung.” Jimin pokes at his ribs, and he squirms. “Wake up, please…”

“I am awake,” Taehyung mumbles. “What is it?”

“Is this weird for you? I really cant help but be worried. Are you doing okay? This is uncomfortable for you, right?” It’s too many questions, but Jimin can’t help himself.

“What’s uncomfortable? The way you’re smothering me?” Taehyung teases, holding Jimin in place so it’s clear he’s joking. Jimin scoffs.

“No, dummy, you know what I’m talking about. I’m talking about being holed up in a confined space with this random guy who you know but don’t want to talk about knowing. How uneasy do you feel about it?”

“It is weird,” Taehyung allows, his speech slow and sleepy. “There’s nothing wrong with it, though, really. I was very surprised to see him because… I just didn’t expect to see him again, ever. That’s all there is to it.”

Didn’t expect to see him again? What did that mean — had Taehyung made a conscious decision to avoid Jungkook at one point? “Right, you’re surprised… I guess what I’m really trying to ask you is, does being around him make you uncomfortable? Because I can keep him away from you if that’s the case —”

Taehyung actually giggles at that statement. “No, Jimin, it’s really not like that. But it’s very sweet of you to look out for me so much.”

“Okay.” Jimin relaxes a little, relieved to hear that. 

“Jungkook and I were never on bad terms,” Taehyung continues. “The last time I saw him… I can’t say much about it, but if he is holding some secret grudge against me specifically, I wouldn’t fault him for that and I wouldn’t want to avoid having that conversation with him. You know?”

“Sure, I guess.” But the remark raises more questions than answers. “You say you were never on bad terms, but that could mean a lot of different things. Were you actually friends, or just acquaintances?”

“We were friends, kind of. It was complicated by some other factors, though.” Taehyung rolls away from Jimin and sits up, brushing his hair out of his face. He reaches for Jimin to pull him up as well. “I guess I can tell you this… During the year we knew each other, we did go from acquaintances to friends to, well.” He averts his eyes. “Him rejecting me and us basically going back to acquaintances?”

Jimin holds back a dramatic gasp at the revelation. “What? Rejected you, as in, romantically? Or —”

Taehyung nods, a slight smile decorating his face, obviously enjoying Jimin's reaction.

“I don’t believe this,” Jimin goes on; “Who would reject you , are you kidding? You’re literally the most amazing, handsomest —”

Taehyung cuts him off with a laugh. “Jimin, it wasn’t like that. I took a chance and there were good reasons it didn’t work out.”

“This is not at all what I expected… you liked him? That much?”

“Don’t be jealous.” Taehyung laughs again. “It’s already far in the past.”

“I’m not jealous.” On the contrary — it’s a big endorsement, isn’t it? It feels like Jimin could let his guard down with the knowledge Jungkook isn’t just some random asshole Taehyung ran into in the past, but someone he actually knew and trusted. 

But Jimin gets very few opportunities to observe Jungkook through this new lens over the following couple of days. Their host only graces them with his presence once every few hours, and never for extended periods. Taehyung, Seokjin, and Namjoon don’t interact with him more than absolutely necessary but Jimin, Hoseok, and Yoongi always try to rope him into conversation (after the second day Seokjin stops chastising and warning them about the risks of socializing). 

It’s a bit difficult to get Jungkook to sit still and talk to them — evoking in Jimin's mind the image of a spooked woodland creature, afraid of all humans — and that tension never disappears, although Jimin can’t fault him for carefully weighing his words and guarding all personal information. Jimin finds himself keeping a mental list of safe topics. The geography, the weather, food, technology (although it seems to alarm him if they try to ask about this ship specifically). Jungkook doesn’t know much about current world events but he’s willing to listen as they discuss various things — although on this front they themselves need to take care not to give too much away. 

There’s something almost self-defeating or fundamentally futile about their attempts to chip away at Jungkook's professional persona. There is no end goal. Befriending him isn’t the best idea since, as Namjoon pointed out on the first night, they’ve already betrayed him by boarding his ship under false pretenses. It’s not exactly a fun way to pass the time, either. Despite his self-reminders that Jungkook is an adult, a stranger, who can make his own decisions and probably doesn't want or need to be saved from his circumstances, he can’t help but always come away concerned about Jungkook's exhaustion, his alone-ness, his apprehension. 

And that all comes to a head one night when Yoongi gets Jungkook to sit down and play janggi with him and it isn’t the fun social event it was intended to be. Far from it — Jungkook has an uncomfortably serious attitude towards the game, totally focused on it, never once cracking a smile, deflecting Yoongi's lighthearted comments like he doesn’t even hear them. Detached. It’s a bit jarring since Jungkook usually at least pretends like he’s having an okay time in their company, but when Hoseok moves around the table to point out a better potential move it’s like he has to restrain himself from an overly hostile response.

“What’s with him?” Jimin whispers, but Taehyung doesn’t know.

He seems to come back to himself after Yoongi wins, joking that now he’s shown what a bad player he is and they should be satisfied. He isn’t a bad player, though, but following his subtle suggestion and his behavior, no one else asks to play against him.

Other shared moments are far more effective at bringing Jungkook out of his shell. Whenever they feed him (which is at least twice a day) he seems truly awed and appreciative at the quality and quantity of what’s offered to him. It’s a feeling Jimin resonates with, having gone through a similar transition after leaving the factory and striking out on his own, and even as he enjoys Jungkook's over the top reactions he can’t help but feel a bit worried about how poorly Jungkook must be eating normally (again, reprimanding himself, it’s none of his business).

Jimin's nosiness continues unabated, though. On the third day, all six of them plus Woori are out on the deck enjoying the early afternoon sunshine when Jungkook bursts out of the bridge and quickly disappears downstairs, the dinging sound of a small bell emanating from the open door; and Jimin naturally follows without a moment’s hesitation. He finds Jungkook in the aft cargo-slash-mechanical room tugging open an inset trapdoor Jimin hasn’t noticed before. 

“What’s going on?”

Jungkook gets the hatch free and props it on its side against the nearby coal chute. Although it’s nearly drowned out by the loud drone of the machinery underfoot, the same ringing Jimin heard upstairs is replicated by another bell somewhere below, its tone annoying and shrill. “I got a pressure warning for… down here somewhere.” He kneels next to the rectangular opening in the floor and looks up at Jimin with a slightly frazzled expression. Evidently the alert startled him. “It’s probably just a valve that needs to be tightened.”

“Yeah, probably,” Jimin agrees, walking closer. Jungkook reaches down and fishes out a cloth bundle tied with string; undoing the bow, he reveals a shiny set of well-maintained tools and picks out a monkey wrench from among them. 

Kneeling and peering down into the ship’s guts, Jimin is greeted by two familiar, round-bodied machines: external combustion engines cast and assembled at the factory, one of the most common lines they produced for airship use. He frowns, glances behind himself to where Hoseok hovers in the doorway, looks to the side where Jungkook holds the wrench in a tight grip, and makes a decision.

“Do you want me to take a look?” he offers. “I actually… in another life, so to speak, I used to assemble these exact machines. I don’t mean to question your expertise or anything, but I think I could find the problem really quickly.”

“Oh, really?” Jungkook's surprise is evident, and Jimin gets where it comes from. He’s supposed to be part of a minister’s entourage, so the career path suggested by that information is an odd one. It’s also probably the most personal tidbit Jungkook has gotten out of any of them yet. “You want to?”

“I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.” He tacks on a laugh for good measure, sounding more lighthearted than he actually feels. 

“Okay. I’d hate to turn down such an expert offer.” Jungkook holds out the wrench for him to take, so Jimin does, tucking it into his waistband, surprised at Jungkook's willingness to let him see the airship’s inner workings but also so pleased at the level of trust, albeit small, that it implies. 

(And why is Jungkook flying this ship alone if he either doesn’t enjoy or doesn’t feel confident fixing the thing?)

With the knowledge that he’ll be going down there, Jimin takes a more analytical look at the lower level. It doesn’t look terribly inhospitable, with wooden planks to stand or kneel on and a few metal hand-holds screwed in here and there for convenience, or to prevent users from messing up the actuator lines running everywhere. “Is there anything sharp, anything really hot down there I should be aware of?”

“Just try not to touch any of the pipes with your bare skin. Oh, wait — ” Jungkook reaches back into the tool bundle and withdraws a pair of gloves. “Here.”

Jimin puts on the gloves and, without any further hesitation, climbs down into the hole.

Concentrating on his movements, he gets his socked feet safely on the floorboards before lowering himself to kneel between the machinery. It’s a tight fit, but that doesn’t bother him very much. (At one point in his life, Jimin was somewhat afraid of confined spaces. But the claustrophobia was trained out of him and replaced with new fears.) 

Everything about this — the visual, of course, but also the heat and the noise, even the smell — triggers flashes of sensory memory. Deja vu. These memories aren’t terrible individually, but taken as a collective, as an entire ten years of his life wasted joylessly in hard work and smelly, noisy, greasy surroundings, it threatens to bring his mindset somewhere he doesn’t want it to go, so he tries to focus on the present and to hone in on the task at hand. 

He goes at the pressure valves on the steam lines first, remembering their volatility. Instead of turning the handles themselves, he uses the wrench to get better leverage, to nudge the valve slightly more open and then slightly more closed by small degrees. Testing the behavior like this, he evaluates how the motion feels , how the pipe sounds , and when he tries the fourth valve on his list of possible culprits, tightening it, the insistent ringing stops. 

Jimin exhales in relief and immediately stands, gripping one of the handholds and blinking as his vision blurs for a second. That wasn’t as bad as he feared it would be. The ordeal was over with quickly and the look of gratitude Jungkook gives him easily justifies any small discomfort.

“You’re really good at that,” Jungkook breathes, and Jimin wipes sweat from his forehead. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I could do.” Since you didn’t exactly choose for us to be here remains unsaid. He climbs fully out of the crawlspace and lays the wrench and gloves on the floor. Jungkook takes them and re-ties the bundle of tools in its twine. 

“Oh, your clothes…”

Jimin looks down at himself, noticing the dark smudges of grease that have gotten on his sleeve and the front of his jeogori. He’s a bit disappointed at his own carelessness, but he doesn’t want it to become an issue, so he just shrugs. “Occupational hazards.”

He helps Jungkook fit the displaced trapdoor back into its spot; and as they move to leave the room, he sees that not only Hoseok, but also Namjoon, has been watching the situation unfold from the doorway. Obviously they want to know what’s wrong with the ship, but beyond that, Jimin can’t help but feel like they’re guarding him, there to protect him…

(Which is nice, and he’s so grateful he has five people looking out for him, but the juxtaposition with Jungkook, who has no one but himself, couldn’t be more clear.)

As Jungkook dashes back to the bridge, Namjoon silently motions for Jimin to follow him forward. The two of them and Hoseok step across the living space into the cargo hold, and Namjoon closes the door behind them. 

Immediately Hoseok is taking Jimin's face in his hands, turning it back and forth, analyzing him with a serious gaze. “Are you okay? You didn’t get hurt, right?”

“Of course I didn’t get hurt.” Jimin knocks the hands away with a huff. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“You could have been hurt, though, and not just physically,” Namjoon points out, and Jimin leans into his side so he doesn’t have to look at his face.

“I know that. Sorry for making you so concerned, but I can evaluate my own risks…” He tries not to sound too petulant, just enough to be endearing. Namjoon sighs. 

“Darling, of course you can. I’m struggling to understand what you gained by doing that, though.” 

Jimin and Hoseok exchange a look. He doesn’t expect Namjoon to be able to understand, honestly, and that’s fine. It’s probably a good thing that Namjoon's only concerns right now are the continuation of the work and the safety of the established group. “I’m just satisfying my own personal curiosity.”

“In the ship? In that man? You know we’re leaving both tomorrow, right?”

Jimin shrugs. It’s difficult to verbalize the itch, the pull he feels towards the enigma of this ship and its owner; there’s nothing further he can explain.

Hoseok tilts his head. “No, I get it. I feel something similar. And I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon agrees. “I’m sorry I keep making you explain yourself.” Jimin shrugs again.

“Well.” Hoseok plants a warm kiss on Jimin's temple. “Let’s get back upstairs?”

“Yeah.” Namjoon steps away from him, and Jimin shivers at the sudden cold. 

They walk out of the cargo hold together, but then Jimin lingers behind, heart heavy for reasons he doesn’t totally understand, watching them ascend.

Overall things with the rest of his group are not ideal. They’re all emotionally burnt out by the string of close misses they’ve just been through, and it shows. Namjoon and Seokjin in particular have closed themselves off into their own small world, spending whole days fruitlessly poring over the precious, inconclusive stack of papers in Namjoon's possession.

Taehyung is listless, his impatience for the journey to end making the time pass more slowly. Jimin worries about him, and they don’t talk about it, but he tries his best to be as sweet and caring to Taehyung as he can. It feels like they have some implicit understanding, some hidden solidarity, resulting from both the information Taehyung has shared and from the knowledge that Taehyung has done and will do the same things for Jimin when needed.

So when they finally arrive at Wonsan and dock, and either Jimin or Taehyung (since the other four have outstanding government-sponsored bounties on their heads) need to accompany Jungkook to the port authority office (as insurance that he doesn’t sell them out to the officials there), Jimin volunteers for the task. 

Despite the noise, the poor air quality, and the inherent risk, it’s kind of nice to get out of the rather small airship and walk around on a street. All of Jungkook's attention is set on the road ahead of them, but Jimin feels relaxed enough to take a good look around.

The airfield is on the far side of the industrial part of town, and the area is far from beautiful. A familiar cross section of humanity inhabits this familiar place, from the wealthy hidden from view inside brand new autocarts, driven by men in spotless uniforms, to the calm old ladies hawking fruit under machine shop awnings, unaffected by the chaos surrounding them and the noise of heavy machinery emanating from inside the buildings. 

(He shouldn’t think too much about what’s going on in there.)

Jimin has overwhelmingly fond memories about this latter genre of street vendor, who would generally, though not as a rule, show kindness towards him and the other scrawny factory kids as long as they didn’t upset their wares (which was prone to happen occasionally) and who would sometimes slip him a bit of food if he came around to visit them often enough.

The port authority office is is just a ways down the road, the building clearly predating its surroundings by at least fifty years. Near the entrance they’re given a desk number to report to, and then they have to follow the signs through the busy hallways and courtyards of the expansive one-story complex, getting lost once and finding themselves in a storage room where a man naps with his hat over his face, much to their amusement. Once they arrive at the right place, there’s a bit of waiting to do before their turn at the desk. The way Jungkook is dressed so obviously to conceal himself, besides making him look mysteriously attractive, seemed strange and counterproductive to Jimin earlier that morning, but now, seeing other airship owners and operators milling about the room dressed similarly, it seems the practice is common.

Jungkook turns so he and Jimin are standing at a right angle, creating a pocket of shared space between them. “Do you think we’re in the right place?” he asks, quiet so they won’t be overheard. “Since we’re delivering the minister, do you want to meet with someone higher up?”

“No.” The answer rushes out of Jimin a bit too loudly; he dials himself back and fishes for the right explanation. “We’re still being super cautious about this. There’s a serious situation underfoot, remember? I know it might seem —”

“I’m not suggesting anything,” Jungkook clarifies. “Sorry, you don’t need to be defensive. I just wanted to make sure we were doing this correctly.”

It’s funny. Jimin is afraid of Jungkook finding out their ruse and turning them in, and Jungkook, he’s come to believe, is equally afraid of them . It confused him initially, but now he thinks he understands why. Jungkook obviously suspects that they’re conning him, and in that case, nothing’s stopping the six of them from murdering him and stealing everything he has. Then, on the flip side, if Jungkook is as apprehensive of the authorities as Taehyung says, he must also be frightened that they’ll discover whatever he’s hiding (because he must be hiding something) .

He must really be looking forward to getting them off his ship later today. He must be looking forward to being alone again. 

The line moves along, and soon they’re standing in front of the desk that’s processing airfield arrivals, behind which sits a woman wielding a large Hangul typewriter. As soon as they walk up, she slides the next blank entry in her table under the printing-point indicator and hovers her fingers expectantly over the keys.  “Arrival?” she asks.

“Yes,” Jungkook says. “Space fourteen.”

There's a clamor of mechanical keys as she notes down the answer. “Interested in a contractor to move cargo?”

“No.”

“And do you have any sensitive cargo to declare?” She pulls a form from one of the stacks of paper to her left. Incoming Cargo Manifest , reads the lettering at the top. 

“No, I’m actually carrying passengers.” Jimin winces — why would Jungkook give that away? — but the woman nonchalantly replaces the form she retrieved with a different one. Passenger Attestation . “I want to pick up cargo, though, so if you’d please put me on that list…”

“All right.” She slides the paper forward, and Jungkook, probably unfamiliar with it, picks it up to read it. Jimin looks over his shoulder, heart racing as he scans the section headings and spots multiple categories of wanted criminals. The lists are long, the text small — maybe Jungkook won’t bother to read through them? But no, he’s obviously taking his time with it, so Jimin searches out their names, hoping they might not be listed here…

The list of prominent officers wanted for desertion is near the bottom of the page. And Hoseok and Yoongi are there, names next to each other, listed by their old titles. Great . Jimin bites the inside of his lip and scans back up the sheet. He doesn’t find Seokjin, at least, but near the very top: wanted by local law enforcement, Kim Namjoon, ‘enemy of the state.’

Jimin holds his breath as Jungkook turns the paper over to provide the required stamp for the records. The woman accepts the attestation and files it away, and then they simply walk out of the nearest exit. Back into the open air of a little side street.

Is that it? There’s no way Jungkook didn’t see at least one of the three names listed on the sheet, right? He didn’t turn them in, but what comes next? Jimin can’t stand the uncertainty, so he stops walking and Jungkook, even though he’s slightly ahead, stops too, turning halfway towards him. 

“What?”

“Are we... pretending?” Jimin asks breathlessly, taking in Jungkook's posture, the stiff way he holds himself. “Are we just going to pretend?”

“Not anymore, apparently.” Jungkook's hand is stuffed conspicuously in his pocket as he fully turns around. Is he armed? Shit, he is; why wouldn’t he be? “What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing!” Jimin holds up his hands in a placating motion. He doesn’t think Jungkook would do it unprovoked, but either way he doesn’t want to get shot in the middle of the street. “You don’t have to do anything differently; just, I don’t want you to worry. We aren’t interested in hurting you, you’re Taehyung's friend —”

“How much did he tell you?”

“Barely anything! I know you don’t have reason to trust us but I promise, we won’t cause trouble, we’ll pay you what we agreed on —”

“Don’t speak so loudly.” Jungkook looks left and right, takes two steps closer. He’s dead-serious, and his presence is stifling.  “I’m not interested in payment as much as I’m just trying to survive. And if that means getting the hell out of here…”

Jimin makes his case quickly. “No, please Jungkook, I respect you and I already feel so terrible about lying to you. None of us want to cause you more problems than we already have. Come back with me and we’ll explain everything.” He has to laugh at himself, basically pleading with Jungkook to… what? To not run away and disappear? “It’s probably not as bad as you think,” he adds, because it isn’t. 

Jungkook sighs, and his shoulders deflate slightly. “Enemy of the state…” He repeats the words with which Namjoon had been described. “That sounds serious, but what does it mean?”

“It means the emperor hates his guts, basically.”

Bingo. Jungkook's face breaks into a smile, and after another second, he laughs. “Damn. All right, that’s something I can respect.”

Jimin smiles too, but it quickly drops as he spots something over Jungkook's shoulder. Attached to the outer wall of the shipping office, among other informational and promotional postings in various states of wear and tear, is a poster that prominently features a detailed, fairly accurate rendition of Namjoon's face. “ Fuck .” He approaches to get a better look.

Enemy of the state , it reads. Reward 1000  hwan.

It isn’t good. How many signs like this are scattered around the town? Does everyone here already know Namjoon's face? Are there posters like this for other members of their entourage? Because with that sheer amount of money on the line, it becomes much more difficult to place their lives in the hands of the various people in this city they were counting on being able to trust. 

Jimin looks around, sees no one looking, and quickly rips the poster down, crumpling it into a tight ball. 

“ That’s impressive,” Jungkook remarks, hands back in his pockets in a much more casual way. “I haven’t seen a bounty that large in quite a while.”

Jimin considers Jungkook again. Despite his supposed aversion to dealing with law enforcement, might he be especially untrustworthy now that he knows the sort of benefit he can get from selling them out?

“What do you think I’m going to do?” Jungkook asks, understanding his train of thought. “If our friend is the sort of bastard I’d want to turn in from an ethical standpoint, I’m probably as good as dead already.”

The prospect of Namjoon being capable of physically threatening anyone is comical, but he’s glad to hear where Jungkook is coming from — assuming he’s not lying. “That’s what someone conniving would say,” he jokes, trying to remove the atmosphere of suspicion he’s created. “Anyway, let’s get going. They’ll start worrying about us.”

“Worrying about us, right,” Jungkook repeats derisively; but he whirls back around towards the main street, and Jimin hurries to follow. 

Chapter Text

Jungkook doesn’t know whether he’s just made a terrible mistake.

When he was handed the passenger attestation, the list of fugitives he has to pretend not to be carrying, it was as if he couldn’t prevent himself from reading it. He knew that if his guests’ names were written there, he’d be shooting himself in the foot, but he had to know.

Had to know whether his traveling companions were legitimate, yes, but also, had to look for his own name. But there, listed as a ‘public enemy’ — Kim Yiseul, wanted for piracy. They still don’t know she’s dead, don’t know he himself was Yiseul for multiple months, don’t know about the still other person or persons who are probably acting as Yiseul even now. That was good news.

He wasn’t surprised to spot Yoongi and Hoseok, unmistakably themselves, listed together as military deserters. He was impressed by their former ranks, sure, but it didn’t come as a shock. Seeing Namjoon's name, though… he doesn’t know Namjoon's surname, but why wouldn’t it be Kim? 

Is Namjoon really an ‘enemy of the state’? The poster on the wall of the shipping office confirmed as much. Those are strong words, suggesting treason, suggesting political persecution - in the best case. It’s either that or he’s genuinely done terrible things. And now he’s allowed Jimin to convince him to come back to the ship where Namjoon and the others are lying in wait — and for what? 

Do they actually have what’s best for Jungkook in mind, or do they just want to kill him? Obtain his permanent silence and cooperation? The second option makes so much more sense, and his judgement is screaming at him for being so naïve, but there is something about Jimin — the way Jimin looks at him (kindly), interacts with him (enthusiastically), observes him (shrewdly) — that leads him to believe Jimin isn’t double crossing him here.

On the other hand — Jimin's already duped him once; he’s just admitted to it. But he did admit to it, apologetically, and it happened when they were still strangers…

Idiot. Jimin is still a stranger.

But his feet carry him forward, back through the access gate of the airfield, and at that point he knows he’s not changing his mind. 

His ship is still where he left it, of course. As he and Jimin approach closer, he notes Taehyung slipping away from where he was standing and watching on deck, no doubt alerting the others of their return. So — he doesn’t have the element of surprise. Wouldn’t have helped much anyway.

“Do me a favor and stay here for a minute,” he tells Jimin at the bottom of the gangway, and he grips the pistol in his pocket, reassuring himself that it’s still there. 

“But —” 

“I won’t try anything,” he promises, and, taking his keys from his other pocket, scales the ramp and unlocks the smaller door.

What immediately catches his eye are the group’s bags neatly lined up against the wall, clearly prepared to be carried out. They are planning on leaving, then? They wouldn’t have taken this effort otherwise. 

“Oh, Jungkook? Did everything go well at the shipping office? Where’s Jimin?” It’s Hoseok who asks him these questions in quick succession, but Jungkook's interest is fixed on the man hovering behind him. Namjoon.

“Everything was fine,” he answers casually. “And Jimin's coming, he’s just looking around.”

He doesn’t like leaping to conclusions, but Namjoon… doesn’t seem evil. He doesn’t have anything in common with the murderous bastards Jungkook met in his previous line of work, courtesy of Yiseul's acquaintances including all categories of bad men. 

If the authorities wanted him for something the average person would actually find bad, they probably would have put it on the poster.

And he’s working together with Taehyung, after all. That has to mean something. 

“Well, we’re just about ready to head out!” Hoseok says with a smile. “All we need to discuss are the reimbursement details, I think.”

“Namjoon.” Jimin was right. Pretending isn’t an option, and he’s going to for once ignore his sensible paranoia and listen to what his gut is telling him about this group of people. “There are wanted notices with your face on them everywhere outside. There’s a bounty of one thousand hwan on your head. You’re more than welcome to leave, but I don’t really know why you’d want to go out there, where everyone seems to be looking for you.”

All the momentum of the conversation vanishes, fleeing the room with Jungkook's words. Sensing the shift in atmosphere, Taehyung and Yoongi appear behind in the main room, watching; Hoseok, snakelike, taut, steps once sideways to place himself in front of Namjoon as if to protect him. As if he expects Jungkook to suddenly attack them — and he isn’t going to, of course, but how should they know that when he brought up the topic unprompted?

And he does feel a bit unhinged, in a self-destructive way, a bit not-in-control of what words come out of his mouth.

“Jungkook?” Jimin's voice comes from behind him, and, cursing himself for leaving his back exposed like that, he turns to see him at the top of the ramp. “Um, I know we’re each feeling defensive right now, and for good reason, but can we all just please assume we aren’t going to kill each other?” Fully stepping into the room, Jimin closes the door behind himself. “If we do that then we can have a productive conversation…”

“ Assume we aren’t going to kill each other. ” Jungkook repeats, derisive. “I’ve spent the last four days terrified for my life only for my suspicions to be confirmed —”

“And now you hold information that would destroy the lives of all six of us,” Hoseok points out. “I’m sure you understand why we’re also concerned.”

“Hobi, I think that just counts as another incentive to kill him — which isn’t what we’re doing, by the way.” Namjoon looks between the two of them. “So that’s a bit unhelpful. Jungkook, all we can do is give you our word, and even that itself has already been tarnished. That’s what I hope you can understand, and perhaps accept.”

“I think you’ve already accepted it,” Jimin tells him, arms crossed. “I don’t think you would be here right now if you thought we were going to do something.”

“Okay, yeah. I think you’re right.” It’s a relief to come to a concrete decision, and he sighs. “And I don’t intend to sell you all out, either. Law enforcement isn’t my friend, and —” He briefly entertains the idea of suddenly obtaining 1000 hwan. Somebody would find out, and no way would that not be the beginning of the end for him. “ — that quantity of money would just be a liability.”

“So… truce? Is what you’re saying?” Hoseok asks, physically relaxing somewhat. 

Jungkook frowns, shrugs. He doesn’t like the hostility implied by that term, but it’s probably his fault for running in here and confronting them. “Yeah.”

“Okay then! Let’s go in and sit down.” Jimin starts ushering all of them into the living room, and Jungkook, after locking the door, follows behind. Anticipating a sensitive discussion, he switches on the room’s overhead lamp and draws the window curtains. After what Namjoon and Jimin said to him, he doesn’t rationally believe he’s in much danger, but he still physically feels threatened, and he makes sure to sit more than an arm’s length away from anyone else as they arrange themselves around the room’s furniture. 

“I guess we’ve been busted?” Yoongi, sitting on a cushion next to the stove, asks the question with a wry smile. His prosthetic forearm is tossed casually over one knee. That he and Hoseok were once distinguished military officers is not inherently impressive — Jungkook has bested many such people before — but at least the prosthesis indicates experience doing something high-risk. (Maybe Hoseok is the one to fear more — he’s managed to successfully keep all his limbs, at least.)

“I think this is an opportunity to, um, re-instantiate our working relationship. From a foundation of honesty!” Jimin offers, and Seokjin, who was already perched at the end of the sofa when they came in, makes an unpleasant face. 

“We can’t just agree to leave each other alone and go our separate ways?” he says. “I don’t see what any of us gain from this.”

“Who would you be more likely to blow the whistle on, Jin? Someone with a large bounty for an unknown reason, or someone who’s wanted specifically for doing what we’re doing?” Seokjin accepts Namjoon's explanation with a displeased sigh. 

“I was just thinking of this as networking, myself. Seeing if we can make new allies. But that’s a really good point,” Hoseok agrees. 

“So… what are you guys doing so covertly, then?” Jungkook sits back a little, leaning on his hands, carefully watching the reactions of everyone in the room. “All those posters suggest something pretty dramatic.”

“We’re not doing all that much, actually.” Namjoon addresses him with a patient expression, as if he’s about to launch into a lecture. This is definitely the most Namjoon has talked to him since they met; Jungkook finds his way of speaking very appealing. “There are many dedicating their whole lives, trying to eliminate influence peddling and corruption from our political and bureaucratic system. They’re the ones making powerful enemies and risking everything —”

“I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit,” Yoongi interrupts. “The same things are happening to you.”

“That’s true… I’m no politician, though. I’m not on the forefront of these campaigns,” Namjoon says, continuing. “I’m a journalist. My mentor, and Seokjin's, is Lee Cheolmin — are you familiar?”

Jungkook racks his brain, but admittedly he’s never had to pay close attention to the national news. “I don’t think so.”

“He’s notorious among the Seoul elite,” Jimin says. “They hate him because he likes to expose and ruin their kleptocratic schemes.”

“Oh. Huh. So that’s why they’re out to get you?”

“Yes. It’s also what I’m traveling the country, investigating. I’m digging up stories of others who have been repressed politically for the same reasons.” Namjoon smiles. “They almost got us in that town where you picked us up. But we got away! And I was hoping to meet with some people here, collect some stories and documents, but I’m not sure how well that’s going to pan out anymore.”

“I’d bet they got one of our witnesses to talk,” Hoseok speculates. “That’s how they knew we were planning on swinging by.”

“You’re probably right.” Namjoon lifts up his empty hands as if to say, that’s all there is . “So, there you go — that’s my criminal offense. I’m digging where they don’t want me to dig.”

“Wow.” Jungkook blinks at him, pondering. What Namjoon describes isn’t something he’s ever had cause to think much about, besides taking advantage of the existence of corrupt officials in the past. “That’s… admirable?” Jimin shoots the five others a smug, I-told-you-so smile. “Is that what all six of you are doing?”

“Yep! We’re all in it together,” Hoseok says. “Yoongi and I were put into contact with Cheolmin through radical literary circles, and from there we met Namjoon and decided to accompany him and Jin. Assist their work however we could.”

“We left a lot of things behind, both good and bad,” Yoongi muses. “Ultimately it was a good decision. The best decision.”

Namjoon smiles at Yoongi's comment. “And it made our life so much easier. Once they joined us, the potential for travel expanded a lot.”

“And how long ago was that? Four years? Five?” Seokjin turns to Namjoon to ask. 

“Almost four, now.”

“Joon and I grew up together.” Seokjin casually tosses the comment in Jungkook's direction, but he notices and attaches some significance to it, since Seokjin hasn’t exactly been enthusiastic about talking to him. 

“We’ve been working together from the beginning, and gathering teammates along the way,” Namjoon confirms. 

Jungkook nods. All this is more in-depth knowledge than he was necessarily expecting, but he takes it in with fascination, eagerly absorbing the details. Maybe it would be healthier to be aloof, but he can’t help it. It’s interesting. 

“And what I told you before - that was true.” He turns towards Jimin, who is clearly pleased to be able to tell him about this. “Basically, I was stuck working in a factory for a long time, and then I left, and then I met them and joined the party. And Tae showed up last year.”

“Mm.” Taehyung, next to Seokjin on the sofa, remains silent and looks down at his hands. His personal history doesn’t need to be rehashed. An absent mother, the sudden death of a father indebted to the wrong people — it was all wrung out and examined during the hiring process back then.

“So what about you?” Jimin prompts him with a bright, expectant smile. 

“Me?” Jungkook's caught off guard — they don’t expect him to… say something about himself, do they? His gaze flickers around the room; six pairs of eyes are fixed on him. “I —”

“I don’t mean to pressure you,” Jimin clarifies, his expression still eager. “I just wondered whether you felt like sharing anything.” 

Jungkook barely hears him, deafened by the rushing sound in his ears. He wishes he could say something about himself; and he doesn’t believe that they would think much less of him were his past to be revealed — not any less than he deserves, at least. But as he shuffles through various points of his own personal history in his mind’s eye, the prospect of describing any single one of them aloud is nauseating and strikes him with a feeling of panic.

It surprises him. Hasn’t he had an entire year and a half to mentally progress past whatever issues his weird upbringing and related events have given him? 

Apparently not. That’s unpleasant. 

“Sorry,” he manages to say. “I, um. No.” He doesn’t look up to see whether Jimin's face falls in disappointment. “Anyway, uh, I wanted to ask — what do you guys plan on doing now?”

He hears some of the others shift in their seats, and with the understanding that he’s successfully changed the subject, he physically feels himself relaxing. Namjoon exhales deeply and leans back. “I don’t think we know yet,” he says. “We haven’t had the opportunity to consider it. We’ve established that I’m being pursued more actively in Wonsan than in other places, and that’s about it.”

“It could work. We’re proficient at disguising ourselves,” Seokjin says. Jungkook, hit with a sudden exhaustion, sits up and crosses his legs as he listens, interested in the rationale even though he’s tired.

“We can disguise ourselves to get from point A to point B, sure. So I think the biggest concern is that one of our contacts could have been compromised,” Yoongi points out. “Like Hoseok said, I don’t see why they would go through all the effort of making these public awareness posters if they didn’t think we were coming to town. Personally I wouldn’t be comfortable with Joon meeting any of these people in person.”

Namjoon frowns. “What do you think is going to happen? If they were actually planning on apprehending me during a rendezvous with an informant, they wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of putting up the posters, which just serve to tip us off that this isn’t a safe place for us.”

“I don’t think you can assume they’re as clever as that,” Yoongi grumbles. 

“I still don’t want you walking yourself into a trap —” 

Namjoon interrupts Seokjin's statement. “If you think it’s so risky, I’m not enthusiastic about any of you putting yourselves in that situation, either. I’m not the only one with a bounty on my head, you know.”

“I could go,” Jimin says. “Either Tae or I could pick up documents from somewhere, no problem.”

“You could ,” Namjoon allows. “But your and Taehyung's anonymity is a huge asset… I’m not sure these particular documents are important enough to put that on the line.”

Jungkook feels like he already knows what the result of the discussion might be. Something about his time spent here with Taehyung and the others feels… incomplete. Before, that thought would have scared him; but now he either feels either safe enough or exhausted enough to reconcile himself to it easily. 

Woori, now lying placid at Taehyung's feet, seems to like the other six well enough. He won’t be upset by this.

“I don’t mean to intrude, but this stop seems like it might be more trouble than it’s worth. Do you already have a next destination in mind?” Looking down at the floor, he shrugs. “I could help you get there.”

It’s quiet for a second. “We… yeah, we were going to head to Pyongsan after this,” Hoseok finally answers. 

“That’s not far. A day and a half, probably.”

“Don’t get me wrong — I’m grateful that you’ve opened this option up to us. But we’ve done nothing but cause trouble for you.” Seokjin tilts his head to the side, looking at him critically. “Why are you offering us your help?”

Why is he offering? 

Is it guilt? For making the world a more corrupt and difficult place to live? 

Is it loneliness? I’m living for nothing but my own continued survival and I’m hopeless and unhappy? A selfish desire for company he can trust?

He can’t say any of those things. He doesn’t want to sound melodramatic, and he doesn’t want to give a reason that’s self-centered. “I just… like what you’re doing?”

“You know we don’t have anything to offer you in return, right?” Seokjin says. “Even our ability to cover the expenses is questionable if we don’t stop in Wonsan. And there’s a danger to continuing to be involved with us — we’ve avoided detection so far, but if something happened, I don’t think the authorities would distinguish between you and us.”

“I told Jimin this on the way back, but repayment isn’t something I'm super concerned about. I just had to pretend that I was, at first. You know?”

The group is exchanging meaningful glances over his head. Trying to make a decision, probably. “Let’s say were interested in taking you up on your offer,” Namjoon says. “Is there anything we can do for you in return?”

“You are interested, then?”

“Are there objections? I don’t think there are any objections,” Yoongi says, surveying the rest, and no one speaks up. “Yeah, I think we want to do this.”

“I would appreciate it if we could pick up some cargo on the way to Pyongsan. To actually cover the expenses,” Jungkook proposes. “Wonsan is a pretty busy port, so it shouldn’t take too long to find something.”

Yoongi nods, and the others don’t protest. Jungkook turns to Jimin next. “Earlier, you told me some of you knew how to fly. Right?”

“Sure. Tae's a pilot. I’m not the most experienced, but I’m familiar with the theory,” Jimin says. 

“Yoongi and I used to dabble in the biplane racing scene,” Hoseok adds. “It’s been a long time, and it’s a completely different vehicle, but it isn’t nothing.”

He can work with that. He has Taehyung, at least. “That’s great. I’ll teach some of you what you need to know about the ship’s controls, and then we can take shifts. If that’s okay with you, of course.” He assumes he’s not overreaching with this request, since — 

“We did offer to do this, earlier.” As Jimin says. 

I’m sure you understand why I didn’t want to teach you all the details that would have made my presence unnecessary. He stifles a yawn and holds himself back from saying it, though; it would just make them uncomfortable. “And now I’m taking you up on it.”

“I like this plan,” Hoseok says. 

“Jungkook, I can’t thank you enough.” Namjoon rises from his seat and bows very deeply; Jungkook frowns, uncomfortable. “This is the second time now you’ve helped us escape a dangerous situation. We really owe you a lot.”

“Oh, um, please don’t.” Namjoon obediently returns to where he was. “And let’s not speak of owing things to each other; keeping score can only lead to bad outcomes. All we have to do is continue to work collaboratively…”

“It’s just a figure of speech, but all right.” Namjoon's sharp eyes twinkle with amusement and relief, and he claps his hands together. “What do we need to do now?”

Shorty after the conversation wraps up, ignoring the others’ exhortations to maybe sit down and take a longer break, Jungkook heads back into town to search for Pyongsan-headed shipping contracts. Jimin eagerly tags along, and this time, now that he’s fairly convinced of his trustworthiness, Jungkook is glad to have his help. They head to the main railroad station first, Jimin doing the work of asking other people how to get there; they hand over a few coins to ride the high-speed cable tram, arriving quickly only to find no demand for their very specific services. 

They get back on the tram. Jungkook is grateful that Jimin doesn’t try to pull too much conversation out of him; they stand quietly side by side, gripping the handholds that dangle above their heads and gazing through the open sides of the carriage as it travels down the city’s coast. The glittering sea, visible where the elevated tram tracks fall away, has a mesmerizing quality.

It’s bittersweet. Jungkook spent his first eight years in and around the sea, his parents supporting themselves by fishing up to their untimely deaths. Many years later, when his own crewmembers pushed him overboard, the same ocean cushioned his fall and, for better or for worse, saved his life. 

If he’d fallen in this particular stretch of water, though, he might not have survived. Almost every meter of surface, particularly around the harbor, is cluttered with vessels large and small, everything from ancient wooden rafts hauling in fresh fish to hulking, smoking monstrosities that’ve come from everywhere around the world. 

There’s much more activity here, and with their low price point and quick availability, they come away from the harbor with two hired carts in tow, piled high with the cargo they’re being paid (and half up front, at that) to transport. After returning and unloading the carts with the drivers’ help, they go back out a third time to load up on more food and fuel using the advance payment; and then, finally (it’s only been half a day since they arrived, but it feels like much longer), they’re ready to get going again. 

Getting underway, while it’s never been difficult exactly, is easier and more satisfying as a collaborative process. The others are eager to help, so he sends Hoseok and Jimin downstairs to monitor the combustion engines starting up. Yoongi stands on the deck to monitor the inflation of the balloons, and Jungkook hovers in the bridge’s threshold, monitoring the processes outside while he passes instructions and feedback to Taehyung, who’s already volunteered to try his hand at the controls. 

There’s a touch of awkwardness with Taehyung, a tension that comes from a lack of resolution, too many things unsaid. This is not the time to have that conversation, though, and a polite professionalism is quite easy to fall into. 

The going is smooth, especially after they leave the city airspace. Soon he finds himself with Taehyung and Jimin in the bridge, clear midday sky ahead of them, pointing out and explaining how to use and read the various specific sensors, switches, and levers. Then, as Yoongi comes to linger by the door, they have Jimin recite everything he’s just learned, cementing the knowledge and verifying it’s correct. Apparently it’s unnecessary, though, because he goes about it with amazing confidence and accuracy.

“Finally, these are the two levers that control the position of the sail fins.” Near the end of his recounting, Jimin clears his throat, his voice becoming hoarse. “If you push them all the way up that means they’re flush with the hull going aft, and all the way down they’re flush the other way. To find out the settings I should use, all I have to do is plug the formula into the slide rule… and I should do it every half hour at least.” Jimin exhales with a finality. “Phew. Is that everything?”

“Wow; you’re really good at that,” Yoongi comments. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed nonchalantly. 

