Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jimin opens his eyes slowly, rubbing at them sleepily with his grimy fists. It’s still dark outside, but someone is rustling about in the little lean-to. He lifts his head from the lumps of blankets and curled up children he’s nestled in, trying to see who is moving around when it’s still so dark outside. Yoongi says that it’s not safe to leave the tent when it’s dark. 

“Hyung?” he whispers, blinking his eyes to see in the murky darkness. 

“Ssh, Minnie-ah,” comes a soft voice, only a little bit older than his own, “Go back to sleep.” A warm hand reaches toward him and tenderly brushes the tangle of bangs resting on his forehead away, and Jimin can feel the warmth of the smile the boy is giving him despite the darkness. “Hyung will be back soon, I’m going to find some food for us. Stay near Kyungso, keep each other warm.” 

Jimin smiles back even though Yoongi probably can’t see him, watching sleepily as the older boy dips out into the growing light, the sky still such a deep gray that it’s hardly discernible from the blackness of night just moments ago. Jimin lets his head plop down into his arms and snuggles closer to the small boy lying next to him. He pinches his eyes shut and tries his best to doze off again, but a strange little pull of restlessness tugs in his tummy and sleep evades him even though he still feels sleepy. Though he was too young to remember when he became a part of this group of other orphans, it’s always been like this. He’s six years old now, but he still can’t sleep or feel completely safe until Yoongi is home. 

It feels like hours later when Yoongi finally ducks back into the tiny little shelter, a loaf of bread and a little handkerchief filled with berries in his hands. Jimin pops up and gasps when he sees the food, his tummy twisting with need for it. He accidentally jostles Kyungso with his elbow in his haste, and the boy groans and turns over twice before laying still again. 

“You didn’t sleep, Jimin-ah,” Yoongi chides gently, sitting down cross-legged at the mouth of the tent and setting the food down in front of him. Jimin shakes his head emphatically as he crawls to sit across from Yoongi. 

“I don’t like sleeping when you’re not here, hyung,” he murmurs honestly, eyes wide and expressive as he pouts at the older boy. 

Yoongi smiles gently and reaches out to pinch Jimin’s chubby cheek, the pout deepening with concern. “I’ll always come back for you, Jimin-ah, you don’t have to be afraid.” Jimin nods, but the little furrow between his eyebrows doesn’t disappear. “Wake the others up, we shouldn’t keep all the food just for us two, right?” 

Jimin nods again, this time with a little smile as he turns around to nudge Kyungso and Serang awake before he scoots over to the twin girls sleeping in the corner. 

“Rojin, Jiyeon,” he whisper-yells in their ears, “Wake up!” Neither lump budges, so Jimin crawls gracelessly over them and settles his weight sideways on top of their bodies until an annoyed grunt emerges from one of them. “There’s food, noona, wake up,” Jimin insists, rolling over Jiyeon to squeeze himself between the girls. 

“Food?” Rojin murmurs, sitting up and stretching her skinny arms above her head. Jimin nods excitedly and tugs on her tattered dress until she scoots over to where Yoongi sits. In just a few moments, all five children are crouched in front of Yoongi, and he carefully divides it up into pieces that are barely larger than two or three bites each. He hands one carefully, along with a couple of berries, to each of the children, keeping the last and smallest piece for himself. 

“Make sure to get every last crumb,” he tells them with a wink, but doesn’t touch his own portion. Jimin tilts his head to the side, his tummy rolling in anticipation. Yoongi always eats last. Why does he always eat last? Maybe Jimin will ask him someday. The others around him scarf down their bread and berries without delay, sucking the purple juice from their fingers and pretending to be satisfied. Jimin waits until he sees Yoongi pop a berry into his mouth to start nibbling at the dry crust of his bread, but Yoongi still licks the last of his food from his lips before Jimin does. 

———

“Hyung, where did you get that?” 

Jimin is eleven years old when his curiosity finally gets the best of him. Yoongi always has that silver ring around his finger, and never once has Jimin seen him take it off or consider selling it, no matter how hungry or desperate they all are for money. At the question, Yoongi sits up straighter from where he’s hunched over a tunic, his fingers meticulously mending a hole in the fabric with a dull, bent needle. 

“Where did I get what?” he murmurs softly to let the other children sleep. His voice is deep now, strong and solid in tone, it doesn’t crack like it used to. Jimin wants to lay his head against Yoongi’s chest and listen to him speak, to feel the vibrations of his words under his ear and beneath his fingers if he were to rest them higher, against the older boy’s throat.

“Your ring,” Jimin clarifies, pointing at the band adorning Yoongi’s middle finger. He used to wear it around his neck on a chain, when his fingers weren’t large enough to hold the ring securely. Automatically, Yoongi’s thumb tucks in to twist the band around, the smooth black stone resting in the center of it spinning slowly around his finger. His eyes drift to the floor next to where Jimin sits, a far-off look in them and a sad smile on his lips. 

“It was my mother’s, she gave it to me right before she died.” 

Jimin’s heart twists at how quiet and sad Yoongi’s voice sounds, and he looks down into his lap where his fingers lay intertwined. 

“What are mothers like?” he asks, urging his mind to remember his own mother. Yoongi smiles at him and rests his palms on his knees, dark eyes gentle as they lift to stare into Jimin’s own. 

“There are all types of mothers, Jimin-ah. My mother was soft and warm, like the nicest pillow you can imagine.” He scoots closer and holds out his arms for Jimin to lean into them. “She would hold you like this, and rub your back, and sing lullabies until you fall asleep.” He carefully tugs Jimin’s head into his chest and wraps his arms securely around him, and Jimin feels a contented sigh escape his own throat. Yoongi’s voice is comforting where it rumbles against his ear when he speaks, just like he imagined. “Some mothers aren’t supposed to be mothers, like yours. But that’s alright, because you have us to be your family.” Jimin snuggles into Yoongi’s hold, letting his eyes flutter shut. “Mothers are supposed to protect you and listen to you when you’re feeling sad, and give you advice on how to move forward.” Jimin feels Yoongi nuzzle into his hair and sigh, and he has to open his eyes again to stay awake. 

“What was my mother like, hyung?” He asks sleepily, fists tightening in Yoongi’s tattered tunic. 

Yoongi sighs heavily, remaining silent for a moment. “I don’t know, I never met her. Do you remember anything about her?” 

Jimin shakes his head silently, the movement rustling the fabric of Yoongi’s shirt. “The place I lived before I lived with you said she didn’t want me. What does that mean?”

Yoongi sighs again and tightens his grip on Jimin’s body. “It doesn’t mean anything about you. It means she decided she didn’t want to be a mother, and thought maybe someone else should instead. That was unkind of her, she didn’t find another mother for you.” He huffs softly and squeezes Jimin even tighter. “But you’re with us now. You can grow up and be healthy and good without a mother, all of us will do that together.” 

Jimin nods slightly in agreement, his eyelids becoming too heavy to keep open anymore. “I’m glad I have you to be my family, hyung,” he slurs before drifting off to sleep, held securely in Yoongi’s embrace.

———

“Oppa, it hurts!” Jiyeon whimpers, holding out her arm towards Yoongi. She bites her lip, and Jimin can tell that she’s trying hard not to cry. She told him a few days ago that she’s a woman now since she's seventeen, and women don’t cry, only little girls. Jimin had responded that he thought everyone cried sometimes, but she didn’t seem to agree. Even the red, angry looking burn on her arm can’t seem to convince her otherwise… unless it involves Yoongi. 

“Noona, I can help you,” Jimin offers, but Jiyeon just casts him a sideways glance and goes right back to staring at Yoongi. 

“I just wanted to make you some tea, because I know you like tea.” She flutters her eyelashes at him in a fashion that seems overly dramatic to Jimin, and an unfamiliar, nasty feeling twists in his chest. “But I got burned, can you help me?” She pouts at Yoongi, who is using a small knife to whittle away at a shapeless chunk of wood.

