Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He wears a different flower every week.

On the left side of his neck, right where the collar ends and the last of his dark vines peeks through. Like a crown, its tip is adorned by rich petals and vibrant colours, hard to miss. The flower pulsates with his heartbeat, drawing attention like a beacon in the ocean of dancing people.

Today it’s a peony in bright pink, stretching wide over his throat, almost reaching his chin. On anyone else, it would appear tacky, overdone. Yet on Kim Seokjin, it enhances his beauty, matching the hue of his lips, his cheeks, elevating his perfect face to an ethereal level.

Peonies, roses, wild flowers, it doesn’t matter which flower he wears, it always seems to be the ideal one for his looks.

Sometimes Yoongi wonders if Seokjin changes flowers like he does his clothes just for the aesthetics.

His eyes stray to the little crowd of man and women trying to get near Seokjin, their bodies rolling, flirting, hiding nothing of their intentions.

He wears a different flower every week – everyone knows.

And he lets every single flower wilt, without care for the hearts attached to them.

Yoongi’s jaw ticks with tension, annoyance growing in him the longer he watches Seokjin’s game. He lets everyone touch him. They tug him closer for a dance, grinding against him, pushing, pulling, talking dirty into his ear, breathing down his enticing neck.

And Seokjin lets them.

Tongue pressed against the insides of his cheek, Yoongi tears his gaze away, his heart thrumming to the bass of the music, heat rising as he makes his way through the thick crowd. He brushes off wandering hands and eyes, silences any proposition with a glower, pushing forward until he reaches the centrepiece of the dance floor.

For a second, he just stands frozen in front of Seokjin, watching a stranger feeling him up, taking in the way Seokjin lets it happen with a smile and flushed cheeks, reciprocating.

Yoongi stares and forgets why he’s here. He forgets the ‘why’, forgets to breathe, and only knows want.

He wants to push those hands off Seokjin, wants to punch the stranger and pull Seokjin away from the mass of groping, leering people. He wants the peony to wilt and leave the last of his vines crownless. He wants Seokjin to stop throwing himself at every person in the world.

He wants Seokjin to stop breaking his fucking heart.

“Seokjin.” It’s barely a whisper in the cacophony of the disco. But Yoongi doesn’t need to yell.

“Yoongi.” Seokjin finds him immediately, smile softening, though the corners of his mouth droop when he sees Yoongi’s look.

In the end, Yoongi doesn’t need to push and pull. It’s Seokjin who takes his hand, tugging him away from the dance floor, the crowd of admirers cast aside without a second glance.

Wordlessly, Yoongi follows him, his hand warm and sweaty in Seokjin’s palm, his heartbeat loud in his ears.

Seokjin makes them sit by the bar, pulling Yoongi’s hand into his lap as he keeps their fingers intertwined.

A cocktail for Seokjin, whiskey for Yoongi.

“So, what’s up?” Seokjin asks him. “You don’t look well.”

Yoongi takes a sip from his glass, lets his insides hurt from the burn of the drink instead of his feelings. But his mind is already swimming, and all he sees is Seokjin Seokjin Seokjin. His voice is rough when he speaks.

“Don’t you have enough, hyung?”

“Enough of what?”

Dropping his gaze to Seokjin’s neck, he reaches out to touch the peony. Slowly, he traces the petals with his fingers, feeling the throb underneath, and the bob of his Adam’s apple.

“Yoongi-“

“This.” He puts a little pressure on the flower, revelling in the sensation of Seokjin’s racing pulse.

“Don’t you have enough of flowers for the rest of your life?”

When he meets Seokjin’s eyes he sees them glistening wetly. Seokjin tightens his hold on him.

“Yoongi,” he says quietly, “You said you didn’t care.”

He swallows. “I lied.”

“What, what do you mean?” Seokjin’s chest heaves with a deep breath, holding it.

Leaning closer, Yoongi cups his face, his thumb stroking his rose cheeks, feeling his silken skin. Petal-soft, he thinks. Prettier than any flower. Seokjin never had a need for these tacky, meaningless marks. They are nothing but distractions from his beautiful face.

For so long, Yoongi has borne witness to Seokjin’s loveless affairs. He doesn’t know if the alcohol is talking, if the peony was simply one too many. But his heart is in his throat, on his tongue, aching to release the truth he cannot hide anymore.

“What I mean is that I can’t give you any flowers. I can’t make you bloom with my touch. But God, do I want you, Seokjin. I want to trace your vines with my hands, my lips. I want to kiss you, bruise you where otherwise flowers would blossom on you. I want to make you mine, for the world to see you’re mine, and I don’t need fucking flowers to show it.” He pauses for breath, for a single tear to escape Seokjin’s lashes. Brushing it away, he continues more calmly, “I can’t give you flowers as a pistil myself, but I’ll give you love, Seokjin, better than any of them.”

“Do you mean it?” Seokjin stares at him, his eyes intense and bright, squeezing Yoongi’s hand further. “Do you really mean it?”

“Yes.”

A beat passes, his heart suspended as Seokjin regards him silently, so close he can almost feel the touch of his breath on his skin.

And then Seokjin smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners, blushing sweetly.

“Then I don’t want you to wear any flowers, either. I’m yours and you’re mine.”

“I’m yours and you’re mine. Fuck flowers.”

Seokjin laughs and Yoongi, with his heart now warm and light, closes the last distance between them and kisses the sweet sound off his lips.

Chapter Text

The nights in the streets of Seoul are alive with illumination and restless souls. Neon lights everywhere beckon you into shops, restaurants, beg you to enjoy yourself while spending money for ephemeral amusement. Music directs the mood, enticing smells dance around you like invisible lovers, turning your head, pausing your heart. At night, you step into the streets of Seoul to let go. 

It is most obvious in the district of joy, where the letters seem just a bit brighter, where music and scents are more intense and the looks of strangers become shameless and leering.

You enter these parts of the city to search for love.

Past the neon lights and food stands, Yoongi's feet carry him unfailingly to a certain establishment. Deep in the district it lies, it's entrance guarded by a bulky bouncer. The facade is black and simple, the door opening to dark stairs leading down. The only decorations are dark wooden vines intertwined, weaving in and out of the walls. Somewhere beneath, music thrums with a heavy bass.

He nods at the guard as he's let in, his eyes straying to the neon board above the entrance for a second.  Love Vines.

As he descends the stairs the music gets louder and sounds of laughter, clapping and whistling reach his ears. With the last steps the anticipation beneath his skin comes to a peak. It’s like an itch, dormant day in and day out, but burning on nights like these. His heartbeat picks up and he takes deep breaths, his pulse thrumming, thrumming to the beat of the drums. He touches the vines along the walls, feeling the smoothness of wood, the intricacy of their pattern and remembers another kind of silkiness beneath his fingers – vines, dark against velvety skin, climbing over soft curves, blooming under his touch. Deep breaths, his chest heaves as he braces himself. Though he frequents this club, he’ll never get used to the way it greets you at the entrance.

The last steps are already imbued by the flashing purple lights coming from the main room, the music now almost drowning out the pounding of his heart. Yoongi’s hand leaves the vines on the wall and clenches into a fist. For a second, he tenses his jaw, squeezes his eyes, feels the tightness of his chest climbing up to choke him. Then he’s hit by purple light, by the music, the heady scent of perfume and sweat and finally he lets go.

He lets go of the breath he was holding and all the tension he’s carried around all week. At last he lifts his eyes to the stage right in front of the entrance. Like a man lost in the desert finding an oasis he drinks in the sight that greets him – vines, spread over planes of smooth skin, teasing over curves, legs, naked chests. They shift with the flexing of muscles underneath, as if they kept growing while the pistils move over the stage with feline steps, with swaying hips, twirling, twisting bodies to entice the audience and drive them wild. Some pistils are bare of any flowers, others carry whole bouquets on their backs – the implications just adding to their allure. The dancers of Love Vines are known to be the best, the most beautiful, the most sought after in the city – there is a pistil for every taste.