Jungkook has to agree. “Yeah. And that’s the last thing. I’m impressed.”

Jimin, smiling bashfully, steps away from the console to lean into Taehyung's side. Jungkook suppresses a weird twinge of jealousy he doesn’t quite understand as Taehyung winds his arm around the shorter’s shoulders. “I mean, it’s a pretty simple configuration, right? With a ton of automated bits. It’s supposed to be easy.” Jimin looks up at Jungkook with wide, blinking eyes and adopts a tone that Jungkook is unable to categorize any way other than ‘flirtatious,’ which is confusing and perhaps worrying as much as it sends a wave of fuzzy amazement to his head. “You didn’t have the ship built yourself, right? She’s too old.”

“Um, yeah, that’s right.” Finding himself massaging the back of his neck, he quickly brings his hands back down to his sides. “I got it from someone else who liked to travel alone.”

“How did you learn to fly, then? You heard each of our histories,” Jimin prompts. Yoongi shifts, interested, while Taehyung looks down at nothing, already knowing the real answer. 

The paranoid fool in his head reminds him that Jimin is trying to get his guard down for mysterious evil reasons. Which isn’t true. That’s not what he believes is happening, but he still doesn't feel comfortable giving the full story. “The same way Taehyung learned,” he answers. “On the job. That’s all.”

Flying is one of the first concepts she decides to teach him. It is, after all, more child-friendly than the more violent and nefarious elements of her business (elements which make up a great part of it). At age eight, age nine, age ten he is the perfect size to scramble up and down the rigging with the ship’s other youngsters to fix the sails, check the balloons; the perfect size to slip into small mechanical compartments to watch the engineers at work without getting in the way. 

You don’t need to know exactly how it works, she would tell him. But if you don’t know what your crew is talking about, they won’t be able to respect you.

“Jungkook?” Yoongi's voice jolts him slightly. “Are you there?”

“Oh — yeah. Sorry.” He takes a swig of water from the canteen he keeps on the bridge, trying to combat the headache simmering behind his eyebrows. 

“You look… really tired.”

He’s not surprised. He shrugs, about to speak, but Taehyung beats him to it.

“You haven’t been sleeping.” It’s an accusation tossed to him directly; he catches it and tosses it back.

“No, I have.”

“You haven’t been sleeping properly ,” Taehyung clarifies, and he isn’t able to deny it. He’s been using the bridge’s mechanical half-hour timer if he feels the need to doze off, already uncomfortable with giving up his awareness for that long, somewhat afraid of the ship running into a catastrophe but mostly afraid of getting ambushed by the passengers. 

That’s not really the case anymore, is it? So he smiles, and he admits, “You’re right.”

“Hey! I think your job is done here.” Jimin reaches out to repeatedly tap Jungkook's arm. “We’ll take care of everything — you should go rest.” 

“And we mean rest ,” Taehyung says, expression serious and strict. “I don’t want to see you working again for multiple, multiple hours.”

He laughs quickly through his nose. “Sick of me already, I see,” he attempts to joke.

“No.” Taehyung doesn’t reciprocate his tone. “I’m worried about you.”

Jungkook swallows, snatches up from the divan the blankets that he usually sleeps under (different from the one he drapes over himself while he’s working). “All right,” he mutters weakly. “See you later.”

He leaves the bridge. Jimin said something similar, a few days ago, and it echoes between his ears. ‘I was concerned for your health.’ He didn’t really believe Jimin then, but what if he meant it? 

He passes through the main room, politely acknowledging the other three, and enters the forward cargo hold. It’s cold in here, and the floor is hard, and Woori is somewhere else, but it’s a private space. He could probably fall asleep on the surface of the moon right now. 

You just taught them the ships controls. Now is logically the right time to get rid of you.  

But they aren’t trying to get rid of him. That's the thing - the magical, unbelievable thing. They’re being sincere. They don’t want him to sleep so they can take him by surprise; they actually want him to rest. 

They’re worried about him. To be blunt: Taehyung still cares about him. That means more than he would have expected.

He feels like he could start crying — happy tears, he thinks. Overwhelmed ones. Exhausted ones. 

He still moves a heavy sack of cargo to block the closed door before he allows himself to fall asleep. 

Chapter Text

Jungkook takes the opportunity to rest well and rest thoroughly, only re-volunteering himself at the bridge after eleven or so hours, when he truly feels like he couldn’t fall asleep again. At that point, it’s a few hours past midnight, still very dark; he cheerfully dismisses Jimin and Hoseok from the bridge, then sits with Woori at the controls and eats the meal they’ve set aside for him (amazing, that they do this. He doesn’t want to take it for granted, ever.)

When he’s done eating, Woori loses interest and slinks over to his cushion to sleep some more; and Jungkook sits back, relaxed, content. The last five days seem like just a bad dream, now. Unpleasant, but distant enough to look back on with a critical eye. Just as Yiseul would have prompted him to.

Of course he wishes he could have known the truth from the start. He would have saved himself a hefty amount of suffering had he just pressed Taehyung a little harder, communicated, demanded answers. Shit, he would have been happy to arrange a free ride for the six of them if they had asked honestly. But, obviously, both sides had every reason to act the way they did; anything else would have been an irrational decision. Even though the week was painful, he can’t pinpoint anything specific that he ought to have done differently. He’s satisfied. 

Of course, he has Jimin to thank for making sure everything didn’t go terribly wrong there at the end. And Taehyung, he supposes, for somehow convincing Jimin that he was not only not an enemy, but a friend… 

How lucky for him that they had been part of the entourage! 

But seriously, what terrible situation had their crew been running from such that they felt the need to finesse a free ride from someone in that way? Given the extreme caution he’s observed from the group otherwise, it must have been severe for them to choose such a risky plan. Maybe Seokjin's injury had something to do with it. 

They’ll probably tell him if he asks about it, he realizes. Maybe he’ll remember to initiate that conversation tomorrow. 

Woori aside, he’s been fully isolated for so long — for at least a year. And that was necessary. Assuming that his goal was to survive (which is an assumption he never wants to examine too closely, a bit afraid of the appeal giving up might have), it would have been a stupid decision to actively choose to meet others and get to know them well enough to trust them. But, having been forced to get together with these folks, he’s pleased with the outcome. 

And miraculously, he has a high opinion of all six of them — even Seokjin, maybe especially Seokjin, despite or because of his distrust and hesitance to tell Jungkook all of their secrets. 

He startles as a warning bell suddenly goes off. Just a glance at the wall of indicators and he knows which one it is, his stomach dropping. Barometer alert. Fuck.

He leaps up from his seat and dashes to the barometer on the outer wall of the bridge. Squinting at it in the dark, he can tell the atmospheric pressure is falling rapidly — even without that, he can smell it in the air. A storm is imminent. 

He runs to look over the deck at the ground passing by below. He can just make out the defining shapes of the territory: all farmland. Good, because there are flat stretches that are safer to land on. Bad, because landing in a field is almost guaranteed to get him a confrontation with a rightfully pissed off farmer. 

And he will need to land, the sooner the better. This ship isn’t built for inclement weather, doesn’t fly well in the rain. If he were alone, he would take his chances, land now and face whatever consequences he found below. But is that the smartest thing to do now? He huffs in frustration, pushing away from the deck railing, making up his mind and dashing to the lower level.

The way they arrange themselves when sleeping, forms visible with the dim light of the windows, always intrigues him. Their closeness implies a certain intimacy that the group doesn’t necessarily show around him when they’re awake. But he’s not here to think about that. 

Yoongi, propping himself up on one arm, looks up at him inquisitively. Jungkook takes it as an offer of help. “Tae — I need Taehyung,” he expresses, and Yoongi seems to catch his urgency, immediately moving to where he knows Taehyung is and trying to wake him up. 

Some of the others stir as well, given the disturbance. “What is it?” Seokjin's voice comes from the left, where he pushes himself to a sitting position on the long bench. 

“It’s going to start raining soon.” 

“Is that bad?”

“We need to land,” he explains.

“Jungkook?” Yoongi is pulling Taehyung up to his feet, the latter’s voice slurred and gravelly. “We’re landing?”

“I don’t know where. I need a second opinion. Urgently.”

“Okay.” Taehyung clears his throat. “Let’s go.”

Jungkook turns and scrambles back up the stairs, hearing at least one person following behind him. He comes to a stop at the forward limit of the deck.

“Smells like rain.” Taehyung comes to stand beside him, Yoongi joining a little further down the railing. Somewhere distantly behind them, a bolt of lightning flickers. Thunder doesn’t roll along until multiple seconds after, but it serves as a reminder. 

“It’s all farmland. I don’t want to park in someone’s field but I, but I don’t see any alternative,” Jungkook quickly explains, stumbling over his words slightly. 

“I don’t think it’ll matter too much where we put down.” Taehyung squints into the distance. “I mean — it shouldn’t be in sight of a farmhouse, and it shouldn’t be too close to a road.”

“Those are really some clouds…” Hoseok's voice comes from behind them, talking to someone else. 

Jungkook bites his lip, agitated. “Do you see anywhere like that?”

A flash of lightning suddenly illuminates everything in sight, gone before he can process it, thunder cracking immediately after the ground is re-darkened. 

The sky opens. 

Rain pours down. Cold, forceful, heavy drops that knock loudly against the wooden deck with a sound almost like hail. 

“Anywhere is okay!” Jungkook decides, raising his voice. “Let’s —”

He’s cut off by another crashing, blinding light, a force of nature that shakes him and the surface on which he stands — it’s violent, it’s disorienting, and it’s accompanied by a slow falling sensation, a sensation of gradually losing altitude… 

He whirls around, a cry escaping him when he sees the state of the forward Roziere balloon, its outer, helium layer torn, sagging, in the process of deflating. 

That’s one third of the lifting power of the ship, slipping away into the air — combined with the water weight they’re taking on, landing is imminent. They can only hope to mitigate how violent and destructive the crash is.

“ Ballast ,” he shouts, launching himself forward as the surface of the deck continues to slope downward in his direction. 

“ Ballast! ” Taehyung says back, and Jungkook confidently interprets that to mean he’s going to take care of it. 

Working against the wind and against the incline he makes it to the far aft end of the deck. Both of the balloons are tethered to the deck in three places, and his goal is to now redistribute the lifting force to the middle again by switching the far aft tether of the remaining good balloon to the mid-fore fastening. The ship is rigged with this maneuver in mind, and it should be possible to get it done quickly and safely, but he can’t help but notice the wet-slipperiness of the come-along winch grip and the cold-numbness of his fumbling hands. 

The massive amounts of potential energy in these ropes, the danger in the tension being suddenly released, inspires a healthy amount of fear in him. He’s never seen a man cut in two by the flailing end of a cable but he knows it’s possible and he doesn’t want today to be that day.

Slow and steady is the key.

He registers Hoseok joining him, the other seeming to recognize what he’s trying to do; pumping the lever up and down, they release the rope’s tension bit by bit, adding more slack, only faltering when the ballast is released, all of it at once, buoying them meters upwards. Hoseok jumps back with a shriek, but recovers quickly.

Once there’s enough slack in the far aft rope, the unharmed balloon attached by the mid-aft and midship tethers only and the ship already becoming somewhat more level, they unhook it from the deck and, pushing it through the air more than carrying it due to its weight, bring it over to the mid-fore fastening. They secure it in its new place, right next to the middle tether of the balloon that’s still in the process of deflating. 

The sight of all that expensive, expensive helium escaping into the atmosphere makes him want to cry in frustration, but this is what’s supposed to happen — if he flew with hydrogen, they’d be dead already. 

“I need to take in the slack but I don’t want to take in too much,” he says, breathless, unsure if he can be heard over the still-pounding rain and still-near thunder — but Hoseok seems to catch his intention even before he can finish the thought. 

“I’ll tell you when!” he shouts, and he scrambles back up the slope to the mid-aft tether. And Jungkook starts single mindedly working the winch in the opposite direction, increasing the tension by miniscule increments. It’s almost done, the dangerous bit is almost over… it only takes a minute to finish fixing the tension, the ship leveling out and Hoseok yelling for him to stop, at which point he quickly double checks that all the fastenings are done properly before running to the threshold of the bridge.

“How is it?” he asks over the pelting of the rain against the roof. Taehyung hovers over the controls, looking out the window to where Yoongi, at the deck railing, monitors the ground below.

“We found a place to land,” Taehyung says.

“Will you deflate the forward balloon first?” He brushes dripping wet hair away from his face and slips into the room, stripping off his soaked-through socks in disgust and wiping his hands dry on a blanket. 

“I will.”

He trusts Taehyung, but the fact remains that the other hasn’t landed this particular ship before. Over the next two or so minutes, Jungkook hovers, using his experience to make certain small adjustments — pulling the sail fins flush with the hull, cutting and retracting the propellers, raising the ballast mechanism back into the ship’s underside so it doesn’t get damaged.

They crash — slowly, carefully, gently — in the center of a flat, oddly barren field. Jungkook thinks they couldn’t have chosen a better place to land if they had all the time in the world to decide. 

Finally cutting power to the engine, Taehyung steps back from the console with a relieved sigh; Jungkook grabs both of his shivering hands, searches his tired face. “Are you okay? You saved us. You know that, right?”

“I’m good,” Taehyung exhales; Jungkook squeezes his hands once more before dashing back out to check on everyone else. 

While the aft balloon, low and partially deflated, still floats, Yoongi and Hoseok are arranging the fabric mass of the other one, spreading it out on the deck. “You guys are okay?” he calls; they reply that they are.

The hatch to the lower level has been open this whole time. Water continuously drips down the stairs and pools on the floor. He takes a few steps down, and the other three stare up at him, all standing, Seokjin being supported by Namjoon. “Is everything all right?” Namjoon asks.

“For now. You guys aren’t hurt, right?”

“We’re good.” Namjoon offers a small smile. “What happened?”

“One of the balloons failed, but Taehyung managed to land us in a field.” He pauses, unsure, wondering whether the six count as passengers anymore or as temporary crew. “Sorry about all the trouble.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, turning and going back up. Obviously the overarching goal now is to get back up and running again. They can’t leave until it stops raining and they can’t leave until the forward balloon is patched up. They shouldn’t leave until the balloons are both dry and they shouldn’t leave until he’s thoroughly examined the rest of the ship, but those are both optional. Because there are other considerations to take into account.

Sunrise is going to come sooner rather than later and at that point, what are the chances that the farmers associated with this land don’t discover that they’re here? As if to emphasize that point, two blurry, barking animals run towards them across the muddy field, farm dogs defending their territory even in the pouring rain. 

“Do you think we’re going to get yelled at for landing here?” It’s Jimin, who’s come upstairs and is already halfway to soaked in the frigid downpour. That’s not necessary. 

“Let’s regroup under the canopy.” He ushers Jimin down to the area of the deck covered in a wide tarp. Yoongi and Hoseok notice and join them — those two are actually drenched. They need to gather downstairs by the stove or light the fire up here, or else someone is going to get sick. 

“We have to assume the worst,” Yoongi says.

Jimin crosses his arms. “Which is?”

Seokjin and Namjoon appear, joining the group under the tarp. They're still mostly dry, and they sit down in the driest spot. Good. Yoongi continues: “That we’re about to be greeted by people who don’t want us to be here, or alternatively opportunists who want to take what we have for themselves.”

“What can we do in that case? We’re only seven people. What if they have a whole extended family?” Jimin presses.

“Chances are, they don’t want to get into a confrontation. If we can communicate to them that we’re armed and dangerous but we don’t want any trouble, they’ll probably leave us alone…” Yoongi muses.

“I thought you just said we should assume the worst.” Jimin frowns.

Jungkook cuts in. “I’ll start repairs right away. The quicker we can get out, the better. But, I’ll want to start the fire in order to find the problem with the balloon and fix it, and that might help them find us faster, so…” He looks around at everyone, cognizant that they haven't exactly agreed to let him decide this sort of thing on their behalf. “Is that okay? We could also wait until it gets brighter.”

“I think the dogs may have already given us away,” Namjoon says. “And we’re all cold anyway. Let’s get the fire started.”

Jungkook has to run around to grab a few different things — dry firewood from downstairs; the sewing kit to repair the balloon, assuming it's been torn; and all the weapons in his arsenal, which only amounts to the rifle, the pistol, and two knives, but it’s better than nothing. (It’s funny — yesterday he was desperately trying to keep these things away from the others, and now he’s passing them around willingly.)

As Hoseok starts the fire and thunder continues to roll gently around them, Taehyung helps Jungkook gather the sopping wet shell of the balloon and drag it over. The increased light helps them more quickly inspect the material, but even then, finding the long tear (assuming there’s only one) takes half an hour. 

Stitching it up is going to take a long time, so he starts prepping the materials.

They spot the lanterns approaching when they’re still a long way off, and it gives them time to prepare. Yoongi and Hoseok already have their own weapons, which makes enough sense (but is strange to think about, just goes to show how easily they could have hurt him if they wanted). Taehyung chooses the rifle, and Jimin and Seokjin pick up knives, the latter refusing to let Namjoon arm himself for some reason. 

Yoongi and Hoseok volunteer themselves to be the ones to talk to the incoming locals on ground level while the rest support from the deck above, and Jungkook finds himself agreeing to it with everyone else, willing and in fact relieved to be able to place his trust in their abilities. 

The residents approach on foot, only four of them, accompanied by the same two dogs as before. They stop multiple meters short of the ship, and for a moment, all eleven stand and stare at each other — the seven of them getting rained on and the four others with lanterns and umbrellas.

“Who goes there?” The woman has to shout to ensure she’ll be heard.

“We’re merchants,” Hoseok replies, similarly loud. “We crash landed in the storm.” 

There’s a pause. “We apologize for any inconvenience this has caused. We’ll be on our way as soon as we can,” Yoongi adds. 

“So I take it none of you are badly hurt?” 

“That’s right.”

The woman’s question makes them all shift; Jungkook loses some of the tension he feels, takes his finger off the safety of his pistol. Her gaze lifts and travels across all of their faces at the deck railing, and he feels scrutinized even in the relative dark. 

“Oh, Mrs. Moon? Hana?” Seokjin calls down from the deck, peering over the railing. “Is that you? It’s Seokjin!”

“Seokjin?” She peers upwards. “Kim Seokjin?”

“Just a second! I’ll come down.” Hanging from Jimin's arm, Seokjin limps over to the stairs as quickly as he’s able, soon disappearing and reappearing down below; he tries to bow politely the woman but she discards her umbrella and lantern and intercepts him with a sudden hug.

“I haven’t seen you in... well, it’s been a few years!” She takes a step back to look at him. “Are you still doing… those things?”

“Yes, ma’am, I’m still doing those things,” Seokjin says with a laugh. “They haven’t been able to stop me yet, so.”

Moon Hana makes a dismayed sound. “You poor boys are soaked through — you must be freezing! Come inside and get warmed up until the storm passes. I insist.”

“Oh, Hana, ma'am, you're so generous. I can’t wait to hear what brought you all the way out here.” Seokjin presses the woman’s hand, then turns to the rest who are on deck. “Come with us. It’s so unpleasant to work while the storm is still going strong.”

It is unpleasant, but are they really going to trust this woman and her entourage? Looking around at the others, it seems like the answer is yes. 

“But, the ship…” he says quietly, vocalizing the conflict he feels. He doesn’t  want to separate himself from the rest but he doesn’t feel good about leaving the ship by itself where it could be spotted by anyone. 

“Nothing’s going to happen to it on my property.” He’s startled to see Hana looking directly up at him. Well — now it will just be incredibly impolite to refuse her, so he puts on a grateful smile and comes downstairs with the rest, muttering reassurances to Woori and scratching behind the dog’s ears as he walks through the living room. 

He feels ridiculous locking the front door of the ship — anyone with a ladder could scale to the top deck and get in — but he does it anyway in an attempt to make himself feel better. And even then, he hesitates to step away. 

He doesn’t have to go with them. Does he really think some terrible fate is going to befall his ship if he leaves it in the middle of this field? No, he doesn’t. But his ship is his everything, and it’s more a question of what’s going to happen to him if he takes himself out of it.

A hand grips his arm and pulls him out of his thoughts. Taehyung gestures with his head at the rest of the group walking away across the field. 

He doesn’t resist. He follows them.

It’s a bit of a long walk, and with the slippery muddiness of the fields (most of which are planted with endless lines of fruit trees) and dirt roads, an unpleasant one; but eventually the farmhouse comes into view. It’s a sizeable old home, suggesting a large family and maybe hired farmhands on top of that, and it’s surrounded by rugged outbuildings. No one’s out and about in the rainy early morning, but light and sound emanate from the windows and half-open sliding doorways of the main building. 

On the raised front porch, he wrings water out of his hair, his sleeves, the hem of his shirt; cringing, he peels off his now-mucky shoes, and he gets rid of his socks as well once he notes that they’re being offered woven straw sandals by their host. 

His fate might be tied up with the that of the rest of the group, in this instance. It’s daunting. He’s become accustomed to handling his own business and avoiding other people’s problems. 

The warm air that washes over him as they walk into the house is wonderful. He basks in it, barely registers the sequence of spaces they’re led through before stopping in a large room, around a beautiful open fire.

There are other people in the room besides them, setting off a flash of paranoia in the back of his mind, intensifying the feeling of helplessness that was already present. He thinks at least one conversation is going on around him, but he doesn’t register what they’re saying. Entranced, he lifts both shivering hands closer to the flames, and he holds them there as one violent shudder runs through him, and then another.

A sudden warmth presses against his back, and he re-freezes; a nose and a forehead nudge into his shoulder. “I’m cold,” Taehyung whines, and Jungkook shivers again, un-tensing. Now that he knows who is touching him, he finds it doesn’t really bother him.

But then it’s not reassuring him, either. It isn’t comforting. It taps into a melancholy that swims over and under waves of remembered feeling, bobbing in the slowly-warming caverns of his lungs. Taehyung grabs the back of his shirt and the current washes him away.

Jungkook has arrived at a decision by the next time Taehyung comes to see him. He thinks Taehyung already knows what he’s going to say, because he stands tense and sullen at the balcony railing, looking at Jungkook, waiting for him. 

He’s already considered how to say this. It’s just a matter of getting the words out of his mouth. 

“I thought about your question. And the answer is no.” He wants to say it softly, but there’s a certain finality that also needs to be conveyed, even if it’s mostly for his own sake. “We can’t date. Not now. And I think we should take some additional steps back…” He trails off. He forces himself to look at Taehyung's face.

And Taehyung looks focused. Disapproving. Defensive. “Jungkook? Back from what?”

“From seeing each other. One on one, at least.” Taehyung's frown deepens. “I’m sorry.”

Taehyung, crossing his arms, leans back against the railing — it’s the only barrier separating him from the void below, and that scares him but Jungkook doesn’t say anything. “I don’t understand —” Taehyung starts, stops himself, and starts over. “Personally, I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you. And you know that. If this isn’t working out for you, then, I don’t know, maybe we could talk about it and… fix it? We don’t have to give up so soon, unless I’ve been reading this all wrong. Have I?”

“No. You haven’t. I would have already said something.” Jungkook swallows. “I… feel the same as you do. I’m sorry if I haven’t been very clear.” He looks out at the stars to avoid seeing Taehyung's hurt expression. “You have every right to be angry at me, but I don’t think it was a good idea for us to have become this close in the first place.”

“I don't want to be angry at you, I want that close relationship with you and it seems like you’re saying you both do and don’t want it and I’m —” Taehyung sounds distraught, strong emotion distorting his voice. If Taehyung starts crying, Jungkook will too.

“What I want doesn’t matter. I’m your captain, Taehyung.” Notwithstanding Yiseul still being alive, Yiseul still wasting away. “I have too, too much power over you — it’s not right for us to pursue this any further.”

Taehyung sputters, incredulous. “Wh— you don’t actually think you’re abusing your power, do you? That’s ridiculous.”

“I wouldn’t call it ridiculous. It’s a serious consideration. And what happens when everyone finds out about us?” He once again gathers the self-possession to turn and face Taehyung again. “The crew will treat you differently. I don’t necessarily think they’d treat you better, though — and they’re on our side . What about Yiseul's enemies? They’d constantly be after you. I don’t think we could live like that.”

Taehyung looks up from the spot on the floorboards he was staring at, fixing Jungkook with an unexpected glare. There are tears welling up in his eyes and reflecting the pinpoint-lights of the stars. “These are my problems you’re listing. I’ve already weighed the pros and cons for myself. I’m not stupid.”

“I didn’t mean —”

“You have all these excuses that are so fucking convenient,” Taehyung continues. “Are you sure you’re not just afraid of something? If we could get to the bottom of — ”

“I am afraid — that’s what I’m trying to tell you!” Jungkook reins himself back in, lowers his voice. “There’s so much I’m afraid of. I’m sorry for only bringing up the ways this could go wrong for you, but. Those things really scare me. I’m scared, Tae.”

“I don’t fault you for that,” Taehyung whispers. “I’m just — sad .” 

That’s all it takes for Taehyung to start crying in earnest, and he covers his face in his hands; but Jungkook selfishly allows himself one last intimate gesture, stepping forward to pull the other towards him. Taehyung holds on tightly and weeps quietly into his shoulder.

He will have to unlearn this behavior. For now, though, he clings to the warmth of his friend and tries to stifle his own tears.

“You know that you’re allowed to stand up for yourself, right?” It’s the last thing Taehyung says to him before he walks back into the body of the ship. “You don’t always have to do what the old guard expect from you.”

Taehyung hasn’t seen the hard, hostile looks he’s been getting from Yiseul's longtime cronies as of late. Jungkook doesn’t bother arguing, though. “Goodbye, Tae.”

He doesn't want to let Taehyung leave. He wants to forget all of the concerns and responsibilities that are forcing him to take this step; he wants Taehyung to take him places, and hold his hand in front of other people; he wants Taehyung to kiss the mole under his lower lip and he wants to figure out whether they can fall in love.

Taehyung slips away.

But Taehyung hasn’t slipped away, really. Taehyung's right here. 

His shivering calms down as heat seeps into him from all sides and starts drying his clothes. His comfort level increasing, he glances around at the others, most of whom are almost pointedly not looking in his direction. Jimin smiles and winks — whatever that means. 

Taehyung only stops clinging to him when Hana returns to offer them breakfast.

It’s much more hospitality than he would expect, given their trespassing. Even given the connection their host apparently has with Seokjin, the politeness unnerves him. He supposes he’s just out of practice dealing with people who aren’t trying to get something from him. 

Hana sits around the fire with them, asking slightly prying questions; and Jungkook can’t tell whether Seokjin, who tackles most of the responding, enjoys chatting with her or is merely humoring the woman. It’s impressive.

As the storm starts to clear, activity in the house picks up. Men and women in work clothes pass through the hall and glance surreptitiously at the group of strangers, while young children coming to greet Hana stare at them more blatantly.

Jungkook gets out of there as soon as he possibly can. The rain lets up, the sun peeks out through a cloud, and he excuses himself to work on the repairs.

Namjoon and Yoongi, neither of whom seem particularly interested in the socializing that’s going on, volunteer themselves to come with him. So the three pull on their still-wet shoes and trudge back down the muddy dirt roads. 

“Do you have any idea who that woman is?” Yoongi asks. Jungkook unlocks the door to the lower deck, and they walk in.

“You know, I’m not sure. She certainly seemed familiar…” Namjoon says.

Woori greets Jungkook with enthusiasm — jumping up on him, barking, and licking his face with his strange ghostly tongue. “Aww, did I leave you alone?” he murmurs, scratching the dog’s neck gently with both of his hands. “I’m sorry…”

The others trail in as well. “She didn’t seem to recognize you. Only Seokjin.”

“Right.”

“But then she seemed to hint that she knew what we were doing.”

Heading up the stairs, Jungkook takes stock of the situation with the balloons. The torn one is still laid out across the deck where they left it; the other one is a semi-inflated lump dragging on the floor, lower than where they left it because of the cooling of the hot air that makes up the balloon’s lower layer. All of the fabric layers of the balloon are damp, but at least this one will dry out sooner as it’s still partially inflated. 

“Yeah. That surprised me. I’m not convinced that I should worry about it… I dunno.” 

Jungkook retrieves a heavy duty needle and a thin twine from his repair bag and kneels down to reexamine the tear in the balloon. It’s long, spanning about two meters, but the rip is clean for the most part. It shouldn’t be too difficult to fix. 

“So how can we help?”

Jungkook looks up to see Namjoon and Yoongi standing on the other side of the balloon. He stares at them for a moment, considering how best to use their labor, before answering. 

“One of you could help me with the sewing, I guess. It’ll go twice as fast, that way. It also might be helpful to try and wring any extra water out of the balloon… I’d like it to be dry before we leave.”

“Sure.” Namjoon nods. “We can do that.”

“But you’re going on de-hydration duty,” Yoongi says. “If you stab through your hand with a needle on my watch I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t protest. 

They get down to work. Sewing through the material is difficult — he gets out some gloves so they don’t hurt their hands too badly — but Yoongi is surprisingly handy with the needle, especially given his prosthetic. Namjoon stomps around the deck with a bucket, filling it up with water from the balloon and dumping it out over the railing. 

In the quiet atmosphere, Jungkook takes the opportunity to mentally sift through everything he’s curious about, everything he’s been meaning to ask someone. Yoongi has always seemed willing to talk with him in the past; he would probably be willing to answer any of Jungkook's questions now, but Jungkook doesn’t want to force him to recount anything particularly difficult, so he chooses what he thinks is a soft start to the conversation.

“I’m curious,” he says. “Did you say you were involved in… biplane racing? How did you get into that?”

“Oh, racing?” Yoongi stops sewing for a second to look up and consider the question. “Right, Hoseok and I… it was the fashionable thing to do, then, among the city-aristocratic set that we were both a part of.” He glances at Jungkook as if anticipating a negative reaction, but Jungkook just nods. He already assumed they had that sort of upbringing, given their manner of speaking and their former status as officers. “I was... seventeen? Hoseok was sixteen. We’d all — there was a whole group of boys — we’d go down to the summer home of this wealthy inventor, and we were basically the test pilots for his designs. We’d compete, try to show off… it became something of an event for the local high society.”

“That sounds like fun,” Jungkook says. He tries to imagine a life like that, flying and messing around with a group of friends in the countryside. It’s a nice thought. 

“It lasted for about half a year,” Yoongi continues. “Before the old man got pulled into military work. And then we were sent off about a year later. You know.”

“Right.” Of course the whole picture isn’t quite so idyllic. “You and Hoseok go back a long way, then.”

“We have known each other for a long time. We grew up in the same neighborhood, attending the same functions, going to the same school… we weren’t friends, though.” Yoongi chuckles. “I would’ve characterized us as rivals, back then. Trying to fit into and excel in the same niche, trying to have the same career.”

“Oh, wow.”

“We didn’t start to become close until we both found ourselves in Lee Cheolmin's samizdat meetings, trading forbidden literature. At that point…”

“The rest is history,” Namjoon supplies.

“The rest is history.”

Jungkook blinks at him; he thinks he knows what they mean by that, inasmuch as: they met Namjoon and Seokjin, deserted, started traveling with them. 

“Joon? Does Jungkook know about…”

“About what?”

“About our… thing?”

Namjoon walks over. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

It’s awkward to have them talking over his head. Jungkook just keeps sewing. “Shouldn’t we tell him? It’s kind of important —”

“No, I agree. Go ahead, if you want.”

“Jungkook, somebody may or may not have already told you about this.” Now that Yoongi's speaking to him, he looks back up. “So this might come as a surprise to you, but I’d rather surprise you in a controlled environment — it’s about the six of us. You know how we’re traveling together in a group? We’re also in an open, polyamorous relationship with each other.”

Jungkook opens his mouth, then closes it. The information does possibly explain some things… the strange closeness he’s glimpsed some of them sharing in semi-privacy. “All of you?” he asks. “All six?”

Namjoon chuckles. “Yes, all six.”

That means, then, that each of the six has (at least) five boyfriends. Five. And what a complex, beautiful, and meaningful web of a relationship that could potentially be. If Jungkook wasn’t jealous of their camaraderie before, he’s definitely jealous of their arrangement now.

It surprises him.

It would be wrong to let that sentiment show, though. He can’t make them uncomfortable right after they’ve shared something so personal with him.

“So then you must have been… you must have felt like you had to conceal this? Hopefully not for my sake.”

Yoongi shrugs. “We’re used to it. We’re generally private people, we keep these things to ourselves.”

“Mm. I understand that,” Jungkook muses. “I really hope you can feel more comfortable on my ship from now on…” 

Yoongi's hands remain idle, and Jungkook scoots a bit closer as they’re about to close the last gap in the balloon. “So you don’t, um.” Yoongi hesitates. “You don’t think we’re too strange?”

Jungkook looks between the concerned faces of the other two. “What? No, am I supposed to think that?”

Namjoon exhales through his nose, amused. “No, probably not. It happens, though.”

“Oh.” Jungkook reaches the intersection point, and he starts overlapping his new stitches with Yoongi's old ones for a bit of reinforcement. “Thank you for trusting me with that information, then.” He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve it.

Yoongi pats him on the back and stands to allow Jungkook to finish off the seam on his own. 

Jungkook doesn’t know what to think. A six-person relationship — how does that even start? With two people, probably — and then the rest add themselves on, one by one? If you’re the sixth guy traveling with the first five guys who are together, would you feel pressured into joining in? Does the relationship really go all… let’s see… six times five divided by two… all fifteen ways? Do they all feel the same way about each other? Surely not, but he thinks that multifaceted-ness would be a good thing. Each individual relationship could be something unique and precious.

Well, good for them.

Jungkook finishes the seam, and satisfied with its strength he moves on to a quick inspection of the rest of the ship’s external elements, anything that might have been damaged in the landing. The underside is more difficult to get at, but, grimacing at the materials he has to resort to, he starts lugging bucketfuls of rocky mud down to refill the ballast mechanism. It’s better to have something in the holding tank than nothing at all. 

“Hey, Jungkook! How’s the ship?”

Hoseok approaches across the field, waving and smiling. Jungkook puts down his trowel and wipes sweat from his forehead. “It’s good. Should be back to normal once the balloons are dry.”

“Seok? How are things at the house?” Namjoon peers down from the top deck, where he and Yoongi are still busily wringing water out of fabric. 

“I’m still in shock about how lucky we were to land here,” Hoseok says. “One of Hana's sons is going to see what he can do about Seokjin's leg. We said we wanted to make ourselves useful as repayment, so Jimin and I are about to head out and put up a stretch of fence… that way somewhere.” He waves to his right. “While Tae stays with them. I came to see if any of you wanted to join.”

“We’re almost done with this up here,” Yoongi calls.

“You guys can go ahead if you want,” Jungkook says. “You’ve made a lot of progress; the sun will do the rest of the work.”

“Ok!” Namjoon disappears from view, and a few seconds later, both he and Yoongi pop out of the front door. They walk over to Hoseok and Jungkook. “Are you coming with?”

Jungkook considers his progress, the amount of ballast that’s needed for him to feel comfortable. “No, I’ll stay behind for a bit until the ballast level is high enough. Then I might try to find you, if you’re still working.”

“All right.” Hoseok reaches out to ruffle his hair before starting to walk away. “Don’t work too hard!”

Jungkook laughs and watches them leave across the field.

The work continues. It’s still cold and wet, but it’s quiet, peaceful, the smell of rain lingering. He lets himself become immersed in the repetitive physical task, feeling his body at work, firmly and solidly present in the space even as he’s honed in on what’s in front of him. And he lets the time slip by without noticing, the only indication of it in the rising ballast level.

“That was quite a storm we just had.”

Jungkook startles, looking up to see two men standing a few meters away. He plasters on a polite expression. “Oh — yeah. Sorry, you surprised me.” The man standing in front is middle-aged, maybe on the younger side, his hands casually in his pockets. An older, less well-dressed man stands behind him, looking less interested in the conversation. Fuck, who are these people? How could he have allowed himself to let his guard down like this? And why hasn’t he thought to keep himself armed and prepared for hostile encounters? “The storm was unexpected.”

“To have landed so unscathed… wow. You must have had a few experienced sailors among your crew.”

Jungkook stares up at the first man, who is smiling in a way that unsettles him. Do I know you? Jungkook wants to ask. Suddenly the frigid air seems to blow straight through him. He feels cold. Do you know me ?

“For many reasons, we were fortunate,” he hears himself say. “It easily could have turned out much worse, and we’re grateful that it didn’t.”

“Right.” The man gestures at himself, and at the other guy. “We just wanted to swing by and see if you all needed any help.”

“Oh, thank you, but… we’re just waiting for the sun to dry things out at this point. Thank you, though.”

“Sure thing.”

But the man doesn’t leave right away. He strolls around, circling, looking at the ship’s hull, appraising it. The older guy trails behind him. Jungkook slips back inside, sighing in relief when he gets his hands back on his gun, even as he laughs at himself for his paranoid overreaction. Woori doesn’t seem concerned about the strangers.

He decides the ballast tank is full enough. Hiding on the top deck, he listens for when the soft squelching sounds of shoes in the mud recede before he steps back out, locking the door behind him again. 

This time, as he walks towards where he thinks the others are working on the project for the homeowners, he’s carrying both of his knives with him. 

Chapter Text

“You told him what ?” Taehyung's stomach rolls over. 

I told Jungkook about our relationship . It makes him feel sick, nervous. He straightens up, adding the next empty metal bowl to a stack on the tray he’s carrying. Yoongi frowns.

“I’m sorry, Tae — I didn’t think it —”

“No, no, I’m not saying you did anything wrong,” Taehyung clarifies. “I just want to know exactly what you said.”

“I think I said something along the lines of…” Yoongi squints, trying to recall; Namjoon beats him to it.

“You said, and I quote, ‘we’re in an open, polyamorous relationship with each other.’ You also said, ‘we’re generally private people,’ and ‘we keep these things to ourselves.’”

“Right,” Yoongi says. “Why? He seemed pretty accepting of it — did you expect something else?”

Taehyung wears a neutral expression and waves his free hand dismissively. “I just wanted to make sure we’re all on the same page.” And Yoongi accepts the answer — he has no reason not to. Jimin, however, stares at him seriously until he walks over.

“Are you good?” Jimin, of course, is the only one who has even an inkling of what the stakes of this issue are for him. (And that’s another problem — he really ought to be opening up a bit more to everyone — but he’s not quite done avoiding and hiding from his unresolved problems quite yet.) 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Taehyung smiles as Jimin adds his empty brassware to the stack. 

The stakes , that’s what’s making him nervous, right? He’s afraid of any change, of movement in any direction. As ridiculous as it is, Taehyung can’t help but feel that keeping Jungkook in the dark about their relationship is similar to actively misleading him. But now that Jungkook's found out, he won’t think any less of Taehyung, right? It feels like he’d be justified in doing so.

Jimin grabs Taehyung's hand and squeezes it, breaking him out of his thoughts. “This isn’t anything to worry about,” Jimin reassures him. “If he holds this against you or any of us then, well, he’s an asshole.”

“Mm.” That may or may not be true, but the reminder that he has Jimin behind him no matter what happens does make him feel marginally better. 

The others trickle back to their work one by one; now that Seokjin's leg has been patched up more solidly (a relief, a weight off of all of their shoulders, for him to be seen by a real physician) he’s still not in a state to build a fence, but he hobbles around on his own to examine the workmanship. Taehyung finishes gathering all of the remnants of the little midday meal Moon Hana tasked him and Seokjin with bringing out to the rest of the group; he keeps Jungkook's portion set aside carefully, and he’s considering facing his anxieties directly and going to find him when Hoseok shouts.

“Hey! Jungkook!” Taehyung looks up and sees the man in question jogging towards the group, only slowing down once he’s firmly in their midst, at which point he deflates, as if relieved. “How’s the ballast?” 

“It’s good. Filled it up to an adequate level.”

“What happened?” Taehyung asks. It’s just a feeling, but Jungkook's reaction to the question makes him confident that something occurred. 

“What do you mean? Nothing happened.” Jungkook claps his hands together. “What should I work on?”

“You need to eat first!” Jimin calls from where he’s digging a post hole with a shovel.

“Right.” Taehyung picks up Jungkook's portion and walks over to one of the slabs of rock they’d been sitting on, expecting him to follow. “This is yours.” He transfers the dishes to the stone surface and to Jungkook's outstretched hand as the other sits down, and he considers whether to press the issue. He settles on a simple question to get to the heart of what he actually cares about. “You sure everything’s okay?”

Jungkook quirks an eyebrow at him and shovels food into his mouth — which shouldn’t be as endearing and attractive as it is, but Taehyung is far gone at this point. “Am I that obvious?” Jungkook asks, and he glances around to verify that the others are still working, not actively listening. “It’s embarrassing,” he continues in a quiet voice. “These two guys came around to see if we needed help. It wasn’t — they didn’t say anything out of the ordinary, but my paranoia took it the wrong way.” He rubs at his forehead, brushes hair out of his face. “That’s all. Nothing actually happened.”

