A Thousand Pieces

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/17010276.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Rape/Non-Con
Category: M/M
Fandom: | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Relationship: Park Jimin (BTS)/Everyone, Jeon Jungkook/Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung
| V/Park Jimin, Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Park Jimin, Kim Namjoon |
RM/Park Jimin, Kim Seokjin | Jin/Park Jimin, Min Yoongi | Suga/Park
Jimin
Character: Park Jimin (BTS), Min Yoongi | Suga, Jeon Jungkook, Kim Namjoon |
RM, Kim Seokjin | Jin, Jung Hoseok | J-Hope, Kim Taehyung | V
Additional Tags: Rape, Rape Aftermath, Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon
Divergence, Kidnapping, Hostage Situations, Original Character(s), Hurt
Park Jimin, Protective Bangtan Boys, How Do I Tag, Crying, Jeon
Jungkook Needs a Hug, Park Jimin Needs a Hug, Hurt Jeon Jungkook,
Hurt/Comfort, kim namjoon needs a hug, Forced Orgasm, Collars,
Dissociation, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Rape Recovery,
Self-Hatred, Self-Esteem Issues, Flashbacks, Angst, Homophobia,
Justice, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Implied/Referenced Self-
Harm, Nightmares, Slow Romance, Unrequited Love, Self-Harm,
Control Issues, One Night Stands, Internalized Homophobia, running
away from their problems, don't hate me
Series: Part 1 of A Thousand Pieces
Stats: Published: 2018-12-16 Completed: 2020-06-14 Chapters: 34/34 Words:
141959

A Thousand Pieces
by PrettyPiedPiper

Summary

“He likes it, don’t you?” Chang says, lips pressing wet kisses along Jimin’s neck,
fingernails pressing further into Jimin’s hips. No, he doesn’t like it, Jimin wants to say, but
he’s so out of it he can’t get his mouth to form the words.

OR

The one where BTS is kidnapped and taken as hostages and one of them takes a particular
liking to Jimin.

WARNING: Graphic rape descriptions. Please don't read if you think this will be
triggering.

Notes
WARNING: GRAPHIC RAPE DESCRIPTION.

Please do not read this if you think you will be triggered by descriptions of rape and some
violence. I will not take responsibility if you are triggered. This work is marked
appropriately and all warnings should be taken seriously.

This is obviously a work of fiction and not something I believe to have actually happened.

If you don't like the theme, don't read it.

This is my very first work published on the Archive. Please let me know what you think!
 The Beginning

Perhaps it was their own complacency that allowed them to be snatched right from under the noses
of their company. Perhaps it was the mistake of their company itself. Maybe it was no-one’s fault
except their kidnappers but as the seven men in the van stare down the barrel of a gun, there’s a
distinct feeling that they should’ve known this was coming. That this is somehow their own fault.

“Don’t move, and don’t say a fucking word,” the man in the passenger seat had said when he
turned with the handgun pointed straight at them, the van still hurtling towards some unknown
destination. They’d obeyed, terrified of what he would do if they so much as squeaked. The driver
had watched them as well, dark eyes piercing in the rear view mirror as they swept over them
periodically.

They’re all frozen, feeling like this is some out of body experience as they watch the man in the
passenger seat cock his gun casually towards Jungkook in the front row of seats, then angle it
further towards Yoongi, smirking at them as if he’s not holding their lives in his hands. Jimin’s
squished between Hoseok and the window in the second row of seats, heart hammering in his chest
with a force that makes him nauseous with fear. The others look much the same.

Taehyung and Jungkook in the front seat are both leaning as far back in their seats as possible,
angling themselves away from the gun even as the man watches them squirm. Yoongi, Hoseok,
and Jimin are statues, the only movement Hoseok’s fingers clenching down on Jimin’s leg with
enough force to bruise. He doesn’t dare look back at Jin and Namjoon.

They drive out of the city, nighttime meaning it is impossible for Jimin to make out anything about
where they are. Hoseok still has his hand holding tightly onto Jimin’s leg, and when Jimin risks a
tiny, almost imperceptible glance downwards, he can see how white his knuckles are. Surprisingly
perhaps, Jimin’s leg stopped hurting a long time ago, maybe sensing the fact that Hoseok doesn’t
look like he’s going to let go for a long time. Jimin is pressed against the window, cheek cold
against the glass. He doesn’t know when Hoseok and Yoongi started leaning in towards him but
their combined body weight acts like a barrier, stopping Jimin from moving properly in his seat
and instead, squishing him against the window. He can’t even tell them not to because the man in
front still has the gun pointed at them, eyes flickering over each of their faces every few seconds.

Finally, the van slows to a stop, the almost tangible tension in the air increasing rapidly as they pull
up outside some sort of building. The darkness means all they can see are dark squares against an
indigo sky, and it does nothing for their anxiety.
“I’m going to get out. I’ll open the door for you and then you’re going to exit the van in a single
file. If you make any move to run away, I will shoot you and all of your little friends,” the man
with the gun says, eyeing them with open hostility. “Do you understand?” He’s silent, seemingly
waiting for an answer, and they all nod. There’s nothing confusing about his orders and any
infractions could have deadly consequences.

Taehyung exits the van first, followed closely by Jungkook. Then Yoongi, Hoseok, and Jimin. As
every one of the members exits the van, the tangle of fear in Jimin’s stomach swells dramatically
until it’s taking all of his willpower not to break down right there and then. He takes deep breaths
as he follows Hoseok out of the van, focuses on not tripping and falling flat on his face as his feet
land on hard cobbles. The five of them stand there in a single row, completely silent, watching as
Jin and Namjoon climb out of the van as well and Jimin feels the hairs on the back of his neck
rising with every passing second. He risks flicking his gaze over to the man with the gun, almost
jolting backwards when they make eye contact, the man’s lips curling imperceptibly. Jimin
hurriedly looks back at the ground.

“Follow him,” the man with the gun says, pointing at the driver of their van. Jimin catches
Hoseok’s terrified eyes for only a split second before they all turn, following behind the man as he
walks off towards one of the buildings only a few metres away. It’s as they are entering the
building that Jimin is struck by the thought that this could be the last time he ever sees the sky
again, and he looks up quickly, sees a final glimpse of the stars twinkling distantly above before
his feet stumble on a small step and he’s practically falling inside the building.

They’re led down a small concrete hallway, footsteps echoing on the bare floors, breaths sounding
especially loud in the confined space. Jimin can barely focus above the sound of his own pulse
drumming frantically in his temple as they’re pushed forward into another room, this one pitch
black, Jimin whacking into Hoseok’s shoulder as he turns to look behind him. Then the lights
flicker on and the man with the gun enters the room behind him. For a split second, Jimin almost
entertains the idea of rushing forward, smashing the gun out of the man’s hand, and bolting along
with his members but then the man steps aside and there’s a combined, sharp intake of breath as
more men file into the room from behind him. They’re all dressed similarly in jeans, dark t-shirts,
some in white ones, all of them impassive and watching the seven of them with gazes that seem
vaguely predatory. Jimin doesn’t even realise he’s taken a step back till he hits a body behind him,
turns to see Yoongi before he snaps his attention back to the front.

There’s about twelve, maybe fourteen men in the room besides the seven of them, and Jimin feels
like his lungs are seizing up when one of them, dressed in blue jeans and another of those plain
black t-shirts, suddenly steps forward. He smiles at them, lips curling upwards in a way that could
be friendly but is anything but when faced in this situation.
“Hopefully, your ride here was pleasant?” He says, grinning wolfishly when the men around him
stir, some sneering derisively at the seven members. “You can call me Chang. As you may have
realised by now, this is not your hotel and we are not your maids.” He smirks. “If you even think
about trying to escape, my men are all armed and all of them are excellent marksmen so you would
not escape alive. You will stay here for the foreseeable future, depending on how much your
company loves you.”

He laughs at his own words, though his amusement doesn’t seem to stretch to his eyes. Jimin can’t
help but shiver as Chang’s eyes scan them with calculating coldness. Then he turns his head,
signals to his men behind him and all of a sudden they are surrounded. Jimin barely has a chance to
blink before he’s being grabbed by the arms and forcefully spun around, a swift kick behind the
knees making him buckle. He hits the concrete floor with enough force for his teeth to clatter
painfully together and bolts of pain to shoot through his kneecaps, a strangled noise escaping his
lips when his arms are wrenched behind his back. There’s a horrifying click as cold metal clamps
around his wrists and Jimin registers the feeling of what can only be handcuffs.

He can’t think past the roaring in his head as the adrenaline of the whole situation kicks in till he’s
hyperventilating, hardly able to breathe from raw terror but there’s no chance to catch his breath. A
hand suddenly fists itself into his hair and Jimin’s head is yanked upwards. Around him, he can see
the others in much the same position as he is, although he seems to be the only one with his head
jerked up. He finds out very quickly why when Chang suddenly appears in his line of vision. His
eyes pierce into Jimin’s and Jimin instinctively shrinks back, prevented from doing so by the
fingers twisted in his hair, making his scalp burn from the pull.
“You’re Jimin, correct?” Chang asks suddenly, moving right forward till Jimin’s head is level with
his thigh and he has to crane his neck upwards to see Chang’s face. Jimin hesitates, doesn’t know
how to answer the question, whether to answer at all, but then his face is exploding in pain and he
loses all ability to think clearly. “Answer me,” Chang demands, and Jimin struggles to nod, trying
to figure out whether he’d lost any teeth from Chang’s punch, jaw throbbing white hot with pain.
“Ye-yes,” he manages to get out, hoping it’s enough. Around him he can hear the others protesting,
random noises filtering through the ringing in his ears, can hear Taehyung yell something at
whoever is holding him.

Chang lifts his hand again and Jimin automatically flinches backwards unsuccessfully, still held in
place by the grip on his scalp. But this time Chang doesn’t hit him, just brings his hand forward
and rubs at Jimin’s bruised jaw with his fingers. In every story Jimin’s ever read it seems the bad
guys always have icy fingers but Chang’s hands are warm. Normal to the point where Jimin could
almost pretend it was Taehyung waking him up in the morning but it’s not. Instead, he’s trapped in
a concrete room with his members, hands cuffed behind him, head held up at an unnatural angle,
and a strange man rubbing at the bruise he just inflicted.
“I saw you dance once,” he murmurs, fingers burning against Jimin’s cheek. “You were good. Very
good, in fact.” He pauses, dark eyes flitting from Jimin’s eyes down to his lips before he grins
suddenly. “You’ll do very well for a little demonstration.”

This is far from normal.

Jimin sees the others being forced to their feet, pushed to the wall where their cuffs are attached to
a metal bar with another set of handcuffs low to the ground. He waits to join them, something
comforting about being back amongst his members but it doesn’t happen. Instead, he’s yanked up
and half-dragged to the opposite wall away from the others. And now the real panic sets in.
“Wait—no, no—”
“Shut the fuck up,” the man behind him snarls, and Jimin obeys, not wanting another bruising
punch to the face.

He can hear Yoongi yell out behind him, “What are you doing? Why the fuck are you taking
Jimin?” But the men don’t answer and Jimin is forcefully slammed chest first into the wall, all the
air knocked out of his lungs in one resounding exhale. He’s still so bewildered with panic, it takes
him a moment to even gasp some oxygen back into his system and by the time he manages there is
a body pressed flush against his, hot breath tickling his neck and making Jimin twist away. He
wonders what sort of demonstration Chang has in mind.

“Stop moving,” the man says, and Jimin identifies the man behind him to be Chang himself. He
wants to obey (isn’t that what they always tell you to do in hostage situations?) but a bigger part of
him gives into the fight or flight mode, and since he can’t exactly run away, Jimin puts all his
energy into fighting. He struggles against the weight of Chang’s body pressing him into the wall,
tries to throw out a leg to kick his kneecap, squirms away with all the skill of a snake but there’s
nothing he can do when he’s caught in cuffs, hands trapped behind him and face smushed into cold
concrete.
“Get off me!” He chokes out, still attempting to wriggle away. Chang laughs in his ear, sounding
utterly amused. He already has a height advantage over Jimin but he’s also much more muscled,
built like a man who spends at least seventy percent of his time in the gym.
“If you keep fighting, you’ll only make it harder for me to resist you,” Chang purrs, teeth grazing
Jimin’s neck, and Jimin freezes because this is not something he knows how to deal with.

What the fuck does this man want from him? What does he mean?
Chang’s meaning of a demonstration suddenly becomes crystal clear when Jimin feels two other
men step up and grab his arms, keeping him pinned against the wall as Chang’s hands land on
Jimin’s waist, tugging at his belt. Before Jimin can even cry out, his belt is being ripped out of his
pants and Chang is grabbing at the loops in his pants, trying to tug them down.
“What—the fuck!” Jimin yelps, thrashing against the wall as Chang’s fingers pull at his trousers..
“Get off!” He renews his efforts, pure unfiltered terror coursing through his veins like acid. It
burns, only getting worse as Jimin suddenly finds his pants yanked down over his butt till they’re
pushed down around his shins and cool air rushes over his legs. With his pants around his ankles,
Jimin is unable to kick out and the true horror of the situation hits him with striking force. The
others are screaming behind him, yelling things unintelligible to Jimin as he jerks against the men
holding him fast, trying to wrench his arms out of their grip off just so he can escape Chang’s
heavy weight against his back.
“Stop fighting, baby,” Chang murmurs, his hands gliding down Jimin’s back till they reach the
flesh of his butt. “You wouldn’t want any of your members getting hurt, would you?” He
accompanies his words with a harsh squeeze, Jimin’s stomach churning at the implications behind
his threat.

He’s not given any warning before his boxers are suddenly yanked down and Jimin is naked from
the waist down, whole body frozen in fear and horror and shame. He’s still pressed against the wall
and even though his arms are still cuffed behind him, there are hands hooked into his elbows,
holding him stationary. Every point of contact between his own body and Chang’s sends waves of
debilitating terror flooding through him, only made worse because he can’t even struggle now
without endangering the lives of his fellow members. His members. Fuck. They’re behind him,
they can see this, and the shame burning through his body intensifies to the point Jimin thinks he’s
going to internally combust.

Chang’s hands remove themselves from his body and Jimin vaguely registers relief through his
panic. His relief is short lived however, when he hears the sound of a zipper being pulled down,
Chang’s hands returning to knead at his ass with a strength that will surely leave bruises. Jimin
thinks he’s going to be sick, the urge to struggle combined with the need to protect his members
making his brain short circuit haphazardly. But even his hazy inner turmoil can’t ignore the feeling
of something warm poking at his butt as Chang presses in closely behind him, the feeling of
fingernails digging crescent moons into his hips, and the all-consuming agony as Chang rams
straight into Jimin’s body without any sort of preparation.

When Jimin was thirteen, he’d broken his arm playing on the swings at school. At the time he’d
thought it was the worst pain of his life but right now, as Chang slams Jimin’s body into the wall
and thrusts into him with all the power he can seem to muster, Jimin wonders why he’d cried at a
simple broken arm.

He’s wailing in agony, every movement of Chang’s hips drawing a fresh scream from Jimin’s
throat as it feels like he’s being torn in half, a rod pushing into him and carving into his insides
with the same gentleness expected of a metal bar. Jimin’s eyes are streaming, tears running down
his cheeks and smearing against the concrete wall in a constant flow. He’s bitten down on his
tongue hard enough to break the skin and his mouth fills with blood. It dribbles down his chin and
mixes with his saliva to drip on the floor.
“God, you’re tight,” Chang says breathlessly, hips pistoning into Jimin’s with enough force to
bruise. “Fucking made for this.” Jimin writhes against the wall and tries to focus on the black dots
prickling at the edge of his vision. At this point passing out seem preferable to the pain taking over
his entire body, anything better than the feeling of warm liquid which Jimin is sure is blood
trickling down the insides of his legs. Succumbing to the pain is preferable to the knowledge that
Jimin’s six brothers are watching him right now, pinned, helpless, hurting, being fucked against
the wall like he’s nothing more than a piece of meat.
“You’re my message,” Chang pants when he’s finished and Jimin is slumped against the wall, only
held up by the tight grip the other two men have on his arms. “Smile for the camera, baby.” Chang
shoves a phone in Jimin’s line of vision, grabbing at Jimin’s hair and jerking his head back till it’s
bent so far Jimin’s breathing is almost cut off.
“Stop! You’re fucking—stop!” That’s Seokjin, Jimin thinks absentmindedly, brain floating
somewhere between pain and unconsciousness.
“He likes it, don’t you?” Chang says, lips pressing wet kisses along Jimin’s neck, fingernails
pressing further into Jimin’s hips. No, he doesn’t like it, Jimin wants to say, but he’s so out of it he
can’t get his mouth to form the words. Chang says something to his men, pulls Jimin’s boxers back
up in a gesture that Jimin is almost grateful for, recovering some of his lost dignity through such a
small action. Then he finds himself suddenly spun around till his back hits the wall and he’s faced
with Chang front on.

Chang’s eyes are glittering, a thin sheen of sweat visible on his forehead. He looks dangerous and
Jimin tries to press back into the wall, trapped with tears still running down his cheeks, the taste of
blood sharp on his tongue. Everything hurts but nothing hurts more than the fear Jimin feels when
he looks at the man in front of him, when he knows this is the man that has broken him into a
thousand pieces.

Chang licks his lips and holds the phone up by Jimin’s face, shows him the paused video on his
screen. “You’ll be my message. Do you think your boss will like this too?” He grins. “With your
face, I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.” Jimin panics, shakes his head, shrinking away as Chang presses
closer to him, fingers stroking lightly over Jimin’s cheek.
“Don’t send it!” Jungkook yells suddenly, and Jimin’s eyes flick up to where he can just see the rest
of the members over Chang’s shoulder, sitting on the floor, still cuffed to the wall about a metre
apart from each other. It feels like a punch in the gut seeing their faces, all of them wearing
matching expressions of horror, sympathy, and anguish, and Jimin has to look away just as quickly,
the humiliation of the whole situation making his blood run hot and his stomach flip. He’s crying
again, small, hiccuping sobs bubbling past his lips every time Chang’s fingers swipe at the tears
trickling down his cheeks.
“Don’t cry, baby,” Chang whispers, smirking when Jimin twists his head away from his hands.
“You know you liked it.”
“I didn’t!” Jimin chokes out, voice rough from all the screaming he’s done. It cracks when he
repeats himself. Chang’s fingers tap themselves son his lips ever so gently, the man’s smirk
increasing.
“It’s bad to lie,” Chang whispers before surging forward and pressing a kiss to Jimin’s lips. Jimin
thinks he’s actually going to be sick.

They cuff him to the wall, still away from his members on the opposite wall. They don’t pull his
trousers back up for him and so he’s left shivering on the concrete floor, bare legs freezing against
the stone. Chang laughs as he leaves. Then the seven of them are left alone, only the light from a
single bulb above the door to pierce through the darkness.

Yoongi doesn’t think anything will ever hurt as much as seeing Jimin being assaulted by Chang.
The feeling of helplessness and rage as he watches Jimin being pinned to the wall, stripped of his
clothes and his dignity. They’re all screaming, trying to do something to stop what is happening
them before them, willing Jimin to keep fighting, to keep struggling in the hope that something will
save him because this can’t be happening. But then Chang says something to Jimin, hands pulling
him closer, and Jimin stops trying to escape and stands there, frozen in place even as they see his
legs shaking, his head bowing till his forehead hits the wall. And that’s when Yoongi knows there
is no way they can stop this from happening because whatever Chang has said to Jimin has made
him give up.

And Jimin never gives up.

There’s a moment, when Jimin’s underwear are being pulled down and they’re all still screaming
and yelling when Yoongi thinks that maybe they should look away. But morbid curiosity, the need
to understand what is happening, to know if Jimin is alright —it wins out in the end and they’re left
struggling against their own restraints as Chang unzips his pants. He can hear Jungkook and
Taehyung crying next to him, both of them choking on their words. Namjoon, Hoseok, and Seokjin
are yelling for Chang to stop, all of them yanking desperately at the cuffs attaching their wrists to
the wall. It’s futile.

Yoongi can finally feel himself losing all hope when Chang lines himself up and thrusts into Jimin,
the force pushing Jimin’s body flat against the wall. And Jimin screams in such obvious agony
Yoongi has to fight not to cover his ears. It kills him.

When Chang finally leaves with his men, there’s silence of the worst kind. The kind of quiet which
occurs only because no-one can think of any words to say. They’re all looking at Jimin slumped on
the floor, down on his knees with his pants still loose around his legs, and his head resting on the
ground. He’s crying, deep sobs that he seems to be choking down although his shoulders are
obviously shaking with the force of them. Yoongi feels his mouth dry out completely, the sickness
in his gut threatening to make him throw up as he looks at his friend, his brother, curled on the
concrete before him. Seokjin is the first to speak, his own tears wet on his cheeks as he looks at
Jimin in utter despair.
“Jimin? Are you—” He stops. Jimin is not okay, it would be a stupid thing to ask. Jimin doesn’t
even lift his head.
“Jimin?” It’s Taehyung this time, voice trembling. Jimin still doesn’t answer them. Ever so slowly,
and they can just hear the pained whimpers pushing past his lips, he sits up and they can see scarlet
blood streaking down his chin, his face lined with suffering and swollen from crying. Yoongi
thinks he’s going to speak but then Jimin does something that threatens to break Yoongi in two. He
turns away from them, hiding himself as he forms a ball on the ground, hands coming up to his
face and back angled towards them.

He’s shutting them out when he should be reaching out, when they should be trying to help him.

And Yoongi knows in that moment that things will never be the same again.
 The Betrayal
Chapter Summary

“Don’t touch him,” Jin spits out next to him, and Chang chuckles lightly.

“I don’t think you’re really in a position to be making demands, hm?” He muses, hand
still gripping Jimin’s face.

Chapter Notes

Wow! I was never planning on making this more than a one shot but the response I got
was enough to convince me to turn it into a proper story. Thank you to every person
who's read this, commented, given kudos — it means so much to a girl who was never
expecting to get more than a hundred hits! I'm still so incredibly surprised at how
many people have shown some love to this work!

Enjoy this chapter but I must warn you it isn't getting better. Yet.

WARNINGS: RAPE, MINOR VIOLENCE, THREATS

See the end of the chapter for more notes

They keep trying to talk to Jimin, trying to get some sort of reaction out of their brother curled up in
a ball on the ground. But Jimin doesn’t move and at a certain point they stop, not wanting to push
too much when he’s been through such violence already.
“Why isn’t he talking to us, Yoongi?” Taehyung whispers next to him and Yoongi wishes he could
come up with a suitable answer to alleviate some of the fear and pain in Taehyung’s eyes.
“I don’t know, Tae. Just—he’s coping with it in the only way he knows right now.”
“I’m scared,” Taehyung mumbles, and Yoongi can see the way Taehyung’s lip is wobbling. He
doesn’t know what to say so he settles for honesty.
“I’m scared too.”

Jimin’s whole body is screaming. Every time he so much as breathes, pain spikes through his spine
and snatches the air right out of his lungs. His tongue is swollen in his mouth from where he’d
bitten it so hard, and his jaw throbs where it’s pressed against the ground. But what hurts more is
hearing his members calling out for him and being so ashamed he can’t even bring himself to face
them. And he knows it’s stupid because what happened to him wasn’t his fault and he knows it’s
not his fault but there’s a little part of him that wonders if there’s something he could’ve done to
prevent it. If there was somehow a reason Chang picked him instead of one of the others.

He loses all concept of time lying there on the floor. They’d cuffed his hands in front of him when
he’d left so he doesn’t have his arms so awkwardly pulled behind him but he can’t find the energy
in his body to readjust his aching bones. At some point, he falls asleep, although it doesn’t feel like
he’s been sleeping for all that long when the sound of the door slamming open makes him jerk
awake. Immediately, a fresh bolt of pain shoots through his body but the crippling fear he feels as
he looks at the men entering the room is worse.
“Get up,” one of them says at Jimin, nudging him with his foot. He can’t help the cry that escapes
his lips when he shifts onto his knees and agony races through his body like lightning. Something
had torn down below when Chang had thrust into him, and Jimin goes woozy from the pain as it
reopens with his movements, hot blood soaking through the back of his underwear and trickling
down his thighs once more. One of the men walks over and unlocks his handcuffs from the railing,
clipping them back in front of him as he’s yanked up to his feet. Jimin feels like he’s a reed
swaying in a strong breeze.
“Who’s the eldest?” One of the other men yells, and Jimin manages to look up enough to see the
rest of the members staring in obvious fear. He looks away quickly.
“Me,” Jin’s voice drifts through quietly, and Jimin glances up again and watches as Jin’s cuffs are
unlocked from the metal piping and he too is jerked to his feet, handcuffs locked up with his hands
in front of him.
“Where are you taking them?” That’s Yoongi’s voice. “What the fuck are you people doing?”
“Shut up,” the man holding Jimin’s arm yells, Jimin unable to hold his flinch at the loud noise next
to his ear. “Don’t speak or I’ll make sure this one will feel it,” he growls out, shaking Jimin hard
enough for Jimin’s head to pound uncomfortably. Thankfully, the others stop asking questions.

His pants are still loose around his ankles, and he realises it’s going to be a problem when he’s
being pulled forward and he almost trips.
“M-my pants,” he whispers, voice hoarse. The man holding him stops, looking down and cursing
before he grabs at Jimin’s trousers, yanking them up his legs and over his butt so Jimin can at least
walk without falling. “Thank you,” Jimin mumbles, feeling oddly grateful for the recovery of some
of his modesty. He doesn’t want to think about the fact that they’ve literally all seen him butt
naked just a few hours ago.

He’s pulled forward again and he has to clamp his teeth into his lips to muffle the wail bubbling
out of his throat as his whole body seizes up. He’s never been in so much pain and it’s
incomparable to anything he could’ve ever imagined. So bad he can feel his stomach rolling and
bile burning in his chest.
“Move faster,” the man growls out, and Jimin has to fight the urge to cry out loud, tears already
making his eyes feel hot and leaving scalding trails down his cheeks. They’re pulled out of the
room, Jimin able to see Jin’s back as they’re led back into the concrete hallway through which
they’d entered the building. But they’re not going back outside, instead, they’re pushed further into
the hallway, the way only lit by bare bulbs, like emergency lights lining the walls. Jimin can barely
focus on where they’re going through the haze clouding his brain but he feels himself propelled
into a new room, this one much brighter than in the hallway. It makes his eyes sting through his
tears.
“Sit,” someone says, and Jimin is pushed down into a chair, yelping out as his butt is forced onto
hard wood that makes the pain in his body multiply by a thousand. Then their hands are attached
behind them once more, looped through the wooden backs of the chairs so they can’t move, can’t
stand up.

They’re left like that, the men who’d brought them leaving without another word.
“Jimin,” Jin hisses next to him, and Jimin turns his head to his friend next to him, catches one
glimpse of Jin’s worried gaze before he looks away again, unable to separate the humiliation of
Jin’s pity from his sympathy. “Jimin, are you okay? We—we’re so sorry.” Jin sounds like he’s
about to cry and it makes Jimin feel intensely uncomfortable. Shouldn’t he be the one crying? He
sort of is.
“It’s not your fault,” he says in the end, looking down at his knees and avoiding Jin’s eyes burning
a hole into the side of his head.
“Jimin—we won’t let them do it again. We’ll-we’ll—”
“Don’t say anything you can’t promise, Jin,” Jimin whispers.
“Jimin—”
“Don’t. Just don’t.” Jimin doesn’t want to talk anymore. This conversation—it’s not helping
anything, and it only makes Jimin feel more alien, more like he’s swimming through syrup without
being able to swim at all. He’s drowning.

They sit in silence.

The door swings open just a few minutes later, banging into the wall and making Jimin and Jin
flinch in unison. The sight of Chang walking in makes Jimin’s heart beat faster, his breath coming
in short puffs as Chang advances towards them. This man strikes a chord of such vivid terror in
Jimin’s heart that he has never felt with anyone else. Chang’s lips curl when he looks Jimin up and
down, stepping forward even as Jimin leans as far back as possible.
“Your company hasn’t responded to my message yet,” he says, hand coming forward to stroke over
Jimin’s cheek even as Jimin twists his head away. Fear is coursing through his veins, making him
sick with unfiltered terror.
“Don’t touch him,” Jin spits out next to him, and Chang chuckles lightly.
“I don’t think you’re really in a position to be making demands, hm?” He muses, hand still
gripping Jimin’s face. In one swift movement he suddenly pulls his hand back and slaps Jimin,
palm cracking against his cheek and making Jimin’s head whiplash to the side. His whole face
feels numb but then his nerve endings respond and his cheek is on fire, flames licking up the side
of his face. Chang laughs again, this time moving over to Jin. “I wouldn’t try that again if I were
you.” It’s disconcerting how pleasant his tone is, almost as if he’s speaking to them at an official
function and not when they’re tied down to chairs as hostages.
“Why are we here?” Jin asks, anger clear in his voice, and Jimin winces, wishing Jin would just
stop talking. Talking isn’t helping. Talking is getting him hurt.
“We have some demands we want to be fulfilled before we can think about returning you to your
company,” Chang says, stepping back and folding his arms across his chest as he stares at them.
“You’re going to read them out on camera, and then we will send it to your company. Do you
understand?” Jin and Jimin nod, not seeing any point in arguing.

One of the other men steps forward with a camera and a tripod, setting it up in front of them.
Another brings a piece of paper forward and holds it up so they can see it just above the camera.
“You’ll read them like this so you’re still looking at the camera,” Chang explains. “You,” he points
at Jin, “will read the demands and Jimin will read the consequences of not following these
demands.”
They both nod again but Jimin is busy trying to read the consequences at the bottom, his puffy
eyes making it hard to see. Suddenly, Jin leans forward, peering closely at the paper and cursing.
“How the fuck are they meant to get three-hundred million dollars? They’re not made of money!”
Jin says, obviously exasperated and panicking. “They can’t just get that sort of money from the
bank!”
“Shut the fuck up,” Chang snaps. “Your company will get the money or—”
“Or we die,” Jimin interrupts softly, reading the consequences in a state of disbelief and horror.
Chang smirks.
“We’ll kill the other six but I might end up keeping you for a bit longer.” He licks his lips. “You
were fun last night.” One of the other men steps forward, holding out some sort of black fabric.
“Here, you wanted these.”
“You take the mouthy one,” Chang tells him, flicking a thumb over to Jin, “and I’ll take the slut.”
Jimin’s gut clenches again. He’s not a slut, he’s not. Chang grabs one of the fabric things and when
he pulls it over his head they realise it’s a balaclava. Only his eyes are visible through the cut-out
holes and it makes him look a hundred times more terrifying, like some sort of emotionless,
expressionless monster. He is a monster, Jimin thinks. No question about it.

They’re taken aback when Chang and one of the other men, also wearing a balaclava, come around
behind them. Jimin’s heart automatically speeds up even more, drumming so hard in his chest he
wonders if it’ll jump out of his mouth. Then there is a hand fisting itself into his hair and his head
is being pulled painfully upwards till he’s straining his eyes to see the piece of paper being held
above the camera. What is a hundred times more terrifying is the hand that wraps itself around his
throat, eliciting a whimper from Jimin that he can’t manage to swallow down. Chang’s fingers
squeeze just a little, enough to let Jimin feel the possibility of what could happen if he disobeys.

“Read it out,” Chang growls, and Jin starts speaking next to Jimin, reading out the demands and
how the money should be delivered. Jimin can’t get his mind to focus on anything except the
claustrophobic feeling of Chang’s fingers locked around his windpipe. Before he realises, Jin has
finished and Chang’s grips his hair a bit harder, fingers sinking into his neck with unmistakable
pressure. Jimin tries to swallow around the hand on his throat, eyes scanning desperately over the
text in front of him.
“If—if these demands are not met, the seven of us will be k-killed,” Jimin’s voice is shaking. He
swallows again. “And our bodies will be delivered to the bottom of the Han River.” He hesitates as
he reads over the next line in his head, and Chang jerks his head a little harder, an obvious signal to
keep going. “If you somehow manage to f-find us, every po-policeman will be killed and their
bodies will be sent to their fam-families as a warning. Do not attempt to find us or we will also
die.” He’s finished, neck craning painfully under Chang’s hands, saliva pooling in his mouth from
the bile rising in his throat once more. He’s physically sick at the thought of dying.

The man in front switches off the camera and Chang’s fingers finally release him, Jimin’s head
dropping back onto his chest. He’s exhausted from the strain of fear and pain.
“We’ll see how your company responds to this one,” Chang says, grinning at them with
satisfaction written all over his face. Then his eyes drift back to Jimin’s and he turns back to his
men.
“Take the other one back and this one,” he points to Jimin, “to the bathroom to clean up. He’s a
mess.” Jimin’s heart sinks, any shred of hope that he might be left in peace going straight out the
window. He can’t just stay quiet this time. He doesn’t want this.
“I don’t—please don’t,” he pleads, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want—don’t make me
—”
“Shut up,” Chang snarls as he moves forward, fingers closing back around Jimin’s neck and
squeezing till sheer panic makes Jimin jerk his torso from side to side, trying to dislodge the vice-
like grip choking his windpipe. Only when the blood has all rushed to his head and he’s lost any
remaining oxygen in his body does Chang release him and Jimin bends sideways, coughing
desperately, trying to get air back into his lungs as his head and heart pound in unison. By the time
he’s recovered, Jin is gone and it’s just him, Chang, and two of Chang’s men remaining.
“Which bathroom do you want him in?” One of them asks, and Chang pulls away from Jimin,
turns back to them.
“My one,” Chang replies, “and unlock his handcuffs too. I’ll be there in a minute”

One of them waits with Jimin in the bathroom, unlocking his handcuffs but pulling his gun out of
his pocket. He cocks it casually towards Jimin’s legs and the message is clear: move and I will
shoot.
Jimin’s left in a state of silent waiting. Waiting for Chang to reappear, wondering why the man has
to be there if he just needs to clean up. It’s nerve-wracking and the silent demeanour of Jimin’s
guard makes the situation even worse. Finally, the door opens and Chang walks in, nodding to the
guard who immediately stands up and leaves. And then Jimin’s left standing in the bathroom as
Chang advances towards him, and there’s nothing he can do.

“Why’d you bite on your tongue, hm?” Chang asks softly, eyes glinting dangerously. “All that
blood mucks up your pretty face.” His fingers come up and brush over the crusted blood covering
Jimin’s chin and Jimin automatically flinches backwards, his own hands coming up to ward away
Chang’s touch. Chang just laughs, dropping his hands down away from Jimin’s face. But then his
smile falls away and he leans back against the sink, arms crossing over his chest. “Strip.”
“Str—strip?” Jimin asks, and Chang rolls his eyes.
“Yes, strip. Like, take off your clothes.” Jimin stares at him for a moment but there’s something
brewing in Chang’s gaze that he’s not willing to test and he’s aware Chang’s patience is running
out.

Slowly he takes a step back and brings his hands down to the bottom of his shirt before pulling it
over his head. Immediately goosebumps prickle up on Jimin’s skin but it has nothing to do with the
cold and everything to do with Chang’s hungry gaze devouring him at any sign of exposed flesh.
He hesitates with his trousers, the idea of taking them off for the man who raped him last night so
deplorable it physically hurts him to think about it.

But Chang is waiting and Jimin is so terrified of this man he can’t bring himself to resist. It’s
painful bringing his pants down, his muscles screaming out in agony and whatever tearing had
occurred pulling open once more. What Jimin doesn’t anticipate is the disgusting feeling that
occurs when he peels his underwear down and clumps of dried blood peel off his legs, the fabric
sticking to his skin like it’s been glued with some sort of bloody adhesive. He can’t help
whimpering as he draws them down his legs, partially with the pain but also with the utter
humiliation of having Chang’s eyes roaming over his naked body under the harsh lights.

“Get in the shower,” Chang demands, and his voice is already increments lower than it was before.
Rasping with obvious lust. Jimin covers himself as much as he can, hardly daring to turn away
from the man for fear of what he may do when Jimin can’t see him. But Chang doesn’t move until
Jimin is huddled in the far corner of the shower, pressed against the wall where he can feel at least
somewhat in control. He's smiling, eyeing Jimin up and down as he reaches into the shower and
flicks the handle for the water.

Jimin yelps as freezing water hits him square in the face, water running into his eyes until he can
reach up and fumble the shower head so it’s facing further down. He can hear Chang laughing even
as he scrubs blindly at his eyes to rid them of the water. The water quickly starts heating up until
it’s at a reasonable temperature and Chang suddenly reaches back into the shower and yanks him
forward so he’s directly under the stream of water. Immediately, his ass is stinging, pain shooting
through him as the water makes contact with the open wounds. Jimin bites his lip and tries not to
cry.

He needs something to distract him so he focuses instead on scrubbing the blood off his chin, off
his thighs, carefully reaching back to clean around his raw hole even as his cheeks burn with
shame. All the while he keeps one eye on Chang. There’s an indescribable sinking feeling in his
stomach when Chang starts undressing, black t-shirt lifted off his body, jeans pulled down, and in
seconds he is fully naked and stepping forward into the shower. Jimin tries to back away but he
only has smooth tile behind him and he knows there’s nothing he can do at this point, not much
Chang can do to hurt him more.

His skin is crawling with revulsion as Chang’s hands swoop down to his hips and pull Jimin flush
against him. It’s a position that has Jimin’s cock pressed against Chang’s and the feeling makes
bile rise in his throat. He doesn’t want to feel this man anywhere on him but especially not there.
“You’re so pretty, you know that?” Chang murmurs, hot lips pressing against Jimin’s neck through
the steam of the shower. It’s so utterly revolting that Jimin can’t help but flinch away only to find
himself forcefully dragged forward again. This time, Chang’s voice is low with warning when he
speaks. “I told you last night already, don’t even think about it or I promise you, your bandmates
will feel it worse.”

Jimin’s mouth dries out and he has to swallow, Chang’s hand surging up between them so he can
grip Jimin’s chin and force them to maintain eye contact. His eyes are dark with something that
Jimin can hardly identify. It’s lust and power, and a combination of things that scare Jimin beyond
belief. Then Chang is forcing his lips onto Jimin’s, moving them powerfully even as Jimin stands
there without reacting. Chang is clearly unperturbed.

“Turn around,” he says, and Jimin’s gut clenches with dread. It must be obvious on his face
because Chang’s grinning, and that’s when Jimin understands part of Chang’s personality just a
little more. It’s not just about power and lust, it’s about seeing people so scared of him that they
will literally and knowingly obey instructions that they know will have dire consequences for
them.

He must’ve taken too long to turn because the next thing he registers is Chang’s hands on him,
roughly pushing him to face the wall, streams of water running directly into his eyes and making
them sting. He’s expecting to be pinned to the shower wall and for Chang to thrust back into him.
What he’s not expecting is for Chang’s hand to slip around his waist and for his fingers to wrap
around his dick.
“Wh—no—” Jimin protests, trying to turn around but Chang’s low growl at his neck has him
frozen in fear once more.
“Don’t fucking move.”
“Please don’t,” Jimin pleads to the wall as Chang’s hand starts slow pumps on his cock. Jimin
doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want any of this but he especially doesn’t want Chang to find a way
for him to enjoy this. This isn’t—this shouldn’t be enjoyable but he can’t deny the warm feeling of
arousal curling in the pit of his stomach with every lazy stroke of Chang’s hand around him. His
cock is reacting, stiffening up under the stimulation. He’s getting hard and there’s no denying it.
“I knew you liked it,” Chang murmurs into the crook of his shoulder, teeth nipping sharply at
Jimin’s skin.
“I don’t like it,” Jimin hisses, flinching at the bites. “I don’t want any of this.”
“Your body’s giving you away, pet,” Chang says, laughing against his neck. “I told you it was bad
to lie.” Jimin can’t find it in himself to argue, too preoccupied with trying to think of anything that
will kill his erection. But the constant movement of Chang’s hand forces his body to react, for the
arousal to swell in intensity until he’s choking down moans through the tears running down his
cheeks.

He comes eventually, Chang’s hand continuing it’s motions even as Jimin squirms away with
disgust. His own body’s betrayal makes his mouth sour and he finds himself suddenly so
overwhelmed that the bile which has threatened to exit his body so often in Chang’s presence
suddenly emerges, Jimin bending and heaving into the drain. It stings, acid burning up his
oesophagus like wildfire.
“That’s disgusting,” Chang’s voice cuts through his nausea and Jimin feels Chang’s hand land on
his ass with a loud slap, pain radiating through the remnants of his orgasm.
“I told you, I didn’t fucking like it,” Jimin spits then, a sudden wave of courage making him
reckless as he turns and glares at Chang with all the hatred he can muster. “You’re a fucking rapist.
And you—you disgust me. You're revolting—”
“Watch your fucking mouth,” Chang snarls, slamming his hand down on the shower handle so the
water turns off. He’s moved in to box Jimin against the wall, arms coming up on either side of
Jimin’s head. “I have no qualms about cutting out your tongue if you don’t shut up so I would be
very, very careful if I were you.” His chest heaves as he speaks, the dangerous glint in his eye
 sharpening till Jimin wonders whether he’ll be impaled on Chang’s gaze alone. “You have no
power here. None at all. It is by my mercy alone that I don’t kill you and your six members
because, believe you me, your ass is NOT worth it!” He growls, and Jimin has to look away,
regretting his words and whatever consequences they may have for his members. Has he just
endangered them with his outburst?

He doesn’t even try resisting when Chang stops talking and shoves Jimin back against the wall,
turning him so his face is squished into the tile. After yesterday, the dread in Jimin’s stomach is
well-founded. He doesn’t want this. But Chang doesn’t care whether he wants it when rough
fingers grip at his hips. Chang doesn’t care when he scrapes his nails down Jimin’s back till he’s
writhing. He doesn’t care when he shoves his cock deep into Jimin’s ass, ignoring Jimin’s scream
of pain as every wound from yesterday is reopened. Chang doesn’t just not care —he revels in
Jimin’s pain, and it makes him a thousand times more despicable.

He likes breaking Jimin into pieces.

Chapter End Notes

If you liked this (or even if you didn't), let me know in a comment down below.
Constructive criticism, responses —anything is welcome!

If you did like it then you can always leave a kudos to let me know!

Thank you for reading!

<3 <3 <3

 Who Are You?
Chapter Summary

There’s not much to do in this concrete room except worry, Jungkook decides.

They worry when Jimin isn’t there, and they worry when he is.

He worries about his hyungs, he worries about Yoongi who isn’t even talking to him
anymore.

He worries whether they’ll make it out of this alive.

But what is this even? They’re hostages, Jungkook knows that. But why?

Chapter Notes

Is this real? Almost 2000 hits in 3 days?

Wow.

Anyway, here's some hurt Kookie for Marceline (hopefully this is what you meant
when you said you wanted to see your baby hurting?). It sounds weird when I write it
like that!

I don't know if you'd call this a graphic description of violence? Depends on your
definition of graphic, I guess.

I really tried to show Jungkook's headspace and character in this chapter. Hopefully,
that translated well to you dear readers!

WARNINGS: VIOLENCE

See the end of the chapter for more notes

They bring Jimin back into the room a few hours after Jin returns. Jin had told them about the
video they’d had to make, how Chang had slapped Jimin and was choking him when Jin had been
dragged out. Jungkook is worried.

He’s always been told by the others (in the nicest way possible) that he’s slightly emotionally
constipated. He never really talks about how he feels; most of the time he’s more worried about his
hyungs than he is about himself, and their swinging emotions directly influence his own. Even
now, just feeling the tension radiating off the others is intensifying Jungkook’s own worries,
making his fear increase rapidly with every passing minute Jimin isn’t with them.