And the one standing out in all qualities the most, is Jin.

He wears black boots over torn, skinny jeans, the left leg showing more skin than fabric, the seam hanging low over his hips. A silken rose shirt flutters around his form, held together at the collar while his broad shoulders and the whole back are exposed. On anyone else, this ensemble would look mismatched, yet on Jin it’s nothing short of breathtaking. The outfit allows a glimpse of his beautiful vines that stretch from his left leg up to the back of his neck, curving over his hips, his shoulder, the dip of his spine.

Yoongi’s eyes are riveted on his body, enthralled as ever by the tease of his dance, the game of hide and seek his vines play under the clothes and in the dim light. Vines reaching from ankle to nape, twining and thorny – and adorned by countless blossoms in all variations of colours and shapes. Something twists inside of Yoongi at the sight. He can never help the twinge of jealousy whenever he sees the marks of other stamens on Jin. Foreign hands and lips making him bloom, planting their seeds, bringing him to completion over and over again. He finds his face, rose tinted and shimmering, lips glossed and full, pulled up in a seductive smile. And half obscured by his dark fringe, his eyes, deep wells of starlight. Stepping forward, he wills those eyes on him, thinks of Jin’s gorgeous face cradled in his hands, imagines the vines blooming under his touch alone. As if he could hear his thoughts, Jin turns around the pole and meets his gaze, pausing in his motions for a split second. Then Jin’s attention is drawn to the bill tugged into his belt by a customer. He blows a kiss in thanks, gaining another bill and the moment is gone.

The bubble pops – Yoongi blinks back into the presence as he tears his eyes away from the stage, the cacophony of music and chatter overtaking his senses.

Suddenly, Yoongi is hit by the reality of things – himself, standing on the ground, lost in the crowd searching for love, and Jin, elevated from the rest, sublime and out of reach.

Yoongi has his glass raised to his lips when the scent of flowers wraps around him – lilacs, peonies, geranium, iris… in the end, it’s indistinguishable, a mix of many, tickling his senses to the point of irritation. Still, his heart throbs as Jin sits down next to him at the bar, his skin feeling taut and thinned over the tension and thrill thrumming beneath. Goosebumps rise across the back of his neck and he commands control and indifference over his body with a slug of whiskey.

“Why’re you here?” Jin asks. “I told you not to come.”

It burns. Yoongi takes another swig. He keeps his eyes on his drink, swirling the liquid gold, his elbows resting on the counter of the bar.  “Who says I’m here for you?” he retorts coolly before downing the rest of the whiskey and putting the glass down with a clang. “I see you got new love vines, some bare of any flowers.” He stares holes into the empty tumbler – it’ll either break from his glare or from his grip. Uncaring he pushes on, riling Jin further, the alcohol burning in his veins. “Maybe I’m here for one of them.”

Jin bristles, his voice cold and dripping acid. “Is this the way you’re going to talk?” Jin gets up from his stool. “Fine. Fuck you.”

Yoongi’s hand shoots out, catching Jin’s wrist tightly to hold him back.

“Yoongi-“ Jin warns.

“Sorry,” Yoongi mumbles, turning halfway towards him, though he looks anywhere but at Jin. “I didn’t mean it.” He tugs at Jin asking him to sit down again. “Please, I’m sorry.”

A second passes before Jin finally relents, huffing as he drops into his seat. “Let go.” Yoongi draws his hand back, rubbing his sweaty palm on his pants. “Sorry.”

“You can’t keep coming back here, Yoongi. I told you. Boss doesn’t like seeing you loitering here.”

“Why? I’m not doing anything-“

“You know why. You’re distracting. I can’t-“ Raking his fingers through his hair, Jin sighs, his shoulders falling. “Why are you here, Yoongi?”

Why are you here? They both know the answer and it defeats them equally before Yoongi even has to open his mouth. It’s evident in the slump of Jin’s otherwise usually prim posture, in the stutter of Yoongi’s breath and heartbeat. Slowly, Yoongi turns to face him for the first time since they’ve started talking.

The smell of flowers indistinguishable. Silk and jeans revealing miles of flawless skin. Vines, intricate and beautiful, winding from his long legs, past his slim waist to his broad shoulders, overflowing with petals in all colours and shapes. His face, as if marble-hewn, smooth and cutting all at once, alive with the blush of his cheeks, the red of his lips, the depths of his ocean eyes.

The answer is that Yoongi is searching for love and has found it in Jin.

Yoongi swallows around his dry throat, his heart aching at the sight of Jin in such proximity.

“I just wanted to see you.”

Jin looks away quickly, but Yoongi catches a glimpse of the hurt and frustration flashing in his eyes.

“You can’t afford it.”

“What if I can?”

Jin snorts, his gaze wandering to Yoongi’s tumbler, grabbing it mindlessly. “What can you offer me except for roses?” He tilts the glass, lifting it halfway to his mouth, faltering as he finds it empty. Gently, Yoongi takes it away from him, leaning closer. Now that Yoongi’s looking, he can’t stop staring whereas Jin is careful to avoid his eyes.

“I saved some money.”

“You say that every time. It's never enough.”

“That’s never stopped us-“

“I can’t afford it anymore, Yoongi.” Jin snaps, shrugging Yoongi’s hand off his arm. Glaring at him, he continues, “And you know it. I told you. I’m being watched.” With a furtive look over his shoulder Jin gets up from his seat, his frustration giving way for worry. Yoongi’s pulse picks up. He’s leaving. “My break is over. I’m sorry, Yoongi. And even if, I’m already booked for the rest of the night.”

Booked for the rest of the night. And coming back from it with ten new flowers blooming all over his body, he thinks bitterly. For a second, Yoongi wants to bite back with a cruel remark but he manages to reign himself in, knowing that it wouldn’t help.  

Instead, Yoongi grabs Jin’s hand again, halting him in his movements. “Stay, please. Come with me.”

“Yoongi-“

“I can pay.” He beseeches him with his eyes, sees Jin’s own welling up with tears.

“I don’t know what’s worse, you paying or not paying.” Yoongi stares at him, doesn’t know how to respond.

“Whatever you want…”

“I want you to leave.” Jin stands, pulling his hand out of Yoongi’s hold, blinking into the distance. “Don’t save money for me. Save it for yourself, you need it more than me.” With that, Jin disappears into the crowd, taking with him the scent of a hundred flowers. The only flower missing, the only one Yoongi will ever want to smell on Jin is the rose.

The first time they met it was similar.

What can you offer me?

Roses, Yoongi replied, smiling shyly. The money was barely enough for a private lap dance, no touching. They kissed anyway.

Week after week, Yoongi sneaked more and more out of Love Vines than he could ever afford. Kisses, touches. The first time a rose bloomed under his lips as he brought Jin to completion he felt like soaring, on top of the world. It bloomed just behind his left ear, where his skin was sensitive, already bruised by kisses. It’s his favourite spot. Yoongi nuzzled it long after they came down from their high, revelling in the scent of roses on Jin. For once, the other flowers faded into the background and roses took centrestage on Jin’s body.

It feels good , Jin told him. When flowers bud, I can feel it. It tingles, he bites his plump lips, like bubbling champagne.

Like champagne ? Yoongi laughed.

And when they blossom, it’s like…fireworks from the tip of my toe to the back of my ear.

Champagne, fireworks…your orgasm sounds like New Year’s Eve.

Jin hit him as Yoongi shook with laughter, kissing Jin’s pout and protests away.

Yoongi makes him bloom many, many times. Other flowers fade and wilt until they’re gone, but there are always roses on Jin, pink like the hue of his blush and his lovely lips.

It never- it, it feels so amazing, you have no idea.