“Hm.” Taehyung perches next to him on the rock as he resumes eating. “That’s not embarrassing, it’s a survival mechanism.” He imagines what would happen if he was the one who was spooked by a solo conversation with some random guys; he imagines telling the others about it immediately, about how it made him feel, imagines them crowding around to talk to him about it, to reassure and hold onto him. He knows that Jungkook doesn’t have that unless Taehyung gives it to him — and Taehyung wants to, very much wants to, if Jungkook will allow it. “I do get the impression that the people who live here are involved in… all sorts of things. But we’ll be out of here soon.” He fixes him with a serious look, because he means what he’s about to say. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Jungkook smiles, but not in a way that seems mocking or condescending. “Okay, Tae, I’m counting on it.”

Taehyung buzzes with the need to do more , but he doesn’t want to be overbearing, either. So he pulls back, waits for Jungkook to finish eating and run off with a stack of logs, and then heads back towards the house with his tray full.

Taehyung likes Hana — she arranged for Seokjin's leg to be properly looked at, after all — and he likes her house. The setup and placement of it remind him of the home of the yangban his father worked for — but the similarities end there. The place is clearly several hundred years old, but it’s so well-kept, roof freshly thatched, stones scrubbed and pristine, dirt floor swept and clear. The household is a busy and well-managed machine, if all the people walking in and out, tools and baskets and small animals under their arms, are any indication.

He thinks the kitchen is going to be in an outbuilding close to the main structure, so he trods along the perimeter in search of it. No one stops him to ask if he needs help or to reprimand him; he wouldn’t be surprised if he still blended into a place like this, even after all these years. Look, here comes Taehyung. Head in the clouds again, boy? You’re late. Get to work.

He soon locates the kitchen, unmistakable with the two big stoves in the middle of it and the smell of cooking. The fire is going and something is being steamed, but no one is manning the process. The room is empty. 

“Hello?” The word comes out quietly; he’s unsure if he’d rather be found and helped or if he’d rather drop his things here and leave without a polite and formal conversation. 

No one responds to his greeting, but an unexpected scraping sound against the kitchen’s back wall startles him. There’s some more thumping, and the muffled sounds of voices having a conversation. Making up his mind, Taehyung sets the tray down on a clear surface and steps outside to talk to whoever’s out there.

“ — already on their way back, in all likelihood,” a man is saying. “I can call it off and send ‘em home, sure, but they won’t be happy with me or you.”

“Don’t you drag me into this,” Hana says, and Taehyung pauses. “This is your business, not mine.”

“I promised them all a cut of whatever payout we get,” the man says. “So they’re going to get pissed at somebody if I don’t follow through now.”

Payout. What payout? It can’t have anything to do with Namjoon and his bounty, right? Surely he’s overhearing some mundane piece of farm business — 

“You do understand why I’m hesitant, though, don’t you?” Hana asks. “I happen to value my relationship with Seokjin. And I don’t want to cultivate a reputation for selling my allies down the river.”

Shit. 

Taehyung's heart beats in his throat. At any moment the two could come around the corner and spot him standing here, eavesdropping, but he’s frozen; he needs more information.

“But look, Mom — you aren’t betraying him.” More shuffling and clunking noises. “This guy’s a real shady bastard. Disgraced pirate captain — I don’t even want to know how scummy you have to be to get kicked out of that business. A classy guy like your Seokjin wouldn’t be traveling with someone like that if he knew the truth,” the man concludes. “He’ll thank you.”

Taehyung feels ill. And Taehyung has heard enough.

Glancing around to verify that no one’s seen him here, he walks away in the direction he came from. Casually, but quickly.

He had no idea Jungkook still has people out to get him. It’s not surprising, no, but it angers him. Jungkook already had to go through awful things to get out of that life, but maybe the saying is true — the only real escape is death.

Jungkook does not deserve this. Hana's son doesn’t have any way of knowing that, and Taehyung can’t fault him for what he’s trying to do — but he can detest him. 

It did not sound like the operation the man is planning, and for which he is gathering reinforcements, is yet in motion. So while Taehyung doesn’t expect to arrive back to the worksite and find Jungkook gone, that fear spurs him quickly onward; and when he gets to the start of the muddy field in question, he starts sprinting. A lucky break — all six are still there where he left them, and they stop what they’re doing as, flailing his arms to get their attention, he approaches. They gather around the rock on which Seokjin is perched, waiting for Taehyung to stumble to a halt in front of them. 

“We need to leave,” he says between gulps of air. “We’re in danger.”

“What? What happened?” Hoseok pales, evidently shocked. 

Seokjin seems similarly taken aback. “Hana wouldn’t...”

“It’s Jungkook. Someone knows who he is and Hana’s son convinced her that he’s evil, and it sounded like they were gathering other people to help them do… something. They mentioned a ‘payout’ of some kind?”

He can’t help but watch Jungkook's face, but he doesn’t outwardly react, even when the others’ heads swing around to him in surprise. 

Jungkook's gaze flits between them all, silent and serious, and Taehyung realizes what he might be thinking — 

“We’re not selling you out,” Jimin says firmly. “We’re getting you and us out of here. We aren’t going to let them have you.”

Jungkook bites his lip and looks between Jimin and Seokjin again. It’s impossible to tell whether he does or doesn’t believe they’ll willingly hand him over to the people who probably want to kill him. It hurts, so Taehyung grabs Jimin's hand and arm and squeezes. 

“That’s right. If you start working now, how soon can we lift off?” Namjoon asks. “Given that it’s possible to leave.”

“Half - half an hour,” Jungkook stutters, and he clears his throat. “Half an hour or a bit more.”

“We don’t want to look like we’re trying to leave, so half of us need to stay here and wrap up the fence work,” Namjoon continues. 

“I need to go out to the ship so I can talk to them if they come around,” Seokjin says, and Taehyung nods. That would be good. 

“I’m coming, too.” Taehyung doesn’t closely examine why, but he can’t fathom staying behind while Seokjin and Jungkook walk into a situation where they could be hurt. He’s not going to repeat the same mistakes — 

Oh, that’s why.

At least in the case of Seokjin's injury, the guilt he felt over it was distributed across all five who regretted not being able to prevent it. But nobody knows about the burden of guilt he’s been carrying, all alone for the past year and a half, over Jungkook's near-death. And he understands that sounding the alarm or tagging along to protect him now isn’t about to make up for what he did, but selfishly he thinks that not doing this now might make him feel worse. 

“Okay. Good.” Despite (or because of) his ignorance of Taehyung's internal motives, Namjoon is probably weighing his helpfulness with getting the ship ready as well as his ability to protect the others should the situation get physical. And Taehyung doesn’t want to overestimate himself, but he thinks he’s probably the best choice for both. “Any objections?”

There are none, although he can tell no one is one hundred percent pleased — except Seokjin, maybe, who seems pleased to be so central to the strategy for the first time since he got shot in the leg in that miserable little town. 

“All right, ducklings, come along,” Seokjin sings, trying and dubiously succeeding at introducing some levity, and he stands and starts to hobble in the direction of the ship. 

Taehyung and Jungkook go after him.

They proceed across the fields, a grim and silent row of three. It takes them nearly ten minutes to arrive at the ship — it’s slow going even with Taehyung helping Seokjin walk, and they don’t want to let Jungkook out of their sight. Eventually they make it, though, and Seokjin posts himself at the railing on the top deck, a lookout. 

Jungkook entrusts Taehyung with control of the bridge again, and Taehyung is fine with that, content to exercise his expertise in pressing the right buttons at the right times; Jungkook, meanwhile, fusses with the balloons, fixing that one tether he moved and running around rearranging fabric as the totally deflated one gets inflated again. 

Taehyung likes the bridge. Here, it’s easy to forget why they’re rushing to escape. The clouds have cleared, the wind has died down, and the midday sun high in the sky casts short shadows and warms every surface. The well-maintained bells and switches shine and glimmer at him cheerfully, and the ghost-dog, Woori, snoozes in the corner, blissfully unaware of the danger they’re in. 

Jungkook's dog. Jungkook's ship. Jungkook's own things lying around the room. It’s a strange, incidental intimacy, one he notices and feels keenly. 

Again, they work silently. Until — 

“Hey there!” Seokjin's voice rings out, a friendly-sounding shout. Taehyung doesn’t poke his head out of the bridge, but he pauses — again — to listen to what unseen others are saying. 

“Yeah, we’re testing out the repair job!” Seokjin says, again hollering across the field. After a pause: “What?” and another pause: “Probably mid afternoon! After the guys finish on the fence and everything dries out better!”

And that’s the extent of it. There’s no more shouting, he never hears the person or people on the other side, and Seokjin appears in the bridge a few minutes later, hugging Taehyung from behind.

“What happened?”

“A few guys were coming over. Reconnaissance or something. I think I recognized two of her sons among the five of them.” Seokjin pokes his nose into the back of Taehyung's head. “I don’t know how much time we have,” he admits. “I hope they believe what I told them.”

“You sounded really convincing. I’m sure they’ll think they have plenty of time to get organized,” Taehyung says. “We only need fifteen more minutes, but I bet they’ll take at least an hour.”

Seokjin sighs deeply and goes back out to his lookout post. 

Their next visitors are the other four, returning from the fence. “We finished it,” Jimin tells him after joining him on the bridge. “Well, it’s not all the way done, but we used up the materials they gave us. We couldn’t do any more.”

“That’s good,” Taehyung comments absently. “Aren’t you tired?”

“Yeah. A bit.” Jimin leans over, grabs Taehyung's chin, and kisses him; Taehyung smiles. “You’re sweet. My sweet Taehyung.”

Jimin falls asleep on Jungkook's bed, under Jungkook's blanket. 

They lift off shortly after the others arrive. It’s a relief, and he feels lighter when they’re a safe distance from the ground, unreachable. As they climb higher, Hoseok calls him outside to look through binoculars towards the other side of the farm below, where a group of people has gathered together near the main road, others approaching from both directions. It makes for a chilling scene. This is what they would have been up against. 

Jungkook takes the binoculars and doesn’t stop looking even when the farm is far, far in the distance. Eventually, though, Taehyung has to ask him the semi-urgent question on his mind. 

“Hey, so,” he says. “Where are we going? Are we still headed for Pyongsan?”

“Oh, that’s a good question.” Jungkook lets the binoculars hang on their strap around his neck. 

“Does Hana know where we’re going?” Hoseok asks, and Taehyung nods. He and Seokjin definitely told Hana too much. They let themselves become comfortable around her. Hoseok turns towards Jungkook. “Do you think… do you think they’re going to come after you?”

It’s funny — Jungkook seems more obviously tense now that they’re off the ground than when they were adjacent to danger. It’s probably unintentional, right? Maybe he just feels more comfortable showing vulnerability now that he knows for sure they aren’t handing him over to the mob on the farm. 

“I don’t know,” Jungkook says. “I don’t know what benefit they’re hoping to realize. Honestly.”

“It didn’t sound like they knew, either,” Taehyung adds. 

“I have… a proposal,” Hoseok says. “There’s an area nearby — in this corner of the peninsula, at least: a natural spring that’s hidden away and difficult for most people to get to. We could hit that place first, rest and relax for a second, and mess with the timing so that if people go searching for us in Pyongsan right away, they’ll assume we decided to skip that stop.”

Taehyung wouldn’t mind taking a short break. “Do you think we have enough supplies to make a diversion like that?” he asks Jungkook. 

“Probably — I mean, how far out of the way is it?”

The three of them file into the bridge in search of a map to clarify the situation. Jungkook seems to pointedly avoid looking in the direction of Jimin, who is waking up from his short nap; Taehyung stands next to Jimin and pushes his hand through the other’s hair. 

“Yeah. Right there.”

“Oh, that’s not far at all,” Jungkook says. “We can be there by tomorrow morning. Early tomorrow morning. I’m in favor of it.”

“Me too,” Taehyung chimes in.

“Huh?”

“We’re deciding whether we ought to stop by a natural spring on the way to Pyongsan,” Taehyung says, endeared by Jimin's sleepy voice. Jimin nods.

“That sounds nice,” he mutters, gripping Taehyung's hand to pull himself to his feet. He then attaches himself to Taehyung's back, resting his head between Taehyung's shoulder blades. 

Jungkook rolls the map back into a tube and slots it in among the others. “We should probably check that everyone is okay with this.”

“Okay with what?” Yoongi walks towards the bridge, Namjoon and Seokjin behind him. “Are we going somewhere?”

“There’s a nature area I know between here and Pyongsan. We were thinking of stopping there for a bit since Hana knows where we’re trying to go,” Hoseok explains.

“Oh. You know this place?”

“As of a few years ago. I mean, we don’t have to land there if we arrive and we don’t like it…”

“No, no, I think that’s a good idea. Right?” Yoongi looks back at the last two. 

“I’m fine with that,” Namjoon says, and Seokjin nods. 

Jungkook turns around to face the controls. “All right, I’ll set the course.”

The silence that ensues isn’t comfortable. It’s tense. Taehyung would expect that, having come to an agreement, they’d start filtering out of the bridge; but everyone stays right where they are, as if they’re waiting. As if there’s unfinished business. 

Jungkook doesn’t turn around after he finishes making the necessary adjustments. He just stands and waits for someone to say something. 

“Jungkook.” It takes a few minutes of stillness, but Namjoon speaks up. “I think we ought to talk about what happened back there.”

“What is there to talk about?” Jungkook's fists clench at his sides, then unfold again, and Taehyung feels torn. He thinks Jungkook ought to be up-front and honest about the sort of danger they’re all placing themselves in by traveling with him, but at the same time, he recalls the way Jungkook reacted the last time Jimin pressed him for his background information. There’s a loud and insistent part of him that wants to protect Jungkook from a conversation that’s bound to be painful.

“Come on, we don’t have to do it like this,” Seokjin says. “All we want is the ability to make informed decisions.”

“Right. I understand,” Jungkook agrees, but he doesn’t volunteer any information. 

“Tae. You know what’s going on, a portion of it, don’t you?”

Jungkook whirls around at Namjoon's question, looking at Taehyung with huge eyes. Clearly imploring him not to betray his trust — and Taehyung won’t. He doesn’t think it’s for selfish reasons, a desire not to displease or disappoint anyone, but due to an understanding that the story isn’t his to tell. He shrugs. “Yeah.” Someone sighs.

“Okay, guys, as interesting as this non-conversation is, I’m a bit tired,” Seokjin says. “I’m going to sit down.”

“Ah, yeah. Let’s move this downstairs,” Hoseok glances around, unsure. “If that’s all right?”

Downstairs, Seokjin settles on the long bench and beckons Taehyung to sit next to him. He hurries to comply, tucking himself under Seokjin's arm, eager to receive comfort; Hoseok settles on his other side, and the others array themselves around on the floor. 

Namjoon launches back into it immediately. “Okay, so. I realize that this doesn’t go only one way. We also dragged you into our business without your knowledge, and we were the first to do it, the instigators. At the first logical opportunity, though, we came clean about exactly what sort of danger you might expect. All I’m saying is —”

“I get it.” Taehyung watches, disquieted, as Jungkook listens to Namjoon and comprehends the crux of what he’s saying. “It’s reciprocal.” As soon as he gleans that there might be something transactional about the exchange, it’s as if he quickly dons a different persona, puts on some poised, masked version of himself capable of quickly taking care of business . Face blank, expression inscrutable, posture casual — a subconscious intimidation tactic, Taehyung thinks, a denial of vulnerability. And Taehyung hates it, because this is not how they’re going to pull an authentic, emotional dialogue out of him. 

No, this is how they get Jungkook to resent them.

This isn’t a fucking negotiation! he wants to scream. We are not enemies!

“You want to know why your old friend was willing to turn me over to the angry mob,” Jungkook says. Nonchalant. “You want to hear what sort of terrible things I’ve done. Well, I can tell you that.”

“Wait!” Taehyung cries. “Everyone, slow down — this isn’t —” This isn’t right . “I think we should go about this a different way.”

They all swivel to look at him, expecting him to continue; so he takes a deep breath, and he does. 

“I want to tell you guys some things about myself. Some of my personal history that I haven’t felt ready to share until very recently.” Not until the last day or two, really. “It’s relevant, too. Is that okay?” He surveys the room, spots no objection, reads gratitude and relief on multiple faces. Good — he wasn’t the only one made terribly uncomfortable by the tone of the discussion. He turns to Jungkook again. “You can tell me to stop.”

Jungkook tilts his head in acknowledgement, and Taehyung begins. 

“You already know the basic outline. The early years. Father died, I needed money, all that.” This is one aspect of his past he does take pride in — it would have been so easy to run away. Ditch the village, take on a new identity in the big city and never look back. But he just didn’t have it in him to leave his younger siblings and cousins at the mercy of the local underworld; he had to step up and take responsibility, for their sakes. And sure, he took risks along the way, but he got it done, freed his remaining family members without them even knowing they were at risk. 

“I traveled around, looking for work. Something lucrative. I kept hearing about, about this legendary pirate lady who took in nobodies, put them to work on her airship, and the ones who survived became wealthy. I started searching for her, and through sheer force of luck, I eventually found her ship.”

“Uh,” Hoseok says. “You’re not talking about… who is it… Kim Yiseul? Pirate Queen Yiseul?”

“Yeah. Her ship.”

Jimin raises his eyebrows. “Woah. Did you ever meet her?”

“Yeah, sure.” He was brought by her bedside and introduced to the ailing woman multiple times. She never remembered him, though. 

“And you actually worked for her? Wasn’t it dangerous?” 

“Well, they taught me how to fight and all that. I was taught how to navigate and fly there, too. It was what I was looking for — high risk, high reward, and not a bad work environment, either.”

How does he portray what happened next? He looks at Jungkook and realizes he can’t actually talk about the main items without the other’s input. He can’t unburden himself quite yet. He sighs. 

“Eventually, I earned enough to pay off all the debt. And, well, I left some time after that. Although, uh, that was not.” He coughs. “That was not the only thing that happened.”

“Forgive me for making an assumption, but I have a feeling this job is where you met Jungkook,” Seokjin says, and he nods. 

“Yeah. I met him the same day I joined, and we became friends. Do you…” He’s relieved to see that Jungkook's recovered himself a bit, seeming interested in what Taehyung is saying, albeit a bit nervous. “Do you want to say something? If you aren’t ready, though...”

Jungkook blows out a long breath of air. “No, I actually — I will.” He draws both of his knees up to his chest. “I’ll talk.”

He’s relieved. Seokjin squeezes Taehyung's shoulder as if to say, you did well . 

Jungkook looks off into the distance as he starts. “It’s interesting,” he says. “My childhood was very ordinary, up until I was orphaned. Even that isn’t at all uncommon, really.” A glance at the sympathetic expressions on their faces has him looking at the floor, avoiding them again. “I was eight. I don’t remember what happened — some sort of catastrophe — but Yiseul plucked me out of the rubble and took me onto her ship. She kind of… adopted me, you could say.”

Taehyung wishes Jungkook would just call the situation what it actually was. “She kidnapped you,” he says, and Jimin makes a little shocked noise. Jungkook frowns. 

“I —”

“You’re telling me,” Yoongi interjects, “that Kim Yiseul, this woman widely renowned for killing people , just so happened to be present on the occasion of your parents’ violent death ?” He’s aghast, clearly concerned on Jungkook's behalf, but Jungkook winces like Yoongi slapped him.

“This is already difficult enough for me to talk about. Do you have to comment so aggressively?”

Yoongi seems caught off guard at Jungkook's response. “You’re right. I’m sorry, that was out of line.”

“Okay — anyway, moving on…” Jungkook pinches the bridge of his nose. “I was her project, basically. She personally oversaw all of my training, tried to teach me everything she knew, tried to transfer all of her skills, all of her acquaintances to me. Sometimes she acted like she thought she was my parent, but mostly she… didn’t.”

“Did she have any other children?” Yoongi asks.

“No. It was just me.”

The others are reacting to this just as Taehyung expected them to. Shock. Dismay. He’s glad Jungkook started from the very beginning; it would be easy to judge Jungkook more harshly than Taehyung thinks he deserves without the full context. 

“As a person, she was really… intense. She had a lot of energy and a lot of ideas and expectations, and I guess I was her outlet. So, that was the second half of my upbringing.” Jungkook pulls at a loose thread at the hem of his pants. 

“That must have been hard,” Jimin says softly, and Jungkook shrugs. 

“There were… positive aspects,” he says, looking at the floor. “And it didn’t last forever. She was really old, and her health started to decline. By the time Taehyung showed up looking for a job, she was basically incapacitated, and she had already delegated most of the responsibility for the day to day operations to me.” He ducks his head, hides his face with his hands, and Taehyung understands. This part is the most difficult. “And then she died.”

“Really?” Hoseok exchanges a glance with Yoongi. “I never heard that she…”

Jungkook laughs harshly. “It wasn’t exactly in our best interest to advertise the fact that nobody had to worry about the scary legendary pirate lady anymore. ‘ Yiseul's brat is barely hanging onto power ,’ yeah, that inspires fear and cooperation.”

Taehyung exhales harshly through his nose, unhappy with the way Jungkook continues to casually belittle himself. Jungkook peeks at him above his hand, abashed. 

“As Yiseul, I did manage to hold on for a few months. But then, well, her old friends staged a coup, and they tried to kill me. I guess they were too preoccupied with the fucking theatrics of it to make sure I actually died, though. Besides you guys, nobody knows I’m alive.”

“Fuck,” Yoongi exhales; he’s angry. Hoseok looks nauseous, and Jimin looks like he could start crying. He can’t see Seokjin from this angle. Namjoon is the only one who seems externally unaffected by the story, but Taehyung doubts he’s actually unmoved. 

“I’m sorry, but you were…” Seokjin says from beside him. “How could they do that to a child ?”

Taehyung tenses, afraid that Seokjin's struck too closely upon one of Jungkook's specific insecurities, but the latter doesn’t react. Maybe he’s already uncomfortable enough for it to not make a difference. 

“I was twenty-one,” he counters. 

“So you’re saying that, for multiple months...” Namjoon speaks slowly, as if he’s still processing it. “Kim Yiseul... was you? ”

“And now it’s someone else. Or multiple people. I don’t know. And I don’t know what they, or anyone else, would possibly want from me, besides to make sure I’m really dead.” He laughs again, humorlessly. It hurts Taehyung, it wounds him. “How long until they find out? And how vigorously are they going to chase me? I can’t tell you. I don’t have a clue. But maybe that’ll help you guys make some better informed decisions .” Jungkook looks up from his knees, uncovers his face, but it doesn’t feel like he really sees them all — he looks through them, seeing something else. He clasps his shaking hands together. 

“Jungkook —” Seokjin starts, but he gets cut off.

“It’s funny,” Jungkook starts, and Taehyung knows whatever he’s about to say is probably the opposite. “She wanted to create a duplicate version of herself, a younger Yiseul who could carry on her legacy exactly as she envisioned it; but it was an impossible task, even from the start. She couldn’t create a second Yiseul, because she wasn’t a sort of person who would let herself be created . She would never let someone else control her and dictate what she ought to do for the rest of her life. I, on the other hand…” He inhales sharply, coming back to them, looking around at them. 

“I’m done with this conversation,” he says. “I’m going upstairs. I would like to be alone.”

Taehyung really doesn’t want Jungkook to leave. After the very heavy conversation they’ve just had, it feels wrong to leave him alone; on top of that, he’d just prefer to have Jungkook right in front of him for his own peace of mind. 

Taehyung closes his eyes. When he opens them, Jungkook is gone. 

“I don’t know what I expected,” Jimin says. “It wasn’t… that.” Taehyung laughs, and it comes out watery.

“Oh, honey.” Seokjin leans forward towards him, looks at him with overwhelming care and concern, and dabs at Taehyung's cheeks with his sleeve. “That was very difficult for you, wasn’t it.”

Ah. He’s crying. 

The realization breaks the floodgates open, has him crying in earnest, shoulders shaking and ugly sounds coming out of his mouth. He launches himself at Seokjin's chest and hides there, trying to get a grasp on himself. Seokjin's arms wrap around him, and he feels Hoseok's hand stroking the back of his head. 

“That was rough,” Hoseok says. “I mean — we’ve had our own difficulties, too, but —”

“Right. That doesn’t invalidate… whatever horrific shit he apparently got put through,” says Yoongi.

Seokjin hums. Taehyung takes deep breaths. 

“I… don’t know what to make of it,” Namjoon says. “That was disturbing, but — I feel like we still don’t have the full picture.”

“There’s enough of a picture to feel fucking angry on his behalf, Joon,” Yoongi says, probably more harshly than he should, and Taehyung freezes again because — yes, they should be angry, they should be angry at Taehyung, Taehyung had a part in this —

“You don’t know,” he gasps. “You don’t know — I was there —” He sits upright, sees that he has everyone’s attention. He takes another deep, slow breath. “I was there,” he says. “And I didn’t do anything, I didn’t do shit , I just stood there, I saw the whole thing, I watched them — they —”

Someone holds his hand. Someone says something to him that he doesn’t hear. 

Two people grasp Jungkook under his arms, holding him upright. He sags between them, seemingly unconscious. His head lolls to the side, his face near unrecognizable, different parts of it swollen, blood dripping from his nose, his lip, a gash on his temple. Angry red marks reveal themselves through a new tear in his shirt.

Taehyung starts crying again. 

One of the mutineers makes a grandiose statement to the assembled crowd, and the words float away on the wind.

Taehyung hides in Seokjin's arms, but it doesn’t help. He doesn’t want to remember — 

When they stab Jungkook the first time the knife goes all the way in. Between his ribs, it seems like. All the way to the hilt. And they keep it there for a few seconds, like the bastards enjoy the sight of him dying. But he isn’t going to drown in his own blood until they take it out, so they do. Jungkook doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound. Blood, oh the blood is everywhere, it spills down Jungkook's shirt, down the slack length of his body, and it’s the only thing Taehyung can focus on anymore. When they stab him again, Taehyung just sees blood. When they toss him overboard — 

Taehyung opens his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Seokjin mumbles close to his ear. “It seems like you’ve been carrying this with you for a long time.”

Taehyung nods, and he examines the weave of Seokjin's shirt. He breathes. It feels like whenever he blinks he sees that again.

“But it seems like now you might have a chance to resolve that, right? Not right now, but sometime soon.”

“ Yeah, ” he sighs. Seokjin kisses the side of his head. He feels a bit better, but still —

Shirt. Blood. Shirt. Blood. Shirt. 

He wriggles out of Seokjin's comforting grip and stands, head swimming for a second. “I can’t,” he says, like that’s an explanation. “I can’t,” he repeats, and he stumbles out of their circle, towards the stairs and the square of light at the top of them.

“Uh, Tae, you know he did say to leave him alone,” Jimin points out. 

“Yeah. I know.” 

Hopefully Jungkook can forgive him for one more thing. Taehyung climbs up the stairs. 

It’s windy. The deck falls away at the edges into clear blue sky; a wooden door stands in front of him. Taehyung wipes at his face again, and he takes another long breath. He’s okay. He’s feeling better. He just needs to see with his own eyes… 

He walks up and knocks on the door, but he doesn’t wait for a response before opening it and letting himself inside. Shutting the door behind himself and leaning against it, he’s reminded of that first night, when he came up to the bridge and lied. 

Jungkook is sitting on the floor in front of the control panels; his hands are buried in Woori's scraggly, transparent mane. The dog, half of him in Jungkook's lap, stands up as Taehyung enters and comes to greet him, nosing at his hands and licking them. 

“Please don’t make me leave,” he says in a rush. 

Jungkook's brows furrow. Taehyung's a bit surprised — he seems… fine. In a better condition than when he left. 

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asks, and Taehyung gives the honest answer. 

“Yes. But I, I can’t close my eyes without watching you get, get stabbed again.” He trails off in a whisper.

Jungkook scrunches his nose. “That sounds awful.” Does he even know the real extent what happened back then? Sure, he had to recover from it, but he wasn’t completely there , right? “You can stay, yeah.” He gets up from the floor and slides into the chair. “I really thought I’d come up here and wallow in misery or something, but I actually feel… relieved? Like a weight has been lifted.” He frowns again. “But you, um. Don’t?”

“How could I,” Taehyung says. “I feel… so guilty, Jungkook; you probably don’t want to hear about how sorry I am and how much I regret —”

“You’re right. I don’t.” Jungkook extends one of his hands, and Taehyung steps closer, taking it, letting his own be held. “But to some extent I get where you’re coming from. You probably don’t want to hear about how I think you did the right thing.”

“The correct thing. Not the right thing.”

Jungkook sighs, running his warm thumb back and forth across Taehyung's knuckles. “Okay. Here’s another way to think about it. Even if you couldn’t have known at the time, you did well to stay alive so those other five, lovely people could have the opportunity to meet you. Right?”

“Hm.” Lovely people . That’s right, but it’s interesting that Jungkook thinks so too. “I don’t know.” Something good happening, later, doesn’t excuse him from what he did before then.

“You do love them, right?” Jungkook searches his face as if he’s personally invested in the answer and not completely sure what it will be. “And they love you? And they treat you like —” He seems to bite back a comment. “They’re good to you?”

Bright images, recent and distant memories suggest themselves in Taehyung's mind’s eye. Again, he sees the weave of Seokjin's shirt in front of his face, Seokjin's arms surrounding and protecting him, Hoseok right next to him, leaning in. “Yes. They’re so good.”

Jungkook smiles. “I’m glad.” He swings Taehyung's hand gently back and forth. “Well — I can’t fault you if you continue struggling with this. In my opinion, though, it’s in the past. You’re forgiven, you’re absolved, everything.”

Oh , it’s nice to hear that said out loud. It’s meaningful, it’s a rush of gratitude zipping through him, it’s more kindling thrown onto the affection and warmth that are making the room feel less cold. He looks down at their joined hands and it isn’t enough so he lets himself sit perpendicular across Jungkook lap, not overthinking it, ignoring the other’s loud inhale and whatever expression he might be wearing; instead of looking at him, he wraps his arms around Jungkook's shoulders, hiding his face in between. “Thank you.”

He feels Jungkook's nose press into his shoulder, warmth coming and going as he exhales; one of Jungkook's arms comes up to support his back. And then they stay there, sitting like that for a quiet minute. It’s strange — it’s been so long, and even back then, did they ever experience this closeness? — but he pushes the strangeness away. He wants to sit inside this moment without any unnecessary hesitation or self-scrutiny. 

He doesn’t mind when the quiet minute extends itself further, stretching on, but he also doesn’t mind when Jungkook breaks it. 

“Taehyung,” he says, and Taehyung pulls back a little to see his face. “I think I missed you a lot.”

Allowing himself to act boldly, Taehyung frees one hand to cup the side of Jungkook's face, thumb stroking his cheekbone. Jungkook closes his eyes and leans into it. “I missed you. I grieved ,” he admits. 

“I’m sorry.”

“No — here and now, isn’t this what I wanted?” he says quietly. “We vanished from that life and popped up again in another where we can try again.”

Jungkook's eyes blink back open, glittering. Taehyung's hand on his face slides to the back of his neck. “Try again?” 

Taehyung catches himself glancing from Jungkook's pretty eyes and his mouth. “I think you know what I mean.”

“Wait.” Jungkook frowns at him, little lines appearing between his eyebrows, and Taehyung kicks himself for being so forward, and doing it now . Aren’t they a little too emotional? A bit too distressed, a bit too compromised? “Are you sure you still actually… want me?”

Oh, the relief that washes through him then. This is not what Jungkook would say if he wanted Taehyung to back off. Taehyung giggles incredulously. “Why would I not still — wait, don’t answer that question. Oh, but —” he thinks of something. “You know I’m already in love with five other people. Does that bother you?”

Jungkook's mouth opens slightly. Has he not thought about this before? The look that flashes across his face, something a bit dark, says that he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like the idea of sharing. “I’ll be good,” Jungkook promises. “I’ll try not to be bothered.”

“You know,” Taehyung continues, smiling. “You could tell them not to, but some of them might try to pursue you, too. Jimin will, at least; we like doing things together.”

“Oh? You think…” Jungkook is blushing, his face going pink. “He would?”

“Oh, Koo,” Taehyung teases. “Do you like that idea?” Jungkook looks down, shifts in his seat; Taehyung takes hold of his chin, tilts it upwards, and kisses him. 

The angle is strange, and Jungkook is clumsy, inexperienced, but he’s also so eager , and Taehyung is delighted. He pulls back, beaming. Jungkook's eyes are huge; he swallows and wraps both of his hands around Taehyung's waist.

“Please,” Jungkook says. I place my beating heart in your two hands. Please treat me gently and with care ... “Again?”

Yes. Taehyung kisses him again. 

And again. 

The time seems to slip away. He loses track of it, his head swimming, heart soaring and swooping like a free, agile bird. 

He doesn’t think about the past. How closely or not closely this conforms to his dusty old fantasies of what this would be like. He doesn’t think about the future, about how he’ll need to go about explaining this later, and to whom. He’s here , and that’s it. 

They don’t talk. Taehyung has nothing left to discuss. 

His head, eventually, comes to rest on Jungkook's shoulder again. He’s content, he’s satisfied, and he’s exhausted, drifting in and out of awareness without really noticing. A fleeting kiss to his neck (he loves that, he wants more of that), an arm hooking under his knees and lifting him up effortlessly. He’s laid on a soft surface, a cushion that smells like Jungkook under his head. He pouts and holds out his arms, unwilling to let go of the warmth, but all he gets is another pillow pushed against his chest, a soft blanket pulled up to his chin, a hand pushing back his hair. 

Well, it’s not perfect, but it’s good. 

The sounds of the ship all around him, he falls asleep easily.

Chapter Text

Taehyung ascends the stairs, his bare foot pausing on the top step for a minute before disappearing. The drone of the steam engine seems particularly loud in this moment, but, concentrating, Hoseok thinks he can hear their youngest’s footsteps as he crosses the deck. 

It’s unpleasant to know that Taehyung is distressed, is hurting, and yet to not be able to directly watch over him. But this moment is clearly not about Hoseok and his preferences. And he really does think, as Jimin says, standing and stretching, breaking the silence and stillness: “He’ll be fine.”

“Unless Jungkook does something to make it worse.” Yoongi is still fixated critically on the ceiling, as if he expects at any moment to hear a shouting match or a fight break out from above. 

Jimin squints as if this affronts him personally. “Jungkook wouldn’t hurt him.”

“It doesn’t have to be intentional.”

“Well. Yeah, I guess,” Jimin says, and he steps over Namjoon's feet to take up Taehyung's former position on the bench. Hoseok pulls him over a bit more, the closeness making him feel better. “If he comes running back downstairs, we’ll make it better. It’ll be okay.”

“Yeah.” Hoseok mumbles his agreement, firm in his belief that Jimin could resolve nearly any situation if he was permitted to. He looks over to see Seokjin scoot down the bench, closer to the other two, taking Jimin's small hand in his larger one. 

“You look like you’re thinking hard,” Yoongi says, poking Namjoon's shin with his foot. “What’s on your mind?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Namjoon admits. “That was a lot of information. Strange and unexpected information. There’s a lot to fixate on and be concerned about, and I’m just cycling between them all.”

“I know what you mean,” Seokjin says. “I don’t know where to start.” 

Hoseok does know where to start, a single thought presenting itself persistently at the front of his mind. “I wish we’d made Taehyung comfortable enough to share some of this with us earlier. We would have been able to support him better if we knew what was going on with him.”

“I know. I get why he wouldn’t have said anything, but it’s still upsetting.” Jimin leans back into Hoseok far enough that Hoseok can feel his voice vibrating in his chest. “It’s like, he thought we would only like sailor-farmboy Taehyung. And not pirate Taehyung who — according to him, not saying this is correct — was complicit in the murder of his friend.” Jimin lifts himself up emphatically as he says it, then comes slumping back down. Hoseok circles his arms around him to keep him in place. 

“It’s so disturbing,” Seokjin says, introspective. “That both of them had to go through such a thing, and at such a young age. I don’t have a clear picture of what happened, but it was clearly traumatic.”

“This is going to sound wrong, but…” Namjoon seems to be carefully considering his thought. “If Jungkook really grew up among pirates, he’s probably witnessed more than his fair share of awful criminal shit, and likely participated in it too. He might not be this… totally innocent victim figure we would all feel comfortable with him being.” Namjoon sees the somewhat disapproving look Yoongi is giving him and rushes to add: “I’m not saying he deserved whatever happened to him. I just…” He looks a little lost.

“You’re worried about what sort of person he actually is,” Hoseok fills in, and Namjoon nods.

“Yeah.”

Hoseok tries not to get annoyed. Because while Namjoon is correct, his moral judgements can border on  naïve. He’s not innocent per say, but he’s sheltered — he’s gotten into altercations but has never seen a real battle, and he rarely if ever puts his hands on a weapon, and he always always has people around him who care about protecting him — and that’s mainly because they want him to be sheltered. It just leads him to take on a certain judgmental attitude at times. 

“Namjoon,” he says calmly. “You realize Taehyung was there too, right? And that he and Tae were friends? Hasn’t Taehyung proved himself to be a good judge of character?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon agrees. “I’m not doubting him — although I guess, when you’re operating within a given framework, certain things can become normal —”

“Joon. You’re right, but I don’t want to hear any more about this right now,” Yoongi says, and Hoseok agrees. He’s not exactly in the mood to hear his youngest boyfriend’s past mental state get picked apart and analyzed. 

Namjoon hangs his head sheepishly. “Sorry. Yeah. I may ask them for more information later, though. If that’s okay.”

Seokjin reaches a hand down to ruffle his hair. “I think that’s a good idea. We’d all probably appreciate more details and more clarity. Now, does anyone else want to take a nap? I’m exhausted.”

Thirty minutes later, Taehyung still hasn’t reappeared. Hoseok lies on his back on the floor, watching the clear sky through the flimsy window curtain. Yoongi and Jimin doze his left side, intertwined, eight-limbed, octopus-like and peaceful; but Hoseok can’t sleep, isn’t tired. 

He may originate from a place of wealth and security, but it’s both easy and unpleasant to empathize with the story Taehyung told. He can imagine the strong appeal of organized crime as a way to earn money quickly or die trying. It’s reassuring that Taehyung described the pirate ship as ‘not a bad work environment,’ but still — what sort of violence did he witness there? Was Jungkook's the only death of a friend he endured, or were there others? The thought saddens him, and it’s a familiar sadness, a concept too close for comfort.

Taehyung was young, was a boy, was a civilian. He didn’t deserve to accumulate those experiences. (Not that Hoseok deserved it, either. But, still.)

He finds Jungkook's narrative more opaque. Perplexing. Strange. He has never met anyone with an even remotely similar life story, and he struggles to conceptualize what it must have been like. He can only catch glimpses — puzzling ones, troubling ones — in the man who resulted from it. He can only puzzle over Jungkook's lingering admiration for his captor, this universally feared and reviled woman, his defense of her. He can, but chooses not to, guess at how Jungkook acquired all those fucking scars…

Yeah, he’s not falling asleep anytime soon. He groans and pushes himself up, tossing more charcoals into the stove and shrugging on his overcoat before heading upstairs. 

As expected, the door to the bridge is closed. Except for the edges of the canopy flapping in the wind, everything is still and unmoving, including Seokjin, who sits at the deck railing, cross-legged, gazing out into the mountainous blue distance. 

“Hey,” Hoseok says, and Seokjin turns around, greeting him with a small smile. The wind tousles his hair elegantly; he’s so beautiful it’s unfair. Hoseok's heart can only handle so much. “Aren’t you cold?”

Seokjin shrugs, which means he is. Hoseok takes his coat off as he approaches, feeling the cold in his limbs and resigning himself to it, draping the thick fabric over Seokjin's shoulders. “Such a gentleman,” he comments, and Hoseok sits down behind him and wraps himself around Seokjin's broad form. He tilts back his head expectantly and Hoseok obliges, kissing him.

“I thought you said you were tired?”

“A little white lie. I thought we could all use a rest.” Benevolently conniving , Hoseok thinks. I’m in love with him. “Including you, my good sir.”

He sighs, looks towards the bridge’s closed door. “I tried.”

“Are you worried about Taehyung? I checked in on them, actually. He’s sleeping.”

“Good.” He presses his face into Seokjin's back. “And Jungkook?”

“Seemed fine.”

“Hm.” And hopefully he actually is. It’s difficult to tell. “Namjoon can talk himself into worrying about this, but he doesn’t seem… evil , to you, right? He doesn’t seem evil.”

It’s a ridiculous question, and he chastises himself for even asking it. Even though it’s difficult to get Jungkook to let down his guard, there have been a few moments and positive glimpses — like when they crash landed in Moon Hana's field and Jungkook ran around frantically double-checking that everyone was uninjured.

Seokjin exhales a laugh. “Well, no, but it hardly matters if we’re parting ways tomorrow or the day after.”

Parting ways tomorrow? Hoseok supposes it’s a possibility, but the assumption surprises him — somehow he doesn’t believe it’ll work out like that. He doesn’t feel the need to press the issue, however. “Okay. And how are you ?”