“Chang took him to the bathroom,” Jin tells them, face grim. “Said something about him looking a
mess so I’m assuming he’ll let Jimin clean up the...um, the blood.” Jungkook thinks of the blood
streaked all down Jimin’s chin and the insides of his thighs. He didn’t know someone could bleed
that much and still be alive. It doesn’t seem to fit Jimin. Blood and Jimin are two things that really
shouldn’t go together.

“Do you—do you think he’s coming back?” Jungkook asks then, not really thinking about what
he’s saying. But Taehyung obviously reads more into it than Jungkook had intended and he bursts
into tears.

“Don’t say that! Of course he’s coming back!” He wails, and all of them, even Jin who normally
doesn’t get mad with him, frown at Jungkook disapprovingly. And Jungkook wants to explain to
them that he didn’t mean Jimin was...was dead or something, just about whether he’d be back
soon. But he can’t put it into words and so he just curls his knees further into his chest and tries not
to let Taehyung’s crying release the tears that’ve been burning behind his eyeballs since last night.
He’s okay. He has to be strong. He’s okay.

They sit in relative silence for a long time and with every passing second the tension in Jungkook’s
body increases.

“Yoongi?” He whispers eventually, turning to see Yoongi with his head back against the wall and
his eyes shut. Yoongi opens one eye, regarding Jungkook with little interest.

“Mm?”

“Do you think Jimin’s gonna be okay?”

“I don’t know, Jungkook. Don’t think about it too much,” Yoongi mutters, closing his eyes again.
Jungkook knows he shouldn’t be offended, he knows this cold version of Yoongi is just worried
for Jimin but he wishes someone would say what he’s sure they’re all thinking. Is Jimin coming
back at all?

It feels like hours before the door slams open and two men bring Jimin back into the room. He
looks different and it takes Jungkook a second to figure out why. His hair is wet, plastered to his
scalp, but the blood on his face is gone. The thing they all notice immediately however is Jimin’s
clothing. Or lack thereof. He’s clad only in a pair of boxers that definitely aren’t his own, stripped
of his shirt to reveal his chest, and completely trouserless. Jimin’s barely walking, most of his body
weight being held up by the two men returning him, and his feet drag pathetically on the ground.
He looks even worse than when he was taken with Jin, even with all the blood washed away. He’s
still not looking at them.

Jungkook waits for them to tie Jimin up on the opposite side of the room, watches as Jimin curls
himself back into a ball, feels his heart clench as he sees red scratches carved into Jimin’s back.

“Yoongi?” He whispers again but Yoongi doesn’t even spare him a glance, obviously preoccupied
with Jimin’s still form lying across the room. Jungkook tries again. “Yoongi?”

“Not right now,” Yoongi snaps, and Jungkook shuts up.

A few minutes later, one of the men comes in with a plastic bag in his hand, walking over to
Namjoon nearest the door. He doesn’t speak but as he places the plastic bag on the ground he pulls
out his gun. It’s not hard to guess what he’s saying. The man uncuffs one of Namjoon’s hands
before moving onto Hoseok, then Jin, Taehyung, Yoongi, and finally Jungkook, leaning close
enough for Jungkook to get a big whiff of some sort of cinnamony cologne that makes his nose
sting.

All the muscles in his arms are screaming when he stretches them out, able to sit comfortably
against the wall for the first time in hours. Then the man picks up the plastic bag and puts a bottle
of water and a sandwich in front of each of them. It’s the type of sandwich Jungkook only ever ate
in the airport when he was starving, wrapped in a hard triangular box, probably with way too much
mayo in the bread and one piece of limp lettuce . But just the sight of food and water is enough for
Jungkook’s stomach to rumble and he realises he’s dehydrated and absolutely starving.

The man walks over to Jimin afterwards, placing a sandwich and a bottle of water within reachable
distance although Jimin doesn’t react except to curl a little tighter into his ball. Jungkook wishes
he’d sit up and eat something. Didn’t they say food makes everything better? At least, that’s what
Jin always told him.

The others are picking up their sandwiches and their water with their one free hand so Jungkook
does the same. It’s difficult trying to open them but once Jungkook can take the first big bite of
sandwich and his stomach practically growls in approval, it’s all worth it. When was the last time
they’d eaten? More than twenty four hours at least. The sandwich is some sort of corned beef and
mustard combination that makes Jungkook queasy, and the water is stale like it’s been sitting in its
bottle for years. But Jungkook eats his sandwich in only a couple of bites, and he doesn’t stop
drinking, thirst finally quenched, until more than half the bottle is gone. Then he puts it down
thinking that maybe he should save some for later.

There’s not much to do in this concrete room except worry, Jungkook decides. They worry when
Jimin isn’t there, and they worry when he is. He worries about his hyungs, he worries about
Yoongi who isn’t even talking to him anymore. He worries whether they’ll make it out of this
alive. But what is this even? They’re hostages, Jungkook knows that. But why?

“Yoongi?”

“What the fuck do you want now?” Yoongi explodes, turning to Jungkook with an exasperated
expression. Jungkook swallows, hurt stinging in his chest at his hyung’s reaction.

“I just—” the look on Yoongi’s face makes him stop short. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing.” Yoongi
huffs a big sigh, twisting away from Jungkook without a second glance, or even another word and
Jungkook tries to bite down the resentment swelling inside of him. Yoongi is just stressed.
Worried, and probably scared too. Jungkook’s scared as well but it’s the type of fear that curls in
the pit of his stomach and makes him feel absolutely nauseous. He looks down the row of faces
next to him and can see his own fear mirrored in the way they all sit there in silence, shoulders
hunched, some staring over at Jimin, some chewing on their sandwiches.
He’s startled out of his staring by a slight movement in the corner of his eye and he turns his head
to see Jimin starting to move. They’ve all noticed if the sudden absence of movement on their own
side of the room is anything to go by. Jimin’s back muscles ripple under his skin, the red scratches
looking even more painful as they watch him sitting up. He doesn’t look at them but he turns so his
back is against the wall and he can pick up the bottle and the sandwich, eyes flicking over the
labels. He looks like he’s been crying again. Jungkook holds his breath.

It turns out watching Jimin nibble at the edge of a sandwich before putting it down is just as
satisfying as it sounds. Which is not at all. The only thing Jungkook wants to do is run over to him
and hug him, hug this broken shell of Jimin that doesn’t even seem like Jimin at all, but he can’t so
he has to settle for looking at his hyung sipping now on his water, eyes closed and head tilted back
against the wall. There’s bruises around Jimin’s neck, a dark necklace of fingerprints that make
Jungkook’s own breathing constrict. He doesn’t want to think too hard about why they’re there.
There’s blood on Jimin’s thighs again as well. It wasn’t there earlier, at least, Jungkook doesn’t
remember seeing it earlier, but it’s there now, sticky and red and just visible under the shadow
created by Jimin’s knees where his legs are bunched up to his chest. Jimin’s still not looking at
them, and Jungkook can’t help but wonder where his strong, proud hyung went, and who this
person is, hunched over across the room with his eyes shut and fingers clenching around his knees.

Who are you?

“Your company isn’t taking us seriously,” Chang says, face set in a grim scowl, arms crossed over
his chest as he paces over the floor between the two walls. He’s radiating furious energy and
Jungkook can’t help but feel even sicker with every one of Chang’s steps. He’s not surprised
BigHit isn’t responding as they want. He knows they’ll be doing everything possible to get them
home and they’ll have the whole of Seoul out searching for them if they have to. They’re not going
to let them die.

“There’s not much we can do about it,” Yoongi mutters under his breath, just loud enough for
Jungkook to hear. Chang stops pacing, whirls around to face them and Jungkook realises he
must’ve heard too.

“There is something you can do about it, actually,” Chang hisses, eyes narrowing as he glares at
them. Then his eyes flick over to Jungkook. “You’re the youngest?” Jungkook’s heart is beating
rapidly in his chest. He nods, ever so slightly. Chang surveys him for a long second, raking his
gaze up and down his body till it almost feels like a physical thing. Then he suddenly turns to one
of the eight men in the room with them. “Grab the balaclavas, and tell Zico to bring the camera.”
The other man nods, glancing at Jungkook with disinterest before he exits the room. There’s tense
silence, Jungkook hardly able to breathe as Chang keeps eyeing him with a ruthless glint in his eye.
When the man returns with the balaclavas in one hand and another man, Zico, following with a
camera, Chang finally makes a move. He unlocks Jungkook’s hand from where it’s attached to the
metal bar before gesturing for Jungkook to stand up. He does so, sick with apprehension and raw
fear.

“Hands behind your back, and turn around.” Jungkook obeys. He’s got the muscle to put up a fight
but he knows now is not the right time to do something that could endanger either him or his
members.

Jungkook might be scared but he’s not stupid.

The handcuffs are quickly snapped back around his wrists and when hands pull at his shoulders so
he’s facing Chang again, the dread pooling in his stomach increases drastically at the sight of three
of the men in the room now wearing the balaclavas, and Zico holding the camera right near his
face. Jungkook swallows, pulse thrumming in his temple. Chang is standing behind the view of the
camera and he makes a small hand motion to the three men in balaclavas.

It’s all the warning Jungkook receives before the first punch hits him square in the stomach and he
doubles over, winded, coughing in pain. They don’t stop. Fists raining down on him, hitting
anywhere they can reach till Jungkook loses his balance trying to avoid the pain, toppling over to
hit the ground with a loud thud, shoulder jarring from the impact since he can’t break his fall with
his arms behind him. Then there’s a foot slamming into his spine and the impact makes his whole
body seize and his back arch. He’s spluttering with pleas and cries even as another boot hits him
directly in the nose and he feels it crunch, hot blood splattering over the rest of his face till he’s
blind from the pure agony.

The beating feels like it goes on for hours, till Jungkook is so weak he can’t even get his body to
move as waves of pain flood his system. They drag him up when they’re done, when Jungkook’s
seeing stars and there’s this odd buzzing feeling behind his eyes. Zico sticks the camera in his face
and Jungkook drops his head to avoid having to see the little red light blinking in front of him,
recording his pain. But he’s not even granted that satisfaction as someone grabs his head and yanks
it upwards, and the sudden movement is enough for Jungkook to pass out, black dots peppering his
vision until it is completely obscured and he’s falling into a bottomless pit.

When he wakes up, Jungkook’s cheek is pressed into a pool of his own blood, warm and sticky and
strongly metallic, the scent cloying in his nostrils. He lies like that for a long time, eyes barely able
to flutter open as he assesses the damage to his body. He’s attached to the wall by just one hand
again but he doesn’t even want to twitch his fingers from the pain. Saying everything hurts is an
understatement, and Jungkook has to focus on breathing so he doesn’t panic.
“Jungkook? Are you awake?” A voice asks near him, and Jungkook fights to open his eyes a little
more, registers Yoongi’s face, concerned, sympathetic, oddly guilty. “Jungkook? Can you open
your eyes properly?” There’s something weird about the way Yoongi says it and Jungkook groans
as he shifts, moving one hand up to wipe at his eyes. It comes away scarlet with blood and
Jungkook blinks. He can see Yoongi so where is this blood coming from? And then he realises that
he’s looking at Yoongi with his right eye and that his left eye isn’t showing him anything, just dark
and wet and stinging when he touches it. Panicking feels like a very real possibility now.

“Yoongi? I can’t see! Yoon—” Jungkook gets out, tongue thick against his lips. Or maybe it’s his
lips thick against his tongue. They’re split from where they’d smashed into his teeth as they’d
punched him in the face.

“Ssh, Jungkook. Don’t try talking, just—” Yoongi swallows. “Just focus on breathing, okay?”

There’s something in the way Yoongi’s voice cracks that has Jungkook struggling to sit up, trying
to show that he’s okay because he is. He has to be okay. And it hurts. God, Jungkook’s not even
going to try to pretend it doesn’t hurt because even lifting his head has his whole body wailing in
stiff agony, ripping through him again and again and again. But he has to be okay.

He has to be okay.

“Jungkook! Don’t move—you’ll hurt yourself even more.” That’s Namjoon, and Hoseok as well,
but Jungkook’s determined to sit up and he manages in the end to get himself draped against the
wall, even as every muscle, bone, every piece of his body cries out. He’s panting by the end, eyes
gritted shut but feeling marginally better now that he’s not lying on the ground in a literal puddle of
his own blood.

The others keep talking, murmuring soothing words into the air, and Jungkook hears it when
Yoongi rattles his handcuffs and manages to slide them a little further down the pipe with sheer
force just so he can rub Jungkook’s shoulder as comfortingly as possible.

The kindness in that gentle touch—it’s enough for Jungkook’s eyes to start watering. He still can’t
see from his left eye but it’s crying too, tears spilling down his cheeks and dripping onto his chest.
He cries for a while, trying to choke the sobs down because he’s okay, but they keep on coming.
Finally, the strain of holding them in is too exhausting and he just lets them go, crying freely and
letting the small whimpers escape him properly. Yoongi keeps rubbing his shoulder, fingers
digging in just enough for it not to tickle, warm and comforting and filling Jungkook’s hurting
heart a little more. And maybe he wants a hug but this is the closest to a hug he’s going to get and
he savours it. He’s okay.

Hours later, when they’re all sitting there in silence and Jungkook finally has the energy to open his
eyes, he’s shocked to make immediate eye contact with Jimin for the first time in what feels like
forever. Jimin is watching him with a look of such intense concern that Jungkook wants to laugh.
 Jimin’s more hurt than he is; why is he looking at Jungkook like that? He tries to smile at Jimin
but it ends up coming out as more of a grimace. Jimin’s brows knit even further together.

‘You okay?’ He mouths, and Jungkook tries to nod.

‘I’m fine. You?’ Jimin shrugs, a wry smile flitting over his face before it disappears.

‘I’m okay.’ They smile at each other, albeit both in a slightly pained manner, Jimin’s eyes drifting
slowly over Jungkook’s battered body before they move on down the line. None of the others have
even realised Jimin is looking at them but Jungkook doesn’t want to alert them in case Jimin stops.
There’s something desperate about the way his eyes rove over them, obvious sadness on his face
but also something else. Loneliness, Jungkook realises at last. And no wonder. Jimin’s all alone on
the other side of the room, so close yet so far away, clad only in a pair of underwear, suffering
from shit Jungkook can’t even imagine and none of them can possibly understand.

Of course he’s lonely.

Jimin’s eyes are back on Jungkook’s and they share another smile before Jimin looks away again,
fingers coming up to run through his hair. It sparks such a wave of nostalgia in Jungkook’s heart,
he feels like he’s falling away from reality.

He’s seen Jimin do that simple action so often, always pushing his hair away from his face when
he’s excited, when he’s nervous, when he’s tired, when he’s laughing, even when he’s crying. But
there’s something different about seeing him do it when he’s half-naked, bruised, and violated.

It hurts Jungkook more than every aching part of his body.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for reading! Let me know what you thought in a comment — constructive
criticism, responses, feelings —I'd love to read them all.

And if you did like it, let me know with a kudos!

<3 <3 <3

 Just Don't Think
Chapter Summary

“We’re changing things up a little,” he murmurs, eyes raking over Jimin’s face and
down to his lips.

Jimin doesn’t know what he means.

What is he changing? How much is a little?

Chapter Notes

Thank you to every person who's commented so far! You've made my day!

This chapter deals with themes of ownership and possession, and also something that
could be described as dissociation. If this is something you're going to find triggering,
please don't read this chapter. You can comment and I'll give you a summary.

adelin, you should like this chapter :)

Thank you all again for reading and for the overwhelming support!

I'm sorry if you thought it was getting better already...

<3 <3 <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Jimin is woken by hands on his body. He’s moving before he’s even awake properly, brain still
foggy with sleep as he lashes out to try and get the hands off his legs, making contact with warm
skin. There’s a curse and then Jimin’s ribs explode in pain as a foot jabs itself swiftly into his side.

“Wake up, you bitch,” someone hisses out, and Jimin opens his eyes to see one of the men standing
in front of him, glaring at Jimin with fervour. “Get up.” Jimin checks his wrist and finds it free
from the handcuff so he does as he’s told, heart sinking when he sees his members asleep along the
wall. Their faces are lined with exhaustion and stress, and as Jimin is pulled out of the room, he
realises they’re not all asleep. Taehyung is awake, watching with huge, sad eyes as Jimin is taken
away yet again. Jimin swallows and manages a tiny attempt at a reassuring smile before he’s out in
the hallway and the door is shut behind them.

“Where are we going?” he asks, trying not to wince as every step brings with it excruciating pain.

“Shut up,” The man growls out, pulling Jimin along so they’re almost speed-walking. “You’re not
meant to talk.”
Jimin isn’t surprised when he’s brought back to the door he’d been in last time. This was the
bedroom with the attached bathroom where Chang had raped him in the shower. He’s pushed in,
expecting the other man to follow behind and oddly unnerved when he doesn’t. But the room isn’t
empty and Jimin feels his pulse speeding up when he sees Chang sitting on the bed. The room is
rather small, the bed taking up most of the space, but Chang seems to take up the most space out of
anything. He looks up when Jimin’s forcefully shoved inside, and the gleam in his eye makes
Jimin feel like the sacrificial lamb being fed to the wolf. It’s not a nice feeling.

Chang stands up and walks over to Jimin, hand swooping forward to grab Jimin’s wrist when Jimin
automatically moves backwards. It burns his skin.

“We’re changing things up a little,” he murmurs, eyes raking over Jimin’s face and down to his
lips. Jimin doesn’t know what he means. What is he changing? How much is a little? But he
doesn’t get a chance to think about it, for in a split second Chang has his mouth pressed against
Jimin’s, tongue slipping over Jimin’s own lips and leaving behind a trail of saliva that has him
fighting the urge to throw up.

“D-don’t,” he whispers, pulling himself out of Chang’s grip. He doesn’t know why he’s even
trying to refuse but the lingering guilt from his forced orgasm earlier has Jimin braver than he
should be in the given circumstances. Chang just laughs.

“It’s cute how you still think you have any right to dictate what I do or don’t do.” His expression
sobers as quickly as his laughter came. “Do it again and I’ll beat you until you can’t speak any
more shit like that.” Jimin swallows, forces himself to keep his arms at his side, to not turn tail and
run. Running won’t help anything.

Surprisingly, Chang steps back, cocking his head and regarding Jimin with an odd look on his face.
It’s...victorious, almost. But what’s the victory, Jimin wonders. You’ve broken me. There’s not
much else you can do. But then again, that’s what he’d thought last time and Chang had surprised
him anyway.

Don’t think. Just don’t think.

“Turn around,” Chang says, still watching Jimin with the strange expression on his face. Jimin
turns, looks at the wall, traces the lines on the wallpaper. It’s an oddly fussy thing to have in a
building that seems to be made ninety percent of concrete. But Chang is a man of contradictions
and surprises. Having fussy, expensive-looking wallpaper shouldn’t be that shocking.

Jimin almost gives in to the urge to flee when Chang’s hands land on the back of his neck, warm
fingers stroking down the length of his spine before making their way back up to the top. He can’t
hold back a shiver and Chang’s fingers dig a little harder into his nape.

“Don’t move.” Jimin forces his body to still. He can hear Chang moving behind him, hears the
grating of wood as a drawer is opened and shut, feels his scalp prickling as Chang’s footsteps move
around the space and finish behind him once more. Then all of a sudden there is something cold
wrapping itself around his neck and Jimin’s hands can’t help but abandon their order to remain by
his side, immediately flying to his throat in panic at the feeling of something constricting his
breathing. But Chang is quicker, pushing him violently forwards so he’s slammed chest first into
the door, body pinned in place by Chang’s own, hands held down at his side. The impact hurts,
Jimin’s ribs screaming out, but Chang doesn’t care. Of course he doesn’t care.

“I told you not to move,” Chang hisses in Jimin’s ear. It tickles and Jimin has to fight the sudden
desire to laugh. He shouldn’t be laughing. This isn’t funny.

Chang’s fingers are back up by his neck and the cold thing around Jimin’s throat shifts slightly
before tightening until finally there is a solid click and Chang’s hands fall away. “There, that
wasn’t too hard, was it?” He murmurs mockingly, lips pressing down on Jimin’s bare shoulder.
And then he pushes Jimin over to the bathroom, hands steering his shoulders till he’s in front of the
mirror and he can finally see exactly what it is sitting heavy against his adam’s apple.

It’s a collar. A thick black leather dog collar complete with shining metal studs and a loop on the
front where a leash would normally go. When Jimin turns his head ever so slightly to the side he
can see a padlock threaded through the back preventing him from being able to take it off.

“It’s a collar,” Jimin whispers, and the voicing of this realisation has his stomach turning in such
utter dread and revulsion he almost bends over and vomits into the sink. Chang smiles behind him,
visible in the mirror reflection.

“You’re mine,” he says simply, fingers coming up to fiddle with the padlock on the back, “and this
is proof.”

Jimin’s lungs choose this moment to stop working. One second he’s breathing and then the next his
mind shuts down and all he can think is that this man is never going to let me go. I’m going to die
here. BigHit will pay the ransom and the others will go home and I’ll be stuck with Chang for the
rest of my life.

“Why aren’t you breathing?” Chang asks, hand stilling on Jimin’s neck. They make eye contact in
the mirror and Jimin’s still not breathing and he thinks that even if he could, he doesn’t think he
wants too. “Breathe, you fucking fool!” Chang says a bit louder but Jimin just stares at him in the
mirror, an iron lump lodged so deeply in his trachea he doesn’t think it would take anything less
than surgery to remove it.

I’m going to die here, raped, beaten, owned by this man until the day he gets sick of me.

“Breathe goddammit!” Chang screeches in his ear and Jimin feels the first shreds of panic start to
bloom in his chest, his blood drumming in his head because he doesn’t actually want to die . He’s
opening his mouth, trying to inhale, to get air to flow past the lump in his throat but it doesn’t
happen. It’s almost laughable; he’s choking to death on his own despair.

There’s a moment when Chang’s hands grab around his throat and he’s shaking Jimin like it’ll
somehow get Jimin’s lungs to work, and Jimin’s just viewing the whole situation with a weird
sense of detachment, like he’s floating near the ceiling and looking down on this whole scene
without being in his physical body. And it doesn’t stop. He can watch with morbid interest as his
face starts to go red, as Chang’s hands start pounding on his chest, the man trying desperately to
get Jimin to take in oxygen, and he can see the second Chang’s face drops into true confusion and
panic and he looks around him in alarm. Jimin sees Chang’s gaze settle on the shower and from his
spot by the ceiling he watches as Chang drags Jimin’s body into the shower, dropping him onto the
floor, hand slamming down on the handle and releasing an immediate burst of water.

Jimin’s back in his body, lungs shocked into action, and he’s taking huge, gasping breaths even
through the water spraying in his face. Chang’s screaming at him but all Jimin can do is curl into
himself on the cold tile of the shower floor, fingers scrambling uselessly as the freezing spray rains
down on him, pelting his body and making him shiver uncontrollably.

He’s frozen but he’s breathing.

He’s breathing.

The collar is still around his neck and Jimin’s hands automatically curl around the leather, pulling it
away from his skin so he can take in deep, shuddering breaths that rattle him to his core. He’s
coming back down to earth, everything fading back into grim reality.

He’s breathing.

Jimin doesn’t know how long he lies there under the icy stream of water pouring into the shower.
Chang leaves the bathroom at some point, returning several times and standing where Jimin can
just see his feet at eye level, but he leaves again only to return a few minutes later. Or maybe it’s
hours. Jimin has no idea.

He can’t help the whine that erupts from his lips when Chang’s hands fist into his hair and he drags
Jimin forcibly out of the shower. Jimin’s scalp is on fire, and he can’t help but reach up to try and
get Chang to release him, crying out even more when Chang just shakes him like you would a dog
before shoving him down on the floor so his face slams into the tile.

“You fucking stupid piece of shit! Do you want to die?” Chang yells, eyes glowing with the type of
intensity Jimin has thus far only associated with further infliction of pain. “You can’t stop fucking
breathing you dumb mutt!” Jimin just shakes his head, still woozy with pain and completely
frozen.

Chang turns then, spinning on his heel and walking back into the bedroom even as he’s spitting
curses behind him. Jimin still can’t move. When Chang returns a few minutes later, Jimin can hear
him coming before he can see him. Footsteps aside, there’s an odd jangling noise, metallic and loud
that has Jimin wracking his brains to figure out what it is until it clicks at the exact moment Chang
walks back in. It’s a chain. A chain that is now being attached to the loop in the front of his collar
and shut with another heavy padlock. A chain that is being pulled till Jimin is dragged over the
slippery tiles, trying not to choke as his neck bears the weight of his body being hauled into the
bedroom. A chain that Chang locks onto the bed frame and keeps Jimin prisoner, unable to move
more than a metre from the small patch of concrete and the edge of the rug next to the bed.

A chain that keeps him immobile as Chang bends him over the edge of the bed and fucks him hard
and fast, teeth digging into his shoulder and fingers jerking into the leather of the collar with every
rough thrust slamming their hips together.

And Jimin dies just a little more inside.

Jimin is gone and Yoongi is livid.

“What do you mean, he’s gone ?” Yoongi’s yelling at Taehyung, unable to stop himself even when
Taehyung’s eyes well with tears and he pulls himself as far out of Yoongi’s reach as possible.
Yoongi’s frantic as he stares at the spot where Jimin was when he went to sleep and where he was
no longer when Yoongi woke up.

“One of the men came and took him again,” Taehyung whispers, and Yoongi growls so deep in his
chest, such pure fury rolling through him it’s remarkable he’s not completely losing it.

“Why didn’t you wake us up?!”

“Hey, calm down, Yoongi,” Namjoon murmurs from the end of the row. “It doesn’t make a
difference whether we were awake or not and it’s not Taehyung’s fault. They would’ve taken him
anyway.”

“I don’t want him gone either!” Taehyung spits out, scrubbing furiously at his cheeks as he
engages in a glaring contest with Yoongi. “And I only had about five seconds before he was gone.
What was I going to do?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Yoongi snarls, slumping down against the wall and rubbing at his own
eyes. They took Jimin and he wasn’t even fucking awake.
Jin shifts, stretching his arms and legs as much as he can.

“Let's not argue, guys. It’s not going to do any good to anyone, least of all Jimin.”

“How do you know what’s good for Jimin?” Yoongi snaps right back, frustrated and angry. He’s so
incredibly angry.

“Jimin wouldn’t want us fighting,” Jin replies, fixing him with a look that has Yoongi’s anger
fizzling out just a little more under such blatant authority.

“Don’t talk about him like he’s dead,” Jungkook mutters from next to him, and Yoongi turns to
look at him. Jungkook’s eyes aren’t even open and he’s leaning against the wall with pain obvious
in every line of his body.

“You’re the one who kept asking if Jimin was coming back at all,” Taehyung says from Yoongi’s
other side, and really, the last thing Yoongi needs is to be stuck between Taehyung and Jungkook
when they start bickering.

Jungkook’s eyes finally open and his head lolls to the side even as blood trickles out of his left eye
although the glint in his good eye is sharp.

“I didn’t mean it like that and you know it.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you meant. You still asked a fucking stupid question,” Taehyung hisses.
Yoongi decides it’s time to step in.

“Shut the fuck up you two.” Both of them shut up.

“Why are we fighting?” Hoseok pipes up suddenly. “Regardless of whatever you’re yapping
about, Jimin isn’t here. It’s not good to be dividing amongst ourselves when they’re dividing us
too.”

There’s silence. Jungkook shifts again, groaning ever so slightly under his breath. He must be in a
lot of pain, Yoongi thinks, wincing as he remembers the sound their boots had made when they’d
made contact with Jungkook’s body. Jungkook’s pleas for them to stop and the crunch as his nose
snapped. It’s purple now, swollen and garish on Jungkook’s face, but no-one wants to tell the
youngster. And his eye, a mess of blood and bruises, the eyelid so enlarged it barely opens.
Another thing they’re not telling Jungkook.

Yoongi needs to stop thinking about it.

Just. Stop. Thinking.

But it’s not that easy to stop his brain from whirring incessantly.

“Do you think they’ve found the money somehow?” Hoseok asks then, and Yoongi turns to look at
him, notes how the bags under his eyes are more pronounced than Yoongi’s ever seen them. Jin
sighs next to him, eyes shut but not asleep.

“I told Chang it’s going to take a while. They’d have to take out a shit ton of loans,” he laughs
dryly, “if they even plan on paying it off.”

“Jin,” Namjoon says warningly. Don’t make it worse.

“It’s true,” Jin retorts, fixing Namjoon with a glare, “it’s literally going to sink the company.”

“Can you stop!” Taehyung cries out. “Just stop fucking talking if none of you have anything good
to say!”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” Jin spits right back. Taehyung yanks angrily on his cuffed hand, metal
clanking against metal.

“Then stop talking all your negative shit! You—You’re the one who said Jimin wouldn’t want us
fighting!”

“There’s nothing negative about being realistic.”

“Hey,” Yoongi protests then, aware of the way Taehyung’s eyes are filling with tears again and
really not ready to deal with this again, “let’s all calm down, yeah?”

“Don’t you get involved in this,” Taehyung hisses, spinning to look at Yoongi with fire in his eyes,
and really, this was not where Yoongi wanted this to go. It’s almost funny when he thinks about it.
Hoseok was right with what he said earlier.

They don’t even need Chang and his men to split them up; they’re doing a perfectly good job on
their own.

When the door opens the next time, they’re all wide awake, craning their necks to see if Jimin is
back. He’s not, and something crumbles in Yoongi’s chest.

There’s three men who walk in. “You’ve got bathroom breaks in pairs,” one of the men says,
walking over to Namjoon and Seokjin and undoing their handcuffs while the other men stand their
silently, guns drawn. They’d had this yesterday too. Twice a day the men undoing their handcuffs
and leading them off to the bathroom. Every time Yoongi has to resist the urge to swing at every
man they see.

When the others have all had their turn, the men come over to Jungkook and Yoongi, undoing their
handcuffs and pointing them to the door. Jungkook can barely move, groaning deep in his chest as
 he struggles to stand up, stepping carefully over the congealed puddle of blood on the concrete.
Yoongi’s heart bleeds for him.

They make it to the bathroom with Yoongi supporting most of Jungkook’s weight, trying not to trip
over from the added strain of Jungkook’s body draped half over his. When they get in, Jungkook
makes a beeline for the sink, Yoongi watching in apprehension as Jungkook’s eyes take in the
damage done to his face. His lips open just a little like he’s about to say something but then they
close again and his tongue darts out, licking at the blood smeared over his skin.

“At least I still have all my teeth,” Jungkook says eventually, looking slightly out of it as he stares
at his reflection. Yoongi wants to beat the men who made Jungkook thankful to even have all his
teeth.

“Let’s get you cleaned up a bit, ‘kay?” He manages instead, grabbing wads of toilet paper and
wetting them in the sink so he can dab at Jungkook’s face and clean it of the blood from his broken
nose, from the cut on his forehead, from his black eyes, and his swollen mouth. Jungkook doesn’t
say anything else except to whimper in pain as every swipe reveals a bit more of his skin. Under all
the blood, it’s not a normal colour. Instead, Jungkook looks like a bruised bunch of grapes.

They each do their business and succeed in cleaning Jungkook up just a little more before the men
are slamming the door open and Jungkook and Yoongi are herded back to their concrete prison.
Without so much of the blood, the bruises blossoming under Jungkook’s skin are incredibly
prominent but at least he’s not looking like something out of a horror movie. Well, not quite so
much.

There’s a little part of Yoongi that walks back in praying to see Jimin tied up by the wall again, just
so he knows where he is. Not knowing where he is is worse than seeing him in pain and unable to
even do anything about it. At least when Jimin’s curled up on the opposite side of the room,
ignoring their attempts to talk with him, Yoongi knows he’s alive.

Chapter End Notes

If you liked it (or if you didn't) let me know in a comment below. Constructive
criticism, responses, feelings — I'd love to read them all.

If you enjoyed this chapter, let me know with a kudos!

<3 <3 <3

 A Waiting Game
Chapter Summary

He always thought they’d be fine if they went through some sort of trauma together.

They’re basically a family; they can cope with anything and it’ll only bring them
closer together.

But the past days have proven otherwise.

Taehyung’s never felt more alone even after spending every day and night together
with his brothers for almost two weeks.

Chapter Notes

Enjoy this chapter! I'm not 100% happy with it but it's good enough, I think <3

The very last line of this chapter lets you know exactly what's going to happen in the
next chapter. I did this purposely so if this is something you know you are not going to
be comfortable with, please don't read the next chapter. I'll add a warning there too.

See if you pick up the completely unintentional Spring Day reference. :)

Thank you to all who have read, commented, or left kudos! Ya'll brighten my day with
every notification!

WARNINGS: DESCRIPTIONS OF RAPE, VIOLENCE, THREATS

Also, I don't know that much about banking so please don't come at me in the
comments if I got something wrong. Consider it creative license!

<3 <3 <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

This is a waiting game, Taehyung decides. The days are made up of waiting for a series of events
to occur. They wait for their two allotted bathroom breaks, they wait for the sandwiches and water
they’re fed once a day, they wait for Chang to bring Jimin back.

Only two of these things ever happen.

It’s been four days since the men last came in and took Jimin away. At least, that’s what they’re
estimating; it’s hard to keep track of time without windows or clocks. Taehyung’s permanently sick
now. It’s not a sickness like the flu or a common cold. No, this is the sickness of fear that has
buried itself so deeply in his body Taehyung’s not sure he’ll ever be cured. They don’t really talk
amongst themselves anymore either. Not really. There’s nothing more to say.

So they wait. Taehyung busies himself by emptying his mind as much as he can. He thinks of his
brain like a library and he imagines himself walking through, pulling books off the shelf and
chucking them on the floor. If he can stop thinking then maybe he’ll stop feeling, and then maybe
he’ll stop hurting.

But there’s one book in his library of thoughts that Taehyung can’t stop thinking about, no matter
what he does, even if it makes him sicker by the hour. Park Jimin. His fellow bandmate, his best
friend, his brother. All Taehyung can see in his mind’s eye is Jimin’s body smashing into the wall,
the way he struggled and fought until Chang had whispered something in his ear, the sound of his
screams reverberating around the room as he was raped. And worst of all, Jimin’s tiny smile as he
was forced to his feet and taken out of the room the last time.

This is a waiting game and Taehyung is waiting to see Jimin’s smile at least one more time.

“Your boss sent a video,” Chang snarls when he walks in, and Jimin forces himself to sit up,
immediately dreading the consequences of Chang’s foul mood. Chang walks over to where Jimin
sits hunched next to the bed and yanks the chain attached to Jimin’s collar so it cuts into his throat
as it has so often these past few days. He hasn’t had a chance to have a proper look but the skin
feels raw from the chafing leather. “It’s like he doesn’t even want you back,” Chang says, thrusting
his phone in Jimin’s face.

It’s the weirdest thing to see Bang Shi-Hyuk’s face on the small screen in front of him. It feels like
something from another world, his face on an iPhone being something that doesn’t fit with Jimin’s
experience of the world right now at all. He doesn’t know why he suddenly feels like crying.

“Play it,” Chang growls, and Jimin reaches out with shaking fingers to press the start button. Bang
Shi-Hyuk starts speaking immediately.

“To whoever is watching this. BigHit Entertainment is in the process of transferring the requested
300 million dollars into the bank account provided. However, we have been informed by our
banking associates that transferring such a large sum into an overseas account cannot be done in
a single transfer and will have to be completed through a number of smaller transfers, each
needing to be verified. This is likely to take longer than you would have anticipated. We would
urge you to please bear this in mind and not to further endanger the lives of Seokjin, Yoongi,
Namjoon, Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook. We are willing to pay the ransom and ask that
you do not harm them any more than you have already done.”

The video finishes and Chang yanks it out of Jimin’s line of sight. “Your company is walking on
very, very thin ice,” he hisses into Jimin’s ear, jerking again on the chain so Jimin’s coughing
trying to get closer to Chang to alleviate some of the pressure on his windpipe. Chang just curses
before releasing the chain, letting Jimin drop back on the ground as he himself starts pacing the
room, boots clacking onto the hard concrete. “I don’t know what game he’s playing but we don’t
have forever.”

“It—it’s true though,” Jimin dares to whisper, “overseas money transfers take longer.” Chang’s
expression hardens as he stops his pacing to stare at Jimin.

“Are you an accountant or a singer?” He asks mockingly, tone icy, and Jimin instantly regrets
opening his mouth when Chang moves towards him, fury etched into every line of his face. He
looks crazed.

“I’m sorry!” Jimin squeaks out, terrified as Chang storms forward and grabs the chain, pulling it so
hard Jimin is forced against his legs, scrabbling at the leather around his neck to make room to
breathe. He’s choking with how hard Chang is yanking the chain upwards, till Jimin’s face is only
a few centimetres from his own.

“Do. Not. Speak. Again.” Chang punctuates every one of his words with a harsh tug on the chain
till Jimin thinks he’s going to snap his neck trying to find a way of diminishing the pressure on his
throat.

When Chang finally releases the chain, Jimin is sure he’s blue in the face, light-headed from lack
of oxygen. It’s funny how Chang has no qualms about cutting off his breathing when days ago he
was screaming at Jimin for not being able to breathe of his own accord. Thankfully, Chang doesn’t
do much else except kick at Jimin’s naked body, landing a solid impact in Jimin’s gut. It sends
pain radiating from the centre of his body right to his fingertips. Another bruise on top of a bruise.
But then he’s gone and Jimin is left by himself again, wondering how he’s going to take what is
likely going to be weeks more of this.

It’s a waiting game, he decides. Waiting for rescue or for the ransom to be paid. Waiting to see his
brothers again. Waiting for a day where he isn’t in pain. A waiting game is all about patience and
Jimin forces himself to be patient, to empty his mind so he’s not even thinking in terms of time. It’s
difficult.

He curls himself back into a ball on the ground. He’s always cold here on the floor, especially now
that he’s completely naked. Even the underwear are gone, thrown across the room within hours of
Jimin being chained to the bed, never to be replaced. It’s funny how he’s less embarrassed the
longer he’s naked. It doesn’t seem like such a big deal anymore, unimportant in the big scheme of
things. When he wears clothing Chang takes maybe thirty seconds longer ripping them off and the
same outcome still occurs.
Chang seems to take a vindictive sort of pleasure in tormenting Jimin about it though. Yesterday
he’d only referred to Jimin as his ‘pet’, whistling at him like a dog, telling him he’s nothing but a
drooling mutt. It’s the dog collar, Jimin supposes. It makes Chang even more drunk on his own
power.

And Jimin isn’t going to pretend it isn’t humiliating. Of course it’s humiliating to be tied to a bed,
completely naked except for a collar, kicked around and fucked at Chang’s whim, but it seems
somehow less weird the longer he’s left like this. It’s not normal but…it’s so far removed from
what he experienced before that his brain can only come up with one coping strategy and that is to
downplay it in his mind. It’s not healthy but it stops Jimin from going crazy. Then again, maybe
he’s crazy already.

There’s a spider under the bed. Jimin had found it during the first day in this bedroom. It’s in the
corner, nearest the wall, and Jimin can watch as it builds its web bigger and bigger till the thin
threads stretch almost the entire width of the wall. Impressive, he thinks as he lays on his stomach
and watches it building another section of the web. Chang had asked him yesterday why he kept
looking under the bed but Jimin hadn’t said anything about the spider. Chang probably would’ve
killed it and then Jimin would’ve had nothing to do except worry; he probably would be
completely batshit loopy by now. Because he doesn’t want to think about anything important.

It’s not that he doesn’t think about his members but there is just something so blatantly
inappropriate about thinking about them when he’s basically Chang’s pet. He feels dirty, so
incredibly dirty, and even his brain feels like it’s covered in a thin film of scum. He doesn’t want to
think about his members then. Doesn’t want them to become at all associated with this feeling that
has his skin crawling perpetually.

Chang comes back in the evening. Jimin has no idea what the man does all day because he doesn’t
see him that often. Occasionally he comes in to throw a bottle of water and another one of those
revolting sandwiches in Jimin’s direction but otherwise, he’s left alone mostly all day until Chang
comes back at night to fuck Jimin before he goes to bed.

He’s obviously still in a bad mood judging from the way he slams the door open and almost dents
the wall.

“Get up,” he snaps, flicking his hand irritably and Jimin gets up as much as he can on his one metre
of chain which is not very much, a well-postured crouch at best. He waits as Chang starts
undressing, gut clenching as the man removes every article of clothing until he’s naked. It’s
happened so often now but the dread hasn’t disappeared yet. He walks over to Jimin, picking up
the chain and unlocking the padlock attaching it to the bed with one of the keys he keeps on a
chain around his neck before gesturing for him to get up on the bed. “On your stomach.”

Jimin has managed to stop crying every time Chang fucks him. He’s learnt to handle the pain by
biting down on his lip till it bleeds, or sometimes on his arm, focusing on the pain from anything
but Chang’s actions. There are teeth marks gouged into his forearm and Jimin feels slightly sick
every time he looks at them.

Chang spits on his length, slicking it up just a little before he thrusts into Jimin. He has his hand on
the back of Jimin’s head and when Jimin’s body wracks with shivers as pain flares from the base of
his spine to the rest of his body Chang presses down, muffling his cries till Jimin is sure he’s going
to suffocate into the sheets. It’s arguably less bad than the first time, maybe because his body is
loosening up from the constant intrusion, maybe because he’s realised fighting only makes it more
painful.

He’s learning the tricks to survival.

“Turn,” Chang says behind him, and Jimin turns over so he’s on his back and Chang slips out, the
man crawling over his body until he’s above Jimin’s head, dick tapping against Jimin’s lips as he
opens his mouth obligingly. This is his least favourite part of the whole ordeal. As Chang ruts his
hips forward and his cock hits the back of Jimin’s throat he has to swallow the strong desire to gag.
It’s revolting tasting Chang’s pre-come on his tongue and the taste of his body, musky, sweaty, a
heavy flavour that lingers in Jimin’s mouth for hours and hours afterwards. It’s worse when Chang
keeps going till he comes in Jimin’s mouth and he almost chokes, Chang’s hand clamping down on
his mouth once he’s pulled out so Jimin can’t even spit it out. He’s forced to swallow it down,
warm and thick down his throat till he’s sure he’s going to vomit it straight back up the moment
he’s able.

But he doesn’t. He’s learning the tricks to survival.

Chang chains him back to the end of the bed afterwards, sore, aching from deep inside, feeling
disgustingly sticky from Chang’s sweat and his own cum. Because that’s the other thing Chang
does which Jimin hates even more than being choked with the man’s cock. He forces Jimin to
enjoy at least part of it, a hand on Jimin’s dick stroking him till he’s rock hard and pleasure is
swirling through his body. It doesn’t matter that Jimin hates it, it doesn’t matter that everything
else still hurts — the warm flush that shoots through his body when Chang forces his orgasm
succeeds in making Jimin feel more disgusting than anything else Chang could possibly do.

It’s the only time he always cries.

Taehyung’s still waiting. It’s been a week since they last saw Jimin, and only a few days since
Chang had stormed in yelling about some sort of delay in the company’s transfer of the ransom
money. They hadn’t understood half of what he’d been talking about but it was clear to them all
that there had been a message from the company telling their kidnappers it was taking longer than
expected to send the money. Taehyung isn’t sure if he can wait much longer.

Jimin is gone. They’re not sure exactly where but one time, for maybe a split second when the men
had been taking Taehyung and Hoseok to the bathroom, they’d heard someone crying. Taehyung is
convinced it was Jimin. If he’d had the chance he would’ve stopped right there and then in the
hallway to be sure but the men escorting them had seemed oddly alarmed, rushing them forward
and slamming the door of the bathroom shut behind them as quickly as possible. They haven’t
heard him since.