Yoongi looks up, unamused. “Jiyeon, I told you you don’t have to call me that. I’m barely any older than you.” He sets down his project and pushes to his feet, and Jimin takes some strange gratification in the annoyed expression he wears. “You said yourself that you’re a woman now, you need to learn to take care of these things yourself.” Jiyeon pouts more, and this time it looks far more genuine. “Jimin-ah, can you please grab the bandages?” 

Jimin smiles to himself and turns back into the tent to rummage through the scraps of medical supplies they’ve collected over the years. A roll of old, yellowed bandages sits next to another, much smaller roll of clean, white ones. Jimin hesitates for a moment before reaching for the older ones. A little burn isn’t that serious, they need to save the nice bandages for worse wounds. That’s what he tells himself as he ducks back out into the morning light. 

“He got the nasty bandages!” Jiyeon whines, clutching her arm dramatically as Yoongi steps forward to inspect the injury. His eyes flick to Jimin, who tries to keep his face as neutral as possible. 

“All of them are clean, Jiyeon, but we have to reuse them. You know that cloth isn’t something we can waste. If you want your arm wrapped up, you’ll be alright with using these ones.” Jiyeon glares at Jimin as if it’s his fault they don’t have cloth to spare, but she relents and holds out her arm for Yoongi. 

“Jiyeon, did you get the tea made?” Rojin skips around from behind the tent, holding a cup, which Jimin knows is Yoongi’s favorite one. Jimin had gotten it for Yoongi when he turned fourteen, using all of the money he had saved from packaging the market butcher’s meat to buy the dark gray, only slightly chipped cup for Yoongi. Again, a sense of pride warms his chest at knowing his gift is Yoongi’s favorite. 

“Not that one,” Jiyeon hisses, glaring at her sister, “The other gray one.” Jimin has to bite his tongue to stifle a snort. He’d nearly forgotten that after taking notice of how much Yoongi loved his gift, Jiyeon had gone out and somehow acquired a very similar cup, one without a chip on the bottom. Yoongi had thanked her, but told her that no one needs two gray cups, especially when the first one is so well-loved. He had said that she should give it to someone else who didn’t have one rather than keep it and not use it. She had pouted and said she was keeping it anyway. 

Yoongi keeps silent as he wraps a small length of bandage around Jiyeon’s irritated skin, but Jimin can see the way his cheek is bitten between his back teeth. One of the things Yoongi hates most is extravagance, and he had told Jimin once that he considers having too much of anything you won’t use to be extravagant. 

“Hold still, I can’t finish this if you keep squirming.” Yoongi grips Jiyeon’s forearm where it’s not red with his other hand, and Jiyeon whines again. Rojin rolls her eyes and goes back behind the tent, muttering something under her breath. Jimin watches as Yoongi carefully and quickly secures the bandage around Jiyeon’s arm, with gentle fingers despite his clear annoyance. It makes him smile, remembering all the times he's gotten a scrape or a cut of his own and Yoongi had patched him up every single time, with his touch as light and kind as the kisses of the wind. He pushes to his feet and makes his way around the back, to where Rojin and Kyungso are drawing in the dirt. Rojin has always been his favorite out of the twins; if Jiyeon says that they’re grown-ups now, Rojin is the one who actually acts like it. She’s much more practical and kind than her sister, and Jimin also appreciates the fact that she’s not constantly trying to get Yoongi’s attention

“Noona, I have a question,” Jimin murmurs, squatting down to sit on his heels and picking up a short stick to twirl between his fingers. Rojin looks up and hums for him to continue. He waits for a moment, trying to figure out how he wants to phrase this question. 

“What does it mean when my chest feels funny sometimes when I look at someone?” 

Rojin looks up at him again, this time holding his gaze. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean that my chest feels funny,” Jimin repeats, like she didn’t hear him the first time. Rojin rolls her eyes playfully and plops down so she’s sitting on the ground, fingers still tracing through the dirt. 

“I heard you, Jiminie, but that doesn’t help me answer your question, you have to explain a little bit more.” 

Jimin sighs and wraps his arms around his knees. “There’s someone that I feel oddly protective over, and whenever I look at that person it makes me happy inside, right in my chest.” To emphasize his point, he taps over his heart where the feeling resides. 

“It sounds like you have a crush,” Rojin singsongs, a little smile tugging at her lips. “Who is it?” She leans in closer, even though there’s no one around to hear besides Kyungso, who is happily occupied playing in the dirt. 

Jimin huffs, heat rising in his cheeks. A crush? There’s no way he has a crush on Yoongi. Yoongi is his closest friend and takes care of all of them, and he’s older and smarter than Jimin, it doesn’t make sense. “No one, I was just wondering,” he mutters, chewing on his lip. Rojin looks like she wants to ask him more, but she just lets her eyes fall back to the ground and returns to drawing with Kyungso. 

Jimin taps his fingers against his other elbow, resting his forehead against his arms, running through all the times he can remember that warm feeling, and why it’s only Yoongi that it seems to respond to. He remembers when Yoongi brought him his favorite dessert from the market one day even though he knows it’s expensive, when he makes sure he’s warm in the winter, keeping him safe and working odd jobs during the day just to make sure they can all eat, the way he takes care of the children even when he’s not much older or more experienced than them. Jimin feels the blush intensifying at his thoughts, so he bites his lower lip and tries to shove all of the memories away. It’s bad enough that Jiyeon is always kissing up to Yoongi and trying to earn his attention, Jimin can’t become the same way. He cringes at the thought of himself becoming as dramatic and silly as Jiyeon can be sometimes. 

He gets to his feet and strolls back around the tent before climbing in, busying himself with straightening up the blankets and various things strewn about rather than considering Rojin’s words. 

He doesn’t have a crush on Yoongi. 

He can’t have a crush on Yoongi.

———

“Jimin-ah, you’re so strong now,” comes Yoongi’s deep voice, and Jimin quickly looks down at his toes to try to hide the blush threatening to tint his cheeks. Yoongi comes to stand next to him, a sack of rice slung over one shoulder, with a sheen of sweat on his forehead. Jimin shyly nods his thanks and turns from the cart, a heavy bag resting on each of his shoulders. They’re helping the merchants unload their stock, a job they commonly work during the day. If they’re lucky, they’ll earn a few coins for their efforts, but they’re usually paid in food that they can take home to share. Jiyeon is married and gone now, so there are only five mouths to feed rather than six. A few months ago, almost as if to replace Jiyeon’s absence, Kyungso brought home a little orphaned girl one day after fixing fences, and she eats so much that they fondly call her Eolbang, for her chubby cheeks. She’s never spoken to them, and they don’t know her name, so the nickname has stuck. 

“I have to work hard to feed everyone, hyung, you can’t be the only one to do it anymore,” Jimin murmurs, but even he knows that he did a poor job of accepting Yoongi’s compliment. 

“Yah, just say thank you,” Yoongi huffs, flicking Jimin’s forehead with his free hand. Jimin yelps and steps back, but he can’t help the giggle that escapes. “You work hard to feed our Eolbangie, just admit it,” he chuckles, and Jimin smiles in response. 

“Yeah, she’s like a little wolf. Maybe we should call her that instead.” 

Jimin is nearly seventeen now, and the muscles have packed right on with the amount of work he does. If they both stand up straight, he’s almost Yoongi’s height, but he still feels like a child sometimes, blushing at the slightest compliment or recognition from his hyung. If he thought that learning he had a crush on Yoongi all that time ago would help it fade away, he was wrong. The naive, childish feelings have only intensified and grown into a relentless love and adoration that he can barely restrain. He has to, though, for fear that it would tear their little family apart. He doesn’t think he could live with himself if Yoongi rejected him and ruined the dynamic of the group. Other than Eolbang, they’re all nearly old enough to be on their own, but they’ve been together for so long that it doesn’t feel right to split now over the consequences of Jimin’s feelings. Yoongi is the most precious thing in Jimin’s life, and he can’t stand even the thought of losing him. He notices and adores everything that Yoongi does, and he dreads the day, perhaps growing ever closer, that they may have to part ways and find their own paths. 