“Me? I’m all right, probably feeling the same as you.” 

That’s not exactly the full information Hoseok is looking for. Reaching out with his right hand, he lightly brushes over Seokjin's thigh, feeling the professionally-applied bandages underneath his clothes, so much neater than Hoseok's previous attempts. “And physically, do you feel better?”

“Yeah,” Seokjin breathes. “There’s still pain, it’ll still be a while, but yeah, so much better. Oh, and I wanted to tell you, the doctor said whoever had been helping me before was doing a great job.” He pulls Hoseok's arm back to its place around his waist and holds onto it. “I was already healing, and there was no infection. You did so well, my love.”

Hoseok exhales long and slow, a sigh of relief. He hasn’t relished the responsibility he’s taken on for Seokjin's health, and he recalls the events of that night with abhorrence — the ambush, the escape, the weight of Seokjin on his back as he carried the other to safety, running half-blind down too-dark streets. Fishing the bullet out of him by lamplight in a small, dirty room, all of his tools slick and slippery with Seokjin's blood. Somebody guarding the door, somebody guarding the window, somebody holding Seokjin's hands and talking to him as he faded in and out of consciousness.

“I know it’s early, but I’m thinking about dinner already,” Seokjin says. “If we choose something as ambitious and time consuming as possible, then, well. You know.”

“Right. I want to be distracted,” Hoseok agrees. “I’m in. And maybe we could also grab your real coat from downstairs…” Seokjin snorts and allows Hoseok to help him stand. 

Dicing, mincing, tending the fire, Hoseok draws it out, makes the process last. Two and a half hours manage to pass like that, the others waking and trickling upstairs one by one to help or to keep them company talking about insignificant things. He just can’t help but notice that Taehyung and Jungkook are still missing, so he’s relieved when Jimin finishes eating and volunteers himself at the bridge, and Jungkook pops out of the room in seemingly good spirits, Woori following closely behind and settling at his feet as he joins them around the fire.

“He was pretty exhausted,” Jungkook says of Taehyung and why he hasn’t reappeared yet. “He went through a lot today.”

“He wasn’t too distraught, was he?” Yoongi asks, bending around the fire to hand Jungkook his food. 

“At first.” Hoseok recalls, with a pang, Taehyung's tears and his own inability to stop them. “But we talked through some things, and I think it helped quite a bit.”

“And are you doing okay?” Hoseok tosses the question out there, and Jungkook briefly raises his eyebrows in surprise before schooling his expression.

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “I’m sorry for being so defensive and, I guess, unwilling to have a conversation. I don’t know what I was so afraid of.”

Namjoon speaks up after that comment. “Hey, it’s understandable. We were asking a lot of you. And, well — we don’t regret trying to have the discussion, but I do want to apologize for pushing you so hard for information. I could have been more sensitive about it.” 

It’s comforting to hear the two openly acknowledge the flaws in the earlier interaction. With the way Jungkook left them, some part of their slowly growing trust could have been badly damaged; but here he is sitting and eating with them again as if nothing terrible occurred. And he doesn’t respond to Namjoon's apology.

Namjoon continues. “There’s something else I wanted to talk about, though. Just, this comment you made, earlier, made me… apprehensive.”

Hoseok can’t help but think: are we really doing this now ? Maybe it’s better to get it over with, though, and he does have faith in Namjoon to do it somewhat tactfully. Jungkook nods for him to continue. 

“You said, well, something along the lines of — you expected us to want to know about the, you said, sorts of terrible things you’ve done in the past?”

“Oh.” Jungkook swallows and slowly sets his bowl of food aside. “I don’t blame you for being concerned. But really…” A combativeness reappears in his expression, some sort of cruelly blunt defense mechanism against too-much-vulnerability. “Do you need me to tell you? You should already know what piracy entails.”

Seokjin seems willing to entertain this, which is good; Hoseok would have already given up and stopped asking questions at this point. “Well, all we know about it are the romantic or the cautionary tales, while the real truth is probably somewhere in between, right?”

Jungkook looks at him blankly. Maybe he isn’t aware of the various ways sky pirates are depicted in rumors and in literature. 

“You know. Whoosh. Clink clink, clang, clang.” Seokjin mimics a swordfight with wide motions — Hoseok doesn’t know where he keeps his endless supply of levity and enthusiasm, but he’s just as grateful for it as he thinks this might not be quite the right time for it — and Jungkook blinks at him. “Blam, pow?”

“That’s accurate enough,” Jungkook finally says. “Our side was usually the instigator, so you couldn’t call it self-defense. I always survived, clearly. The other guys sometimes did. Sometimes didn’t. What else is there to say?”

“Guys? What sort of guys?” It’s an odd question, Namjoon's eyes narrowing as he asks it, and Jungkook's nose wrinkles in distaste.

“I dunno, people? Human people? What do you want me to say?”

Oh. Clever. Not that he thinks Jungkook manufactured his response for extra points, but it was the right answer.  Namjoon leans back, nodding.

“I could tell you, ‘oh, I just had to do what I had to do’ — but that would be unfair. People became the victims of my actions, and I had other choices, ones I didn’t exercise.”

In the moment, as it happens, the violence seems inevitable. Only afterwards does he realize: maybe I was supposed to refuse. Maybe I was supposed to run away. Maybe I was supposed to make sure I died. He hasn’t done any of those things, though, and he won’t do them the next time, either. 

Fuck. Jungkook's words might as well have come out of Hoseok's own mouth. He hates it, and he figures he’s not contributing much to the conversation anyway, so he stands, catching Yoongi's understanding gaze. 

It might be wrong to distract himself intentionally from these thoughts, to remove himself from these conversations. Well, add it to the list of sins. 

“It’s a fairly common situation to be in,” Yoongi says. “Possibly more common than you think. I’m not saying that… is a justification, but…”

Hoseok squeezes Namjoon's shoulder lightly as he passes, trying to communicate that: he’s fine, he’s just leaving. 

He lets himself into the bridge, not bothering to knock before entering, not trying to listen to what’s being said outside. Jimin and Taehyung snap their attention towards him from where the two are leaned closely together as if they’re quietly discussing something. Jimin scoots back into the chair, smiling enigmatically, and Taehyung beams, holding out his arms.

“Hoseok!” he says. “I love you. Have you come to keep us company?”

Hoseok laughs, startled by the sudden affection. “Uh, yeah. You don’t want to eat dinner?”

Taehyung shakes his head, making grabbing motions. “Not hungry. Come here.” 

Once within Taehyung's reach, he allows himself to be pulled down into a sitting and then a lying position, half on the surprisingly soft surface and half hanging off of Taehyung's torso. His face is squished into the other’s bicep, but he’s actually quite comfortable, and he thinks his lack of a nap earlier is catching up with him. 

“I’m tired,” he admits.

“It’s still a while until we’ll get there,” he hears Jimin say. “If you’re tired, you should rest. I’ll get you up when we get closer so you can help identify the area.”

He replies in a mumble. “Sounds good.”

Taehyung's arms wrap securely around him, and he falls asleep. 

It’s early in the morning when they arrive at the mountain. The spring is on the south side, and they find a clear place in which to land just a kilometer or so uphill from the spot he has in mind. The surrounding forest is just how Hoseok remembers it — not too dense, sunlight filtering through and allowing thick underbrush to grow, and filled with varied songs of birds. 

He was brought to this spot years ago by the girl he was seeing at the time, a local to the area. She was an officer like him, but their backgrounds were different enough that they often struggled to understand each other. And to be fair, he didn’t really understand himself back then, either.

And look at him now! Walking on the same ground, and accompanied by his six boyfriends this time — 

Wait. Not six. He swivels his head around, double checking. Yes, minus himself, there are five. Plus Jungkook. Did he accidentally count himself, or does his brain really think…

He looks at Jungkook, stumbling cheerily through the tangled undergrowth with Jimin and Taehyung, the three leading the way down the mountainside. 

Yeah, if he’s honest with himself, Jungkook is his type. Objectively handsome but in a cute way, strong but not overbearing, sensitive… Huh. Hm.

“Oh, I can see it!” Jimin yells from the front. They pick up the pace slightly, and Hoseok glances behind to double check that Yoongi and Seokjin are still coming along steadily before breaking into a jog himself — more of a quick trod while watching his step. 

The slope of the mountain levels out and the treeline abruptly stops as the rocky soil underfoot gives way to gravel and flat, lichen-covered stone. The scene pans out before him, the spring-fed stream bubbling down the sheer mountainside, tumbling down a series of little waterfalls, and pooling in the wide, rocky basin for a while before continuing down the slope on the other side. 

“Hoseok!” He turns to see Jungkook already undoing his socks and boots. “It’s not very shallow, right?”

“I don’t think so, but I’m not certain,” he replies. 

“Wow, wow!” Namjoon arrives to stand beside him, and he drinks in the scenery with an awed expression, growing Hoseok's confidence that this really is going to be a nice mental break for everyone, even if they only spend a few hours here. “And there’s nobody here — how is that possible?”

“I think the locals intentionally keep it to themselves. It’s the wrong season for it, too,” Hoseok reasons, but he’s quickly distracted by the smacking sound of bare feet against stone and a big splash in the pond. Where Jungkook once was is now just a pile of clothes, and his head surfaces in the middle of the pool, tendrils of his hair fanning out around him.

Jimin staggers to the side as he giggles, and Taehyung calls out, “How is it?”

“Fucking cold!” Jungkook's voice is strained, but there’s a smile on his face. “You should come in!”

Seokjin and Yoongi make it down to the rocks in time to see Taehyung leap into the depths with a yell, Jimin following a bit more cautiously. Seokjin's shouted warning to them not to make themselves sick gets shrugged off with a laugh. The four who are more reluctant to submerge themselves migrate to the other end of the basin, gathering near the point of the stream’s outflow, dumping all of the laundry out into the water so they can start working on it. 

The sounds of the younger three frolicking near the waterfall carry over to them and provide the backdrop; and Hoseok really doesn’t want to join them, splashing water everywhere and tossing each other around and shrieking like children, but he can’t help but watch them enjoy themselves. It’s refreshing. It’s nice. 

It’s different , at least in the case of Jungkook, who is almost like a completely new person Hoseok is encountering for the first time — someone unrestrained, someone who isn’t overthinking every word and action, someone who’s isn’t afraid of the people he’s socializing with. 

It’s even more gratifying, though, to see Taehyung and Jimin smiling and laughing and having fun. After such a long period of tension and stress, they deserve every second of levity they can get, and Hoseok successfully helped to provide that for them. He hums to himself as he mindlessly scrubs someone’s top in the water.

“This was a good idea.” Yoongi sits down beside him on the ground, cross-legged. “You’re a genius, I think.”

Hoseok laughs. “I know.”

“Your humility astounds me.” Yoongi leans over to kiss him, smiling, but abruptly slips and falls into the shallow water with a little splash. Hoseok yells, surprised, and continues to sputter until Yoongi, clearly unhurt, starts laughing, his shoulders shaking up and down. 

“Are you okay? Sorry about that.”

“You know, it’s not as chilly as I expected.” Yoongi, submerged up to the waist, grabs his hand and steps backwards, tugging. “Join me.”

Hoseok sets the garment he was working on to the side and slips into the pond. Initially, the temperature is shocking — Yoongi laughs at the noises he makes as he adjusts, and Hoseok gives him the kiss he was looking for to shut him up — but then the relative difference in the breeze makes it feel worse to get out than to stay in. 

Needless to say, he finishes the rest of his portion of the washing from the middle of the pool. Only when it’s time to lay all the fabric out to dry does he brace himself, clamber back onto the dry rocks, and face the wind, shivering. But when Namjoon immediately rushes over to offer his own body heat to help, Hoseok has to reject him — if he gets Namjoon wet, too, then they’ll both be freezing and that’ll help nobody. Instead, as it’s nearing midday and the sky is cloudless, he lays himself out on the rocks next to the drying clothes and tries to soak in the sun’s rays. 

It is nice, here, but sooner or later — be it a few hours, a day, two days — they’ll leave this place and continue the exhausting cycle of running from one danger to the next. And as long as they’re still chasing, pursuing the truth, he can deal with it, he can see how the trade-offs balance themselves, but — fuck. Externally, of course, he’ll never let slip a discouraging word about their mission, but as for his personal outlook, he doesn’t see a future where he gets out of this unscathed. Right? 

But that’s what he signed up for. 

Ah, this is what happens when he lets his mind run away from him. It’s quiet. He turns his head, checking that everyone’s still nearby. Down by the waterfall, Taehyung and Jungkook are giving Jimin's words their total attention as he addresses them from a ledge over the water. Cute.  

(It strikes him then that, just because he realized Jungkook's viability as maybe more than a friend only an hour ago, it doesn’t mean those two were as slow on the uptake, and just because he isn’t ready to take any initiative on that, it doesn’t mean they haven’t… 

No, no, that’s unrealistic. They haven’t had the time, right? And wouldn’t they have said something? But maybe… with the way they’re standing so unnecessarily close…) 

Whatever. He turns his head the other way. 

Namjoon is still immersed in the task of slowly and meticulously cleaning his shoes. Seokjin and Yoongi, a few more meters away, are having their own discussion. Maybe they’re planning lunch — that would be nice… 

“-Seok?”

Blinking awake, he sees Jimin hovering over him. Ah. He fell asleep. “Mm?”

“Can I wash your hair?”

His back hurts from sleeping on the rock; he lazily holds out a hand for Jimin to help him into a sitting position, and the other obliges. Looking around blearily, rubbing his eyes, he sees Seokjin and Namjoon rearranging the drying laundry on the rocks, folding some items and flipping others over. No one else is around, though.

“Where…”

“Yoongi went to grab some food,” Jimin explains, pulling Hoseok to his feet. “The others, they’re around here somewhere. Exploring or something.”

Hoseok allows himself to be led back to the edge of the pond. He’s unwilling to get totally submerged again, so Jimin has him lie on his back again and dangle his head over the water, giggling at the view of him upside down. 

Jimin, even from this strange angle, is so beautiful. He looks down at Hoseok with such care… He seems happy. He seems like he’s glowing. 

“You’re pretty,” Hoseok mumbles, and Jimin giggles again. 

“ You’re pretty.”

Hoseok doesn’t respond to that, but he can feel himself blushing. Jimin, devious, kisses the tip of his nose. 

(Seriously. What has he done to deserve these people?)

Jimin's hands tangled in his hair, Jimin's fingers gently massaging his scalp, are magical, remove all thoughts from his head and replace them with pink and purple clouds. 

It wasn’t simple, habituating himself to these meaningful, intimate gestures; it didn’t happen overnight for him. For Yoongi and Jimin too, he knows, there was a time when small, unselfish acts of love were something basically new. And now? He can’t imagine not having anyone from whom to receive or to whom to give little pieces of himself in this way.

The day is a success. They linger by the pond until the early evening, at which point they’re forced back to the ship so they can avoid stumbling through the underbrush in the dark.

It’s only a few hours to Pyongsan; over dinner they decide to sleep early and get going at the crack of dawn. 

Hoseok isn’t present when it’s negotiated, but somehow Seokjin and Yoongi end up sleeping in the bridge, where it’s arguably most comfortable, and that gives Hoseok the opportunity to monopolize the lightly padded bench. Namjoon, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook, in that order, array themselves side by side across the floor, perpendicular to the stove and its heat. 

(He can’t help but notice that it’s the first time Jungkook's allowed himself to fall asleep in the same room as them — not that it’s strange to have him here, but it makes him wonder whether Jungkook's level of trust in them has grown.)

He’s woken up in the morning by Jimin flopping onto his chest, complaining about the cold. And it is a bit frigid in the room — he turns his head to check that Jimin added charcoal to the stove before coming to seek another source of warmth. The scene on the floor is still peaceful, Namjoon with his limbs sprawled out everywhere but a blanket still covering him (possibly Jimin's handiwork again) and half of Taehyung wrapped around Jungkook (who looks very young, younger than usual) like the latter is his personal cushion. Woori is curled up by their heads. 

That’s sweet. He hopes Jungkook is okay with that.

They take off from the spot on the mountain an hour or so later. He knows it was inevitable but he’s still sad to leave the place behind, to watch it fall away behind them, so he heads downstairs to where Seokjin and Namjoon are sorting through documents, picking out the ones most relevant to their mission in Pyongsan. 

“Are you going to start packing up?” Seokjin asks him. “Most of our stuff is still in the bags from yesterday; I don’t think there’s too much work to be done.”

He blinks. Right, they’re planning on leaving — at least, they haven’t discussed any plans that involve doing otherwise. He doesn’t know why that reminder surprises him, but now that he thinks about it — he feels so much more comfortable on this ship than he has in any of the other places they’ve stayed recently. It’ll be a shame to leave that behind, if that’s what they end up doing. 

“Yeah,” he finally says. “I’ll get to work on that.”

When Yoongi comes downstairs a bit later, he jumps in and starts helping without being prompted, grabbing the medical supplies from the water closet and packing them up neatly, double-checking that their small supply of ammunition is still stored properly and safely. Jimin and Taehyung, on the other hand, arriving to see them hauling all the bags into the front room, don’t have the same reaction. 

“Fuck,” Taehyung curses, pausing and then quickly descending the rest of the way. “We’re leaving?”

“We don’t know. We have to be ready to, if we are,” Seokjin says, glancing up at him.

Hoseok wipes his hands on his pant leg. “Is that an issue, Tae?”

“No! No, whatever needs to happen should happen,” he says as Jimin pulls him over to sit on the floor near the center of the room. “But, uh, there’s something I should probably tell you about.”

“Go ahead.” Seokjin taps his documents into an orderly sheaf and sets them aside, giving Taehyung his full attention. 

“So… I haven’t been totally transparent about the nature of my relationship with —”

“I knew it!” Hoseok blurts out, not really meaning to say it that loudly. “Sorry — I mean, wait, were you and Jungkook dating before? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Not quite. We wanted to, but the situation…” Taehyung makes a face, and Hoseok thinks he understands what it means. “So, um, we decided we would try something out. I...” Jimin's arm is wrapped around him, protective; Hoseok wouldn’t be surprised if Jimin somehow already knew all of this. “Honestly, I like him a lot.”

A bit of silence follows as they take this in. It’s not a totally new situation — occasionally one of them will take a fancy to someone outside of their little in-group, but usually nothing comes of it. 

This strikes Hoseok as somewhat more serious, though.

“So when — I guess I mean if — we part ways later today…” Hoseok can’t see Namjoon's face, but he can hear the uncertainty in his tone, see the slight hunch in his shoulders. “You’re going to stick with us, right? Or…”

Hoseok suppresses a gasp, surprised. It’s a good question, actually — if Taehyung has this long-term, epic, requited love story newly in his grasp, is he still going to be interested in —

But Taehyung leaps back to his feet, his eyes huge. “Yes! Joon, yes, I didn’t mean for you to think I would consider —” He practically flings himself between where Seokjin and Namjoon are sitting, grabbing onto the both of them. “ You are the ones I’m in love with. This is the mission I’m committed to. Jungkook and I, we’re just testing the waters — and if we have to put that on hold until the next time we run into each other, then that’s what we’ll do. It’s okay.”

Namjoon exhales, untensing, and rests his head on Taehyung's shoulder. 

“And don’t feel sorry for asking. It was a valid question,” Taehyung adds.

Something about what Taehyung said still strikes Hoseok as slightly… wrong. It’s the image of Jungkook after a long period of alone-ness very suddenly confronted with, gifted with, both new acquaintances and someone clearly quite dear to him; then building up this trust, building something of a plan for the future, and just as suddenly getting it all ripped away from him. He knows it isn’t any of his business, but he doesn’t like the thought of leaving Jungkook to be alone again. 

“Do you think Jungkook is on the same page about this?” he has to ask. “Have you spoken with him about it?” He catches Yoongi's eye across the room as the other nods, seconding the question. 

“Um. I haven’t said anything specifically,” Taehyung admits. “I probably should.”

Seokjin reaches up to tousle Taehyung's hair. “I’m happy for you, darling, and I think I speak for all of us. It seems like this is something that’s important to you.”

Hoseok can barely hear Taehyung's response, it’s whispered so quietly. “Yeah. Thank you.”

“Okay, here’s kind of a related question,” Jimin says. “Do we give Jungkook the option of coming with us? It’s just that, his cover was kind of blown on Hana's farm, and we were partially responsible for that… I guess I just wanted to put the possibility out there and gauge our feelings on it. In case it comes up.” He waits a moment, then sighs when no one immediately speaks. “Personally, I think we should extend the offer. It just seems like the right thing to do.”

Hoseok jumps in next. “I know. I would feel terrible just leaving him alone again to deal with this himself.”

“It wouldn’t need to be a permanent thing,” Yoongi points out. “Obviously he can go wherever he wants, but yeah, we could help him get these people off his trail, at least.”

It wouldn’t need to be permanent . That’s true. But what if it was permanent? Hoseok finds it startlingly easy, and not at all unpleasant, to imagine. 

When they start traveling with someone, it tends to stick. That’s what happened with Jimin, after all, and with Taehyung not long after. 

“It just introduces some new amount of risk for us. That’s the only thing that gives me pause,” Namjoon says. “The sort of people who might be out to get him… honestly, I’m afraid of what they could do to us.”

Seokjin laughs. “If I hadn’t just gotten shot by government agents, I would totally agree. People are already trying to kill us everywhere we go, you know.”

“Yeah, okay, you’re right,” Namjoon agrees, although he doesn’t laugh along. “And for the record, it’s not — I don’t have any hesitation about him , personally. He’s fine, he’s nice , I just…”

“We have to have our priorities straight. I know,” Taehyung says softly. 

There’s a lull in the conversation. It feels like the situation is resolved, so Hoseok and Yoongi finish the packing with Jimin's help, the three heading upstairs after they’re done.

It’s obvious that they’ve arrived at the farthest reaches of Pyongsan. The scenery is striking — Jimin takes one look, makes a face, and disappears back down the stairs, but Hoseok and Yoongi wander over to the deck railings to get a better look at what’s below. 

Had Hoseok never seen a modern coal mine from above, he would think he had been transported to the moon. There’s a treeline still visible in the direction they came from, but otherwise all of the vegetation is gone from the immediate area, the red-brown-grey earth covered instead with mounds of removed material, with railcar tracks, with eye-like holes and mouth-like ravines surrounded by barbed wire, with impressions of treads left by vehicles that have crawled over the rocky soil.

The spot below them isn’t actively being mined today — good for the two of them, or they’d be choking on fumes. To the south, though, where a dark haze distorts the air, his naked eyes can just glimpse the work in progress, the huge, grotesque excavation machines creeping around the artificial valley they’ve created, and the little loaded train cars like beetles inching forward, headed towards the city.

It must be at least five kilometers from here, but he can hear, faintly, the ruckus being made. 

Yoongi points to the southeast. “Do you see that?”

“See what?”

“There’s a little white… it looks like another balloon. Hold on, wait here.”

Yoongi wanders off to the bridge, and Hoseok squints, shading his eyes, searching. And, yeah, he sees it. A balloon, that’s certain, one that blends into the clouds almost like it’s intentional. It’s small, but he’s not sure that’s because it’s far away — the airship’s gondola is curiously well-defined in the polluted air, its propellers unusually large in proportion. 

Yoongi returns with Jungkook in tow and a pair of binoculars in hand. “I see it,” Hoseok says. “It looks like a small craft.”

A pause while Yoongi looks through the lenses and Jungkook squints, gripping the railing. “Yeah. I… It’s open air, with one pilot. Moving fast.”

“Where’s it going?” Jungkook demands.

Yoongi purses his lips. “Coming this way.”

A one-man vehicle would have quite a short range, so he asks, “Do you think it’s working for the mine?”

“I don’t see where else it could have come from.”

Yoongi allows Jungkook to take the binoculars from him, but with how fast the little dirigible is headed towards them, the magnification isn’t really necessary. “Then why don’t they identify themselves?” Jungkook asks. 

“It’s probably nothing,” Hoseok offers. Because what are the odds this little vehicle is interested in them? “They have to be fuel-conscious, so my guess is, we’re just in their straight-line path.”

“Yeah, that’s a nice thought. Maybe,” Jungkook grumbles, and he hands the binoculars back to Yoongi before turning and briskly walking towards the bridge. 

“I don’t see what we can do.” Hoseok snags the glasses to scan around the rest of the landscape. Yoongi sighs. 

“I know. We’re slow, we aren’t as agile…” Yoongi trails off as Jungkook returns, this time with his rifle. Ah. Hoseok feels ironically more helpless now that it’s leaning against the railing, the sorry state of their artillery right in front of his face. “You think it’ll come to that?”

“I don’t know. Doesn’t it seem like they’re doing reconnaissance on us? I’m sure they have telegraph lines for sending messages around the mine —” 

“And if they were trying to just get from one place to another, they’d use their railroad network,” Hoseok reasons, following the train of thought. “That would probably be way faster.”

“I’ve seen this type of vehicle before,” Jungkook continues, pointing up at it — its elevation seems to increase as it gets closer, which is likely a consequence of the perspective. “I’m sure it could take off from the ground, but I’ve only encountered them launching from other, larger airships.”

The one-man dirigible changes its trajectory so that it won’t pass directly overhead, veering to the fore. The noise is enough to draw the others, sans Seokjin, out from the lower deck, and they all look up as it makes yet another turn, Jungkook shading his face with his hand, peering through his fingers. 

It’s unmistakable. Albeit with a wide radius, the thing is circling them. 

“A larger airship? Do you think that might be….” Yoongi points, Hoseok placing the binoculars in his hands so he can examine it more closely. The thing above them completes its first circuit and enters a second, this one seeming lower and closer — maybe it’s his imagination, or maybe the pilot has gained confidence from their lack of built-in armament. “There’s something out there. Pretty far, but it looks large… could’ve been carrying the little one.”

“Taehyung, would you be okay with manning the bridge?” Jungkook quietly asks.

Taehyung is already going. “I’ll wait for instructions. Just let me know.”

Yoongi hands the binoculars back to him, and Hoseok gazes through them, spotting the other ship easily now that he knows where to look. It’s a big, ugly thing, all sorts of compartments and balconies and sails hanging off the hull, balloons clustered like frog eggs under a vast net, and cannons — rows upon bristling rows of them. It’s flying a funny-looking pennant Hoseok doesn’t recognize and a string of signal flags he can’t read. 

“Huh,” he says. “Wouldn’t want to get in a fight with that thing.”

“Can I see?”

“Sorry.” 

Jungkook is frowning as Hoseok hands him the lenses. Tense. He chews on his lower lip as he raises the glasses to his face, and after a moment of searching he stills — freezes, more like — and exhales. “Fuck .”

Hoseok blinks, the miniature ship continuing its circle above them and a cold worry settling over him. 

Is it bad news? Is it serious? He doesn’t ask the questions aloud, just stands. Watches. Jungkook's mouth hangs slightly open, stock-still until he swallows and says in a strangled voice, “ No. I know them, they —” 

He cuts himself off, shuddering as if he’s just touched something with a disgusting texture. 

“What should we do?” Yoongi asks, but no one offers up any suggestions. Jungkook hunches over slightly, and Hoseok rescues the binoculars from his clammy, trembling hands. This isn’t right, but Hoseok doesn’t know how he can fix it. Concerned, Jimin leans forward and places a hand on Jungkook's shoulder that he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Sorry, I think I’m —” 

Before he can fully explain, Jungkook takes off towards the aft end of the ship at a stumbling run. Jimin immediately chases after him, but again, Hoseok just watches, confused, biting his tongue. At the edge of the deck, Jungkook collapses onto his knees, leans under the railing, and vomits over the side. Oh.

Namjoon makes a worried noise and jogs towards him, and Hoseok takes a deep breath, attempting to regain his self-composure after the unexpected wave of anger that crashes into him.

“I don’t want us coming any closer to that thing,” he says, and it comes out bitterly. 

“We can outrun them, I think,” says Yoongi. “They probably wouldn’t even try. But we aren’t faster than, you know.” He points upwards, where the single-pilot craft, evidently satisfied with whatever it’s seen, is trying to leave, gaining altitude, swerving back and forth as it goes to avoid getting gunned down. 

Good idea. He reaches around Yoongi to pick up the rifle. It’s already loaded. 

“Sure about this?”

No, he isn’t. He imagines what happens if the pilot, armed with something automatic, turns around and fires on them, rips their balloons to shreds. The crash would kill them. “Yeah. Do you trust me?”

“I do.”

That’s all he really needs. Hoseok takes the shot.

Either he hits the balloon, or the pilot wants him to think that he did and is intentionally losing altitude. It’s a gentle decline. They won’t be able to quickly return to the mothership, but a fall like this will be easily survivable.

“Good. Good one.” Yoongi sounds relieved. “Yeah, that’ll do it. I’ll tell Tae the direction we need to go.”

He watches Yoongi disappear into the bridge, then turns back towards the other end. Jungkook still hasn’t gotten up, Jimin and Namjoon crowded around where he’s slumped on the deck. 

The gun is warm in his hands. Hoseok fires again.

Chapter Text

They found him. They found him. 

Not them , no, but close enough. Any pirate of Yiseul's generation is close enough.

I SEE YOU. That’s what the signal flags spelled out. The part of him that knows the warning might not be intended for him specifically, is probably a goofy, generic message, isn’t present currently. They’re out to get him. Yiseul's friend is on that ship and he wants Jungkook dead.

Or — no, the old captain of that ship, Yiseul's ally, what happened to him? Even though nothing exists of himself now besides his racing thoughts, it’s difficult to string a coherent one together. Scattered. Right, right, that captain died. Jungkook killed him. He remembers now. The captain went behind Yiseul's back, collaborated with her real enemies, betrayed her and thought he could get away with it (Her old friends were always doing things like this. That was why she needed Jungkook so badly.) and Yiseul decided to force the issue. 

Well. She sent him in to force the issue. That was the way it worked back then — Yiseul described the plan and he carried it out, down to the last detail, without fail. Her actuation. Her perfect machine. 

That was then. She’s dead, now, and he must be dying, too. About time . No, he doesn't mean that. But it feels like he might be, maybe. Feels like he’s getting crushed under the dead weight of a beached whale, stuck in the rough space beneath its body where there’s neither light nor air, where he can gasp and gasp all he wants and all he’ll get is a mouthful of sand.

It hurts, and it’s confusing, but he can feel his awareness expanding slightly, can feel the presence of two arms, a chest. He can’t see — it’s just a blur of colors without shapes. He’s being lifted into the air, no, no! , he can’t get tossed overboard. He clings onto the shoulders of whoever’s carrying him and holds his breath — he’s not going to get lucky again. He’ll die this time. 

The man carrying him says something he doesn’t understand, felt as a vibration more than as a sound. He hides his face, waiting for the struggle, the fall, but then they’re moving down a set of stairs. He knows these stairs. He knows where they are.

He gasps for air. He knows where he is and he knows who is carrying him and he knows what’s going on. He knows he’s safe, not in any immediate danger despite the threat of the distant other pirate ship, but that knowledge was apparently not enough to prevent him from freaking out, losing his head, spiraling. Not enough to prevent him from becoming a problem for everybody else. 

He squeezes his eyes tightly shut, not ready to bear witness to his own vulnerability, like he can still pretend this situation isn’t humiliating. 

At the bottom of the stairs, Namjoon sets him down onto the warm floor next to the stove. He feels rather than sees Jimin's presence behind him, arms holding his waist, another source of warmth he doesn’t bother pushing away. 

He doesn’t think he can stop himself from crying just yet, so he tucks his head between his knees and allows his body to do what it wants. Jimin leans down, mumbles what are surely sweet and reassuring words near his ear but he tunes them out, doesn’t want to listen. He doesn’t want to be comforted. He's not supposed to need that; he’s supposed to — 

“ Stop sniveling,” she mutters. “This is unnecessary.”

“I can’t,” he cries, looking through his fingers at the beautiful rug covering her office floor, the floor where he kneels at her feet. “I’m sorry, I can’t do it. Please, ma’am.” He feels so small, so small in that pivotal moment, can’t imagine that any of the marksmanship, agility, or strength that has been trained into his almost-sixteen-years-old frame will be any help against the adults on the other side who aren’t going to show him any mercy. He repeats himself. “I’m not ready. I can’t. Please.”

She exhales, her knees cracking as she lowers herself closer to him, and he freezes, afraid for a moment of her reaction, unsure whether he’ll be consoled or punished. “You’re only afraid because you haven’t done this before. You don’t know what to expect,” she explains. “But I do know what it’s like, and I know that you’re ready for this. Don’t you trust me?”

A handkerchief appears in front of his face, and he takes it, dabbing at his eyes, taking deep, jagged breaths. 

“We’ve been working towards this for eight years now, little one,” she continues. “Do you really think I would send you out to do the work before I knew you were ready for it? Would I throw away all of that time so carelessly?”

He has no argument, and knowing this, he collects himself and walks out to confront his fate.

She’s right. He doesn’t die, fights well — excels, even. And the violent pattern of his existence is sealed. No more ‘sniveling’ about it.

Years later, she tells him that she wasn’t actually so certain he’d come back to her that day; but that his survival would prove in and of itself whether he deserved to live — 

Disgusting. He’s disgusted — why would she say that to him? — and the shudder that runs through him serves to pull him firmly back into himself.

“-Kook Jungkook?” Sitting in front of him, Namjoon loosely holds both of his hands. “Are you here?”

He nods, retracting his hands and using them to wipe the wetness from his face. He can see clearly now, the surroundings no longer a blur even though the sunlight exacerbates the throbbing pain behind his forehead. Namjoon remains still, but behind him, Seokjin bustles around, simultaneously aimless and purposeful, returning once to drape the thickest and nicest blanket around Jungkook's shoulders, returning a second time with water in a small bowl. He takes it when it’s offered to him, wrapping both still-quivering hands around it to remain steady, still spilling a bit on himself but feeling his head clearing further as he drinks.

“How do you feel?” Namjoon asks.

He considers lying and finds he doesn’t want to.

He considers apologizing and imagines the response, the others trying to explain to him that he has nothing to be sorry for, doing even more emotional labor on his behalf — that’s not what he wants, either. 

“Tired,” he admits, studying the pottery in his hands. “Grateful. You’ve been so kind to me. Thank you.” Behind him, Jimin hums and hugs him tightly over the blanket. It feels nice.

Namjoon takes the bowl away, passing it back to Seokjin, and places a hand on Jungkook's knee. “I know we just got up a while ago, but I would really like you to rest, if you think you can.” 

That sounds nice, but before he went and made a nuisance of himself, weren’t they just in the middle of doing something important? Landing in Pyongsan? Running away from a pirate ship and its scout? He looks up towards the top of the stairs. “But I need to help…”

“I think they’ll be able to handle it. They just have to decide where to land and then do it, right? But is there any information you want me to pass along to them?”

He blinks. Maybe Namjoon is right. Taehyung knows how to land the ship, and he trusts that the others can choose an acceptable place to do so. Jungkook isn’t actually needed right now, then. “Only to stay away from the big airship they saw. I’m sure they already figured that one out, though.”

“All right.” Namjoon smiles. “If you go ahead and lie down, I’ll double check that they’re doing okay up there.”

Lie down. He wants to lie down, but he doesn’t really want to move, so he flops onto his side where he is, taking the blanket he was given and pulling it most of the way over his head. He hears Namjoon walking up the stairs, Seokjin roaming around the room, and Jimin lying down next to him — close, but not quite touching him. 

“Jungkook,” Jimin says in a near-whisper. “What was that ship?”

“Mm. Pirates,” he mutters, feeling a little ridiculous having a conversation in this state. 

“How could you tell?”

“Flags. And I’ve met them before.”

“Oh. I see.” 

An arm is tossed lightly across his back. It seems like Jimin is curious, but doesn’t want to press too hard, doesn’t want to upset him again. Jungkook appreciates that. Even if he were to explain his prior involvement with that crew, it wouldn’t help much to explain his overreaction, which he suspects wasn’t caused so much by that ship in particular, but rather by the mere sight of pirates in their natural habitat after such a long period of physical and mental avoidance. 

Embarrassing, to break down like that. He desperately hopes it isn’t going to happen again, but he supposes that at least this way the other six aren’t suffering under any illusions about his indestructibility. 

He passes out and sleeps through the landing process, waking up to Woori pawing at his still-covered head as if warning him of how stuffy the air has become. The ghost is satisfied when he pulls the blanket away from his face, licking him once before drifting away, leaving Jungkook, disoriented, to peer around the room.

It’s dark — someone has drawn the curtains and closed the ceiling hatch. Even in the dim light, he can tell that the room is unusually bare, all of the six passengers’ belongings removed and everything else tidied up. Jimin is gone, too, and the only indication that they haven’t left and abandoned him completely is Seokjin sitting slouched on the bench, head resting in his hand.

Why is it intimidating, being alone in a room with him? He feels shy, like he’s trying to win Seokjin's approval, worried that he’s going to say the wrong thing. Clearing his throat, he goes for something simple. 

“Seokjin?”

The other’s head turns towards him, a pleasant expression on his face that doesn’t look completely authentic. “Oh, Jungkook, you’re awake!” He thinks Seokjin definitely already saw him moving, but, pretending otherwise, maintains an illusion of privacy. “How are you feeling?”

He thinks about it for a second. He still feels funny — jittery and weary simultaneously — but it’s nothing he can’t handle. “I’m okay.”

“Good, I’m glad.” Seokjin gestures around. “We made it to Pyongsan. Jimin and Taehyung are out finalizing the delivery of the cargo.”

“Oh.” He’d forgotten about the cargo. It’ll be nice to have a bit of income, though. 

And he won’t ask about if or how they managed to get away from the pirates; he’ll just assume it all worked out. He doesn’t want to think about that anymore.

“I’m going to get the others.” Seokjin gets up from the bench, limping, and Jungkook raises himself on one elbow. 

“Wait, I can —”

“No, it’s okay. Just wait here.” He says it sternly enough that Jungkook doesn’t try to protest again. 

After Seokjin leaves, he pushes himself fully into a sitting position; his vision swims for a minute, ears ringing, and he falls back to lean against the wall, grateful he didn’t have to try navigating the stairs. 

Seokjin doesn’t return, the other three coming down without him. Jungkook thinks he must look pathetic like this, tries to fix his posture a bit as they approach, carefully examining their expressions for any trace of undue judgement or harsh disdain. Of course finding none. They’re good people; they’re not going to suddenly start hating him now. 

“You’re feeling better?” They arrange themselves on the floor, Namjoon and Yoongi in front of him and Hoseok to the side. 

He has to tamp down his irrational annoyance at Namjoon's well-meaning question, nodding even though he thinks the answer is obvious. 

Namjoon smiles, Yoongi absentmindedly leaning against his shoulder. “Well, we wanted to talk with you about some things. I hope you don’t mind, but it’s logistically important.”

He tries not to let those words intimidate him — they seem to have been having a lot of tricky conversations lately — but he must look scared, because Hoseok snorts and knocks Namjoon with his elbow. “Just get into it. You’re making it sound worse than it is.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Sheepish, Namjoon scratches the back of his head. “We actually wanted to start off by apologizing.”

Jungkook looks down at his hands, gnaws on his lower lip, holds his tongue. 

“We know you’ve been carefully living in hiding, and yet back on the farm… well. The fact of the matter is, someone knows you’re alive now, and they know what your ship looks like; and, yeah, it was a coincidence, but you wouldn’t have been in that situation if it weren’t for us. We can’t help but feel some burden of responsibility for that,” Namjoon concludes. 

He can’t argue with any of that; and it’s more of a sympathetic comment than an actual apology, so he doesn’t know what to say in response. 

He thinks he’s been avoiding the truth of his new situation — that his ship is no longer the safe place he’s relied on for so many months, that he can’t just hide inside of it and expect not to be bothered, not to be hurt — and being confronted with that reality, he feels his earlier panic creeping back towards him. Tucking his face behind his closed fists, he tries to control his breathing. 

“Jungkook?” Yoongi's voice. 

“Go on.”

“We respect whatever decision you want to make, but — we’ve already talked about this, and we all agreed — we wanted to offer you the option of joining our team,” Namjoon says.  

He looks back up, searching for a sign that this is some sort of joke. “You’re seriously offering…” They’d really be willing to drag him, his problems, and his reputation with them around the peninsula?

“We’re seriously offering,” Yoongi confirms. “We realize it would be a big change, and a leap of faith on your part, but you would have the option of backing out at any time. We wouldn’t make you commit fully — not right away.”

Hoseok jumps in to clarify further. “And we’re not doing this because we feel guilty or something like that. We actually think it’s a good idea.”

Hoseok is smiling. He’s telling the truth. “I… but why?”

“Why are we willing to take you onboard?” Yeah. Jungkook nods. “Well, you’ve already been looking out for our best interest so diligently while we’ve been here,” Namjoon muses. “We thought we could continue that. We want to reciprocate.”

“Oh, Joon, well said!” Hoseok swats Namjoon's knee, the other making a face. 