Taehyung is exhausted too. It seems unlikely considering they spend ninety-nine percent of their
time just sitting there, locked onto the metal pipe without even being able to stand up, but he’s so
incredibly tired. He asks Namjoon about it one time and Namjoon just sighs.

“I don’t know, Taehyung.”

“But isn’t it weird?”

“I don’t know,” Namjoon repeats, and Taehyung gets the message. Stop talking.

He always thought they’d be fine if they went through some sort of trauma together. They’re
basically a family; they can cope with anything and it’ll only bring them closer together. But the
past days have proven otherwise. Taehyung’s never felt more alone even after spending every day
and night together with his brothers for almost two weeks.

It started with the talking. They can’t anymore. Everything descends into an argument or just gets
incredibly negative which usually starts another argument. So no-one talks anymore unless they
absolutely have to, and Taehyung keeps organising the library in his mind.

But it’s not just the talking either. Sometimes Taehyung will look down the row of faces and it’s
like he’s looking at a row of strangers. These aren’t the members he knows; the stress lines and the
pain on each of their faces are so different from what Taehyung’s used to and yet it shouldn’t be
because he’s seen them when they’ve been stressed, and he’s seen them when they’re hurt. But it
is. It’s so incredibly different the way Yoongi can stare at the opposite wall for hours and hours,
hardly blinking, eyes not flicking to the side even once. It’s so incredibly different the way
Jungkook spends all the time sleeping to the point Taehyung wonders sometimes if he’s even
breathing. And he shouldn’t think that way, none of them should think that way, not in terms of life
and death because it’s a dangerous zone to venture into and once you start thinking about it, it’s
very difficult to stop.

There comes a point when Taehyung realises you can die inside and still look like alive.

They’re shells of themselves, worn and polished by the ocean of worry and pain they’re
experiencing, and Taehyung can’t help but wonder when it happened.

Did you change?

Or did I change?

I guess we changed.

I guess that’s how everything is.

Jimin thinks it can’t get any worse. This is a waiting game and he’s being patient and if that means
he stops thinking altogether, if he lets himself become numb to the world, then that’s how he’ll
play this game. But it’s difficult when the rules of the game keep changing, the floor under his feet
shifting abruptly and shocking him back into reality. He can never block it out, can’t ever become
completely numb to what’s happening because it constantly changes with every one of Chang’s
volatile mood swings.

Something has happened to Chang today and it leaves Jimin filled with unspeakable dread. Chang
hasn’t done anything to him —yet— but he walks in at one point and stares at Jimin for a long
time, something indescribably ‘off’ about the way he’s behaving. His gaze is clinical, appraising
Jimin with cold detachment. It’s unnerving and Jimin keeps waiting for him to explode but Chang
doesn’t say a word before he leaves the room again.

Something’s changed.

Chang is back within the hour, this time with two of his men. They walk over to Jimin and he can’t
help the hot flush of humiliation making his cheeks burn as he shields his body from their view.
He’s still completely naked and although he’s stopped caring so much when it’s just Chang, being
naked in front of the other two is utterly embarrassing.

However, the men barely blink, merely unlocking the chain from the bed and using it to drag Jimin
to his feet. Chang is just watching from the doorway, eyeing Jimin with a particularly unreadable
gaze as the men pull him forward. Jimin covers himself with his hands and tries not to flinch when
Chang brushes his shoulder with his fingers on the way past.

It’s when they’re walking back down the hallway to the concrete room where he’d originally been
held with his members that Jimin starts to panic. They’re getting closer and closer to the room and
there is no way in hell he wants to go in there in his current state.

“Please don’t,” he begs the men holding the chain but they ignore him, only jerking the chain a
little harder so Jimin’s collar cuts into his throat and he has to stumble forward another step to take
the pressure off. “Don’t make me go in there—please!” He’s almost crying, already feeling the
mortification of being dragged naked into that room as if it’s happening to him right now. The men
ignore him again and as one of them starts to unlock the door, Jimin loses it.

He drops himself to the ground, ignoring the way the collar tightens around his windpipe, and digs
his feet into the concrete, hoping somehow it’ll stop where this is going. One of the men curses and
yanks on the chain but Jimin desperately claws himself backwards, both hands on the chain in front
of him to stop his neck from breaking. It’s futile but Jimin can’t just walk in.

What he’s not expecting is Chang’s voice behind him.

“Get up.” It’s so incredibly cold Jimin almost finds himself automatically standing. This man is
dangerous. But then his brain latches onto where he’s being taken and he finds himself shrinking
even further down on the floor, frantically pulling against the chain’s force. “I said, GET UP!”
Chang yells, and his boot is suddenly in Jimin’s face, connecting with his cheekbone with such
impact Jimin’s whole head snaps back and he’s instantly dizzy with pain. But still, he stays on the
ground, the shame of willingly walking naked and beaten into a room where his six bandmates, his
six brothers are locked up, so monumental he won’t do it.

But something in Chang has changed and his next actions surprise even Jimin. There’s a sudden
movement, the click of the safety being thrown off, and now there’s a gun in Jimin’s face. Chang’s
face is steely, eyes glinting in the dim lighting in the hallway. He’s pointing the gun straight at
Jimin’s forehead.

“Get up or I will blow your fucking brains out and feed it to your bandmates.” Jimin stares at the
metal barrel aimed towards him, heart skipping a hundred beats, and he knows Chang will do it.
Slowly, tears already making his eyes burn, he gets to his feet.

Walking into the room is about as bad as Jimin expected. The look on their faces when they see
him, shifting from relieved to concerned and almost instantly to horrified is so quick Jimin just
manages to catch it before he shoots his own gaze away and squeezes his eyes shut. He thinks he’s
going to be pulled back over to that wall on the opposite side but instead, in a move that echoes the
very first time he was brought in here, there’s a foot slammed into the backs of his knees and he’s
falling down, hands just able to catch himself before he smashes his teeth out, chain rattling as it
drops onto the concrete.

He tries to lift his spine but there’s a boot planting itself in the middle of his back, pushing him
back down till his nose is brushing his knees and Jimin’s heart feels like it’s about to spill onto the
floor.

What is going on?

There is absolute silence in the room but Jimin’s thoughts are so loud he can’t think about anything
but the dread sinking further into his bones. Chang coughs above him and the boot on Jimin’s bare
back shifts with the movement.

“No-one say a fucking word.”

No-one’s talking, Jimin wants to scream out. Let me go!

“Your company is making things much more difficult than they have to be,” Chang says, irritation
creeping into his voice, “so I want to send them another message to tell them to hurry up.”

Jimin can hear his members shuffling in front of him, the clink of metal as a handcuff slides a
centimetre down the pipe.

“Which one of you is Namjoon?” Chang asks, something dangerous creeping into his tone. Jimin
feels his gut twisting even more with foreboding.

“Me,” Namjoon replies quietly, and Jimin almost cries from hearing a familiar voice after what
feels like years alone.
“Stand up,” Chang orders, and there are more footsteps as one of Chang’s men walks over,
presumably to unlock Namjoon’s handcuffs. “Come over here.” Namjoon’s footsteps move closer
to Jimin and he thinks that if he turns his head he might be able to see Namjoon’s feet only a metre
or two away. “You’re going to help me send my message. Think of it as a leader’s duty,” Chang
says, voice dripping with mockery.

“What is the company doing that is making it so difficult?” Namjoon asks suddenly, and Jimin is
hit with an odd sense of pride that his voice doesn’t even wobble. Chang is silent for a moment,
maybe tossing up whether to answer or not. His boot presses a little harder on Jimin’s spine and he
has to focus on manually expanding his ribcage to get more air into his lungs. He’s like an insect
being crushed under Chang’s shoe.

“They sent some bullshit message about transfers to international accounts taking longer than
domestic ones.” Chang laughs but when Namjoon replies he sounds puzzled.

“He’s correct though. They do. They need to be verified properly.”

“Oh—another accountant?” Chang snarls, and Jimin is hit with the sudden, bizarre urge to laugh.
Before he can even stop the feeling it bursts from his chest and he ends up giggling into his knees,
desperately trying to choke it down but at the same time the adrenaline of the situation making it
almost impossible to stop.

There’s a stunned silence broken only by Jimin’s hiccuping laughter until the boot in Jimin’s back
disappears and he’s suddenly yanked up by his hair, roots aching as fingers curl into the strands
with fervour. Chang’s eyes are bottomless pits of fury but Jimin can’t swallow down the smile
stretching across his face.

This isn't funny. This really isn’t funny.

“What the fuck are you laughing about you crazy bitch?” Chang hisses, and Jimin attempts to
school his expression into something more serious. It fails and he throws caution to the wind and
says what’s on his mind. There’s not much Chang can still do to break him.

“It’s just, I told you the exact same thing when you showed me the video,” he says, watching as
Chang’s face goes red, a vein bulging prominently at his temple.

The slap hits him before he even realises Chang moved. It’s painful but nothing Jimin hasn’t felt
thus far.

“It’s no use sending a message about something the company can’t change,” he continues even as
his cheek throbs. “They can’t transfer the money faster.”
 The second slap is harder than the first and hurts considerably more but Jimin doesn’t bow his
head, unwilling to yield to this monster who apparently doesn’t know anything about banking
despite asking for ransom. Chang’s face is almost purple with anger now.

“I told you I would blow your fucking brains out earlier. Don’t think just because my gun isn’t
pointed at your head that I won’t still do it!”

And Jimin knows he can and probably will if he crosses another line but there is something so
satisfying about getting even one victory from Chang, even if it is as minor as Namjoon echoing
something he’d said earlier. He can’t find himself regretting his words.

Chang seems to take a breath, pausing before looks to Namjoon, and Jimin gets his first glimpse of
his leader, any remaining satisfaction vanishing when he sees the pained way Namjoon is looking
at him. Oh, right. He’s naked and bruised, kneeling at the feet of the man holding them hostage.
The man who is now utterly livid.

“Stand here,” Chang snaps at Namjoon, pointing to a spot just in front of Jimin, and Namjoon
shuffles forward, albeit hesitantly until he’s so close Jimin could touch him if he just reached out a
hand. There’s a hard jerk on his collar when Chang picks up the chain, yanking it upwards so
Jimin has to crane his neck to still breathe. He can faintly hear his members shifting by the wall,
the small, sharp intake of breath as Chang pulls the chain even tighter.

The coil of dread that had settled so firmly in Jimin’s stomach just minutes before returns with
dizzying force.

Chang smirks then, maybe seeing something in Jimin’s eyes that wasn’t there before, and he
gestures towards Namjoon with his free hand. His smile is honestly terrifying.

“You’re going to give your dear leader a blowjob, and you’re not going to stop until he comes.”

Chapter End Notes

Did you like it? Did you hate it? Let me know in the comments below. Constructive
criticism, responses, feelings — I'd love to read them all!

If you enjoyed this chapter, let me know with a kudos!

<3 <3 <3

 Blame It On Me
Chapter Summary

Jimin stares at Chang, absolutely aghast. “Wh-what?”

“You heard me,” Chang snaps, “use that mouth of yours and get your leader off.”

Chapter Notes

SO. WE'RE HERE.

This is a shorter chapter because I thought it fit better with the flow of the story to cut
it off where it does.

You guys have been going mad about the cliffhanger in the last chapter (I'm sorry by
the way) but I needed to do that to warn people who may not want to read this part.
Read the tags again just to be sure.

Prepare your hearts! Prepare some fluffy fics for after! Make a cup of tea and settle in
for the ride!

WARNINGS: RAPE/NON-CON, DISSOCIATION (SORTA?)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Jimin stares at Chang, absolutely aghast. “Wh-what?”

“You heard me,” Chang snaps, “use that mouth of yours and get your leader off.”

“No— no,” Jimin whispers out, unable to look anywhere but the vindictive gleam in Chang’s eyes.
He tries to back away but Chang curls his fist into the chain and Jimin finds himself being yanked
forward again.

“It’s not a fucking request.”

“But—”

“Do it or I will make him fuck you against that wall. Your choice.” Jimin’s heart sinks so far in his
chest he thinks it’ll disappear completely. He’s vaguely aware of Namjoon trying to step
backwards as well but then Chang has his gun out, barrel pointing at them both alternately. “Go
on,” he taunts, “do your dear leader a favour.”

Jimin thinks he’s actually going to be sick. He risks a glance at Namjoon and sees his face wan
with shock, frozen in a mask of horror. But then Chang thrusts the barrel of the gun against Jimin’s
temple and the metal digs into his skin.
“Undo his pants,” Chang says, and Jimin takes a deep breath, has to swallow the lump building in
his throat.

He doesn’t want to do this. God, he really doesn’t want to do this.

His fingers are shaking when he reaches forward, not even able to look at Namjoon’s face,
fumbling with the zipper of his pants till he’s finally able to get it down, and he doesn’t even want
to think about how close his own face is to Namjoon’s dick.

He pauses, not wanting to continue in the slightest, but then Chang is pushing the gun into his
temple with even more force and jerking the chain so the collar tightens around Jimin’s neck and
he has to move even closer to Namjoon to tug his trousers down just a bit.

Jimin’s seen Namjoon’s dick before, one time when he’d come out of the shower butt naked after
leaving his towel in his room. He’s probably seen the dicks of all the members at some point, and
he’d met half of them for the first time when they were only wearing underwear but there’s a very
big difference between seeing a dick in an accidental way and actually having Namjoon’s dick in
his hand. He can see the way Namjoon’s whole body tenses when Jimin pulls it out of his
underwear and Jimin doesn’t even look at him, tries to disconnect himself from the person on the
floor, to escape somewhere deep into his mind where he doesn’t even have to think about this.

It’s warm and completely flaccid and Jimin would almost prefer to have Namjoon just fuck him at
this point so he doesn’t have to do the work, so he can pretend none of this is happening, that he’s
not about to give his leader a blowjob in front of all the rest of the members as well. But he can’t
do that to Namjoon. He can’t make him become Chang and at least a blowjob relieves Namjoon of
any responsibility on his part.

Jimin hesitates, sits there on his knees and just stares at Namjoon’s cock with his fingers wrapped
around it as if it’ll somehow do all the work for him.

He’s actually going to be sick.

He hesitates for too long apparently because suddenly Chang’s hand fists into his hair and he’s
being pushed painfully forward till Namjoon’s dick is pushing against Jimin’s lips and he’s forced
to open his mouth just to stop it from pressing against his face.

It’s the worst feeling in the world. Jimin’s got one hand bracing himself on Namjoon’s thigh and he
feels the exact moment Namjoon shudders as his dick is forced into Jimin’s mouth, feels how his
muscles tighten and hears the choked noise comes out of his mouth. And it’s surreal, the feeling of
it pushing past his lips, Jimin hollowing out his cheeks just so he doesn’t hurt him, the warmth as it
fills his whole mouth and constricts his breathing. It doesn’t taste good, the same combo of musky
sweat and skin making his stomach turn just as it did with Chang, but Jimin squeezes his eyes shut
and forces himself to do whatever he can to get Namjoon hard. He doesn’t want to do this but
there’s a part of him that would rather do it well so Namjoon can get off quickly and they’re both
spared from extending this torture even more.

It turns out, Namjoon is one of those people who can’t get hard just because someone’s sucking his
dick. Jimin has spent minutes now trying whatever he can, shutting down the part of himself that
wants to pull away and just let Chang shoot him, ignoring the occasional movements of his fellow
bandmates next to him, not acknowledging Namjoon’s stifled noises spilling out from the cracks of
his self-control. But it’s not working and Namjoon still isn’t hard and Jimin’s jaw is exhausted, his
brain trying to disconnect and just let his mouth do the work but it’s not working, and the urge to
cry keeps overwhelming Jimin the longer they’re at it.

Finally, he pulls off, ignoring the way Chang tightens his grip on the chain, and he forces himself
to look up at his leader.

“Think of someone else,” he manages to get out, voice already hoarse but he needs Namjoon to try.
Namjoon’s face is so red he looks like he’s about to explode, and the expression on his face is one
of such despair it physically hurts Jimin to know he’s the cause of it. And he has to look away
because he’s actually going to start crying as the shame of this whole situation forces a crack in his
heart, something deep in Jimin’s chest breaking into pieces till there are tears slipping down his
cheeks but he has to do this.

It doesn’t take too long after that. Namjoon seems to shove his own self-control aside and when
Jimin takes him back in his mouth, trying to get him to respond, Namjoon’s whole body shivers
from whatever he’s feeling. His cock is swelling to hardness within a short amount of time and
Jimin glances up once to see Namjoon’s eyes screwed shut, hand clamped over his own mouth but
mind obviously far away. It’s better that way, Jimin supposes. Namjoon’s had girlfriends, he just
needs to picture it to be them down on their knees. Not Jimin. God, please not Jimin.

Right before Namjoon comes, his hands pull away from his mouth and he manages to grunt out a
rough warning, fingers brushing softly in Jimin’s hair before he seems to catch himself, only
whispering out a choked apology as he comes in Jimin’s mouth. It’s nasty, Jimin isn’t going to
deny it, but he’s somewhere else in his own mind, locking himself up in a corner of his brain. He
barely registers when it’s over and he swallows so he can pull off, wipes at his lips to get any last
taste off his lips.

Namjoon’s lightning quick to tuck himself back in his pants, still mumbling apologies even as
Jimin rests his hands on the concrete and tries to breathe through his aching jaw and the sickening
mortification running through his bloodstream. He can’t look up. He won’t look up. He vaguely
registers Chang saying something to him before he’s being hauled to his feet with the collar
digging into his throat and then the camera is shoved in his face and Jimin dies just a little more
inside.

Oh. He’d forgotten about the camera.

There it is, red light blinking obnoxiously in front of him till Jimin twists his head away and shuts
his eyes. He’s not going to look at it. He’s not going to think about the fact that Bang Shi-Hyuk is
going to see this, that maybe there will be police officers who will see this and judge him because
who gives someone they consider basically their brother a blowjob? What level of fucked up do
you have to be?

Rationally, Jimin knows he couldn’t do anything about what just happened but he’s not thinking
rationally and it keeps getting bigger and bigger in his brain until he’s consumed with shame and
guilt and he can’t find it in him to feel anything but relief when he’s tugged out of the room, away
from his members, away from Namjoon to be tied back to the end of the bed, brain still floating
somewhere in the hallway.

He’s disgusting. It’s better this way.

Jin doesn’t open his eyes till he hears Namjoon’s handcuff being reattached to the metal piping.
He’s just in time to see Jimin being dragged out again, neck straining against the collar Chang has
padlocked around his throat. Is it a dog collar? It looks like it with the metal studs. Jin swallows
down the bile rising into his mouth.

Namjoon is hunched over next to him, head in his hands, back curled so far into himself he’s
almost folded in half. He looks like he’s breaking.
“Joon,” Jin whispers. “Namjoon, it’s not your fault.”

“Don’t—” Namjoon grits out, and Jin can see the way his fingers flex against his scalp, ripping
into his hair. “Don’t even try and make it okay. It’s not,” he chokes, “it will never be okay.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jin repeats, trying desperately to get Namjoon to see reason. “You’re just as
much a victim. You can’t—it’s not your fault in the slightest.”

“I didn’t have to get down on my knees though, did I?” Namjoon spits out, head finally coming up
as he turns to Jin with red-rimmed eyes. “I didn’t have to suck Jimin’s dick, did I? I fucking raped
him, Jin!”

“You didn’t, Namjoon. That’s not—” Jin doesn’t know how to make this better, “that’s not what it
was, Joon.”

Namjoon’s mouth sets into a thin line, eyes narrowing as he glares at Jin. It’s misplaced anger, Jin
knows that, but it doesn’t stop Namjoon’s anger from stinging.

“Then what was it? Because if Jimin had a choice I doubt he would have chosen this.”

And he’s right. Of course he’s right because Namjoon has always been right when it comes to
moral matters like these. It’s the reason he’s worked so well as their leader over the years. But Jin
swallows that down, sees the way Namjoon’s breaking inside even if he’s trying not to show it. As
much as Jimin was forced on his knees, Namjoon was forced as well to partake in something Jin
knows he didn’t want to do. He just needs Namjoon to see that.

“But did you choose this? No, Namjoon. You didn’t either. You’re both victims.”

There’s silence as they all wait with bated breath, a quick glance behind Jin revealing all the
members to be looking at the two of them with varied expressions of shock, fear, and anguish.
Namjoon’s back to gripping his head in his hands, body so wrought with tension Jin is worried
he’ll turn into a statue. But then his shoulders start shaking and barely a second afterwards they
hear him start to cry.

It’s the worst type of crying. Deep, shuddering, bone-wracking sobs that bubble out from
Namjoon’s chest and spill into the air to hang over their heads like the darkest storm clouds. And
Jin doesn’t know what he can do to make it better because none of them knows what it’s like to
feel like you’ve in some way raped one of your best friends, even if it wasn’t your choice. Only
Namjoon knows that pain. They’d all heard Jimin when he’d told Namjoon to think of someone
else, and it didn’t take a stretch of the imagination to think about what context those words were
spoken in. They all know. And they all know Namjoon was thinking about someone else but it was
Jimin on is knees. Their Jimin.

Jin always hears about people talking about the light at the end of the tunnel. It’s a term thrown
around as a loose message not to lose hope but he’s not sure if he’s ever felt more hopeless.
 They’re stuck in the tunnel and the end is pitch black.

Chapter End Notes

SO. HOW WAS IT?

Did you like it? Did you hate it? Let me know in the comment section below!
Constructive criticism, responses, feelings — I'd love to read them all!

If you did like it, let me know with a kudos!

<3 <3 <3

 Caught In A Dream
Chapter Summary

It’s been days since Chang had dragged him to the concrete room with the other
members. Days since he’d been on his knees for Namjoon.

He doesn’t know how many days because at some point he’d stopped counting.

Jimin can’t get himself to fight anymore.

Chapter Notes

This is the last chapter in the first part of this series. Yes! You read that correctly!

THE STORY DOES NOT END HERE.

I will be writing a sequel but I just started at my new job and I'd like to not have the
stress of writing a chapter a day continuously for a week.

Thank you all so much for all your comments, kudos, and hits. It honestly means so
much to me! I will turn this into a series so if you would like to be updated when the
sequel is published then you can subscribe to the series. However, I will also add a
temporary notice on this work when the sequel is published.

Enjoy this chapter!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Jimin is trapped in a perpetual dream. At least, that’s what it feels like. Every time he thought
Chang had broken him and then he would be surprised once more when something new would
happen and he would break a little more. But this time Jimin can feel himself literally shattering
into a thousand pieces on the floor and it’s left him in a daze he can’t seem to escape.

It’s been days since Chang had dragged him to the concrete room with the other members. Days
since he’d been on his knees for Namjoon. He doesn’t know how many days because at some
point he’d stopped counting.

Jimin can’t get himself to fight anymore.

He lies there on the ground next to the bed with the leather collar digging sharply into his skin and
he just stares at the wall for hours. He’s still somewhere deep in his mind where he doesn’t have to
think, where the pain is dulled and the vicious cycle of thoughts whirring through his brain
bypasses his consciousness. Chang still rapes him daily, sometimes twice. Oftentimes on the bed,
occasionally in the shower, just recently bent over the bathroom sink so he has to watch himself in
the mirror reflection. But it’s like Jimin is watching a movie of someone else because he’s not
quite there, always experiencing it through a fog that doesn’t numb the physical pain but blunts the
mental.

Chang seems to know something’s different in Jimin’s head because he tries even harder to make
Jimin respond in some way to his attentions. He doesn’t just make Jimin come once; now his
ministrations force Jimin into multiple orgasms that leave him drained and disgusted, barely
finding the energy to lift his head even when Chang beats him with a belt before he fucks him. It’s
like a child kicking a dog just to hear it whine, only to kick harder when the dog stops whining
completely.

He’s still floating somewhere else.

“Get on the bed,” Chang says, and Jimin obeys, pulling his weary body up onto the mattress before
he slumps over. He waits for Chang to fuck him or do something but it never comes. Instead,
Chang doesn’t do anything except sit on the side of the bed so Jimin is level with his hips when he
turns his head out of the sheets. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?” Chang asks, and he sounds so
genuinely confused Jimin wants to laugh. He feels like laughing a lot these days. Doesn’t really
understand it either.

“M just tired,” he mumbles in the end, and it’s not exactly a lie. He is tired. So fucking exhausted.

“You fucking sleep all day! How can you still be tired?” Jimin shrugs, unable to find it in himself
to come up with a proper answer to appease Chang’s mood. This time he’s broken and there’s
absolutely nothing left for Chang to destroy.

Nothing.

“I’m just tired,” he repeats. Chang snorts, one hand coming up to brush over Jimin’s spine. It’s one
of those rare moments he doesn’t seem to want to inflict immediate pain on Jimin in some way, his
hand just stroking up and down Jimin’s spine from top to bottom in a way that could almost be
described as gentle.

“It’s because you’re not fucking eating,” Chang mutters, and his hand stops on Jimin’s back, a
heavy weight pressing him into the mattress. Jimin shrugs again, not really caring all that much.
The gnawing feeling in his stomach distracts him from his thoughts, stops him thinking about
Namjoon’s face when— stop. Don’t think.

“Just don’t die before the money’s paid,” Chang says, fingers digging into Jimin’s vertebrae. Jimin
wants to laugh again. He knows he’s not going to die; don’t they say the human body can go three
weeks without food? And to be honest, thinking about the nutritional value of those sandwiches, it
won’t make much of a difference whether Jimin eats them or not. So he doesn’t.

“On your back,” Chang murmurs, and Jimin rolls over, blinking at the ceiling as Chang pulls
himself up onto the bed and leans over him, teeth digging into the skin on Jimin’s hips till he’s
flinching, muscles twitching sporadically from the sensation.

He’s still floating.

Namjoon is covered in an invisible layer of filth, coating every inch of his body, worming into the
cracks of his whole being and making it weaker with every second. It’s invisible because it’s not a
physical thing; it arrived the moment Jimin was forced on his knees in front of him and it hasn’t
left since. Namjoon wants to run a bath, dive in and let himself sink.

Or maybe he’ll just float. Float for years until he can wash himself of the overwhelming guilt
chipping into his soul. There have been many things Namjoon has regretted doing in his life, lots of
them things he wished he’d never said, things he should never have done, but it’s an entirely
different feeling to regret doing something when he didn’t exactly have a choice. No option for a
different decision but all the guilt.

Jimin, their Jimin, is the obvious victim here. He was forced onto his knees, collared and naked ,
treated like a dog and made to give Namjoon a blowjob with a gun to his head. Jimin is a victim.

Despite what Jin keeps telling him, Namjoon feels like such an imposter labelling himself as a
victim too because there’s a significant portion of his brain that refuses to let go of the fact that if
felt good, that his body responded accordingly and he got aroused and yet he shouldn’t have
because it was Jimin with his mouth around Namjoon’s— stop . Don’t think.

It’s been days and Namjoon can barely sleep anymore. It’s weird because they spend all their time
in the same square metre of concrete and Namjoon’s body is exhausted but he can’t sleep. He lies
awake and his brain refuses to grant him even a second’s rest and he thinks he’s going mad
because obviously he must be sleeping at some point or he’d be dead.

“Do your dear leader a favour.”

“Think of someone else.”

Stop. Stop it. Stop—get the fuck out—don’t wanna, don’t think, don’t—I’m sorry, I’m sorry , I’m–

“Namjoon! NAMJOON! ”

He’s awake now.

( But how? He can’t sleep.)

When he turns his head he finds five concerned faces staring straight back at him.

“It’s just a dream, Joon,” Jin murmurs, and Namjoon can’t help but look at him in disbelief
because it’s not a fucking dream.

“Think of someone else.”

“Just a dream,” he echoes somewhat dazed, thoughts like thick soup running through his brain. Jin
nods, worry written on every facet of his face. Namjoon’s going crazy, he has to be going crazy.
“It’s just a dream?”

“Do your dear leader a favour.”

“You were talking in your sleep.” Jin’s eyeballing him with more than a little concern now.
Namjoon is so confused and he doesn’t even know why.

“Do your dear leader a favour.”

“Namjoon.”

“Think of someone else.”

“Namjoon, breathe.”

“Do your dear leader a favour.”

“Namjoon!”

Jimin’s startled out of his sleep, bones aching from where they’re pressed into the concrete floor
next to Chang’s bed. Why is he awake? His side is throbbing so he rolls over onto his other side,
tries to go back to sleep, tries to find a comfortable way of sleeping without lying on the chain.
He’s so fucking tired.

He’s almost drifting off again when there’s a noise that pulls him back into reality.

It’s very faint, almost like Jimin’s hearing it from kilometres away — a sort of banging sound. He
sits up.

What is going on?

It’s getting louder, and it’s not just banging anymore. Thumps, crashes, people. He can hear
people. Unintelligible yelling, noise, so much noise.

Jimin wonders briefly if he should wake up Chang, a quick glance behind him showing the man to
be fast asleep, sprawled on his back with his arms outstretched. He probably should but he doesn’t
really want to.

As it turns out, Chang wakes up anyway.

There’s an incredible crash from right outside the door, and then suddenly the door itself is flying
open and one of Chang’s men bursts in, screaming for Chang to, “WAKE THE FUCK UP! THE
POLICE! THEY FOUND US—FUCK, THE POLICE!”
Police. The police are here. Jimin’s brain short-circuits. But he has no time to even process this
thought because Chang is scrambling in his sheets, clambering out of bed and rushing past Jimin
without even another glance.

He just leaves.

And there’s a part of Jimin that seems to have reverted back to some sort of prey instinct because
he’s suddenly so terrified of all this noise, all this yelling outside, that he scurries backwards under
the bed, shrinking into the darkness as much as he possibly can without choking himself on the
chain.

It feels somehow safer under here. Dark, quiet. Jimin has a clear view of the door which had
slammed shut behind Chang, but he shouldn’t be visible. At least, that’s what he hopes.

The police are here. The police are here .

He waits, listens to the yelling drop away sharply until the whole building is quiet but then hears
the crashing noises start up again. There’s more voices now, not exactly yelling but calling out. He
still can’t make out what they’re saying.

He’s scared. He’s so scared. And he shouldn’t be because if this is the police it’s all going to be
alright, he’ll be rescued and reunited with his members and everything will be okay. But he’s so
scared this is a trap, an evil plot by Chang to give him an excuse to punish him even worse than he
has already.

All of a sudden there’s a huge, jarring thump and Jimin sees the door shaking on its hinges, voices
screaming just outside that, “They’re coming in!” When it does open, he can’t help the terror
coursing through his veins as he pulls himself even further under the bed.

Leave me alone! Leave me alone! Leave me—

“Anyone here?” There’s a figure storming in, dressed in the uniform of the police, barrel-chested
with the bulk of a bulletproof vest. Another figure appears behind, male or female, Jimin can’t tell.

“Don’t think so,” the second person says, torchlight sweeping through the room, blinding Jimin as
shards of light pierce the darkness.
Leave me alone! Leave—

“Hold on. What’s that chain?”

Jimin jerks backwards even further, neck straining against the collar. They’ve found him.

Then the people are in the room and there isn’t just two of them, there’s four, and they’re bending
down to look under the bed, one of them tugging on the chain to see what it’s connected to.

Leave me alone!

“Hello?”

Jimin starts crying. He’s so overwhelmed, frozen with fear, but the voices switch to soothing,
asking him for his name until finally, Jimin manages to choke it out past his sobs.

They pull him out from under the bed, and Jimin curls in on himself, hands looping around his
knees to hide his naked body from their eyes. Someone grabs the blanket from the bed and wraps it
around his shoulders.

“You’re okay,” they murmur. “You’re safe now.”

He’s still crying. He tries to stop but it’s like a dam exploded in his chest and all he can do as their
fingers fiddle with the collar is cry.

“We’ll call for some bolt cutters, okay? Don’t worry, we’ll get you out.”

One of the police, a woman, Jimin realises after hearing her speak, kneels down next to him and
tucks the blanket even closer around his body.

“Are you cold?” Jimin tries to shake his head but he’s shivering so hard he can’t even manage to
do that. “He’s going into shock,” the woman says to one of the others.
No, I’m not! Leave me alone!

“Just breathe, okay honey?”

Jimin doesn’t want to breathe. He wants to be alone. He wants them to stop touching his arm. He
wants—he doesn’t know what he wants anymore.

They bring the bolt cutters at some point, jumbled voices murmuring for Jimin to stay still while
they loop them through the padlock and slice it in half. When the collar is finally off his neck,
Jimin takes a huge breath, not even realising how much the leather had dug into his skin and
obstructed his breathing.

“That’s it, honey. Keep taking deep breaths.”

He can barely stand when they pull him to his feet, body so rigid with fear it’s turned him to stone,
but he pushes his muscles to comply.

It’s an odd experience walking through the building without being forced to by Chang. It’s when
they’re making their way past one of the open doors that Jimin gets a glimpse inside and freezes.
It’s the room where—

“My ban-band mates?”

Where are his members? Oh god. If Chang—

“ They’re safe as well. Don’t worry, buddy,” one of the policemen says, pointing to the end of the
hallway. “They’re all outside.”

They’re safe. Chang hasn’t—

“Keep walking and you can go out and see them too, okay?”

Jimin stops walking. He doesn’t want to see them. Not—not yet.

He can’t stop shaking.

“You don’t have to, honey,” the woman says, and Jimin breathes a sigh of relief through the guilt
making his cheeks warm. “They’ll still be there tomorrow.”

They guide Jimin out of the very exit he came in, his bare feet stepping from smooth concrete onto
gravel and then he’s outside, the night seeming so very big after Chang’s bedroom. The fresh air
hits him like a wall, so different from the stifling air inside, and when Jimin looks up, he feels so
incredibly small.

Stars. So many stars, and now he’s tearing up because he remembers the last second before he’d
first stepped into this concrete building when he’d looked up at the sky and seen this very sight.
How long ago was that? Who was he then?

“This way, Jimin.”

Jimin turns, sees the policewoman watching him carefully, pointing one finger in the direction of a
number of police vehicles. She leads him over, Jimin clutching the blanket even more tightly
around his shoulders when he sees the number of people. They open the door to one of the vehicles
and slot Jimin into the backseat.

He feels like a criminal. Is he a criminal? What he’d done to Namjoon—

“We’ll get you to the hospital in a few minutes.” Jimin manages to nod. They shut the door and
he’s alone.

There’s a bit of loose skin on one of his fingers and Jimin pulls at it. When did he start biting his
nails? It stings when he tears it off, blood beading to the surface almost immediately. He wipes it
on the blanket.

At one point he hears someone calling his name outside, and turning his head he sees Yoongi
standing just a few metres away, one of those silver aluminium emergency blankets wrapped
around his shoulders. He’s looking at Jimin with something bordering sadness but also relief, and
Jimin has to swallow before he manages to lift the corners of his mouth in what he hopes is
something resembling a smile. Yoongi follows suit.
 A long moment passes where Yoongi just stands there and Jimin stares at him through the window
and he almost wants to get out and go to him but his skin is still crawling with invisible filth and he
doesn’t want to taint Yoongi like that. Then a policeman approaches, gesturing about something or
other and Yoongi has to go and Jimin feels that pang of loss deeper than he should. He fiddles with
the blanket, pulls at another bit of loose skin on his finger.

When he looks up again, Yoongi is gone.

Chapter End Notes

If you liked it (or if you didn't), let me know in the comments. Constructive criticism,
responses, feelings — I'd love to read them all!

I love to read what you think of my writing so if you have any thoughts, do let me
know :) Even if it's negative, I will try and respond!

Thank you for joining me on the first part of this journey, and hopefully, you'll join
me for the next.

<3 <3 <3

 "I'm Fine."
Chapter Summary

“You’re okay, Jimin,” Jin murmurs, and Jimin glances over at him, eyes narrowing for
a brief second before his cheeks flush and he looks away, although he doesn’t let go of
Jin’s hand.

“I’m not okay,” he mumbles, “I’m disgusting.”

Chapter Notes

To my beautiful readers:

So, I lied.

I've decided not to write a sequel and instead to just continue with this work as it is.
That being said, I don't really have an update schedule at the moment. I'm working so
I'm busy but I'm conscious that I don't want to leave y'all hanging for too long!

Please enjoy this chapter. Let me know what you think in the comments below; that is
the biggest compliment to me!

BTW, I had to rely on Google for some of this so if it isn't as realistic and accurate as
you were hoping, please fire Google.

Dedicated to Bean.

<3 <3 <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

They leave Jimin alone in a hospital room. Steel, chemicals, white walls, and an overarching
feeling of utter sterility. He sits there on the bed, paper sheets rustling under his body still wrapped
in the blanket, and the feeling of helplessness in his stomach twists and turns with every breath till
it feels as if he’ll never be able to take a proper breath again. He focuses on pushing his stubby
fingernails deep into his palms. If he hadn’t chewed them to shreds, they’d cut his skin.

The door opens after only a few minutes and a doctor walks in. She looks to be about Jimin’s
mother's age, and the realisation makes something twinge painfully in Jimin’s chest. He hasn’t
seen his mother for months, even before their kidnapping.

“Hello Jimin,” she says quietly, smiling at him with both sympathy and understanding. There’s
something about her Jimin likes; she doesn’t look at him like he’s broken. “I’m very sorry to hear
what you’ve had to experience,” she continues. “My name is Dr Jung. I’m going to explain to you
what the next steps are for you but first, we would like your permission to perform a rape kit.” She
walks over to the bench and places down a stack of paper she had in her arms, then turns and looks
over at Jimin expectantly. He swallows.

“A—a rape kit?” he whispers, stomach churning. Dr Jung nods.

“This is a key factor in any trial so it is of a rather significant importance the rape kit is performed
for the perpetrators to be convicted.” She smiles kindly. “That being said, we cannot proceed
without your consent.”

Jimin nods mutely. He doesn’t really have a choice, he understands that.

“O—okay.”

Dr Jung gets him to sign his name on the bottom of one of the forms, assuring him they can do
everything at Jimin’s pace.

“We have plenty of time so if it’s getting too much for you then you can tell me and we can take a
break, okay?”

“What do I have to do?” Jimin asks, trepidation sitting heavy in his chest. Dr Jung unfolds a large
sheet of paper and places it on the ground.

“First, I’ll get you to stand on this piece of paper and we’ll take the blanket off. Do you have
anything on underneath?” Jimin has to swallow again, not trusting his voice to work for him. He
shakes his head, mortification running red hot through his veins. Dr Jung doesn’t seem surprised,
although her eyes soften somewhat as she helps Jimin climb off the bed and walk over to the paper.
When Jimin finally gets the courage to slip the blanket away from his shoulders, hands
immediately dropping down to save some of his modesty, Dr. Jung hands him a paper gown to put
on and takes the blanket from him, placing it in a large paper bag which she then places in a box on
the bench.

“This will be used as evidence,” she explains. “Now, you can come back over to the bed and we’ll
do some swabs and things, alright?” Jimin rustles over to the bed in his paper gown, nerves making
his muscles taught and his jaw tense unconsciously.

Dr Jung swabs nearly every part of Jimin’s body. She starts off with his hair, searching through the
strands for some sort of evidence. Jimin remembers Chang smearing his sperm on his face, and he
shrinks down a little further on the bed. But Dr Jung’s fingers are gentle as she collects her swabs
before moving down to his mouth, scraping from his teeth and the insides of his cheeks. Each swab
she places in an individual bag labelled with where the swab was collected before it joins the
blanket in the box.

Jimin manages to lie there relatively still as Dr Jung moves down his body, sliding the paper gown
further and further down his body as she goes. She talks to him softly, asks about the latest BTS
album, asks Jimin about his family, even about their pet dog. It all feels so far from Jimin’s mind
but he manages to mumble out some answers, trying not to flinch as he fingers brush over his body,
secretly grateful for the distraction of her conversation. It’s when she cautions him that she will
have to remove the paper gown completely as she examines his genital area that Jimin feels
himself flush, hot tears springing immediately to his eyes, unable to get his legs to part once the
gown is removed. Dr Jung sits there quietly, even as Jimin curls himself into a ball to hide. He’s
never felt so humiliated, never felt as low as he does now.

He’s hit rock bottom, stripped of his dignity and his own bodily autonomy by Chang and now he
has to suffer the consequences.

“It’s okay, Jimin. We can take our time,” Dr Jung murmurs, reaching out to pat Jimin’s hand with
her own gloved fingers. He cries even harder, tears slipping down his cheeks to dampen the paper
sheets on the bed. He’s shivering again, not with cold but with fear and shame and this
indescribable sickness in his stomach. Dr Jung keeps patting his hand, her fingers warm even
through her rubber glove.

“How about you close your eyes and try to focus your brain on something else completely,” she
says gently. “I’ll try and do it as quickly as possible. Then we’ll be almost done with the swabs.”
Jimin almost chokes on another sob, coughing into his hand instead, smearing the tears into his
skin till his cheeks feel like they’re going to crack.

“I don’t—it’s gon—it’s gonna hurt,” he manages to say, struggling to breathe as he covers his face
with trembling fingers.

“I won’t let it hurt, Jimin,” Dr Jung reassures. “It’s really gentle but I need to assess the damage
before we can get you better, okay? I’ll take couple swabs but it’s also to see if you might need
some stitches.”

It takes Jimin another ten minutes before he sits up, embarrassed at his own tears but feeling
marginally better when Dr Jung just smiles at him with deep understanding. She’s a professional,
he reminds himself, throwing the last of his dignity into the trash as he leans back against the
pillows, fighting the fear curdling in his stomach as he spreads his thighs.

Dr Jung is just as gentle as she told Jimin she’d be, fingers light against his skin but firm enough to
not tickle. He grinds the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and tries to separate himself from
his body, wanting nothing more than to crawl into a hole and never emerge as she prods and pokes
in the places Chang’s fingers have done the same.

“You’ll need a few stitches,” Dr Jung says quietly at the end of her inspection, shooting Jimin a
sympathetic look, “so I’ll get you booked in for that straight after this.” Jimin doesn’t even
respond, teeth digging so hard into his lip he can taste the sharp tang of blood on his tongue. He
doesn’t move even when she swabs all over his genitals, frozen even as she uses some sort of metal
device so she can take swabs of evidence from inside of him. But Jimin cries. Wracking sobs that
bubble out from some deep recess of his heart, tears blocked by his hands till they’re slipping
through his fingers and down his cheeks, burning wet trails into his skin.

I’m disgusting. So fucking disgusting.

Jimin thinks it’s all over with the swabs, thinks he can go and have the world’s longest shower to
drown the memories of Chang’s touch in scalding hot water, but then Dr Jung talks to him about
the next stage of the kit, holding up a camera.

“We need to take photos of your entire body, as evidence of the abuse.”

Jimin loses it. The sight of the camera in her hand breaks open something inside of him, brain
flooded with images of Chang holding up the camera in his face, the red light like a laser searing
into his forehead. He’s off the table and cowering on the floor in a matter of seconds.

“No, no, no, no, no, no—don’t, no, please—don’t!” He cries out, so overwhelmed with the
memories running amok in his brain, unable to separate the camera in Dr Jung’s hand from the one
haunting his dreams.

I’m disgusting. No camera! No, no, no, no.

Dr Jung comes around the bed, face twisted in worry, but her hands are still wrapped around the
camera and Jimin can’t help his natural instinct, lashing out and making contact with the device as
she kneels down to his level on the floor. It happens almost in slow motion, the camera spinning
through the air, the impact sending it flying to the side before it lands on the floor with an almighty
crash, glass and bits of plastic shattering over the floor. Dr Jung freezes, staring at Jimin with her
mouth open, but he’s gone, crawling under the bed where it’s marginally darker, quieter, safer.