What?

The blooming. It feels best when it’s your roses. Yoongi-

He kisses him, deep and hot and wet. He’ll make him bloom all he wants, he’ll make him bloom until nothing but roses are left on his vines, until he smells but of roses, pink from head to toe. All Yoongi’s.

He stirs from his thoughts when someone knocks on the door of his apartment. It’s past midnight, though he couldn’t find any sleep. Tiredly he walks to the door.

“Who’s there?”

“It’s me.” His stomach flips as he tears the door open, eyes wide and heart palpitating.

“Jin.” He’s wearing a hoodie over his ripped jeans, sneakers and a backpack over one shoulder. His eyes glisten in the dark. The corner of his lip is bruised. Yoongi reaches out to cradle his face, his thumb hovering over the hurt bottom lip.

Jin lets out a shuddering breath.

“Jin,” he whispers, “what happened?”

“If I stay,” Jin says trembling, his eyes boring into Yoongi’s, “what can you offer me?”

Yoongi’s chest tightens as his heart feels close to bursting with love and pain at the sight of Jin, hurt and lost on his doorsteps.

Yoongi shakes his head. “No money. No luxury.” Tears escape dark-framed stars. Softly he brushes one away, stepping closer, his eyes bright.

“But roses, for the rest of your life.”

Jin’s face twists up with more tears when he surges forward, throwing his arms around Yoongi. Yoongi hugs him back tightly, not wanting to let go ever again.

“I’ll give you roses, for the rest of your life.”

Love, for the rest of your life.

Chapter Text

A bit of juice squirts into his face as his finger digs into the skin of the tangerine. Yoongi scrunches up his nose, peeling the fruit with more force than necessary, leaning back until the chair squeaks. With a huff he throws the first piece of tangerine into his mouth. Bitter, he thinks, scowling down at the offending fruit in his hand. Fucking bitter. He flings the tangerine against the wall, watching the spray of juice and the sad remains of it dropping to the floor.

“Hyung…”

“Shut up,” he snarls, eyes glaring at the orange blotch on the wall. He can feel the hush of his people behind him as he stands, can hear the low sound of the fan on the ceiling doing naught for the goddamn heat. His neck grows hotter. “It was fucking bitter, okay?” Hands balled into fists, he can still feel his heartbeat in the tips of his fingers, itching with the ire coursing through him, with idleness and the loss of opportunity. The King was supposed to be his kill.

“So shut up.” He turns his glare towards his gang, daring them to comment on the hot news of the King’s death that was not by his fucking hands. For fuck’s sake it was practically his birth right to give it to the asshole.

“Hyung.”

“What?!” 

Jimin gives him a solemn look. “My condolences .”

Laughing he jumps away from Yoongi’s fist. 

“Seriously, I’m sorry someone else did all the work for you, must be a pain not to get your hands dirty for a change. Oh, and that you lost your brother.” He adds the last bit with twinkling eyes.

“Yah.” Stretching his neck sideways, Yoongi pulls out a cigarette and his lighter. “First of all, that ass was never my brother.” Tchirk, tchirk. Tchirk. Wordlessly, Jimin takes the zippo out of his hands. “And secondly,” Yoongi continues, tilting his head towards the little flame between Jimin’s fingers, giving him a knowing look, “I know that you wanted to have a stab at him, too.”

The smirk drops from his brother’s face as one eyebrow rises. “A stab? For the sake of our brotherly love , I do hope you meant to share more than just a stab.”

“Tch.”

“Wished we knew who did it.”

“Any rumours?”

Jimin shakes his head. Around them, the guys relax as they see their boss calming down, settling in the chairs of the restaurant or lingering by the entrance. “Just that the palace is in uproar. Taehyung is onto it.”

Nodding Yoongi resumes his seat in the shadows, watching the lazy dance of the smoke as time ticks by and he’s left alone in his corner to ruminate.

He’s nearly dozing when a soft voice draws him out of his thoughts.

“-I - ah, would like the…noodle dish?”

“We have thai boat noodles-“

“Boat noodles! Yes, please.” Something about his tone was off, a little breathless, very much distracted. The only thing they sell here is the thai boat noodles. As Yoongi takes another drag of his cig he opens his eyes. Slowly, he exhales, his gaze finding a lean young man in a cap. He’s wearing an unassuming soft coloured shirt and dark pants, his skin rather pale where the shirt ends. When the smoke parts and the stranger, in his restlessness, casts furtive glances around, his handsome face is revealed to him. Yoongi sits up, his eyes lingering on the ridiculous symmetry of his visage, the light blush on his high cheeks, and the pink and fullness of his kissable lips. His eyes, though, remain obscured by the cap. Not one to hesitate, Yoongi pushes his hair back as he puts the cigarette out and saunters towards the stranger.

“Looking for someone?”

A gasp, a flinch of broad shoulders. Yoongi’s smirk fades as he falls into ocean eyes, dark and deep  and just - the guy is fucking gorgeous. Yoongi swallows around the extra beat of his heart while their gazes meet. Suddenly, the guy’s eyes widen in fear and recognition- which, what?- and he jumps out of his seat. The next moment, he’s holding his chair up against Yoongi in defense, shouting, “You’re dead! You’re supposed to be dead! What the-“

Mouth dropping open and both eyebrows cocked Yoongi keeps staring at the guy.

“-stay the hell dead when killed, for heaven’s sake, can’t you be normal for once-“

Yoongi blinks in confusion.

“-why do you always have to be extra even in death give me a break- woah woah, don’t come any closer!” Without a word Yoongi has stepped up to him. Now he wrestles the chair out of his hold in short process and throws it sideways, all the while slowly approaching. The guy stumbles backwards, swallowing when his back hits the wall, the blush of his immaculate skin now matching the dark shade of his lips. Fucking kissable lips, he thinks, his eyes dropping to his mouth.  He parts his own with the tip of his tongue, tilting his head, his voice dropping low.

“I think you’ve mistaken me for my twin.”

The lovely scent of roses fills his nose as Yoongi leans closer, chin tipping upwards, forwards, so ready to show the stranger all the ways he’s different from his twin. Something pointy pushes against his chest, stopping him in his endeavour. Frowning, he finds a pair of chopsticks holding him back.

“Twin?” The stranger searches him with his eyes.

“The king,” Yoongi replies uncaring. Now that he’s dead, it doesn’t seem to matter who knows.

“Hyung!” Someone by the entrance shouts. “The police!”

Chopsticks clatter as they hit the floor.

“Hide me,” the guy urges him, grabbing his arm, his chest heaving with quickened breaths.

Yoongi looks at him sharply. Wide eyes beg him. “Please, hide me.”

Voices at the front grow louder. Suddenly the guy bends over at a stuttering inhale, coughing heavily- coughing blood.

“What the fuck. Come on.”

Swiftly, he tugs him to a back room, then further into the back alley and into the house next door. Upstairs, he watches through the window the way the police enters the shop. His companion by then has stopped coughing his lungs out, leaning against the wall catching his breath, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Thanks.”

“Tell me what’s going on.” Yoongi casts him a once-over. He looks unlikely and yet…

“Did you kill the king?”

Beads of sweat gather at the stranger’s temple, sliding down the side of his flushed face. He huffs out a laugh. His eyes, when he lifts them, pierce Yoongi’s soul.

“What if I did? Will you rat me out? See me punished?”

Yoongi raises a brow. “Why would I?”

“Because he was your brother.” The guy looks him up and down speculatively and adds as an afterthought, “because you’re an upstanding citizen obeying his civil duty?”

Yoongi grins. “I’m obeying nothing, darling. And to be clear, we may have been twins but we were never brothers.”

The man lets out a breath. “You approve.”