They’ve already done more than enough, he thinks. What have they gained from him, anyway? A ride from point A to point B? And in exchange, they’ve kept him well-fed, kept him company, helped him fix the ship and fly it; they’ve accepted him even knowing his personal history; they’ve given him a second chance at something important to him.

And now they want to, or at least are willing to, adopt him into their tight-knit company? Even though he doesn’t really bring any new skills to the table, and even though he has an abundance of enemies?

“That’s really generous,” he finally says. “I need to think about the options, though, before I decide anything.”

“All right.” Yoongi stands again, using Namjoon's shoulder as leverage. “I would say to take all the time you need, but realistically, we don’t want to stay here much longer. We have until the cargo gets sorted out, at least, and maybe a bit longer than that.”

Right. This is his chance. 

As he watches the three disperse, giving him space to think about this, he realizes that he may need to allow himself to make his decision selfishly. Pursuing the best result for himself, trusting that the others mean what they say, and not assuming he can determine what will be best for anyone else — he thinks that will be the best and most realistic way to go about it. 

He lies down again, this time facing the wall. He knows what he wants — he wants to go back to the way things were a few days ago, when this ship was the safest place for him to be and there was no question about it — but he can’t have that. 

He can stay, if he wants. Take his chances on his own, find a way to continue living his life as he did previously. Sell his ship and buy another one, or maybe leave the country, or both. Keep hauling cargo between towns until the wrong people find him or he dies of other causes. At least he might have Woori by his side.

Woori. He doesn’t think he can leave Woori. The six passengers have done nice things for him, sure, but he owes Woori his life.

He pulls his knees closer to his chest. 

It’s a bad sign, to be followed around by an unfamiliar ghost. Bad luck, bad things to come. 

But Jungkook can’t imagine what bad luck would look like for him right now. Aimlessly wandering the countryside and still slowly recovering from his injuries, he can’t even imagine where he’s going to obtain his next meal.

And maybe he’s projecting, but he thinks this ghost of a dog that has suddenly taken an interest in him is just looking for some company.

That night, he doesn’t have the stamina to scamper around in the field with them, but the ghost seems to bask in the amount of attention and affection he is able to provide. And when he wakes up in the morning with the dog snoozing next to him like they belong there, he feels more hopeful than he has in many months. 

He doesn’t have any knowledge of the area, honestly doesn’t even remember which direction he came from. So when the dog sets off with confidence and intention, looking behind themselves to check whether Jungkook is following, Jungkook follows. 

Slowly wandering deeper and deeper into a thickly forested area, he has to laugh at himself. Isn’t he walking into the trap? Willingly following the spirit towards whatever demise they have planned for him? Honestly, though, if he’s getting beguiled, that’s okay. At least this is interesting. At least his final day was spent happily. 

But it isn’t his final day. Because sometime in the early afternoon, they arrive at a ship. 

The ship appears abandoned — a little decrepit, like it’s been sitting here for a while, like the forest has had a chance to creep inside. Broken windows. Little plants springing up in the channels dug in the dirt by its crash landing. 

He walks from the aft to the fore, searching for signs of life. There are two doors set into the forward hull section, and one of them is open. 

He thinks the dog wants him to go in, so he climbs through the threshold. A nasty smell, an empty room, and another door left ajar. In the next room, the dog barks and runs in circles around two shapes in the middle of the floor. It’s easy enough to tell what they are without getting very close, but he keeps walking forward until they seem satisfied. 

The first body is obviously the same dog as this one, so he maintains a straight face to show the ghost that he doesn’t think their death is anything disgusting or shameful. Both the dog and the man clearly met a violent end — there are bloodstains all over the floor, there are signs of a struggle — but the violent end was also not terribly recent. Whoever did this has probably moved on by now. 

He uses what feels like the rest of his strength to give the two as proper of a burial as possible. Only then does he feel comfortable walking around the rest of the airship, breaking into the preserved food, surveying the damage, finding himself checking what is and isn’t broken and imagining what could be easily repaired.

(Would it be wrong of him to claim this ship as his own? Would it be wrong of him to pass up this opportunity to save himself?)

His fear is that if he strays too far, Woori won’t come with him. That this ship is the only home Woori has ever known and ever wants to know. He’s afraid of being all alone again without having at least the dog to keep him stable.

He doesn’t have to be alone, though. That’s the thing. 

Fuck, this is hard. He wishes he had more time. He wishes he could go back and relive the past week or so through the lens of this decision. At the time, he never would have thought — 

He jolts at the sudden, loud thunking sounds from somewhere behind him, accompanied by voices. Obviously the noise of the cargo being moved, but that’s not the first conclusion his mind jumps to. The door to the fore compartment opens and closes again. 

“Run into any problems?” Hoseok asks. 

“Well, they deducted a percentage of the payment since we were a day late. That’s all, though.”

Oh. Taehyung. He’s very attached to Taehyung. 

He rolls over to face the room, pushes himself up to sit with his legs under him.

“Koo, you’re awake!”

He blinks and in a flash Taehyung has flown across the room, has come to kneel in front of where he’s sitting, has gathered Jungkook into his arms. He leans his head against Taehyung's lower chest, feeling the bottom of his ribcage against his ear, and wraps both arms around his waist. Only then does he recall that they aren’t actually alone — but he supposes that if Taehyung is okay with this, then he can be too. He closes his eyes.

“I was worried about you.”

Jungkook wrinkles his nose, pushing away the guilt that tries to manifest in response to that. “Oh.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean that in a bad way.”

“I know.”

Taehyung takes hold of his head as if wanting to tilt it back and see his face, but he doesn’t want to be looked at, presses even closer, hides. 

“Did someone already talk to you about —”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“And I’m scared.” He exhales harshly. “What else is new.”

“I probably shouldn’t say this, but please come with us. Please.” Why not say it, though? Why not self-advocate? Jungkook respects that. “That’s how I feel about it and I want you to know.”

“You’re not worried about the dangers of having me around?”

“Of course we’re worried. We don’t want anything to happen to one of us or to you.” His hands fidget with Jungkook's hair. “But we talked about it, and I think Seokjin was the one who said, people are already trying to kill us wherever we go...”

Seokjin? 

Seokjin said that? Cautious, protective, wise Seokjin?

“Okay,” he decides, the certainty settling on him heavily. “I’m coming with you.”

People are already trying to kill us wherever we go . Seokjin was shot , for heavens’ sake. How did that happen? What if — 

Don’t flatter yourself; what difference is the seventh guy going to make? But, no, it’s a valid question. What if Jungkook was there? Namjoon and Seokjin are supposed to be protected by the others in the entourage, right? Something about that arrangement is obviously not sufficient.

Jungkook can and will help with that. He’ll owe it to them to do so.

He’ll just have to make it so that the value he brings is greater than the disadvantage. Then he won’t be able to question whether he made the right choice. 

Taehyung runs around the ship telling everyone his decision (they seem pleased with it, which is reassuring); and at that point, there’s no second-guessing. He’s leaving. 

He walks around, taking stock of the state of the airship. He’s never done this before; if he leaves the ship docked, he doesn’t know the odds that it will be here if and when he returns. Even if he wanted to, there wouldn’t be time to sell it, and the task would be ridiculously dangerous. So he’s just going to assume he’ll never see this place again.

He says goodbye to his maps. Says goodbye to his trusty rifle. Finds a bag he can carry on his back — it will be beneficial to have his hands free — and tries to figure out what he needs to bring. His smaller weapons, of course, and ammunition. His reserve of hwan coins. What else? The only clothes he needs are the ones he’ll be wearing… 

Ah. The last couple of oranges from the sack in the storage room downstairs. 

A few more utilities and odds and ends, and he’s ready to go. 

“Hey, buddy.” He corners Woori in the living room, kneeling to scratch his ears and get his attention. “Do you want to go on an adventure? Do you want to go into the town with us?”

The dog just lolls out his tongue — not much a response, but after all seven file out of the ship with their bags and Jungkook locks the door behind them, he spots Woori's wispy tail a ways down the landing strip and lets out a sigh of relief. 

Interestingly, the dock seems to be firmly on the outskirts of the town. Once they step off of the landing strip, it feels a bit like they’re in the middle of nowhere. A road and a set of tracks run parallel to each other on the other side of the gate, a straight shot through the processed landscape towards buildings popping up in the distance. 

“That’s the way to the town?” Hoseok asks, gesturing with his free hand, using his other arm to give Seokjin some extra support. “All the way down there?”

“Yep! It’s not as far as it looks.” Taehyung starts in that direction, walking backwards while he speaks and then whirling around, his feet kicking up dust. Right, he and Jimin have already come this way to take care of the cargo delivery.

“How did they take the cargo away?” he asks, trying to visualize the process. 

“Some kind of wagon, tractor, thing,” Jimin provides. “We might pass one later. They let us ride in the back on the way here, and I thought I was about to fly off.” He laughs. Jungkook doesn’t think it’s very funny.

Walking step by step down the road, it’s a bittersweet feeling. Even though he knows the ship no longer presents the safety and security that it symbolized to him for so long, he still feels the loss of it as he separates himself from it. On the other hand, though? Good fucking riddance. He spent so much time lonely and miserable there. It’s about time he leaves, has some new experiences with some new people. 

The town is not, in actuality, closer than it appears. The walk is a relatively long one, a couple of kilometers, and, carrying his own bag and two others, he’s already successfully grasping at the feeling of contributing to the group — good. It’s difficult to bask in that feeling, though, when they’re busy weaving this way and that to avoid traffic, which comes in the form of anything from single horses and riders with a few side bags to entire convoys of loaded autotrucks spewing exhaust. 

He’s got fabric covering his nose and mouth, part of his self-concealment effort, but it still stinks. And then there are the trains almost continuously running by on the other side of a ditch, cacophonous, leaving town empty and coming back in full of raw materials, and those stink too. 

When they get closer, though, the train tracks veer off from the road. Squinting and filling in some elements with his imagination, he can see the mass of infrastructure off in the distance, concentrated where many tracks converge from all directions like the spokes of a massive wheel. Train sheds, switches and turntables, big crane equipment for unloading or rearranging cars.

The road becomes more populated with pedestrians after they pass the first cross-street. The passers-by are a varied set, but with a few trends: more women than men, more young people than old, and more living people than dead.

The presence of any ghosts at all, though… it’s unusual. Even more unusual is the way they’re conducting themselves, walking among the living as if there’s no difference between the two groups. A transparent young man with a short beard, a grungy hat, and what seems like a real, tangible shovel glides by slowly, maintaining eye contact.

“Don’t stare,” Yoongi mutters, lightly admonishing, bumping into his arm. “It’s impolite.”

Jungkook startles, getting ahold of himself and snapping his gaze away, embarrassed. Yoongi is grinning at him. 

“I understand. This place is strange,” the other acknowledges, his voice still low. 

Jungkook leans over to quietly ask, “Do you know why?”

“I don’t know any specifics —”

“I’m not sure we should be talking about this here.” Hoseok cuts them off from Yoongi's other side. “I think there are people around whose job is to listen.”

Right. Of course. He shuts his mouth and looks only at the road in front of him. Even then, he thinks he catches a glimpse of what Hoseok alluded to as they pass two women standing under an awning, both armed, both wearing the same oddly clean white-and-green outfit. 

The structures on both sides become older and more well-built as they continue down the main road; then, though, Namjoon leads them left down a side street, then down another one to the right. He watches as Namjoon and Jimin, who has slipped from the back up to the front of the group, have a hushed conversation, Namjoon seeming to assent to something with a nod and Jimin falling back to the middle and whispering something into Hoseok's ear. 

Then, before Jungkook can really register what’s going on, they split up. Namjoon goes one way, Hoseok and Taehyung peeling off with him down the small space between two buildings. Seokjin, now alone in the front, continues as if nothing happened.

Jimin grabs onto Jungkook's elbow. “We’re being followed,” he explains. “We’ll lose the tail while they go on ahead.”

“Really? Is that safe?”

“It’s a tradeoff.” He shoots Jungkook an optimistic smile. “It’s never not worked before.”

Jungkook doesn’t feel that it’s his place to press the issue, so he stays quiet, follows along behind, and worries. It seems like it’s been a long time since he’s had to fret over the welfare of ‘his’ team, but it feels oh so familiar.

They alternate between walking and standing around casually, but Jungkook barely takes it in, barely notices how Woori continues following them around, busy visualizing different contingencies. It’s just that — if the other group gets into an altercation, will they be able to defend themselves? Taehyung isn’t even armed, is he? He’s a good fighter, but depending on what happens, will Hoseok need to defend all three of them?

He wishes he could be in two places at once. 

As soon as they, according to Jimin, shake the person following them, they quickly rendezvous with the other three — who are fine, totally unscathed — at a particular inn that’s pretty far removed from the center of town. It seems like the owner knows them — he’ll try not to destroy that relationship as well, keep himself incognito — because she speaks with Yoongi warmly and ushers them into one of the two communal sleeping areas, a room she’s allowing their party to use alone.

It’s a familiar sort of place; he’s spent more than his fair share of long, sleepless nights in rooms exactly like this one, sitting cross-legged and watchful on the heated floor, Yiseul dozing safely and anonymously between him and the far wall. 

He shakes off the feeling of being sixteen again and goes to deposit the bags he’s carrying among the other ones in the far corner. While Namjoon, Hoseok, Jimin, and Yoongi debrief on the hazards of the journey from the dock to the inn, he sits quietly and listens, seeing if he can learn more about their way of operating or how they make decisions. 

After a short time, the discussion is interrupted by the innkeeper knocking on the doorframe. She smiles. “She’s here.”

“Ah. All right, thank you.” Namjoon rises to his feet as the innkeeper vanishes again. “I’ll be right outside. I’m meeting someone to schedule the real meeting with the real informant later.”

“Can I come with?” Jimin asks.

“Yeah. Let’s have Taehyung, too.” Taehyung nods and gets up from the floor. “We’ll leave the door open and stay within eyeshot. All right?”

“Perfect,” Seokjin affirms. “We’ll be waiting for you.”

Jimin leads the way into the main room, and seconds later they hear enthusiastic greetings being exchanged outside. Seokjin takes up a position closer to the door where it’s easier to see what’s going on.

Yoongi rearranges himself to, like Jungkook, lean against the back wall, and Hoseok follows, slumping against Yoongi's side. Something in Jungkook wishes they’d feel comfortable enough to treat him like that, and he looks in another direction.

“I think we were talking about what the deal is with this town,” Yoongi remarks.

“Ah, we were. You don’t have to continue if you —”

“You want to know, don’t you?”

Jungkook looks back over, sees that there’s no annoyance in Yoongi's gaze. “Sure I do.”

“Well, I’ll give the version I know, and you can correct me.” He pats Hoseok's thigh.

“Right. But surely we know all the same things…”

“Maybe.” Yoongi sighs, turns his attention back to Jungkook. “I think the main idea is that the mining company runs everything here. The local government is appointed by and accountable to the board of directors. It’s kind of an open secret around here — at least, that’s the impression I’ve gotten.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok agrees. “Most people can’t do anything about it, and it’s dangerous to make a fuss about it. I’m sure you noticed the… I don’t know what to call them… all the enforcers we passed on the way here.”

“Right. In the clean white and green?”

Yoongi smiles. “Exactly. And, really, it’s not significantly different from the way most localities are run — at least, in my opinion. Because the upper class will always do whatever they want. It’s just a bigger problem in this case because of the dangerous nature of the work that’s being done around here and the sheer amount of capital involved. You’d like it if there was more accountability for those at the top.”

“That makes sense. But, uh, the people in the uniforms,” he says, circling back. “What were they doing, exactly?”

Yoongi and Hoseok glance at each other. “I don’t think we really know,” Hoseok admits. “We’ve tried not to get too tangled up with them the few times we’ve been here…”

“We think there’s some sort of secret police apparatus,” Yoongi adds. “Because they’ve been arresting the local activists, the reformer types. We’re here to gather more facts about that.”

Jungkook connects the dots. “Because you guys are investigating stories about —”

“The repression of anti-corruption figures. Yeah.”

“Huh. Okay.” All of that makes sense, but it doesn’t really cover the entirety of his observations about the town. “But then, why are there all of these… dead people? Is that unrelated?”

Yoongi exhales a laugh. “It probably isn’t unrelated, seeing how the authorities have made it very difficult to figure out what’s going on with that. The local paper won’t talk about it. And none of the living residents have talked to us about it, either. Most of the dead won’t give us the time of day in the first place, so. The best we can guess is that there have been one or more tragic accidents that have been covered up very well.”

“Not sure why the victims would be so bent on staying around here , though,” Hoseok remarks. “And this isn’t a string we’ve been pulling on very hard. We’re more interested in the, you know, anti-anti-corruption thing.”

“Right,” Jungkook says. “That’s interesting.” Do ghosts have a choice in the location they haunt? It’s something he’s wondered about before, especially with regard to Woori. To the best of his knowledge, the dog stays in the general vicinity of the ship — is it an emotional attachment, or a more literal one? He looks over to where Woori has sprawled across some of their piled-up bags. Even if it’s possible to replace that bond to a location with a bond to a person, to himself , as much as he would love to make that happen, he doesn’t know how. 

Just a minute later, the other three return, Jimin closing the door behind him. “So, I spoke with the guy’s wife. The earliest they can do the first meeting is tomorrow morning,” Namjoon says.

Seokjin nods. “That’s pretty quick.”

“I thought so, too. I was pleased.”

“But what are we going to get from that meeting, exactly?”

“We’ll talk with the informant, tell him what documents are essential, which ones aren’t but would be nice to have. We’ll arrange the time and place to pick them up.”

He can’t help but feel like Namjoon is going into more detail for Jungkook's sake. There’s nothing he can reasonably do about that, though.

“Who do you want to come with?”

As Namjoon scans over the room, he finds himself hoping to be chosen even though he knows he won’t be. “Let’s go with the same group, plus Hobi.”

Hoseok nods. “All right. Where is it? Just around here?”

“Yeah.”

Jungkook carefully keeps his expression blank, betraying no disappointment. Why drag Jungkook along when there are vastly more trustworthy options available? 

He hates feeling like a liability.

It seems like the business is done, at least for now — no one mentions any further details that need to be taken care of. They purchase a nice meal from the innkeeper, and after eating, Jungkook finds himself slumped aimlessly against the wall, Jimin sitting next to him, both of them sort of just watching what’s going on in the rest of the room, not that anything much is going on.

Taehyung wanders over and plops himself down on Jimin's other side, smiling. “Hi!”

“Hi.” Jimin takes one of Taehyung's hands in his own, and Jungkook averts his eyes.

The fact that they have each other, actually that all six of them have each other, and yet they’re the ones going out and endangering themselves in these meetings — doesn’t it seem wrong? Meanwhile, Jungkook isn’t as close to the six, Jungkook's loss won’t be felt quite as deeply, so isn’t he at least somewhat more disposable? Shouldn’t he be going instead?

He groans and rubs at his forehead — he really ought to stop thinking about this, it isn’t helping anything, but how is he supposed to keep himself from doing it? Especially now, when it’s far too early to sleep and there’s nothing going on?

A warm hand lands on his upper back, and he straightens his posture. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah. Hey, I have a question.” Leaning forward, he turns towards the two others with an elbow on his knee, propping up his head with his hand. He’s not changing the subject, but he understands that it might seem like he is. “What do you guys typically do in this sort of… down time? You know, when there’s no work to do.”

Jimin exchanges a look with Taehyung, thinking. “Besides just hanging out and talking?”

Jungkook shrugs.

“Well, honestly, it hasn’t always been the case that we just lock ourselves away constantly,” Taehyung says. “Only in certain places, really. And when we do… there’s nothing in particular, really. Mending our clothes if we have to?”

“Really? You guys don’t do…” Jungkook mentally shuffles through his short list of time-wasting hobbies. “Whittling?”

Jimin blinks at him. “Like woodcarving?”

“Yeah.”

“Is that something you’ve done before? What do you make?”

“Nothing practical. You know, if I’m just trying to kill time, I might choose a subject and see how accurately I can replicate it.”

Taehyung's face lights up, and he looks towards Jimin imploringly. “Oh, that sounds like it could be fun. Do you want to?” Jimin smiles and nods, more as if he wants Taehyung to continue than as if he’s actually interested. “I think I know where I can get some bits of wood — it might not be the correct quality, but —”

“I think working around the limitations of the materials can make things more interesting,” Jungkook adds.

“Okay, okay. I’ll be right back, I need to talk with the innkeeper.” Taehyung jumps to his feet and vanishes from the room, Jungkook watching after him with amusement and only mild alarm. 

Seokjin glances from the two of them back to the door, but as Jimin doesn’t speak up, Jungkook doesn’t say anything either. Jimin sighs and slumps a bit. 

“It’s a shame,” Jimin says, quietly, for Jungkook's ears only. “Like he said, we don’t always stay in only one place when we travel.” He tucks a bit of hair behind his ears, then crosses his arms. “I wish… I wish I could take you somewhere.”

Jungkook's mouth opens slightly. “Me? Where?”

“Where? Somewhere, anywhere. Somewhere to explore or to enjoy, just something to do together. Right?”

“...Right.” Jungkook looks at him and realizes that some would call what Jimin's referencing a date . “Yeah, I’d like that, too.”

“You would?” Jimin tilts his head, smiling at him, devious. “Where would we go?”

Ah, Jungkook can do this. What sort of location would be considered romantic? He’s never been taken on a date before, but he thinks he understands the tropes. “I think… I think we’d break into a private garden at the edge of town.”

“Oh? That’s interesting.” Jimin scoots a bit closer, leans over so his head is resting on Jungkook's shoulder. Jungkook swallows. “What would it be like?”

“Well, there’d be a high stone wall all around the outside. We’d help each other climb over it, and then it would be like we stepped into a totally different world. It would be the dead of night, no one around except for us, although we’d have to be alert in case someone came around. We’d follow along the stone path, flowers and magnolia trees on either side, admiring the gardens and the big house on the other side.”

He pauses. Jimin is still listening along with interest, so Jungkook closes his eyes and envisions the garden, envisions Jimin in it, continues. 

“There would be a fish pond in the center, with the moon reflecting off of the water, and… there would be a light breeze, so the reflections would be distorted a little, and we’d be able to glimpse the fish. I imagine we’d crouch by the edge of the pond and disturb the water with pebbles until we got tired of it.”

Jimin hums. 

“So then we’d go rest under a big weeping willow tree, the sort where the branches fall almost all the way to the ground, but we’ll still be able to see the stars peeking through.” He sees the stars reflecting themselves in Jimin's eyes, sparkling. Jimin's lounging back on the mossy ground surrounding the tree, his hair fanning out around his head, his pretty, pretty hands gripping the front of Jungkook's clothes. Jimin would pull him down, further down, and in his mind’s eye it’s like kissing Jimin is the most natural thing in the world, no obstacles, no awkwardness, no clumsy bumping of noses; and by the time he manages to pull himself away, Jimin is breathless, Jimin wants even more from him — 

“And then what?” Jimin prompts, almost whispering.

If Jungkook were a bit bolder he’d hint at what he’s actually thinking. As it is, though, his confidence only goes so far. “And then we’d be found out,” he says, making it up as he goes. “We’d hear yapping dogs in the distance and decide we need to make our escape. So we’d run back the way we came, but in the dark, we’d get lost. We wouldn’t know where we were but we’d find the fence, hop over it, and tumble down a hill before collapsing in a laughing heap at the bottom.”

Jimin exhales through his nose. “ That’s your idea of a good time?”

A sudden sinking feeling. He can’t see Jimin's expression, can’t tell whether he’s disappointed. It was a bit of a weird scenario that Jungkook suggested, wasn’t it? Was he supposed to say something different? “I guess.”

But Jimin just giggles. Oh, he is so, so likable. So easy to fall for. “I like that. I wish we could actually do it; it sounds like a lovely time.”

“Lovely?”

“Exciting, at least.”

Taehyung reenters the room, a few little chunks of wood bundled in his arms. Victorious, he dumps the pieces at their feet. “The mission was successful,” he declares. “Jimin, what did you do to him? His face is all red.”

Jimin holds up his hands and laughs. “I’m innocent.”

“Sure, babe.” Jungkook, bashful, looks down as Taehyung's hands pinch his cheeks.

That night, they break up the watch into evenly-sized shifts. With Jimin and Taehyung sleeping to his right and left, he dreams that he’s one of the town’s ghosts. He hovers, wafts from room to room, and watches himself and the others from outside, unable to drift too far away, haunting them.

Chapter Text

“Goodbye. Bye. Stay safe. Bye.” At the appointed time, Yoongi ushers Jimin and Namjoon out the door, Taehyung and Hoseok having gone ahead half an hour beforehand to analyze the location. It’s gotten easier, over time, to send his beloveds out into the dangerous world and trust that they’ll be able to protect each other just as well as he’d be able to do so. Seokjin has been able to handle himself masterfully in these situations for what seems like forever, and Yoongi has been his eager pupil for just as long.

Jungkook, on the other hand, doesn’t seem accustomed to sitting still, to not being directly involved. He looks miserable, sitting against the wall with his arms crossed and a small frown decorating his face. 

Yoongi gets it, or at least he can take a guess at what the other’s feeling, having gone through it before. There’s the one part that’s universal, the impulse to do whatever’s necessary to protect what’s valued and precious, the part that dislikes uncertainty and is prone to action. The other part, the more particular one, stems from past experiences — certain tactical procedures that were drilled into his brain in a previous life, the idea that his place, as a leader of men, is among them at the front line, and to hang back out of harm’s way is cowardly to the worst degree. 

From a third person perspective, it would have been funny to watch himself and Hoseok at the very beginning, constantly bumping into one another, trying to boss each other around, trying desperately to take responsibility. Luckily they’d come to their senses long before the youngsters arrived. 

At least Jungkook seems to understand, better than they did at the time, how to behave himself.

Yoongi turns from the door to see Seokjin subtly gesturing him over, so he approaches and squats down so he can hear the other’s muttered question. “Isn’t this the right time to give him the talk?”

He assumes ‘him’ is Jungkook. “What talk?”

“The one where we say we’ll break his kneecaps if he breaks their hearts.”

“Oh.” Yoongi frowns. “You think that’s necessary?”

“You saw them this morning. They’re all getting attached.” That’s true. It’s more than just Taehyung, now — he’s seen the looks Jimin's been throwing Jungkook's way. When Yoongi woke up this morning, all three were melded together like newborn kittens in a warm, uncomfortable-looking pile of limbs. Even at this early stage, there are several ways in which Jungkook could end up badly hurting the other two. “Besides, it’s traditional. And it’s never not worked before.”

Ah, yes, Yoongi remembers getting cornered and lightly threatened by both Seokjin and Namjoon individually. He supposes it’s become a rite of passage at this point. “Ok, fine. But let’s try not to come across too strongly. He’s self-conscious enough as it is and I don’t want to discourage him.”

Seokjin blinks and tilts his head, considering. “Right. Do you think we should just hold off for now? Altogether?”

Yoongi shrugs. “I think we might be able to pull it off just fine, as long as we’re honest about it.”

“Sure.” Seokjin sighs, glances over Yoongi's shoulder. “Will you take the lead, then? Please?”

“I can.” He scoots over, turns himself a bit to create the space needed for a three-person conversation. “Hey, Jungkook. Can you come over for a second?”

Jungkook, wide-eyed, scrambles over to join their circle. “Yeah?”

“We just wanted to chat, that’s all.” Jungkook sits down in the third space, forming the desired triangle. “And I’m sorry we keep splitting up so much. I know it’s uncomfortable. But, you know, they will be fine.”

“Thanks.” Jungkook sways back and forth, maintaining eye contact only briefly. “But the way I see it, everything always goes fine, until it doesn’t.”

Well. “That’s fair. And speaking of, uh. Speaking of going fine until it doesn’t…” In his imagination, he’s able to introduce the topic smoothly. His real brain struggles to catch up.

Seokjin glances nervously at his floundering. “Sorry,” he laughs, ears reddening slightly. “Maybe we aren’t as prepared for this conversation as we thought we were.”

Yoongi disagrees. He is prepared, but — “It’s awkward.”

“It is awkward,” Seokjin repeats. “Once you hear us out, I hope you don’t hold it against us or take it too personally.”

“Right. We’re not attacking you and we’re not saying you’re doing anything wrong.”

Despite the reassurances — which sound quite frightening, Yoongi will admit — Jungkook, brows furrowed and lower lip tucked between his teeth, looks incredibly uncomfortable. And it makes Yoongi feel like he’s the bad guy here, but at least it means Jungkook, who seems quite skilled at maintaining a blank expression when he feels he needs to, is participating in this authentically. Right? At least they’re doing this now , before that miserable face he’s making becomes impossible for Yoongi to resist.

“If you want me to leave, just say it, please,” Jungkook says. 

“No, no, honey. We don’t want anything like that.” Honey. Seokjin's term of endearment strikes him over the head — he wouldn’t have said it if he didn’t actually mean it. “We were going to talk about how you’re becoming closer with some of… us.”

Yoongi jumps in to clarify. “I don’t want to be too ambiguous. It’s not just Taehyung, but Jimin, now, as well. We’ve noticed.”

“You’ve noticed,” Jungkook repeats, pale. 

“And that’s not a bad thing.” Yoongi holds up a hand. “We don’t want to discourage any of you, necessarily. We we do want is for you to be aware that we’re aware.” 

“Oh.”

“And that we’re paying attention.” Seokjin puts on a bit of sternness again, not exactly trying to intimidate, but trying to convey that he’s serious. “We take our boyfriends’ emotional wellbeing very seriously and we don’t want anyone toying with their feelings.”

Jungkook blinks at him. “Of course you don’t. I don’t want that either. Of course I wouldn’t hold that against you.”

Yoongi believes this easily, but he still wants to hammer in the nail a bit more. Seokjin beats him to it, though. “What are your intentions for those relationships? Do you think you could elaborate on that?”

Jungkook shakes his head and waves both hands emphatically back and forth. “My intentions are nothing other than honorable. I swear to you. I respect them, I respect all six of you too much to only be engaging in this for my own benefit.” Honestly, Yoongi already assumed something along those lines, but it’s reassuring to hear it affirmed out loud, and he nods along.

“Right.”

Jungkook continues, looking down and covering his forehead with his hands, almost as if he’s talking to himself rather than the two of them. “I want them to be happy. At this point, with the way I’ve become accustomed to living, with how precious Taehyung is to me, and the fact that they already have you… my wellbeing becomes secondary to that goal. Tae… fuck. I would do anything —”

I would die is what goes unsaid. What else could he be implying, when he says that his wellbeing is less important, when he says he would give anything? It’s not as comforting of an assertion as Jungkook probably intends, and it’s infuriating, actually, that he might be thinking along those lines. “Jungkook, you shouldn’t say that. You already died on him once, and look where that got him.”

Jungkook looks up incredulously. “ Yeah . He has you, and he’s doing purposeful work he chose himself. He’s doing better than I’ve ever seen him, and I’ve known him for longer than any of you.” He levels Yoongi with a serious look, challenging him, as if he’s trying to force Yoongi to veer off of the topic. Seokjin's hand lands on Yoongi's thigh, steadying the both of them. 

Yoongi hates the insinuation that what led Taehyung to be tortured by guilt for more than a year was good . It’s easy not to get too angry at Jungkook, though, when he’s partially right about it — he just doesn’t want Jungkook to think putting Taehyung through that again is a reasonable option. “Then you ought to understand how badly that experience hurt him. Him and you. He’s traumatized.” 

Jungkook is clearly pissed off, tense, but he listens quietly. “I —” But he cuts himself off when Seokjin pats his arm.

“I get what you’re saying. But this is what I’m worried about. Right?” Seokjin says. He’s good at playing nice, but Yoongi can tell the other is vexed as well. “You can have all the best intentions in the world but still end up wounding someone; we just want you to be aware —”

Jungkook stands abruptly, looking down at them with shock and disgust. “Do you think I don’t know that? How stupid do you think I am?”

Yoongi stares, words caught in his throat and so taken aback by the failure and sudden collapse of this discussion that his thoughts are all fuzz. “We don’t think you’re stupid,” Seokjin starts, but Jungkook is already moving away, retreating to the opposite side of the room. 

“Let’s stop talking. This isn’t going anywhere.”

Yoongi shakes himself, regains his wits. He desperately wants to explain with all the requisite delicacy and nuance why the comments Jungkook made were so distressing, so wrong, but this clearly is not the time. “Okay. Jungkook, I’m sorry. You’re right, some of that was uncalled for. We’ll drop it.”

Jungkook doesn't respond from where he’s now sitting facing the corner. Yoongi mutters a curse and rolls onto his back on the floor, where Seokjin joins him.

“That was… not what I wanted. I’m sorry. I thought I could do it,” Yoongi whispers.

“At least now we know more about what’s on his mind,” Seokjin offers, a bit of consolation. “I’m sorry, too. I said too much. But just give it a bit to simmer and we can come back to this and properly resolve it. I know it’s painful, but in the end I think we might be glad we talked.”

Yeah, maybe. He struggles to envision when that might happen, but he trusts Seokjin's judgement nevertheless; and he believes that it’ll resolve well enough if they can just take another stab at it. They’re all coming from the same place of care and concern, and they don’t want Taehyung to learn they’ve been sort of quarreling over him.

Minute by minute the temperature of the room cools. Yoongi tries not to berate himself too harshly (although he can’t really come up with what he ought to have done differently), and it helps that Seokjin continues holding onto him. Jungkook subjects the other two to his makeshift workout routine, performing seemingly endless sit-ups on the floor to keep himself distracted or maybe work off his annoyance.

It does not take much longer, though, for the expedition to return. All three look up when the door opens without anyone knocking, and luckily it’s Jimin who walks in. But the momentary relief is replaced by alarm again as Yoongi registers the somber look on his face; he stands, and as Jimin comes over to take hold of his hand, he counts the others walking in. All four are back and in one piece, Hoseok breezing in last, shutting the door firmly behind them. “So, bad news.”

“No informant?” Seokjin guesses, but Namjoon, who is obviously distraught and who leans against Seokjin's side for support, shakes his head.

“Informant is fine. He can give us the documents late tonight,” he says. “And he brought news from Seoul. Apparently Cheolmin was arrested last week.”

Seokjin gasps, hand flying to cover his mouth. Yoongi squeezes Jimin's fingers, a whole range of nasty emotions quickly zipping over him. “What were the charges?” he asks. 

“He didn’t know. There may not be any. Apparently — and this is third-hand information — they came knocking in the middle of the night, searched the whole place, and took him away.”

Seokjin sinks to the ground, and Namjoon goes down with him, steadying his descent. It’ll be bad for Korea if the great journalist dies or otherwise is silenced — perhaps this has already happened — but its effect on those two… maybe he shouldn’t, but Yoongi worries more for them than for Cheolmin, especially as he’s only met the man once. “Minji was there, then?” Seokjin asks in a weak voice. 

“Someone was there. Our guy didn’t have specifics, and he didn’t know how old the information was,” Hoseok fills in. “Of course it might turn out to be regular law enforcement channels, but I suspect foul play.”

Everything is foul play, in the world in which they’re operating. Isn’t the point of their work that there are too many officials who can get people arrested with a mere wave of their hand? 

Seokjin's face is now hidden behind Namjoon's arm, and he speaks so quietly that Yoongi can barely hear. “My love, for so long I’ve been afraid of this happening.”

“I know,” Namjoon responds. “It was bound to happen some day. I just have to wonder whether he knew it was coming.”

“And whether we could have done anything to prevent this.”

Namjoon uses his free hand to caress the back of Seokjin's head, gentle, although the rest of him is terribly tense. “Let’s not think along those lines without provocation. There are plenty of people in Seoul who are supposed to be protecting him.”

Hoseok sits down next to the first two, prompting the same action from the other four, arranging themselves like students around a teacher. “If he did know, then he would have taken steps to protect his work, right?” Hoseok asks.

“Even if he didn’t suspect, there’s a high chance he tried to somehow duplicate or protect it anyway. Especially if it the information was difficult to get.” 

“Right,” Seokjin quietly echoes. “He’s a wise man.”

There’s a pause. Yoongi scrutinizes Namjoon's face. He seems to be taking the blow well, for now, distracted by the work of drying Seokjin's quiet tears. “I’m sorry,” he finally says. “Cheolmin doesn’t deserve this.”

“He doesn’t.” Namjoon hangs his head, sighs as if resigning himself to something. “I think we need to go to Seoul.”

Yoongi swallows, and next to him, Jimin asks, “To continue his work?”

“Exactly.”

Taehyung speaks up. “Won’t it be dangerous? What if they’re expecting us?”

“They’re expecting us everywhere we go.” Seokjin straightens up, rubs his eyes, sniffs. “If anything, the size of the city makes us more difficult to find.” He surveys the room with a determined look. “We have to go. He was working on something important, crucially important. Probing into the highest levels of the bureaucracy.”

“Even if they did take his papers,” Yoongi points out, “We can still continue.”

Namjoon crosses his arms. “Minji will try even if we don’t show up. The more of us who are working on it, though, the easier it will be.”

“Which isn’t to say it will be easy. Cheolmin has a multitude of connections and informants who answer to him only,” Seokjin says.

“We could be working on exposing his arrest at the same time, then,” Hoseok suggests. “I mean, if the whole intelligentsia makes a huge fuss, that’ll be difficult for them to ignore.”

Namjoon sighs. “It’s possible…”

“Um.” Jungkook speaks up from the back; Yoongi had forgotten he was even here. “If you manage to find out who arrested him or where he’s being held, it could be a simple matter of slipping bribes to a couple of key people in order to get him out.”

Seokjin lets out a short laugh, more of a scoff. “That would be ironic, wouldn’t it?”

Jungkook frowns. “It’s not ironic,” he protests, just a bit defensive. “It would be more like a case study.”

“Okay, we can look into that, too,” Namjoon allows. “I’m sure we’ll end up trying various things.”

“Are we trying to head out right away? Or will we stay until tonight,” Jimin asks.

Namjoon brushes hair away from his face and sighs, tired. “We’re so close to getting these documents; I don’t want to give up on that. But we should check the train schedule to see what’s going to be within the realm of possibility. I don’t want to get stuck here for too long. Right? What do you guys think?”

With all in concurrence, Yoongi finds himself at the main passenger station with Hoseok, standing in front of and scrutinizing the posted arrivals and departures schedule table. Hoseok's thin finger traces down one column of the departure table for a particular line that goes through Seoul.

“It’s like they knew we would need a ride.”

“It only gives us an hour to get from there to here, though,” Yoongi points out, intentionally keeping his language ambiguous. “Is that cutting it too close?”

“It’s not far.”

“There could be obstacles.” The rendezvous point with the informant is around the office complex of the mining company rail operation, which is just across the train yard from here — not an area they’re technically supposed to be walking across, and if they try, who knows how difficult it will be.

“I think we should just buy the tickets. Even if the chance we make it is as low as fifty percent… I mean, what if we want to leave but can’t? How expensive could it possibly be?”

Hoseok's right, so they find the ticket office inside the station and purchase — with the profits earned from yesterday’s cargo delivery, Jungkook's money — the cheapest option, spending an amount which to either of them previously would have been negligible, but is not anymore.

It’ll be fine. They can get more cash in Seoul. And he has to admit it feels good to have a plan and a way out.

“How do you feel about going back?” Hoseok asks him once they step outside.

“Back to the inn?”

“Back to Seoul.”

“Ah.” Yoongi considers it for a second as they start walking. “Well, it’s not as if it’s the first time.”

“But, still.”

“I suppose I don’t feel any particular way about it. I’m just afraid of running into the wrong people; but I always worry about that.” He sighs, double checking the outline of the seven tickets in Hoseok's pocket. “And I’m worried about being able to provide the emotional support they’re going to need.”

“Ah, well, we’ll do it together, right? All of us.” The lower half of Hoseok's face is obscured by a scrap of cloth, but his smile is obvious from his eyes. “I’m the same as you — I feel like we’ll need to meet with a bunch of people in the process of pulling this off, and I’m finding I don’t necessarily feel comfortable letting the younger ones go out and conduct those meetings on their own, in the city. Even if that’s the safest way and they’re perfectly capable of finding their way around. I don’t know.” Hoseok brings them to a stop under a vacant awning, turning to face the street as they loiter, casually watching for tails. 

“Is it the size of the city? Are you afraid they’ll get lost? Get followed?” Yoongi probes.

“No… I think it’s more…” Hoseok crosses his arms. “There’s a certain class of Seoul-ite bastards I don’t want them to be forced to deal with.”

Yoongi laughs once he realizes what the other is talking about. “What, like your parents?”

“Yes, like my parents. That’s a perfect example” Hoseok doesn’t laugh. “Picture Jimin negotiating with my parents.”

“The only issue I see is that he and Taehyung have never been to Seoul before. But if we can somehow ease them into it, I think they could do quite well.”