No camera, no camera, stop the camera.

Jimin’s shaking so hard it feels like his teeth are going to rattle out of his head. He keeps trying to
press himself further under the bed, terror coursing white-hot through his veins till it feels like he’s
going to internally combust from the pressure exploding through him.

No, no, no, no.

He doesn’t even notice when Dr Jung leaves the room.

They’re in one room altogether except for Jimin and Jungkook, both of whom have been taken to
separate sections of the hospital to collect ‘evidence’ as they’d been told. It’s quiet and Jin is
leaning back against the wall in one of the chairs, trying to stop his heart from hammering with
worry with every minute they’re left without any news of Jimin and Jungkook. They’ve all been
brought some sort of meat and vegetable stew from the hospital cafeteria, and according to the
doctors, there will be a police inspector along shortly to get their statements about the entire
kidnapping. Jin just wants to sleep but after the doctors had established that the five of them
weren’t injured in a physical sense apart from some malnourishment, they’d all had showers and
changed into fresh clothing provided by the hospital before being cooped up in this room with
nothing to do but worry and wait. At least he’s clean, Jin muses, tongue running over his teeth and
liking the easy slide after being able to brush them for the first time in weeks. Clean in some ways,
at least.

He’s startled out of his reverie by the sound of a knock on the door before it opens and a harried-
looking nurse enters the room.

“You are the friends of Jimin, correct?” She asks, stress lines deepening on her forehead. There a
rustle as all of them sit up a little straighter and Jin’s heart beats even more frantically in his chest.

“Yes,” Namjoon answers for all of them. The nurse makes a sound of relief.

“Great. We’re having some issues with Jimin’s kit exam and we were hoping one of you would be
able to help us calm him down.” She looks around at all of them with an expectant expression and
it takes Jin a second to realise that one of them needs to go.

“I’ll—I can come and help,” he says, standing up with groaning muscles. The rest of them just look
at Jin, varied expressions of worry and relief on each of their faces.

The nurse leads him through the corridors with hurried footsteps, explaining the situation as she
goes.

“Dr Jung who performed the kit—“

“The kit?” Jin interrupts quietly, confused by the term.

“The rape kit to collect evidence,” the nurse replies. Jin’s stomach twists uncomfortably. Oh,
Jimin. “Anyway,” she continues, “Dr Jung who was performing the kit has requested assistance
because Jimin has gone into a panic at the sight of a camera to the point he lashed out and knocked
it out of her hand.”

Jin’s breath catches in his throat. Of course, he did.

“The man—Chang—used Jimin to film these, um, messages which he would send to the
company.” It makes Jin’s gut clench just to think about but the nurse nods understandingly as he
follows behind her down the warren of corridors.

“That explains the reaction then.” Jin nods as well.

They stop outside a door and the nurse knocks briefly before opening it and stepping in, gesturing
for Jin to follow her.

Stepping into the room, the first thing Jin notices is the remains of a camera scattered all over the
floor by his feet, the body of the device in the centre of it all. Then he sees what must be Dr Jung
kneeling on the floor next to the bed and he’s confused for a moment before he takes another step
forward and suddenly Jimin is visible. Jin has to fight from voicing his shock out loud.

Jimin is huddled under the bed, completely naked, tears streaming down his cheeks, lips moving
rapidly as he mutters something unintelligible under his breath. His eyes are flickering around the
room at high speed but they’re unfocused, slightly glazed over like he’s fallen into a trance. If Jin
is being honest, he looks slightly mad.

Dr Jung looks up at them when they walk in, relief flooding her face when she sees Jin.

“Hi,” she whispers. “Jimin’s having some difficulties with the photographic aspect of the kit.”

That seems like the understatement of the century as Jin sees Jimin curl even further into himself,
shuddering cried spilling from his lips with every breath. Dr Jung looks back over as well, and her
expression settles back into one of worry. “Maybe if you talk to him, he’ll be okay,” she says
quietly, glancing back at Jin hopefully. Jin explains to her the reason for Jimin’s panic and she
purses her lips into a thin line.

“But don’t worry, I’ll try and help,” he reassures her, stepping carefully over the camera debris till
he can bob down next to her. Jimin doesn’t seem to notice him, too caught up in his own mind.

“Jimin,” Jin murmurs, “it’s me.” Jimin’s eyes snap over to him with dizzying intensity and Jin feels
his chest locking up as he holds his breath. But then Jimin’s face crumples even more and his
hands are reaching out to Jin and he’s wailing now, babbling about the camera, frenzied repeats of
the word ‘No’ interjected into every sentence. Jin’s heart breaks and he feels tears starting to burn
behind his own eyes. Carefully, he shuffles forward till he’s under the edge of the bed with Jimin
and Jimin’s hands are fisting into his shirt, pulling him desperately forward.

“Jin, they’re gonna make me—I don’t want—no messages, no messages, please Jin!” Jin has to
swallow, reaching out tentatively to hold Jimin even in all his nakedness. He’s so skinny, already
so drastically different from when they’d last seen him but his current hysterical state leaves him
unrecognisable. Jin tries not to panic himself.

“You’re okay, Jimin. Deep breaths for hyung, okay?” Jimin just keeps babbling into Jin’s chest,
fingers knotted deep into the fabric.

“Don’t let them! I don’t wanna do another message, Jin!” Jimin sobs.

“This isn’t another message, Jimin,” Jin murmurs quietly, stroking his fingers through Jimin’s hair
and feeling his own heart ache with sympathy. “These are photos for the trial — it’s not a message.
You don’t have to worry, Jimin.”

Jimin keeps crying. Jin’s own eyes are prickling with tears but he bites them down as he gently
rubs over Jimin’s shoulder and pets his hair. It’s understandable, of course, that Jimin is so terrified
of the camera. Everything Chang made him do, so much of Jimin’s suffering, was caught on film
to be sent to the company, and Jimin doesn’t seem to be able to separate Chang’s vindictive actions
with the actions of the doctor.

Jin doesn’t blame him.

“Jimin, Dr Jung just needs to take photos for the police, okay?” He whispers, but Jimin shakes his
head.

“I don’t wanna— Jin .”

“Hyung will stay here with you, Jimin.” Jin gulps. “I’ll hold your hand, okay? You can just lie
there and we can talk about something else.” Jimin’s arms curl tightly around his knees and he’s
rocking back and forth, fear so painfully obvious on his face.

“Don’t make me, don’t make me.” Jin’s gut curdles again uncomfortably. He can only think of one
way to get Jimin to comply but it feels manipulative, even to himself.

“Jimin, do you trust me?” It’s a loaded question, and Jin holds his breath as Jimin looks at him,
hesitating for a long second before he finally gives a tremulous nod. Jin feels relief sag in his chest.
“ I’m telling you Dr Jung isn’t using this for a message, Jimin. This is for the police, so they can
convict Chang. Can you let Dr Jung take the photos if I stay here and make sure it’s all safe?”

There’s another long pause as Jimin eyes him and then looks over at Dr Jung, tears still glistening
wet on his cheeks.

“You’ll stay? Jin?” Jin nods, using his fingers to wipe away the wetness on Jimin’s face. Jimin
looks almost childlike right now: eyes wide, fingers twisted into Jin’s shirt, an expression of such
basic fear on his face that Jin feels sick.

But he gets up when Jin draws him out from under the bed, Dr Jung quickly wrapping a paper
gown around his hips. And he sits there on the bed with one hand clenching Jin’s in a vice-like grip
as Dr Jung raises the camera and takes careful photographs of every inch of his chest and back. Jin
can’t even bring himself to look, just the glimpse of the bruising when he was under the bed with
Jimin enough to make the tears sting yet again. They really have no idea what horrors Jimin has
experienced.

“You can close your eyes, sweetheart,” Dr Jung says to Jimin as she snaps away with her camera.
“Sometimes it’s easier that way, and you can forget I’m taking the photos.” Jin expects Jimin to do
exactly as she says but he doesn’t, keeping an eagle eye trained on her as she moves down his
body. Jin’s fingers are going numb from how tightly Jimin is holding his hand. He’s still crying,
tears sliding down his cheeks and dropping into his lap even as Dr Jung moves around him.

“You’re okay, Jimin,” Jin murmurs, and Jimin glances over at him, eyes narrowing for a brief
second before his cheeks flush and he looks away, although he doesn’t let go of Jin’s hand.

“I’m not okay,” he mumbles, “I’m disgusting.”

“You’re not—You’re not disgusting,” Jin manages to get out, chest constricting at hearing such
harsh words falling from Jimin’s mouth. “You’re not disgusting,” he repeats. Jimin fiddles with the
edge of the paper gown still wrapped around his waist and doesn’t respond.

Dr Jung takes so many photos Jin is surprised she hasn’t run out of space on the camera’s memory
card. Once she’s finished with Jimin’s chest and back, she focuses on his legs. Jin gets one glimpse
of a bite mark deep in Jimin’s thigh before he hurriedly looks away, not wanting to pry and feeling
more than a little sick.

But at some point, Dr Jung puts down the camera and fixes Jimin with a sympathetic and
apologetic look.

“I’m sorry Jimin but I have to take photos of your other injuries now so you’ll need to remove the
gown.” It’s clear what she means and Jin feels the moment Jimin shrinks backwards, body curling
into himself on the bed and his fingers digging hard enough into Jin’s wrist for it to hurt. Jin
doesn’t say anything, just turns his body further around so he’s only looking at Jimin’s head. He
doesn’t want for Jimin to feel like he’s under a microscope from more than one person.

Jimin’s face is so white he looks like he’s about to pass out, teeth catching sharply in his lip as he
clutches onto the last saviour of his modesty, looking over at Dr Jung with terror in every hollow
and angle of his face. He’s pulled his legs up to his ribs, hiding, defending, protecting.

And Jin gets it. He really, really does. He can’t even imagine how Jimin must be feeling at this
point, stripped of his dignity, forced to undress yet again for a camera.

“Jin, I don’t wanna—” Jimin whimpers then, looking at him beseechingly as if Jin can somehow
make it better.

(He can’t. He can’t make it better.)

“You’re almost at the end, Jimin. Just be brave for a bit longer, okay?” It really is like talking to a
child, and Jimin’s lip wobbles and his fingers are leaving aching bruises in Jin’s arm.

“It’ll be over before you know it,” Dr Jung says, “and then we’ll let you get cleaned up and you
can put some clothes on, alright?” Jimin’s eyes flit over to her before shooting back to Jin and he’s
crying again and Jin really doesn’t know what to do except to let Jimin squeeze all the blood out of
his arm while he murmurs soothing words to distract him.

“You’re okay, Jiminie. Deep breaths. Hyung is here for you, okay?”
It takes another few minutes before Jimin even lets Dr Jung move the paper gown, and when she
does, his thighs clamp together again, refusing to part till Dr Jung persuades him with more
placating promises. Jin keeps his eyes firmly upwards and cards his fingers gently through Jimin’s
hair to distract him. He’s never seen Jimin so distraught, so utterly destroyed as he sobs through the
entire process. Eventually, Jin is crying as well, and so he sits there and lets the tears slide down
his face, feeling Jimin’s pain as acutely as if it was his own every time Jimin flinches with the
sound of the camera shutter, and all he can think is how much he wants to kill Chang for breaking
his brother.

If he was allowed just five minutes in a room with Chang alone, god, Jin would do some fucking
damage.

By the time Dr Jung is finished, it’s been hours and all Jimin wants to do is go to sleep and never,
ever wake up again. His head is pounding from crying, his body is sore in unimaginable places, his
whole being is drained from the adrenaline of fear, and he’s so utterly defeated he can’t even
imagine being able to get up again. He’s back in that dark recess of his mind, somewhere where he
doesn’t have to think and feel and he can just exist. He’s living in a world completely muffled by a
bubble of his own creation. His bubble.

He doesn’t remember exactly when Jin got there. Maybe around the time Dr Jung brought out the
camera? In some ways he’d been mortified to have Jin there, feeling so disgusting he worried he’d
taint him forever with the filth crawling over his skin. But having Jin there was a distraction, and at
least Jin was a familiar face and not another stranger. Jimin doesn’t trust strangers.

Dr Jung sent him along to another doctor to get his stitches after the rape kit was finished, and
Jimin didn’t let go of Jin’s hand the entire time. They injected some sort of local anaesthetic around
the area, muttering something about his skin having torn due to a ‘foreign intrusion’. Jimin thinks
of Chang slamming into him on that first day. Was that a foreign intrusion? It’s not really foreign,
Jimin thinks absentmindedly as Jin wheels him down another corridor behind a nurse, Chang is
Korean. He knows the word ‘foreign’ is being used in a different context here but he’s still floating
deep in his mind and it gives him something to think about instead of the memories of the pain.

“Just in here,” the nurse says, leading them into a quiet room with a bed and a large window. The
blinds are down but Jimin can just catch a glimpse of city lights peeking through the plastic
slatting. The nurse gestures them to follow her and Jimin sinks a bit lower in his wheelchair as Jin
rolls him forward into a bathroom.

“You can take a shower or a bath here,” the nurse explains to Jimin. “We’ll give you clothing to
wear but we’d like to keep you in the hospital for a few days at least, just to keep an eye on some of
those wounds and bruises, and also to get your weight up.” She eyes him over the top of her
spectacles. “You’re very malnourished.” Jimin thinks back to the sandwiches. How long has it been
since he’s eaten? He’s not even hungry.

“I’ll leave you here, Jimin,” Jin says from behind him, and Jimin twists in the wheelchair, a burst
of fear sparking in his chest.

Don’t leave me alone! I don’t want to be alone!

“Bu—but—don’t leave me—I don’t want—please, Jin!” Jin’s brow furrows. He looks confused.

“I’ll wait in this room,” he points at the room with the bed, “and let you have a bath on your own.”

Oh. He’s not leaving completely. But—

“Can you—can you watch the door?” Jimin asks tentatively, that same fear of Chang finding him
somehow making his stomach curdle even though logically he knows he’s safe. Jin’s eyes soften.

“Of course, Jimin.”

Jimin nods gratefully before pulling his tired body out of the wheelchair. It takes so much more
effort to stand but he needs to get clean. Well, as clean as he possibly can. The nurse walks back in
holding a small bundle of clothing which she sets down on the counter.

“Would you like a shower or a bath?”

“Bath,” Jimin answers immediately, not even having to think. He can’t look at a shower the same
way anymore. Not after—

“I’ll let it run for you.”

“Thank you,” Jimin manages, half-distracted as Jin quietly exits the bathroom with a reassuring
smile in Jimin’s direction.

Don’t go. I don’t want to be alone. Not anymore.

“Bye,” he whispers instead, and Jin pauses, smiles a little more, something sad flitting over his
face before he gestures to the door.

“Don’t worry, Jimin. I’ll make sure no-one comes in.”

 Jimin can’t get clean. He sits in the bath and scrubs at his body with the horrible hospital soap till
it feels like anymore scrubbing will have layers of his skin peeling off and floating on top of the
water. It hurts how hard he’s trying to clean the scum off of him. God, it hurts but he has to do it.
Every one of Chang’s phantom touches tickling over his skin must be removed and only then will
Jimin be able to sleep at night.

It’s impossible.

The water turns tepid and still Jimin scrubs, pausing only to let the plug pull out before he turns the
water to scalding and allows the bathtub to refill with hot water. Anything to burn away the feel of
Chang’s bruising grip on his thighs, down his back, all over his face. He doesn’t know how long
he’s even in the tub, only stopping when is skin is bright red and tender to the touch, the sound of
knocking on the door pulling him out of his manic cleaning.

“Jimin? Are you almost done?” It’s Jin, and Jimin freezes, only the sound of the hot tap running to
interrupt the quiet.

“Um,” he chokes on the words, “alm—almost.”

“Okay, well,” Jin sounds concerned, “you’ve been in there a while. Is—is everything alright?”

Jimin looks down at his raw skin, sees darker red lines where his nails had scraped over his body
around the soap, feels the water almost blistering his skin as the tap keeps running hot water into
the tub.

“I’m fine.”

Chapter End Notes

What did you think? Did you like it? Did you hate it?

Let me know in the comments below!

Constructive criticism, responses, feelings — I'd love to read them all!

<3 <3 <3
 Leave Me In Pieces
Chapter Summary

All Jimin can think of is the hard concrete he’d slept on for the past weeks.

The way the cold stone dug into his bones and anchored him to the floor.

The feeling of the collar around his neck, tying him down.

He hated it but at least he was grounded in a way he is lacking now.

Chapter Notes

Another chapter for all you lovely readers! Thank you again for your overwhelming
response. Every time I read a comment I get so much motivation to write and it really,
truly makes my day!

I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter. I don't know if it's any good so I'm sorry if
you don't like it. I really had a such a struggle with this one for some weird reason and
it felt so clunky the entire time. Maybe I'm projecting my insecurities?

Anyway, for all you starved Yoongi stans, this chapter's for you. And to Jesul Kim
who's comment made me cry.

Love to you all and Happy 2019!

<3 <3 <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Jimin can’t sleep. He feels trapped under the starched hospital sheets, the standard issue pyjamas
scratching unpleasantly against his raw skin. There’s a needle stuck in his arm with fluid dripping
steadily into his system. Jimin doesn’t know exactly what it is except that it’s meant to help with
the effects of malnutrition, and he’s too afraid to ask the nurses who’d been bustling around his
bedside for the past few hours.

“You can sleep for a few hours now,” his nurse had told him, “and we’ll wake you up to eat
something for a late breakfast, okay?”

It’s almost six o’clock in the morning. Jimin can’t sleep.

The only comforting thing in the room is the dark shape in the corner, lying on a trundle bed and
wrapped up in blankets. It’s Jin. Jimin had almost had a panic attack thinking about being in this
unfamiliar room all alone while it’s dark, and so Jin had asked the nurses if he could have a bed
brought in here instead of being placed in his own room. They’d agreed, although there’s an IV
line leading to Jin’s sleeping form and he’d had to have a nurse check on him before he was
allowed to stay.

The rest of the members are also somewhere in the hospital.

It’s a weird thought, and Jimin’s heart rate spikes suddenly as he thinks about them. He knows Jin
isn’t injured but what about the others? They could be hurt—they could be dying and he would
have no idea. But then again, would Jin really be here if one of the others were dying? Probably
not, Jimin decides.

He still can’t sleep.

It’s not that he’s not tired because Jimin is exhausted, but he’s dancing on the edge of sleep
without being able to fall over the edge into unconsciousness. There’s so much wrong with how he
feels. He hates the way his clothing tickles his body, and he hates how the bed feels like it’s
swallowing him up. It’s all so soft, so fine, so delicate.

All Jimin can think of is the hard concrete he’d slept on for the past weeks. The way the cold stone
dug into his bones and anchored him to the floor. The feeling of the collar around his neck, tying
him down. He hated it but at least he was grounded in a way he is lacking now. He’s floating on a
cloud of blankets, and mattress, and pillows, and all Jimin really wants is to have something solid
to hold onto, just so he doesn’t feel so insubstantial.

It doesn’t really hurt when Jimin rips the IV out of his skin, climbing carefully out of the bed so he
doesn’t fall. And it feels right when he curls up on the floor, hard vinyl digging into his tailbone
and poking at his ribs, only the thin layer of his pyjamas to protect him from the cold. At least he’s
not floating anymore.

“What did he say? Why can’t we go see him?” Yoongi asks, frustration bubbling hot under his
skin. The nurse looks apologetic.
“He’s asked for only his family to be allowed in.” She offers them a sympathetic smile. “If it
makes you feel any better, your other friend was asked to leave this morning as well.” As if on cue,
Jin appears in the doorway, looking utterly drained, almost gaunt with obvious exhaustion in his
pyjamas.

“How’s Jungkook doing?” He asks when he walks in, looking over to the bed where Jungkook lies,
one arm covered in plaster and a number of bandages around various parts of his body, still fast
asleep. One of his eyes is a mess of purple and red. Even so many days after his beating, it’s still
swollen shut, although the doctor had assured them the damage wasn’t permanent. Yoongi just
sighs, worry swelling in his chest, not just for Jimin and Jungkook, but for this whole damned
situation.

“He’s okay. He broke his arm though. Not the whole way through but enough for a cast.” Yoongi
watches Jin’s lips purse as he moves over to the bed and brushes Jungkook’s fringe out of his eyes.

“How’s Jimin?”

“He asked me to leave so I’m not sure,” Jin replies, and there’s a stiffness to his body as he lowers
himself into a chair that has nothing to do with exhaustion. “They did a rape kit on him yesterday.
They had to take photos and after the whole camera thing—he didn’t—he struggled.” Jin trails off
and Yoongi swallows. Hard.

“I only saw him briefly in the police car but he looks, um, skinny.” It sounds stupid but Jin nods
slowly in agreement.

“Yeah, he’s malnourished. I’m not sure if Chang was feeding him while—” Jin shuts up. Yoongi
swallows again.

“His family’s coming in an hour or so.”

“I know, the nurse told me,” Jin murmurs, gaze trained on Jungkook once more. “Where are the
others?”

“Still asleep,” Yoongi replies, and Jin nods again, looking as if his thoughts are far away. They’re
silent for a long second, both just watching as Jungkook turns his head and smacks his lips in his
sleep. Then Jin frowns, letting out a long sigh, far too weary for someone his age.

“He was on the floor this morning.”

“Who?” Yoongi knows who but he has to make sure.

“Jimin.” Jin looks up at Yoongi and there’s an echo of some deep despair just visible in his eyes. “I
found him just lying there next to his bed, asleep on the ground without even a blanket. He ripped
his IV out too.” They both wince in unison. “‘Said something about floating but then the nurse
came in and he panicked.”

“Oh.” Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. “That’s not good.”

“No, it’s not.” God, Jin sounds tired. Yoongi tries to think of something else to say but he comes
up short. He’s almost grateful when Jungkook wakes up with a whimper of pain.

“Do you need more pain meds?” Yoongi asks immediately, not at all liking the ashy look on
Jungkook’s face as his eyes flutter open. Jungkook shakes his head. Of course he won’t admit he
might want some.
“I just pulled at the stitches—”

“You have stitches?” Jin yelps, looking from Yoongi to Jungkook and back to Yoongi
incredulously. Yoongi gulps. Whoops.

“Didn’t I tell you?”

“No, you did not! Where are these stitches?” Jin growls, fixing Yoongi with a look reminiscent of
an angry mother bear. Even Jungkook shrinks back a little.

“Six on my side. Apparently one of Chang’s cronies wore steel-capped boots and the cut hadn’t
healed properly. They gave me medicine for an infection.”

“Oh, Jungkookie,” Jin says, shaking his head with clear concern.

“Is Jimin okay?” Jungkook asks, his one eye flicking between Yoongi and Jin with lightning speed.
“I tried to ask the nurse last night but she wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“He’s okay,” Jin assures, although his reassuring tone isn’t reflected in his expression. It’s not
enough, Yoongi thinks to himself, watching as Jungkook’s eyes narrow.

“You’re lying,” Jungkook says accusingly. “What’s wrong? What happened?” He tries to sit up
properly in his bed but obviously jogs his stitches and he has to flop back against the pillows with a
grunt. Jin and Yoongi both automatically lean forward, trying to stop Jungkook from injuring
himself even more.

“He is okay,” Jin repeats, “but he’s asked for only his family to be allowed into his room.”
Jungkook’s expression falls, lips parting in obvious surprise, and for a brief second, poorly-
concealed hurt.

Yoongi understands exactly how he feels.

“But why? Doesn’t he—doesn’t he want to see us?” Jungkook sounds so incredibly confused, it
makes Yoongi want to wrap him up, keep him away from the world.

“It’s not like that,” Jin murmurs, petting Jungkook’s hair. “He’s been through a lot that we don’t
know about, also a lot of tough stuff here in the hospital, and it’s important for him to be
comfortable right now. If that means he just wants his family there, then we have to respect that.”

“But…” Jungkook’s expression keeps getting more and more sad, eyebrows knitting together
unhappily, “aren’t we his family too?” And Yoongi knows what he means, knows why Jungkook
is reacting this way, but it’s not up to them.

“He’s been through a lot of shit, Jungkook. Just let him be, okay?” Jungkook stares at them both
but then he reins in his crestfallen expression, looks down at the sheets and fiddles with the edge of
his cast.

“He’s okay though, isn’t he?” And Yoongi has no idea but he nods as convincingly as he can.

“Don’t worry, Jungkook. He’s going to be just fine.”

Jimin’s parents arrive only a few hours after he wakes up. Actually, Jin had woken him up, calling
Jimin’s name softly near his head. He still flinched hard enough to whack his elbow on the bedside
table.

But it’s just him here now, tucked back in bed by the nurses who hadn’t mentioned his unusual
sleeping location but had reinserted his IV line and eyed him with the expression Jimin is used to
seeing by now. You’re broken, it says. What’s wrong with you? why are you like this?

They also bring him food, some sort of meat stew that’s obviously laced with vitamins from the
strange chemical aftertaste. Jimin chokes down a few spoonfuls before he gets queasy and the
nurses take it away again, sharing around another of those looks. He’s broken, they say. What’s
wrong with him? Why is he like this?

Jimin’s mother cries the moment she sees him and it makes Jimin cry too. She rushes over, hands
flapping uselessly in the air as she hesitates to touch him, concern evident in every line on her face.
Jimin reaches out for her and inhales her familiar scent as she finally wraps her arms around him
and cradles him against her chest. Jimin sees his father standing behind his mother, looking slightly
lost, reaching out to pat Jimin’s arm rather tentatively. Jimin is crying too hard to think about it
properly.

There’s nothing like a mother’s love, people say, and Jimin has to agree. The love he feels for his
mother runs deeper than anything else he knows and his chest physically aches as she perches
herself on the side of his bed and strokes his hair, her own tears dripping on the blankets as she
pulls him close to her. He doesn’t know how long they sit like that, both crying without end as
Jimin’s father sits on the other side of the bed and pats Jimin like he’s a wounded puppy. Hesitant,
unsure, as if he’s made of fine china.

Eventually, even Jimin’s tears have dried up and he sits there with his parents, something
crumbling deep inside of him as he looks at them both with their matching expressions of worry
and fear. He doesn’t want to be the cause of that. His mother manages to smile at him although her
cheeks are still wet, and her fingers keep carding through Jimin’s hair with soothing rhythmicity.
Jimin tries to return it but his lip wobbles and he has to bite on it before he sets them both off
again.

“I’m okay, Mama,” he mumbles instead, and she promptly bursts straight back into tears.

“My baby, what have they done to you? Oh, Jiminie,” she wails, and Jimin forces himself to
swallow back the overwhelming urge to join her in her cries.

“I’m okay,” he repeats softly. Jimin’s mother just sobs and pulls him forward against her chest once
more.
“I’m glad you’re safe,” Jimin’s dad says quietly, nodding at his own words and still patting Jimin’s
leg as Jimin turns his head and sends his father a watery smile as well. Of course, he loves his
father as well, although years of scorn when he was younger due to his father’s disapproval of
Jimin’s dancing had made their relationship more strained.

“Me too,” Jimin whispers out, blinking hurriedly as the burning behind his eyes increases with
every passing second. Jimin’s father pats his leg a little harder, blinks in unison with Jimin’s own
eyes before he clears his throat with a gruff cough and looks away. Jimin’s father has never been
one to show a lot of emotion.

Jimin’s parents stay a few hours, consisting mostly of Jimin’s mother finding any way to hold him,
and Jimin’s father sitting somewhat awkwardly next to her, before Jimin is so tired he can barely
keep his eyes from slipping shut. One of the nurses talks to his parents even as Jimin’s brain starts
to slide into unconsciousness, and he just manages a weak smile in their direction before he’s
falling over the edge, body being crushed into the mattress by some sort of invisible pressure that
starts behind his eyes and extends to the tips of his toes.

He’s asleep before they even leave the room.

When he wakes up, it’s evening and Dr Jung is in his room, carrying a clipboard and with a warm
smile on her face. Jimin can’t help the way his heart rate picks up uncomfortably at the sight of
her.

“Hi Jimin,” she greets. “How are you doing today?” Jimin hesitates, shrugging tentatively as she
approaches the bed. “I’m just here to check on your stitches, alright?” Jimin feels his gut swoop
but there’s not much he can do about this.

He feels sick as she chats to him while pulling the blankets down, helping him so his hips are on
top of the blanket rather than underneath. He’s trembling bodily by the time Dr Jung gets him to
remove his pants, and by the time she has him spreading his legs, Jimin is crying again.

He’s so fucking sick of crying all the time.

Dr Jung is quick about it though, and her constant stream of one-sided conversation keeps Jimin at
least partially distracted as her fingers poke and prod. It takes only a few minutes and she ends by
passing him a box of tissues and helping him back under the sheets, Jimin’s cheeks burning with
shame that he can’t seem to shake.
“I’ll be back tomorrow to check on those stitches again but they’re healing well so don’t worry.”

Jimin watches her leave in silence and wonders if his body will ever be his own again.

Yoongi tries to see Jimin before the rest of them are released from the hospital. They’ve all given
statements about their ordeal, explained to the police what had happened to them, what they’d seen,
what they’d been forced to experience. Yoongi thinks of how Namjoon had emerged from the
room of officers and inspectors with swollen eyes from crying. It’s a lot for a man who Yoongi’s
only seen cry a handful of times. But they’re allowed to go home now, back to their apartment to
sleep in their own beds for the first time in weeks. It’s almost like they’re being given an
opportunity to go back to some semblance of normal life. Except that Jimin isn’t returning with
them just yet, apparently having to spend at least one more night in the hospital before he’ll be
going back to his family in Busan, and Yoongi can’t leave the hospital without seeing him at least
once. Otherwise, who knows when they’ll see Jimin again?

He goes to the nurses station, hoping someone will be able to help him, and thankfully, after some
embarrassing pleas have spilt from Yoongi’s lips, one of the nurses sighs and allows Yoongi to
follow her to Jimin’s room. He’s given strict instructions to wait outside as she knocks lightly and
enters, and he does so, hands clenching and unclenching with every second he has to stand out in
the hallway. He can’t leave without knowing if Jimin’s okay, despite Jin’s best assurances, and the
tension in his chest only grows tighter as the door between them remains firmly shut. Finally, the
nurse opens the door again, sticking her head out in the hallway.

“Who are you?”

“Yoongi. Min Yoongi,” Yoongi replies, hoping desperately not to be turned away. She ducks her
head back inside and the door clicks shut again. Yoongi sinks his teeth into his lower lip and waits
again. This time only a few seconds pass before the nurse opens the door with a curt nod.

“You can go in.”

Yoongi’s mouth drops open unintentionally and he has to forcefully remind himself to snap it shut,
thanking the nurse before making his way hesitantly into Jimin’s room.

He’s unconsciously holding his breath when his eyes find Jimin lying on the bed, and it’s like
someone’s kicked him swiftly in the stomach, any air in his lungs forced out in one great whoosh.

It’s a completely different feeling from when Yoongi had seen Jimin naked and collared or
slammed against the wall, even huddled in a blanket in the back of a police car, because in some
weird way that had been so far from reality it had felt more like a nightmare. A distorted moment
in time which they had to wake up from at some point. But this Jimin, huddled under the bed
covers with rounded shoulders, dark shadows in the gaunt hollows of his face, avoiding Yoongi’s
eyes as if they’ll bite him, and with a raw ring around his throat as the last remnants of the collar —
this is the reality and it’s both an expected yet shocking blow to his heart.

Jimin still doesn’t look at him when he walks over and Yoongi doesn’t really know what to do
(god, he’d never expected to get this far) so he pulls one of the plastic hospital chairs closer to the
bed, wincing as it scrapes over the vinyl. Jimin’s still fiddling with his fingers, picking at the skin
around his nails, not even acknowledging Yoongi’s presence a mere metre from his bed. Yoongi
clears his throat.

“How—um, how are you doing?”

You’re really fucking this one up.

Jimin shrugs almost imperceptibly before his mouth corners twist up into a tiny, bitter smile so
unlike the Jimin Yoongi knew before this whole ordeal.

“Could be better, you know.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi agrees after a pause.

Why is this so awkward?

There’s a long silence and Jimin still hasn’t looked up and Yoongi starts to wonder if maybe he
made a mistake invading Jimin’s room. He swallows that thought straight back down, desperately
thinking of something to say to make this normal.

“You’re going back to Busan tomorrow?” Jimin nods, rubbing at some invisible mark on his hand.

“I have to talk to the police first but then my parents are taking me home. My mum probably won’t
let me out of her sight for the next few months anyway,” he murmurs, huffing a humourless laugh.
Finally, he looks up, and there’s something so sad, almost like he’s embarrassed, in the way they
make eye contact for barely a half second before Jimin’s cheeks flush and he shoots his gaze back
down to the blanket. “You’re all leaving tonight?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi manages, “Everyone’s going home for a bit as well.”

“You too?” Jimin asks quietly, glancing at Yoongi from the side of his eye. Yoongi knows why he
asks; his relationship with his parents is strained to put it mildly. Wouldn’t they have loved another
doctor in the family. Jimin knows all of this.

“Not for long,” he says, pulling at a loose thread on his pants. “I’d rather be in Seoul anyway.”

“Is everyone okay? Jungkook—”

“Everyone’s fine,” Yoongi says, and he sees some of the tension in Jimin’s body relax. Trust Jimin
to be worried about everyone else when he’s suffered the most. “Jungkook’s got a fractured wrist
and stitches on his ribs but he’s doing well.” Jimin’s eyebrows crease together and Yoongi almost
wants to laugh because it’s the same look Jin had given him.

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“You know Jungkook, he’ll be up and trying to lift weights in the gym tomorrow.” Jimin has to
smile at that, nodding softly at his blanket. It’s true — Jungkook will probably have to be forcibly
restrained by his parents if they want him to rest.

The silence is back. Yoongi doesn’t know what else to say, and Jimin isn’t looking at him. It’s so
different from how it used to be; Yoongi and Jimin never had awkward silences. They could sit in
the same room and both be doing different things in silence, but it never got awkward. It’s
awkward now.

“The others wanted to say goodbye to you as well before they leave.” Jimin stiffens at that, fingers
clenching together till his knuckles go white. His eyes dart back up to Yoongi’s and there’s pure,
unfiltered shame clear in his eyes.

But why? It doesn’t make any sense. Why would Jimin be ashamed?

“I don’t—you can just say bye to them for me,” Jimin mumbles, and his teeth nibble on his lip. His
fingers are shaking where they’re gripping at the blanket and Yoongi fiddles with the edge of his
own shirt. It’s so fucking awkward.

He looks around the room, takes in the IV line still attached to Jimin’s arm, and the empty pill cups
stacked on the bedside table. There’s a pamphlet next to them about STI’s and Yoongi rips his
gaze away, mouth drying up as he tries to find something else to focus on but comes up short.
There’s a buzzing in his brain, so many things whirling through at high speed as he looks at
Jimin’s thin figure curled under the blankets, and yet he can’t pick one to bring to fruition until this
tornado of thoughts just blurts one out at random.

“I’m sorry.”

He shouldn’t have said it, he knows the moment the words leave his mouth because Jimin deserves
so much more than his shitty, misplaced apologies, but it’s been eating at him ever since the first
day they were taken hostage. He hears rather than sees the sharp intake of breath from the bed,
wincing as Jimin’s cheeks go bright red and his knuckles turn the colour of snow.

“Don’t,” he whispers, and it’s like he’s forcing the words out of his chest. “It’s not your fault.”

“I’m still sorry,” Yoongi mumbles, an overwhelming wave of emotion threatening to have all his
walls crumbling. “I wish I could’ve done something.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jimin repeats, and his lips are squeezing together into a thin line. “There’s
nothing you could’ve done, or anyone, so don’t— don’t think like that.” He wipes at his nose,
pulling his knees up to his chest under the covers. The raw, chafing wound around his neck is
glaringly obvious against the white of the sheets.

There’s so many things Yoongi wants to say, so many apologies he feels he still owes, but one look
at Jimin’s face and he can almost see the moment he shuts down, pulling the curtains on their
conversation.

“You’ll be leaving soon, right?” Jimin asks, eyes flicking over to Yoongi before they break away,
back to the spot on the bed which seems to have held so much interest to him throughout their
entire exchange. Yoongi shrivels in his seat even as he nods. It’s a dismissal, a kind one but a
dismissal nonetheless. He stands up, pushing the hospital chair back to its original place and
smoothing his palms over his legs.

What the fuck do I say now?

Jimin beats him to it.

“Have fun at home.” He sounds so small. Yoongi swallows through the lump in his throat, takes a
step towards the door.

“Um, look after yourself.” Another step. “And—text me, okay? Even if it’s just—just an emoji or
something.”

This sounds so stupid, you dumb fuck.

“Just so I know you’re doing alright, you know.”

Just stop talking. Stop talking. Oh my g—

“Yoongi?” Jimin’s looking up at him, cheeks pink, fingers twisting into the blanket. “I’m sorry.”
Yoongi’s brain short-circuits.

“Why are you sorry? What the—”

“Just—everything’s fucked up now,” Jimin mumbles, forehead wrinkling as he frowns down at the
bed.

“But—but,” Yoongi’s flabbergasted. “Jimin, that’s not your fault.” Jimin looks back up at him
 then, and Yoongi’s shocked to see his eyes shiny with tears.

“I hope you have a good time at home, Yoongi. And tell the others bye from me, okay?”

For the second time in as many minutes, Yoongi finds himself at the end of a dismissal, but this
one hurts a million times more.

Why did Jimin’s ‘goodbye’ sound more like a farewell forever?

Chapter End Notes

Did you like it? Did you hate it? Let me know in a comment! Constructive criticism,
questions, responses, feelings — I love to read them all!

Comments are the biggest gift and I try to reply to them all!

<3 <3 <3

 Under My Skin
Chapter Summary

It’s like a snapshot of a life they can’t get back, and it fucking hurts. Taehyung almost
brings his hand up to his heart, convinced he must be bleeding with the way the
feeling stabs deep into his chest.

But he’s not bleeding and he can’t go back in time and they'll never go back to being
the seven people who left this studio last.

Chapter Notes

Wow, so I actually really like this chapter (yay for self-confidence) so I'm really
hoping Y'all will like it as well.

Apologies, by the way, for all the people who received a notification of a new chapter
and then came here even though I deleted it a second later. I hadn't done my edits yet
(yeeet).

This chapter is for all of you Taehyung stans, just because I love writing from his
POV.

(Also, any writers out there, isn't it great when you actually like something you've
written? Such a good feeling!)

Enjoy this chapter, beautiful readers. Look after yourselves in this new year and please
let me know if there's something you think I should add to the tags section.

If you liked this chapter or if you didn't, let me know with a comment. I'm always
looking to improve so anything you say will be well-received! Constructive criticism,
responses, feelings — whatever you like!

<3 <3 <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The morning after the rest of the members were released from the hospital, Jimin has a number of
visitors. Three police detectives, two inspectors, and two officers all enter Jimin’s hospital room
with grim expressions and a tape recorder. The part of Jimin that has totally repressed what has
happened to him is pried open once more, wounds sliced anew, nightmares brought back to life as
he is forced to recount the 27 days they were held captive by Chang and his men.
Was it really that long? It feels like a split second.

It takes hours. Hours where Jimin’s cheeks never cease to glow with shame, and his hands shake
continuously with uncontrollable tremors. At more than one point he dances on the edge of a panic
attack and he has to take a break to calm himself. It would have been humiliating enough telling his
story to just one person but having to explain to seven people that he was basically treated like an
abused dog, a fucktoy for another man — Jimin’s never felt so ashamed in his life.

“Do you believe there was a reason he chose you as his victim and not one of the others?” One of
the inspectors asks at one point, and Jimin is about to say no when he remembers something
Chang said to him within minutes of meeting him.

“He said—he said he saw me dance,” Jimin says faintly, sick to his stomach as Chang’s words ring
through his head. The seven men in front of him frown.

“Dancing?” One of them asks almost disbelievingly. Jimin flushes, dropping his gaze down to his
hands.

“I’m one of the main dancers in our group so he must’ve seen me at some point.” He feels stupid
saying it out loud but one of the men is writing it down.

“Dancing,” they murmur, “who would’ve guessed.”

It’s almost eight hours after they began their recording that the police finally leave. Jimin thinks
he’s done enough, thinks he’ll be able to at least partially put this whole horror behind him, but
then Dr Jung is knocking on his door to check his stitches for the last time before Jimin’s parents
take him home, and Jimin can’t do it anymore. He sits there as she’s checking his stitches and cries
with tissues balled up in his fists, so utterly overwhelmed and exhausted. He doesn’t want to do it
anymore. And then his brain sorts through all the emotions flooding through him and Jimin
decides, it’s not even that he doesn’t want to do it anymore — it’s that he can’t.

But Jimin has always been good at hiding his vulnerabilities, covering his breakdowns with
convincing smiles and excuses of tiredness. It’s his greatest coping strategy; it’s always been that
way, and by the time Jimin’s parents are there to collect him, Jimin has pulled himself together, the
only remnants of his weakness being the hundred-something screwed up tissues in the bin next to
the bed.

His mother has brought him clothes, something Jimin is extremely grateful for as he locks himself
in the bathroom and strips off the scratchy, starchy hospital pyjamas he’s been wearing for the past
few days. He’s careful to avoid his own reflection in the mirror, not wanting to see the last marks
Chang had inflicted upon him. But it’s hard to ignore the purple bruises blossoming over his hips
and thighs, and an accidental sideways glance shows brilliant plum striping covering his back,
tinged with yellow and green around the edges.
“I told you not to fucking move again,” Chang snarls, hands twisting in Jimin’s hair and pulling
him up from the floor in one swift movement. Jimin can’t help the wail that escapes his lips as
parts of his hair break, his scalp on fire. “You’re asking to be fucked up, you dumb mutt.” Jimin
whimpers in pain and his hands scrabble at Chang’s wrists, trying to get him to ease some of the
pressure on his head. It won’t just be his hair being pulled out; the next thing to break will be his
skin.

“Please—let go—Ah—stop!”

“Shut the fuck up!” Chang yells, but his hands release Jimin’s hair as he throws him down on the
ground. Jimin hits the side of the bed and his ribs throb, forcing another yelp to burst from his
mouth, but he can’t help the relief flooding through him. He thinks he’s escaped the worst of
Chang’s anger but then Chang is reaching for his belt, pulling it out of the trouser loops and
curling it around his hand, and Jimin is filled with terror all over again as the belt is raised above
Chang’s head to come down at lightning speed. It hits Jimin with the force of a speeding car, a
resounding ‘crack’ echoing through the room as it makes contact with his curled back.

And then comes the pain.

It hits him a split second after the initial blow has struck and it drives every bit of oxygen from his
lungs, flames licking in a white-hot stripe across his shoulders. Before his body even has the
chance to react, before the scream even exits his lungs, the belt is cracking down again, whipping
over his ribs with blinding force.

“Jimin? Do you—do you not like the clothes?” Jimin’s mother calls through the door, and Jimin
startles, snapped out of his stupor.

“Oh—no, they’re fine, they’re good!” He calls back hurriedly, turning away from the mirror
completely and grabbing the clothes out of the bag. He pretends not to notice how his hands are
trembling.

The clothes are comfortable —just some sweatpants and a hoodie— but they hang off Jimin like
they’re somebody else's. He didn’t even realise he’d lost that much weight but apparently eating
nothing but sandwiches and then not eating at all will do that to a person. Jimin can count each of
his ribs individually now, and he shivers unconsciously as he steps out into the hospital room.