Tilting his head, Yoongi steps closer. “I actually don’t.” The man swallows, his fingers grabbling the wall behind him. Yoongi can’t help smiling. He seems like a gentle soul, soft as cotton despite his stature. And yet these nervous hands were capable of murdering his twin of all the people. Maybe it’s his distracting beauty but Yoongi isn’t half as mad at finding the person who stole his kill as he thought he’d be.

“I was meant to kill him, I was literally born for this. I was looking forward to it.”

“I’m…sorry?”

Yoongi drops his gaze as he shakes his head and smiles. “God, you’re adorable. Who are you?”

“…I’m Jin.” 

“Jin…” Yoongi savours the name on his tongue. Jin, like the drink. Like the softest smile and sweetest kiss. Like the best thing yet to come. He puts his hand next to Jin’s head and leans in, enjoying the blush deepening on Jin’s face.

“So, Jin. Why did you kill the king?” At that, Jin’s breath stutters again and falls into another coughing fit.

“What the-“ Yoongi puts a tentative hand on his shoulder, brows furrowed. “Why are you coughing blood?”

Shaking his head, Jin gasps, trying to regain control of his breathing.

“I thought- I had hoped that it’d stop once I…” pausing, Jin straightens, a humourless smile gracing his lips while he brushes a bit of blood away from the corner of his mouth. They both stare at the smear of red on the back of his hand. 

“Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.”

“What are you talking about?” Yoongi asks, his jaw tensing, the concern in his voice surprising himself. “Are you sick?”

For a moment, Jin regards him silently. “Do you know the King’s emblem?”

Yoongi scoffs. “Of course. A white orleander.”

“Do you know why it’s an orleander?”

He shrugs, never having cared for his twin’s affectations and certainly not starting now.

“It’s one of the deadliest flowers, you know.”

A second ticks by before it dawns on him. “Hold on. You- and he-“

For fuck’s sake, what are the odds? 

“The king was a venom stamen.” Jin grimaces. “And I was his consort.”

“He poisoned you with his touch,” Yoongi scowls, new hatred for his twin flaring up in him.

“It’s more like the absence of his touch that’s killing me.” Jin responds. “I’ve been refusing him for a while now. A week ago, the coughing’s started. When I came to him again he welcomed me, the needy pistil realizing his fault.” Here, the corners of Jin’s mouth lift up in a smug smile. “He didn’t see it coming at all.” He glances at Yoongi, dropping his head against the wall. “I thought killing him would cure me of his poison.” Yoongi swallows as Jin starts unbuttoning his shirt, pulling the hem sideways to reveal his chest. There, a dark vine has crept up from his back to grace his left chest, and a white orleander sits right over his heart in full bloom.

“It seems to mock me,” Jin says, heaving a sigh, his sad eyes leaving Yoongi. “This is a cruel joke. Perfectly according to your brother’s taste.”

“No.” Closing the distance between them, Yoongi catches Jin’s eyes, willing the hopelessness in them away. He wants to revive his fucking twin to burn him to death again just for this thing alone. He wants him to suffer for his crimes, to crawl at the feet of everyone he’s wronged. He wants to take Jin’s pain away.

“You won’t die, Jin.”

“The oleander was supposed to fade after his death, don’t you see? Maybe he’s cursed me or something, bound me to him for eternity. Maybe it’s because of his twin bond…I don’t know.”

“I can help you.”

“How?” Jin throws him a doubtful look. “Short of killing you, too, I can’t see any solutions.”

“We were twins, the king and I. It’s where our similarities ended. He was cruel, I’m not. Well, okay, I may have a violent tendency, and I may be a criminal,” Jin snorts, making Yoongi grin, “but that’s because my twin was the law and it was all wrong. I don’t hurt the weak like he does. I don’t do shit like he does. Jin,” he touches his cheek lightly, “he was a venom stamen, but I’m an anti-stamen.” Jin’s eyes widen. “I can cure you.” Pulling his hand away, Jin steps away from him.

“I don’t believe you. Show me your flower.”

Without hesitation, Yoongi turns and lifts his shirt to reveal his shoulderblade.

“A poppy…”

“I can cure you,” he repeats, letting go of the hem and pacing towards Jin. “Let me help you.”

“Help you get into my pants?” Jin scoffs, though his voice trembles, uncertainty evident in his eyes. “You look like him. How can I know you’re not exactly like him?” How can he know Yoongi won’t hurt him like his twin did?

Pulling his lip between his teeth Yoongi carefully cups Jin’s face, caressing his cheek. Despite his words, Jin leans into the touch.

“I’m nothing like him,” Yoongi whispers. “I promise.”

Chapter Text

Tremor in his arms, his legs. Tremor in his racing heart.

Yoongi braces himself against the counter, clutching his chest as breathing becomes harder and harder while his vision begins to blur. With trembling hands, he fills a glass of water and downs it. Weakly, he sinks to the floor, his aching back pressed to the cold steel and water dripping from his chin. He takes deep breaths, counts in his head and closes his eyes. He feels like choking.

"Fuck." His heart keeps pounding against his ripcage. "Fuck!"

His body protests as he gets up, opening the cupboard, rummaging around blindly. A sigh escapes him as he finds the bottle of pills. Just one for the nerves he tells himself, but they spill out, dropping through his fingers and into the sink, wetting and dissolving. Cursing, he hurries to put them back into the bottle.

"Fuck, what am I doing…" He stares at the bottle, at his shivering hands and the ruined pills. They don't help anyway. It's all useless. His throat tightens. It's all out of control. Tears well up in his eyes and the pain along his spine peaks. It hurts so fucking much.

"Fuck!"

He blinks at the ceiling before dropping his gaze, defeated, angry at himself. His gaze strays to the ground. Close to his feet he finds a single petal of a cherry blossom. Soft and pink, so very delicate. Just like him . It glistens prettily as a tear falls on it.

Footsteps approach, slowing down. Yoongi straightens, pushing away from the wall he’s leaned on and looks up.

"What are you doing here?"

"Seokjin…" He's carrying shopping bags, his beautiful face hidden behind a mask and dark fringes. But Yoongi can read his eyes alone, and knows there's no smile pulling at his cherry lips.

"Seokjin…" Yoongi lets out a relieved breath. It loosens something in him, He sees Seokjin’s eyes widen, the bags falling from his hands before his vision blurs.

When he comes to it is dark. He's cocooned between soft pillows and blankets.

"Rest," Seokjin says dabbing his forehead with a cool wet cloth. Yoongi stares at him, taking in his troubled eyes, the soft lines of his face pulled down by concern. "You're shedding, Yoongi." He means the flowers wilting, the petals falling from his skin. Abruptly, he sits up effectively pushing Seokjin's caress away, though he regrets it immediately as the room starts spinning.

Groaning he clutches his head, screwing his eyes shut.

"Careful." Seokjin steadies him with a touch to his shoulder. For a while, they stay like that, Yoongi huddled on Seokjin's couch, Seokjin rubbing soothing circles into his skin.

"You shouldn't be shedding," Seokjin says quietly, "you should be cured."

Taking a shuddering breath Yoongi leans back, feeling tired and defeated. "Seokjin-" His ex' hand drops from his shoulder as his voice turns strict.

"I told you to meet a healing flower. Why didn't you?"

"Hyung, I…"

"Why are you here?" Seokjin stands up, starting to pace up and down in front of him. His shoulders are slumped, frustration evident in the way he runs his fingers through his hair, in the way his eyes look at anything but at him. He aches to hold him.

"What you're doing is dangerous. It's unhealthy, what if I'm not there to catch you? What if you shed the last petal? What if you get sicker?"

"You could help me, hyung. Please." 

Seokjin stops in his steps, resting his hands on his hips as he refuses to meet Yoongi's beseeching eyes. 

"You broke up with me and yet you're the one who can't move on. Do you see how twisted this is?"

His words sting. He lays it out as if it was all his choice, his fault. What a mess this is.

