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    Summary

    Once, Yoongi had grudgingly allowed himself to be pulled out of his spot in the shade, and he’d knelt at the shoreline while Namjoon and Taehyung collected shells and crabs, tracing patterns idly in the wet sand with his finger. He’d make a mark— draw a line, dig his hand into the ground, gouge out a handful of stones— and then the water would rise to sweep it away. Draw, erase. Draw, erase. Each careless mark and scratch washed away along with Taehyung’s footprints by the rhythm of the tide.

    Seokjin isn’t stupid, but he trusts them so much that the possibility of them hurting him never even occurs to him. It’s the brilliant part of doing this while he sleeps. Every night, Yoongi comes to him and digs his hands into him, and every morning he wakes up to find his perversion washed away; Seokjin greeting him gently, clean and bright, as though they’d never laid their hands on him at all. A clean slate for Yoongi to mark up all over again, a smooth white shore. Pretty and unknowing and helpless, waiting to be ruined again and again and again.

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