His parents are waiting on the plastic chairs, Jimin’s mother wringing her hands and shooting him
teary smiles every few seconds, Jimin’s father staring resolutely at the vinyl flooring. Jimin tries to
swallow back the odd, empty feeling in his chest as he leaves what has become relatively safe place
here in the hospital, even if he was only here for two nights. What is safety anyway?

“We talked to the doctors, and they told us about—about the extent of your injuries,” Jimin’s
mother says, standing up to brush Jimin’s shoulder with warm fingers. “They’ve given us
recommendations for doctors in Busan, and—and therapists.” Her voice trembles a little and
Jimin’s cheeks feel warm as he looks anywhere but at her sympathetic eyes. He’s so fucking tired
of feeling ashamed.

“Your company booked flights,” Jimin’s father says, and Jimin blinks, surprised. He’d forgotten
all about BigHit. It’s like a weird, warped world he’s emerged into, and yet, he’s still Jimin from
Bangtan Sonyeondan. Still Jimin with millions of fans around the world—

You think they’d still be fans if they knew—

—Still Jimin who’s technically a celebrity, a public figure in Korea. Still working for BigHit
Entertainment.

“Oh. That’s… nice,” he manages. Jimin’s father nods in agreement, fiddling with his watch.

“No-one knows you’re here, except for the hospital staff and executives at the company, but you
need to wear a mask in case anyone recognizes you.”

That brings up another question Jimin has.

“Do the fans—do they know?”

Do they know we were kidnapped? Do they know I was raped? Do they know I’m disgusting now?

“No,” Jimin’s father says, and it’s almost an order, the way the word spits out into the air, a single
syllable of harsh authority. They do not know and they must not know. “No, they do not.” He
moves then, not really looking at Jimin as he picks up his coat and walks over to the door. Jimin
swallows, relieved but feeling a sick weight settle in his stomach at the thought of having to carry
the weight of their fans expectations when they have zero understanding of what they’ve all been
through.

He shouldn’t think about it.

“Let’s go,” Jimin’s father says, and Jimin forces his feet to move as his mother hands him a plain
mask.
Time to leave. Time to face the world.

Taehyung ends up spending a mere week and a half at home before he returns to Seoul. It’s not that
his parents and siblings have done anything wrong per se, and Taehyung doesn’t want them to feel
like it’s their fault, but he just can’t stay. Everything is just so wrong and the longer he is at home,
the more frustrated he gets with the constant, hovering concern, and the pitying looks everyone
shares behind his back. And he has nothing to keep him occupied which would alleviate at least
some of his own inner turmoil. It’s like a stewing pot of guilt, worry, and irritation bubbling just
under the surface of his skin, constantly reminding him that things are different now.

The group chat has been silent too. Not a single message has been sent from any of them, and in
some ways, this shakes Taehyung more than he’d like to admit. Leave it to a group chat to tell their
current state of affairs in the digital era. But then again, he hasn’t sent anything either because
everything he wants to say seems insignificant given their current reasons for being apart.

However, even if he doesn’t text the group chat, there is one person he tries texting, only for his
messages to appear as ‘read’ but to go unanswered. It’s Jimin. Taehyung sends him more than a
dozen messages, trying to get some sort of response from his friend who would’ve previously
answered in a heartbeat. Every single one of them is ignored. It hurts Taehyung more than he’d like
to admit.

But nine days of being at home is enough for him and he finds himself on the next train to Seoul,
happy when the bright lights of the city appear through the window, and an odd sense of relief
blooming in his chest. He just wants everything to go back to normal and Seoul is the start to this.

He’d sent a message to Sejin, one of their managers, telling him he’d be returning, just like he
would’ve before their abduction, but there’s still a weird, apprehensiveness he feels as he makes his
way up to the front door of their apartment at nine o’clock at night.

To Taehyung's utter surprise, the lights are on when he unlocks the door and steps inside.

“Hello?” He calls out, dropping his bag unceremoniously in the middle of the hallway and
shucking off his shoes in much the same manner. The apartment is quiet and Taehyung pads his
way through to the living room, trying to figure out who is here. He finds his answer lying fast
asleep on the couch, a random movie playing silently on the t.v.
“Yoongi?” Taehyung is confused. He repeats Yoongi’s name again, waiting as Yoongi stirs,
smacking his lips before his eyes crack open. It obviously takes a second for Taehyung’s presence
to register in Yoongi’s mind but when it does he suddenly jolts upright, balance still poor enough
from sleep that he overbalances and falls off the couch. Taehyung winces.

“Jesu—Taehyung? What are you doing here?” Yoongi asks, coughing to clear his gravelly throat.

“Just,” Taehyung shrugs softly, “you know—family...“

“It’s exhausting, isn’t it,” Yoongi agrees, picking himself up from the floor and sinking back into
the couch cushions.

“Is that why you’re—?”

“Yeah.” Yoongi yawns, scratching his head before yawning again. Then his eyes sharpen. “Have
you heard from—?”

“No.”

“Me neither,” Yoongi mutters, gaze shuttering as he glances at Taehyung.

“How long have you been back?”

“Three days,” Yoongi replies. “Namjoon and Hoseok texted to tell me they’re coming back
tomorrow and Seokjin is thinking he might come back then as well.”

Taehyung isn’t surprised. “What about Jungkook?” Yoongi shrugs.

“I didn’t text him to ask. He should be at home so his family can keep an eye on him, make sure
he’s not moving around too quickly.”

“Seokjin would probably kill him if he tried going to the gym under his watch.”

“I did think about that,” Yoongi says, lips curling amusedly, “but then we have to deal with
Jungkook’s whining.” They both grin at that but then Jimin pops back into Taehyung’s brain and
the smile slips off his face just as quickly. Yoongi seems to pick up on his thoughts because his
smile disappears as well and he sighs.

“I talked to Sejin and Bang PD. Jimin’s looking to be spending at least two months at home before
he’ll come back to Seoul. If he—” he cuts off. Both Taehyung and Yoongi know what he was
going to say. If he comes back at all.

“Oh.” Taehyung swallows the lump in his throat. There’s something that’s been preying on his
mind ever since their kidnapping but he hesitates to say it aloud. He opens his mouth, shuts it,
opens it again, and shuts it just as quickly.

“Just say it, Tae,” Yoongi says, and Taehyung looks up to see Yoongi watching him quietly.

“I—what—what’s going to happen? Does Bangtan—will we keep going after this?” It hurts to put
it out there, to vocalise the possibility of something so terrible, but Yoongi seems to have thought
about it as well, for he doesn’t look surprised.

“It’s not that simple, Tae.”

“I—I know. But...but—”

“I know,” Yoongi interrupts quietly, and he shoots Taehyung a tired grimace that’s probably meant
to be a reassuring smile. “Don’t think about it too much, okay?” Taehyung’s heart sinks a little in
his chest but he manages to nod in what he hopes is a somewhat convincing manner. He’s getting
good at that —putting on a mask to stop people from worrying. And why should they worry about
him in the first place? He’s not Jungkook who got beaten to a pulp; he’s not Namjoon who got
forced to — or Jimin who was—

Don’t think about it too much.

Taehyung sleeps better in their apartment than he does back home with his parents. Maybe it’s
because he has Yoongi for company. Someone who understands what they’ve been through, who
understands waking up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, heart racing with the remnants
of adrenaline and fear. When Taehyung stumbles out of bed that first night he finds Yoongi still
lying on the couch, now some random black and white movie playing on the t.v with the sound
almost muted. Yoongi doesn’t say anything but he shifts on the couch, moves over so he’s not
taking up the whole of it. It’s an open invitation, and for Taehyung, fluent in ‘Yoongi speak’, it’s
one he’ll gratefully accept.

He tucks himself under Yoongi’s fluffy blanket, lets Yoongi pull him closer so he’s almost lying
on top of him. They lay like that for such a long time Taehyung thinks Yoongi’s fallen asleep but
the Yoongi shifts, fingers curling to brush through Taehyung’s hair. It’s comforting, reminding
Taehyung of when he was a toddler and the only way he could get to sleep was to have someone
petting him.

“Do you—do you have dreams about...it?” Taehyung whispers, listens to Yoongi’s breathing hitch
just a little.

“No,” he says, and Taehyung frowns, craning his neck sideways to look at Yoongi’s face staring
impassively at the t.v screen. It seems unbelievable; Taehyung hasn’t had a single night where he
hasn’t. But then Yoongi swallows, and he’s still not looking away from the t.v but something
clenches in his jaw and his fingers stop playing with Taehyung’s hair. “I have nightmares.”

Taehyung sighs, patting Yoongi’s arm clumsily, brain absolutely exhausted.

“I think about it all the time,” he mumbles into Yoongi’s hoodie. “I can’t help it.” Yoongi sighs as
well, and it’s a great, shuddering exhale that has Taehyung’s head rising and falling from where
he’s slipped down to lean on Yoongi’s chest.

“Go to sleep, Tae,” Yoongi mutters, but it lacks any real bite and, if anything, he pulls Taehyung a
little more firmly against him.

“What about you?” Taehyung asks, aware how uncomfortable it probably is for Yoongi to be
crushed by him. But Yoongi just chuckles wryly, patting Taehyung’s head.

“I’ll be fine.”

“But—”

“Sleep, Taehyung.”

As promised, Namjoon and Hoseok arrive the next day, the sound of their footsteps entering the
apartment a wake-up call for Yoongi and Taehyung. They’re still lying on the couch, although
Taehyung is defying all laws of physics with the way he’s balanced precariously on the edge, and
that’s how Namjoon and Hoseok find them when they walk into the living room.

Taehyung wakes up a split second before Yoongi, squinting up from where his head is hanging off
the couch, as the familiar shapes of his two hyungs enter the room. The next thing he knows,
Yoongi stretches, his elbow catching in Taehyung’s ribs, and Taehyung face-plants into the carpet.

“You two look comfortable,” Hoseok says, kicking one of the cushions on the ground and grinning
above Taehyung’s head..

“It’s fucking un comfortable,” Yoongi mutters sourly, just as Taehyung says, “We need a better
couch.”

Neither Namjoon or Hoseok ask why they’re sleeping on the couch in the first place, although
Taehyung sees the way Namjoon eyes them both with thinly-veiled concern.

“When’s Seokjin coming?” Hoseok asks instead, flopping down on one of the beanbags. Taehyung
picks himself off the ground and yawns obnoxiously loud, looking to Yoongi to answer. Yoongi
pulls his phone out from between the couch cushions, flicking immediately to his recent messages.

”He’s saying his dad is driving him and that he’ll be here about lunchtime.”

“Why are you guys back so quickly as well?” Taehyung asks, regretting it slightly when both
Namjoon’s and Hoseok’s expressions sober up considerably and the mood in the room plunges.

“It’s too hard to explain to my family,” Hoseok says in the end. “They think everything’s just going
to go back to normal overnight, just because we aren’t there anymore.”

“I had the same thing,” Namjoon mumbles.

There’s quiet before a thought inches it’s way intrusively into Taehyung’s brain.

“How—how much did you tell them about what happened?”

“Just the...basic stuff. About Jungkook as well,” Namjoon says, and Hoseok nods in agreement.
Yoongi pipes up then from the couch.

“Not about…?”

“No,” Hoseok says sharply, eying Yoongi and Taehyung with some wariness. “Did you?” Both
Yoongi and Taehyung immediately shake their heads.

“It wouldn’t be fair to tell people about something—something like that,” Taehyung murmurs, and
Namjoon and Hoseok look relieved.

“That’s why I came back as well,” Namjoon says. “It’s hard for them to understand when they
don’t know the whole story.” He looks slightly sick.

An uneasy silence settles upon them. Yoongi and Taehyung pick themselves up from the couch
and the floor respectively.

“Did you hear about what Chang said to the police?” Hoseok asks suddenly, and all their heads
snap back around to look at him.

“No—what did he say?” Namjoon asks. “And who told you?”

“My uncle. He works as a chief police inspector in Seoul so he asked for an overview of the case
files.” Hoseok swallows, looking intensely uncomfortable. “Chang is admitting the kidnapping
charge but he’s denying all charges of rape.”

“What!?” All of their eyes are bugging out. Taehyung’s mouth drops open in pure shock. “How the
hell is he expecting that to stand up in court?”

“We saw that motherfucker doing it!” Yoongi spits out incredulously. “He fucking—“

“We know, Yoongi,” Hoseok interrupts gently. “It’s a pathetic attempt to throw a spanner in the
works.”

“There’s footage of him—of him—“ Yoongi snarls, unable to finish what they all know he wants
to say, and Taehyung doesn’t think he’s ever seen Yoongi so livid as he is now.

Hoseok is chewing on his lip, hands twisting in front of him almost guiltily.

“The trial is going to be hard to keep out of the eye of the media so my uncle said he’s probably
bargaining with the fact that…that,” he hesitates, and Taehyung has to suppress the urge to shake
the words it of him.

“What, Hoseok. What is that fucker counting on?” Yoongi says, voice sharp enough to cut through
glass. Hoseok swallows uneasily.

“That homosexuality is looked down upon in society and most companies would probably rather
drop any rape charges than for the sexuality of their idols be brought to question.”
There’s stunned silence for all of three seconds before the room explodes.

They’re in uproar, poor Hoseok flinching back as Yoongi curses wildly. Namjoon is in obvious
shock, a barrage of emotions swirling over his face as he fires more questions at Hoseok. And
Taehyung; He’s never felt such a sharp burst of injustice and betrayal as he does now. It consumes
him and fills him with a raw fury unlike anything he’s ever experienced.

All he can see in his mind’s eye is Jimin’s curled body as he’d lain there wracked with sobs, blood
streaking the insides of his thighs, the absolute epitome of fear and pain. And Taehyung will never
know how that feels —god, none of them will ever know— but he knows that Jimin deserves so
much more than for Chang to not have to answer for being the cause of that pain.

“How dare he?” Taehyung’s shaking. “How dare he?”

“BigHit isn’t like other companies though! They won’t let the charges be dropped just for the sake
of a reputation!” Hoseok says desperately, and Taehyung understands he’s trying to make this
better but it’s not helping.

“But Chang is fucking suggesting it was—that it was consensual! ” Yoongi snaps, teeth gritting
together. “He’s a manipulative bastard for even—Jimin would never—“ Yoongi breaks off, and he
swallows harshly.

“I shouldn’t have told you,” Hoseok mutters miserably. “I didn’t want you guys to get upset—”

“How could we not get upset?!” Taehyung asks incredulously.

“Because it’s a hypothetical issue!” Hoseok says, and he sounds so tired. “You’re basing your
anger off the idea that BigHit or-or Jimin would agree to drop the charges.”

He’s right (of course he’s right) but Taehyung can’t help the frustration bubbling in his gut.
There’s a raging tension almost tangible in the air between them all, stifling in it’s thick
concentration. They’re only feet from each other but it could be miles at this point.

“I’m going for a walk,” Taehyung mumbles when the tension becomes too much to bear. It feels
like he’s drowning in the apartment, and stepping outside is like being offered a chance to breathe.

A quick glance at his phone shows it’s almost midday and the sun is shining warmly on the city.
Taehyung doesn’t really knows where he’s going; he lets his feet take him where they will,
walking blindly through the haze of his thoughts. He’s never been good at navigating anger —not
like other people his age. For Taehyung, he doesn’t deal well with conflict, even when it’s not
targeted towards him, and he’s even worse at sorting out his own feelings. And right now, he’s
angry. Actually, he’s fucking furious at the nerve Chang has to even suggest his actions were
anything less than a violent, unwanted attack on someone Taehyung loves with all his heart. That’s
why he left the apartment. Because he doesn’t know how to process his own feelings and all he can
think about is his best friend, his virtual brother, hurting because of this man’s cruelty.

Taehyung takes deep breaths of the Seoul air, regretting it slightly when he tastes the dust pollution
on his tongue, and resists the urge to punch the nearest tree.

In one of those weird, subconscious things your brain do when you’re preoccupied, Taehyung’s
feet take him all the way to the BigHit company building. He’s still not thinking when he pulls the
door open and steps inside but almost immediately he realises what a mistake this probably is. The
two reception ladies, who Taehyung has known for years, watch him stumble in open-mouthed.

And why wouldn’t they be? You’ve just been kidnapped for almost a whole month.

Fuck.

Taehyung is aware of how random his appearance is but he’s not going to turn tail now. Lord, that
would make it even more awkward than it is already. Instead, he mumbles a quick
greeting, nodding at them both in a hurried bow before almost sprinting towards the stairs.

He avoids all the stares on his way down to the basement level. Everyone knows them at BigHit.
Hell, everyone works for their success in some way considering they’re the only group in the
company, so it’s not like Taehyung can be inconspicuous in any way. He’s immensely grateful that
no-one talks to him, everyone content with ogling him with blatant shock instead, and he manages
to make it down to their studio without having to speak a single word.

It feels like walking into a part of his life he hasn’t even had to think about for so long. The studio
is almost exactly how it was when they left: still the random shelf with shoes chucked haphazardly
in no particular order; the racks of clothing the stylists left in the corner; polished floors marred
with the occasional random scuff mark; the pile of empty cups and the water cylinder next to the
door; a yellow shirt draped over one of the chairs they’d dragged in from the offices upstairs. The
shirt used to be Yoongi’s but Jimin had adopted it as his own, He’d worn it constantly, to the point
where Taehyung had been considering buying him another one so he never had to go a day without
being able to wear it when it was in the wash.

It’s like a snapshot of a life they can’t get back, and it fucking hurts. Taehyung almost brings his
hand up to his heart, convinced he must be bleeding with the way the feeling stabs deep into his
chest.
 But he’s not bleeding and he can’t go back in time and they'll never go back to being the seven
people who left this studio last. It should be obvious but the realisation strikes Taehyung so deeply
he doesn't even realise when his legs buckle under him, knees hitting the wooden floor with a
resounding thud.

They can't go back.

Chapter End Notes

Did you like it? Did you hate it? Let me know with a comment! Constructive
criticism, responses, feelings — I'd love to read them.

Comments are the biggest gift and I try to reply to them all!

All the love,

<3 <3 <3

 Coping Mechanisms
Chapter Summary

He sits there at his desk, unable to do anything when every note sounds like Jimin’s
screaming, and every drum beat feels like his heart pounding in his chest as they’d
waited for Jimin to be returned to them.

But even the silence feels oppressive.

He sits there at his desk and he chews at his thumbnail till the torn skin is bleeding
rivulets down his hand, till the pain is the only thing he’s focusing on. He sits there at
his desk and suddenly, the ground doesn’t seem so far away at all.

Chapter Notes

I don't think I can write anything that's not angsty. Welp.

But that's fine. Here's another chapter to sate your thirst, people! It's time to re-enter
the mind of our wonderful resident Genius, Min Yoongi, and so I present to you a
chapter dedicated to all Yoongi stans in the BTS universe.

This was an interesting one to write so hopefully, it's an interesting one to read! I wrote
it all in one evening!

Let me know what you think in the comments, and thank you to all of you who
commented on the previous chapter as well.

Love to you all!

The Pied Piper

<3 <3 <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

They’re falling apart.

It’s like they’re drifting away from each other; feathers floating through the wind, pulled in a
thousand different directions, trapped in a swirling hurricane that has them completely in its grip.
Yoongi’s watching it happen, and yet he can’t do anything but plummet. The feather that can’t
even seem to float anymore.

It doesn’t have to be like this, he thinks desperately to himself. He doesn’t have to fall. But it’s so
hard to clear his mind of all the memories, all the horrors, and it’s when Yoongi finds himself
hunched over in the shower, vomiting bile from the intensity of the flashbacks, that he realises he’s
losing his battle to gravity, and soon, he’s going to crash straight into the ground.

So Yoongi does the only thing he knows how to do: he throws himself straight back into his studio
and doesn’t reappear for days.

It’s not even like he has a deadline he’s working towards, and he certainly isn’t there because he’s
been struck by some sort of creative inspiration that has his fingers itching to touch the keys of his
keyboard. Yoongi is there because music in the one thing that has kept him afloat for all of these
years.

And it’s not working anymore.

He sits there at his desk, unable to do anything when every note sounds like Jimin’s screaming,
and every drum beat feels like his heart pounding in his chest as they’d waited for Jimin to be
returned to them. But even the silence feels oppressive. He sits there at his desk and he chews at his
thumbnail till the torn skin is bleeding rivulets down his hand, till the pain is the only thing he’s
focusing on. He sits there at his desk and suddenly, the ground doesn’t seem so far away at all.

The worst thing is that Yoongi doesn’t have an excuse. He doesn’t have an excuse for all the times
he finds himself curled in the bottom of the shower, unable to distinguish the heat of his tears from
the heat of the water pounding on his back. He doesn’t have an excuse for staying in his studio for
three days without even emerging once so he doesn’t have to confront the shuttered faces of his
members. He doesn’t have an excuse for not answering Sejin’s texts when he doesn’t turn up to his
scheduled therapy sessions.

He doesn’t have a single fucking excuse because he knows he shouldn’t be so fucking weak. He
wasn’t beaten, he wasn’t forced to do anything to anyone else, he wasn’t raped. Nothing happened
to him.

Yoongi should be okay, and there’s no excuse for admitting he’s not.
Jungkook comes back to Seoul after two and a half weeks at home, stitches removed and a shiny
pink scar to show for it. He doesn’t tell his parents he’s coming back, and Jin suddenly finds
himself inundated with panicked calls from Jungkook’s family wondering if Jungkook was with
them or if he’d been abducted again. What follows is a stern talking to from Jin that seems to have
no effect on Jungkook if his impassive expression is anything to go by. It’s unlike Jungkook, who
is normally on very good terms with his parents, and they’re all surprised when it takes some blunt
words from Namjoon, threatening to send him straight back home, for Jungkook to even pick up
the phone to call them himself to let them know he’s safe. It’s a short call, and Jungkook leaves the
apartment straight afterwards, door slamming so hard the walls shake.

Aside from his obvious aversion to calling his parents, Jungkook is doing an impressive job of
appearing as tough as possible but Yoongi sees right through it. He knows Jungkook knows as well
and Yoongi is unsurprised when, a few days after Jungkook’s return, there’s a soft knock on the
door of his studio and it is Jungkook standing there, drowning in one of his massive hoodies as he
waits patiently for Yoongi to let him in. Yoongi does, of course, because seeing someone who
actually has a valid reason for not being okay, and being able to help them, distracts Yoongi from
his own misery.

Jungkook doesn’t even talk, just walks in and heads straight for Yoongi’s couch. It’s part of a
routine they used to have even before the whole ‘incident’ for whenever something was troubling
Jungkook. He’s always found it difficult talking about his feelings, even if it was minor, so Yoongi
knows to just let him in, to go back to his own work and wait for Jungkook to start talking on his
own.

It only takes ten minutes before Jungkook cracks.

“They didn’t want me coming back.”

“Who didn’t?” Yoongi asks quietly, fiddling around with random folders on his computer so
Jungkook doesn’t feel like Yoongi’s listening too much.

“My parents,” Jungkook mumbles. “They want me to stop being an idol.”

“And are you going to listen to them?” Yoongi asks, heart clenching at the thought of Jungkook
leaving them forever. His answer comes in the form of a disbelieving scoff.

“What do you think?”

“They’re just worried about you.”

“It’s not like it’s going to happen again,” Jungkook says sourly, “and how the fuck is quitting
music going to help anything?”

“Language,” Yoongi murmurs admonishingly, not really caring all that much. “Is that why you left
without telling them?”

“I was mad,” Jungkook admits.

“You shouldn’t act impulsively just because you’re angry. Especially not something which could
worry them even more. They’re your family, Kook.”

“ You guys are my family,” Jungkook mumbles, sounding muffled, almost like he squished his
face into the pillow. Yoongi spins his chair around and looks at Jungkook sprawled out on the
couch.

“They’re your family first, and you should respect their concerns.” Jungkook scowls at that.

“You’re meant to be on my side.”

“I am.”

“Sure not sounding like it right now,” Jungkook grumbles petulantly, although he flushes when
Yoongi raises an eyebrow in his direction.

“You know I am but I also want you to be respectful to your family. They’re not worrying for no
reason.”

Jungkook just groans although he manages a somewhat convincing nod when Yoongi keeps eyeing
him sternly. They’re silent for a minute, Yoongi pulling out his phone to delete yet another text
from Sejin. But then Jungkook suddenly sits up, pulling the sleeves of his oversized hoodie further
over his hands as he tucks his feet underneath him on the couch.

“What did your parents say to you?”

“About what?” Yoongi asks guardedly, knowing exactly what Jungkook’s asking but hoping he’s
asking something else. Jungkook raises his eyebrows and Yoongi sighs.

“They’re glad I’m safe, yadayadaya.” It’s not a lie. Not exactly.

“Really? They said yadayadaya?” Yoongi shoots Jungkook a look and the younger boy smirks at
him.

“I didn’t tell them that much so there wasn’t a lot to say.”

“What did you tell them?” Jungkook’s curious now, eyebrows arching subtly with interest. Yoongi
swallows uncomfortably.

“I told them a bit about what happened, and about you being beaten up. Some stuff about the
rescue.”

“You didn’t tell them about—”

“No,” Yoongi snaps, regretting it immediately when Jungkook shrinks down in his seat. “Sorry.”

‘S’okay, hyung,” Jungkook murmurs, smiling at Yoongi with far too much understanding. “I didn’t
tell mine either.”
They fall back into silence and Yoongi twirls absentmindedly on his chair.

“Everything’s changed, hyung,” Jungkook mumbles out in the end, and when Yoongi looks up
he’s shocked to see Jungkook’s eyes glistening with unshed tears. Fuck, he doesn’t know how to
deal with tears.

“Don’t cry, Kook,” he says in the end, trying to be as comforting as possible. But then he realises
it’s probably quite healthy for Jungkook —their normally emotionally-constipated, concrete-
exterior Jungkook— to cry, and he changes tack. “Or you can cry. That’s, um, okay too.” Jungkook
laughs a little then, sniffing and wiping at his nose with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“I just don’t like how everything’s different now.” He sniffs again, clearing his throat and looking
at the carpet in an obvious attempt to not cry properly.

“I know. It’s going to be okay though,” Yoongi reassures, hoping he sounds more confident than he
feels. Jungkook snorts, a bitter smile drifting onto his face as he picks at the edges of his hoodie.

“No-one’s talking to each other, Jin spends all his time mothering everyone else and not himself,
Namjoon’s locked himself up in his room with a shit ton of his stupid philosophy books about
Justice, Hoseok’s been in the dance studio every day till he’s so tired he can barely walk, I don’t
think I’ve even spoken more than one word to Taehyung, you lock yourselves in here for fucking
hours, and Jimin has basically dropped off the face of the planet. How is any of that okay, hyung?”
Jungkook’s actually crying now, glaring at Yoongi through a sheen of tears as more roll down his
face, sniffing aggressively every few seconds. “Nothing’s fucking okay.”

He’s right, and Yoongi feels a knot of guilt wrap itself around his insides as Jungkook waits for
him to answer, to say something more than just, “it’s okay.”

It’s not fucking okay.

“I’m sorry, Kook,” is the only thing he manages in the end, and Jungkook looks almost
disappointed.

“‘S not enough. We’re not going to be okay unless we go back to how we were before. Enough of
all this—this avoidance shit! I’m so sick of it and you guys are my family and if we don’t fix it
now then in a couple months there’s not going to even be a Bangtan to fix!” Jungkook pushes
himself up from the couch, rubs furiously at his wet cheeks with his sleeves. He’s waiting for
Yoongi to say something good, to promise him that things are actually going to get better, but all
Yoongi can think of is how everything Jungkook said is true, and yet there’s too much guilt in his
heart weighing him down.

He can’t do it. He can’t promise Jungkook anything when he’s still falling.
He can’t fucking do it to the kid.

“Do you even care?” Jungkook spits out in the end. “Do you even want for us to work or are you
happy letting it all fall to pieces?”

His words are like shards of glass, puncturing through existing wounds. Yoongi swallows harshly,
pulls himself up from his own chair so he’s standing as well.

“Of course I fucking care.”

Don’t yell at him! He’s just upset.

“Then don’t hide, hyung,” Jungkook pleads. “Don’t lock yourself away!”

“It’s not that simple, Kook.”

“Yes, it is that simple—”

“No! It’s not!” Yoongi’s yelling and he hates himself for it. He’s turning into his father. “It’s not as
easy as fucking pretending to all be happy! You don’t think I want things to go back to how they
were before? You think I spend all my time in here because I don’t fucking care? Well, maybe I
care too fucking much!”

Jungkook’s eyes are wide. He looks scared, Yoongi realises, the comprehension plunging over his
body like a bucket of ice cold water. You fucking scared him.

“Leave, Jungkook.”

No! Don’t send him away!

“Leave!”

“Hyung—”

“Leave me the fuck alone, Jungkook!”

Jungkook stares at him for another second before his eyes suddenly well with a fresh round of tears
and he turns, storming out of the studio and slamming the door so hard Yoongi’s ears pop from the
compression of air in the small space.

He’s still falling, and this time he cut his own fucking wings off.

But Yoongi’s always prided himself on never giving up. He may not make a huge fanfare of it, but
even if it feels like he’s swimming against a current, Yoongi tries. He finally texts Sejin back and
asks him to reschedule another therapy appointment; he forces himself back to the apartment even
if he skulks in his room the whole time; he even goes to Jungkook and pulls him out for lamb
skewers, just like they always used to do. They don’t talk much but when they’re walking back
home, Jungkook mumbles a gruff ‘thank you’ and both of them know it’s not just for the skewers.

Jungkook’s right with his analysis of the rest of the members and Yoongi can’t help but feel even
guiltier when he’s out of his studio long enough to recognise it properly.

Somewhat surprisingly perhaps, from Yoongi's perspective it seems like Taehyung’s dealing with
everything the best. He’s always been a social person, able to find friends in the unlikeliest places,
but it’s only now that Yoongi realises the extent of Taehyung’s circles. Jungkook’s lamentation
that he hasn’t spoken more than a word to Taehyung seems to be because Taehyung’s never even
home to be able to share more than a second of his time.

Every day he’s out with one of his friends, returning late at night to disappear into his room again
and leaving early enough that Yoongi barely catches a glimpse of him. It seems to be working for
him, helping to take his mind off the dark energy in the apartment, utilising all the support he can
from his endless pool of contacts, and Yoongi can’t even find it in him to feel remotely bitter at
Taehyung’s popularity because he looks the healthiest and happiest out of all of them (which isn’t
saying much, to be honest), and who would Yoongi be to begrudge him that?

Jin seems to have taken it upon himself to become their resident caregiver, tending to their
household needs before they even realise they have needs. It’s like he’s a machine, whirring around
the apartment with either food or mops in hand, dusting the shelves with a level of enthusiasm that
is disconcerting considering the tediousness of the task, finding four million ways to cook soup
when Hoseok mentions on the offhand that he’s not feeling well.

It’s a coping mechanism, that much Yoongi can recognise, but even with this almost impenetrable
mask of responsibility firmly jammed on his head, Yoongi can’t help but notice the dark circles
under Jin’s eyes, and the way he’ll avoid any questions about his own wellbeing. Jin seems to be
doing everything to focus on anyone but himself.

Yoongi hasn’t spoken to Hoseok for at least a solid week.

It’s not even that they’re actively avoiding each other but where Yoongi still spends most of his
time in his studio, Hoseok spends every waking moment in the practice room, constantly dripping
in sweat, face scrunched in focused concentration as he runs through every single dance they’ve
ever performed.

Yoongi sees him one day, flat on his back on the floor, tears streaming down his face to puddle on
the polished wood and the swooping violins of ‘Lie’ swelling through the speakers. Yoongi stands
there and watches their nicknamed 'sunshine' fade into darkness till the last strains of Jimin’s voice
fade out and his own cheeks are tight with drying tears.

He leaves before Hoseok can look around and catch him staring.

Namjoon is the one who seems to be struggling the most. He’s lost enough weight in the past few
weeks to be almost unrecognisable —a worn-down version of himself with too many awkward
hollows in a face that used to be comfortably rounder. He spends all day holed up in his room, only
coming out sometimes to eat or drink something, and when he does, he doesn’t interact with
everyone.

He’s reading thick novels about morality and law, philosophical papers about the existence of
mankind and it’s inevitable destruction — all normal Namjoon reading material but in an absolute
overkill of quantity. To make matters worse, Yoongi’s never been good at talking about feelings so
any attempt to talk to Namjoon about his ‘emotions’ leads to a panicked look and a twenty-minute
discourse about some deep and completely unrelated facet of life.

And Yoongi understands why. He understands Namjoon’s distraction techniques as much as he

understands Hoseok’s, and Jin’s, and Taehyung’s, and he sees it for what it is: a man panicking
with his forced embroilment in something terrible, struggling to come to terms with it.

Namjoon was one of Chang’s victims too. Another plaything in Chang’s games.

But it’s hard to see someone Yoongi’s always admired for their compassion and logic unable to
extend that same forgiveness to themselves. The haunting expression constantly present on
Namjoon’s face is guilt. Pure, raw guilt, awash with shame and self-blame.

Namjoon doesn’t see himself as a victim; he sees himself as a perpetrator.

Like Yoongi said earlier, they’re falling apart.

In some ways, Jungkook is the only thing keeping Yoongi together. The younger man spends
almost all his time following in Yoongi’s shadow, much like he did when he first came to Seoul at
the age of twelve. When Yoongi is in his room, Jungkook will be somewhere in the apartment, but
the moment Yoongi leaves, Jungkook will magically appear. And when Yoongi is in his studio,
Jungkook will knock on the door with some random excuse and end up on Yoongi’s couch for
hours and hours, fiddling on his phone, sometimes sleeping, other times just watching as Yoongi
achieves nothing. They don’t talk much but at least it stops Yoongi from self-destructing
completely.

Keep it together for Jungkook. Be there for Jungkook.

It’s not perfect, and Yoongi knows he’s distracting from the real issues at hand but at least having
Jungkook relying on him eases some of the consistent aching that’s found a permanent home in his
chest.

The therapist he’s basically forced to go visit keeps spouting some bullshit about ‘survivor's guilt’.

“You shouldn’t feel guilty for not having experienced the same traumas as your bandmates,
Yoongi,” the woman tells him, eyeing him over the edges of her spectacles. “You’re a victim too.”

“I’m not a victim,” Yoongi spits back at her. “I didn’t get attacked.”

“But you were abducted against your will, weren’t you?”

“We all were; not just me.”

“You’re all victims, Yoongi.”

Her words make sense in some deep part of Yoongi’s brain but he can’t make them stick.

“I should’ve done more.”

“But what else could you have done? You did all you could given the circumstances.”

“I’m the Hyung, I should’ve done more,” Yoongi repeats. “I didn’t protect Jungkook, I didn’t
protect Namjoon, and I didn’t protect Jimin.”

“You couldn’t.”

“There’s always a way!” Yoongi yells, finding some sort of vindictive pleasure in the way the
therapist jerks back a little. Almost instantly he feels sick with shame. “There’s always a way,” he
says again in a much quieter tone. “If I’d said something more—if I’d put up a fight, then maybe
Jimin wouldn’t have been—“ He swallows it down.

“You need to say it, Yoongi,” the therapist murmurs. “Acknowledge what happened to him and
then you can start to heal.”

“I don’t need to fucking say anything!” He snarls, trying to think through the thrumming in his
temples. “I wasn’t there for him when he needed me.”

“It’s not your guilt to shoulder, Yoongi.”

“He needed me,” Yoongi mutters, physically aching with the guilt in his heart. “And I didn’t help
him.”

Yoongi’s lying on the couch, half-watching some sort of fancy French film Taehyung picked out
earlier, half focusing on Jungkook sketching on the floor. Jungkook’s got his phone out, drawing a
Japanese anime character with surprising accuracy. Well, not so surprising really. Jungkook’s
always been good at everything, even if he’s never done it before, and Yoongi feels that bubble of
pride that exists purely for Jungkook swelling a little more in his chest. He imagines it’s the feeling
a father has for his son; the type of secondhand accomplishment borne from seeing someone grow
up in your care.

Jungkook looks up, sees Yoongi watching and flashes a grin, holding up his sketch pad so Yoongi
can see it a little better.

“What do you think?”

“I think you need to share around your talents a bit, Kook. It’s not fair you have them all,” Yoongi
comments dryly, satisfied when Jungkook chortles with laughter and flops back down on the
carpet. It’s good to see Jungkook laughing again; it makes Yoongi realise it’s been a while since
he’s heard any of them laughing.
 “Food’s here!” Jungkook and Taehyung sing out in unison when the doorbell rings, and Yoongi
groans as he pulls himself off the couch, padding to the doorway and pulling out his card. He’d
promised to buy the two of them jajangmyeon if they came out and watched a movie with him and
they had jumped at the chance at free food, hence the shitty French film and added company in the
living room.

He opens the door without checking who it is, trying to pull his card out from where it’s jammed
itself into a seam in his wallet. Maybe if he’d checked the peephole before swinging the door open
he would’ve been able to do more than just stare, jaw dropped to the floor, absolutely frozen
because standing outside the door is the last person Yoongi expected to see tonight.

“Jimin?”

Chapter End Notes

SO... was that unexpected?

What did you think of this? Why do you think Jimin is back in Seoul so early? I'm
intrigued to read your thoughts!

I try to reply to every comment so don't be afraid to drop one and let me know!

<3 <3 <3

 Talk To Me
Chapter Summary

READ THE WARNINGS IN THE CHAPTER NOTES AT THE START.

Chapter Notes

I'm such a little shit. This chapter is actually one of two parts and I mayyyyyy have left
you guys on a huge cliffhanger.

I'M SORRY.

Welp, y'all are going to be coming for my ass!

Anyway, here's a new chapter for all my beautiful readers. I'm so blessed and thankful
for almost 12,000 hits on this story, and for every one of you that has commented,
given kudos, bookmarked, or subscribed.

I purple you!

WARNINGS: This chapter deals with thoughts and feelings that fit under the
implied/referenced eating disorder tag. It's not that Jimin is intentionally not eating/not
wanting to. It's not about weight or body insecurity or anything directly related to his
body. It's a side-effect of Jimin's starvation with Chang, and it's a manifestation of his
depressive mindset.

Please keep yourself safe and if you feel that this is something you do not wish to read,
you can skim down and start reading again when it says,

"I'm going back to my room for a bit, Eomma."

Stay safe, y'all!

<3 <3 <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“Good morning, honey! Did you sleep well?” Jimin looks at his mother’s expectant smile and
forces a smile onto his own face, nodding as he slides onto one of the bar stools around the island
in their kitchen.

“I slept great.” He didn’t; he barely slept at all. Kept awake by nightmares of Chang’s hands
wrapping around his neck, he’d woken up with a strangled scream catching in his throat and his
own fingers scrabbling at the raw wound etched into his skin.

Jimin had spent the rest of the night dozing on the floor of his room, one hand wrapped around the
leg of the bed.

“That’s good!” Jimin’s mother almost squeals, looking positively overjoyed, and Jimin pretends
not to notice her red-rimmed eyes and tremulous smile, choosing instead to look at his fingers and
pick at the loose bits of skin around his nails.

There’s an awkward silence, Jimin’s mother standing on the other side of the island just staring at
him before the tension becomes overwhelming and Jimin looks up. It seems to startle her out of
some sort of daze and she flushes pink, turning away to rush over to the stove.

“I made you porridge for breakfast,” she says, beaming at Jimin with another thousand-watt smile.
Jimin murmurs a ‘thank you’, trying not to focus on the nausea nestling in his stomach at the
thought of eating. It’s just not what he feels like doing right now and even the thought of choking
down an entire bowl of his mother’s porridge seems like an impossible task. But there’s not much
he can do when she slides a bowl in front of him, dried currants arranged on top to look like a
smiley face. He looks at it for a moment, watching as the currants start sinking into the steaming
surface of the porridge until the smiley suddenly looks more like a pained grimace.

“Thanks, Eomma,” he manages, shooting her what he hopes is a grateful smile.

“That’s okay, honey. You need good food now you're not—” Her lips press together, her eyes
suddenly glistening with tears and Jimin doesn’t have to be a mind reader to know what she’s
thinking about.

“I’m fine, Eomma,” he mumbles, quickly spooning some porridge into his mouth to stop her from
worrying. “I can eat lots of your food now.”

Now that you’re not with Chang.

What was one of his favourite childhood memories tastes like mud in Jimin’s mouth. He has
to concentrate just to get his jaw to chew and swallow, chew and swallow. Each bite settles like a
lump of concrete in Jimin’s stomach.

But the satisfied look on his mother’s face is enough to get Jimin to lift the spoon to his mouth
again and again and again until he’s scraping the bottom of the bowl, taking a deep breath to find
the energy to push the final mouthful past his lips.

“I’m going back to my room for a bit, Eomma,” he says when he’s finished, rinsing his bowl and
placing it in the dishwasher, conscious of her eyes burning into the back of his head.

“Oh… do you—is there anything you want?” She sounds so hesitant, so unsure of herself, and
Jimin avoids her gaze as he points at the stairs and fiddles with the strings of his hoodie.

“I’ll just, um, hang out on my own for a bit… if that’s okay?”

“Of course!” It’s unconvincing but Jimin barely notices as he heads for the stairs, only able to
breathe properly for what feels like the first time in hours once there’s a door between him and the
house and he’s on his own.

He flops back down on his bed and stares at the ceiling, nose crinkling as he looks over the TVXQ
posters plastered to his ceiling from when he was a teenager with stars in his eyes, desperate to
make it in the music industry. They’re peeling around the edges, the tape stained brown with age,
and it takes barely any effort for Jimin to stand on his bed on his tiptoes to pull them off. The
posters are old; they don’t represent who he is anymore. Still, the little child inside of him can’t
help but smooth his fingers over the faces of the members, their intense expressions
still effortlessly cool after so many years.

It’s odd to remember his younger self so in awe of the popular singers in the industry at the time.

If only you knew what would happen.

All of a sudden, the urge to get out overwhelms him, and Jimin finds himself headed for the door,
taking the stairs two at a time just to appease the claustrophobic feeling pressing on his lungs.

“I’m going for a walk,” he calls out to his mother as he grabs a coat and scarf on the way out. He
feels only slightly guilty when she looks up with a startled expression as he slips on his shoes,
eyebrows furrowing together in obvious concern and mouth opening to say something just as Jimin
slams the door shut behind him.

He slips his arms through the sleeves of the coat as he walks, winding the scarf to cover the mark
on his neck, and masking the lower part of his face in case someone recognizes him. He doesn’t
even think about where he’s walking, feet automatically carrying him in the direction of the beach.

Jimin has spent an accumulative time that probably adds to years on the beach in Busan. His family
home is only a short walk from the shoreline and most of his childhood was spent playing in the
soft sand and swimming in the ocean. It’s winter now, freezing air making Jimin’s cheeks sting as
he quickens his pace. In only a few minutes his shoes are sinking into soft sand and he’s greeted
with a view of the sea.
It’s one of those days where the sky is a flat ceiling of cloud, pressing down closely on the earth,
and Jimin’s claustrophobia is only appeased by the wide expanse of ocean in front of him. It’s the
colour of slate, broken up by white caps as the wind whips over the surface, reflecting the grey
colour of the sky. The beach is utterly deserted.

He doesn’t stop right away. Instead, he keeps walking along the sand, pulling his coat closer
around his body to stop the wind from cutting straight to the bone. Only once he’s a suitable
distance away from the entrance to the beach where he's less likely to be disturbed does he allow
himself to sink to the ground. The sand is icy underneath him, the cold immediately seeping into
his bones as he sits there, but Jimin doesn’t care.