"I told you I didn't have a choice-“

“I don’t want to hear this.” Seokjin cuts him off, flushing red. In union they heave a deep breath. It does nothing to lift the weight off their hearts. But when Seokjin exhales he levels his gaze at Yoongi, his eyes softening ever so slightly, reflecting Yoongi’s pain.

“I know,” he whispers.

Like a feather’s touch, his fingertips trail the length of his spine, mapping out the branches of his back. He lingers over his left shoulder blade where most of them sit.

He inhales. The knots in his spine begin to loosen.

Petalsoft, lips follow the path of nimble fingers and Yoongi shivers at every kiss, feel the flowers awaken underneath Seokjin. He breathes out, his head turning ilght.

He mends him. With every touch and kiss, the ache in his bones lessen and the heaveniness in his chest eases. He inhales Seokjin’s scent, the feeling of him and exhales the fatigue and tension and pain - if only for a moment.

Before the night is over, Seokjin brings him to completion. It shows in the blooming of new flowers along his spine, in the afterglow following Yoongi’s smile.

Yoongi greets them, takes the free seat opposite of them, somewhat bewildered at the third party. He thought he was meeting Seokjin alone.

“An iced Americano,” he tells the waiter, all the while watching the tall man next to Seokjin. His smile is friendly, dimpled and shy. The rest of him appears to be muscles packed underneath a soft cotton shirt and jeans. In other circumstances, he’d be happy to study him further. Instead, he glances at Seokjin, cocking an eyebrow in question. 

Letting out a sigh, Seokjin crosses his arms and gives him a flat look.

“Yoongi-ah, meet Namjoon. He’s a friend of mine. I trust him. And he’s a professional. Namjoon-ah, this is Yoongi.”

The dimples deepen. “Nice to meet you-“

“A professional?” Yoongi grinds his teeth, digging his fingers into his knees. “In what?”

Seokjjn’s eyes harden. For fuck’s sake, he really means it- Yoongi’s jaw ticks with tension.

“He’s a professional Anti-Stamen.”

“Don’t- Seokjin-“ Yoongi swallows, his body running cold. Turning a glare at Namjoon he says, “Could you leave us a second? We need to-“

“He’s not leaving, Yoongi-ah. And I’ve talked to you about this enough times.” Seokjin grimaces. “ You need to cut loose.”

“Don’t,” Yoongi rasps.

“You’re falling apart,” Seokjin retorts, voice raw with emotions, his face twisting up further, his eyes turning dangerously wet. “And you’re breaking my heart.” His hands are white-knuckled where they’re buried in his sweater. “I can’t keep on watching. And I’m not some painkiller you can just take again and again without thought. I ask you to respect that.

Do us both a favour, Yoongi-ah,” he says while getting up. Yoongi is stunned into silence, feeling breathless and so very cold. With a nod to Namjoon Seokjin puts sunglasses on, his ears and cheeks red, and leaves them. Yoongi doesn’t feel like himself as he watches him going. He imagines the flowers on his body wilting, himself turned to ashes and scattered in the wind.

It’s been half a year since Seokjin has seen Yoongi. He stands at his doorsteps, buried in a wintercoat, solely his eyes and the tip of his nose peeking out between his scarf and wool hat, cheeks rose from the cold. He looks…adorable, sweet like the Yoongi he first met. He also looks healthier, put together unlike the last time they saw each other in the café, his eyes as bright as clear water. He looks different. Seokjin’s breath catches as his heart summersaults. He looks good.

His fingers hold onto the doorframe, supressing the itch to touch him.

“Are you cured?” He asks carefully, just to be sure.

For a moment longer, Yoongi stares at him. “…Yes. Can I…Can we talk?”

Opening the door further, he lets Yoongi in. There, Yoongi sheds his winter gear, seemingly reducing his size in half. Seokjin keeps his distance lest he does something stupid like squishing his soft cheeks between his hands and kissing him silly. But God, did he miss him.

“You look good,” he says, then feels his face heating when Yoongi’s gaze find his.

“You, too.”

“Do you want some tea? I’ll make us some tea.” He hurries into the kitchen, puts water into the kettle to boil, rummages around for mugs and teabags. All the while, his heart hammers and he tries in vain to even his breathing. What does he want to talk about? Why is he here? Is he gonna show off his new good and healthy looks just to get back at him for the number he pulled on him with Namjoon? As if that didn’t hurt Seokjin just as badly. As if he could find any peaceful sleep in the following weeks. As if he didn’t hate himself for that.

He gasps when long fingers wrap around his hand.

“I can hear you thinking, hyung,” Yoongi says softly, very close to his ear. Blushing, Seokjin turns around to face him, both scared and excited at their proximity. This is unexpected and he doesn’t know what to do with this Yoongi. This Yoongi, who is untethered by his feelings for Seokjin, who is unmarked by him, who does not belong to him. It aches to see him like this and Seokjin wished he could turn back time to forget all the hurt and just love Yoongi for who he is.

“You wanted to talk?” He breathes out.

Eyes roaming over Seokjin’s face and his voice so soft and earnest, Yoongi begins, “I came to apologize. I’m sorry that I was such a selfish ass, that I hurt you, that I didn’t stop hurting you until past breaking point. You were right, hyung.”

With his heart in his throat Seokjin steps around Yoongi, breaking touch and eye contact to pour the hot water into their cups. “I’m sorry, too.” He swallows, feeling all too raw under his unrelenting gaze. 

When Seokjin doesn’t continue Yoongi asks, “For what?”

He puts the kettle down, inhales, then exhales. “I don’t know… I don’t know. I’m sorry that you were in so much pain. I’m sorry that I’m a venom stamen-“

“Don’t apologize for what you are…”

“I’m still sorry.” He turns back to Yoongi, regarding him sadly. “I’m sorry that it didn’t work out. That- that there was so much love between us and then it turned into nothing but poison and pain.”

Yoongi  shakes his head. “Not just poison and pain. My feelings for you, they never went away.” Seokjin’s breath hitches.

“That was the problem. I never stopped loving you and hated being apart from you, not being marked by you, touched and loved by you. After I was cured it became all the clearer. My body was fine again but here,” he points at his heart, “I was miserable, worse than ever. I realized that I’d rather bear all the pain in the world than be apart from you. I can take the shedding. I can take all the fucked up biological responses. But I can’t bear a life without you.”

“Don’t- don’t ask of me something impossible-“ Seokjin says trembling. Yoongi can’t mean for them to make the same mistake all over again? He must have gone mad.

“It’s not impossible anymore,” Yoongi squeezes his hand, his eyes shining. “I sorted it out with my parents, my family.”

Seokjin’s heart skips a beat, hope blossoming in his chest.

“What do you mean?”

Yoongi smiles then, showing his sweet gums, the happy crease at the corners his eyes while his warm palm cradles his face tenderly.

“It means let me introduce you to my parents properly. Let me marry you-“

Seokjin gasps, “Yoongi!”

“-let me show the world that I’m yours. No turning back this time.”

Speechless with his heart in his throat, Seokjin keeps staring at Yoongi, trying to detect any lies behind his words. But Yoongi seems genuine and it‘s - why is it this easy all of a sudden? Why couldn‘t it be this simple the first time around? Pressure builds behind his eyes making him blink and swallow heavily. At his lack of a response Yoongi‘s smile falters. “That is, if you still want me.“

Seokjin‘s look softens, his heart calming, warming in his chest. No turning back this time. He pulls his lower lip between his teeth, blushing as Yoongi‘s eyes follow the movement.

This isn‘t smart, he wants to say. This is rushed, unreasonable, again, thinking too much with their hearts and too little with their heads. 

At last, he drops his head to hide his smile, huffing out a little laugh.

Aren‘t they both fools in love?