“Jimin-ah, I have something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about,” Yoongi says thoughtfully as they heave their sacks of rice onto the growing pile behind the merchant’s tent. Jimin’s heart drops to his stomach, and he tries to stop himself from thinking the worst. Has Yoongi noticed that he acts differently around him? Will he finally say that he doesn’t like Jimin that way, tell him that he’s weird for having such feelings? 

“Yes, hyung?” He responds, as nonchalantly as he can, even if his heart is hammering frantically against his ribs. Yoongi sighs and plops down on the sacks, folding his hands in his lap. He tilts his head for Jimin to do the same, and he carefully sits down beside his hyung, trying not to look as nervous as he feels. 

When Yoongi looks up, Jimin can’t help but catch his breath. He’s so beautiful, with his delicate features that don’t at all match his rough exterior, but perfectly complement the love he holds inside for the people close to him. Whenever he looks at Jimin he could swear his eyes sparkle extra bright, their warm brown color reminding Jimin of gentle smiles, of the tightest hugs and the kindest voice. To others, Yoongi might look like a damaged orphan who grew up with no purpose besides labor, but Jimin knows there’s so much more. He can feel his heartbeat calming down just at the softness in Yoongi’s gaze, and he allows himself to relax. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Yoongi says, looking off into the distance, “What are your plans?” 

Jimin tilts his head and his eyebrows furrow. “My plans?” 

Yoongi nods, a little smile tugging at his pink lips. “Do you have any? You’re practically a man now, you’re around the age to be looking for someone special.” He nudges Jimin’s shoulder teasingly, and Jimin forces out a laugh. 

“I guess so, hyung,” he mutters, plastering on a fake grin. 

Yoongi is silent for a moment, and his expression becomes more serious. “Do you want to start an orphanage with me?” 

Jimin chokes on air, and Yoongi is quick to slap him on the back in an effort to help. Jimin doesn’t respond, can’t respond for a moment while he processes the question. Yoongi stares at him with a surprisingly nervous expression, pulling one side of his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Do I want to… what?” Jimin says, mostly for confirmation that he heard correctly. 

“Start an orphanage with me,” Yoongi repeats, softer this time. His eyes are big, imploring, and Jimin feels his heart kick. 

“Expand on that?” He responds, voice thick and hoarse from coughing. 

Yoongi looks down at his hands, and he suddenly looks very small. “There are a lot of kids out there like us, Jimin, and I want them to have a family and a place to belong. They don’t deserve to fend for themselves on the streets like we had to, and it’s been weighing on me for a while.” He looks up again, his eyes filled with hope. “I was hoping you would do it with me. I know…” He looks down again, and Jimin is surprised by how vulnerable he seems. “I know you might want to go off and live your own life, find someone to love and start your own family and all, but there’s no one I would rather build a place like that with than you.” 

Jimin tries not to hyperventilate. The overly hopeful part of him is longing to take Yoongi’s words to heart, twist them into what he so wants them to be. I love you and I want to start a life together where we can help others and be their family. The other part of him, the more rational one, is fighting to keep his reaction neutral and not read too much into what Yoongi is saying. There’s no way he means it the way that Jimin wants him to, there’s just no way. 

“I…” He starts, still unsure of what to say. Yoongi is still looking at him with that open expression, and Jimin’s heart twists almost painfully. “Yes. Yes, I want to do that with you.” He exhales, the words feeling almost heavy as they come off his tongue. Yoongi stares at him for another moment, as if he doesn’t believe him, before laughing and throwing his arms around Jimin. He goes still and can hardly breathe, Yoongi is holding him so tightly. He feels like he might burst with feeling. 

“I didn’t think you would,” Yoongi murmurs as he lets go and sits back, an elated grin on his face. Jimin masks his giddiness with a scoff, and slaps him gently on the chest. 

“You must not know me very well then, hyung,” he teases, “Or you would know there’s nothing I would rather do more now that you’ve said it.” Yoongi looks at him for a moment with a soft smile on his lips.

“No, Jimin-ah, I know you the best, so I know you'll do anything it takes to make it happen.”

Jimin is surprised he can hold in the love that floods his veins at that moment, as he casually stands up and slings three bags of rice over his shoulder.

———

Jimin can’t sleep. Yoongi isn’t back yet, and despite the years that have gone by since he was a little boy afraid of the dark without his hyung, sleep still eludes him until he’s certain that Yoongi is home, safe and warm in their tent. It’s been hours since the sun settled behind the mountains and the world plunged into darkness, and still, the space in the corner where Yoongi sleeps remains empty. Jimin turns over for what seems like the hundredth time, trying to focus on his breathing or the light snores coming from Kyungso, the gentle chirp of the crickets outside, anything but the absence weighing heavy in the air and on his chest. 

It’s moments like these when Jimin worries most about the future. It feels like Yoongi is a part of his own body, as if his whole left side is missing when Yoongi isn’t here. There’s something about the darkness of night that’s so uncertain and unsettling, like a curtain able to obscure anything, shadows ready to reach out and snatch you away before they dissipate in the morning sun. Perhaps it’s this that twists a knot of worry into the pit of his stomach, not knowing why Yoongi is gone so late, wondering what it is that hinders him from returning home safely. If this is what one night without him feels like, how will Jimin survive if, someday, something happens to him, if Jimin loses him? Even with the reassurance now that Yoongi wants to build a future with him, who can say for sure that will happen? The world is a cruel unknown. Just a few weeks ago, a mysterious fever took Rojin during the night, leaving them as only four. Falling asleep beside someone warm and bright, and waking up to them still and cold only hours after, is the speed at which life can disappear, as short and fragile as the mist in the morning. The fear of that happening to anyone else, especially Yoongi, grips at Jimin’s heart like a freezing fist of iron. He remembers a warning that Yoongi gave them in passing several days ago, telling them to stay close to the tent because he heard whispers of slave traders passing through their area. That thought plagues him, growing into a more concrete possibility the longer he thinks about it. What if something bad has already happened, and he’s too late? 

After forcing himself to lay still for a long while, Jimin quietly sits up and crawls out of the tent. It’s chilly at night now, but he forgoes grabbing a blanket and heads straight off along the path that he knows Yoongi takes to come home from the village. It passes right by a pond that glitters in the moonlight, which is why Yoongi prefers it, even if it's the longest way home. Jimin sometimes catches him sitting alone, staring across the surface of the water with a wistful expression, though he’s never known what it is that Yoongi thinks so deeply about. He keeps his eyes up and scans the dark forest at his sides as he walks, trying to keep his mind from seeing grotesque shapes in the darkness where there really are none. 

Suddenly, a hand clamps down over Jimin’s mouth, an arm wrapping around his throat and tugging him down against a warm body that feels only slightly smaller than his own. He tries to scream but a second hand forces down over the first, trapping in any sound.

“Ssh, Jimin-ah,” comes the last voice that Jimin expects. The hands loosen cautiously, as if to make sure he keeps silent before pulling away. Jimin’s heart is thudding in his ears, and his chest rises and falls quickly with surprised breaths, but he doesn’t scream again. He turns slowly and looks into Yoongi’s eyes, his own wide and confused. Something is very wrong. Yoongi is trembling against his back, which sends fear spiking through Jimin’s gut. He wants to ask what’s going on, but he remains silent. Yoongi looks around furtively several times and sits completely still for several long moments, but nothing happens. 

“Okay, let’s go,” he finally says, his voice calm, like he didn’t just tackle Jimin to the ground as if they were hunted animals. 