It’s a chance to breathe. Not a soul in sight, just the vast ocean in front of him and an empty stretch
of sand extending into either side of his periphery.

It’s intensely calming but there’s also something about the sea that evokes a feeling of such
emptiness. As much as it lets him breathe, there’s a hollow in Jimin’s chest that only seems to
increase as he sucks in deep lungfuls of salty air.

Like everything seems to do now, his memories of the sea, memories of his childhood here in
Busan, they only make the stark contrast between who he was a month ago and who he is now feel
that much more isolating. He’s emerged from the entire ordeal as a completely different person, yet
the other life still belongs to him.

Just like a square peg in a round hole — it doesn’t fit.

The longer Jimin sits there, the more intense the hollow feeling in his chest becomes till it’s
consuming his whole being and he has to grit his teeth together to keep himself from falling apart.
He pulls his scarf down completely and feels the way the winter air bites at his skin. He needs
something to focus on, something to distract him from the loneliness threatening to overwhelm
him, and Jimin forces his brain to latch onto the coldness of his skin instead of the coldness in his
heart.

The thing about the inevitable is that there's no stopping it and Jimin only realises he’s crying
when he can’t separate the tang of salt left by the wind from the saltiness of the tears running down
his cheeks and into his mouth.

He’s so fucking hollow.

Every second it seems another part of him is lost; like the dead leaves on a tree, the irrelevant,
destroyed parts of Jimin are carried away by the sea winds to be scattered over the waves. He can’t
get them back, no matter how much he may want to go back to who he was before. But whereas it
may be healthy for a tree to be cleansed of its dead leaves, Jimin is only left feeling like a shell of
his former self.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, unable to drag his eyes away from the ocean. Even as the
wind snatches his tears right off his cheeks Jimin doesn't look away from the wide expanse of
water in front of him, crying for all the times he’d sat on this very beach without knowing the
circumstances under which he’d return.

By the time Jimin can even think to move, he finds it almost impossible. The onslaught of freezing
winds has made all his muscles cramp up and it takes him a full minute to find the energy to stand
up.

‘You’re malnourished,’ Dr Jung’s voice echoes in his head. ‘You need to eat 5 to 6 small meals a
day to bring you back up to a normal weight which will give you the energy to function to your
highest capacity.’

His legs are shaking with the effort of standing up and he sways slightly before he regains a
slightly more balanced footing in the sand. The walk back to his house shouldn’t take long but
Jimin seems to have lost all energy just from sitting outside in the winter cold. Not his smartest
move, he decides as he stumbles up to his front door, teeth chattering together as his body has
realised exactly how frozen he really is.

He makes it less than a metre inside the door before his mother is flying towards him, tear tracks
streaked down her cheeks and eyes desperately flicking over his body like she’s checking for
injuries. She’s obviously been crying heavily.

“Jimin! We were about to phone the police! I had no idea where you were and you just left and you
didn’t even bring your phone. ” Her arms wrap around Jimin’s shoulders and she pulls him close to
her and it should be nice but all Jimin can feel is shock.

“I just—I just went for a walk,” he mumbles in confusion, and his mother draws back to stare at
him.

“But—but darling, you were gone for four hours! Where did you go?”
“I went to the beach.” Four hours? He hadn’t even realised it had been that long.

“Oh—you’re so cold! Your fingernails!” She shrieks, grabbing at his hands in near hysterics.
Jimin’s fingernails are purple-blue, tingeing on a sick grey. “You should’ve worn gloves—come
and sit by the fire and I’ll get you some warm clothes—No, don’t take your jacket off!”
And that’s how Jimin finds himself bundled up on a chair next to the fire, skin aching
uncomfortably as it warms up far too quickly, wrapped up in too many clothes and scarfs till he
may as well pretend to be a laundry hamper. His mother keeps chatting away about how worried
she was, about how she’d phoned his father at his work in case Jimin had gone to his offices for
some strange reason.

“I’m calling your father right now to tell him you’re safe, okay?” She babbles, running off to find
her phone. “You stay right there, alright honey?” Jimin nods dazedly, not exactly going to protest
after seeing how hysterical his mother has become after not hearing from him for a few hours.

It’s not normal to disappear for four hours, he tells himself. You’re not normal. But the problem is,
had this happened a few months earlier, his mother probably wouldn’t even have noticed. Not that
she wouldn’t care but she’d trust him to be safe, to behave like an adult and be able to look after
himself.

It’s different now.

The days pass slowly when Jimin is at home. He doesn’t leave the house much after that first day,
spending most of his time in his room even if deep down he aches for company, staring at the
ceiling for hours because he can’t find the energy to do anything else. BigHit sends his phone in
the mail and Jimin pulls it out of the envelope but doesn’t switch it on. He wonders if they’d had
their phones on the night of their kidnapping, would they have been rescued earlier through some
sort of location tracker? But they hadn’t had them, all of their phones in their manager’s backpack
because that’s what they always did during a concert as a method to prevent them from being
misplaced in all the backstage chaos.

He doesn’t feel any desire to see what had happened in the world during their absence. It’ll only
make everything feel more real.

His parents tell him how BigHit had regularly released pre-recorded content to prevent their fans
from getting suspicious about their absence, even going so far as to post on their twitter with
unseen selfies sent in by each of their families.

“Have you heard from the others?” Jimin’s mother asks him after his first week at home. “How are
they doing?”

“I’m not sure,” Jimin mumbles, stirring his soup and watching the droplets of oil on the surface
shimmer.

“Have you talked to them?” His mother presses and Jimin shakes his head.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I’m sure there is,” Jimin’s mother protests, scrunching her eyebrows in confusion. “They’re your
best friends.”

Maybe she’s right.

Maybe there is something to talk about.

Maybe Jimin should tell them how he feels like he’s drowning every time he looks in the mirror
and sees the remaining bruises still staining his skin, how the scabs on his throat feel like a noose.

Maybe he should tell them he can’t even find the energy to get out of bed in the morning and the
only reason he manages is because he doesn’t want his parents to worry even more than they
already do.

Maybe he should tell them he’s barely sleeping at night and the only time he does is when he’s on
the floor, curled next to his bed.

Maybe he should tell them how he’s cried through two consecutive therapy sessions because
they’re peeling his brain apart, and all he wants to do is hide from the world and never emerge
again.

Maybe he should tell them he doesn’t think he can be an idol anymore.

Maybe he should tell them he’s sorry.

“Please, Jimin? Just check your messages. I’m sure they’re worried about you too.” She sounds so
pleading, so desperate that Jimin can’t find it in himself to argue.

“I’ll check, Eomma.”

He does so a few hours later, the phone feeling weird in his hand after so long without it.
Predictably, there are about a million texts from Taehyung, each more persistent than the last,
although there's none from anyone else. Not that Jimin can complain —he hasn't exactly done a
good job of the whole 'contact' thing himself.
Jimin! I got my phone back! Did you get yours? Are you home too?

Don’t answer that actually. I know you’re home.

How are you doing, Jimin? Hope you’re okay.

Jimin?

I'm worried about you. I went through my phone today and I found all those selfies you took.
I never even knew about them!

Are you getting these?

My mum said to say ‘hello’ and that she’s thinking of you.

Jimin? Maybe you have your phone turned off.

Today I went to that cafe we went to together last time you were in Geochang with me.
Remember the one with the massive hot chocolates? We should do that again.

Jimin?

So many more messages, so many purple hearts. His phone suddenly vibrates in his hand, and
Jimin sees a new message pop up. He’s too slow to click out of it before he reads it.

I’m going back to Seoul soon, I think.

Jimin? You’re reading these? Finally!

Jimin chews on his lip, watches as Taehyung’s icon shows the ‘writing’ symbol.
How’s home?

Jimin?

I can see you’ve seen this so why aren’t you answering?

I mean, it’s okay. You don’t have to.

I get it.

But

I’ve missed you.

It’s not the same anymore.

Have you talked to the others?

Jimin?

Jimin clicks out of the chat and turns his phone off. His throat feels full, like he’s being choked. He
throws his phone on the floor and ignores the way it keeps buzzing against the carpet.

He can’t do this right now.

Jimin’s parents are treating him like he’s made of glass. It’s not entirely unexpected —not really—
but it does nothing for Jimin’s whole ‘wanting to forget this whole thing’ mood.

His mother is overbearing with her concern, constantly checking up on him, feeding him more than
he ever thought he could eat, taking any chance she can to touch his arm or pet his hair, almost like
she thinks he’s going to disappear and holding him will prevent that.

Jimin’s father has taken a different approach entirely. It’s like he can’t even look at Jimin without
this odd, uncomfortable expression appearing on his face. Every time Jimin so much as makes eye
contact with him, his father will look away as if he’s been caught staring at a stranger. And maybe
that’s the root of the problem —he’s uncomfortable with Jimin in the same way you’re
uncomfortable with someone you don’t know.

Then again, Jimin’s relationship with his father has never been the strongest. His whole childhood
had been a series of fights between the two of them. One after another, everything Jimin did
became a contentious point but none more so than his love of dance. He’d never been as much into
sports as his father, at least, not the sports that other boys his age were interested. Instead of
football, Jimin had fallen in love with dancing after a local troupe had performed at his school
when he was seven, and from thereon the biggest sore point for his father was Jimin’s unrivalled
passion with the subject. By the time he was eight, Jimin had convinced his mother to let him start
dance classes, and she’d persuaded his father on the condition Jimin didn’t take ballet classes as
he’d originally wanted since that was too girly . He’d chosen to take contemporary and hip-hop
instead. It seemed like a small price to pay at the time when all Jimin wanted to do was learn how
to move his body to a beat, and even his father’s frowning disapproval could do little to stifle
Jimin’s enthusiasm.

His first dance recital Jimin was given one of the lead roles and he’d run home with the news to tell
his parents. His mother had cooked his favourite meal and they’d waited together, Jimin glowing
with pride, to tell his father when he came home from work. Finally, this would prove to his father
that Jimin’s dance classes were something worthy of his father’s approval, and Jimin had barely
been able to contain his excitement as he’d run to greet his father as he’d come in the door, waving
the teacher’s letter she’d written to inform his parents filled with praise of Jimin’s skill at such a
young age.

“I got a lead role, Appa! I’m a water nymph and I get my own solo and—”

“Not now, Jimin.”

“But—but I’m the lead, Appa! My teacher said I’m— ”

“Not now, I said! Don’t be disrespectful!” His father had yelled at him right there in the hallway,
and Jimin’s excitement had been squashed in an instant. His mother had come out then as well,
frowning as she asked what the problem was.

“Children should be seen and not heard,” his father had snapped, and Jimin’s mother had looked
over at Jimin’s eyes sparkling with tears, her own eyes filling with sadness.

“He did well. You should be proud of him,” she said reproachfully, but then she was helping her
husband out of his jacket, smoothing his tie with gentle hands, and they hadn’t spoken of the
subject around him again.

(Jimin still has the letter somewhere in an old shoebox filled with certificates and photos from his
dancing.)

Even if his father’s initial reaction was disappointing, Jimin had thought the sight of two tickets to
the recital would maybe evoke some enthusiasm, especially because his face was one of the few
printed on the little slips of paper.

“I got you tickets to my recital,” he’d told his parents over dinner, sliding the envelope across the
table. His mother had cooed as she pulled them out, gasping proudly as she pointed at his face and
showed it to his father.

“Darling! How amazing! Don’t you think?” She’d asked his father, nudging him with her elbow.

“Well done,” Jimin’s father had muttered but to Jimin’s naive ears it was genuine approval, and his
chest had filled with happiness.

“You’ll come and watch, won’t you?”

“Of course we will!” His mother said, reaching over to place another sausage in Jimin’s bowl.
“We’re so incredibly proud of you, sweetheart!”

The night of the recital, Jimin had his face painted in an assortment of brilliant blues and whites to
represent the water nymph he was playing. He’d danced across the stage with the knowledge his
parents were in the audience, and every leap was higher than ever before, every expression that
much more passionate. Finally, his parents would see why he loved dancing, why it filled him with
a feeling of joy he’d never experienced with anything else.

He’d hunted for his parents in the audience when they’d been taking their final bows, eyes
straining to see past the bright lights of the stage, and even if he couldn’t see them then, the joy
hadn’t left him. He was still floating on a cloud as he made his way backstage with the thundering
applause still ringing in his ears, smile stretching from ear to ear when he saw his mother waiting
outside the dressing room with a bouquet of flowers in her arms.

“Well done, Jimin! That was absolutely amazing, honey!” She’d wrapped him up in her arms and
pressed the flowers to his chest. “Here you go, just like a professional!” She’d said.

“You liked it, Eomma?” He’d asked her, and she’d nodded enthusiastically.

“I loved it, baby! You did so well and Eomma’s so proud of you!”

“Where’s Appa? Did he go to the toilet?” Jimin had asked her, eyes searching the backstage area
for his father’s figure. But when he’d looked back to his mother, her eyes were sad and she'd
pressed her lips together into a thin line.

“He couldn’t make it, honey. They had a work meeting that ran overtime.”

“He didn’t see—He’s not here?”

“He’ll come and see the next one, Jimin. He wanted to come, you know that!” Her words did
nothing to soothe the ache in Jimin’s chest as he searched desperately for his father, even now he
knew he wasn’t here. It stung more than anything else he’d ever experienced in his short life.

That was the night Jimin found out stage make-up wasn’t waterproof, the blues and whites melted
together with the heat of his disappointed tears till Jimin’s face was streaked in greys and the last
faint swipes of turquoise.

Despite his mother’s best promises, his father had never come to one of Jimin’s dance recitals and
he’d gotten used to the last minute excuses leaving him disappointed every single time. Finally, he
started buying only a single ticket, giving it just to his mother and looking away when she cried.

Jimin was accepted into the Seoul Arts Academy when he was fourteen. The only thing that had
stopped his father from tearing his acceptance letter into minuscule pieces and letting them fly off
on the wind was Jimin’s status as class president and first in his class for his studies. And maybe
the fact that the school was in Seoul where Jimin’s father was sure he’d fail and come running back
to Busan. It’s the only time Jimin had ever won an argument concerning dance.

His mother had sent him off with a thousand hugs and sobbing pleas to ‘keep in touch’, his father
with a gruff pat on the back. As much as he disapproved of Jimin’s choices, there was no mistaking
the glint of tears in his eyes and it had softened some of the bitterness in Jimin’s heart. His father
acted out of concern for Jimin’s future —that’s what he always reminded himself. Dancing is
unconventional for his traditional mindset.

When Jimin auditioned and was accepted for BigHit Entertainment at the suggestion of a teacher,
Jimin’s father took time off work and drove down to Seoul, turning up outside Jimin’s classroom
with a single shiny balloon printed with the word ‘congratulations’. For others, it may have felt
minimal but for Jimin it meant the world. His father had come to terms that dance and music was
Jimin’s life, and this was the proof.

In many ways, their relationship had matured over the years, and although Jimin’s father still
wasn’t necessarily proud of Jimin’s career, and he still voiced constant disapproval, most of the
time it felt more like lip service, like something Jimin’s father felt he had to say as others
disapproved. It didn’t make it hurt any less but Jimin had learnt to deal with it, knowing not to
spend too much of his energy trying to persuade his father he’d made the right choice. The
important thing was that he sent his parents tickets to their concerts in Korea, and for the first time
in his life, Jimin wasn’t disappointed when he came into the dressing room and saw both of his
parents waiting for him instead of just his mother.

But now his father doesn’t even treat him like a son of who’s career he disapproves —he treats
Jimin as if he’s a complete stranger.

It wasn’t even that obvious, to begin with. Jimin’s father has never been a hugely affectionate
person but anytime he touches Jimin now he gets this wary expression on his face as if Jimin’s
somehow going to shatter into a thousand pieces. In the same thread, he was never a particularly
talkative person but now Jimin can go whole days without hearing a single word from his father
that isn’t a reply to something Jimin asked him. Not only is it disconcerting, it’s confusing. It’s
hurtful.

“I’m still the same person, Appa,” Jimin mumbles to him after almost two weeks of this has
passed. They’re stacking firewood against the side of the house and Jimin’s father won’t even look
at him, snatching his hand back when they brush together.

“I know,” his father snaps, and Jimin flinches, feeling the little bubble of hurt in his chest swell
even more, but he can’t let this go.

“Just—you’re acting weird since I’m home.” His father stiffens, eyes flicking over to Jimin as his
eyebrows knit together. But when Jimin looks at him, his father looks away just as quickly.

“You’re imagining things,” he says, clearing his throat and slamming another log on top of the
stack with unnecessary force.

“I’m not —Appa, you don’t even talk to me anymore.”

“We’re talking now, aren’t we?” His tone is harsh and Jimin stops his log-stacking to straighten
up.

“That’s not what I mean. You don’t talk to me like I’m your son!” His father straightens up then as
well, pulling his gloves off and throwing them down on the ground.

“Don’t be disrespectful.”

“Then stop treating me like a—a stranger! Like you don’t know me!”

“Do not speak to me like that!” Jimin’s father yells, and Jimin is forced to take a step backwards as
the aggressive tension drops like a solid weight in between them.

“Actually speak to me then!” He screams back, but his father is storming back into the house, door
slamming loudly, and Jimin is left there outside in the cold, the hurt inside of him taking over his
whole being till he thinks he’s going to crack in half.
Jimin reaches breaking point about three weeks after coming home. He’s so fucking lost.

Get it together.

He’s slumped in the bathroom after one of his twice-weekly therapy sessions. The door is locked
and Jimin is on the floor. He’s crying again.

I’m so fucking sick of crying. STOP CRYING!

Jimin hates the therapy sessions more than he hates anything else that has resulted from everything
Chang has done to him. He can deal with his father’s frigid behaviour; he can deal with his
mother’s constant hovering; he can deal with the overwhelming loneliness and the sleepless nights;
he can’t deal with having to rehash everything that has happened to him.

It’s not part of Jimin’s plan on getting better. He’s meant to sweep everything under the carpet and
then nail the carpet to the floor so it can’t be peeled up again, so he doesn’t have to think about it
ever again. But that’s not how therapy works and as much as Jimin despises talking about it, the
therapist, Yoona, basically forces him to face it head-on.

It’s the most vindictive of all the remaining tendrils of Chang’s influence and he hates it.

This time, Jimin can’t do it anymore. She’d asked him about the members, about how he felt
knowing they’d seen at least some of what Chang had done to him, and then she’d discussed how
they could make ‘strategies’ to help Jimin ‘deal with these turbulent emotions of shame and
insecurity’ so he can refocus his career.

It's fucking bullshit.

It’s the worst thing to think about and it only makes Jimin realise he’s not prepared to go back to
being Park Jimin of BTS. He’s not prepared to stand on a stage (he doesn’t think he wants to stand
on a stage) and he doesn’t think he’s ever going to be able to regain the Jimin from before their
kidnapping. That Jimin, the dancer and singer, the idol —he can’t do it.
 He manages to stop crying long enough to slip back to his own room, shutting the door behind him
as he tries to find his phone. It’s on the dresser. He hasn’t replied to any of Taehyung’s messages
and now it sits silently, a reminder of how disconnected Jimin is. He grabs it, hands shaking as he
tries to find the number he needs.

Once he's found it, Jimin sinks down to the carpet, leaning his back against the wall as he listens to
it ring once, twice, three times before his call is picked up.

“Jimin? Is this actually you?”

“Bang PD,” Jimin manages to get out, trying not to let his voice shake as he's hit with such a strong
wave of nostalgia it leaves his head spinning.

“I really wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon. How are you, Jimin?” Bang PD’s voice filters
through the phone and Jimin can picture his kindly face, lined with concern and probably
confusion. But he’s not calling to have a chat with Bang PD about pleasantries and he scrubs at his
face, resting his head against the wall and letting his eyes close. He feels sick to his stomach.

“I’m calling because,” Jimin swallows, “ because I want to terminate my contract with BigHit. I
want to leave Bangtan.”

Chapter End Notes

What did you think? I'm actually really guilty about that cliffhanger!

Thank you for reading and thank you to all of you who comment! It's such a
motivation and I love reading your reactions!

<3 <3 <3

 Not This Time
Chapter Summary

“Jimin, your father didn’t mean it like that,” his mother pleads, and Jimin turns to stare
at her.

“Don’t defend him anymore, Eomma. It’s not going to work this time.”

“I meant what I said,” his father hisses, and Jimin doesn’t even recognize this man
glaring at him with such hatred

Chapter Notes

To all you beautiful readers!

Thank you so much for waiting so patiently! I offer you almost seven thousand words
to make up for my absence.

This is a really important chapter in the story because it sets into motion some of the
key ideas in the plot and it fills in a significant gap in time from Jimin's perspective. I
had some creative license with how the justice system works, don't mind me.
Hopefully, you all like it!

IMPORTANT — I know my update schedule is pretty random but it will be slowing

down somewhat as I start back at school. Maybe this is TMI but I struggle with coping
with stress and last year a particularly stressful time ended with me self-harming so,
although writing is therapeutic for me in that it relaxes me, I can't go adding too much
stress to my year.

Please understand that the next few updates are going to take longer to be delivered to
you for this reason.

Anyway, thank you all so much for being a part of this journey. This story has over
13,000 hits which is just INSANE to me, and I'm so incredibly thankful for every one
of your subscriptions, comments, and kudos!

Enjoy this chapter...

WARNINGS: DESCRIPTIONS OF RAPE, HOMOPHOBIA, SORT-OF

DISSOCIATION
See the end of the chapter for more notes

Some small part of Jimin regrets the words almost as soon as they come out of his mouth.

I don’t want to leave! I don’t want to—I can't stay. I can't stay—

“That’s—Jimin—why do you—” Bang PD’s obviously struggling to find words and he seems to
take a moment to think, the silence almost as loud in Jimin’s ear. There’s a firm exhale, a rustling
noise, but then Bang PD says something Jimin had not anticipated.

“I can’t let you do that, Jimin.”

Jimin sits there, frozen against the wall, the phone slack in his grip.

“You can’t—you can’t make me stay. You can’t make me sing and dance for you.” Jimin
swallows harshly. “I’m not a puppet.”

“I’m not going to make you sing and dance, Jimin.” Bang PD sounds so sad. “But I’m also not
going to let you make a rash decision so recently after everything has happened. I’m not going to
terminate your contract.”

“I can’t perform anymore. I can’t!” Jimin’s almost panicking, breaths coming quick and short in
between each of his words.

“Why do you want to terminate your contract, Jimin?” Bang PD asks quietly, but he may as well be
yelling in Jimin’s ears. “You have time. You don’t have to come back till you’re completely healed
up and rested.”

I don’t want to leave but...but I have to.

“I can’t do it. I can’t do it after—I don’t—I can’t. Don’t make me! ” He’s practically begging,
pleading with Bang PD to understand.

“I’m not going to make you do anything—”

“I can’t be in Bangtan anymore. I just can’t.” Jimin’s chest is heaving with the effort of not
crumbling into pieces.

I can’t do this.
“Jimin, I promised you at your debut that if any of you ever wanted to leave, I would let you go,
but I cannot let you terminate your contract because of something like this.” Bang PD sounds firm
even as Jimin hears the concern seeping into his tone. He’s going to be sick.

You can’t me stay!

“When you’ve had time to rest at home, you can come back to Seoul and we’ll discuss this, okay?”

“You can’t make me—isn’t this illegal?”

“It’s not illegal, Jimin,” Bang PD murmurs. “You’re in a legally binding contract.”

It sinks in then. Jimin can’t terminate his contract without Bang PD’s consent or a lengthy court
case.

I’m trapped.

He doesn’t know when he started crying again but the next thing he registers is the choked sobs
spilling out of his mouth, and he jams a hand over his lips to try and keep them in. It doesn’t work
and Bang PD is saying stuff that Jimin can’t understand through the white noise in his head so he
presses the button to end the call.

I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this!

At some point the phone drops out of his hand to fall with a muffled thump on the carpet but Jimin
doesn’t even notice. He’d not really thought this through, hadn’t planned what he was going to say
to Bang PD, but he certainly had not expected a refusal.

It hadn’t even crossed his mind that Bang PD would be able to say no.

Deep down Jimin knows the refusal isn’t done out of some cruel desire to break Jimin further.
Bang PD sees them as his sons; there’s no evil intention there. But he can hardly breathe at the
thought of standing on stage, having to put on a smile for all their fans, singing and dancing as if
nothing has changed, as if Jimin isn’t absolutely disgusted by himself. And he hates himself for it
—hates that Chang has ruined such a huge part of his life and that even though Jimin is aware of it,
he can’t find the strength to stop his own spiralling descent.

Because that’s what it is.

Jimin is falling faster than he’s ever fallen before, hurtling towards the ground at a million miles
an hour, speed increasing with every nightmare, every flashback, every phantom touch of Chang’s
hands on his body. Every time he looks in the mirror he drops another hundred metres, every time
his father looks at him with those cold eyes he drops yet again, and every time his mother watches
him with such concern as if he’s a broken marionette, strings about to snap —Jimin swears he
thinks he’ll shatter right there and then.

How could he ever think about performing again when just living is catapulting him into a dark pit
of Chang’s making?

But even if performing on a stage seems impossible, Jimin is nothing if not a born performer and
that evening he scrubs the residual tears off his face, picks up his phone off the floor and reads the
texts Bang PD sent him after ending the call.

I’m so sorry, Jimin. We will discuss your contract upon

your return to Seoul but please know that I want nothing

but the best for you. This is not a refusal but I cannot

terminate your contract under these circumstances.

Please rest, recover, and spend time with your family.

I wanted to speak to you about the next steps for

Bangtan but I will just outline that briefly in text.

We will continue to release old content until the

point of your return in a few months. The fans have

been told you are all busy working on a new album

but this is only to stop any media attention for a

period of time at least.

I care about you all first and foremost and we are

going to figure out how to help you all recover

in the best way possible. If you need anything,

please make contact and I will do my best to

make it happen.
I’m sorry I cannot terminate your contract

as you wish, Jimin.

I hope you understand.

Jimin reads the texts again but it only succeeds in making the helplessness in his heart increase.

I can’t do this.

“Get it together,” he grits out, switching his phone off so he doesn’t even have to look at the texts
anymore.

They speak of a future; they speak of Bangtan; they speak of hope, and Jimin’s never felt so far
away from hope as he does now.

He makes his way down to dinner with a hollow heart, brushing off his mother’s worried questions
about his tear-stained face with poorly-formed excuses, forcing himself to smile and pretend
everything’s okay even when it’s not.

He doesn’t tell them he tried to terminate his contract. He has to pretend to be okay.

This is one performance Jimin will not fail although he may as well have an audience of one. His
father doesn’t look at him the entire meal, only speaking to Jimin as he’s standing up to leave.

“The Seoul police inspector phoned. They’re coming here next week.” Jimin’s eyes snap up to his
father’s.

“How—why—they’re coming here?” His father nods, turning away to bring his plate to the
kitchen.

“They’re coming to discuss the case against your kidnappers.” He sniffs distastefully and Jimin
shrinks a little further into his seat. Oh.
“Didn’t they already speak to you, honey?” Jimin’s mother frets, hand gripping onto Jimin’s wrist.

“Y-yeah. In the—in the hospital.” Why are they coming to speak with him again?

“You shouldn’t have to go over it again!” Jimin’s mother says indignantly, frowning as she pets
Jimin’s arm. “My baby — It’s cruel!”

“It’s fine, Eomma,” Jimin mumbles. “It’s not a big deal.” It is a big deal. “They’re just trying to
get Cha—them convicted quickly.” He keeps scooping rice into his mouth, ignoring the way his
hands are shaking. He hasn't told them anything about Chang; the only information they know is
what the hospital had told them.

“Well, I still think it’s mean,” Jimin’s mother murmurs. “You shouldn’t have to.” Jimin sighs,
suddenly so incredibly done with this conversation.

“It’s fine, Eomma,” he repeats. “They’re the police; they can do what they want.”

“But—”

“I’m going to bed,” he interrupts, guilt slithering in his gut at his mother’s crestfallen expression.

“It’s only seven.”

“I know, Eomma. Goodnight,” Jimin says, shooting her what he hopes is a smile and not a
grimace, and kissing her cheek to shut up her protests. It works, and he’s out of the room before she
can even open her mouth to say anything more.

The police arrive just after one o’clock on the day of their meeting. There’s three of them —one
chief inspector and two officers carrying official briefcases with the crest of the Seoul Police
Department emblazoned on the side. They shake hands with Jimin and then Jimin’s parents
standing behind him. The Inspector introduces himself as Inspector Lee, the two officers as Officer
Park and Officer Shin, and they ask to sit down at the kitchen table.

“These are your parents?” Inspector Lee asks, and Jimin nods, rubbing his clammy hands on the
side of his jeans to wipe off some of the nervous sweat. “I’m assuming your parents will be there to
support you through the ensuing court proceedings?” Jimin swallows, glances over at where his
parents are standing together.

“I think—I guess so?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question but it does. Inspector Lee
doesn’t seem to notice, nodding at Jimin’s answer.

“We would recommend they remain a part of this discussion then, as we are discussing more of the
legal aspects of the case.”

“Oh.” Jimin doesn’t want his parents here but he’s too scared to disagree. “That’s… that’s fine.”

“Great,” Inspector Lee says, pulling out a chair and settling down with a stack of papers. “Let us
begin.”
Jimin doesn’t think he’s been this uncomfortable for a long time. The conversation starts off okay,
Inspector Lee just sliding the stack of papers in his hands over to Jimin.

“This is a transcribed copy of your statement after your release. You will need to read over it to
make sure you are happy with it’s accuracy and anything else you wish to add can be written on the
extra pages provided at the end. Once you’re finished, you have to sign it and send it to the address
marked on the envelope.” Inspector Lee pushes an A4 envelope over the table as well, and Jimin
picks it up to place it on top of the stack, covering up the thousands of words underneath. He
doesn’t want to read it.

Inspector Lee leans forward, hands knitting together as he looks over the table at Jimin and his
parents on Jimin’s left.

“The initial investigation has uncovered that the suspected ringleader, Park Chang, had gang
affiliations that allowed the operation to become as big as it did. You said in your initial statement
you think there were up to twenty men at one point?” There’s a pause as Jimin tries to stop the
static in his head from overtaking his ability to speak.

Park Chang. Not just Chang. Park Chang.

It makes it more real in a way, and almost morbidly amusing they happen to share the same
surname.

“Jimin?” They’re all waiting for him to answer and Jimin clears his throat.

“Sorry, um, what was—what was the question?”

“You recall up to twenty men at one point, correct?” Inspector Lee doesn’t seem to mind Jimin’s
hesitation.

“I think so… there were a lot of them at the start but also new ones later on.”

“There are twenty-three suspects in custody but not all of them can necessarily be convicted,
depending on their involvement in the kidnapping and subsequent crimes.” Inspector Lee holds a
hand out and Officer Shin places another stack of papers in his hand. “The majority of the suspects
would likely take a plea deal which would see them incarcerated for approximately 5-10 years,
maybe less, maybe more, again depending on their involvement as described by your testimony
and the statements from the other six hostages.” He glances up at Jimin, eyebrows knitting
together. “You spoke of Park Chang being your primary abuser?”

“Yes,” Jimin murmurs, clenching his fingers under the table, hyper aware of his parents shifting
next to him.

Inspector Lee clears his throat, scanning over the document in front of him.

“You should be made aware, a case of such a scale cannot be kept out of the eye of the media, even
considering your celebrity status—” Jimin sinks even further into his seat “—and although some
details may be able to be kept under wraps, the majority will end up released.”
“There’s no way of keeping it private?” Jimin’s mother interjects from the side. Inspector Lee
shakes his head apologetically, and Jimin dies a little more inside.

“Even...?” He can’t finish but Inspector Lee shakes his head again, obviously understanding
Jimin’s unspoken words.

“That is undetermined as of yet but it is likely to not be kept private in a case such as this.” At his
words, Jimin swallows, trying to quell the rising tide of panic in his chest.

The fans. They’re all going to know. They’re all going to know how fucking broken he is.

Jimin gets so caught up in his head he jerks back instinctively when his mother reaches out to pet
his arm.

“They’re all going to—to know?” He has to make sure. Inspector Chang murmurs his assent,
looking uncomfortable even through his stoic gaze.

“Along that thread, Park Chang is looking to be charged with kidnapping, assault, bribery,
extortion, blackmail, and rape, simply put, but his lawyers have been in contact with us about how
he will be pleading.” Inspector Lee pauses, lips pursing as he eyes the document in his hand.
“There have been some rather… interesting developments in that aspect. Park Chang’s lawyers
have put forward that he will plead guilty to both charges of kidnapping and assault but,” he
hesitates, “he argues his alleged sexual crimes were consensual and therefore he will plead not
guilty to any charges of rape and sexual assault.”

Not guilty.

Jimin stares at Inspector Lee in utter shock. Not guilty? How— not guilty? The realisation drops
like lead in his stomach and all of a sudden the room is spinning, the only thing echoing in Jimin’s
brain being the words ‘not guilty’ until he can’t concentrate on anything else.

Chang is saying it was consensual.

He’s saying Jimin wanted to be slammed against a wall and raped in front of his members. He’s
saying Jimin wanted to be fucked in the shower with his blood washing down the drain. He’s
saying Jimin wanted to be pinned to the bed all those times, chained up like a dog while Chang
forced himself into him. He’s saying every crescent bruise dotting Jimin’s hips where Chang’s
fingernails had pressed into his skin was something Jimin wanted .

By Chang’s plea, every bite mark on his thighs, every drop of blood spilling down his legs, every
bruising kiss pressed to his lips, every hickey sucked onto his collarbones, every time Chang
forced his cock into Jimin’s mouth —it was all consensual.

“But—I didn’t—I didn’t want any of it. I didn’t want him to—I— no,” Jimin stammers, heart
pounding so hard in his chest he thinks it’s going to break his ribs. “He never—I didn’t want any of
it. It wasn’t consensual. It—it wasn’t .”

“We know, Jimin,” Inspector Lee says quietly, and Jimin looks up at him, so utterly confused.

Not guilty. Not guilty. Not guilty.

“I don’t understand. How can he—how could he say that?” He asks desperately, blood rushing to
his head. “I don’t understand.”

“He is likely hoping you will drop the charges considering any case involving celebrities will tend
to be quite high-profile.”

“Why would I drop them? That’s like saying I wanted it—that’s saying I asked for Ch-Chang to—
to r-rape me every time.” Jimin is shaking, words spilling out of his mouth without filter. He
doesn’t even think about his parents sitting at the table, all he can focus on is the desperate rotation
of thoughts flying through his brain.

Not guilty. It was consensual. Consensual—It was consensual—not guilty—

Inspector Lee shifts in his seat, glancing at the two officers next to him like he’s asking for help
until finally Officer Shin speaks, her lips pressed into a sympathetic line.

“You would be aware of the negative societal mindset towards homosexual relationships, I’m
sure.” Jimin gapes at her.

“It’s not a relationship! I wasn’t dating him! He—he kidnapped me!”

“We know that, Jimin,” she says gently, “but as I'm sure you know being a public figure, the
damage of rumours about sexuality and dating is enough that any talk of such subjects can be
career-ending. His lawyers may be hoping you will drop the charges to protect your own reputation
and the future of your career as well as the career of your bandmates.”

Jimin sits there in a daze. “It wasn’t consensual,” he repeats. “It wasn’t consensual. I didn’t want
any of it.”

“We’re still building the case against Park Chang and the other suspects and once the results of
your rape kit have been processed, there is no way such a plea will hold up in court,” Inspector Lee
says. “It’ll be months before this is something you even have to consider—”

“Months?” Jimin’s father chips in then. Inspector Lee nods.

“These sorts of things take time, especially the processing of a rape kit since there is such a huge
backlog waiting to be tested. Such a lengthy time is not uncommon.” Jimin looks up just in time to
see his father grimace, looking as if he’s just had a rather unpleasant smell wafted towards him.

“As I was saying,” Inspector Lee continues, “it’ll be months before these pleas are something you
will have to be concerned with and by then we will have all the details necessary to build a strong
case against your kidnappers.”

“Do you think I should drop the charges?” Jimin asks suddenly. Inspector Lee’s eyes widen and he
stares at Jimin but Jimin doesn’t look away. He needs to know.

“You’re asking if you should drop the rape charges?” Jimin nods, breath catching as he waits for
Inspector Lee’s answer. The man looks intensely uncomfortable, eyes shifting around the room like
he’s looking for an escape.

“I don’t know,” he says finally. “There’s a lot to think about with such a case.”

“Would you ?” Jimin asks bluntly, ignoring the way his mother gasps and the thrumming of blood
in his own temple. Inspector Lee grimaces.

“I think,” he says, hesitating slightly. “I think I understand what his lawyers are trying and you
should consider what you value in life. There are consequences of both dropping and pressing
charges like these and both would be difficult, especially considering it will be impossible to
prevent a kidnapping case like this from being shared in the media.”

“Is that all you needed to speak to Jimin about?” Jimin’s father interrupts, and all of them look
over, startled. Inspector Lee clears his throat.

“There’s a few more documents for Jimin to read through that we’ll leave here but yes, that was
the bulk of what we needed to discuss. Unless you had any questions?” He asks, looking over to
Jimin. Jimin shakes his head, swallowing to quell the nauseating uncertainty swirling in his
stomach.

They leave soon afterwards and Jimin forces himself to stand up to thank them for coming all the
way to Busan to speak with him. Inspector Lee just smiles sympathetically, shaking Jimin’s hand
before they leave.

“You have time to make your decisions,” he says. It echoes Bang PD’s words on the phone.

You have time.

There’s a tangible tension in the air that has Jimin's skin crawling once they've left. His parents
stand on one side of the table and Jimin is on the other.

A rift of their own making. It’s silent.

“I didn’t know it would take so long to come to trial,” Jimin’s mother murmurs finally, and Jimin
nods, looking down at where his hands are gripped on the back of a chair, knuckles white.
“You’re dropping the charges, aren’t you?” Jimin’s father asks abruptly, and Jimin’s head snaps
up. His mother is just as shocked.

“Seunghoon!” She doesn’t often call him by his first name and it reminds Jimin of some of their
fights when he was younger.

“I’m not sure,” he mumbles after a moment, gut twisting at his father’s steely expression.

“You should drop them.”

“Seunghoon!” His mother cries out, stepping back and smacking his arm. “Don’t be like that!”

“What?” his father snaps. “You want everyone knowing he had sex with another man?”

“I didn’t have sex with another man —I was—I was raped ,” Jimin hisses, taking his own step back
and putting even more space between them. There’s lightning bolts of anger shooting through his
body. His father scowls, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Rape is between a man and a woman,” he says stiffly, and Jimin reels back as if he’s been struck.
Jimin’s mother does the same, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“Seunghoon! Stop!”

“You think I wanted it?” Jimin forces out, bile burning in the back of his throat as he looks at his
father’s grim expression. “You actually think I had a choice?”

“I think it would be best for you to drop the charges and forget about it instead of prolonging this
embarrassment.”

“How do you expect me to forget about it when I barely sleep because of all the fucking
nightmares! Does that sound like a choice I made? I didn’t choose to be raped!” Jimin’s yelling
now, fury making his voice crack.

“I will not have a son of mine ruining his reputation and the reputation of the family through
selfish decisions!” Jimin’s father bellows, cheeks flushing. “You will drop those ridiculous rape
charges or you will not step foot in this house again!”

“SEUNGHOON!” Jimin’s mother cries out, grabbing at his arm but he shakes her off.

“IT’S ALWAYS ABOUT FUCKING REPUTATION!” Jimin screams, chest heaving as he faces
off with his father. “WHAT ABOUT ME? WHAT ABOUT HOW I FUCKING FEEL? YOU
VALUE A FUCKING REPUTATION OVER YOUR OWN SON!”

“Men can’t be raped,” Jimin’s father spits, “and you would do well to remember everything we’ve
done for you over the years before you disrespect me again.” Jimin stares at his father, feeling as if
someone’s just torn his lungs right out of his chest.

“You’re unbelievable,” he murmurs, suddenly so empty, any remaining fight drained out of him
just as quickly as it came. “You’ve done nothing for me except oppose my entire career. You never
even wanted me to succeed, did you?” He looks at his father’s glowering face, and his mother’s
wet cheeks. “If you actually think I would ever choose for someone to collar me to a bed and fuck
me—” he ignores his mother’s sharp intake of breath and his father’s purpling face— “then you
don’t know me at all.”

“Jimin, your father didn’t mean it like that,” his mother pleads, and Jimin turns to stare at her.
“Don’t defend him anymore, Eomma. It’s not going to work this time.”

“I meant what I said,” his father hisses, and Jimin doesn’t even recognize this man glaring at him
with such hatred. “You will drop those charges or I will no longer call you my son.” Jimin’s mother
bursts into tears but Jimin just nods, oddly calm despite being so hollow it’s a wonder he’s still
standing.

He can’t even bring himself to reply before he walks out of the room.

Jimin grabs his coat, scarf and gloves before he leaves the house, patting his pockets to make sure
he has has phone and his wallet and stuffing the papers from the police in a bag he slings over his
shoulder. The wallet in question was given to him by his father when he turned eighteen, to
commemorate his coming of age. Now, it burns a hole through the fabric of his coat and Jimin
empties the contents as he walks, throwing the empty wallet into the nearest bin without hesitation
and shoving everything else deep into his pocket.

He doesn’t care that he’s freezing; he doesn’t care about the wind burning his cheeks; he doesn’t
even care that it takes ages to get to the nearest train station if you don’t drive. Jimin just walks.

It takes him an hour just to get to the train station and by the time he gets there, Jimin’s face is
completely numb and his feet are stinging in his boots. It’s almost painful entering the warmth of
the station but he forces himself inside, tucking his scarf high around his face and keeping his eyes
on the ground in case anyone recognizes him. He doubts they will considering he still has his hair
black from the last comeback where none of them had coloured their hair.

Jimin buys a ticket for the next train to Seoul leaving in twenty-three minutes before finding the
nearest empty bench and sitting down. His body is still aching with cold but inside he’s completely
numb. The events of the past few hours don’t even feel like reality, more like something from a
drama.

I will no longer call you my son.

Jimin grits his teeth and shakes his head to clear the echo of his father’s voice out of his brain. He
doesn’t even want to think about, somehow terrified that allowing his mind to process the meaning
of the words will crumble what little is left of him.
Instead, he sinks his overgrown fingernails into the palms of his hands and focuses on the pain it
brings.

Men can’t be raped.

Jimin manages to snag an empty set of seats in the train. It’s not particularly crowded and he pulls
the hood of his jacket up to make himself look as standoffish as possible. It works and not a single
person even asks to sit in the seat next to him.

By now, it’s getting dark and Jimin keeps his eyes on the lights of Busan, winking in their
thousands but fading fast as they reach the outskirts of the city and enter the shadows of the
countryside. The movement of the train lulls him slowly into an uneasy sleep, plagued with
thoughts of Chang and the scattered phrases of his father still echoing in his brain.

Men can’t be raped.

“Should I cut off your finger and send it to your boss? Do you think he’d stop bulshitting and
actually send all the money?” Chang murmurs, tracing the curve in Jimin’s collarbone with cold
fingertips. Jimin shakes his head, panic making his brain feel hot. He tries to voice his dissent
through the dirty cloth Chang stuffed in his mouth earlier but it comes out as a garbled mess of
unintelligible sounds. Chang smiles, lips curving cruelly as his fingers trail over Jimin’s shoulder
along his arm till they’re tracing one of the handcuffs keeping Jimin splayed out on the bed like a
starfish, unable to move.