“Goddammit, at least take me out on a date first before proposing.“

Chapter Text

After the storm of violence, it is quiet and still. Wind breezes without a whisper, grass sways without a rustle. Dust and smoke linger in a stillstand, smudging the blue of the sky. Suspended between the battlefield and nowhere, the hearts of four survivors, shaken, staggering, lost still in the moments of bloodlust and terror.

Jimin moves first, sheathing his two swords. The sharp sound of metal stirs them back to life, settling their hammering pulse. Slowly, the crumbling armour around their hearts builds back up into a steely barrier, the fright in their eyes giving way for weariness. Footsteps and heavy huffs of breath break the silence, the securing of guns, the swinging of swords to get rid of blood.

Mindlessly, Jin shakes his machine gun free of zombie matter. He blinks against the sun, slowly making his way around the ground to take a closer look at the corpses. Dread spreads through him as he registers the disfigured bodies, rotten flesh and torn clothes hanging of them, their sunken eyes dead twice over as they stare at nothing. They look inhuman and stink bestially. Though once, they were someone, each one of them, a friend, a parent, a child, a lover… His dread peaks as he pauses in front of a male zombie, his decapitated head lying just a few feet away (Jimin’s or Taehyung’s work). He seems to have been around Jin’s age, grown-up, yet still young, judging by the faded hiphop T-Shirt and sneakers he sports. Cautiously, he nudges his shirt up as best as he can with the tip of his gun, revealing bare skin, or what’s left of it. His breath hitches as he sees pink at the side of his torso. But at closer inspection he exhales in relief – just for another bout of sickness to crawl up his chest. This is awful. Behind him, one of his companions nears, glimpsing over his shoulder.

“A peony,” Jeungguk murmurs, staring down at the flower of the dead stamen. With a heave of breath Jin tears away from the corpse, swallowing down his disgust and moves on to the next distinctly young adult male zombie he can find. This is his routine, whenever they can spare the time after a fight: to look around, trying to find vines or flowers on the deceased. While the others scavenge for goods, he finishes his inspection after another handful of corpses. He comes to a halt, suddenly overcome by exhaustion. The gun is too heavy in his hand, the ammunition belt cutting into his flesh, the sun bearing down on his aching head, making his clothes stick to his sweaty skin. Closing his eyes, he feels Jeongguk clasping the back of his neck, massaging him in comfort, keeping him grounded and upright.

“Not him?” he asks Jin. Jin shakes his head.

“Not him.”

The sound of waves. The distant cry of gulls. They’re at the beach, clad in jackets on this cool morning. Wind tousles their hair, whipping their cheeks and noses red with cold, freezing their fingers where they’re holding each other’s hands.

“It’s the sea,” Jin says, grinning as he watches the glittering ocean under the sun.

“It’s the sea,” comes the echo by his side, a voice deeper than his, soft with smiles and love.

The image fades as he slowly comes to. With the dawning realization that he’s waking up, he tries to fall back into unconsciousness, clinging to the dream desperately, wishing to dwell forever in the single memory he has left from before the apocalypse. But reality is merciless and he couldn’t be further away from happiness by the sea.

Defeated, he blinks his eyes open, sleep still heavy in his bones and yet lost to him. It is night. The only light comes from the last glimmer of their campfire. He finds Jeongguk poking at it with a stick while watching Jin over the embers. On his other side, Taehyung and Jimin lie huddled together, fast asleep, their little mountain of weapons in reaching distance. They’re resting in an empty parking block on the edge of the ruins of a town, a concrete, cold and hard bed, albeit safe enough after they scoured the place for any threats.

Slowly he sits up, wrapping the blanket around himself and nods at Jeongguk. “Sleep. It’s my turn.”

“’m not tired.”

“Jeongguk.”

“Can’t sleep,” Jeongguk corrects himself, shrugging.

Jin huffs. “Lie down and try to. Here, take the blanket.” Jeongguk reaches out and stills Jin’s hand over his chest where he’s holding the blanket together. As with his gaze, his touch lingers on Jin. “Keep it. I’m not cold.” This punk. He cocks an eyebrow at his friend’s attire, leather pants and combat booths, but above, a one-sleeved black wool shirt and chest harness, nothing else.

“Do as hyung says.” Ignoring his protests, he shifts and throws the blanket over Jeongguk’s shoulders, wrapping it securely around him. Blushing, Jeongguk takes hold of the seams under his chin, biting his lip as he regards Jin from under his lashes. With the fire out, the only light seems to flash in his piercings and big eyes.

“Hyung.” He’s still not lying down. Resisting hugging himself for warmth, lest the blanket is forced back on him, he picks up Jeongguk’s stick and starts poking the embers.

“Hm?”

“Do you remember him at all?” Jin pauses in his tracks, something painful twisting in his chest. His mind drifts to the dream, indistinct images he can never quite grasp, echoes from a past he sometimes isn’t sure ever truly existed. It’s a hollow kind of ache, to live with lost memories, to essentially know nothing about yourself.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked-“

“It’s alright.” It’s not. It’s not. He opens his mouth, to say what, he doesn’t really know. If it hurt less, he might be able to talk about it.

“It’s just fragments of memories,” he gets out at last, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

“I hear his voice…” He stares into the remains of the embers, sees a flash of a warm smile, small teeth and gum peeking out at the corner of rose lips. “His shoulders shake when he laughs. He has a gummy smile and…and warm hands.” He blinks, taking a deep breath. “We were at the beach…” We were happy. He shudders, exhaling.

“That’s all.”

“And his rose.”

Automatically, Jin’s hand draws up to his right flank. “And his rose,” he echoes, his heart squeezing.

“Can I see it?” He turns to look at Jeongguk, seeing his earnest eyes. The moon has wandered, now shining into the space between them, illuminating his young face. “If I know how it looks…I could help you look for him.”

For a moment, Jin hesitates, feeling vulnerable. Though maybe it would help to share this, so Jeongguk can keep an eye out for Jin’s lost lover, too. So he lifts his shirt, revealing the pink rose adorning the vine on his right side. He watches Jeongguk leaning closer. Glancing at him, Jeongguk reaches out with one hand, slow enough for Jin to stop him. Jin allows his touch, the careful way Jeongguk traces the petals with his fingertips, brushing so gently over his skin. He closes his eyes, imagines a similar caress by someone else, in another time long passed. It hurts to have forgotten. It hurts to hope he’ll remember one day. But most unbearable is the thought that he might never find him.

“It’s beautiful,” Jeongguk whispers wistfully.

“I hate the silence,” Jimin says as he lets the pick-up roll towards the gas station. All four of them cast wary looks out of the windows of the car, intent on finding any threats. However, the place seems abandoned, eerily empty. They’re on the highway, somewhere between one ghost town and another. Here and there, they came across vehicles lying scattered about – upturned, burned, broken – vestiges of accidents and mass panic, of death and worse. Yet zombies had been scarce, quickly avoided, at worst run over.

Jimin stays seated at the wheel while the others get out of the car. As Taehyung refuels the car (the fuel pump luckily still working), Jin and Jeongguk take a closer look at the station. It’s deserted, the little shop vandalized. They share a glance before entering, their guns held high as they walk between the few shelves still standing. Seconds pass and they begin to relax as nothing stirs but them. Beneath his heel it crunches when he steps on scattered chips.

“Oh,” Jeongguk exclaims a few aisles away, “I found ramyeon!” A rustling follows as his friend starts packing the instant noodles into his backpack. Lowering his weapon, Jin moves to fill his bag, too. He finds some snacks, bottles of water and juice. Outside, Taehyung is done refuelling and is currently filling their canisters with gas. It seems like they’re lucky today.

A thump makes him look up. It comes from the far end of the shop, where most of the broken shelves lie. A chill runs down his spine. Slowly, he gets up from his crouch, swinging his backpack over his shoulder, lifting his gun while he approaches the source of the noise. Another thump.

And another, and another.