“Hyung, mind explaining what that was?” Jimin demands as he stands, the panic of the last few moments evident in the sharpness of his tone. Yoongi looks back over his shoulder and turns to face him, something still very off about his demeanor. He’s silent for a moment before exhaling shakily. 

“Nothing, there’s nothing to worry about.” 

Jimin feels a flare of angry disbelief tug in his chest, and he steps back from Yoongi. 

“Nothing?” He mutters incredulously, “Hyung, I came out to look for  you because I was worried sick and didn’t know if you were hurt, and then you grabbed me like we’re in danger, then now you call it nothing?” His voice grows louder, rougher. The worry and fear that have been churning in his gut all night feel like they’re burning too hot to ignore. “What are you hiding from me?” Jimin whispers, his eyebrows knitting together as he inspects Yoongi’s crestfallen expression under the moonlight. Yoongi refuses to meet his eyes, opting instead to stare down at where his fingers twiddle together nervously. Jimin sighs then, his anger simmering down to an uncomfortable warmth rather than a searing heat. 

“Hyung,” he murmurs, “tell me what’s bothering you. You don’t need to keep secrets from me.” Yoongi looks into his eyes then, and Jimin is surprised at the fear he finds there, like looking into the eyes of a cornered animal. He reaches out tentatively to take Yoongi’s wrist, feeling the race of his pulse beneath his calloused fingers. “Are you alright?” He finally asks, feeling a twinge of guilt at the realization that he should’ve asked that before anything else. 

Yoongi nods, but his eyes tell a different story. Jimin has looked into them infinite times, memorized their color, their sparkle, their shape, what they say even when Yoongi’s mouth remains closed. Right now, they’re panicked and dark, even if his face remains neutral. 

“ Hyung,” Jimin presses, but Yoongi just twists away and starts down the path home. Jimin stares after him for a moment, bewildered, before he trudges along after. His heart still throbs in his chest, adrenaline tingling in his fingertips like static. A cold tendril of worry curls itself in his gut as he watches Yoongi walking, watches the way that he looks around him cautiously, even though nothing dangerous resides in the patches of grass and skinny tree branches. 

He trots to catch up and walk beside Yoongi, looking pointedly at him. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he tries again, a sternness in his voice that he doesn’t often use. Yoongi just exhales through his nose and keeps walking, and Jimin feels his anger flare. He doesn’t like to be ignored. “Hyung, if there’s danger, you tell me. Do you hear me? We lost Rojin, what if we lost you, too?” The words taste sour and ugly, and he gains no satisfaction in the way that Yoongi flinches, but he doesn’t stop. He jumps forward and twists so that he’s facing Yoongi, blocking his path with his fists curled at his sides. “Since when do you hide things from me?” He’s almost yelling now, his voice rough and angry. 

Yoongi looks into his eyes then, slowly. The shaky sigh he releases is heavy enough to be a confession in itself. “Longer than you know, Jimin-ah. Let me by.” 

Those words drop like stone in Jimin’s stomach, and he feels the heat of his anger dissolve into hurt as Yoongi shoves past him. He’s always felt like Yoongi was his confidante, and that he was his, that he could trust him with anything and be trusted in return. The realization that he was wrong stings more than he would like to admit, burning like tears he can’t let fall, and he remains silent until they approach their tent. Yoongi ducks into it silently with Jimin following close behind, mind still a tangle of confusion and hurt. Jimin settles down into his space, putting his back to Yoongi so he doesn’t have to look at where he lies across the tent. He stares at the texture on the wall of the tent for what feels like hours, trying to make sense of his thoughts.

“I don’t hide things from you, hyung,” he mutters under his breath before falling into a fitful sleep, unsure if Yoongi even hears him. 

——

Jimin tries over and over again to coax an answer from Yoongi about what frightened him so badly that night, but he never gets an answer. All that it serves to do is close Yoongi off from him more and more until they barely speak. The warmth that used to reside in his chest when he thought of Yoongi is now displaced by a cold ache, by a feeling of dread and betrayal so potent he hardly remembers what it was like before. Before, when Yoongi smiled at him and talked to him and told him everything, or so he had thought. Before, when he thought that the only thing that could ever divide them was the current of life, when all he feared was that someday they would go their separate ways. Never did he consider that Yoongi himself would be the cause, never did he think that they could live together yet feel so far apart, so disconnected they might as well not know each other. He can hardly bear how heavily confusion weighs on him, how deep the wound feels. Yoongi doesn’t trust him, and perhaps he never has. 

On the fifth day of silence, after several failed attempts to talk to Yoongi, he’s had enough. After yet another evening sitting alone in the tent, fruitlessly wracking his brain for any reason why Yoongi would behave this way, he shoves to his feet and storms out of the tent. He has to demand an explanation. If he doesn’t get one, he might as well leave. There’s nothing for him here if his little family is falling apart, and he knows that it is. Rojin’s death and Yoongi’s silence don’t only affect him, he knows that Kyungso is just as confused. Even little Eolbang is restless and upset without Rojin’s arms to hold her and Yoongi’s deep, gentle voice to croon her to sleep. He’s hardly ever present anymore, as if he’s avoiding confrontation of any kind as long as he can, even if it comes at the cost of their group. It’s so unlike the Yoongi Jimin knows that it hurts like a knife to the gut. 

He marches out and starts along the path, guessing that Yoongi is working some job in town. He must be, that’s his only excuse for being so absent. From the corner of his eye he sees Kyungso and Eolbang setting out for a walk, savoring the last few weeks before it gets too cold for evening strolls. Jimin wonders if Yoongi even knows that the little girl had said his name two days ago, the first word she’s ever spoken to them, with big, fat tears welling in her dark eyes and a tremble in her lip. The thought only fuels his anger more, so hot and tight in his chest that he barely feels the cold stinging his bare arms. 

Jimin spots him as he’s approaching the pond. Entirely predictable, he shouldn’t be surprised, but the fact that Yoongi is sitting alone in retreat from them, from him , without a genuine reason, only makes him more upset. He speeds up his steps and makes sure that his feet can be heard crunching against the dry grass, stomping down into the dirt as he approaches Yoongi’s lonely figure. 

“Get up,” he demands when he gets close enough, but Yoongi doesn’t move a muscle. “I said get up,” he repeats, reaching out and gripping Yoongi’s shoulder. Still, he doesn’t respond. Jimin huffs and slips down the bank a little ways to stand in front of Yoongi, showing as much emotion in his voice as he can muster. “Hyung, talk to me. Please don’t ignore me anymore.” Yoongi glances up, but his mouth remains firmly closed. “Let me rephrase it: you don’t get to ignore us anymore. Do you remember that there is an us? That you are not the only fucking person in this world that matters?” Yoongi shrugs, but he still doesn’t speak, and it enrages Jimin even more. “Do you know what happened while you’ve so conveniently been gone?” 

Yoongi fully looks up then, eyes glassy and far away. “Why should I care?”

Jimin steps back, incredulous. He laughs joylessly, almost like a sob. “Who are you?” He demands, pointing at Yoongi’s chest with a shaking finger. “Who the hell are you to hide things from us, to not care when you’ve all but abandoned us? Kyungso isn’t going to confront you about it, so here I am. Eolbang, you know, the child that we take care of and is a part of our family, said your name. She cried for you. Our mute baby cried out for you because you haven’t been home! Why should you care?” He scoffs and lets his hands fall to his sides. “The Yoongi that I know would never say something like that. Where is he? I want him back, if you don’t fucking mind.” 

Yoongi doesn’t respond to that either. Jimin is no less furious than when he came, but if Yoongi won’t cooperate, he needs to try a different approach. He turns and sits down on the dry grass next to his hyung and stares at him, willing him to look back. “What happened to you?” he asks more gently, but with urgency still in his voice. “Why are you being like this?” 

Yoongi speaks then, finally. “Why does it matter to you?” 