“Maybe.” They start walking again. “I see what you’re saying. After the initial shock…”

“They’ve dealt with all types of people in the past; I don’t think this will be some great challenge for them.” Taehyung has met Kim Yiseul and lived to tell the tale, for fuck’s sake. Jungkook — Jungkook has been Kim Yiseul. “I have to ask — are you counting Jungkook among ‘the kids’ now?”

“Oh. I don’t know.” Hoseok takes another glance around the street, and they step aside to allow two slow-moving ghosts to pass. “I kind of don’t want him meeting anybody, whatsoever.”

“I think —” Yoongi comes to the realization as he says it out loud. “I think we’ll need to let him do something before long. He’s already beating himself up about it and it’s been, what, a day and a half? I seriously think that if he doesn’t get to contribute, he’s going to leave — or he’s going to do something stupid and get himself killed.”

Hoseok blinks at him, frowning. “If that isn’t hyperbole — and I’m going to assume you wouldn’t scare me like that — then that’s bad , Yoongi. We shouldn’t just accommodate that, we need to talk to him.”

“Okay, on the one hand, yes. But.” They come to a stop again next to a trickling fountain where a couple of scratched-kneed children are running around. So far, no one has followed them. “That transition isn’t going to happen in a single day, Seok. He genuinely seems convinced he’s the most disposable among us and he ought to act like it.” He remembers what Jungkook said earlier that day — ‘the fact that they already have you… my wellbeing becomes secondary’ — and wrinkles his nose. 

“Then I’ll look for opportunities to rope him in, but.” Hoseok moves a bit further behind him and drops his forehead to rest on Yoongi's shoulder. “Fuck. I hate that. I want to wrap him up in multiple layers of blankets until he’s just a warm little bundle and then I want to carry him around in my shirt pocket where nothing can happen to him.”

Yoongi snickers at the ridiculous mental image of a tiny version of Jungkook kicking and yelling as Hoseok coos and swaddles him like a baby in meters of fabric. “He would hate that.”

“I know.” 

His imagination shifts, a new, more realistic vision presenting itself — Hoseok tucking an exhausted Jungkook into a pile of warm blankets, kissing him, and staying with him until he falls asleep. The image sparks no jealousy in him, no, not jealousy towards either; surprise, maybe, but not a feeling of wrongness. “But do you really — I mean — is that how you feel?”

Hoseok groans. “I don’t know. I haven’t articulated it yet; I’m confused.” He takes hold of the back of Yoongi's shirt and presses forward, hiding. “He’s handsome…”

“We cross paths with handsome strangers every week,” Yoongi points out. “And you don’t exactly react like this.”

“He’s not a stranger, though.” Hoseok peels away from him, lifting his head. The kids around the fountain are gone. “Ugh, I’m done being vulnerable. Let’s go.”

Yoongi lets himself get tugged further down the road. Taehyung, Jimin, and Hoseok  now? He has to wonder: who will be next? Yoongi thinks it could be him, actually, and the seeming inevitability of it is both exciting and terrifying, a bit like launching an experimental biplane off of a cliff into the open air. “It’s good you weren’t there this morning, then.”

“Why? Did something happen?”

“Seokjin and I decided to give him the old, you know, boyfriend-intimidation routine, which was probably ill-advised in the first place, but it went wrong,” he admits, voice low. “That’s when I learned the concerning stuff about how he was thinking. I didn’t react well. I think he might still be pissed at us, but it’s hard to tell.”

Hoseok sighs. Yoongi imagines he’s a little disappointed, but maybe he’s projecting. “I know that more important issues have come up, but please don’t use that as an excuse not to address this,” he says firmly. “All three of you might forget about it and move on, and that makes one side of the problem disappear, but —”

“The underlying issue remains, yeah.” Honestly, he figured he’d be able to rely on Seokjin to judge the correct time to return to the issue, but with the older now stricken by the Cheolmin situation…

“Realistically, it’s up to you,” Hoseok continues. “So please don’t put it off. You’re good at listening, you’re good at explaining.” Arriving finally at the inn, Hoseok pulls down his mask to beam a bright smile in Yoongi's direction. “So I don’t think it will be too difficult once you get over the initial hurdle of starting the conversation.”

Yoongi pats Hoseok's arm, acknowledging the truth of what he said. “All right. Hold me accountable.”

“Happy to be of service.”

Inside, Seokjin is sleeping with his head cushioned on Namjoon's lap. They approach quietly. It surprises him, sometimes, the intensity of warm emotion that he can suddenly experience, reuniting after only a short separation. He drops to his knees on Namjoon's other side and kisses him with all the relief and hope that’s washing over him, Namjoon reciprocating and cradling Yoongi's cheek in his large, warm hand. 

“Hello,” Namjoon mumbles in his deep voice. Ah, Yoongi loves his voice. 

“Hi,” he whispers back. “We got tickets.”

Hoseok squats down, a hand on Yoongi's shoulder to steady himself, and shows Namjoon the tickets, allowing him to read the departure time. “Ah. Okay.” Hoseok puts the tickets back into his pocket. “Cutting it close.”

“If we miss it, we miss it,” Hoseok says, pushing himself back up.

“Mm.”

“I love you,” Yoongi whispers, speaking on impulse. “It might be hard, in Seoul, but we’ll see it through. You’re going to do great.”

Namjoon kisses the tip of his nose. When he glances up he catches Jungkook staring at them with huge eyes.

He sticks close to Namjoon for the rest of the day, almost clinging on. Maybe it’s his questionable way of showing support, maybe it’s his attempt at avoiding his other problems — he doesn’t know. The individual minutes pass slowly, but when Jimin points out to all of them that there’s only an hour and a half left until the rendezvous, he’s caught off guard by just how little he’s accomplished. 

“We’ll plan on not returning here, so unfortunately, I think we need to bring all of our stuff with us,” Namjoon says, everyone gathered around just like they were earlier that day.

Seokjin makes a face. “That’s going to be hard.”

“We could leave it in lockers at the train station. I saw a bunch of them there earlier,” Hoseok suggests. “We’ll just need a few coins.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea. We could do that with the non-sensitive stuff, at least. Our clothes and things.” Namjoon looks around at their nods of approval. “We should probably go do that soon. But I was also thinking, it might be nice to have a couple of us go ahead to the location. That way we aren’t moving in such a large group, and I think if we split up there’s a greater chance some of us will make it there on time.”

“We might detect if they’re setting up an ambush if we get there early enough,” Taehyung adds.

Jimin raises his head from where it’s been resting on his knees. “The company owns all of those buildings, though. I’m not sure we’d be able to.”

Taehyung shrugs. “Sure.”

“I want to go,” Yoongi says, an idea forming. Maybe he can kill two birds with one stone. “I was in the vicinity earlier; I know how to get to that side of town quickly.”

“Oh?” Hoseok considers the rationale. “Then should I stick with the other group?”

“Yeah. Jungkook and I can go ahead.”

Jungkook has been sitting next to Woori, listening intently, and now his eyes widen, an ambiguous reaction. He clears his throat. “Yes. Yeah.”

Namjoon glances between the two of them in curiosity, but doesn’t protest. “All right. If you want.”

The advance team is the first to leave, Yoongi and Jungkook checking their guns and ammunition, disguising themselves, and heading out the door with little fanfare. It’s already dark out, but the whole place is wired with blindingly bright electric street lamps, and the level of pedestrian and vehicle activity on the street isn’t terribly different than earlier in the day. 

The presence of the ghosts is less evident under the artificial light. They blend into the rest of the pale figures clothed in white cotton.

Or maybe at this hour the living are the ones passing as the dead.

Yoongi leads them down the street.

“Why did you ask for me?” Jungkook walks next to him, arms folded up to hold onto the straps of his knapsack. “I thought you scolded me thoroughly enough this morning.” 

His tone is light, humorous, making it clear enough that he isn’t mad, holds no ill will. That’s a good start. “I do want to revisit what happened earlier,” Yoongi says, figuring it’s best to tell the whole truth. “Maybe not in the same way. Mostly, though, I figured you’d want to get out of that miserable little room as quick as possible.”

Jungkook laughs. He does already look better, more awake, a spring in his step. “Thank you, then. Was I that obvious?” 

“I don’t know, but I could empathize. I’m the same way.”

“Ah.”

“I used to think I had to do and control everything… it got easier, though, over time,” he admits. Although time wasn’t the sole factor. He distinctly recalls his embarrassment when, after he and Hoseok and Namjoon argued for the thousandth time over something insignificant, Seokjin sat them down and chastised them for attracting too much attention. “I figured out it was a lot easier to trust the others and share the work.”

Jungkook frowns. “I do trust them, it’s just…”

“You hate the thought of anyone putting themselves in danger if it could be you in danger instead. Am I wrong?”

“You’re not.”

It’s disturbing, honestly, how easily it seems Jungkook has discarded his earlier impulses towards self-preservation, that sensible caution in which he shrouded himself when it was just him on his ship alone. “All of us signed up to do this work knowing full well what it entails,” he points out. “Put yourself in our shoes for a second.”

“I know. I don’t have any right to barge in and impose these irrational feelings on everyone else,” Jungkook says in a small voice. “But I can’t just… turn it off right away. I’m trying.”

He is trying, now that Yoongi thinks about it. It’s not as if Jungkook has protested against any of the parts he doesn’t like. Just because Yoongi knows how he’s feeling doesn’t mean he’s intentionally sharing it; guided by his desire to understand and to help and to fix, it’s more like Yoongi is wringing the truth out of him forcibly. 

Again.

“Shit,” Yoongi breathes. “I’m sorry. You’re handling this so well — I just get worried. I’m overstepping.”

Jungkook shrugs. 

Instead of turning right to head towards the train station, they continue straight, climbing a set of stairs to cross a bridge over the tracks. This side of town is quieter, less brightly illuminated, although the activity of the railroad is still omnipresent. The buildings, private residences, are spaced more widely apart. Yoongi feels terribly conspicuous, imagines children and servants and well-off ladies peering out of their windows in disdain. 

He’s lived in places vastly nicer than these, but he doesn’t know whether or not he still has the capacity to blend in here.

“Really…” Jungkook breaks the silence they’ve been walking through for a block or two. “You’re just trying to make everything run smoothly, prevent problems before they occur. Right? So please don’t feel too badly about it.”

Yoongi chuckles, finding the circumstances absurd. Hoseok was right when he said they’d find it easy to ignore the situation, leave it unresolved with no hard feelings. “I’m still not done apologizing to you, though. There’s more.”

Jungkook tilts his head to the side, quizzical. “Then just get it over with?”

He wishes he could, but there’s more to be said than a simple I’m sorry . “Not now. We’re getting close.”

They pass out of the solely residential area, back into an area with tightly packed but vacant storefronts bordering the street on one side and the railroad in the back. The office buildings in question are evident from blocks away due to their ugly, boxy shape and their size, some wings as tall as four stories — which in Seoul would be standard, but in this town seems somewhat ostentatious. 

The informant described the meeting location to them rather vaguely, as more of a list of characteristics than a specific address. From the main street, turn right into an alleyway where the windows are barred on both sides. Continue until the second left turn, then approach an iron gate that leads onto a paved courtyard, a lightwell for the surrounding tall buildings. The gate will be locked, so wait beside it until the informant walks through it with the documents at the appointed time. 

Thankfully, they find the path to the courtyard exactly as described. It’s a secluded little spot. They’ll definitely be able to tell if anyone passes by, but those same passers-by are almost guaranteed to detect their presence, as well. And there are so many windows , an uncomfortable number of windows with a line of sight onto their location. Here and there a couple of them are illuminated — because of the angle, all he can make out is a ceiling or a bit of curtain — but it’s the darkened ones that concern him more. 

Anything could be happening in there. Anyone could be watching them. 

A little tug on his sleeve; he looks over to see Jungkook pointing towards an iron ladder bolted to one of the walls, the rungs starting on the second floor and leading all the way up to the roof of the third. That’s an idea. If they wait it out on the roof, on the one hand they’ll look more like they’re up to no good, but on the other, there’s a greatly decreased chance of being seen. 

He takes another glance around. It doesn’t seem like there’s anything more they can do, now, besides watch out and wait, so he nods, and Jungkook lets go of his shirt. 

Turning to face the ladder again, he frowns, considering how difficult it might be — and he supposes it’s an intentional element of the design — to actually scale the thing. But before he can say anything about it Jungkook takes a surprisingly quiet running start and leaps up to grab the first rung, the second, then pulls himself up to the third. Hitching his feet to the first rung, he scoots to the far side and leans down, stretching out one hand low enough that Yoongi can probably reach. 

All right, then. Yoongi approaches and jumps up a bit, Jungkook catching onto his outstretched wrist and vice versa; he feels Jungkook strain to pull him up further centimeter by centimeter until Yoongi is able to swing his other arm up to the first rung, the prosthetic latching on with a metallic clang. 

He winces, but continues, Jungkook letting go once he has a foot up, at which point he quickly finishes scrambling past the other onto the flat rooftop. Jungkook pops up shortly after, swinging his leg over the shin-high parapet surrounding the roof’s edge before before coming down to lie on his back, smushing his backpack underneath, his chest rising and falling.

As impressed and as satisfied as he is by Jungkook's solution and how easily he implemented it, he can’t help but consider the multitude of other problems they might encounter tonight. Can’t help but recall their last semi-violent encounter, the pirate ship in the distance, Jungkook's trembling hands, his painful, blind panic, his total lack of situational awareness as he was carried down the stairs.

Poor kid. He shouldn’t have to go through that again. 

“Thanks,” he mutters, taking another look around the seemingly deserted roof before sitting down by Jungkook's head. 

“It was nothing.”

“Question.” And maybe it’s a bad idea to ask, but he has to point it out before it’s too late. “Have you thought about the possibility that we get into an altercation tonight? With law enforcement, secret police, something like that?”

“Of course; the possibility always exists. Why?”

“If there is violence.” He meets Jungkook's eyes with a small frown. “Will you be okay?”

Jungkook pauses, considering, and then sighs. “Yes. You’ll be able to count on me.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Yoongi admonishes, frustrated that this keeps happening. “You’re putting words in my mouth. I don’t want you to get hurt , is that so hard to believe?”

“Am I putting words in your mouth?” Jungkook blinks up at him. “I didn’t realize. I’m sorry.”

He reaches down to squeeze Jungkook's shoulder. “I guess I was too vague. Don’t worry about it too much. Let’s scope out the rest of the roof.”

They split up, heading in different directions to quickly cover the whole area. It’s dark up here, the only light coming from the street lamps below, the moon above, and a single bulb screwed in next to the door that probably leads downstairs. 

He tries the door. It’s locked. 

Hand on his pistol, he meticulously searches his half of the rectangular space, snooping around all sides of the chimneys and exhaust vents, peering off the side to discover the vantage points. While there are a few other people in the area of the office complex, nothing strikes him as out of the ordinary. The next roof over is an additional four meters taller and separated by at least a meter-wide gap, so he doesn’t bother attempting to scale it. 

After about fifteen minutes of this, satisfied that the area is safely deserted, he and Jungkook settle against adjacent sides of a rectangular smokestack near the roof’s edge, protected from the cold breeze; close enough that they can talk quietly, close enough that their arms brush together, sharing warmth. 

“We have upwards of fifty minutes left,” Yoongi says quietly. “I want to come back to our discussion from earlier today and see if we can resolve it — do you feel up for that? I just want to understand what happened.”

“I… yes. We can do that.”

“First of all, I’m sorry for allowing it to become so tense.” Out of the corner of his eye he watches Jungkook's fingers fidget with his coat. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that.”

“And I’m sorry I got defensive.” Jungkook's voice is soft. “It wasn’t helpful.”

“Which part irritated you, though? It wasn’t what we said at first —”

“When you said you’re protective of your boyfriends’ happiness? Not that, of course not. I agreed with that.”

“And then?” Yoongi prompts. 

“And then, after I try to tell you that I share that priority, that I want what’s best for them —” He pauses to think, lowers his voice again. “You guys kept telling me, no, think about their wellbeing. But I just said that was what I was doing. It was infuriating.”

Ohhh. Yoongi thinks he understands the disconnect. “We… we reacted strongly to a certain comment you made, but now I don’t think we got the right point across.”

“What comment?”

“When you sounded like you were eager to sacrifice yourself for them —”

“I don’t remember saying something like that,” Jungkook breathes. “Just because I might be willing to, you know, make sacrifices for things that are important, that doesn’t mean I want to, does it?”

“Okay. We might have misinterpreted a bit,” Yoongi admits. “It scared me. I really didn’t want you thinking you were disposable to us, but the way I jumped to argue against that notion… it wasn’t effective.”

Jungkook says nothing, but he reaches out to take one of Yoongi's hands — the prosthetic one, so he can’t actually feel it even though he sees it happen — and intertwines their fingers.

“I don’t think we should stop looking out for ourselves even if we devote ourselves to something larger,” he summarizes. “Maybe I don’t always live by that; I don’t know.” 

Jungkook stays silent — Yoongi would think he was terribly uncomfortable were it not for the hand still resting peacefully in his own, the head tilted close to listen to him. 

“You don’t have lesser value just because we don’t know you as well,” he adds, and Jungkook sighs. “Okay, I promise I’ll stop talking about this now. It’s hard, but you’re doing well. If it’s worth anything, I think it’s good that you’re here.”

“You do?”

“Mm.” 

Jungkook's head lands lightly on his shoulder and Yoongi exhales, relieved. He feels good, like he’s made a step forward, like maybe both of them have learned something useful. And hopefully Jungkook feels the same. Hopefully he isn’t too overwhelmed.

They stay there for another fifteen minutes or so before scooting closer to the edge of the roof to keep a close eye on everyone coming and going. The other five of their group are the first to arrive, coming right up to the gate, all of them looking around as if searching for the missing two. 

Leaning over the parapet, they wave to catch the others’ attention; Jimin notices them first and gestures for everyone else to look up. Somehow through frantic hand gestures they communicate to each other that everything looks fine and that the two of them should stay up there to look out, so he and Jungkook settle back into their previous positions, watching from multiple vantage points. 

The minutes until the arranged meeting time slip by not-quickly-enough until the expected time does arrive. And then it passes. The informant is late, and the wait is cold and excruciating. 

At what point should they give up and leave? He doesn’t know whether or not they have a plan for this and he can’t discuss it with them now, not from all the way up here. 

Another exercise in trust and self-restraint, he supposes. 

Eventually, though, the quiet sound of crunching footsteps on gravel betrays a new presence. Peering onto the courtyard, he watches a single man carrying a small briefcase approach the gate, which he unbolts and which swings open with a low, metallic groan. 

Good. They can probably still make the train.

Yoongi carefully watches the exchange taking place below, the briefcase now in Jimin's hands, the informant telling Namjoon something in a hushed voice. He does not hear the roof access door opening behind them, does not notice that anything is wrong until Jungkook gasps and leaps up, leaving his field of view. 

Yoongi turns on his heels to see a large person with a rifle jogging towards their position; Yoongi levels his gun at them, attracting their attention, but Jungkook is already most of the way there, and he doesn’t want to hit the wrong guy.

“ Ambush ,” he warns, calling over his shoulder. The person seems to realize Jungkook is getting too close to be properly shot at, and they raise their rifle with both hands, gearing up to take a swing at him. It’s difficult to tell, but Jungkook appears to intercept the blow with a knife; the other individual yelps, and then the scuffle becomes too blurry for Yoongi to follow. “ Get out! ”

Crouching, he waits to climb down the ladder until it’s clear Jungkook doesn’t need backup. A cracking sound, the butt of Jungkook's pistol connecting violently with the other person’s head, and they stagger forwards, slumping.

A shattering of glass. A gunshot, not from up here, but from below. Two screams, one from the unfamiliar informant and one from Seokjin a bit further away. Yoongi's heart beats in his ears and he stumbles quickly, uncarefully down the ladder, breaking his fall with his hands, Jungkook following him down just a few seconds later. 

As an artillery officer in the field, the combat Yoongi participated in back then was almost horrifically slow, a drip-drip-drip of blood and lives back into the soil and the sea. Here, though, everything passes quickly, a blur of observations and impulses and actions. The informant is on the ground, a bit of his head missing, poor guy. Hoseok, kneeling, shoots into the now-broken window, but no one returns fire — they’ve already left. 

Taehyung, somehow already holding the rifle Jungkook took from the assailant on the roof, runs back to stick with Jimin, Seokjin, and Namjoon as they retreat with the briefcase as quickly as they can. Yoongi takes off in their direction as well, seized by the terrible image of the three unarmed ones meeting armed enforcers around a bend in the alley. 

“They’re coming through the courtyard,” Hoseok calls. Fuck, the only thing between them and the enforcement is the little gate, which isn’t going to do much. As he and Taehyung pass the other three and skid to a halt at the corner, he hears Hoseok and Jungkook exchanging fire with the people Hoseok mentioned. 

Taehyung peeks around the corner, and Yoongi makes sure the other three are pressed as flush with the wall of the building as possible and not standing in front of any windows. It’s not good news. Taehyung inhales sharply and takes a step back, and two bullets hit the exposed wall in front of them, chipping the stone. 

Squeezing slightly in front of Taehyung, Yoongi drops to one knee right before the intersection, facing the direction the shots came from while staying covered enough by the wall. He doesn’t give himself a chance to think about it too much, just ducks his head out a bit, takes a look at the group of guys filing into the other end of the alley, and shoots in their direction. Above him, he can hear Taehyung doing the same.

From this far away, he can’t tell if he’s hitting anything — frankly, he thinks as Seokjin helps him reload his magazine, they don’t have enough ammunition for this, but he’ll be damned if he actively allows the enforcers to get any closer. What they ought to do is team up, all four of them counterattacking on the same end and earning themselves a clean way out of here, but they can’t leave either side of the other three exposed. 

He doesn’t see any of the enforcers getting obviously closer, but he still doesn’t feel like they’re making any progress. He’s sweating and his hands and back and ears hurt and his eyes sting and the guys at the end of the alley are going to wait them out. 

Taehyung takes a step back. He holds up two fingers, then points to the stolen rifle. Two rounds left, fuck. Think, think . The roof is an option, and he supposes it would be good to have the high ground, but where do they go from there? And not all of these windows are barred — they could break into the building, fight their way from room to room in close quarters. He doesn’t like the idea of hand to hand combat but Taehyung is, and Jungkook seems, quite proficient.

The sound of gunfire behind them — Hoseok and Jungkook against the enforcers in the courtyard — is joined suddenly by a series of quieter shots from somewhere farther ahead. There’s yelling and commotion around the corner; Yoongi and Taehyung look at each other in confusion before poking their heads out again to glimpse the scene. 

It’s chaos. There are multiple bodies fallen at the other end of the alley, and there are two more uniformed men running frantically in their direction, apparently having decided their odds are better down this way. Before he can fire on them, though, another individual makes themselves known, a pale figure of a man — a ghost — drifting to the ground from an unknown somewhere above. The man, the ghost of him, bearded, with only one leg, lifts to his shoulder a very real-looking submachine gun.

“Holy shit,” Taehyung says.

The ghost tosses them a scathingly disdainful look before opening fire on the remaining enforcers, who fall to the ground, one and then the other. Yoongi swallows.

He yells behind — “Guys! This way.” — and takes a cautious step around the corner, glancing between the sneering ghost ( ‘You couldn’t do this yourselves?’ he seems to be saying) and the end of the alley. Another step. 

“We’re coming! Go!” Jungkook's voice. So, looking behind to make sure the others will really follow, he starts running. 

Again, he stops short at the first corner, and looking around the bend he’s greeted by a peculiar sight — a whole group of ghosts, four or five, each of them armed, the dead woman in front smirking and waving a cocky salute.

Taehyung smiles and waves back. Yoongi is too intimidated to respond. 

To get to where the alley opens onto the main road, they have to step over multiple bodies, injured enforcers still groaning and moving. Yoongi navigates gingerly, avoiding all the sprawled-out limbs — 

“Come on!” Hoseok yells. “Run!”

Right. Again, he runs, this time not stopping at the corner, trusting that these ghosts have done the work; not stopping when he hears more shots being exchanged, sounds slightly muffled by distance; not stopping, but spinning around in the street to see who’s following. 

Miraculously, he counts six figures running behind him, no more, no fewer; seemingly unscathed, although Seokjin is struggling, but he has Jimin's help, the briefcase now in Namjoon's hands. 

He laughs breathlessly as he turns back around — because yes, they still have to get out of town, but he cannot believe they’ve pulled this off. 

At the end of the block, before they reach the row of nice homes up ahead, he veers down a side street. They jog along the tracks, behind the buildings, where he figures they’re less likely to be spotted by anyone. Listening hard for approaching trains, ready to dive into the shadows at a moment’s notice, they get closer and closer to the bridge over the tracks that he and Jungkook crossed earlier.

“Wait, hold up.” 

At Namjoon's request, he staggers to a halt, the rest gathering around him, all gasping for breath. 

“Is anyone hurt?”

Silence.

Yoongi poses the question on his mind. “Bridge? Or across the yard.” Crossing the bridge is the easiest way, but they’d risk getting trapped again. In a mad dash across the train yard, there’s a greater chance at least some of them would get to the other side if they get attacked. 

“Bridge’s there. Station’s back there.” Hoseok points at both in turn. He’s right; the bridge will take them even further out of the way, and there’s not much time. 

“Okay. Let’s cut across.”

Hoseok leads the way, head twisting left and right, left and right again to check and double-check for oncoming trains. It’s dark and it’s quiet. They only have to hide themselves from two passing engines, and they scramble by multiple workers who don’t seem to care. 

Safely across the yard, they continue close to the tracks before finally jumping up onto the furthest extent of the most distant arrivals and departures platform. The platform is deserted. Under the gleam of the overhead lights, bouquets of bulbs screwed into glamorous wrought iron fixtures, Yoongi soaks in the sight of all six pausing to catch their breath. Namjoon's free hand is clutched tightly in Hoseok's, Seokjin hanging onto his other arm. 

Jimin squints at him. “Are your hands okay?”

Tucking his gun under his arm — he needs to put that away — he opens up his hands, holding them flat in front of him, his palms stinging. Ah, he scraped them somewhere — probably when he came down from the roof — and now one side is unfortunately covered in smears of blood and grime. “They’re fine,” he says, poking his right palm, where one of the lacerations hasn’t yet stopped bleeding. “Does anyone have gloves?”

“We have gloves somewhere. Tae, Jimin, let’s head to the lockers,” Hoseok demands, and the other two hurry to follow him down the platform. “Find the train, guys, we don’t have much time.”

“We’ll see you there,” Namjoon calls.

Beside him, there’s a deep sigh; he looks up to see Jungkook staring after the three, frowning, something red splattered above his cheekbone. Yoongi grabs Jungkook's wrist, blinks, inhales. “Is that yours?”

“What?”

He lets go of Jungkook's wrist to brush his fingers over the spot in question. “There’s blood.”

“Hm?” Jungkook brings his sleeve up to scrub at his face. “Not mine. The woman on the roof.” Both sleeves have drying bloodstains spotted around the cuffs. His hands, too.

“Ah.” That’s good, that makes him feel better. 

The image of the woman with the rifle running across the roof, of Jungkook intercepting her before she had a chance to do anything, replays in his mind. It is good that Jungkook's here. Very good. 

“Guys, are we ready?” 

Namjoon looks uncomfortable, antsy — is it all the blood? Ah, Yoongi is still scatterbrained from the fight. He forgot there was a task at hand. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Okay.” Briefcase still in the one hand, he holds Seokjin's in the other. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

Whatever conversation Taehyung and Hoseok are having next to him on the hard wooden bench of the third class car, Jungkook doesn’t hear it. The rumbling of the train running down the tracks carries through the body of the car and the window frame he leans his head against, carries through the seat and through all of his limbs and into his hands. He stares down at his vibrating fingers, frowning as he tries to subtly dig dry blood out from under and around his nails. 

It’s not helping much — there’s nothing he can do about the stains on his palms, his wrists, his sleeves — but it feels wrong to leave them as they are. It’s uncomfortable, looking down and seeing his hands in this state. Gross. Wrinkling his nose, he pulls the sleeves of his outer layer down over his hands, balling the cuffs into his fists, hiding the evidence. 

He knows it isn’t the violence that’s repulsive to him — the physical memory of violence is scarred onto his hands and arms already, after all — although it obviously ought to be. He just doesn’t like being so unclean. It’s funny; then maybe it’s good that he lives with — 

Remembering, he inhales sharply, jolts upright. Taehyung's attention snaps towards him right away. “What is it?”

“I — Woori —” He stumbles over the explanation. “I don’t think he… he didn’t come. He’s not here.”

“Oh…” Staring down at his fists, he doesn’t catch Taehyung's expression, but the other sounds dejected. “I’m sorry, Koo. Do you think it was intentional? Did he mean to?”

“I don’t know.” Is the dog just… done traveling with him? He finds that difficult to believe, but he wants it to be true — what are the alternatives? That Woori doesn’t know where he is, doesn’t know what just happened? That Woori does understand, but is tied to the physical location of the ship, and he’s now going where Woori can’t follow? He blinks and his view is blurrier.

“What happened?” Hoseok quietly asks, concern in his tone. 

Taehyung proactively explains, which is good — Jungkook doesn’t want to try to speak and just make a fool of himself. “We don’t think Woori came with us.”

“Oh, no…” Leaning across Taehyung's body, Hoseok puts a hand on his knee. Jungkook swallows the lump in his throat. 

It’s not a surprise, really. He already considered that this was a possibility, already envisioned it. That’s not sufficient, though, to prevent the realization from hitting him hard , a tidal wave, devastating, of guilt and petulant hurt. 

He can’t hold back his tears, and the prospect of sheltering his face in his grimy hands compounds his misery and discomfort even further, makes him feel a little hysterical. He grits his teeth, closes his eyes, and concentrates on his breathing, on making himself smaller, on not attracting any attention.

A sniffing sound has him looking over, frowning when he sees Taehyung with a hand sheltering his face, expression tense and lips wobbling. What, why… is he upset about Woori too? Is this some empathetic response to his own sorry state? Catching his eye, Taehyung laughs uncomfortably, voice watery, before catching his lip between his teeth.

His hands still tucked into his sleeves, he leans forward until his head bumps into Taehyung's shoulder; and then he settles himself there, hiding as much of his face as he can, still taking in deep, quavering breaths. Taehyung's hand comes to rest heavily on his upper back, just below his neck.

There’s a shuffling behind them, and someone’s hand lands on his shoulder. “Is everything okay?” Namjoon asks.

This time, it’s Hoseok who answers. “Yeah…” Above his head, then, are whispers he can’t hear over the rumble of the train. Presumably Hoseok explaining what’s wrong with them. And yet another hand comes up to ruffle his hair before the one on his shoulder disappears. 

Jungkook lets himself rest there, regain his composure; it’s not enough time to come to terms with what’s happened, really, but enough for the realization to settle, enough for the flow of his tears into Taehyung's jacket fabric to slow and then stop. 

Eventually, when he does pull away, Taehyung's hand remains resting on his arm as he stares wearily out the window, watching the fields and the tunnels and the towns flash by in the darkness. The way that the six others reacted — it is comforting, not that it erases what’s wrong, but inasmuch as he knows he’s not jumping off of a cliff into nothing. Amazingly, he has a place to land — a place he is already landing, even. 

Leaning against each other, Taehyung and Hoseok appear to drift off. Jungkook feels that he has an obligation to keep alert just in case, and he tries his best, staring at the scenery to keep himself occupied. The train is not an express, and it makes frequent stops as the hours tick by, people getting on and off, the sky darkening before the sun starts to rise — although he can’t see it from this side of the train. The journey continues endlessly, a sort of extended transience that only ends when Jimin comes into view in the aisle. 

“Hey,” Jimin says, a small smile on his face, gently shaking Taehyung and Hoseok to wakefulness and saying something very quietly in Hoseok's ear. The message is passed down the line until it finally reaches Jungkook, a plan along the lines of — they’re getting off the train at the last station before Seoul so they can avoid getting arrested at any of the main stations. 

A little less than half an hour later, they disembark. Although this station services the furthest reaches of the city, the building is clearly being used to demonstrate the wealth and taste of the monarch's government: beautifully carved and polished beams overhead, painted ceilings, expensive-looking stone underfoot, running water features and fountains in the halls, and clear-paned windows to the outside — to what end, he doesn’t know. There isn’t much of a view.

The grandeur does not strike a chord in him. He notes it dully, without it resonating; he’s seen this before, and he’s not in the mood. He’s come to understand, though, that neither Jimin nor Taehyung have ever been to Seoul before, and he watches them take in the sights as they traverse the terminal.

Namjoon brings them to a halt somewhere against the wall, out of the flow of traffic. “I’m going to telegram ahead,” he says, nodding at the sign that reads telegraph office. “So they know to expect us, and to ask questions if we don’t show up.”

“Where are we going?” Hoseok asks. This must have been hashed out on the train when some portion of them were asleep. 

He watches Seokjin glance around before answering. “We figured we’d try to crash at Jackson Wang's place.”

“The rationale being?”

“He’s a powerful friend.”

“It helps that he’s a foreigner,” Namjoon adds. “I don’t think arresting us is worth the risk of starting an international incident.”

“There is a tradeoff, though. He’s got a ton of staff in and around his property, people with unknown allegiances.” Yoongi looks towards Jungkook as he says it, conveying his other meaning: Jungkook could be recognized by anybody. “But since we’re most wanted by the authorities, we thought this would be the safest bet.”

Jungkook nods to indicate that he understands the risks and approves of the reasoning behind the decision. He’s already planning to exercise caution, after all. 

Namjoon, Yoongi, and Jimin disappear into the telegraph office, and Jungkook slips away for a second to scrub his hands clean under a faucet, breathing a sigh of relief. 

The message is swiftly transmitted towards the city, and now they have to follow it. Heading into the entrance hall, Hoseok in the lead, they weave around clusters of tables where people are trying to sell them things, coming to a halt in front of the prominently-placed display of gas masks. While Hoseok negotiates with the vendor, they mill around the racks and piles of fabric and metal and glass, looking but not touching.

“Is this really necessary?” Jimin whispers. 

“Mm. Unfortunately.” Fifteen years ago, when he first started traveling here, he remembers seeing some people walking around bare-faced: you could manage without if the time you spent outside was limited. That was no longer the case the last time he visited, two years ago, and he doesn’t imagine the situation would have improved since then. At least the mask prices seem like they’re still subsidized. 

Once the transaction is finished, Hoseok passes them out — ragged grey gas masks, the sort you can sell back to any vendor once you’re done using them, ones that already look like they’ve passed through a thousand different hands. 

He double-checks the filters inside his respirator and is about to put the thing on when he notices Yoongi helping Jimin fit the mask to his face and Taehyung standing nearby, glancing between the other two and the object in his hands as if studying what he ought to do.

“Here.” Stepping over to him, he takes the gas mask out of Taehyung's hands and unlatches the filter canister, demonstrating. “This doesn’t look too bad. If the filter was already too dirty we’d need to replace it.”

“I guess you’ve dealt with these before?”

He remembers his first time leaving a train station in Seoul. He remembers gazing up at her expression of concentration as she fitted his child-sized mask to his face, remembers looking at her through little orange-tinted lenses that turned the grand colors of the station into two circular fields of mush. 

This place is overwhelming in much the same way as Yiseul's ship can be — too many people, too loud — but at least in the couple of months since she rescued him he’s found corners of the vessel he can escape to for some peace and quiet. He can’t do that here. The restrictive equipment that makes it harder to breathe is not helping, but he doesn’t even try to find the words to articulate that. 

He doesn’t do much talking these days. Yiseul tells him not to worry about it, that he’ll get more comfortable over time, and that she can talk enough for two people anyway. 

Gently, careful not to pinch his skin with the buckle, not to leave it too loose either, she finishes the necessary adjustments. Then, stretching back to her full height, she puts on her own mask. He watches her disappear behind the creepy, amphibian lenses, the elephantine filter canister, anxiety twisting his stomach as she becomes nearly unrecognizable and he imagines losing her in the crowd of unknown monsters.

At least she’s wearing her usual clothes. They don’t have to try too hard to disguise themselves. They are inherently anonymous like this, grandparent and grandchild, nobodies from the provincial nobility, somebody’s widowed mother-in-law, somebody’s poor orphaned nephew. 

Yiseul grabs his hand, and her grip is strong, sure, like there’s no way in a thousand years she’ll let him get lost. “Hold on tight, okay?” she says, and he does. Clings on and trusts. “Ready? Let’s go!”

Pushing aside the memory and its mixed feelings, he finishes showing Taehyung how to use the mask, then puts his on, furtively tugging off the other fabric covering his face and replacing it quickly with the new object.

Looking around at the others, he’s unsurprised to find that they’re hard to identify in this state. It might be difficult to stay together. In the old days, he and Yiseul had various ways of ensuring this — it started off with her dragging him around by the hand; then, when he was bigger, she’d hold onto his arm; and one day he found himself pushing her around the city in a rented wheelchair. 

None of those are feasible for their group of seven. They’ll just have to be careful.

With everyone’s gas masks secured, they head for the exit. In the vestibule, they pause as a masked employee pulls a lever to close the inner door behind them. Once that one shuts, the operator allows the outer door to open, the visibly brown-grey-tinged air flowing in and the seven of them stepping out. 

The first few times he was here, he remembers his awe at the scale of everything. Here in the outskirts, where everything is newer, the buildings are so tall, the streets so wide and so numerous, crisscrossing and bridging over each other. Nowadays, though, the visibility is low enough that it’s difficult to see all of that. The tiered buildings just seem to disappear upwards, the wide streets running off to a clouded nowhere. 

“Creepy,” Jimin remarks next to him. Jungkook has to agree. 

It’s a cacophony of vehicles, not only the nearby trains but also bicycles, autobikes, ox-drawn carts and autocarts and autotrucks, and even aerial vessels of myriad sizes. “It’s kind of a long way,” Namjoon says, basically shouting to be heard over the noise and the muffling of the mask. “I think we should hop on the tram, but I’m not sure which line.”

“I can get us there.” Yoongi shimmies to the front of the group. “Do we have enough coinage for the fare?”

Giving up on talking, Seokjin gestures a ‘yes’ with his hands, and Yoongi similarly motions them to start moving in a certain direction. Jungkook falls into step with the last row, feeling more comfortable in a position where he can keep track of everybody, Hoseok — identifiable from his clothes — and Seokjin walking beside him — the latter still with a bit of a limp, but one that seems somewhat less pronounced than a few days ago. 

He doesn’t pay much attention to the scenery, already familiar with it; instead, to keep his mind off of the uncomfortable weight and restriction of the gas mask, he watches Jimin and Taehyung, walking arm-in-arm, drinking in the new sights.

Both of their faces might be obscured, their usual ways of movement impeded by the bags they’re carrying, but there’s still something so lovely about the pair… maybe the way they lean towards each other, or or tug lightly on the other’s sleeve to get their attention, pointing at something. Maybe it’s the collection of things that they point at, the things they find to be notable, bright spots of maintained color or little evidences of human activity.

After a couple of blocks, they hop on a public tram, Yoongi at the front paying all of their fares before leading them inside and towards the back. There are a couple of seats available, but Jungkook shakes his head when he’s offered one — he doesn’t want to accidentally fall asleep on the way. Instead he stands next to Yoongi in the aisle, one of the bags he was carrying now on the floor between his feet, gripping the overhead handhold and gazing out the side of the open-air vehicle as they proceed deeper into the city. 

There’s a lot of construction going on right now, big machines and men crawling all over the place like ants, replacing the old with the new. But the old is still very much present, both in the form of dilapidated, impractically-narrow side streets and, the closer they get to the city center, faithfully maintained, ancient buildings that have been adapted for their modern requirements — terraces closed in with swathes of glass panes, air-control vestibules jutting out from the original construction.

And soon they start to pass areas enclosed in domes, Seoul's famous glass geodesic domes sheltering vast pockets of fresh air underneath. Rows and rows of them combining to cover entire blocks, some of them belonging to wealthy private individuals, but others sheltering public parks — plazas and walking paths and shade gardens providing a chance for anybody to walk inside and take a break from the city. In the dim light he can see guys in work clothes with buckets climbing all over the domes’ outside surfaces, cleaning them of the built-up soot that must be a continual battle to control.

He never noticed this during previous visits, but the city has no ghosts — either that, or they hide themselves.

They hop off the tram after a while, and Namjoon and Seokjin, periodically consulting with each other’s memories, lead the way down a sequence of streets Jungkook doesn’t try to memorize. Once again in the back, now with Yoongi, he trudges along behind and watches that none of them veer off course. They continue to pass private, enclosed areas, glass dome after glass dome, until they stop at one of them, Seokjin walking up and squinting through the glass to double check that the place is the correct one. 

They enter the dome through a vestibule similar to the one at the train station; once through to the other side, evidently already familiar with the beautiful, high-ceilinged hall they’ve stepped into, Namjoon takes off his gas mask and starts greeting and introducing himself to a staff member who approaches them. Hoseok and Seokjin also unmask themselves; Jungkook isn’t sure whether he should do the same. He doesn’t know whether showing his face would be ill-advised at this point, so he waits, enjoying the warm air and the break from carrying around so many bags. 