A door to a backroom, he realizes, and the entrance is deliberately blocked with upturned shelves. He stares at the closed door as the thumps increase, goosebumps spreading through his whole body as his pulse speeds up.

“Jin-hyung?”

“Time to go, Guk-ah.” A muffled screech resounds through the wall. His heart jumps into his throat. He begins to walk backwards, his gun pointed at the door. “Now.”

Jeongguk doesn’t need to be told twice. They make it out of the shop, Jin giving a short whistle to signal Jimin and Taehyung to get ready.

But they haven’t crossed half the station when suddenly, they’re ambushed by a terrible growl. They always seem to come out of nowhere, Jin thinks. Whipping their heads around, both Jin and Jeongguk pull the trigger, sending the shrieking zombie flying. Not far away, they see movement in the bushes by the side of the road and hear the snarls and screams of fast approaching undeads, attracted by the gunshots. When the first one breaks through the foliage, with gnashing teeth and hungry eyes, covered in blood and dirt and rot, it fills Jin with horror, freezes him with fear. This will never change, this all consuming terror everytime he is faced with these monsters. It’s ugly, terrifying, heartbreaking. It’s not supposed to be like this. It’s unnatural and sickening. A child runs at him, dress half torn, stained brown-red, her fingers bloodied, partly missing, her mouth a gaping wound. For a mad second, he thinks, where’s her mother? She’s too young to be on her own. But she’s not a child anymore. And this world has changed its rules a while ago and nothing makes sense anymore. Instinct kicks in at last, adrenaline pumping through his system. He shakes himself out of his haunting contemplations and swiftly puts a bullet into her head.

More and more zombies appear, running towards them having caught their scent. Bullets rain down on them as Jin and Jeongguk sprint towards the car. He’s almost at the pick-up when another undead suprises him, springing at him from his right. Swinging around, he takes aim – and stops short, his eyes widening as they land on a pink rose. A pink rose, sitting on the grey skin of the undead’s bared stomach. It can’t be. He tears his gaze away, taking in the rest of the male – faded jeans, muddy sneakers, unruly hair, the colour unrecognizable. Dirt and blood and gaping wounds from head to toe, the face a grimace of fury and madness, inhuman like the rest of the lot. Yet he was a man, once, a stamen with a pink rose, a lover, a someone. Jin’s heart stops beating. He stands there, staring, wishing he knew a name to call out. Is this him? He catches his wild eyes, trying to find something in them, both dreading and hoping for recognition. A hand reaches out, claw-like, ready to shred him into pieces. And then it’s gone, and Jin is covered in black blood and rotten flesh, the gunshot ringing loud in his ears.

“Jin-hyung!! Hurry!” Taehyung shouts at him, his gun smoking. Blinking, he takes another look at the zombie lying twitching on the ground. The pink rose screams at him, vibrant on the dead skin, ugly for the way it simply doesn’t fit. It cannot belong to him.

“Come on!” Jeongguk grabs his arm, pulling him along. In an instant, they’re at the pick-up, jumping in, slamming the doors shut against the onslaught of zombies.

“Are you alright?” Jeongguk touches his shoulder, inquiring him with scared eyes, looking him over for injuries while they speed away from the gas station. For a moment, Jin cannot answer, feeling hollowed out, as if he dropped his heart back there and didn’t pick it up again.

He dreams of the ocean, of love cupped in warm hands, captured between petal-soft lips. He dreams of kisses made up of smiles, of a touch that makes his skin bloom and his heart swell.

And he dreams of pink roses wilting on grey flesh and a rotting hand clawing at his chest.

Jin wakes with a gasp only to find the nightmare never ending.

They’re resting on a hill, planes of grass spread wide in front of them, the small town in view, though far away. It’s a sunny day, with few clouds in the sky, a warm breeze and pleasant temperatures. It’s so calm and quiet. Jin stares into the distance and takes in a deep breath, squaring his shoulders, expanding his chest with the clear air to absorb the peaceful atmosphere, to internalize the serenity of nature. For a moment, he indulges in the fantasy that everything is just a dream, a nightmare. This absurd, disturbing zombie apocalypse. From up here, it doesn’t look like the world is ending at all.

By his side, Jeongguk sits with his arms folded over his bent knees, watching the birds. He’s like a puppy, following Jin everywhere. It’s endearing, comforting when he’s scared and a mess.

Tiring, when he wants to be alone. Their eyes meet, and Jin is not sure what his face is doing when he looks away again, but it prompts Jeongguk into speaking.

“You know, there are many different kinds of pink roses. It doesn’t have to be him…you know, back there.” Jin’s heart stutters, in danger of falling back into pieces after a lousy stitch up. Jeongguk continues,

“There’s Climbing Rose Jasmina, Gertrud Jekyll, Bedding Rose Pomponella, Countess Marie Henriette, Heidetraum…”

“How do you know so much about pink roses? And why do they all sound like British nobility?”

“Umma had a rose garden. It was beautiful…it was full of roses, a sea of pink and red. And the scent, hyung, it was the best smelling place on earth.” Jin regards his friend as he reminisces, sees the shine of his eyes, the sad tilt of his crooked smile. Watching him, he’s not so sure if remembering is enviable after all. Most of the time, it looks like pain. One more type of pain to add to the baggage each one of them carries around, and maybe Jin is better off without memories from his past.

“Who’d have thought? Jeon Jeongguk, my little gardener.” Jeongguk meets his gaze.

“I don’t think it was him, hyung.” Maybe, maybe it’s possible to lose his memories from yesterday, too, forget the pink rose on his flank as well while he’s at it. Maybe then it will hurt less, this surviving in hell, this non-living in a futureless world. This pointlessness.

“You don’t know that,” he says, his voice brittle. Jeongguk reaches over, covering Jin’s hand. Suddenly, he can’t look at him anymore, his face crumbling as the first tears fall. “You don’t know that. What if it was him? I couldn’t even bury him. He had to die alone, turned into a monster, and now he can’t even rest.” Jin cries, his chest constricting in anguish, robbing him of his breath. Hell is never-ending heartbreak. He’s pulled into a warm embrace, Jeongguk cradling the back of his head, letting him sob into his shoulder. “And even if, I wouldn’t even know what name to put on his grave.”

At a loss for a consoling rejoinder, Jeongguk just hugs him tighter, stroking his back in comfort.

Days pass, the four of them driving around aimlessly. Nowhere seems safe. Either it’s ruins of cities, too close to wandering undeads who are accumulated in high populated areas, or lonely farm houses so remote they quickly run out of food and water and are forced to move on. Being on the road feels safest, after all. They can pretend to be free, feeling like they aren’t standing still or simply settling with this reality. None of them knows for how long they can keep this up, until the pick-up gives out or one of them goes mad. For the moment, they just keep going, and maybe that’s all they need to do to stay sane and safe, to keep going.

Jin wonders whether he liked hiking and travelling back in the days, when he wasn’t busy running away from zombies. The country is made up of mountains, forests and coast side. It’s quite beautiful, he thinks, standing in a field of wildflowers.

“Hyung.”

Turning around, Jin finds Jeongguk holding a little bouquet of colourful flowers out for him, grinning with his bunny teeth. “For you, hyung.”

“Oh,” Jin takes the flowers, a smile spreading over his face. “Thank you, they’re lovely.” He smells them, enjoying the pleasant scent. Stepping closer, Jeongguk plucks a yellow dandelion out of his hand. Gently, he tucks it behind one of Jin’s quickly reddening ears, his fingers lingering, sliding forward to cup his cheek as he stares at Jin.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, standing so close now Jin could count his eyelashes and feel his breath fanning over his face. He blushes.