It hurts. It stings worse than anything else he’s said. Jimin is shaking now, clenching his fists in his lap and pushing down a scream of frustration. “What?” he asks softly, praying that he has misheard. 

“I said, why does it matter to you?” There’s a detached coldness in his voice that’s so unfamiliar it barely sounds like him at all, and it’s all Jimin can do not to start crying. 

“So you haven’t just forgotten yourself, but you’ve forgotten me, too? Do you know a fucking thing about me?” Jimin demands. “In all of these years, you haven’t learned what the most important thing in this damned world is to me?” Yoongi shrugs, and Jimin can’t hold it back any longer. He shoves Yoongi’s shoulder backwards so that he’s forced to face him, and he grips both of them so that he can’t turn away. 

“It’s you. You are the most precious thing in my fucking life, hyung, and I’m losing you and can’t understand why. I need you, we need you, and I can’t fucking help you with whatever’s wrong if you cut me off. And before you ask some shit question like why I should care, it’s because I love you.” 

If the situation were any different, those words tumbling out of his mouth with a mind of their own would terrify Jimin. But now, they’re his last resort. If he’s losing Yoongi anyway, he has nothing to hide anymore. Yoongi looks fully into his eyes then, an indecipherable expression falling over his face. He’s silent for several beats, punctuated by the harsh pounding in Jimin’s chest, and he’s about to retract his words when Yoongi surges forward to press his lips firmly against Jimin’s own. 

It feels like time stops, like everything around them dissipates to make way for the shock of warmth that floods through Jimin’s veins. All he knows in that moment is Yoongi, Yoongi’s lips, Yoongi’s trembling hands cradling his cheeks tentatively, like Jimin will shatter if he squeezes too hard. All he hears is their breathing, desperate, flowing in and out of synch. All he feels is the rough material of Yoongi’s tunic clenched between his fingers as Jimin drags him closer, wanting him as close as he can be, heat twisting in his chest. 

“Jimin,” Yoongi murmurs, pulling away just enough to breathe the word, “ my Jimin.” Jimin feels a lump lodge in his throat, and he squeezes his eyes shut before they betray him. 

“Your Jimin,” Jimin echoes in a whisper, too shaken to raise his voice any more. “Yours,” he repeats softly, tangling his fingers with Yoongi’s to bring them to his lips and kiss them. After savoring the touch for a moment, he pulls back and lets his hands drop to his sides, looking sadly into Yoongi’s eyes. Yoongi stares back with a confused expression, mouth falling open slightly in a silent question. 

“I can’t be yours if you hide things from me, hyung.” The words weigh heavily in the air and even heavier on Jimin’s heart, a horrible feeling sinking through him as he turns away. 

“Wait, wait,” Yoongi breathes, darting a hand out and catching Jimin’s wrist between his fingers. “Please just wait.” Jimin does wait, because he wants so badly for this to be the moment where Yoongi tells him the truth. His chest hurts worse than when he was hiding his feelings, aching from Yoongi’s lack of trust, from being lied to, from having to wrench himself away from the man he wants more than anything. He longs to throw himself at Yoongi and kiss him until the pain in his chest is no more, but he restrains himself for the sake of his pride. 

“I may not know much at all about love, hyung, but something tells me that it’s not supposed to hurt here,” Jimin presses a palm to his chest, taking Yoongi’s hand with him where it still encircles his wrist. “I don’t think my heart should sting like my hands do by the fire when they’re frozen. I should be relieved, but I feel worse than before.” 

Yoongi’s eyebrows knit together and he hesitantly lets go of Jimin’s wrist to instead splay his fingers over Jimin’s own where they still rest on his chest. “Do you trust me?” 

Jimin looks at him for a moment, trying to decide how to answer. Their hands remain pressed together on his chest, where his fingers can feel the pulse of Yoongi’s heart thumping right beneath. Jimin counts several beats before he gives a tiny, uncertain nod. Yoongi steps closer slowly, his free hand reaching out to cradle Jimin’s cheek, his eyes flitting down to Jimin’s lips, painfully close to his. Jimin’s breath snags in his throat, his body frozen in place despite how badly he longs to close the distance between them. Somehow, the heat of his anger and hurt morph into desire, intense enough that he almost forgets why he was so upset in the first place. 

“Please,” Yoongi murmurs, kissing him so softly that it’s more like a brush of lips, “please trust me.” He breathes the words again as he turns his head to the side and noses at Jimin’s neck and along his jaw. Jimin shivers, goosebumps erupting over his skin as he feels Yoongi plant two, then three soft kisses to the sensitive place behind his ear, followed by a gentle nip of his teeth. He slips his hand free of Yoongi’s and slides them both up Yoongi’s arms to grasp at his shoulders, trying to find anything that will ground him. The sensations overtaking him are completely new, unfamiliar, but feel so right all at the same time. His body arches into Yoongi’s hold, but Yoongi pulls back. He doesn’t let go, but he straightens and his grip loosens from around Jimin’s waist. Jimin shudders again, this time from the loss of warmth and contact, and he instantly makes a displeased sound in his throat. 

“Do you trust me?” Yoongi asks again, this time with more weight behind the words. The intensity burning in his dark eyes makes something hot stir in the pit of Jimin’s stomach, and he feels a chill of excitement shoot down his spine. 

“Yes,” he whispers, this time without hesitation, tilting his head back slightly to expose where his neck is already turning rosy. “I trust you.”

Yoongi surges forward then, and Jimin doesn’t even attempt to stop himself from doing the same. They stumble back to their empty tent, never once disconnecting their lips enough to breathe. Any hesitation in Yoongi’s approach dissipates as he lays Jimin back against the blankets, his touch burning across Jimin’s skin. His kisses are insistent, ravenous, almost desperate, but his hands are gentle when they touch Jimin in places he’s never been touched before. His arms are secure as they hold Jimin tight, bare skin to bare skin. He speaks with his voice low, soothing, adoring, and Jimin feels like he could drink it in forever and never be satisfied. It’s to Yoongi’s murmurs of “ I love you ” that Jimin stumbles to climax, overwhelmed with emotion and sensation. When Yoongi collapses next to him and tenderly wipes the sweat from their skin, Jimin clings tightly to him beneath the blankets, struggling to keep his eyes open. 

“Hyung,” he murmurs sleepily, to which Yoongi grunts and tilts his head towards him. “Tomorrow is my birthday,” is all he says before he drifts to sleep, missing Yoongi respond, 

“I know.”

——

Jimin wakes up cold, and while it’s not uncommon to wake up to a chilly morning at this time of year, something feels very wrong. He struggles to shake himself awake, the memory of falling asleep warm and content a rude contrast to the chill embracing him now. He reaches out his arms to stretch, opening his eyes slowly, but a second later he bolts upright. 

He’s alone. No one else is in the tent, and the blankets on the other side show no sign of being touched since yesterday. Jimin’s stomach drops, and he scrambles to yank open the tent flap. The sky is still dark, only hints of sunrise beginning to streak the horizon. Nobody should be awake and out yet. 

“Yoongi!” He calls first, trying to calm his panicking thoughts. No answer. A biting gust of wind brushes over his bare arms and he shivers, hugging himself tightly in search of warmth or consolation from the horrible silence. 

“Kyungso!” he yells louder, his heartbeat starting to pick up in his chest. 

Everything remains still around him. He squints his eyes and stares into the dark shadows of the surrounding shrubbery, trying to distinguish one shape from another in the dim morning light. It’s then that he starts running, calls growing louder and hoarser only to be met with silence. He screams the names of his closest companions, the only people he loves, sprinting through the trees and along the path without a care for the branches tearing at his clothes and scraping his skin. His stomach churns so harshly that he has to stop and retch into the bushes, perhaps from the running, or the screaming, or the profound, absolute fear coursing through his veins. Tears start to slip down his cheeks, and it seems like only a moment later that he skids into the village square, the market booths still quiet and sleepy in the early morning. There are hardly any people around, but Jimin still desperately scans their faces for any semblance of familiarity. Instead he only receives a few odd or mildly concerned glances, women whispering to each other or to their husbands about that crazy orphan boy. 