“Was that a yes?” Jimin shakes his head even more furiously, still pleading hysterically through
the gag even as Chang leans over and pokes at his hand. He’s trembling so hard it’s a struggle to
even focus on curling his fingers into a clenched fist. “Oh, that won’t do,” Chang says
reproachfully, and Jimin starts crying as his fist is slowly peeled apart. Chang pulls at his pinky
finger. “What about this one?”

He keeps plucking at Jimin’s fingers one by one, voice mocking as he describes how he’ll cut it off
in the most painful manner possible till Jimin can’t even open his eyes from the sheer terror. He’d
rather Chang just cut it off when he’s not expecting it; maybe it’ll somehow hurt less?

“You’re no fun,” Chang says in the end, and his hands leave Jimin’s body long enough for Jimin
to crack open his eyelids, seeing Chang’s almost comical pout through the sheen of his tears. It’s
ridiculous—a fully grown man sulking like a child who’s had their favourite toy taken off them.

Chang reaches over and Jimin flinches as his hands brush over Jimin’s neck but it’s just to remove
the wad of fabric soaking up all the saliva in his mouth. Now would be Jimin’s chance to plead for
mercy if he could speak through the dryness in his mouth and the lump of fear lodged in his throat
but he can’t. He just lays there crying, almost relieved when Chang unzips his pants and pulls out
his cock to straddle Jimin’s prone body.

He barely feels it when Chang rips into him again. All the pain and fear has melded together till
Jimin can hardly separate one from the other and he’s existing in this weird state halfway between
consciousness and unconscious, dangling like a pendulum between the two.

At some point, Chang finishes with a groan, his hot release dripping out of Jimin when he abruptly
pulls out. It’s a disgusting feeling but all Jimin can think as he’s lying there is how much he prefers
this to having his finger cut off. Then he feels disgusted with himself for even thinking an evil like
this could be preferable to another evil.

Even though he’s finished, Chang doesn’t uncuff Jimin just yet, tucking himself back into his
boxers before he suddenly leans over Jimin’s body, holding himself up with his elbows till they’re
almost nose-to-nose. Jimin can’t even pull his head away and so he’s forced to breathe in the same
air Chang breathes out, almost cross-eyed from trying to keep his eyes on Chang’s. The man
doesn’t say anything for a long moment. He just levels his gaze with Jimin’s and stares at him,
elbows boxing around Jimin’s head and keeping him from lying directly on top of Jimin’s naked
body.

“You like this.” It’s not a question but Jimin feels something in himself lurch uncomfortably and he
musters the courage to shake his head. Chang cocks his own head, hot breath blowing onto Jimin’s
lips. “No?” Jimin swallows a whimper and shakes his head again, cracking his mouth open just
enough to whisper a single word.

“N-no.”

“Why not?” Chang asks, and Jimin flinches, unsure how to answer, almost struck dumb with fear
from their close proximity. “Answer me.” There are a thousand reasons Jimin could name but his
panicked brain settles for the most basic, the most predominant of his entire time in Chang’s
captivity.

“It hurts, ” he mumbles, ashamed as tears stinging hotly in the corners of his eyes. Chang looks
disappointed, fingers curling in Jimin’s hair and tugging his head up a little further.

“I thought we’d gotten past that, huh?” He murmurs, suddenly dropping his weight off his elbows
so he’s lying on top of Jimin, all the air being squished out of Jimin’s chest in one big swoosh.
Chang’s eyes are barely two inches from Jimin’s and they scrutinize him with all the coldness of a
snake —calculating, steely, vindictive pleasure in Jimin’s terror. Jimin can’t help but notice how
Chang’s eyes have tiny flecks of golden brown around the edges and are framed by long lashes. On
someone else, he might even find them attractive.

The thought flashes into his brain before he can stop it and immediately after Jimin is filled with a
wave of such strong revulsion he almost blacks out for a moment. And Chang’s still there, still
lying heavily on top of him, every point of their fronts pressed together, and he’s still watching
Jimin like a hawk.

“It hurts?” Jimin manages a nod, hoping against all hope that Chang isn’t going to do something
to hurt him just because he can. Chang stares down at him for another few seconds before he
suddenly lowers his head, pressing their lips together, tongue flicking out to caress Jimin’s sealed
lips. All it takes is a warning growl from Chang and Jimin forces his mouth to open, forces himself
to respond to Chang’s kisses by kissing back. The slimy presence of Chang’s tongue licking at the
roof of his mouth has Jimin squeezing his eyes shut just to make it somewhat bearable. Chang’s
increased penchant for kissing isn’t new but it’s still as revolting as the first time he’d mashed their
lips together and forced Jimin to respond.

“Does this hurt?” Chang asks after they’ve been kissing long enough to leave Jimin breathless,
smirking as he pulls back. Jimin cracks his eyes open and tentatively shakes his head. It wouldn’t
do to lie right to his captor’s face. Chang grins, swooping back down and pressing more kisses
around Jimin’s mouth this time, dotting the edge of his lips, the side of his jaw, even the tip of his
nose, almost like you would a boyfriend or girlfriend. This affection —it’s confusing, and Jimin’s
brain doesn’t know how to handle it.

The kisses trail right down the side of Jimin’s neck till he’s squirming under Chang, the feeling of
lips tickling his collarbones oppressive with the added weight of a body on top of him. But then
Chang looks up, regarding Jimin almost thoughtfully. In one quick movement he suddenly gyrates
his hips down hard, grinding against Jimin’s crotch, their dicks pressed together, separated only
by the thin fabric of Chang’s boxers.

Jimin’s breath catches in his throat and Chang smirks again, grinding down again and again till
his hips are moving against Jimin’s in a steady rhythm. And Jimin hates himself because the
friction sends sparks of arousal shooting towards his previously flaccid cock, coaxing it to life with
barely any effort. Chang grunts occasionally with the effort of his thrusts but there’s no missing
the satisfied smile spreading over his face as Jimin’s arousal becomes obvious.

“Does this hurt?” He asks obnoxiously as he grinds down particularly forcefully, and Jimin can’t
even answer, too preoccupied with trying to force his erection down, teeth digging into his lower
lip to stifle the moans threatening to make their way out of his mouth. Chang laughs, slowing his
movements to grind tiny, precise circles onto Jimin’s cock.

“I told you, you like this.”

Jimin shakes his head but it’s unconvincing through the haze of pleasure coiling in his stomach.
He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like—

He comes after only a few minutes, the arousal overtaking his veins in one sudden wave that leaves
him panting and breathless, Chang rolling their hips together even as Jimin writhes in
oversensitivity in the wake of his orgasm. Thankfully, Chang stops with a self-satisfied chuckle
propping himself up on his elbows before pressing his lips down on Jimin’s slack mouth. He
doesn’t seem to care when Jimin doesn’t respond, his limbs too drained from the fading flush of
pleasure and the disgusting shame that accompanies it.

“You like this,” Chang murmurs against his lips, and Jimin doesn’t think he can deny it when his
body is obviously saying otherwise.

He wakes with a gasp when the train conductor announces their arrival in Seoul, shivering with the
burning remnants of his nightmare. It’s just after seven-forty-five when Jimin steps off the train
and into the city where he’s lived and worked for the past few years. He knows where he should be
going, where his feet want to take him, but he’s still half-trapped in the haze of sleep, heart still
racing too uncomfortably to consider going to the apartment just yet. He doesn’t know if the others
are there although he assumes from Taehyung’s last messages the younger had been planning on
returning a number of weeks ago already. Yoongi’s probably back, and knowing Hoseok he won’t
have been able to stay away from the lure of an empty dance studio for long. Knowing all of them,
they’ll have come back as soon as they could.

Jimin’s utterly discomfited being back in Seoul. He wasn’t meant to come back; he wasn’t meant
to return to this part of his life but he’s here now, not so much by choice but by circumstance
because, really, where else was he meant to go?

Men can’t rape men. I will no longer call you my son.

Jimin walks till his feet are sore and he has no idea where he is. He successfully loses himself in
the rabbit warren of Seoul, trudging through the back alleys and side streets and ignoring the stares
of strangers at the sight of a young man in only a thin coat and a shoulder bag walking alone in the
dark corners of the city. Still he carries on walking as his body gets cold enough to start trembling
all over, his skin almost feeling like clay to the touch with how unfeeling it is from the onslaught
of icy wind.

At least walking stops him from thinking. Jimin really, really doesn’t want to think.
He calls a taxi when even another step threatens to have him keeling over with exhaustion. The taxi
driver eyes him somewhat warily but doesn’t question his frozen state, merely switching the
heating onto ‘high’ as Jimin tells him the address he needs with a shaking voice.

It doesn’t take long before they’re pulling up outside the gated community where the apartment
resides, the taxi driver suddenly much more interested in his passenger than he was before.

“You can get in here?” He asks Jimin, and Jimin nods uncomfortably.

“You can just, um, drop me off here,” he mumbles, quickly paying the fare and adding a generous
tip to alleviate the driver’s disappointment at not being able to drive into the complex.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you in?” The driver asks, watching Jimin curiously, and
Jimin is suddenly reminded of Chang, hurriedly grabbing at the door handle and slipping out into
the cold before the driver can say anything else.

He fumbles with his ID card, ignoring the surprised looks of the security guards as he shows them
who he is.

“You’re out a bit late tonight!” One of them says but Jimin just smiles thinly in response. The
guards seem to get the hint of his mood and they let him in quickly, their eyes burning into Jimin’s
back as he walks in.

It takes him almost half an hour to walk to the apartment, any remaining warmth from the taxi
quickly evaporating till he’s shivering almost as hard as he was just twenty minutes earlier. But
Jimin gets there eventually, climbing up the stairs instead of taking the elevator just so he warms
up a little quicker. It’s only when he’s standing outside the door that he hesitates for the first time.

He did not think this through.

Behind the door are six men who have been with Jimin since before their debut, supported him
when he would break down at the poor state of his singing skills, brought him home when he was
almost fainting from exhaustion every night in the practice room, laughed with him when he was
happy, cried with him when he was sad, and performed with him when he was still filled with
passion and excitement for the stage.

But behind the same door are six men who have seen Jimin held against a wall and raped, who’ve
watched him naked and bound and bleeding, beaten in front of them, seen him forced to hurt
Namjoon, been hurt by him directly.

He doesn’t want to go in. Fuck, he really doesn’t want to face them but deep down he knows he has
 to. If it isn’t now then when will he ever?

He’s reaching for the door handle when another realisation hits him and he almost laughs out loud
at how stupid it is.

He doesn’t even have a fucking key.

It’s awkward reaching up and pressing the doorbell, almost like he’s a stranger instead of someone
who lives here. It leaves him waiting uncomfortably, shoulders pulling up towards his ears as the
seconds tick by and the nervous churning in his stomach intensifies more and more until he’s
almost nauseous.

He almost runs when the lock on the door clicks and it swings open revealing Yoongi trying to pull
something out of his wallet and still not looking up. Jimin ends up waiting for a few long seconds
in silence, suddenly overwhelmed with this weird feeling of nostalgia as he sees Yoongi still so
unaware of his presence.

He looks okay. Is he okay? I'm not okay. How is he okay?

There’s the brief moment when Yoongi finally looks up and his whole face drops as if he’s seen a
ghost, mouth sagging open in obvious surprise and hands falling limply at his sides. And Jimin just
stands there, unsure how to act, how to even exist in the life of the old Park Jimin as Yoongi stares
at him until finally the other man finds the words to acknowledge him.

“Jimin?”

Chapter End Notes

Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you thought of the chapter by
leaving a comment and I will do my best to reply before the next update!

If you could read the authors note at the beginning, you'll see some information
concerning my update schedule. Thank you all!
 You're Back
Chapter Summary

Jimin squeezes his hands even more firmly over his ears and tries to block out Jin’s
voice. Jin doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything about how Jimin feels.

Ashamed. Disgusted. Guilty.

Afraid. He's so fucking afraid of how much Namjoon must hate him.

Chapter Notes

Thank you so, so incredibly much for all your supportive messages over the past few
months. You'll never know how much that has helped me feel less shitty about not
being able to update, and less shitty about myself too. I honestly feel so blessed to
have found a community of ARMY (and maybe others) who have so much love to
share!

Here is the long-awaited chapter, not as perfect as I would like it but hopefully, up to
your reading standards! This one has taken a while but I hope it is worth it because it
covers some of the more angsty, difficult interactions between Jimin and the rest of
BTS. I'm excited to read what you guys think of it so don't be afraid to drop me a
comment, and I recommend reading it whilst listening to Map Of The Soul: Persona

(What a bomb album, people! Isn't Halsey awesome?)

PS: I've had some people requesting work—which is cool, by the way—and I just
wanted to put it out there that I'm happy if you want to feed me ideas for other stories
and things, and when I get the time I can try and write some one-shots for y'all. The
one thing I'm not keen on is writing stories involving ReaderXBTS. I don't know why
but I just can't write that. Sorry!

All the love to every one of you reading this, and I hope your day is absolutely
amazing!

<3 <3 <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Yoongi’s jaw drops.

“Jimin?” Jimin shifts his weight from one foot to the other, the tip of his nose flushed pink from
the cold, eyes darting between Yoongi’s face and the floor. Yoongi is in a state of absolute shock.
“You’re back?” Jimin’s lips press together and he shrugs.

“I—yeah, um,” he says, voice sounding much more husky than Yoongi remembers from the last
time they spoke almost a month ago. Yoongi just can’t stop staring at him. Face sculpted by the
dark shadows in the hollows of his eyes, the sockets looking almost bruised, cheekbones much
more prominent than they were even when Yoongi had seen Jimin in the hospital.

“I didn’t know you were coming back yet,” he manages in the end, and Jimin gaze drops to his
fingers before he looks up and a smile slides across his face.

“Well, I’m here now!” He exclaims with false brightness, made even more fake by the sadness
ingrained in every facet of his face. They're interrupted by Jungkook's voice echoing down the
corridor.

“What’s taking you so long, hyung! I’m hungry enough to eat the t.v at this point!” His words are
accompanied by the light sound of Taehyung’s laughter and it startles Yoongi out of his stupor long
enough to register the fact he’s blocking the doorway and Jimin’s still out in the hallway.

“Sorry—you’re probably cold—um.” Yoongi steps aside, running his hands through his hair, still
trying to process Jimin’s sudden appearance. Jimin just smiles thinly, stepping into the warmth of
the apartment and peering down the hall leading to the living room.

“You were waiting for someone else?” He asks quietly, and Yoongi huffs a dry laugh.

“Jajangmyeon. I promised Taehyung and Jungkook.”

“Oh. That’s nice.” Jimin shucks off his shoes, leaving them tidily on the rack, unwinding the scarf
from around his neck and placing it on one of the hooks with his coat. He’s wearing a woollen
sweater underneath but he still shivers. Yoongi opens his mouth to say something but then Jimin
looks up and Yoongi catches sight of a faint pink scar on his neck, the skin just a little darker than
it should be, like a necklace around his throat. The realisation as to it's origin sucks all the air of out
of Yoongi’s lungs and he looks away as quickly as he can, not wanting to stare. Obviously not
quickly enough as Jimin’s hands fly up to his neck and he coughs awkwardly, quickly grabbing the
scarf back down from the hook and winding it back around his neck. Yoongi kicks himself
internally.

“Is everyone back?” Jimin asks, glancing down the hallway but making no move to walk further
in. Yoongi nods.

“We’ve been back a few weeks ago now, but Hoseok, Jin, and Namjoon are all out—”

“Jimin?!” Both Jimin and Yoongi’s heads snap up as Taehyung comes hurtling down the corridor
in a flailing whirlwind of arms and legs. Yoongi barely has a second to blink before Taehyung’s
leaping at Jimin, wrapping him up in a rib-crushing hug. “You’re back, like, a month early!” He
squeals, and Jimin staggers backwards, arms full of overjoyed Taehyung, face squished into the
younger man’s shoulder. When Taehyung finally releases him, Jimin takes a step back, arms
crossing protectively over his chest, looking uncomfortable underneath the smile plastered on his
face.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. Taehyung and Yoongi both wait for him to elaborate but Jimin doesn’t even
look at them, busy fiddling with the edge of his sweater. As quickly as Taehyung’s hyper energy
had warmed the atmosphere, they’re plunged into an awkward, freezing silence.
Jungkook comes padding down the hallway only a few seconds later. “What’s taking so lo—” his
face drops, “—Jimin? What are you doing here?” Yoongi winces at their maknae’s wording,
knowing Jungkook doesn’t mean it the way it sounds but still cringing nonetheless. Maybe Jimin’s
greeting smile dims a little, although if he’s hurt by Jungkook’s words, he does a good job of
hiding it.

“How are you doing, Jungkookie?” The nickname slips tentatively into the air, familiar, oh-so-
Jimin, and Yoongi can’t help but exhale gratefully as some of the tension in the air lifts. Jungkook
shrugs, messing with his hair in that offhand, awkward teenage way he always has but there’s no
mistaking the joy at seeing his hyung for the first time in so long.

“I missed you,” Jungkook grunts out, and Jimin’s face cracks into the first truly genuine smile
Yoongi’s seen. In an odd way, it gives him hope.

Walking into the room he shares with Hoseok is an odd experience. It hasn’t really changed,
Jimin’s things still in place exactly as they were the night they’d been taken. Hoseok’s sheets are
rumpled, the blankets clearly thrown over the bed with little care. Jimin’s side of the room is
untouched from the morning they’d left, even the random shoes scattered around the side of the
desk, and the towel hanging over the back of the chair. It makes Jimin’s stomach swoop
uncomfortably, a sudden wave of nostalgia making the edges of his vision sway.

The bedsheets smell musty and a bit like mothballs—it’s been more than two months since he slept
here after all—and Jimin forces himself to change them out of habit more than anything else. The
smoothness of crisp sheets against his skin is a welcome relief after the scratchy seat coverings on
the train but there’s an uneasy feeling in his gut that doesn’t ease even when Jimin’s lying in bed
with the lights off, tucked around his pillow as if it’ll somehow protect him from god-knows-what.
Everything just feels so wrong. Jimin shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t taint their home with his
presence.

He lies awake for a long time, the faint sounds of Taehyung, Jungkook, and Yoongi’s movie
drifting through the closed door. It sparks a twinge of guilt as he remembers the way he’d basically
run away from them barely two minutes after entering the apartment, excuses of exhaustion
spilling from his lips even as he’d turned his back without a second glance.

He just… can’t.

Already the way Yoongi had looked at him, eyes catching on the scarring around his neck,
Taehyung’s hyper energy, and in contrast, Jungkook’s overly cautious greeting as if Jimin was
some fragile ornament balanced on the edge of a precarious shelf — it makes Jimin realise even
more he shouldn’t be here. He’s disrupting; he’s making things worse.
Jimin fists his hands into his fresh sheets and bites down on the inside of his cheek, forcing his
brain to empty. It’s still much earlier than he would normally go to sleep but he tries to lull his
mind into a more relaxed state with every breath, pretending all the thoughts whizzing through his
brain are being swept out the door. It still takes more than an hour before his eyelids start to feel
heavier and the pleasant emptiness of sleep tickles at the edge of his consciousness, and even then,
Jimin is uneasy.

He barely stops himself from flinching when the sound of the door opening pierces the silence,
rousing Jimin from his dozing state as Hoseok’s familiar tread steps lightly over the wood. He
can't have been asleep for long, and even with his back toward the door and his eyes squeezed shut,
Jimin can feel the prickling heaviness of Hoseok’s gaze roving over him, stinging like acid rain on
his skin. There’s a long moment where Hoseok seemingly just stands there, maybe checking if
Jimin is awake, and Jimin catches himself holding his breath, frozen like a statue in his bed, unable
to get himself to move. Maybe he’s putting off the inevitable; it’s not like he can avoid seeing them
all again (it’s not like he wants to—does he?) and it’s a cowardly move to want to take advantage
of just a few more hours of peace where one less person will look at him with so much pity, but he
does it anyway, a stationary log in his bed, lungs aching from the effort of holding his breath.

Finally, Hoseok moves, and Jimin tracks his footsteps over to the other side of the room, hears a
heavy sigh and the distinctive sound of joints popping and the mattress creaking as Hoseok sits
down on the bed. He could say something, anything , but he doesn’t, and eventually Hoseok is
settling in his own bed, breathing evening out, the soft sound barely able to be heard above the
rushing of blood in Jimin’s ears. Still he lays there, unmoving, brain sparked back into action until
the tangled mess of feelings inside of him has twisted together into a tight coil that presses sharply
inside his chest.

You’re a coward.

Jimin wakes up when even the sun hasn’t emerged yet, sheets twisted around his legs and chest
heaving as the last of Chang’s demons scatter in the face of consciousness. It’d been a nightmare
but a weird one, steeped in vivid memory.

“Shhh, don’t cry,” Chang murmurs, fingers running through Jimin’s hair. “It’s okay.” Jimin just
shakes in Chang’s arms, terrified sobs spilling from his mouth as easily as breathing. “Shhh,”
Chang whispers, and Jimin forces his mouth shut, forces the terror back down his throat till he’s
at least stopped the cries. He’s still waiting for Chang to beat him for his disobedience, and
waiting only makes the fear worse. Jimin knows full well he should’ve stopped fighting weeks ago
already, and punching Chang had been a futile act of anger that is sure to have consequences. So
he waits.

But Chang doesn’t beat him. Instead, he pulls Jimin down on the bed and wraps him up in his arms
so Jimin’s face is pressed against the man’s chest, forced to breathe in his thick scent. It takes only
a few minutes for Chang’s breathing to become a steady rhythm, a tell-tale mark of having fallen
asleep, and Jimin is still lying there, squished into Chang’s warm chest, arms wrapped around him
like a vice, goosebumps prickling over his whole body from a combination of residual fear and
cold.

Jimin had woken just as the Chang in his nightmare had shifted, the sharp jolt of fear forcing
Jimin’s brain out of sleep and into wakefulness. It leaves a sickening concoction of guilt swirling in
the pit of his belly, remembering how, for a just a few moments, Jimin had felt somewhat safe in
Chang’s arms. Being held so closely and for it to not be a cruel foreplay to violence, it was a touch
of human affection Jimin hadn’t even known he’d craved. But it still makes him feel sick to
remember, enough that he can’t bring himself to go back to sleep and instead, he stumbles out of
bed, padding over to the door after glancing to make sure Hoseok’s still form is still asleep.

It’s just before six o’clock in the morning, the only sign of the sun being a warm glow on the
horizon. Jimin shuffles out of his room rather hesitantly, relieved when the living area is empty.
He’s the only one awake so far it seems, and he takes advantage of it, making a cup of coffee and
heading out to the balcony.

It’s freezing outside, the air biting sharply at the inside of Jimin’s nose and the tips of his ears, but
he doesn’t bother going back inside to grab a jacket. At least the skies are clear, and Jimin settles
down in one of the chairs they have out on the balcony, fingers wrapped around his mug and knees
drawn up to his chest. He’s wearing a long pair of pyjamas but they do little to protect him from
winter’s chill, and he can feel the wetness of ice melting on the seat. He can’t find it in himself to
move.

How many times has he sat like this, gazing out over Seoul? Far too many times to count is the
conclusion Jimin comes to in the end. Far too many times. And yet the sense of awe he feels is still
very real, maybe because he hasn’t seen it for months. He sips his coffee and wonders how many
more times he’ll be sitting here watching the sun rise over Seoul from this angle.

You have time.

Does he? Does he really?

Jimin doesn’t know how long he sits there for, the sun creeping up the sky and pushing through the
early morning clouds, warming his face marginally more than the air. He jolts in surprise when a
heavy weight is suddenly dropped on his shoulders, head snapping around as he registers the
warmth of a blanket being tucked around him.

“Aren’t you cold?” Jin asks as he settles down on one of the other chairs, a matching blanket
wrapped around his own shoulders. Jimin’s mouth opens but no sound comes out, mind still
slightly disoriented at Jin’s sudden appearance.

“I didn’t hear you come out,” is the first thing he manages to actually say, and Jin smiles softly,
eying Jimin with open curiosity in a way that somehow doesn’t feel intrusive.

“I saw you sitting out here so I thought I’d come join. Hope you don’t mind.” Jimin shakes his
head, takes another sip of his now cold coffee, the bitter grounds at the bottom of the cup making
their first appearance. Jin takes a sip of his own coffee, turning to look out over Seoul as well.

“How long have you been out here? You must be pretty cold.” It’s said casually but Jimin can hear
the poorly-concealed concern in every nuance of the words. He shrugs, looks down at the bottom
of his cup where the last mouthfuls of coffee still reside.

“Not sure,” he says. “A while.” Jin hums thoughtfully, eyes flicking back over to Jimin.

“I didn’t know you were coming back yet.” Jimin’s mouth sours and he looks away from Jin.

They don’t want him back. Of course they don’t want him back.

But Jin seems to know exactly what he’s thinking. “I missed you.” Jimin looks up then, catches the
furrowing of Jin’s brows as he looks over Jimin.

“I missed you too,” he mumbles, and Jin grins easily, the sadness in the lines on his face
disappearing just as quickly as it arrived. Jin has more lines now than he did a few weeks ago. He’s
aged, maybe because of stress, and he looks exhausted. Jimin’s suddenly overwhelmed with the
urge to give his eldest hyung a hug; knowing Jin he’s probably been looking after everyone else
except himself. “How have you been, hyung?”

Jin’s smile fades a little and he looks out over Seoul before he replies, as if it’ll somehow give him
an answer. “Oh, you know… we’re okay.” He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more
than anything.

“Hyun—”

“How are your parents?” Jin interrupts, clearing his throat and taking another gulp of coffee. Jimin
matches him, tipping the dregs of his coffee into his mouth and letting it swirl over his teeth. He’ll
have to swallow eventually —swallow and answer Jin’s innocent question as if it means nothing.
He swallows.

“They’re alright.”
“Yeah?” Jin tilts his head. “I wouldn’t think your mother would’ve let you come back yet. She
seemed pretty convinced you were going to be home for at least two or three months from what she
told me.” Jimin swallows again, avoiding Jin’s eyes. That man is far too intelligent for his own
good.

“They’re alright,” he repeats finally, setting down his empty cup and pulling the blanket further
around his shoulders. The two of them fall into silence, looking out as the sun breaks properly
through the morning mist and the city traffic begins to increase.

“They don’t know, do they?” Jin asks suddenly, and Jimin flinches. It takes barely a second for his
heart rate to increase and he picks at his fingers to avoid Jin’s piercing gaze. “Jimin,” Jin murmurs,
and it’s the cue for Jimin to stand up, abandoning the blanket as he grabs his empty mug and steps
away from his hyung.

“I’m cold.”

“Jim—” Jimin quickly escapes the balcony, Jin’s knowing look suddenly oppressive. He knows he
should tell Jin, knows he should let his parents know he’s safe, although they probably already
assume he’s back in Seoul. He hasn't checked his phone, can't remember if it's even charged so his
parents could contact him if they wanted. They don’t even know he tried to terminate his contract
so what reason would he have to not come back to Seoul?

He walks through to the kitchen, glancing back to make sure Jin isn’t following. He doesn’t expect
to turn the corner and bump straight into someone, and he jerks backwards, tripping slightly as his
gaze shoots back to the front only to realise who it is.

The mug in his hand shatters on the floor with an ear-splitting crash.

“You’re going to give your dear leader a blowjob, and you’re not going to stop until he comes.”

Namjoon stares at him in a mirror image of obvious shock and Jimin can’t tear his gaze away from
his leader, even as he stumbles away , feet crunching over broken ceramic. Even the pain of the
shards slicing into his soles is not enough to quell the rising nausea in his gut.

“You heard me,” Chang snaps, “use that mouth of yours and get your leader off.”

Namjoon looks equally horrified, face much thinner than Jimin remembers, the stress lines much
more pronounced. Jimin’s brain is going into overdrive, spitting out all these things he’s repressed,
and fuck, he thought he’d gotten past some of the shame but it burns so fiercely inside of him he’s
dry heaving with the force of it, the phantom weight of Namjoon’s cock on his tongue so
incredibly real.
He slams into the wall on his way out, scrabbling in a mad panic as the shame overwhelms him,
the only thing in Jimin’s mind the pained expression on Namjoon’s face and his own raw guilt
crushing him under its weight.

“Go on,” he taunts, “do your dear leader a favour.”

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Jimin’s sobbing like a child but it’s all he can do as he runs out of the
kitchen, runs away from Namjoon like the fucking coward he is and into the bathroom, slamming
the door behind him and flicking the lock shut. He can hardly breathe as he sinks down onto the
floor, back pressed against the door.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.” He can’t stop shaking, chest heaving with each
shuddering sob that wracks his body, stomach still churning every time he thinks about why he's
even locked up in here.

Namjoon. Poor Namjoon.

You’re disgusting.

“I know!”

How could you do that to Namjoon? How could you—

Jimin slams his head back against the door and grapples with his hair, yanking at the greasy strands
as the words swirl around his brain. He’s so stupid to think he could even look Namjoon in the eye
after what Jimin has done to him.

You’re fucking delusional to think he’ll ever forgive you.

The tears are running thick and fast now, dripping off his chin and into his lap, and Jimin bites
down on his lip to stifle the cries bubbling up in his throat.

Coward.

“Jimin?” Jin’s voice floats through the door and Jimin flinches at the sudden noise. “Jimin, please
open the door.” Jimin doesn’t move. “Please. Just unlock it.”
But Jimin just curls up into a tighter ball on the ground and shoves his hands over his ears,
swallowing harshly as bile burns in his throat.

“Jimin,” Jin pleads. “You can’t hide from Namjoon forever. I know how you’re feeling and I also
know you’re both hurting but you have to talk about it.”

Jimin squeezes his hands even more firmly over his ears and tries to block out Jin’s voice. Jin
doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything about how Jimin feels.

Ashamed. Disgusted. Guilty.

Afraid. He's so fucking afraid of how much Namjoon must hate him.

Its funny how time can fool a person into thinking wounds have healed but just one look at
Namjoon and it had all come back to him, every fucking second of it in glaring detail, a vivid
reminder of how fucked up he was. It’s almost laughable to think Jimin and Namjoon could ever
repair whatever this is. What was he thinking coming back to Seoul?

You weren’t thinking, the voice in his head reminds him. That’s called a knee jerk reaction.

“Jimin, please, just unlock the door.” There’s something in the way Jin is begging that makes
Jimin uncomfortable. His Hyung is strong; who is this person pleading so desperately? Jimin
scrubs at the tears on his cheeks and fights the urge to punch the wall.

“Jimin?” And holy shit, that’s Namjoon’s voice. “I’m so sorry. I wish—I wish I could do
something to make this better—“

Why is Namjoon apologising? It’s my fault. It’s mine.

“Just, please come out and talk. I—I understand if you don’t want to talk to me but—“ Namjoon
breaks off and Jimin is shocked to hear what sounds like a choked sob. It’s all turning to shit— a
complicated, confusing mess of guilt and shame and Namjoon’s misplaced apologies because,
really, it should be Jimin apologising and not Namjoon. Namjoon should be disgusted with Jimin,
not apologetic.

In a sudden burst of desperation, Jimin forces himself to his feet, turning to the door and unlocking
it in one swift motion. Jin must’ve been leaning against it because it swings open with plenty of
force and Jin stumbles in, awkwardly off balance. But he’s not the person Jimin needs to talk to.

Namjoon stands just behind Jin, eyes red rimmed, glasses wonkily perched on his nose. And
Jimin’s not going to lie, there’s a part of his brain that can’t help the way the sight of Namjoon has
Chang’s face swimming to the forefront of his mind but Jimin would rather be kidnapped by
Chang all over again than for Namjoon to feel in anyway responsible for what Jimin did to him.

“It’s not your fault,” he manages to say, still unable to meet Namjoon’s eyes because, who would
he be to taint his leader with his filth anymore than he already has? “It’s me, it’s my fault.” He’s
trying to get Namjoon to understand but there’s so much whizzing through his brain he’s not sure
if the words coming out of his mouth are even the ones he’s trying to say. And maybe he’s said
something wrong because Jin and Namjoon are both staring at him and it’s deathly silent.

See, there’s no way he’ll ever forgive you—

“What do you mean, it’s your fault?” Namjoon looks strangely aghast, and Jimin wipes furiously
at the fresh tears spilling over his cheeks. “Jimin, it’s not your fault at all. It’s Chang’s fault for
forcing you to do that and mine for fucking reacting.”

“ I’m the one that made you—made you come,” Jimin says, cheeks burning, sick to his stomach.
“You can’t help how you reacted but I fucking tried.”

Both Jin and Namjoon look intensely uncomfortable, and Jimin feels like melting into the tiled
floor of the bathroom till there’s just a puddle of embarrassment and guilt pooling by the door.

“Chang made you do it,” Namjoon mutters. “And I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

And before Jimin can even react, Namjoon’s stepping forward, brushing past Jin still caught in the
doorway, and then Jimin’s being wrapped up in Namjoon’s arms and pulled into a bone crushing
hug.

His face is squished into Namjoon’s shoulder and all he can smell is the fabric softener Jungkook
always buys in bulk because their fans found out which ones they use and it keeps selling out. It’s a
hug without any connotations and yet it feels like forgiveness even if Jimin doesn’t think he
deserves it. But Namjoon’s always been like that, always so quick to forgive and forget, willing to
sacrifice revenge in favour of peace.

Jimin can’t help but feel even filthier when he allows himself to hug Namjoon back.

“I’m so sorry, Hyung.”

You’re disgusting. How could you touch him?

When Namjoon finally pulls back, there are tears smudging his cheeks, glinting wetly under the
light, and Jimin has to wipe at his own cheeks, equally tear stained. He still can’t look Namjoon in
the face but really, is that so unexpected? He doesn’t know how long it’ll be before he ever looks
at Namjoon without thinking of Chang, and the thought is so depressing Jimin can feel a knot
forming in his throat. His thoughts are interrupted by Jin’s sudden exclamation.

“Your feet!”

All three of them automatically look down and Jimin suddenly becomes painfully aware, quite
literally, of the consequences of stepping on broken pieces of ceramic. There are huge scarlet blood
stains the floor around his feet, smeared everywhere from when Jimin had shifted, and more blood
oozing around his heels. It stings more with every second he looks at it, and both Namjoon and Jin
swear at the same.

“Fuck.”

Jin decides the cuts don’t warrant stitches although he spends a significant amount of time dabbing
alcohol into the various puncture wounds. It stings like a bitch but Jimin grits his teeth and forces
himself to endure it.

Even if Namjoon seems to have forgiven him, the pain of the antiseptic feels like a well deserved
punishment.

By the time they’re finished and Jimin has an array of plasters stuck to his soles the house seems to
be waking up. In a way it’s a relief to be released from having to face Namjoon for any longer;
even now he knows Namjoon doesn’t blame him, he can’t help but feel his gut curdle in shame
every time they make fleeting eye contact. And Jin keeps watching Jimin in that all-knowing way
he has. In some ways Jimin is thankful for his injuries because they seem to provide a buffer
stopping Jin from poking further into Jimin’s reasons for returning. How would he ever answer
that?

“Why are you back?”

“Because my father thinks men can’t be raped.”

That doesn’t sound good.

“Because my father wants me to say it was consensual.”

It wasn’t.

“Because I need to tell Bang PD I’m leaving the band—“

“Jimin!” It’s Hoseok, walking into the kitchen with sleep rumpled hair, an easy grin spreading over
his face although it fades rather quickly when he sees Jimin’s bandaged feet. “Wait, what
happened?” Jin answers on Jimin’s behalf.

“I accidentally dropped a mug and Jimin stepped on to the shards without realising.” There’s
silence but Hoseok doesn’t seem too suspicious and Jimin swallows down his original answer,
thankful for Jin’s intervention. Hoseok frowns as he walks over to inspect what little damage is still
visible. He pats Jimin’s shoulder rather tentatively before seemingly deciding to take the plunge
and wrapping an affectionate arm around Jimin so he can pull him into a one armed hug even from
where Jimin’s sitting on the kitchen counter.

“You’re back earlier than we thought,” he says, surprise evident in his tone.

“I think I’ve heard that from everyone now,” Jimin mutters, picking at the edge of his fingernail.
He doesn’t care if he sounds bitter; it’s frustrating to feel like an outcast.

“Does the company know you’re back?” Another voice interrupts, and Jimin looks up to see
Jungkook pulling a hoodie over his head, a sleepy Yoongi padding in just behind. “Last time I
talked to Bang PD he said you wouldn’t be back for ages.”

“I can leave if that’s what you all want?” Jimin bites back sourly. If he had hackles they would be
rising at the amount of times he’s been questioned about his return. There’s an awkward silence
and Jimin carefully slides off the kitchen bench, wincing as the contact with the floor puts pressure
on the fresh cuts, ignoring the way Jungkook’s eyes are round saucers in his face.

“Of course not, Jimin,” Jin murmurs, standing up from where he’d been kneeling on the floor with
the first aid kit. “We’re just… surprised after everything—after everything we’ve been told.”

He looks so tired, so worried, that Jimin deflates, the anger inside of him disappearing almost
instantly to be replaced with that familiar feeling of guilt. “Sorry,” he mumbles, gut twisting
uncomfortably. Before the others even get a chance to respond Jimin clambers off the kitchen
bench, wincing slightly as he puts pressure on his heel where the biggest cut is. “I’m going out for
a walk,” he says, neck prickling at the pervasive silence in the room, even when there are six
people all standing there. Jin frowns, and Hoseok and Namjoon both take a short step towards
Jimin, almost as if they were going to stop him from leaving. Jimin fights the urge to flinch rather
unsuccessfully, sees them both freeze and feels the guilt in his stomach curdle once more.

“Your feet—you shouldn’t be walking on them—”

“I’m going for a walk, hyung,” Jimin says carefully, avoiding their concerned eyes. And you can’t
stop me, rings unsaid in the air.
 They let him go.

Chapter End Notes

What did you think? I love to read your comments whether it is constructive criticism,
a random response, or just your general feelings! I try to reply to them all!

<3 <3 <3

 Honestly...
Chapter Summary

“Bang PD is going to be here in thirty minutes, Jimin. You need to get up and go wash
and put some fresh clothes on.” Jimin pulls the blanket far enough down to stare at
Namjoon.

“Why is he coming here?” He grunts and Namjoon fixes Jimin with another look.

“You know why. He’s been texting you for days trying to set up a meeting.”

“Go tell him to fuck off,” Jimin mutters sourly.

Chapter Notes

Beautiful people, another chapter is finally here!

It has been an absolutely crazy busy term but I have a few weeks of holiday before the
next term starts and it means I can finally do some writing for you! Thank you so
much for all your patience; I'm really sorry I can't update more often so, to make it up
to you, I'll try and get at least another two chapters out before the end of my holiday.

(Also, someone commented asking for Yoongi X Jimin comfort and I promise you, it
will come, just not this chapter!)

To all of you who have been steadily commenting. I hope I've managed to reply to you
all by now and thank you so much. It's incredibly motivating and it makes me smile
every time I read your thoughts on what's going on in the story.

By the way, if you ever want to get in touch with me for any reason, I set up an email:
piedpiperthewriter@gmail.com
If you've got questions, comments or would love a general chat, hit me up and I'll
make sure to reply :)

Anyways, that's enough from me, loves. Enjoy this chapter, thank you all so much for
waiting and reading, and stay safe.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

For all the guilt Namjoon’s forgiveness may have alleviated, Jimin is struggling. There’s an
atmosphere in the apartment that’s hard to shake and impossible to ignore. Albeit Jimin was only
here for a day before he came back into the apartment after his walk—the one they’d warned him
not to go on—with his white shoes stained scarlet with blood after which he’d promptly had a
screaming match with Jin that ended with the both of them in tears. And Jimin knows Jin isn’t
trying to be oppressive and he knows Jin was only upset because he warned him and Jimin still
didn’t listen and he got hurt because of it but something about feeling like a disappointment yet
again has made him harsh with his words. He doesn’t know when to stop.

So now the atmosphere is constantly charged, every word dripping into the air like acid, even if
they’re only kind. Jimin hides in his room like a coward, tucked up in bed in the same clothes for
days until one of the others wrestles him into the bathroom and leaves him in there with clean
clothes and an already drawn bath.

Pathetic.

That’s what this whole thing is. Jimin’s not a baby; he’s an adult who is perfectly capable of
looking after himself but it’s hard to find the energy when the walls feel like they’re caving in on
him. And yeah, having the blankets held hostage until he bathes is humiliating but Jimin knows
full well if he had it his own way he’d probably never emerge from his room again.

Bang PD finds out Jimin is back only a few days later. He’s not sure how the man knows but he
suspects Namjoon probably told him. It’s hard not to feel betrayed. He doesn’t want to talk to Bang
PD, doesn’t want another set of eyes peeling him apart and forcing him to talk about himself. He
ignores the texts asking Jimin to come and meet at the company offices and pulls the blankets over
his head. Maybe if he ignores them for long enough, Bang PD will just give up.

It turns out Bang PD is much more stubborn than Jimin had initially anticipated. The texts don’t
stop and Jimin stops reading them in the end, throwing his phone across the room where it hits the
wall with a loud crack. Hoseok happens to be coming in at that same moment and he jumps about
three foot in the air, looking at the phone with obvious bewilderment before his gaze swivels
questioningly to Jimin.

“Leave it,” Jimin mutters, rolling over and facing the wall instead.

He sleeps a lot during the day only to lie awake all night—a choice he made after realising he only
really seems to get nightmares and flashbacks in the middle of the night. If there’s a way of
minimizing the number of times Chang’s face invades his brain, he’ll do anything.

The others bring him food and Jimin makes at least some effort to eat it, even if it totally
disinterests him because at least it gets them to leave him alone.

He’s just getting used to this pattern of self-imposed isolation when Namjoon comes in one
morning, an unusually determined look on his face. “Bang PD is going to be here in thirty minutes,
Jimin. You need to get up and go wash and put some fresh clothes on.” Jimin pulls the blanket far
enough down to stare at Namjoon.

“Why is he coming here?” he grunts, but he’s got an idea already. Even in its broken state, his
phone buzzed at least twenty times against the wall before the battery died. Namjoon fixes Jimin
with another look.

“You know why. He’s been texting you for days trying to set up a meeting.”

“I don’t want to talk to him,” Jimin mumbles, pulling the covers up so he doesn’t have to meet
Namjoon’s eyes.

“Well, he’s going to be here,” there’s a pause, “in twenty-nine minutes. So, unless you want him to
come and drag you out of bed himself, I’d suggest you get up.”

“Go tell him to fuck off,” Jimin mutters sourly.

“Tell him yourself,” Namjoon retorts without any real bite before he turns around and leaves the
room, the door clicking shut behind him. Jimin thinks he’s free but then the door opens again not
even a second later, Namjoon’s heavy footsteps thudding over to the bed before the covers are
suddenly ripped away and Jimin is left cowering grumpily in the middle of the mattress. “Twenty-
eight!!” Namjoon calls out behind him as he leaves for the second time.

He lies there shivering bitterly until there are only seven minutes until Bang PD is set to arrive.
Then his pride wins out and he rushes to the bathroom, relieved when he sees a bath ready and
waiting for him to dive into as well as a pair of jeans and one of Yoongi’s hoodies waiting near the
sink. He doesn’t want to see Bang PD but he really doesn’t want his boss to see him in such a
pathetic state.

He makes it out of the bathroom two minutes late, butterflies churning in his stomach when he
hears the murmur of voices in the living room, Bang PD’s tone easily recognizable next to
Namjoon’s low murmur.

Oh, how he’d love to run straight out of here and not return.