“Jeongguk-“

Soft lips close around his, silencing his thoughts. His heart hitches, caught off guard by such tenderness and sweetness. The kiss is short, leaving in its wake a warm tingling. Jin blinks, his blush deepening as he meets Jeongguk’s eyes. He can’t remember ever having felt like this, ever having kissed. He wishes he could remember at the same time that he wishes he could stop thinking about lost memories.

“Jeongguk-“

Jeongguk shushes him with a finger pressed against his lips, his eyes roaming over Jin’s face, wistful and sad. Once more, Jin yearns to forget pink roses if only so he doesn’t have to see that look on Jeongguk again. But he cannot let go, yet.

His friend smiles softly, his cheeks tinted rose. “It’s just a kiss, hyung.”

His mourning peaks as they reach the coast, the ocean’s roar echoing a happiness from the past he cannot grasp, the air salty as if permeated by tears. Jin walks down the beach, feeling so lost and hurting so badly it takes his breath away. His gaze fixed on the horizon, he imagines his heart in his hand, a dead rock he can just fling into the sea – let it sink out of his sight, let it be buried under saltwater with all of his pain.

But reality is his heart constricted in his chest, burning like a gaping wound you keep hacking open with blunt teeth. Is he so different from those wandering corpses? Is he not half dead inside with the way he can’t move on from a past he can’t even recall?

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Jin wills the soft breeze to dry his unshed tears. He needs to move on. He needs to stop pitying himself. For his sake. For the sake of his friends.

On the horizon the sun begins to set. Blue turns violet and pink, the ocean a shimmering mirror of the play of colours. Taking a deep breath, Jin braces himself, silently swearing to himself to do better from now on, to turn away from the sea and everything it means to him.

“Hyung.”

“I’m ready. Let’s go.”

“No- look.”

Jeongguk points somewhere over Jin’s shoulder. Further up the road, a military vehicle is approaching, its low rumble increasing in volume until it stops by their pick-up. Three militants step out, guns slung over their shoulders, talking to Jimin and Taehyung. It’s so rare to meet other survivors. The military was sent to the epicentres first, so he was told. What happened then none of them can really tell. It probably ended in disaster with the military razed…but maybe they’ve regrouped…maybe they can help.

As they watch, one of the soldiers catches sight of them. Then he makes his way to where Jin and Jeongguk are standing. Unthinking, Jin straightens his spine, an unnerving flutter building in his guts. It’s odd in a way he cannot put a finger on it. His whole body reacts as if on instinct, though he registers no threat from the three humans. No…this is different in the way he can’t help turning wholly towards the man nearing them, straining to see him, to reach out for him. With every beat of his heart the urge grows until he takes a step forward, parting his lips, a forgotten name on the tip of his tongue.

Meanwhile, the stranger falters in his tracks, stopping halfway and stares at Jin. He’s shorter than Jin, about his age he guesses, his stature lean, clad in uniform. His face is hidden behind a shawl – only his eyes peek out from under his cap, riveted on Jin and widening by the minute as his chest begins to heave. Long fingers push the shawl down, revealing the rest of his sharp face. Something stirs in Jin then – his heart, his soul, the black hole in his brain that’s swallowed all of his memories.

“Seokjin?”

Goosebumps break out over his skin, his breath stuttering. He knows this voice. Silently, he moves his lips, yet no response comes to him. The man moves closer, his eyes brimming with emotions, shining bright in the fire of the setting sun as they roam over Jin’s face, welling up with tears.

“It is you…”

In the next moment, Jin is thrown of balance as the stranger crashes into him, hugging him tight. He gasps in surprise, but after a second he wraps his arms around the man, returning the fervent embrace, squeezing his eyes shut. His nose is filled with the scent of roses, his heart aching as it lurches into his throat. They tremble in each other’s arms, letting out little gasps.

“I thought I lost you-“ The man sniffs. “I thought- God, I thought-“ He leans back, releasing Jin to cradle his face oh so carefully, his palms calloused and warm. His touch feels so familiar and tender Jin wants to cry.

“Are you alright?”

They look at each other, insatiable as they drink each other in, their visions blurred by threatening tears.

“I-“ Jin stutters, swallowing heavily. “I- I don’t-“ He screws his eyes shut, a sob escaping him. He can’t say it. It will break them both. Guilt twists his heart as he lowers his arms to his side, averting his gaze.

“Hyung, hey…” He caresses Jin’s cheek, beseeching him. When Jin remains painfully quiet, realization dawns on him. His eyes dim as something forlorn settles in. “Hyung…it’s me, Yoongi. Don’t you-“ Yoongi swallows, blinking rapidly. “Don’t you remember?” His voice cracks at the last syllable. It hurts to watch Yoongi’s hope crumble in front of him.

Distraught, Jin stares at him, his heart aching with the desire to remember, for it all to simply fall into place and click after having found his missing piece. And yet memories still evade him like wisps of fog.

“Yoongi,” he says, trying it out on his tongue. Letting out a shaky breath, he takes one of Yoongi’s hands, turning it palm up, palm down, running his fingers over the prominent veins. “I remember your hands…” He hears a sharp intake of breath, feels Yoongi’s other hand spasm against his skin. He closes his eyes, his broken dreams resurfacing. “I remember your voice. We were at the beach.” His brilliant smile, brighter than ocean and sky. His touch, warmer than the sun.

“You love the sea,” Yoongi murmurs. In that moment, Jin wants him to tell him everything, everything about Jin, about them. What Jin likes and dislikes, what he used to do, where he’s from, what they did at the sea, what they were to each other. His heart throbs with yearning. Unthinking, his hands move to Yoongi’s collar, running down the seam of his partly unbuttoned shirt. Gently, he tugs it to the side, revealing his chest, Yoongi shivering under his touch.

“And I remember your pink rose,” Jin says, his eyes falling on the flower sitting on Yoongi’s heart, a perfect replica of the one adorning Jin’s flank. Tears stream down his face as he presses his palm against Yoongi’s thumping heart. “It’s you. I’ve found you. Yoongichi.”

Yoongi surges forward, capturing Jin’s lips in a desperate kiss. Without missing a beat, Jin leans into it, pulling Yoongi flush against him. They slot together like puzzle pieces, fitting perfectly. For the first time in forever, Jin feels like he can breathe easily again.

Before it gets dark, they arrive at the camp on the outskirts of Busan. The palisade is made of wooden poles, concrete detritus and metal fences. Vehicles and tanks are parked just beyond the gate. At entering, their names are registered, a few check up questions asked (including where are they from, are they injured) and then they are distributed blankets and a meal and given a tour around the camp by the soldiers who’ve found them – Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi, all three of them are about their age, friendly and eager for new faces and glad about any survivors they encounter.

Jeongguk doesn’t really take it all in, just trudging along in silence, lost in his thoughts. Meanwhile, Jimin and Taehyung make fast connections with Namjoon and Hoseok, talking and laughing as if the world isn’t ending.

And the world is ending, at least for Jeongguk. It’s a stab to his heart, the dramatic reunion of Jin with his lost lover Yoongi and everytime his eyes land on the couple – walking close together, sitting together, heads always bend together, always holding hands – the knife twists in his wound, bleeding him dry. The world is ending for Jeongguk, and his doom isn’t the zombies, or death. It is fucking love.

He’s never felt more inadequate, more out of place than now. In a world where everyone had lost their home, he thought he’d found a new one in Jin. He thought he belonged to Jin, and Jin belonged to him. But it is so obvious now that he was never enough for Jin, could never hold a candle to his perfect Yoongi. There was never hope to make space for Jeongguk in Jin’s heart.

Sleep evades him. When it dawns, he unloads his motorcycle from the pick-up and grabs his backpack and arms.

“I wanna take a look around,” he tells the guard by the gate. “This isn’t a prison, is it?” he adds when the soldier hesitates. It does the trick. Putting the helmet on, he mounts the motorcycle and revs the engine. And then he’s gone, speeding down the empty road, the tranquil world rotting under the blue sky and rising sun.