He doesn’t stop running or screaming their names until he can’t continue anymore, until all he can do is collapse amongst unfamiliar surroundings and cry. When the tears run dry, he stands and keeps going, blindly finding the way back to the tent in some last desperate hope that they’re all there, safe and sound. He’s unsure how long it’s been when he finally does stumble upon it and drags himself inside, thoroughly exhausted and feeling more dead than alive. He thought that he couldn’t possibly cry any more, but when he looks upon the blankets, looking exactly as they had this morning, the space empty and untouched, a quiet tear slips from each eye. 

“My friends,” he says in a cracked whisper, running his fingers over the blankets, “my family.” He reaches out and slips his arms around the flat, tattered pillow that he shared with Yoongi that night, cradling it to his chest and pressing his face into it. Something cold and hard digs into his wrist, so Jimin reaches out a hand and pats around to find it. He brings his hand up, and if he thought that he was in pain before, the feeling that rips through him then is ten times worse. 

In his palm lies Yoongi’s precious ring, the one that he refused to ever take off. Threaded through it is a sprig of Jimin’s favorite flower, tiny white blossoms framing the smooth black stone like caressing fingers. Jimin sobs, clutching the ring in his fist and holding it to his heart. 

——

Jimin gasps, one hand flying to his chest where he can still feel the ghost of the utter pain that consumed him that day. He looks around in a panic, disoriented and unable to tell exactly what’s real and what isn’t. A gentle hand touches his shoulder, and his gaze shoots up to see Taehyung, looking over him worriedly. 

“Hyung, are you alright?” He asks softly, squeezing Jimin’s shoulder slightly. Jimin takes a moment to calm his breathing and let his heartbeat settle to a normal pace, glad that Taehyung doesn’t try to rush his answer. 

They’re crammed into Taehyung’s single-person tent, where they’ve been sleeping the past few nights since Jimin finally swallowed his pride and came in search of companionship in his distress. After a rocky start to their relationship,  he found it in Taehyung, and there’s been sort of an unspoken bond between them, a mutual comfort in one another that need not be discussed to be real. It’s been helpful to simply have someone to be with instead of sitting alone with his thoughts and questions, or for times like now, when he needs someone to ground him. 

All of the memories from his past live in his mind as vividly as the days they happened, but it’s been some time since they last pulled him into a dream so intense and real . It’s been years now since he woke up that day, but he can still remember the fear that poured through him, the horror he felt at facing the possibility that his little family was truly gone. He hasn’t forgotten how hollow he felt as he packed up the camp after several torturous days of waiting, tearfully folding Eolbang’s favorite doll and Kyungso’s beautiful drawings into the beaten canvas that he had called home since Yoongi had found him so long ago. Since then, there were times that it seemed like the pain eased, but now Jimin knows that it never has, not really, instead just lurking in the shadows of his mind until it saw the perfect opportunity to claw its way back into his chest. 

Seeing the man he loved reappear from what he thought was the dead should have been a joyous day of tearful reunion. In reality, it’s proved to be a nightmare, nothing close to the many hopeful dreams Jimin has had about seeing Min Yoongi again. The past few weeks, spent in such close proximity to him without any communication, or even acknowledgement that Yoongi recognizes him, have been even worse than the years spent thinking that he was dead. 

Jimin has tried with everything he has to find a way through. The first day, when Yoongi stared right through him as if he was nothing but a stranger, it had hurt, but Jimin had been hopeful that it was simply a misunderstanding of some sort. The last words he had heard from Yoongi were I love you, he couldn't possibly have forgotten him so easily. He’s tried approaching Yoongi with intentions of talking, listening, trying to understand just why he had left him. Each time, Yoongi manages to excuse himself to do something else or they’re conveniently interrupted before Jimin can say a single word of greeting. Any words that Yoongi has uttered have been flippant, dismissive, like Jimin is only pestering him. It’s exhausting to feel like he’s the only one that’s hurting when that same feeling has already plagued him for so long. He never knew why Yoongi left four years ago, but some part of him has always clung to the hope that it was an accident, that he didn’t mean to disappear. That hope is the only thing that has carried him through the last few years alone, the only thing that has kept him able to pour everything into searching for Yoongi. Now, he’s not so sure. 

Did Yoongi lie to him? Did he ever love him, or was he taking advantage of him somehow? He makes Jimin feel invisible now, and if Yoongi is able to so easily look the other way and refuse to speak to him… did he actually leave on purpose ? 

Jimin shudders at the thought, sitting cross-legged with Taehyung’s soft touch ghosting over his shoulder. There are tears threatening to fall, but Jimin blinks them away and sniffs roughly. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Taehyung confesses earnestly, his kind eyes shifting uncertainly over Jimin’s form.  

“There’s nothing to be done,” Jimin whispers hoarsely, giving Taehyung’s hand a hesitant pat. “Mind your business and go back to sleep.” The words lack any of the implied harshness, more exhausted than anything else. 

Though he wrinkles his nose when a half-asleep Taehyung tosses his arms around him, cuddling him a little bit too tightly, Jimin doesn’t pull away. 

——

When he drags himself to the pond to wash his clothes in the faint light of the next morning, Jimin does not anticipate stumbling upon the captain himself, sitting alone on the bank and tossing pebbles into the pond, eyes trained on the ripples that spill out over the smooth surface. 

The scene is painfully familiar, yet so far from memories of a different time that it hurts like a punch to the stomach. It’s strange to remember Yoongi as a boy, hardly even a young man when he last saw him, when his eyes are looking upon a soldier, jaded, mysterious, and dark. It’s like the fire and light have been sucked out of him, replaced by an icy hardness that Jimin doesn’t know if he can break through, or if it can be broken at all. Yoongi looks even colder in the gray light of the morning, his skin pale like that of a marble statue. 

How time flies.  

Four years is enough time for a lot of things to change. Jimin has imagined countless times the day when he would see Yoongi again, if he ever would. How he would run to him, rest in his arms, kiss him a thousand times until he was convinced that he was really there. Yet the moment that he had first seen him in the camp, the most unexpected of places, his body had frozen up and a cold fist had gripped at his heart. A stone of anger still sits in his stomach as he looks on Yoongi no. Jimin had assumed that his longing would be reciprocated, yet he could barely manage to capture so much as a disinterested glance from the man he thought loved him back. It’s more painful than thinking that he was dead for so long. 

Yoongi is alive, sitting here right before his eyes, and Jimin has had enough of being ignored. 

Jimin stares for a moment, watching as Yoongi tosses another stone into the water. He debates if it’s worth another try, eventually deciding that this might be the best opportunity he’ll get and he at least needs to give Yoongi a piece of his mind. He takes a couple of deep breaths and drops his clothes and soap on the ground, stooping to fill his fists with smooth pebbles like the ones Yoongi is throwing. As another of Yoongi’s stones plops into the water, Jimin throws one of his own to splash in next to it, both of them slipping together beneath the surface. Yoongi whips his head around in confusion, his expression turning cloudy when his gaze settles on Jimin. He sits only a little bit ahead of him, close enough for Jimin to see the way his jaw clenches as he turns his attention back to the water. 

Jimin squeezes his fists around the pebbles and his heart lodges in his throat at being so blatantly disregarded. He marches down the bank and sits down next to Yoongi, who unsurprisingly refuses to look at him. They sit in tense silence for a few moments before he finally speaks, his voice strained. 

“Why did you leave?” 

It’s a simple question, really, one that should be easy enough to answer, since Jimin has come up with every answer he possibly can in his head, and he only longs for the torment to cease. Yoongi stares at Jimin then, turning his head to the side, and Jimin’s heartbeat speeds up in his chest. Part of it is the fact that this is the closest he’s been to Yoongi in four years, even if he can’t reach out and touch him like he so longs to do. 