Without fanfare, a handsome, well-dressed younger man dashes out from somewhere, jogging in their direction. “Namjoon!”

“Jackson!”

Namjoon manages to unload what he’s carrying onto the floor right before Jackson collides with him, a blur of enthusiastic arm-patting and back-thumping before Jackson pulls back to glance over the whole group.

“When I received your message… I could hardly believe it. Glad to see you’re still in one piece.” Jackson's charming smile turns into something a bit more serious. “And — I’m glad you decided to come back. I think you’ll make a big difference here.”

“We’ll try to. Thank you for allowing us to stay here for a time,” Namjoon shoots back, proficient at exchanging these niceties, it seems. 

“It’s an honor to have you here!” Flashing another smile, Jackson whirls around and starts off in another direction. Jungkook notices that he doesn’t ask any of the rest of them to introduce themselves, perhaps out of courtesy knowing they might not be comfortable sharing their identities. “Come this way. Have you all eaten?”

“Ah, well, we haven’t…” Jackson tosses a concerned frown behind him at Namjoon's admission. “I was hoping I’d be able to sort out some details with you before anything else, though.”

“All right, if that’s what you want. I’ll show you the area we’ve prepared for you to stay, and then we can talk.”

Jackson guides them up a gorgeous staircase to the second floor, then down a well-lit hall towards a more modest one, up to the third. They’re now clearly in the private, lived-in parts of the home, where the design is less ostentatious in favor of being exceptionally comfortable. Their host sweeps them through a sliding door into a sitting room of sorts, at which point he stops and gestures around. “I hope this is sufficient. There are two more rooms through there that we’ve set aside for you.”

“This is more than enough,” Seokjin answers. “And on such short notice…”

“Come in, come in, everyone.” 

Stepping further inside, he takes in the new accommodations. There’s an interesting international flavor to the arrangement of the room and the furniture that’s present, suggesting a well-traveled curator. It’s a corner room, and an outdoor walkway runs all along the outside — it seems like if he jumped up onto its railing he’d be able to touch the clear glass dome overhead.

There isn't a good place to set his bags, so grimy compared to everything else — but he follows Yoongi's example and drops them just beyond the edge of the rug. Then, given the room’s air of privacy, he finally takes off the gas mask, tucking it into the outer pocket of one bag and relishing the sensation of breathing freely. He sheds his overcoat next, briefly examining the bloodstained cuffs before folding them up and hiding them away. Ugh, it’s bled through to his shirt as well; he rolls up both sleeves a little bit so that the stains are no longer visible. 

Namjoon has already pulled Jackson to the side and seems to be explaining something to him in a low voice. Jungkook doesn’t mean to pry, but he can’t help but overhear some of it. The words ‘ police ,’ ‘ house ,’ ‘ underworld ,’ ‘ dead ,’ ‘ privacy ’...  Ah, of course, he’s describing the extra problems they have now that Jungkook is with them. 

Jackson replies in his normal tone of voice. “Yeah, man, I’ll try to get you all the privacy you need. Call this area off limits. But there’s only so far that really goes…” He rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “The worst I can do to my employees is let them go from my staff. Compare that to what a criminal might threaten them with. Right?”

“Yeah, I get what you’re saying. But even if there’s not much you can do, I think it’ll really help us.”

Jungkook averts his eyes only to catch Yoongi watching him, paying concerned attention. It’s a bit disgruntling but he keeps his expression neutral.

When Jackson leaves, they collectively collapse onto the room’s various furniture, worn out but not quite done planning what’s next. Jungkook sits lightly on a silky, French sort of sofa, finding himself unbothered, maybe even grateful, when Hoseok joins next to him and tosses an arm casually over his back.

“We’ll need to make contact with Minji as soon as possible,” Namjoon is saying. Jungkook traces the floral pattern on the upholstery, trying to give the conversation his full attention. “She at least needs to know we’re here.”

Seokjin has Jimin sitting partially in his lap, the two sharing a cushioned armchair. “Ideally, we could do it today, but we need to figure out a way to talk to her that won’t put her in any danger.”

“That’s true.” Namjoon massages his forehead. “I’m sure we can find a chain of somebody-telling-somebody-telling-somebody and so on that’ll eventually reach her. I think I’ll need to visit…”

The next thing he knows, Jungkook's jolting awake to a different scene, to the morning light casting itself slightly differently across the floor, and to a different set of smells. Namjoon, Yoongi, and Taehyung are gone from his field of view, Jimin and Seokjin seem to also have fallen asleep in their chair, and Hoseok stands over him. So, he fell asleep without meaning to — he takes in the fact with disappointment and a touch of apprehension.

“Jungkook? Are you hungry?” Hoseok asks, a bit like he’s repeating the question. “We have food.”

“Sorry.” He apologizes without thinking, then shakes his head, trying to wake up. “Not right now, I’m…”

“You’re tired? That’s all right; you should get some rest.”

He is tired. He’s exhausted, woozy almost. It’s alarming — he had a nice long rest only 24 hours ago, didn’t he? Usually he’d be able to push himself forwards for so much longer than this, but then again, in the past his wakefulness was closely tied to vigilance and safety. There are no real consequences if he loses consciousness right now; his body must somehow understand that. 

Then of course there’s the added emotional strain of suddenly losing his dog. Fuck.

“Drink some water at least,” Hoseok amends. 

He hums, stands, noticing the slight pain and fuzzy heaviness above his eyebrows. Hoseok places a glass in his hand, and he drinks what’s in it. “Thank you.”

“And bring me all of your clothes that have stains,” Yoongi calls from across the room. “I’m going to clean some things.”

Jungkook frowns. “Are you sure? I could…”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

He doesn’t see any use in arguing, so he walks back over to where he put his coat. “Where do you want them?”

After disposing of his coat and shirt according to Yoongi's instructions, he gathers his things and drags himself through another doorway into the other two rooms Jackson indicated were at their disposal. He figures there might be less noise in the further one, so he familiarizes himself with the space and is delighted to find a cabinet of rolled-up, thin cushions that look like they’ll be delightful to sleep on. There’s even a washroom, where he attempts to clean himself up a bit before he starts messing around with the spotless linens. 

He’s not alone when he returns, Taehyung cornering him as soon as he steps back into the room. Taehyung grabs both of his hands and holds them in front of him, forcing a slight separation that seems intentional, like he wants to be able to see Jungkook's face. “How are you doing?” he asks, already searching Jungkook's eyes for the answer. Jungkook looks down, self-conscious, considering. 

“I’m okay.” He tries to offer a small smile as proof. What would the answer be if he didn’t have anybody treating him with such care? Realistically, still okay, but… less so. “Right now I am, I mean. But, you know, a lot of things are changing…”

“Yeah.” One of Taehyung's hands migrates up to his face, tracing the most prominent scar on Jungkook's cheek. He leans lightly into the touch, trying to communicate how much he likes it when Taehyung does that. “Bad changes, but good ones too, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Don’t leave? He thinks Taehyung would stay with him if he asked, but didn’t he already sleep on the train? He shrugs. “Not really.”

“Okay, well; I was planning on napping here too, if that’s okay.”

Relief and gratitude inundate him when Taehyung says it, and he tries not to nod too enthusiastically. If it’s something he wants so badly, he really should have said something, he thinks. Next time he ought to speak up. Taehyung smiles.

Jungkook has missed spending time with him — not that they’ve been apart, but they haven’t had any privacy since, when was it, the day they went to the waterfall? That morning? When they scrambled off into the forest, dragging each other by the hand, giddy and thoughtless… Taehyung sitting back against a mossy tree trunk with Jungkook in his lap, a bit awkward, clumsy… Jungkook kissing every part of Taehyung's beautiful face, his jaw, his neck, insatiably eager to please and to experience, until the seeping cold became impossible to ignore… 

“What?”

Jungkook blinks. “What.” Taehyung tilts his head, inquisitive; ah, Jungkook supposes he might have been wearing a cryptic expression. “I was just thinking… about how lucky I am that you’re here.”

Taehyung's eyes widen, and he laughs a little disbelievingly; but Jungkook is serious about this, and he leans over to kiss him, gentle, brief, communicative, Taehyung humming and leaning into it, pleased. 

Then the other pulls away, still smiling, and moves towards the washroom. “I’ll be right back.”

Jungkook arranges two cushions on the floor, adjacent to each other and slightly overlapping. Wishful thinking, that Taehyung might want to sleep close to him, but also a safe bet given what’s happened on nights previous. It’s not something he’s really accustomed to, cuddling, being held, but he’s actually been enjoying it a lot. And why shouldn’t he? Maybe a past version of himself would’ve enforced a certain distance, afraid of getting himself too attached — a while ago he would have had good reasons to think that way. Maybe he wants to be attached, now, though; maybe he likes it, and is that such a crime?

There’s no reason to wait, so he lowers himself onto the cushions that are already conveying some of the warmth from the heated floor, curling up contentedly with his hands tucked under his head. He hears Taehyung come back in, hears him drawing the curtains over the windows — good thinking — and feels him lie down, wrapping himself around Jungkook's form. 

“Is this okay?” Taehyung whispers. 

With so many points of contact, it’s a warm feeling; the arm tossed across his waist, the hand just brushing the bare skin of his chest is a bit too much, actually, so he takes hold of it in his own to readjust slightly before mumbling his reply. “Good.”

He doesn’t think about tomorrow’s problems, doesn’t have enough time to reflect on today’s losses. Taehyung's nose nudging the back of his neck is the last thing he feels before he loses consciousness. 

When he wakes up — gently this time, rested and clear-headed — it’s to someone else next to him. In the dim light he discerns that Taehyung is gone, and instead Jimin is sprawled between the two cushions, Jungkook's arm and leg somehow tossed over him. He withdraws his limbs, unsure of what Jimin is okay with — this closeness has always included Taehyung as a sort of mediator — and his motion seems to rouse the other from sleep, if he was asleep at all. 

“Jungkook?”

“Hmm?”

Jimin turns over to face him, tousled but pretty. “It’s one o’clock; are you still tired?”

“Me? No, are you?”

“No. I’m kind of cold, though.” He pouts. “You were keeping me warm…”

“Ah.” He’s at a loss, not sure what he ought to do. “Sorry.” But as he watches Jimin's face harden, he figures that isn’t what he wants to hear; grasping at a solution, he lifts his arm and leg in the air, hovering. “It’s whatever you want. I’m at your disposal.”

Jimin apparently takes him at his word, because he scoots himself closer, contentedly tucking himself under Jungkook's arm. They might not be tired but it doesn’t seem like they’re going anywhere.

“How are you liking it here?” he asks. “In Seoul?”

Jimin has an answer at the ready. “This house is ostentatious and this city is awful ,” he says, decisive. “I don’t see how anybody can live here. Walk around without being able to look at each other. But I am glad that we’re relatively safe here… And Tae likes some of the shapes? I guess?”

Being able to look at each other . Is that what makes Jimin comfortable? What he values? It makes sense, but… “There’s a lot I don’t know about you yet,” he observes, then pauses, gulps at his own audacity. “Non sequitur, I know.”

“Okay, yeah, and look:” Jimin shifts onto his back, regarding Jungkook out of the corner of his eye. “I’ve come to learn that the right time to ask you this isn’t going to arrive if I keep waiting for it.” Now looking at the ceiling, Jimin's voice takes on a touch of nervousness. “How do you feel about being in a relationship with me? Or at least trying it out?”

Jungkook sits up, heart racing. It strikes him that, watching him, Jimin's expression is slightly pained. And while he has to admit that the question is not a surprise, that there’s been plenty of lead-up in the past weeks, this suddenly seems a bit too unreal, too extraordinary, too picturesque to be true. “You actually want to?” he blurts. Jimin  and I like to do things together , Taehyung said, or something along those lines. “You don’t feel obligated, because of Taehyung, right? Because — I am interested. Yes — but we don’t have to…”

“I don’t feel obligated? I don’t think I do. But since you’ve brought it up, I ought to ask you the same thing.” A crease appears between Jimin's eyebrows. “You’re not… pretending to be interested just because it would make Taehyung happy? Or because you think it’s some requirement in order to stay with us? Because it’s not —”

“I want this.” He does, he does , and not for Taehyung's sake (although it’s encouraging to have his approval). A slight tremble in his fingers, he leans over, planting one hand next to Jimin's far shoulder, hovering nervously over him. This is not the midnight garden of his imagination, but there is a similar feeling — the eye contact reassuring him that, yes, he’s reading this correctly, while also injecting him with the restless need to move, to do more; Jimin's slightly open mouth. 

Recovering his nerve at Jungkook's mixed hesitance and forwardness, Jimin flashes a bit of a smirk, raises an eyebrow, challenging him. Do it . “Going to show me, baby?”

Jungkook swallows and nods frenetically, buzzing. Baby. But how can he toss out that word so casually? Unless, oh treacherous thought, it’s not casual, but carefully selected, fully meant… 

Jimin is the first to move, reaching up with both arms, one landing on his shoulder and the other near the back of his neck, tugging him downwards, tugging him closer; and he goes, dropping to one elbow, so close to working up the nerve, so close to ducking his head just a bit more — 

But then, a noise. At first he freezes, but then Jimin cranes his neck, peeking under Jungkook's arm, so he turns his head and sees Seokjin standing just next to the door, holding a bundle of something in his arms and wearing a startled, pale expression on his face. 

“Sorry!” Seokjin squeaks. Fuck, how long was he standing there? They both seem to move simultaneously, Seokjin dropping the fabric — those are his clothes, he realizes, the clothes he gave to Yoongi — and vanishing, Jungkook jumping backwards like Jimin has burned him. For a long moment, his gaze remains fixed on the spot Seokjin just vacated; then, lifting a hand to his chest, his wildly beating heart, he lies down again, looking at the ceiling. 

Everything is real again and it kind of makes him want to cry.

“Sorry.” Sorry that whatever happened just happened, sorry that the moment is gone. “That scared me.”

He hears a shuffling and then Jimin's face is back in his field of view. His turn to be hovered over. Calm, seemingly unaffected, Jimin swoops down to kiss his forehead, in the center just below his hairline. “Don’t worry about it.”

He tries not to. There’s something to be analyzed internally about how he responds whenever Seokjin is present — like part of him thinks Seokjin doesn’t want him here, or is out to get him, to catch him making a mistake, all while the same part of him is weirdly invested in Seokjin's approval, is still clinging to that one time Seokjin called him ‘honey’ . But Jimin said not to worry, so he pushes it off. Calms down. Puts on his clean clothes. 

Jimin must have some sense of his anxieties, as the next thing he knows Jimin is dragging him and Seokjin, one on each arm, down the stairs, through the house, out the back door, through the partition between this dome and the next, and into Jackson's garden. (“ He has a garden! ” Jimin whispered, excited. “ We have to go see it; I think it’s fate! ”)

And the garden is interesting, certainly. Whimsical, in both its colors and layout. Instead of leaning in to the inherent dim lighting, glaring lamps hanging from the dime’s inner structure attempt to emulate the sun, add to the unnatural warmth that makes him more comfortable than expected in his newly-clean coat still lightly damp. They walk down seemingly endless winding paths and pass through multiple wide clearings — this place is expansive, designed for large groups of people, for parties. 

Jimin continues pulling them along until finally they find Taehyung and Hoseok sitting and enjoying the ambiance of trickling water feature. Their quiet conversation dissolves as they notice the other three approach, but they don’t seem upset at the disturbance. He feels infected by the cheerful energy that the two are exuding, feels a little bounce in his step, feels himself return their smiles. 

“Hey!” Hoseok calls. “Everyone well rested?”

Jungkook nods, hearing Jimin's chirped yes! next to him. Hoseok looks towards Seokjin expectantly, but the other doesn’t acknowledge the question, pulling himself away from Jimin and floating over to hook his chin on Taehyung's shoulder and wrap both arms around his waist. 

“Jin?” Taehyung asks. 

Seokjin keeps his eyes closed. “I was working on some things.”

No one seems particularly pleased to hear this, but they accept it without protest. Jungkook, mood already dampened by this, reminds himself that just because somebody else was working, it doesn’t mean he ought to have been. Extricating his arm from Jimin's, he approaches the retaining wall and leans over it, gazing towards the stream unhurriedly flowing between plants, the harsh shadows of motionless ferns animated, dancing, once they touch the water. 

“Well, we were just talking to Jackson a few minutes before you arrived,” Hoseok says, fluidly changing the subject. “Seemed like he was running all over the place overseeing preparations for his Meoseumnal celebration —”

“Oh, do you think he’s having many guests? Is that something we’ll have to watch out for?” Jimin asks. Jungkook's heart sinks at the thought of getting into yet another altercation. The last one was bad enough — and would have ended a lot more badly than it did, if not for the absurd lucky chance of militant ghosts being on their side.

“Probably. It looked like he was preparing for a large-scale gathering. But I don’t think it’ll be that hard to avoid people if we try, right?” 

“I guess so, yeah.”

“Anyway — he just asked us how we were settling in, whether we needed anything… We told him everything was fine.”

Whether we needed anything. “He seems like a guy with a lot of resources and connections,” Jungkook says, glancing left and right, seeing that they’re listening to him attentively. “Would it be prudent to get his help, you know, arming ourselves better?”

“I’m not sure.” The way Seokjin says it, it sounds an awful lot like he does know. It sounds like he’s against the idea, and Jungkook bristles at the perceived brushing-off. “One doesn’t usually discuss such things in polite society.”

“It could be a matter of life and death.” He carefully regulates his tone, not wanting to cause another argument but unable to stop pushing this now that he’s thought of it. “Last night Taehyung had to use a stolen gun.”

“It’s a good idea,” Seokjin clarifies, the words somewhat rushed, clarifying, self-correcting. Jungkook looks at him — he’s serious. “We’ll have to see what Joon thinks — it could be that a request like that wouldn’t support the kind of image we’re trying to project, but even then… Maybe there are other contacts we could ask.”

He nods, all the while not bringing himself to break Seokjin's eye contact, Taehyung glancing back and forth between them with a neutral expression. “Cool. It’s just, that the situation we were in yesterday —”

“Wasn’t acceptable, and we should never have let ourselves get into it. I know.”

Jungkook raises his eyebrows, amazed at the way Seokjin stole the words out of his mouth. Hoseok makes an approving noise. “Yeah, we could get that sorted out while we’re in Seoul.”

“It would be nice to be armed permanently,” Taehyung acknowledges, allowing the conversation to drift neatly to its natural conclusion. Jungkook exhales. He’s still negotiating how and when it’s best to share his opinion with them, erring on the side of being annoying about it when he thinks it’s important, and he’ll count this as a success.

“Can we think of anything else that’s similar?” Hoseok prompts. “Anything that we want to get taken care of while we’re here?” Jungkook doesn’t have any points to add, so he looks back down at the stream, tracing the bumpy texture of the stone retaining wall with one finger. 

“I don’t know, this isn’t pressing, but… would it be bad to get some new clothes?” Jimin says. Ah, that would be nice. Jungkook's just about threadbare at this point. 

Hoseok agrees. “Oh, that’s a good one.”

“And we need cash, obviously,” Taehyung adds.

“Right.” 

As the others continue, Jungkook finds himself relaxing, allowing the words to wash over him without giving them much thought. He has to admit it: he’s glad that he’s here with them, grateful for this sense of togetherness that he hasn’t been able to experience for a long time. The situation in Pyongsan was rough — not dealbreaker-level rough, and it’s not as if the reason they’re settled comfortably now in Seoul is a happy one — but he feels fortified by the knowledge that they aren’t going to be in bad conditions, scrambling and hiding and stressing over their physical vulnerability like that, all the time. There will be moments like this one. Moments of relative peace. 

It’s the sound of his name that pulls him out of his reverie. “Jungkook? I was going to go explore the rest of the garden,” Hoseok says. “Do you want to come with me?”

He stares at Hoseok, trying to quickly figure out what’s going on here, but there really isn’t enough time to discover his intention. So he agrees — “Okay, sure.” — and follows as the other smiles and starts walking away from the group. Everyone seems to be cornering Jungkook into difficult conversations lately, and even though they haven’t been too awful — they're so much more openly communicative than he’s accustomed to, probably a necessary skill for pulling off a six-way relationship — dread trickles into his stomach at the prospect of yet another one.

Not far from the path, in a wide clearing with a pavilion at the center, they spot a group of people working to string up festive garlands. “When is Meoseumnal?” he asks.

“I don’t know — I’ve lost track of what day it is.”

“Mm.”

Still concealed in the shade of the trees — some of which surely predate the dome overhead — they stand for a moment and watch the work in progress. He’s strongly reminded of the months surrounding Seollal on Yiseul's ship, brightly decorated every year, the lengths to which she’d go to add a little levity to the harsh airborne winter months away from any relatives; and he mentally tugs himself away from that thought before it can turn into something like nostalgia. 

A hand brushes against his arm, near his elbow, and he jolts — oops — remaining awkwardly frozen until Hoseok speaks up. “Do you want to go back?” he asks quietly. “I didn’t mean to pressure you into coming with me.”

“No! No, it’s fine, I —” He tilts his head, frowns, deciding whether he ought to just tell the truth. “I’m a bit confused about… why you asked me…”

“Oh — oh ! No — ” Hoseok laughs, more of a nervous giggle. “I get where you’re coming from. I’m not trying to interrogate you or something like that. I’ve heard you got a lot of that in the last few days.”

Jungkook laughs too, relieved; and as a measure of reassurance, figuring Hoseok is touchy enough to not be put off, he loops his wrist around Hoseok's elbow when they start walking again, interlinking their arms. 

“I just wanted to hang out with you,” Hoseok continues. “It seems like everyone else has gotten to…”

Oh? Is he being serious? He barely notices the passing scenery, just allows Hoseok to pull him along. It really wouldn’t be true to say that he’s spent non-trivial one-on-one time with “everyone else,” but the fact that Hoseok is envious … 

He’s only been traveling with them for a couple of days, but already he’s felt some of the jarring impacts of that decision, already it’s feeling more and more permanent, the vision of himself willingly striking out again on his own becoming alien, absurd. And if they’re attempting to get to know him like this, if they’re taking the effort to have emotionally strenuous conversations with him, isn’t that some sort of long term investment? Does that mean they’re thinking the same thing?

“Oh, look!” Hoseok exclaims, speeding up suddenly, tugging him in a different direction. Ahead of them, a corner garden bed — at a glance, in unrealistically full bloom — is nestled against the inner wall of the dome. It is pretty, but as they get closer he sees what’s so interesting about it. The flowers aren’t organic but are instead formed out of metal and vibrantly colored glass, delicate constructions sticking out of the dirt and revealing themselves among the real foliage.

“Wow.” He feels Hoseok glancing between him and the flowers like he might be invested in Jungkook's reaction, so he continues expressing his thoughts. “These are beautiful.” He reaches out to touch before thinking better of it and retracts his hand. “Whoever made them must be very skilled.”

“Right? It’s amazing. So many shapes and colors.” Hoseok breaks away from him to peer at the installation from different angles, examining the art closely. “You can see where some of the petals have broken and been mended back on.”

“Oh?” Jungkook leans in to look at the petal he’s pointing to, foggy white and yellow glass cut through crosswise with thin veins of lead. “They did it so nicely.”

“This one has to be my favorite.” Hoseok reaches out with two fingers and lightly, gently traces the petals’ once-broken curve. 

Thinking that he ought to add his own opinion, Jungkook's attention migrates to the center of the composition where one tall flower, some kind of lily, stand proudly a few centimeters higher than its neighbors, glass stem swooping upwards gracefully. “I like the orange one there,” he remarks. “It seems like the artist was pleased with it.”

“Because of the placement?”

“Mhm.”

Suppose they do want him to stick around for a while. What then? Will he remain at the periphery, not fully participating, the one guy who isn’t as completely involved as everyone else is with each other? It might be odd, but he feels like they could probably make that work if they tried. 

The alternative, though? Their relationship’s strong gravitational pull — isn’t he going to get sucked into it? He can see that happening, actually — he could easily get attached to all six of them. All six of these strange, kind, wonderful men. 

He swallows. Whether or not in a romantic capacity, how could he stop himself from over time coming to love them?

Hoseok poses the fronds of a fern this way and that against the flower, arranging and rearranging, mimicking the positions subconsciously with his body — endearing, lovely, something like affection is bubbling in his ribcage — and Jungkook lets himself ask the question, breathlessly. What if?

Chapter Text

It’s still early in the evening, but Jackson's large foyer is abuzz with party guests — not just the man’s staff and their families, who are the official beneficiaries of Meoseumnal, Servants’ Day, but also a large smattering of Jackson's peers, other wealthy individuals whose servants are spending the day having fun. Seokjin stands at the far side of the room with Namjoon and Yoongi, the three of them waiting for Jackson to return with someone he said he’d like them to meet.

He’s trying to stay alert, to remain poised enough to make an optimal first impression, but it’s hard. A large part of him wants to slump back against the wall and close his eyes, or maybe just flee up the stairs and disappear from this scene altogether. 

It’s not as if he hasn’t been sleeping, or he didn’t eat lunch today, or his leg is giving him a lot of trouble. It’s just that Seoul is grueling in its own, unique way.

The typical blanket of fear still weighs on him — he knows it isn’t going away any time soon — albeit not as heavily as it has in these past couple of weeks immediately following his injury, that night that harshly reminded him exactly how much danger they’re putting themselves in. No, it’s not the peril that’s so specifically exhausting. 

If Seokjin had to put his finger on it, he’d say it’s all the meetings . Day in, day out, it’s the same process: choose someone to visit from their long list of local allies, hurriedly cobble together the pitch they plan on giving, select — this is especially painful — just a few out of the seven willing martyrs (some more eager than others) to go get the job done. 

Then, depending on whether or not he’s chosen, one of two alternative scenarios. In the first: sit around in Jackson's house, receive the occasional telegram, talk to the occasional guest who’s heard they’re here and sought them out; but usually, don’t get anything done and feel bad about it, or waste his own time working on something that soon feels irrelevant. Maybe take a nap. Try to anticipate the others’ return without worrying too much about what might happen to them. 

In the second: hop into the automobile Jackson has lent them, Hoseok or Yoongi at the wheel, their sole capable drivers; try not to get killed by other vehicles on the way across town; park; get turned away at the door, in which case they don’t take the risk of leaving a card, or get ushered inside; wait for the important person, or sometimes their spouse, to grant a moment of their precious time; and then, finally, get down to the emotionally draining work of explaining what’s happened to Cheolmin and what they can do about it and why they should care.

They try to distribute the work evenly. Seokjin gets to go, without Namjoon, to talk to people who have met both of them before and are definitely sympathetic to their cause. This occasionally gives rise to unpleasant situations — presumptuous comments, uncomfortable overfamiliarity — which is why he likes to bring Jimin with him when he can, leaning on his cleverness and subtle ability to steer the conversation. Namjoon takes on the more unfamiliar contacts, the ones who might be swayed by his reputation or insulted if he doesn’t show up in person.

Finally Jackson makes his way over to them, two well-dressed, middle-aged women in tow. They immediately launch into polite introductions, light conversation leading up to the main discussion. Seokjin proceeds on autopilot, barely registering anything that’s said but prepared to jump in and redirect the moment it becomes necessary. For now, the women are more interested in Namjoon, and he has it under control. 

Namjoon's meetings have a higher rate of failure, and it’s hard on him. It’s been going on for days now — Namjoon vacillating back and forth between self confidence and despair — ever since they made the initial rendezvous with Minji, Cheolmin's wife, whose desperate worry, physical fragility, and sheer relief at their presence combined to solidify the weight of what’s now on their shoulders.

As hard as they try, as empathetic their words and as tender their actions, the other four have a very difficult time comforting Namjoon — rather, he struggles to allow himself to be comforted by them. Seokjin can tell. Namjoon is fixated on the problem — which, meeting by meeting, he feels he is either closer to or further from solving — and going through the motions of accepting their help, help that doesn’t get him any closer to resolution, is something like an extra burden.

(Not really a burden, Seokjin thinks, if the alternative to slightly annoying coddling is the absence of it.)

Alone with Seokjin, it’s a different story. He sees them like two mirror images: the same mentor, the same loss, the same pain — although he thinks he might feel it somewhat less deeply. Two nights in a row, he grips Namjoon tightly as the other breaks apart, confessing all of his worries and fears and placing them into Seokjin's waiting hands, duplicate pieces of a load he has already been carrying. It’s mutually cathartic — he finds himself shedding a few tears as he wipes Namjoon's away — but when Namjoon prompts him to reciprocate, to lay the burden down for a minute, his composure sticks to him like it’s part of his skin. 

And, anyway, what is he supposed to do? Parrot back the same words? What if Cheolmin doesn’t come back; what if the shoes are too large for us to fill, darling, what if everything was for nothing? No, better to leave it like this. 

He doesn’t need much. Yoongi and Hoseok are particularly steady presences at his side, and it’s enough just to have the knowledge that they register and understand and would listen if he wanted to talk to them. But they’re also dealing with a lot themselves — something to do with memories of their shared past, he doesn’t know specifics — and they’ve tightened ranks around each other, in a way, privately leaning on each other for support, forming a closed circuit.

If it works, it works. Letting them do their own thing leaves him more mental energy to spend on the youngest three.

Apparently having assessed that their interests are incompatible, the two women excuse themselves and drift away, Jackson following them. Namjoon and Yoongi head off to find Hoseok, who’s on his own somewhere in this crowd, but Seokjin breaks off to finish his own mission, gathering a bunch of food from the party onto a tray and sneaking it up two flights of stairs into their set of three rooms. 

He sets it down on the larger table, hearing the other three talking — although it’s too quiet to make out what they’re saying — and laughing about something together in the furthest room. 

Taehyung and Jimin do a good job of hiding it, but they’re so tired. They do great in the meetings, pouring all of their abilities into the task that’s being asked of them, but the quantity and the new-ness of the work wear them down, and every time they return from and finish debriefing a completed visit, they proceed to take a brief nap right afterwards. Everyone notices and they all take care to treat the two especially softly.

Jungkook for one constantly puts himself at their beck and call, trying to remove any and all wrinkles from their mornings or evenings. It’s funny; Seokjin thinks Jungkook would be more successful if the other two weren’t so fucking excited about him being there. He’s another one of the novelties that are currently pulling their attention in all different directions.

At least Taehyung and Jimin are in pretty high spirits.

Jungkook is an interesting addition, and not only within the confines of Jackson's home. He can’t exactly be entrusted with any of the business items — he does not have a great enough understanding of what they’re trying to accomplish — but Hoseok and Yoongi are determined to bring him along as much as they can. Seokjin understands what they’re doing; he registers Jungkook's intense need to make himself useful, and he identifies with it, and he tries not to let his self-directed feelings on the matter ( I don’t need help, I don’t need to be accommodated, I just need to get over it and I can do it on my own ) seep through into his external attitudes whenever Yoongi or Hoseok makes up another ridiculous excuse for bringing Jungkook with them to the appointment. Tries not to project those expectations onto him. 

Thus far, they’ve avoided having an actual conversation about it. Not that it’s really become a problem. Jungkook is unobtrusive when he tags along, mostly. He holds the bags of documents — nothing sensitive, mostly selections from Namjoon and Cheolmin's past work — and his presence allows Yoongi or Hoseok, whoever drove, to stay with the car. There was one incident, his first or second time coming with them, when he temporarily forgot how to behave — 

“ — foolish enough to get himself arrested, and by the secret police, no less. And you expect me to continue supporting it?” The young, well-dressed man lounges casually in his seat, seemingly taking vindictive pleasure from rejecting them. “Not only that, but you’ve come here? To Seoul, to my house — you, what’s your problem?”

By the time Seokjin whips his head around to look at Jungkook standing behind them, the other has already recovered himself. “Sorry, sir — I was distracted. You’re making some good points.”

“I think I was glaring at him,” Jungkook says later. “I forgot I wasn’t invisible. I just couldn’t believe how disrespectful… I mean, I never would be able to tolerate — somebody ought to — well, I shouldn’t say that.”

Jimin giggles and pulls Jungkook's hand down from where he’s tugging on his own hair. Seokjin wonders what Jungkook was about to suggest. “I get it. But when a person decides to act like this, they aren’t our problem anymore. Just act like there’s nothing wrong next time, okay?”

And Jungkook does. A very short learning curve, all things considered.

“Guys! I brought food from downstairs,” Seokjin calls out, as soon as there’s a break in the conversation he overhears from the other room.

Jimin's voice echoes back. “We already ate! Thank you though!” Ah, that’s fine. 

“No, wait!” Jungkook swoops into the room, sliding across the floor on his socked feet, eyes on the table and the tray of food.

Seokjin's mouth goes dry, and he swallows. 

Just this afternoon, Jackson forced their whole group to borrow items from his clothes, his assumption being that this is needed for the party he’s hosting. Seokjin didn’t think it was a big deal — and it’s not — and they didn’t have the heart to say no to their host; and, while Seokjin certainly feels cleaner than before, feels more presentable among Jackson's peers, he doesn’t think he looks particularly different.

Jungkook looks different. He pops a piece of fruit into his mouth and glances at Seokjin curiously. 

“What is it?” His head tilts to the side, his hair — he usually wears it up — falling down in a uniform sheet, shiny and straight. He’s wearing earrings, more of them than Seokjin would have expected, glittering, dangling silver. “Were you hoping to eat this?”

“Oh, no — you just…” You just what? He feels a little pathetic, so easily caught off guard by a simple change of clothes, by a few layers of black and silver fabric, by a long sword in an elaborately decorated sheath belted around a tiny little waist… 

(What would it feel like? The silk waistband, the leather belt, would they be warm? Under the table, his hand twitches, and he jams it under his thigh.)

But it isn’t just a new outfit, is it? Seokjin gets to see his boyfriends dressed up nicely every once in a while, and supposedly he’s accustomed to it. (Not that he counts Jungkook among that group. Should he, though? Does the transitive property apply? No, no, it doesn’t, and anyway, that’s not the point — ) The point is: Jungkook's carrying himself differently. Like he’s allowed to be taller, like he wants to take up more space. 

Although now he’s frozen in place, leaning over the fruit on the table, waiting for Seokjin to finish his sentence. “Sorry. You look really good. That’s what I meant to say.”

“Oh?” Taking another bite from the tray, Jungkook steps back a few paces and then twirls, the ends of his coat and his hair fanning out around him. His smile has a hint of mischief in it. “That means a lot coming from a guy like you.”

“What’s ‘a guy like me?’” he tosses back without thinking, automatically willing to participate in whatever game Jungkook wants him to play.

“Well —” He blinks, hard, not like he’s confused, but like he’s not sure if or how he should say what he thinks. “You… you look good all the time.”

Ah. Seokjin clears his throat, suddenly much more flustered than before, willing his ears not to go red. What’s he supposed to say to that? 

Or, rather, what are they supposed to do with this, now? This feels like a unique opportunity — shamefully, don’t they usually shy away from one-on-one conversations with each other? He feels bad whenever that happens, and he doesn’t want to do that again this time. But under what pretext can he keep extending this strange moment? “Have you been downstairs yet?”

“Have I been downstairs? No…”

“It’s interesting.” Great, really compelling, Seokjin. It’s interesting . No — this is inherently awkward and clunky, and he should cut himself some more slack. “They’ve done up the place very nicely. Do you want to take a look around with me?”

Jungkook's eyes are wide — Seokjin can’t blame him for being surprised — and one of his hands floats up to his chin. “It’s not a problem if I cover my face?”

He shrugs. “No; it’s probably a good idea. Is that a yes?”

Jungkook is already fixing a bit of grey fabric around his nose and mouth. “Sure. Yes.”

Still operating on impulse, he holds out his arm for Jungkook to take; and he does, looping his wrist around Seokjin's forearm and looking at him with raised eyebrows. “Are we really…” 

There’s uncertainty there, but Seokjin isn’t exactly sure what the other is doubting, or whether he’s done something wrong. “Don’t let me make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s not always a bad thing. Being uncomfortable.” 

Walking out into the hallway, towards the stairs, the noise of the party gets louder and louder. Jungkook's not waiting for his response, but how could Seokjin disagree? Interacting one on one with Jungkook — it isn’t comfortable. Not yet. He wants it to be, though, both to maximize the cohesion of the group and for reasons that maybe lean more selfish.

Jungkook doesn’t seem impressed with the indoor festivities — a little line appears between his eyebrows, like the closeness and commotion might be stressful to him — so Seokjin keeps going, out of the house and into the domed garden.

It’s less crowded out here — there’s plenty of space, and it’s still midwinter-cold — but Jungkook presses in a bit closer, hanging off of Seokjin's elbow with both arms as he takes it all in, the twinkling lights that crisscross the geodesic framework reflecting in his big eyes. Seokjin leading the way, they migrate across the clearing towards a retaining wall that’s far enough out of the way that they aren’t going to be the center of attention, but which still allows them to observe the whole area. Someone has previously established themselves here tonight, as evidenced by the stack of three bowls they left behind.

Jungkook lets go of his arm, leans back against the wall. “They did do a lovely job — oh, thank you.” 

Seokjin twists around to see a person approaching — a boy, to be more precise, as only the very youngest servants are being made to work on the holiday — with a plain enamel tray in hand, on which are perched a fleet of small bowls. Freely distributed alcohol no doubt contributes greatly to the air of frivolity.

The boy moves on to the next group, and Jungkook tugs his mask away from his mouth, downing the whole cup in one go and quickly covering himself back up. Seokjin, meanwhile, takes his one sip at a time. It’s a middling-quality makgeolli, nothing to turn one’s nose up at.

Drinking is social, right? And that’s what they’re doing — socializing? That’s what he wants to be doing, if he had to sum it up in a word, but as they stand next to the wall for a minute without speaking, just watching the party, he can’t help but feel that this is too stilted, too awkward to qualify. And whose fault is that? 

Why should Jungkook be at ease? What reason has Seokjin given Jungkook to feel comfortable around him? He doesn’t want to be too hard on himself, but he has multiple regrets regarding his interactions with Jungkook in the past. 

It isn’t too late to set things in order, though. He knows that; and, realistically, it’s up to him. He clears his throat, and Jungkook looks at him. 

“I feel like we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, or… like I’ve made the wrong impression on you,” he admits. As soon as the words leave his mouth he grows more confident that, yeah, it was necessary for him to bring this up, even as Jungkook frowns and tilts his head.

“How… would we know… if the impression I have is the right one, or the wrong one?” Jungkook asks the question slowly, one arm crossed over his chest, the other hand tucked under his chin. “Because I feel like the one I have is… really good.”

“For one thing,” he starts, “I haven’t apologized yet for that, that time with Yoongi. That whole conversation was ill-advised. And I’m sorry for dragging you into it.”

Jungkook's expression, from what he can see, evens out into something more neutral. He wishes the rest of Jungkook's face was visible — there’s so much extra information he must be missing out on. “Oh, sure. I… that wasn’t the best. I’m sorry, too.”

“I understand you’ve already rehashed it, though, so I won’t try to do that again.” Things have been so busy that it almost fell through the cracks, but yesterday? two days ago maybe? Yoongi remembered and filled him in on what happened that night in Pyongsan before the ambush.

“I appreciate it.” There’s amusement in Jungkook's voice. 

So there’s no grudge. That’s good, but now what? He takes the last few sips of his makgeolli and stacks the bowl on top of Jungkook's empty one. Maybe the awkwardness is self-inflicted, but either way, he still feels its presence, and it’s leading him to believe that there’s more that needs to be talked about. 

Music wafts down from the other end of the garden, carrying through the air above the sounds of scattered conversations. He thinks he can hear Jungkook singing along to the tune under his breath. Ah, Seokjin knows what he wants to say. 

“Here’s something else,” he says, Jungkook's gaze shifting towards him again. “In that first week or so, before we had… any trust to speak of, and I was being extremely cautious… I want to make sure you know that was nothing personal.”

“Oh, I know!” Jungkook nods, a bunch of little energetic movements of his head. “I understood what you were doing; I thought very highly of it! Somebody in the group ought to have the clearheaded perspective.” He looks away into the distance. “And I admire how you do it…” 

Seokjin thinks he must be blushing. He can only hope that, with the sun starting to go down, the vibrant colors of the polluted sky, it’s not completely obvious. “Right.” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat. “Right; but when the clearheaded perspective comes at your expense, I think it’s understandable to feel hurt.”

Jungkook hums, now glancing down at his hands, fidgeting, still not making eye contact. “From my perspective, it was actually really reassuring to know that, um. Knowing they had someone like you looking out for them like that. Sorry, maybe it’s not my place to pass judgement, but.”

At this point he’s less bothered that Jungkook would be judging their group dynamics and more interested in his choice of “ they .” “They” had someone? And not “you?” Is Jungkook just trying to convey what he thought at the time, or is Seokjin even now somehow excluded from the set of people Jungkook thinks need looking-out-for? It’s an odd pinprick of pain, one which surprises him. One he’ll try to ignore. 