“Say something.” Jimin whispers imploringly, trying to sound demanding, but he can’t. He’s starting to tremble, and he squeezes the rocks in his fists to try to ground himself. 

“I didn’t leave,” Yoongi says softly. These are the first words he has spoken directly to Jimin since he disappeared. Jimin could fucking laugh, he’s never heard anything so ridiculous in his life. 

“You did! You fucking left me! You left me alone and scared!” He yells incredulously, turning and slamming a fist into Yoongi’s chest, but the other man doesn’t flinch. “I thought you were dead, you never came back to me and I couldn’t find you and you left your ring as if you were saying goodbye, how can you fucking say you didn’t leave?” He hits him over and over again as he screams, but his punches soon become weak and wrought with misery. Yoongi lets him, not even raising a finger to stop him. After a moment, Jimin pulls back and wraps his arms around himself, rocking back and forth and trembling violently. He’s overwhelmed with emotions that he can’t discern, and he can’t see straight as he tries to make sense of those words. I didn’t leave.  

Yoongi is silent for a moment, touching a hand to his reddened chest before he murmurs, “I didn’t want to leave, is what I meant.” Jimin doesn’t allow himself to show any reaction, biting his lip and waiting to hear more. He dips his head down and hides his face in his arms, not wanting Yoongi to see the tears that threaten to twist his face. 

“Please,” Yoongi’s voice cracks, and he clears his throat. “Please let me tell you what happened.” 

“Yes, please do explain to me why and how exactly you disappeared for four years without even a goodbye, or a letter, or anything, and why you decided it wasn’t something I deserved to hear until right now,” Jimin spits, gritting his teeth to keep his voice even. 

Yoongi sighs and rubs a palm over his face. “I did leave, but only with the intention of going out to buy you a birthday present.” Jimin scoffs in disbelief, but Yoongi swallows and continues. “I was in town looking for something for you, Minnie.” The nickname he hasn’t heard in so long hits Jimin hard, and he has to dig his teeth into his cheek to keep a sob from escaping his lips. “I was kidnapped while I was there.” Jimin jerks his head up from under his arms, but he still doesn’t look at Yoongi. An unpleasant, acidic knot starts to form in his gut. Yoongi was kidnapped? 

 “They took me away from you. Kyungso and Eolbang, too, they were taken by the same fucking slavers. They took us to a cave and shut us inside with a few others, I don’t even know how long they kept us there. There was no night or day inside, only blackness and children crying and begging to return to their rotten lives as orphans.” Jimin tilts his head towards him, fully aware that there are tears glistening in his eyes, but he doesn’t try to hide them this time. “They... Eolbang got too sick, the food they gave us was too harsh for her and she refused to eat it. We were stuck inside, we had no place to bury her. I don’t know what…” He stops, clearly trying to keep his voice from breaking, and Jimin feels his tears spill over onto his cheeks. “I don’t know why they wanted a baby, but they killed her. They fucking killed her, and they wouldn’t even let us put her to rest.”

Jimin sobs softly, the thought of the little girl dying terrified in the dark too much for him to stomach. “And Kyungso?” he whispers, his throat tight. 

Yoongi doesn’t respond right away, avoiding Jimin’s eyes. He wipes his hand harshly across his face and sniffs, expression blank as he stares over the water. 

“One day, the cave opened, and all these men in uniforms came in and took us out. We tried to fight them, we thought they were also slave traders who had come to take us somewhere else, but they were actually soldiers who had found out about the operation when one of the men tried to steal money from their colonel. They told us it was alright, we were safe now.” Yoongi swallows hard, the memory obviously painful. “Kyungso didn’t fare well, it was really hard for him to lose Eolbang. He was a shell of himself when we were freed, if you can even call it that. The soldiers convinced the older boys to join them, and we were so weak and disoriented that we couldn’t refuse.” He scoffs and shakes his head, his fist clenching where it rests on his knee. “I never knew what happened to Kyungso, he was too young to be recruited. I can only pray that he somehow pulled himself together and got through.” 

Yoongi sniffs again and lets a moment of silence linger, lacing his fingers together contemplatively. Jimin’s heart aches for his friends, the sense of loss more final and hopeless than ever before. 

“What then?” he prompts after a moment, still not understanding the whole picture. Yoongi sighs heavily and brings his clasped hands to his mouth before he answers.. 

“They fed me and helped me build up my strength, and they trained me as a part of their troop. I fought on the northern border before the Chinese even threatened war, but it was no less hellish than a war by name. I learned a lot about the nature of our enemy while I was there, I suppose that’s why they called me here to train this group.” He trails off, digging a fist into his pocket. His gaze hasn’t moved from the water, and Jimin’s stupid, weak heart clenches at how lost he looks. 

Jimin turns fully then, the heat of fresh tears running down his cheeks. Yoongi looks at him with his own eyes shining, and Jimin has a horrible urge to reach out and catch the tears before they fall. 

“Why didn’t you try to find me?” He asks instead, his voice rough and cracked. 

Something in Yoongi’s expression changes then, softening and looking more hurt than he has the entire time he’s been recounting his story. “I tried, I really did. As soon as I was strong enough, I begged the soldiers to take me back to where we lived so that I could take you with me, but you were already gone. I searched for you as much as I could before the troop had to leave, but you had disappeared. Even when I had to go, I still asked everywhere we went if anyone had seen or heard of you, but no one had.” 

Jimin’s stomach drops, and the full realization of what he’s hearing hits him like a slap to the face. Yoongi didn’t ever want to leave him. 

He lets his fists fall open, the pebbles dropping to the ground, before he finally gives in and reaches out hesitantly, touching his thumb to Yoongi’s cheek and catching a falling tear. A sob rips through his chest when Yoongi doesn’t flinch away, the warmth of his soft skin seeping into Jimin’s fingers like blood returning to your hands when they’re frozen numb.

“Jimin?” Yoongi whispers, his eyes widening like he’s realizing for the first time that Jimin’s really there. Jimin sobs again and nods fervently, bringing up his other hand to cup Yoongi’s face. 

“It’s me, I’m here,” he cries, tilting his forehead to press against Yoongi’s. 

“You’re real,” Yoongi breathes, bringing his own fingers up and touching them hesitantly to Jimin’s cheeks. Jimin leans into his touch and nods again, inhaling shakily and biting down another sob. 

 “I didn’t believe it, I couldn’t see past my fear of losing you again. I swear that no morning or night went by that I didn’t think about you or pray that I would see you again,” Yoongi whispers, opening his hands to cup Jimin’s face in them as well. “Not a day went by where I loved anyone else but you.” His voice is even softer, barely audible, but Jimin hears it. He gasps as Yoongi surges forward and presses his lips to his insistently. He’s still crying, they’re both crying, the tears making the kiss wet and salty, but neither of them care as Jimin wraps his arms around Yoongi’s head. It’s desperate, charged with emotions he can’t even name, his mind a tumultuous storm of thoughts. Jimin pulls away only to tuck his face into Yoongi’s neck and hold him tighter, sobbing openly now against his warm skin. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Yoongi whispers over and over again into Jimin’s hair, crying with him and pressing the words into his temple with kisses. 

They sit like that for a while, holding each other and crying and rocking back and forth. At some point, heavy clouds roll overhead and a soft drizzle of rain begins to fall, but they still don’t let go. By the time Jimin’s sobs quiet to occasional sniffs, his face still buried in Yoongi’s neck, the rain is dense and soaks through both of their clothes. 

“I thought you were dead,” he whispers, so quietly he doesn’t know if Yoongi can hear him over the rain. He feels Yoongi kiss the top of his head tenderly and nose at his hair, squeezing him even tighter. 

“I know, but I’m here now, with you, and I’m not leaving again.” Jimin’s heart twists at the words, and he fists his hand into Yoongi’s shirt. Yoongi gently brings Jimin’s head up with his hands and kisses him once, twice. “Never again.” 

Jimin sits back and looks at him intently, studying his face. One of Yoongi’s eyes is milky and unseeing, but the other is still as beautiful and dark as he remembers it. He reaches out and traces a shaking finger along the long, white scar running down Yoongi’s face, his throat tight as he leans forward and kisses the place where it ends, halfway down his cheek. He wonders how it got there, if Yoongi will ever tell him. Yoongi smiles softly, thumb caressing his cheek as he stares into his eyes. He reaches a hand into his pocket and brings it up for Jimin to see, and Jimin’s breath catches in his throat when he sees what’s resting in Yoongi’s rough palm. 

It’s a smooth glass pendant with a delicate silver chain threaded through it, a tiny white flower encapsulated in the center. It’s the same flower as the one Jimin found on his pillow the morning that Yoongi disappeared, his birth flower, a tiny sprig of bridal wreath. Raindrops fall onto the glass, and Jimin reaches his fingers out to brush against its polished surface.

“I got this for you the day that they took me, I’ve carried it with me ever since in the hopes that I could someday give it to you,” Yoongi says, looking lovingly at the necklace. Jimin’s eyes shine with tears again then, but they’re accompanied with a smile this time. He dips his head forward for Yoongi to reach back and clasp the chain around his neck, where it hangs side by side with the ring already there. Jimin thumbs at it, looking down at the pendant with a soft smile, but it falls into a frown when a nasty thought hits him. 

“Why did you leave your ring if you didn’t intend on leaving?” He asks, the hurt creeping back in. Yoongi is quick to wrap both of his hands reassuringly around Jimin’s, no surprise or doubt shadowing across his face. 

“It was your birthday, remember? I wanted to get you a real present too, but my first gift was my ring.” He turns the ring in between two of his fingers, studying the polished black stone set in the center. “My momma said to me before she died that during a full moon, you can go outside and the moonlight is so bright that it will light up the stone, and it’ll be a beacon for those you love to find you if you are lost.” He smiles a little bit bitterly, “I supposed I should’ve kept it if I wanted to find you sooner.”

Jimin chuckles tearfully at that, the worry dissipating as quickly as it came. He kisses Yoongi again, their hands intertwined on his chest around the ring and pendant. 

“We found each other anyway.” 

————

“All I’m saying is that it seems like fate that we both have battle scars now.” Jimin waves his hands so emphatically that he nearly tips off of his stool, unable to keep a grin from cracking at the unenthused expression Yoongi is giving him. 

“And all I’m saying is,” Yoongi says lazily, stepping up to stand between Jimin’s knees, “mine is cooler.” Jimin giggles and feigns pushing Yoongi away when his lover kisses the thin bandage wrapped neatly around the center of his face. 

“You can’t say that when you haven’t even seen it yet,” Jimin protests with a pout, slinging a possessive arm over Yoongi’s shoulder when he starts to step away.

“Time to fix that, I think,” Yoongi says in the low, gravelly voice that always makes Jimin’s chest feel hot. True to his words, Yoongi gently unwraps the bandage from Jimin’s head, crumpling it up and tossing it to the side. His small smile fades as his gaze scans over Jimin’s face, slowly and meticulously, drinking in every detail as he so often does. He hums and brushes the back of his fingers tenderly down each of Jimin’s cheeks, across his lips, beneath his chin. 

“I think it suits you,” he whispers, placing the lightest of kisses over the bridge of Jimin’s nose, where the crooked pink skin of a healing gash cuts across it. He takes Jimin’s jaw in his palms and cradles his cheeks as he kisses above one eye and beneath the other, tracing the length of the scar with his lips. After a long, delicious moment, Yoongi’s soft lips finally press against Jimin's, and he massages his strong fingers into the back of Jimin’s neck, making him feel like he’s melting into his hands. 

“My scar is still better,” Yoongi mutters after a slow moment of kissing, and Jimin flicks a finger against Yoongi’s bare chest, peeking out from his half-tied tunic. 

“Impossible, mine is infused with kisses,” Jimin contests, raising his eyebrows. Yoongi hums in the back of his throat and looks at Jimin through his eyelashes, a languid smile tilting one side of his mouth. 

“What if I want the same for mine?” he asks, gripping Jimin’s knees and leaning into him. 

Jimin grins slyly and brushes his fingers down the side of Yoongi’s neck. “You know that I’ll kiss that and much more if you only ask, my love.” He leans forward and bites at Yoongi’s lower lip, but Yoongi just pulls back with a shaky breath. 

“As much as I want to do that right now, there’s too much work to be done.” He gestures around the room they’re in, lined with materials and supplies they haven’t yet touched, and Jimin sighs in reluctant agreement. 

The dim evening light filtering through large windows conceals much of the work that weeps for their attention, but Jimin is aware of its existence nonetheless. With over two weeks behind them since they left their company and settled in this small village, only a half day’s journey from where Taehyung lives, the orphanage they’re building should have progressed a bit more. 

The time wasn’t wasted, though, just occupied with conversations both deep and silly, difficult and lighthearted, a beginning to the journey of learning each other again. Time was spent simply resting in each other’s arms, the way that both had secretly longed to do even before they were separated and were robbed of the chance to. Both sweet and painful memories came out in words or tears, shared and felt until the burdens of the past didn’t seem to weigh so heavily on the future. There were only a few short weeks between the end of the war and the time they left, but in that time they settled naturally on a dream, one that could finally be lived out together. 

“There are so many like we were, Jimin,” Yoongi mused, eyes distant. 

Jimin nodded with his eyebrows furrowed and fingers laced around his knees. “The Emperor has offered us generous gifts for what we did,” he murmured, “It seems like too much money, I don’t even know what to do with it. We’ve never not had to fight to survive.” 

“What if we use it for them?” Yoongi exclaimed with uncharacteristic excitement, sitting up suddenly and looking into Jimin’s eyes. “We could buy a place big enough to hold us and a few kids, and feed them and give them shelter and a family, we could at least try to see that they don’t end up like…” He dropped off, the lost look that fell over his eyes becoming all too familiar to Jimin. 

Carefully, gently, Jimin wrapped his hands around Yoongi’s and kissed his fingers. “I know. I don’t want more children to end up like any of us did. Perhaps it’s fate, that this gift is not meant for our own gain, but for those that we can save.”

The building is long and low, except for a small section at the end where a rickety staircase winds up to a loft. A single rickety bed frame, mostly built, leans against one wall; Jimin had gotten too distracted by Yoongi’s warmth pressed against his back to finish it fully. Similarly, only two and a half mattresses are stuffed, since Yoongi couldn’t resist Jimin’s insistently wandering hands while he was supposed to be filling the cushions with cheap feathers. Much of the floor is still coated in a thick layer of dust, though Jimin kind of likes the abstract patterns that they had made in it a few days ago when he had fallen to his knees and taken Yoongi down his throat. 

Various supplies and items are scattered about the room. Stacks of blankets, many of them requiring repair, balance on the windowsills, where cobwebs stretch across the corners and dust turns the light yellow. On the corner of a low table against one side of the room, lying opened but remaining unanswered, are two letters. One is addressed to Yoongi from the recently named General Jeon Jungkook, the other to Jimin from his best friend and hero, Kim Taehyung. The letters tell two sides of the same love story, detailing the couple’s recent adventures and expressing intentions to visit Jimin and Yoongi soon, the first of many plans for their life to come.  

Jimin loops his arms around Yoongi’s neck and looks over his shoulder with a smile at the beginnings of their future together, the promises shining through the grime. As Yoongi had said, there is a lot of work to be done, but Jimin is filled with exhilaration for the days of sweat and labor that lie ahead, building a solid home and foundation for those that need it most. 

With his body held tightly in Yoongi’s arms at long last, Jimin’s mind dreams eagerly of the days to come.