“And now, the fact that you’re going to the effort of explaining — I just feel —” Jungkook cuts himself off with a shrug, evidently not ready to share the rest of that thought. “I don’t know. It’s not a bad thing.”

It’s funny, how forthcoming Jungkook can be when he wants to, and yet how vague that honesty can be. It’s not a bad thing . That’s great, but it’s unsatisfying, as happy as he is to hear Jungkook wasn’t too badly hurt, and as much as he does enjoy being praised. “If that didn’t bother you, then, was there something else? Am I missing anything?”

Jungkook takes a minute to respond, hesitating, fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves. So there is something bothering him. Seokjin feels a pang of apprehension and rushes to clarify his request. “You don’t have to say. But even if it’s just, I’m confusing you somehow, then maybe we could get it out of the way.”

“Okay. I mean, maybe I’m being overly sensitive,” Jungkook starts, glancing up and tilting his head to the side. “But lately I feel like whenever I make a suggestion, you shoot it down right away?”

“Really? Have I been doing that?” He doesn’t mean to sound so taken aback; he says it without thinking, surprised. Jungkook frowns. 

“I… it was just a couple of times, but it made me wonder…”

He swallows. He remembers, now, one instance: their first day in Seoul, Jungkook suggesting they could ask Jackson for help finding arms and Seokjin explaining why that probably wouldn’t work. It was his honest first reaction, yes, and he still stands by the logic of what he said, but perhaps it came across more negatively than he intended? “Wonder what?”

“Whether you had something against me I didn’t know about? Or whether you would have preferred I didn’t say anything? I don’t know.”

“Oh, no, I never would have intended — I’m sorry I made you feel that way.” He really didn’t even consider that Jungkook might have been hurt — and why didn’t he? Probably, because of that aggressively-confident, denial-of-vulnerability thing Jungkook does when he’s cornered or insecure. It’s confusing, and Seokjin doesn’t know how to respond to it. “I’ll have to be more careful to —”

“Wait!” Jungkook holds up both hands. “I don’t mean for you to mess with your other priorities for the sake of my feelings. I like your priorities as they are. You know?”

“Honey, my priorities are so deeply ingrained at this point that I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” Jungkook exhales through his nose. It sounds something like a laugh. “Still, it doesn’t hurt for me to be a little more self-aware.”

“Mm.”

Another unassuming young person bearing a tray of drinks chooses that moment to pass by, barely acknowledging them besides quickly placing two more bowls onto the retaining wall next to them before walking away. Poor kids. This must be a long night for them. Jungkook drinks the contents of the bowl nearest him in the same manner as before, wincing a little, but Seokjin doesn’t move to pick up the other one, still focused on grasping the words and ideas swimming across his mind’s eye. 

“I’m not saying we’ll never argue. I’m not sure whether you’ve noticed this, but when I disagree with something, I tend to speak up about it right away.” Jungkook chuckles again, thankfully picking up on his sarcasm — there’s no way he couldn’t have noticed. “Sorry, it’s a bit ridiculous that we’re even talking about this.”

“I don’t think it’s ridiculous,” Jungkook protests. “To be fair, this sheer amount of talking-about-our-feelings is totally new to me, but it seems really… good? Really beneficial? To be as communicative and honest as you guys try to be.”

“We’re good now, right? There’s nothing else unresolved, hanging over our heads.”

“I don’t think so. Unless you can think of anything?”

Seokjin shakes his head. No. And oh, it’s such a relief to put that bit of tension behind them. Jungkook smiles — his eyes do, at least — and Seokjin takes in the sight of him again, now bathed in the red half-dark of the Seoul sunset and the glittering electric string lights. The still-mysterious silk waistband, the hand that intuitively comes to rest on the hilt of the short decorative sword near his hip, the hair tucked daintily behind one ear. He still wants to touch, and he wants to not need to agonize over it. 

“You want me to be honest?” he asks. “Deathly honest?”

Jungkook levels him with a look that’s difficult to interpret. Seokjin thinks, hopes, that he’s being obvious. “I… yes.”

Seokjin swallows. He’s just going to stumble ahead, then. “Don’t hate me for saying this,” he breathes, and, taking a step closer so he can reach, he brings one of his hands up to the side of Jungkook's face, not yet touching skin but allowing himself to drag one finger back and forth through the dangling row of earrings close to his neck. An admission. “You’re so pretty. Lovely.” He tests out the feel of the words in his mouth. He likes it.

Jungkook's eyes are huge as he grabs onto Seokjin's wrist. The response is ambiguous — he pulls Seokjin's hand away from himself slightly, but he doesn’t let go of it — and again Seokjin is struck by the thought — What am I doing, without being able to see his face?  

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asks. 

The question makes Seokjin frown. Why wouldn’t he be okay? “Just because I’m a little stressed doesn’t mean I’m not in my right mind,” he reasons. “I’m not lying to you and I’m not trying to overthink — Do you want me to stop?”

“No! That’s not what I meant.”

“Ah.” That’s a good sign, right? That they might be on the same page?

“But if you aren’t serious about this,” Jungkook continues, “then you should stop flirting with me.”

“I am serious. Why wouldn’t I be serious?” Seokjin sputters, feeling slightly wounded before he wraps his head around what Jungkook might be thinking, takes into consideration the content of his previous remarks. “Are you worried I just like the way you’re dressed? The way you look?”

“Maybe.”

“It’s not like that.” He speaks seriously; he’s serious ; he doesn’t want to mess this up. “Do you want me to list other things I like about you? I can —”

“No! That’s okay, please don’t,” Jungkook says quietly, looking around the clearing in all directions as if just now recalling how many people are here. He readjusts his grip on Seokjin's wrist so that he’s closer to holding his hand and, surveying the landscape one more time, starts tugged him towards a path that seems to lead deeper into the garden. “I’m convinced.” 

As they leave the clearing, they get further away from the noises of music and eating and conversation and deeper inside the sort of nighttime quiet in which one would expect to hear bugs and frogs — although in the dome, there aren’t any. Jungkook carefully studies the paths branching off in different directions, squinting into the half-dark, and Seokjin is content to watch the other doing whatever he’s doing and let himself be pulled around. He can feel his heart racing (and frankly, if it wasn’t so cold out his palms would be sweating) as he vacillates between gleeful and terrified, as he feels a rushing sense of forward motion and confronts the thought that he both does and does not know what is going to happen. 

“Where are we going?”

“Just — away from all the people.” Jungkook glances backwards, evaluating the area, the light falling across his face softly. “I guess here’s fine.”

They’ve come to a halt at another raised garden bed, this one sandwiched between the path and the glass wall of the dome, which at this darkening time of day appears slightly more like a mirror than a window. Seokjin takes in the new location, and in the meantime, Jungkook lets go of his hand and hops up to sit on the retaining wall, half-hidden in the fronds of a row of tall ferns.

Now that he’s situated, Jungkook tugs his mask down from his nose, the fabric hanging around his neck and his hair. He’s smiling, and there’s color in his cheeks. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Seokjin replies, nervous but pleased, watching as Jungkook frees the length of his hair out from under the knotted length of fabric. “Wait —” he blurts, reaching out on an impulse to brush Jungkook's hair further out of the way, recklessly chasing a flash of something he thinks he saw, not sure what he’s going to do if he’s correct. “Who did that to your neck?”

He doesn’t look at Jungkook's face, but he hears the other’s shaky, surprised inhale as he cradles the side of Jungkook's neck in his hand, grazing his thumb over the little mouth-sized red mark hidden near his collar, something either Taehyung or Jimin must have left behind. 

He presses on it lightly, experimentally, fascinated by the idea of his youngest boyfriends’ mysterious involvement with this other person; and Jungkook grips Seokjin's sleeve in his fist and pulls on it, reflexively or perhaps as if to distract him, pouting slightly and obviously flustered, not answering the question. 

But what kind of distraction is this? Jungkook's expression is serious, concentrated, a little inquisitive in the way he tilts his head to the side, searching Seokjin's eyes for — for what? Intention? Permission maybe? He has permission. Seokjin has been so terribly forward; he would really like Jungkook to be the one who — 

Jungkook leans forward and kisses him.

Gently. So gentle it feels like it’s taken out of context. He quickly comes to the surprising and delightful realization that Jungkook kisses a lot like Taehyung does, delightful not because he needs another Taehyung to kiss — he already has one — but because of how unexpectedly sweet that is. He can’t help it — he pulls back slightly and laughs, glee and relief bubbling up from his lungs, so different from the gloom and disciplined stoicism of the last few days.

Blushing as if he can read Seokjin's mind (but who knows what he’s actually thinking?) Jungkook frowns. “Shut up,” he grumbles, and Seokjin tries to contain himself. 

“Sorry,” he breathes, and he kisses Jungkook again. More aggressively, now — that’s what feels right — crowding in closer, finally getting his hands around the soft silk warmth of the firm waist in front of him. ‘Unexpectedly sweet’ — yes, that describes in so few words the lovely way Jungkook responds, pliantly adjusting himself however he thinks Seokjin wants, almost melting towards him. It catches him off guard a little, actually. He expected fireworks and explosions from this, not honey.

Honey still smelling and tasting faintly of alcohol. Honey with hands that travel up his arms to his shoulders, one hand coming to press against the side of his face. Awash in tender feeling, he kisses Jungkook's cheek, his jaw, and the other sighs, a melodic noise that’s difficult to interpret.

“What is it?”

Jungkook grunts — not very talkative, is he? — and hooks both arms around Seokjin's back, tugging him forward, pulling him in between his legs to be as close as possible. Squeezes him tightly.

Ah. It’s nice. But he can’t stand the stillness, so he returns his attention to Jungkook's neck and begins methodically placing a wet row of kisses all the way down to his collarbone, Jungkook tilting his head slightly to allow him greater access and threading a hand through Seokjin's hair, holding on, encouraging. And again Seokjin finds himself looking down at the mysterious pink mark from earlier, as if he’s been pulled there magnetically; he nips at it — a gentle scrape of the teeth, but a bite nonetheless — just to see what happens, and Jungkook lets out a little gasp from where he’s resting on Seokjin's shoulder. 

That’s gratifying. Seokjin likes that. And he likes how the hand in his hair falls gracelessly away from his head, likes how Jungkook goes lax when he moves a few centimeters to latch onto the skin just above.

(And how is this going to end? He doesn’t want this to end. He doesn’t want to have to go back inside where things are serious and depressing and normal.)

“Jin,” Jungkook says in a low, musing voice, and Seokjin leans back a bit, using his sleeve to dab dry his faint, splotchy handiwork, listening. “I like you a lot.” And it’s satisfying to hear him say that, sure, but the way he says it isn’t quite right, the words slurring together.

“Are you okay?” Seokjin prompts, now frowning; but instead of picking his head up and reassuring him with his answer, Jungkook slumps even further, head lolling to the side.

“Hmmm, no? I feel funny… feels wrong.”

Oh. Huh. Seokjin suddenly feels how acutely vulnerable they are like this, out in the garden alone. “We should head back.” 

He takes a few steps back from the wall so Jungkook can get down, and the short jump has the other stumbling forward as if struggling to keep his feet under him. Seokjin swoops forwards, concerned, and Jungkook clutches onto his arms for support. This isn’t right. This is scary, actually. Why is he so… wobbly? What happened?

Seokjin doesn’t want to show how frightened he is. “Okay,” he says firmly. “Let’s go.” 

Jungkook still holding onto him, taking small steps and staggering every meter or so, they proceed back down the path. He can take care of this. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, but maybe Jungkook ate something bad? Drank something bad? They’ll get to a safe place, try to get him to throw up the rest of whatever it is just in case, make him drink water, make him sleep, and it’ll turn out fine. Right?

Strange noises resound in quick succession: from the direction of the clearing, a woman’s scream, followed by more sporadic yells. From somewhere behind them, a shattering of glass. Jungkook's fingers clamp down harder on his arm.

“What —”

“Seokjin?” Jungkook's voice wobbles. “I think you should run, you should get away from me —”

“Are you trying to be funny? In what world would I even consider doing that?”

Dark shapes emerge into view on the path ahead of them. Jungkook makes a little distressed noise and steps them both backwards, off the path, crowding Seokjin between himself and the rough bark of a tree.

He doesn’t know what’s going on and he doesn’t have the wherewithal to formulate a theory. The yelling from a minute ago has died down, and Jungkook's quick, labored breaths are loud in his ears. 

“They’re here!” a high-pitched voice calls out from somewhere nearby. Oh, that seems bad. His field of view is not very wide, but when Jungkook lets go of him, takes a small step forwards, and with apparent effort unsheathes the sword he’s been carrying, holding it at the ready with both hands, he can see not one but three people coming to a halt in front of them. Two of them are dressed inconspicuously in all black and armed with pistols. Shit. And the third is the servant girl who gave them drinks without speaking to them earlier. Fuck, that must have been when — 

Seokjin yelps as a pair of hands grab him and roughly pull him to the side, out from the shelter of the tree. More than three people, then, he hears himself think. Jungkook whirls around at the noise, his eyes huge, but the sudden motion has him staggering to the side dizzily, and Seokjin watches in horror as one of the dark figures behind him raises their arm high and brings the butt of their gun down hard on the back of Jungkook's head. 

Jungkook falls forwards, limp, and Seokjin reflexively catches him. Dead weight. Unconscious. Seokjin is alone. 

His senses suddenly flooding back to him, he opens his mouth and screams. “Help! Somebody!” He doesn’t know if anyone comes, or if anyone even hears. The last thing he sees before losing awareness is a bright flash of white-sharp pain behind his eyes.

Chapter Text

Awareness returns to him bit by bit.

The first observation that bleeds through his senses and into his mind is a low thrumming noise coming from somewhere behind him — or maybe above him? — a buzzing that swells and recedes at the same frequency as his throbbing headache.

Oh, that’s another observation. He’s in pain. The main part of it seems concentrated at the back of his head, and he feels but struggles to specifically locate other pains coming from other places, distributed from his weeks-old leg injury all the way up to the irritation of the light seeping in past his eyelids.

Ah. His eyelids. With the understanding that it’s going to hurt, he opens his eyes.

It seems as if whoever assaulted them must have removed them from Jackson's property. He has to assume that’s the case, given the constant, unfamiliar noise, given the shoddiness of this small, poorly lit room, windowless, with concrete walls, a naked lightbulb dangling from the ceiling, an unevenly packed dirt floor on which Seokjin now sits. There’s a door, a metal door, with a small metal-grate opening at eye level and a knob with no obvious locking mechanism, set into the wall to his left. 

His first impulse is to get up and try the handle, but, testing out the rest of his faculties, he doesn’t think he can do that. His wrists are bound together behind his back with some kind of light rope, and when he tries to pull himself away from the wall slightly, his arms remain fixed in place. Blindly feeling around the ground and the wall, he thinks he detects the metal pipe running along the base of the wall, to which he’s been secured.

Maybe later he’ll try to rip himself free from the wall. Right now, though, he strongly doubts that trying to make a break for it is a good idea. The main problem — he doesn’t think he can get them both out of here while Jungkook is still unconscious. 

He’s avoided that section of the room up till now, afraid of what he’s going to see, but now he forces himself to look. Just out of Seokjin's reach, propped up against the adjacent wall, Jungkook sits slumped at an uncomfortable and awkward angle, the restraints probably keeping him from falling over. He’s totally disheveled — Seokjin probably looks the same — but, amazingly, he can make out just the slightest movements, the small but steady rising and falling of his shoulders that he desperately wants to see.

The fact that they are both still alive is very promising.

Don’t take it for granted, he thinks. You need to make a plan while you’re still able. You need to wake him up.

How the fuck is he supposed to do that without alerting whoever is — and he has to assume there could be someone — on the other side of the door? Wouldn’t it be safer just to wait for him to wake up naturally, then find some way to silently communicate?

You don’t have time for that. Escape. Go it alone. Come back for him. 

Fuck. That isn’t a bad idea. If he has an opportunity to do that now, and he doesn’t take it… how else are they going to get out of here? 

It’s easy to visualize the steps. If he can get his hands loose, he can try the door. If the door is unlocked, he can… he doesn’t know, but he has to try. Doesn’t he have an obligation to try? 

It’s terrifying, knowing concretely what he ought to do. He can’t force himself to begin. Can’t move at all. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, feeling like he’s drowning in preemptive guilt and fear; but when the doorknob finally jostles, the sound of the key obvious in the lock, he’s terrifically relieved — he would have had no chance of escape in the first place — before the reasonable terror sets back in. 

Two people enter the room. First, a big thirty-something woman dressed in all black, and following her, the same girl from Jackson's house. The teen, her arms crossed, throws a callous, rather disinterested glance in Seokjin's direction — he doesn’t try to hide the fact that he’s conscious, but he doesn’t say anything, either — before she extends one foot and starts nudging Jungkook's leg with her boot. “Come on. Time to wake up.”

It takes a minute of the girl’s increasingly persistent jostling — too persistent, in Seokjin's opinion, but he remains silent — before Jungkook wakes up with a harsh intake of breath and a cough. Sitting up, testing the mobility of his limbs, tugging experimentally at the restraints, he quickly takes in the room, going through the same process as Seokjin not long before: seeing the open door, seeing Seokjin against the adjacent wall, his gaze not lingering anywhere but on the teenager in front of him. “Sooyoung.” 

Ah. If they know each other… these are likely not Seokjin's enemies. 

The girl — Sooyoung, he supposes — turns to look through the open door; she steps backwards and the other woman slips back outside to allow space for another person — a smiling, portly middle-aged man — to enter the room. The guy pays Seokjin no mind. “Well. I thought I saw you die.”

“What did you do to me?” Jungkook asks, less of a question and more of a demand. Seokjin thinks he recognizes this familiar persona, recalls how he dislikes being on the receiving end of its sting.

“I don’t think you’re in any place to be ordering us around,” the guy responds, still with the same weirdly lighthearted tone.

“Just answer the question.”

“You don’t need to worry about it. I’ve gained some new capabilities in the last year, that’s all.” 

So did Jungkook work with these people, once upon a time? That’s what Seokjin is gleaning from this. I thought I saw you die — but just because they were all on that old crone’s pirate ship at the time doesn’t necessarily mean they were complicit in — eugh. Maybe it does mean that. Seokjin decides he fucking hates this guy. 

“And what special guest do we have here?”

It’s not exactly pleasant, being on the sharp end of that smug look. Seokjin opens his mouth, about to come up with some sort of ambiguous answer, but Jungkook speaks instead. “Shouldn’t you already know? This is the guy I was conversing with when you all kidnapped me.”

“I didn’t ask you.” The man continues looking down at him, expectant, and Seokjin tries to echo Jungkook's vague reply.

“I don’t know… I’m not sure I’m supposed to be here.”

The man raises his eyebrows as if amused. “I wouldn’t say things like that if I were you, kid. Think about it. If you aren’t supposed to be here, then where are we going to put you?”

It’s an unfamiliar feeling that rushes through him once he realizes his life is being threatened so casually and implicitly. He’s still afraid, to the point of nausea, but there’s also something thrilling about it, something that has him quipping, sarcastically sweet — “In that case, it’s my lifelong dream to be here, sir. Thank you so much .”

Taken aback, the man laughs, and he hears a giggle from the woman standing outside the door as well. Sooyoung remains stoic. The man’s attention switches back to Jungkook, whose suppressed smile completely vanishes. “Got yourself a funny one, have you?”

“I don’t know what you mean by that.”

“I think you do. Don’t act stupid with me. Mister this is the guy I was conversing with. ” He mocks Jungkook in an exaggeratedly high-pitched voice and Jungkook sighs as if he’s annoyed.

“I understand what you’re getting at and I’m telling you: I really don’t know this guy that well.”

Seokjin is struggling to follow the logic of the conversation and the significance of what’s being said. He’s disturbed, though. Does Jungkook think they’re bluffing when they say Seokjin will be discarded when he isn’t needed? Is Seokjin supposed to be of any value to these people or is he not?

“We’ll see about that. I need information from you and I’m going to get it from you.”

Ah, he supposes that’s the reason they aren’t dead yet. Is Seokjin supposed to serve as leverage or something? That would be consistent with what he’s been hearing… 

“ You need information from me ?” Jungkook quickly responds with exaggerated incredulity, tweaking the topic of conversation a little. “I thought I was an idiot and a waste of space.”

Oh, that does not sit right with him. Not at all. But their captor takes it lightly, tossing up his hands as if in amazement. “I thought so, too! But here we are.” Taking a few steps backwards, he rests one hand on the doorframe. “Now that I’ve graced you with my radiant presence, I’m going to go have some breakfast. We’ll be back soon!”

He turns and leaves, Sooyoung following behind. The door closes, the lock turns into position, and Seokjin doesn’t trust this setup for a second. Why would those three barge in, wake the two of them up, and toss them some information only to leave right afterwards? There has to be someone just outside the door, listening. 

“Should I…” Having spoken, having gotten Jungkook's attention, he tilts his head emphatically towards the door, trying to indicate his suspicion. “Pretend that… I know you better than I do? Do you think that would help?”

“I... don’t think so,” Jungkook says after a moment of consideration. He thinks Jungkook is telling him not to change anything, to continue playing along as near-strangers, but it’s difficult to interpret. The other’s totally neutral expression is giving him neither information nor reassurance. (He’s across from the door; is he being watched through the mesh grating?) “I’m sorry… you shouldn’t have to experience — .” He cuts himself off with the barest hint of frustration. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know what to say to that.” The placement and the burden of guilt is the last thing he wants Jungkook to be worrying about right now — but he doesn’t think he can voice that. It doesn’t fit the narrative they’re crafting. “You’re not hurt too badly, I hope?”

Jungkook grunts noncommittally and looks up at the ceiling. “‘m fine.” Ah. Seokjin tried to word the question politely, but perhaps even then it was too familiar. 

It seems their conversation is over. 

Just be honest. What’s the worst that could happen if you’re honest? some part of his brain points out. You don’t want this to be the last conversation you have before you die.

On a sentimental level, yes. But if he’s really about to die then it hardly matters what his last conversation is. No one here is recording his words. He’ll leave it as it is.

He tries to adjust the position of his legs and, finding them painfully numb, settles for fiddling with and scratching at the bits of rope and pipe his fingers can reach while he waits for their captors to return.

It doesn’t take them long. The man comes back in with a cushion that he places on the floor and sits on, relaxed, Sooyoung standing behind him in the far corner with her arms crossed. He supposes they’re planning on staying here for a while, then. “It’s terrible how expensive everything is in this place,” the guy casually remarks as he makes himself comfortable. “And it’s not as if there’s an incredible level of quality — everything’s filthy here.”

“And?” Jungkook asks. “What do you want to know?”

He waves a placating hand. “We’ll get there, we’ll get there. You haven’t changed your minds about how well you know each other, I suppose?”

Here it would be best to simply shake his head no, to direct attention away from himself, but Seokjin replies before he can think much about it. “For your information, we’ve gone on a first, second, and third date while you were gone, and we’ve gotten betrothed.” Again, the man chuckles at his quippiness, and Seokjin wrinkles his nose — providing entertainment wasn’t really his intention.

“I don’t think it’s going to be as difficult to get me to talk as you think.” Jungkook sounds disinterested. “I don’t see what incentive I have to withhold.”

“That’s good to hear. The sooner I learn what I want to know, the sooner we can all get out of here.”

It isn’t as if Seokjin has liked the expression on the guy’s face before, but this self-satisfied one now is especially disquieting. He knows he won’t be stuck in this room forever — “we can all get out of here,” the man said, and maybe that means they’ll be able to just walk out at the end of this if they’re cooperative enough. Or maybe he’s insinuating that he plans on disposing of them in a more permanent way.

“I’m just saying that maybe we can manage a civil conversation.”

“Us? I doubt it, but we can try.”

If this conversation does end in their deaths, then they shouldn’t want it to end at all. There’s a tradeoff there — the unknown cost of freely giving information (a likelihood-of-dying that is impossible to compute but which weighs quite heavily on the scale) versus the unknown cost of withholding it (whatever might be inflicted on them for non-cooperation). 

Not that Seokjin has any say in the matter. He can barely follow what’s going on, let alone dictate the flow of information.

(A large part of him, the majority and then some, is agitated and terrified by this realization. He wants to jump in and take control, wants to make sure they make the best choice. The other, small part, though, is sheepishly, guiltily pleased that he doesn’t have to make any decisions. That he’s relieved of responsibility for the outcome. 

It is your fault, actually. You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t been so reckless last night — )

“It’s Yiseul's treasure,” the man says, leaning back, casual. “We’re trying to track it down.”

As if to confirm his powerlessness, Seokjin has no idea what that refers to. Then again, Jungkook also seems confused. Seems . “Yiseul's… treasure. I need more than that.”

“I don’t think this is difficult to understand,” the man sneers. “I’m talking about a separate stash of, of money, of valuable items , you know, that belonged to her, that she would have been aggregating for her entire life. Treasure .”

“I think I get what you’re talking about,” Jungkook says slowly, calmly musing as if this isn’t a precarious situation. “But don’t you live there? It’s her ship . Didn’t she put all of her profit back into it?”

“You can’t expect me to believe the sum total of all her escapades, more than fifty years, is reflected in that object,” the man counters. “Especially since it’s been over thirty years since she’s made major changes to it — not that you would know. That was before your time.”

“I don’t mean just the physical object. Obviously that’s not all.” Jungkook ignores the jab, seeming oddly invested in what he’s trying to explain. “The money has to go to a lot of different places, you know that. The helium alone… and it’s a huge percentage that goes back to the crew —”

“I’m well aware running the ship costs money and paying people costs money.” It kind of seems like the guy is losing patience, but Seokjin doesn’t know if that is good or bad for them. “I didn’t come here for an accounting lesson —”

“I’m trying,” Jungkook interrupts. “I don’t understand what’s wrong. Why are you convinced that she left behind this ‘secret treasure’? Do you have any evidence?”

The man takes a deep breath, his eyes closed, as if to calm himself. “To me, and to many of us, it’s clear what was going on. She’d leave for a week — at regular intervals — with a lot of, you know, stuff , a lot of money that she would return without. She’d come back without anything at all — so, clearly, she was depositing it somewhere. That much was common knowledge, or did you think we were going to be too stupid to figure it out?”

“I know what you’re talking about. Those were for bribes. Did you not know about that?” Jungkook tilts his head to the side. “That’s why, that’s why we returned empty-handed. She was paying people off.”

Bribes . The man mouths the word silently, quiet for a long moment. “Bribes! That’s the most ridiculous fucking assertion I’ve ever heard.” He leans forward, clearly passionate about this. “Yiseul would never, never have needed to resort to bribery .”

“Maybe she didn’t need to. But she, she looked at the pros and cons objectively and decided she wanted to,” Jungkook offers, stumbling over his words slightly. “We did gain a lot of, a lot of advantages from it. How much time did we spend running from law enforcement? Barely any?”

“She didn’t need to —”

“And as a result we could support more crew with, with higher payouts and a better standard of living — didn’t she care more about that than, I don’t know, anti-authoritarian purity?”

The man swivels his head left to look at Sooyoung, who seems surprised to have attention directed her way. “What do you think of this?”

She speaks hesitantly. “To me, it sounds… plausible.”

All at once, he rises to his knees, face twisted up in frustration. It’s frightening — although neither of the others seem particularly taken aback. “ Wrong! ” he shouts. “You kids are so — We don’t need to cheat in order to succeed, don’t you understand?”

“Maybe you wouldn’t know one way or the other,” Jungkook says with a little smile, one Seokjin feels he maybe shouldn’t be wearing. “But does this mean you all haven’t been keeping up with bribing the right people? How’s that going for you?” The man doesn’t respond, like Jungkook's words and growing smile fly over his head, like his thoughts are somewhere else. “We’re already in Seoul; you could run into the secret police headquarters with a bag of cash while we’re here…” 

“This tale you’re weaving is flawed,” Still kneeling, the man leans forward, bit by bit inserting himself into Jungkook's space seemingly without thinking, Seokjin queasy with secondhand fear and discomfort as he watches. “If this activity of hers was so important, why keep the rest of us in the dark about it?”

He can’t imagine Jungkook is actually enjoying this — but maybe he is, because Seokjin also can’t imagine how or why he’d be faking it so well. “Isn’t it obvious? Look at how you’re reacting. She didn’t trust you. ”

“ You insolent little —” He springs to his feet and reaches behind his back, Seokjin physically jolting when he sees the revolver now in the man’s right hand. “I could end you right now, couldn’t I? You ought to show some respect.”

To demonstrate this idea, he swings the revolver around and points it right at Jungkook's forehead; perhaps compensating for Jungkook's disturbing lack of any reaction, a stern, involuntary “ hey! ” jumps from Seokjin's mouth, as if a tiny admonishment is going to help anything. He freezes, recognizing his mistake, and in an instant the business end of the gun is now in front of his own face. 

“What? You want to get yourself involved?”

“I don't think Yiseul would condone you bringing unnecessary outsiders into internal business,” Jungkook says, all the previous taunting and mirth gone from his tone. It does the trick, though, the man’s arm dropping back down to his side — he’s already made his point, anyway.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, invoking that name after denigrating it so disrespectfully.” The man seems a lot happier now that he’s given them a good scare, reasserted the upper hand. “I’ll give you another chance to tell me the truth.”

“I can lie to you if that’s what you want from me…”

“Of course not. I just need a location, a set of locations. Whatever it is.” 

Jungkook stays quiet. 

It’s funny — Seokjin actually thinks he’s probably telling the truth. So did Jungkook know the man wouldn’t believe him? Or was it purely a guess? Having chosen what he was going to say, then what was the likelihood that — No. Working himself up over what-might-have-happened is not going to help.

Even though the revolver is no longer pointed at him, he still feels a little untethered — not physically, no, he’s very much situated in his body, but he feels like his thoughts might run away from him.

“I’m willing to do this the hard way,” the man says. “Since that seems to be what you want.”

In a way, that’s good, Seokjin thinks. That means it’s not over yet, not even close. They’re still needed. (Well, Seokjin might not be needed. Is he? For some reason, they’re keeping him around.)

“Excuse me for a moment.” Already standing, the man turns and leaves, Sooyoung staying behind. 

Looking at it another way, though, this is very bad. He can’t see how they’re going to be able to avoid getting hurt — and what makes that more unbearable is that he has no idea what to expect. No possible harm can be ruled out and neither Jungkook nor Sooyoung are giving him any clues. (He thinks if Jungkook looked frightened, though, then he would probably feel worse.)

When the man returns, it’s with a small, stoppered vial containing what looks like a small amount of liquid, held up proudly at chest height between two fingers. “You should already be familiar with this,” he says.

At that, Jungkook's eyes widen, his tongue darting out of his mouth for a moment before he recovers the fully unfazed demeanor he’s been wearing. Ah. That must be the substance they drugged him with at the party. (It would have been Seokjin too if not for chance — although he ended up here nevertheless, didn’t he.) 

From near the doorway, the man and Sooyoung converse briefly in whispers, hands shielding their faces. What did Jungkook say, before? When the stuff was kicking in, about how it made him feel? He doesn’t recall, but he remembers the way Jungkook could barely keep his feet under him. Remembers how wrong it felt. 

“Here’s the situation.” Sooyoung steps back, and the guy addresses Jungkook again. “I don’t have a lot of this stuff, and if you waste it I’m going to be very upset with you.”

“Ah.”

“So let’s make a deal,” he continues. If you drink this cooperatively, I will graciously refrain from killing him — which I’m sure you don’t want. Even if you ‘don’t know him.’” 

That’s cheap, Seokjin thinks. Exhausting their whole pool of bargaining power at the first opportunity. Or maybe his valuation of his own worth is biased.

“How about this,” Jungkook offers after a moment of thought. “If I cooperate, then you move him somewhere else. Into a different room.”

“Oh?” And Sooyoung again leans over to whisper in his ear.

Why? Seokjin trusts him, but why is that what Jungkook wants? Maybe he wants Seokjin to search for a way out, an escape that’s inaccessible from this little room. (He’ll do that whether or not it’s the intention.) Or maybe he wants Seokjin out of the spotlight so he won’t be used as a bargaining chip again. Maybe he just doesn’t want Seokjin to witness whatever he thinks is going to happen. And that’s… 

“That’s fine,” the man says. 

They don’t waste any time. He approaches Jungkook with the vial and at the same time, Sooyoung unsheathes a jagged knife from her belt, the thing looking incredibly frightening in her hands as she walks towards Seokjin against the adjacent wall. “Lean forwards,” she says, and he immediately complies, eager to get out of the way of her tool.

Hovering over him from the side, breathing loudly in his ear, she saws through some part of the rope, working at it for a minute or so. He stares at his feet, not watching her or any of them, not wanting to see. Only when the man says, “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” does he feel that it’s safe to look up.

When Sooyoung pulls back, he’s still restrained, but no longer tied to the wall — it seems they’ve thought these contingencies through, probably informed by experience. She grips him under his arm and, the pain in the back of his head spiking with the movement, pulls him up with far greater ease than he anticipated, especially given the weak, unsupportive state of his legs. 

He’s bigger than she is, sure, but he probably won’t be able to get away from her. Not in this state.

I’m sorry , he thinks in Jungkook's direction — before he catches himself, admonishing. Whatever opportunity presents itself, he has to try. There’s no excuse. He doesn’t look back as she basically drags him out of the little room.

It’s not a hallway they emerge into but a much larger room, one crowded with multiple long rows of big, grey-painted metal boxes — although in the wider, middle aisle, there’s also a scuffed wooden table at which the three other goons from their captors’ party are sitting, in various states of awareness. Dipping into and out of the boxes, thick bundles of wire run parallel to the aisles, attached to the ceiling, either conducting towards or away from the source of the mechanical thrumming noise, which gets quieter as they leave through the only other obvious door in the room.

It is a hallway they enter, then. Still no windows anywhere, and no helpful signage, but it feels like they must be getting closer to an exit… Sooyoung turns them ninety degrees and there, in front of them, is a wide-eyed old man in work clothes, clutching a broom. 

Seokjin makes a surprised noise, thinks in bright, sudden flashes about the gun and the knives attached to the teenager’s belt, about how quickly and with what difficulty he and this old man could take her down, about how gravely he’d be endangering the man’s life if he tried anything — but before he can say a word, Sooyoung tightens her grip on him and greets the old man with a pleasant tone. 

“Hi! We’ll be out of your way.” She speaks directly to Seokjin next, who continues staring desperately at the other even as he looks away, a nonverbal answer. “Everyone here knows what’s going on. So you can get that idea out of your head, right now. Actually — can we borrow your broom closet? It locks, doesn't it?”

As Sooyoung helps the old man haul potentially dangerous objects out of the closet, which turns out to be right there in front of them, she decides to let go of him briefly; and it’s here that he feels if he doesn’t make a break for it, he won’t be able to live with himself. He knows he won’t be able to open any doors in this state, though, so he’ll have to run past the other two to get to the stairwell just visible down the hallway…

No time to reconsider. Sooyoung ducks her head into the closet and he leaps forward, the motion feeling awkward, as quietly and as quickly as he can manage — and it works, initially. The stairs get closer, closer. “You —” Sooyoung's voice behind him, and he gasps, hears the sound of her chasing after him — but the stairs are right there , and he has a tiny bit of a head start — 

No good. Something solid collides into him from behind, sending him flying forwards, falling. He has no way to catch himself, so he twists his torso around to land on his side instead of his front. Hurts, but it’s better than a concussion.

He can still make it. He can. He can. With great effort he gets his legs under him again, but before he can take more than one step forwards a hand grips his ankle and yanks . He yelps as he falls back onto his knees, kicks out with the foot she’s holding, making contact, hitting something, although she doesn’t let go.

“Will one of you idiots come help me?” she yells, and he redoubles his efforts, struggling to free himself as she struggles to keep him in place. This feels like his last chance — rather, he feels like he ought to feel that way, logically knows that another opportunity is not going to arise — and he has to give it everything.

He tries. He really tries, kicking, twisting, jerking away, but he just can’t extricate himself, especially when one of the guys previously sitting in the other room rushes in to assist, one hand firmly grasping Seokjin's shoulder and the other showing him the ugly end of a pistol. 

“Behave,” the guy says, simultaneously stern and disinterested; and Seokjin stills, panting. Acknowledges his defeat.

“As funny as it is watching you struggle, it isn’t going to work.” Sooyoung once again grips his arm and hauls him to his feet, dragging him where she wants. Back towards the broom closet.

“I had to give it a go,” he breathes. The old man, arranging the former contents of the closet against the wall of the hallway, doesn’t look up.

“I respect that.” They enter the broom closet, a close, dim space featuring a utilitarian basin and faucet, all other equipment having been removed. She leads him towards the support pillar that stretches from the floor next to the sink up to a ceiling beam. “But consider yourself lucky. My dad would’ve broken your leg for that.”

An odd comparison , he thinks, before the resemblance and the association occur to him. “Wait,” he says between breaths. “Is that guy…”

“My father?” She chuckles, but it sounds more like a sigh than a laugh. “I forgot how out of the loop you are. Sit down here.”

He sits, and she attaches him to the column with a new length of rope she produces from somewhere within her pockets. He wishes he had some clever trick up his sleeve, some other way to sneak himself out of this, but he doesn’t. One last tug to test the restraints and she steps back, expressionless and silent as she closes and locks the door, leaving him alone. 

His eyes adjust to the darkness, the only illumination seeping through the doorframe and the same sort of inset mesh grating as the door in the other room has. He’s calming down, his heart rate slowing, the immediacy of his fright, his urgency, receding, and everything hurts. His head, his leg, knees, ankle, the arm he fell on — none of it too acute, though, and certainly nothing compared to what they’d capable of inflicting on him if they wanted. Oh, he doesn’t want to think about that. 

He wiggles into a slightly more comfortable position, sighing and resting the side of his head on the cool, bumpy surface of the painted concrete column. This reminds him, actually, of his first serious run-in with the authorities, the first time he found himself in jail. Not the conditions themselves — this is so far removed from that long night spent waiting to be processed in a crowded, rowdy holding cell — but the sense of alone-ness. The helplessness. The not knowing what he ought to do.

That was also their first attempt at doing “business” in Seoul. Everything unfamiliar and awful, large and strange. His offense was nothing serious — he’d been caught leaving somewhere he shouldn’t have been wandering through — and Namjoon, arriving first thing in the morning, was able to post his bail and get him out. (Namjoon was still a nobody back then, and just a kid, but to Seokjin, walking out of the station and running into his arms, he was everything.)

It wouldn’t be as easy as that, now that they’ve made names for themselves. The current situation with Cheolmin is evidence enough. He and Namjoon were supposed to meet Minji today, actually, so she could finally hand over some copies of Cheolmin's most recent notes. He thinks that was today — doesn’t really know what day it is, but he’s not hungry enough for that much time to have passed. Is Namjoon going to go through with it? The meeting is important, and it was difficult to arrange, but if he’s not in the right mental state for it, he hopes Namjoon knows there’s no shame in postponing slightly if it’s more than he thinks he can handle.

He doesn’t want to think about how Namjoon or any of the others might be feeling right now, how this incident might be affecting them, but he can’t help himself. That’s where his mind goes next. 

His first impulse is to think that he can’t imagine being one of the five left behind at Jackson's house, without a clue where the missing ones have gone, what’s been done to them, if they’re even alive… but he can imagine, actually. To an extent. He’s the one, after all, out of the way in the broom closet, with no clue what’s going on… but that’s not quite the same. At least he has some idea of the ‘game,’ the stakes, the players involved. 

At least he’s almost sure that between the two of them, Seokjin will be the first to die. Morbid, yes, but until they come for Seokjin again, he can be reasonably certain Jungkook is still in one piece.

His sense of time is already starting to slip away from him, but he can tell it doesn’t take him very long, after his sight has fully adjusted to the dark, to take stock of his surroundings — testing his restraints, stretching out his legs to see what his feet will reach, and visually searching for anything, anything at all he can use to his advantage. (He comes up short, but what did he expect? These people are professionals.)

There’s one last measure he needs to try, but he wants to wait until at least an hour has passed, wants to give them time to forget about his existence. So he sits, waits, and after what feels like an eternity, he works up the nerve to open his mouth and call out into the unknown — 

“ Hello? ”

He waits a minute, hears no one coming. Everyone here knows what’s going on , Sooyoung said. So his hopes aren’t high, but still… he shouts it again, louder this time. “ Hello! ” If he wasn’t so afraid of Sooyoung's father he’d yell a more explicit request — please help , perhaps — but it needs to be something plausibly deniable, just in case… 

He does think he hears something in the corridor, and he stays quiet, listening, disheartened but completely unsurprised when the door unlocks and reveals someone he doesn’t want to see. 

It’s Sooyoung again. She doesn’t look quite angry , but it’s the most pissed-off he’s seen her. “You know nobody’s going to hear you, right?” she says disdainfully. “And the people who do already know not to try anything?”

“Ah, sorry. I was just trying to get your attention. I didn’t mean to cause trouble,” he lies.