“Jimin?” Namjoon calls, and Jimin feels himself shrivelling inside. “PD-nim is here.” Fighting the
urge to just go straight back to bed, he walks out to the living room, feet still stinging slightly from
the healing cuts and his heart sinking down towards his toes with every step. They’re standing
there, both waiting for him, and Jimin manages to look Bang PD in the eye for barely half a second
before his gut clenches and he looks away, skin burning with shame.

(“You’re my message. Do you think your boss will like this too? With your face, I’m sure he’ll
appreciate it.”)
Perhaps Bang PD’s face has aged but his voice hasn’t changed when he speaks. “Jimin, thank you
for coming out.” It’s still so kind, filled with that overt bashfulness the man has always carried
about him, and Jimin feels like an absolute asshole for ignoring Bang PD for so long but he doesn’t
know what to say and settles instead for staring at the floor.

“You guys can talk in here. I’ll leave you to it and make sure the others don’t come in here,”
Namjoon says when the silence becomes too stifling, and then he’s walking away, leaving Bang
PD alone with Jimin.

“How are you doing, Jimin? Come and sit down,” Bang PD says, sitting down on the couch and
patting the cushion next to him. Jimin forces his own feet over to the couch and seats himself as
well, shrugging slightly at the question. He’s not normally this rude—especially not towards his
boss—but things have changed. Jimin really really doesn’t want to be here.

“I’m fine,” he manages in the end, fisting his fingers into his jeans and trying to get himself to
breathe normally. It’s so incredibly hard when he knows exactly what Bang PD’s seen.

“I’m sorry to come out here and invade your apartment when it’s clear you don’t wish to see me
but I think it’s time we talk,” Bang PD says quietly, and Jimin nods ever so slightly in
acknowledgement. “The boys have told me it’s been a quiet week for you,” Bang PD continues. “It
doesn’t seem that fine to me. That’s not the Jimin I know, hm?” His tone is nowhere near an
accusation but Jimin can’t help the resentment which curls bitterly in his chest.

“Well, I’m not exactly the Jimin I was before now, am I?” It comes out even more sarcastically
than he’d wanted and he winces but it’s too late to take it back. Still, Bang PD doesn’t get angry.

“I sent you the number and email of the therapist the others are seeing. Have you had a look?”
Jimin shakes his head, picking at a loose thread on the edge of the hoodie.

“My phone—it’s, um,” he flushes, “broken.”

“Ah, that’s not good. Well, your mother phoned me and told me you were going bi-weekly in
Busan so you can continue that here as well.”

“My mother phoned you?” Jimin’s head snaps up, cool dread sinking into his gut.

“She did,” Bang PD affirms, head tilting as he eyes Jimin with gentle contemplation. “I’m sorry
you had such a rough return to Seoul.”

“What did she tell you?” Jimin asks, not really wanting to know the answer. “Was she… angry?”

“Not with you,” Bang PD replies. “She did tell me what your father said.” His brow crinkles and
Jimin feels his face heating up in humiliation.

“That’s—how—what did she say exactly?” He has to know how much Bang PD knows but the
sinking feeling in his stomach only increases as the man before him sighs, telltale discomfort
written all over his face.

“From what I’ve gathered, your father has some rather traditional views about what you
underwent,” Bang PD hesitates, “and your mother said he has threatened to disown you if you
choose to press charges. Do correct me if I’m wrong.” There’s absolute silence in the room but
inside Jimin’s head, there is a ringing sound which only seems to increase with every passing
second he’s sitting here on this couch. He doesn’t even realise when he’s started hyperventilating,
every breath being forced out of his lungs before the previous one has been exhaled.

“Jimin? Are you okay?” He can vaguely hear Bang PD’s calling out for him, voice full of concern,
but it’s difficult to think or even respond when the side of him Bang PD should never have known
about is being exposed—he’s managed to keep his dysfunctional family life under wraps, even
from the others in the group, for years. The thought that this all crumbling to pieces makes him
panic even more.

Out of nowhere, something cold and wet hits him in the face and Jimin automatically takes a huge,
shuddering gasp of air, forced back into reality. Namjoon stands in front of him, the spray bottle
they use to water the plants held in one hand and an apologetic albeit alarmed expression on his
face. It shocks Jimin enough to stop his ensuing panic attack in its tracks but he still finds himself
flinching backwards, still not comfortable with someone appearing so close to him without his
realisation. Namjoon must’ve heard Bang PD’s voice trying to get Jimin’s attentoin.

“Are you alright, Jimin? What’s going on? What happened?” The second part of Namjoon’s
questions are directed more at Bang PD than they are at Jimin, and in some ways he’s grateful he
doesn’t have to answer. It lets him gather his bearings a little more, compose himself so he doesn’t
do something as stupid as to break down again.

Bang PD is watching Jimin with intense worry etched all over him and an air of overall guilt.

“Just...some things I needed to tell him—a shock, you know.”

“You can go, Namjoon,” Jimin manages to get out in the end, utterly embarrassed but not wanting
Namjoon to hear anything more than he may already have.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s—it’s fine.” Jimin wipes at the water sprayed on his face, grimacing when his sleeve
comes away soaked. Apparently, the spray bottle is much more powerful than probably even
Namjoon had anticipated. Namjoon hesitates but eventually leaves, carefully setting the spray
bottle onto the coffee table almost like a preemptive measure in case Jimin has another ‘episode’.

And then it’s just Jimin and Bang PD yet again, the silence clunking into place with even more
volatility than before.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know—I wouldn’t have spoken about it if I had known it was such
a...triggering, um, topic.” Jimin could almost laugh at the way Bang PD’s tone has gotten even
more hesitant than before. The man is clearly terrified of causing another such reaction with any of
his words.

“It’s okay,” Jimin mumbles. “I just wasn’t expecting it.” The flush of humiliation is still present,
warming the back of his neck, burning behind his eyes.

“Are you okay to continue?” Bang PD asks, and Jimin nods, even more embarrassed than before.
“Yes, sorry, I’m—yeah, it’s okay.” He stumbles over the words, choosing to shut up in the end as
he sits back against the cushions and avoids Bang PD’s eyes burning into the side of his head.

“Okay, well, as you’re now aware, your mother did tell me what your father said and the
circumstances behind your return to Seoul. However, I’m completely happy to keep that
information between us; there’s no need to tell anyone else at this point although,” and here Bang
PD hesitates again, hands twisting together in Jimin’s peripheral, “I would advise you to speak to
the boys about it. Do they already know?” Jimin shakes his head, his own fingers caught in the
fabric of his jeans until his knuckles are white with the strain.

“They haven’t known for years,” he whispers in the end.

“Your strained relationship with your parents has been an ongoing issue, I’m gathering?” Bang PD
asks quietly and Jimin pauses before nodding slightly. Bang PD seems to have heard the worst
already; there doesn’t seem much point in being secretive about the rest.

“My father never even wanted me to become an idol.” He huffs a bitter laugh. “He only let me
come to Seoul initially because he was sure I would fail and come running straight back home with
my tail in between my legs.”

“You’ve certainly proved him wrong,” Bang PD comments softly, and Jimin looks up at him, a
wry smile pulling at his mouth.

“Have I?” he asks, and Bang PD looks surprised.

“Don’t you think all the things you boys have been able to achieve is success in its own right?
You’re certainly one of the biggest names in the industry right now.”

“Maybe,” Jimin murmurs, gaze flicking down to the floor as he continues, “but at what cost?”
There's an awkward pause.

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“It’s not—it’s been good,” Jimin says, struggling to get the words to make sense. “I’ve loved it for
years and years, even when it got hard. I’m fine. ”

“Yet you’re willing to give it up?” Jimin’s head comes up at that, frustration bubbling deep in his
gut.

“It’s not like that. I just—”

“I’m surprised, Jimin but I understand.” There’s no judgement on Bang PD’s face but in a way, it
makes it worse.

“No, you don’t,” Jimin snaps. “Why does everyone keep saying that? None of you actually
understand!” He doesn’t mean to yell, curling in on himself when he realises how loud he’s being.
Bang PD doesn’t even bat an eyelid.

“Help me understand, Jimin. Every hardship you’ve ever been through—your family troubles,
injuries, almost not debuting—you’ve managed to pull through every single time. What makes this
so different? Why can’t you do it now?” It’s such a tone deaf statement in the context of the
problem that Jimin can’t even muster out a reply for the first few seconds, staring at Bang PD with
betrayal curling nauseatingly in his gut.

“Because—because all of those things, they’re—they’re incomparable! All of those things I had the
ability to fix in some way, even if it meant running away from them and starting again! This—I
can’t run away from this!” The words surge out of him, louder and louder until he’s actually
yelling properly, glaring at Bang PD’s face with anger racing through his body like hot sparks of
electricity in his veins. “I can’t fight this one! It’s—this is me now and I fucking hate it! I hate
looking in the mirror and not even recognizing who I am anymore because I feel like absolute shit!
How do you expect me to get up there on stage and sing and dance as if nothing even happened? I
can’t live a fucking lie! Especially not for our fans—they-they don’t deserve lies after all the times
they’ve stood by us!”

Bang PD doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just holds Jimin’s burning stare with an
unreadable stare of his own. And then, finally, he lets out a huge breath as if he’s been holding it in
this whole time and he seems to deflate.

“I’m not trying to trivialize your feelings, Jimin. Believe me, that is quite possibly the last thing I
would ever want to do. I just needed you to tell me honestly how you feel and, in my experience,
people are most honest when they’re angry.” Jimin’s brow wrinkles, all of the immediate anger in
his body leaving in one big rush to be replaced with confusion and then sudden understanding.

“You… you did that on purpose?” He asks and Bang PD nods.

“I feel like you deserve to be angry, you know. Even just for a little while. And as much as I can’t
hope to understand how you’re feeling, I just want you to know it’s okay to not be fine and it’s
more than okay to be angry.” He smiles gently. “I hope you won’t hold my tactics against me.”
Jimin shakes his head, feeling oddly exhausted at the sudden shift in the tone of the conversation.

“I thought you—you sounded like—like my dad.” And therein lies the root of the pain. Not being
believed by his own father; not having people actually take that hurt in his bones seriously; not
feeling like there’s a way out of this whole mess that won’t damage him somehow and yet
everyone just wants him to get better but no-one lets him to be angry. He needs to be angry—needs
something other than sadness. It hurts. But here Bang PD sits telling him it’s okay to be angry and
for the first time, Jimin feels like someone does understand just a little part of the hurt he’s feeling.

“Jimin, I hope you know the things your father said to you—it’s certainly not what I believe and I
hope not what you believe.”

“I know,” Jimin whispers, a lump in his throat. He’s not sure when it got there but it doesn’t seem
like it’s going to move and barely two seconds after he thinks that particular thought he’s
embarrassed to feel the hot sting of tears behind his eyeballs.

Like a dam of fire has broken, it burns with a vengeance as he cries and he ends up leaning
forward, head in his hands, sobbing like a baby. And it feels better this time—not good but
definitely better—to let it all out. Some of that hurt caused by his father loosening from where it’s
built up in his heart.

He needed this.

Bang PD just sits there quietly and lets Jimin cry and offers him a tissue when he’s done so he
doesn’t look completely destroyed.

“Sorry,” Jimin sniffs out as he scrubs uselessly at his hot cheeks but Bang PD just shakes his head.

“Don’t apologize for having feelings,” he says. It makes Jimin laugh ruefully.

“I have too many of those I think.”

“Never,” Bang PD says with a chuckle of his own. “Feelings write the best music anyway.”

He lets Jimin compose himself before he continues with all the things he needs to say, pushing
more tissues into Jimin’s hands.

“Have you thought about whether or not you’ll press the charges that bastard is pleading not guilty
for?” The question makes Jimin’s stomach churn but he forces himself to keep breathing. He
doesn’t know what the right answer is.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles, avoiding Bang PD’s eyes, almost scared of what he might see in
them. Just because he has condemned Jimin’s father’s words doesn’t mean he thinks Jimin should
pursue the charges.

“Can I tell you something?” Bang PD asks quietly, and Jimin nods at the tissues scrunched up in
his fingers. “I want you to consider this as if the person isn’t you but is Jungkook instead. Or
Taehyung, or Hoseok—any of the others. What would you have them do?” Bang PD is speaking
with the type of calm conviction that used to terrify Jimin as a trainee. Now he can’t help but be
sucked into Bang PD’s words as he continues, “I don’t want you to think about BigHit; I don’t
want you to think about BTS; I want you to think about yourself . This doesn’t involve anyone else
except you and if you want to drop the charges, I will support you, and if you want to make sure
that bastard pays for what he did, then I will support you as well. It’s your decision, Jimin, but I
want to remind you to extend yourself the same love you would give to the others if this had
happened to them. You’re deserving of that kindness as well—” Bang PD’s voice suddenly breaks
off into a harsh sniff and Jimin’s shocked to look up and see tears welling down his face. He’s
never seen Bang PD cry and it’s unnerving in its rawness.

“PD-nim…” Jimin hesitates before he extends a hand to his boss, patting the man’s shoulder as if
he’s petting an injured dog. Bang PD manages a wet chuckle through his tears, adjusting his
glasses to wipe off the condensation.

“You’ve got me crying now. That wasn’t the intention.”

“Didn’t you say it’s good to have feelings?” Jimin replies, and Bang PD manages a watery smile.

“On a serious note, I do want you to think carefully about what I said. You don’t have to answer
right away although I know the police are almost finished assembling their case.”

“Almost finished?” Jimin asks faintly, and Bang PD answers with a slight grimace.

“I got a call from the inspector today because they couldn’t get ahold of you”—Jimin feels his
cheeks warm considerably—"and they need a verdict from you before the start of next week.”

“The news—regardless of whether—whether I p-press the charges—it’s going to be big,” Jimin

murmurs, already imagining the media shit storm that is certain to occur the moment any news of
their kidnapping is released. Bang PD sighs softly, mouth pinching.
 “We’ve got a few ideas to try and keep it as low-profile as possible but it’s going to be a big story
whatever happens. We’ve got statements to release to try and minimize the speculation and gossip
that’s sure to arise.” Jimin nods carefully. BigHit has always been good at diffusing any sort of
rumours and gossip. The problem here is going to be the ongoing court case—it’ll take months
before their names aren’t constantly in the press.

“I have one last thing to ask you, Jimin, and I want complete honesty purely for the reason I need
to know how we’re going to move forward with this.” Jimin swallows, hands tangling together on
his lap as Bang PD continues, “If I gave you the opportunity right now to end your contract with
BigHit Entertainment, would you take it?”

There’s deafening silence between them and Jimin knows Bang PD needs an answer but it’s hard
to organize the thoughts in his head into actual words.

“I—I’m—” he hesitates, trying to find the right way of saying it–”that time I phoned you, I was
upset. I wasn’t really thinking properly except I couldn’t see a future on the stage—I still can’t. It’s
not that I don’t want to, it’s just,” he has to remind himself to breathe properly, “I don’t know how I
can. I don’t want to let the fans down but at the same time, this whole ordeal just makes me want to
go and—go and hide under a rock somewhere and never come out.” There are tears threatening to
come out again now but he won’t let them. Not yet. “And I’m sorry and I wish I could say I can go
right back out there and be the same Jimin I was before but I’m not and I don’t think I ever will be.
I just—I’m ashamed and embarrassed and whatever anyone tells me that I shouldn’t be, it doesn’t
seem to stick in my head.” The tears have spilled over onto his cheeks and Jimin wipes at them
irritatedly, eyes flicking up to see Bang PD watching him with so much concern it makes Jimin
almost guilty.

“Thank you for being so honest, Jimin,” Bang PD murmurs, and his voice is so kind and genuine,
it makes Jimin cry even more. “I’m willing to terminate your contract right now if you so wish but
I’d like you to reconsider. If it takes you ten years then it takes you ten years. I will not make you
perform again if you don’t want to but I would hate to lose you because I know that deep in here,”
he reaches over and taps Jimin’s chest, “is the same boy who turned up at the company all those
years ago with dreams in your eyes that were bigger than the moon. And even if sometimes the
moon gets covered by clouds, it'll always come back"

Chapter End Notes

If you'd like to tell me your thoughts on this chapter—constructive criticism,

comments—it would mean the world to me! Thank you so much for reading!

Otherwise, feel free to flick me an email if that's more comfortable for you:
piedpiperthewriter@gmail.com
 Decision Time
Chapter Summary

“I’m not gay,” he mutters into his sleeve. “I’m not gay.”

That’s not what people will think.

“I’m not gay,” he snaps, much louder than he’d intended, flinching when he realises
and looking around just to make sure he’s actually alone.

I’m not gay.

That’s not what people will think, though.

Jimin fists his hands into his hair and pulls until the pain pushes the thoughts out of
his brain.

Chapter Notes

It's time for Jimin to make some very important decisions...

I think you all know which ones I'm talking about so I will leave you with that!
Another update coming tomorrow! Thank you for so much love on the last chapter and
I hope I've managed to reply to all of your wonderful comments!

And thank you to those who wrote to me at my email: piedpiperthewriter@gmail.com

I love hearing from you whether it's a comment on the story or you just need to talk to
someone about anything.

Lots of love to all my dear readers!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Jimin shows Bang PD out to the door when they’re finished, and there’s a feeling that something in
the air has shifted when it clicks shut behind him. Jimin wouldn’t call it a weight off his shoulders
but at the very least it’s as if a tiny fraction of the weight is being shared by someone else.

Namjoon is waiting for him when he walks back through to the living room.

“How did it go?” He asks carefully, watching Jimin with obvious concern. Jimin just shrugs,
bunching the tissues in his hands and looking down at his feet. He still struggles to look Namjoon
in the eyes.
“It was fine,” he says in the end and he means it. Namjoon looks relieved, maybe catching the
honesty of Jimin’s words.

“That’s good—that’s really good. Um, and I’m sorry about the...” he pauses and Jimin flicks a
glance up to see Namjoon gesturing at the spray bottle on the coffee table. His cheeks warm and he
rubs at his neck.

“That’s—it was a good idea,” he mumbles. “How did you know I was—you know—” he clears his
throat—"panicking?”

“Well, Bang PD was yelling your name quite, uh, loud.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to come in and interrupt the two of you—”

“‘Oh, it’s fine.”

“—when you’re having conversations—”

“It’s fine, Namjoon,” Jimin says a bit louder and Namjoon shuts up immediately. “It stopped it
from getting worse anyway so I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?” Namjoon asks and Jimin tries not to get frustrated.

“Yes, I’m sure.” It probably comes out more harshly than he intended but he can’t bring himself to
care. “I’m going to the balcony for a bit,” he says, already walking off before Namjoon can say
anything else. Thankfully, Namjoon doesn’t try and stop him.

At least this time Jimin is dressed in more than pyjamas and the cold chill of the outside air is
somewhat lessened by the thickness of his hoodie. Still, he ducks back inside and grabs one of the
blankets from the couch, dragging it out behind him so he can curl up on one of the outside chairs
without completely freezing. He sits out on the balcony, staring out over the city, and for the first
time since the police officers had visited him in Busan, Jimin lets himself consider his possibilities.

He could drop the charges and save himself the humiliation of having people know what happened
to him but then Chang would probably be released in only a few years or he could decide to go
ahead and press charges and not only would he lose his relationship with his parents (because as
much as he believed his mum loved him, she was far too deeply caught in his father’s grasp) he
also wouldn’t be surprised if the whole country would turn against him. After all, homosexuality is
a sin, Jimin’s brain sneers at him.

“I’m not gay,” he mutters into his sleeve. “I’m not gay.”

That’s not what people will think.

“I’m not gay,” he snaps, much louder than he’d intended, flinching when he realises and looking
around just to make sure he’s actually alone.
I’m not gay.

That’s not what people will think, though.

Jimin fists his hands into his hair and pulls until the pain pushes the thoughts out of his brain.

He’s not sure how long he sits out there, just knows that when he finally releases his hair his scalp
is burning as if it’s been lit on fire. He’s almost grateful when his peace and quiet is disturbed by
the sound of the door to the balcony opening behind him and he turns to see Jungkook padding out
over the tile, hair sticking up all over the place as if he’s only just gotten up. Maybe he has—Jimin
wouldn’t know. He’s carrying two steaming mugs carefully balanced in each hand.

“Hi hyung, mind if I join you?” Jungkook sounds nervous and Jimin tries to smile as comfortingly
as possible.

“Sure, I don’t mind.” Jungkook grins then, that familiar, boyish grin Jimin knows so well, and he
places one of the mugs in front of Jimin.

“Peppermint tea,” he offers as a way of explanation, and Jimin murmurs his thanks as he reaches
out and cups the hot mug in between his cold fingers. Seeing Jungkook out here reminds him how
little he’s seen him all week.

“How’re you doing, Kook-ah?” He asks, settling back in his chair and pulling the blanket tighter
around his legs. Jungkook shrugs, flopping down in the chair next to Jimin.

“Pretty good. Yoongi-hyung’s going to teach me how to play the piano later.”

“How many years of asking did it take? Three? Four?” Jimin says, smiling when Jungkook
scrunches his nose.

“Don’t remind me. And he said he’ll only teach me so then I leave him alone afterwards.”

“He’s only kidding.” Jungkook smirks at that.

“I know, he loves me too much to kick me out of his studio permanently.” Jimin snorts.

“I wouldn’t be too sure, you know. Haven’t you been with him almost every day? I’m surprised
you haven’t throttled each other yet.” Jungkook just shrugs, cheeks going pink, and Jimin knows
not to push too much further. Jungkook’s always been obvious with his admiration of Yoongi—
Jimin’s not about to embarrass him about it too much. They fall into silence and Jimin goes back to
staring at the sky as Jungkook pulls out his phone.

“Have you read that new webtoon yet?” Jimin raises an eyebrow.

“Jungkook, there’s like a million webtoons. What’s it called?” Jungkook chews the inside of his
cheek.
“I know what it looks like...but I can’t remember its name,” Jungkook mumbles, rubbing at his
forehead as if it’ll somehow make the memory clearer in his brain. The look on his face makes
Jimin want to laugh and he has to bite his lip to stop the sound from bubbling out. Jungkook’s face
suddenly brightens.

“I remember! It was this one about these two people who met….” he rambles on, mouth moving a
mile a minute and Jimin just sits there and listens, soaking in the sound of Jungkook’s voice like
he’s been starved. He has, in a way, and just hearing how enthusiastic Jungkook is about
something so minor makes him realise how little he’s heard the younger man speak. Jungkook’s
always been quiet but normally he’s all over Jimin, pulling him around the apartment and teasing
him about his height; Jimin doesn’t think Jungkook’s teased him once since he’s been back. Then
again, considering Jimin’s been moping in bed the whole week, he’s only got himself to blame for
his isolation.

He’s not even really listening to Jungkook anymore, just watching the range of emotions flickering
over Jungkook’s face as he talks—enthusiasm, enjoyment— and Bang PD’s words suddenly pop
into his head.

“I want you to consider this as if the person isn’t you but is Jungkook instead. What would you
have him do?”

Jimin knows what he would tell Jungkook to do.

“Extend to yourself the same love you would give to the others if this had happened to them.”

“Hyung?” Jungkook’s voice suddenly breaks into his thoughts and Jimin is jerked back into the
present, guilty when he sees Jungkook’s concerned face looking at him.

“Sorry, Kook-ah, I drifted for a sec—tell me the story again?” He pretends not to notice the crinkle
of worry that appears in between Jungkook’s eyebrows even when he starts talking about the
webtoon again.

“You’re deserving of that kindness as well.”

Hours later, Jimin finds himself alone again in his room, back flat on his bare mattress (Namjoon
still hasn’t returned his blanket) staring at the ceiling as his hands fiddle with his broken phone—
well, cracked. He’s not sure if it still works, almost disappointed a few minutes later when it’s
charged enough for the screen to light up brilliant white with the Apple logo in the middle. There
are no excuses now.

He knows what he needs to do but he’s terrified of actually doing it.

It takes only a few seconds to find the contact he needs and his fingers hover over the call button
for almost ten seconds before he decides to text instead. He’ll give himself at least that much.

TO: Bang PD

I’ve decided to press the charges. Please, could you let the police inspector know as well?

Jimin presses send before he can change his mind, half tempted to throw his phone across the room
again but common sense winning out instead. His phone buzzes in his hand barely thirty seconds
later.

FROM: Bang PD

Well done, Jimin. I will be there to support you every step of the way, as will the boys. Would
you like to tell them yourself or shall I? And certainly, I will pass your decision over to the
police immediately. I’m so glad you’ve decided to press charges. You deserve for him to be
locked up for his crimes.

Jimin hesitates, lower lip caught between his teeth as he types out a reply to Bang PD.

To: Bang PD

Thank you. I’ll tell the others myself.

Maybe it’s stupid but at least it feels a little easier when he can tell them on his own terms.
Jimin lies there for hours, trying to figure out how to tell them, needing to tell them himself but
unable to think of any way which won’t end in disaster. Deep down he’s scared. What if they hate
him for it? What if they don’t want him to? It’s not something he’s talked about with any of them;
he can’t remotely predict their reactions.

He ends up falling asleep sometime in the evening, dozing fitfully, half-waking up when the door
opens at one point and Hoseok comes in, and falling back asleep the moment the other man leaves.
Taehyung comes in to wake him up for dinner and Jimin almost jumps out of his skin when his
hand gently taps his shoulder. He pretends not to notice the hurt look on Taehyung’s face when
Jimin jerks backwards like he’s been burned.

(He’s good at pretending not to see things these days)

The idea of food makes him sick so he politely refuses and rolls straight back over to sleep some
more. He needs to sleep now if he doesn’t want to wake up with nightmares all night but maybe his
whole sleep schedule is thrown off because of this morning or maybe he’s just had Chang on the
brain all day because the next time Jimin wakes up he’s sweating with adrenaline, heart racing a
million miles an hour.

Chang has his hand on Jimin’s throat, pressing down every time he thrusts. It makes black spots
appear behind Jimin’s eyes until it feels like there are ants constantly crawling over his vision.
He’s trying not to fight the pressure too much—doesn’t want to make Chang angry—but it’s hard
when his tongue feels like a piece of dead meat in his mouth, swollen from where he’s bitten it yet
again, drool trickling down the side of his mouth as he struggles to breathe.

“You like that?” Chang pants, pressing down even more, sweat dripping from his forehead onto
Jimin’s face. It’s disgusting—Chang is disgusting—and Jimin ends up shutting his eyes, forcing
himself not to panic even as his lungs burn and his mouth dries up. “You’re just a mucky pup,
aren’t you,” Chang taunts, his free hand coming up to smear the spittle trickling down Jimin’s
mouth back over his face. It’s sticky and disgusting and Jimin tries to focus on that sensation
instead of the fear of suffocating.

He knows he’s done the right thing when Chang suddenly lets go of his throat so he can at least
breathe, although his fingers shift instead to Jimin’s mouth. He forces his fingers in, pulling
Jimin’s bottom teeth down so his whole jaw has to open wider to accommodate for the pressure,
and Jimin wonders how much strength it would take to rip the two halves of his jaw apart.

He wakes up like that, the lower half of his face throbbing from where he’s clenched his teeth
together in his sleep, completely disoriented by his surroundings for more than a few seconds
before he remembers where he is. There’s the heavy weight of a blanket on him now and he turns
over to see his duvet covering him. Namjoon must have brought it back while he was asleep.
Hoseok is back as well, shoulders rising and falling with long steady breaths Jimin can barely hear
from his side of the room. His phone tells him it’s almost two o’clock in the morning and he pads
out of bed to grab a drink of water, checking carefully to see if any of the others are awake by
seeing if there is any crack of light coming out from underneath their doors. It’s all dark.

The kitchen is dark as well and Jimin feels almost like he’s intruding as he walks over to the sink
to fill a glass, not bothering to switch on the light. Still, his brain is wide awake now, heart still
coming down from the memories of Chang. It doesn’t really fit to call it a nightmare—Jimin
doesn’t have nightmares, just flashbacks. He sits at the kitchen table for a while, staring at the
phone in his hand. It hasn’t really sunken in what he’s doing.

He’s pressing charges. Everyone will know.

The thought makes him sick and he takes another shaky sip of water. And he still has to tell the
others.

“Fuck,” he mumbles to himself, pressing the cool glass against his forehead in the hope it’ll soothe
the burning in his brain. It doesn’t, and in a moment of reckless courage, he swipes onto the group
chat he has with the other members, hesitating for only half a second before he puts down his glass
and starts typing. He knows they all know about Chang’s not-guilty plea. Simple and effective
should be fine.

TO: Bangtan Bros

I’ve decided to press charges

In much the same way as he did with Bang PD, he presses send before he can change his mind, gut
swooping as the message icon reads ‘delivered’. He doesn’t expect any of the other members to be
awake but suddenly the message goes from ‘delivered’ to ‘read’ and Jimin almost falls out of his
chair. He fumbles at his screen, tapping on the message to see who it is.

Yoongi.

Barely a second later he hears the sound of doors opening and closing in the hallway. First what he
assumes is Yoongi’s, then the soft tread of feet walking down to Jimin and Hoseok’s room where
the door opens and closes before the feet make their way back up the hallway. He’s bracing
himself, trying to get his shoulders to relax from where they’re pushed up by his shoulders. And
still, the footsteps get closer and closer and closer until finally, a shadowy figure walks into the
kitchen and Jimin can see Yoongi, phone clutched by his side with the screen still on, showing
Jimin’s message.

“Jimin?”

“Mm,” he hums, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably. Yoongi stops then, a few feet
from the table, and he’s staring at Jimin with something absolutely unreadable in his eyes. He
sighs suddenly—a great big exhale as if he’s been holding it in forever—and he switches his phone
off, still looking at Jimin with that unreadable expression.

“Jimin, can I—can I give you a hug?” Yoongi asks, and Jimin’s so surprised at the question it takes
him a moment to even figure out how he feels about it. He thinks about it and he thinks about it
some more and he doesn’t feel like running away so he nods, standing up and walking forward
until he’s standing just in front of Yoongi. They stay like that for all of two seconds before Yoongi
suddenly pulls him forward.

Jimin has to fight the urge to back away as arms close around him and pull him close because this
is Yoongi, not Chang, and maybe Yoongi notices his hesitation because he makes a move as if he’s
going to back away. That’s all Jimin needs before he fists his hands into the back of Yoongi’s
hoodie and stops him.

This is okay. This is good. This is Yoongi .

Yoongi’s arms are tight around Jimin’s waist, one hand drifting near his shoulder blades and Jimin
feels like this is all a dream because Yoongi is normally never so tactile. But then Yoongi’s
leaning his head on Jimin’s shoulder and he’s whispering words into Jimin’s neck that make his
chest warm.

“I’m so fucking proud of you.” Yoongi’s voice is rough like it hasn’t been used for a while. “So
fucking proud,” Yoongi mumbles again, and Jimin lets out a big breath he didn’t even know he
was holding.

“I was worried you all would be angry,” he whispers at the wall behind Yoongi, knuckles
tightening in his hoodie. Yoongi pulls back a bit then.

“Why would we be angry? ” He looks absolutely baffled and Jimin shrugs, slightly embarrassed at
the confession. “If you chose not to press charges I don’t think anyone could stop me from going to
hunt that bastard down and killing him myself.” There’s something dark glittering in Yoongi’s
eyes that has Jimin shivering and ducking forward again, the look on Yoongi’s face a little too real.

He believes him. He really does, and so he shoves his head back into Yoongi’s warmth and
breathes in his scent with every inhale.

He likes this hug and he’s not exactly sure why because he can’t stand people touching him
normally anymore but maybe it’s alright because it’s Yoongi. There’s something comforting about
him; he makes Jimin feel safe. Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind and he rubs comforting circles into
Jimin’s shoulders until his knees are weak and he’s close to falling asleep from the warm,
repetitive pressure.

“Sorry.” It slips out of him before he can catch it and Yoongi grunts into his shoulder, not ceasing
with the circular motions.
“What the fuck’re you saying sorry for,” he mumbles gruffly, no real bite to his words. Jimin just
shrugs again (he’s getting good at that too).

“I’m just sorry for this whole… all this shit.”

“It’s not your fault, Min,” Yoongi murmurs, and his chin digs sharply into Jimin’s shoulder as he
hooks it into the muscle and pulls Jimin closer. Maybe he realized how much Jimin needed this.
“Don’t apologize for that fucker’s actions.”

“Still…”

“It’s not your fault,” Yoongi whispers, and for the first time, Jimin wants to believe it.

Later, when he’s lying in bed again, eyes aching from the glow of his phone, Jimin texts his mum
the same thing he’d texted Bang PD and the rest of the guys. She deserves to know his decision.
And maybe he thinks about the second part of his text for more than half an hour before he sends it
but he sends it anyway, watching the ‘delivered’ symbol pop up with a heavy heart.

TO: Eomma <3

Eomma, I’m pressing charges. I’m sorry.

I know Appa will be upset but you can tell him as well.

He knows when each of the others reads the group chat the next morning. Hoseok’s lying across
the room from him when he suddenly sits up, squinting at Jimin in obvious shock.

“You’re…?” He points at his phone and Jimin nods hesitantly, relieved when Hoseok stares at him
for a moment longer before grinning suddenly. “Good. That’s so good, Jiminie.”

Jin is the next one who finds out and he comes into their room holding a plate with eggs and toast,
tomato sauce squirted on the side of the plate with the words ‘you’re a star’. Jimin can’t help but
smile when he sees it, and Jin looks like he wants to say something else but he just gives Jimin a
cheesy wink and an exaggerated air kiss before he leaves. Even if Jimin doesn’t eat them, he’s glad
for the gesture.

Later, Jimin’s fiddling around on his phone when Taehyung and Jungkook come in and sit on the
end of his bed, looking even more conspiratorial than usual, and Jimin knows why they’re here.

“I’m glad, Jiminie,” Taehyung says in the end, and Jungkook nods fervently. “Good for you”

Namjoon is the last one, texting Jimin a big smiley face and a ‘Hwaiting!’ emoji to match. Jimin
sends him a sunshine in return.

It feels like some of the tension in the apartment has abated like everyone has breathed a sigh of
relief they didn’t know they needed. Jimin’s not sure if he’s imagining it but the whole place
seems lighter, and even if he knows the court case and ensuing media storm is going to be
horrifying, at least he’s made his decision now. He’s in control of his decision.

The only person he doesn’t hear from is his mother, although he can see she’s read it and
occasionally he gets a notification that she’s typing. But nothing appears and he wonders whether
that’s her choice or his father’s. Now, with a clear head, he thinks about what his decision means
for his family.

Because of this one decision, his father will disown him and he probably won’t see his mother
often if his father has anything to do with it. He’s lost his family for the sake of justice. It hurts
deep inside of Jimin but he’s always been good at pushing the pain down so he doesn’t have to feel
it and he does that now, shoving it down so far in his heart he’s not sure it’ll ever properly emerge.

Don’t think about it.

And more importantly:

Don’t tell anyone about it.

He can’t. He can’t tell anyone because then it becomes real and Jimin’s not sure he can cope with
the reality.

Pretend it hasn’t happened.

(He’s good at pretending.)

Jimin spends the day drifting around, not doing much. He dozes off occasionally. He makes an
appointment with the therapist. He even goes and has a bath of his own accord, and he sits in there
for more than hour, mucking around with the bubbles and this dumb rubber duck Taehyung bought
because it looked cool.

He’s fresh out of the bath, laying on his bed in sweatpants and another oversized hoodie he stole
out of Yoongi’s closet, when Hoseok suddenly comes in.

“Jimin? Your dad’s here.” Jimin stares at him.

“My… dad?”

“Yeah.” Hoseok looks surprised. “You didn’t know he was coming?” Jimin swallows down the
bile rising in his throat and shakes his head.

“No, he—he didn’t tell me.”

“Oh.” Hoseok’s forehead crinkles and Jimin can see the cogs turning. He panics.

“It’s fine! He just loves surprises, you know.” He hops out of bed, trying not to let his unease
show. Hoseok nods, still frowning slightly but looking much more understanding.

“That’s cool. Well, he’s waiting in the living room.”

“Thanks, hyung,” Jimin manages as he walks out of the room, dread dropping like a rock in his
stomach as he hears the low rumble of his father’s voice. Why is he here?

As Hoseok said, his father is standing in the living room, Namjoon and Jin both standing with him
and chatting quietly. Jimin could almost believe his father’s happy smile except that last time he
saw his father he was being told he was being disowned if he pressed charges.

And guess what I did, he thinks to himself, forcing his lips into a smile as he steps into the room.

He doesn’t miss the way his father’s eyes narrow when they land on Jimin although his easy
expression remains the same.

“Appa, what are you doing here?” Jimin asks, trying to sound calm but not succeeding very well.
His father’s lips thin and Jimin is hyper aware of both Namjoon and Jin staring at them and so he
forces himself to keep smiling even as his father gets closer.
 “Am I not allowed to surprise my son?”

You hate surprises, Jimin thinks.

Chapter End Notes

Do you have constructive criticism? Comments? Thoughts? Ideas? Emotions to share?

Let me know with a comment, or if you're after a general chat, you can always email
me: piedpiperthewriter@gmail.com
 Appa
Chapter Summary

“Why are you here, Appa?”

"You know why."

Chapter Notes

WARNING: there may be some triggering content in this chapter (everything is

tagged so maybe reread those if you're worried). I don't want to spoil the plot so if you
think you need to check out the warnings, then scroll right down (really quickly) to the
endnotes and I will put a warning with some more detail in there.

Look after yourselves! If what you read upsets you or you just want a general chat
about life, hit me up at:

piedpiperthewriter@gmail.com

I've loved hearing from a couple of you so far, and know I will always reply!

Enjoy this chapter, take the warnings seriously if you need to, and thank you for your
incredible response to the last chapter! You guys don't know how happy you make
me!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Jimin stares at his father. “I wasn’t expecting you.” His father laughs, jarring to Jimin’s already
taut nerves.

“That wouldn’t be a surprise now, would it?” He adjusts his coat. “Now, why don’t you get
dressed properly. I’m taking you out for dinner.”

“Dinner?” Jimin echoes faintly, and his father nods.

“I’ll wait here unless you have better things to do?” There’s a dangerous glint in his eye which
dares Jimin to refuse.

“No...no of course not,” he manages, voice weak with a mixture of confusion and dread.

Why is he here?
“Go on then,” his father says, and Jimin forces himself to turn around and walk back towards his
room. He’s vaguely aware of footsteps walking quickly to catch up and Jin appears next to him a
moment later, following him into his room without saying a word. He’s staring at Jimin with a
strange look on his face and Jimin eyes him for a moment before he starts rummaging through his
closet for a nice shirt and pants.

“What do you want, hyung?” He asks when the silence in the room finally becomes too stifling,
turning to see Jin’s arms crossed tightly over his chest, his lower lip caught between his teeth.

“You don’t need to go if you don’t want to,” Jin says suddenly, and Jimin pauses unconsciously
for half a second before his brain kicks him to keep moving.

“Why do you say that?” He asks, keeping his voice as neutral as possible, supremely glad Jin can’t
see his face. He knows it would give everything away.

“Just,” Jin hesitates, “you’re not exactly giving off the vibe of wanting to go.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,”

“Jimin, I’m serious. You don’t have to go. I’ll make an excuse for you.”

“Leave it, Jin.”

“I’m just—”

“ Leave it,” Jimin snaps. “Now can you please get out, I need to change.” He waits as Jin stands
there silently, feeling his hyung's eyes burning into his back before he suddenly sighs, leaving the
room moments later.

Jimin feels bad for snapping at Jin when the man is only looking out for him but he can’t have
them know about his issues with his father. He just can’t.

Namjoon and Jin are both still in the living room when he comes back out, dressed in a nice shirt
and a pair of black jeans. His father barely acknowledges him although he lands a heavy hand on
Jimin’s shoulder that has him flinching without meaning to. He uses putting on his jacket as a
chance to shrug the weight off, regretting it when it returns with even more pressure. Just as they’re
about to step out of the apartment, Jin leans forward, murmuring quietly enough that only Jimin
can hear.

“If you need to be picked up at any time, just phone me. I’ll be up.” Jimin just shoots him a look
and doesn’t respond and before he knows it the apartment door is shut and they’re walking out to
the elevator.

His father doesn’t say anything as they’re walking down to the car but his hand stays on Jimin’s
shoulder. It’s not comforting—it’s menacing, and Jimin bends down to check his shoelaces as
another way to get it off. This time it doesn’t come back.

They’re in the car before Jimin dares speak again.

“Why are you here, Appa?” His father doesn’t answer right away, incredible tension in his arms as
he grips the steering wheel and drives out of the parking space.

“You know why,” he says finally, and Jimin physically feels his gut drop. It's not surprising but he
can't think of a single reason his father would drive all the way to Seoul from Busan just to tell
Jimin something he already knew.

"So, Eomma told you then,” he mumbles, watching as his father’s jaw clenches and his knuckles
whiten on the steering wheel. He doesn’t answer.

They keep driving for a few minutes longer before Jimin suddenly has another thought, confused
as they pull on to the highway leading out of Seoul.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“Appa…” there’s fear curling in Jimin’s gut like a snake just waiting to strike.

“Don’t call me that,” his father snaps, and Jimin feels the strange urge to laugh.

“You were serious then.”

“I told you what I think,” his father hisses, “it shouldn’t come as a surprise.”

“Does Eomma know you’re here? Where are you taking me?” Jimin asks again, wishing he could
take out his phone and text someone except it’s in his back pocket and he’s afraid of his father’s
reaction.

“ Stop talking,” his father snarls, and Jimin flinches away from him without meaning to. He
doesn’t recognize this man anymore; there’s something unfamiliar about the way his mouth is set
in a ruthless line, even with the cruelty he’s spat at Jimin throughout his childhood.

They drive for almost an hour and the fear in Jimin’s gut keeps growing and growing, all sorts of
horrible outcomes filling his head. How far would his father be willing to go to save the so-called
reputation of the family? He’s not even sure anymore. He’s forced to watch as the city lights of
Seoul keep dwindling until they’re driving through the industrial sector, filled with huge factories
and abandoned buildings, everything dark and shadowy in a way that has Jimin’s gut constantly
twisting. He’d realised long ago they weren’t going out for dinner—shit, that should’ve been
obvious from the start—but he can’t think of a single reason for them to be here of all places.

“Get out,” his father growls when the car is parked, headlights left on to illuminate the side of an
abandoned police station in front of them. Jimin can just make out the sign looming out of the
darkness.

“Appa—”

“I told you not to call me that!”

“What’s happening? Why are we here?” Jimin’s basically frozen in his seat even as his father
opens his own door and steps out.

“Get out of the car!” His father yells, and Jimin feels his heart rate increase tenfold. In terms of
self-preservation, disobeying his father doesn't seem like a good idea and, despite every bone in his
body screaming at him not to, Jimin does as his father told him and gets out of the car. It’s
freezing, the wind cutting through his jacket immediately, but it's not the real reason Jimin is
shaking. Everywhere he can see there’s just darkness and huge old structures looking like
something out of the war, and the brilliant glare of the car headlights makes the shadows of his
father's face appear even deeper as he walks around the car towards Jimin.

“Take off your jacket,” he tells him when he’s closer, and Jimin stares at him.

“Wh—why?”

“Take. it. Off!” His father bellows suddenly, shoving Jimin backwards so he hits the side of the car
with a solid thump that sends pain radiating up his back. There’s tension crackling in the air
between them and Jimin is so shocked and terrified, he does as he’s told, not wanting to anger his
father any more than he already has.

And maybe, apart from getting in his car in the first place, this is his second mistake.

Jimin is given absolutely no warning before a fist hits him square in the jaw and sends his whole
head whipping back from the impact, smashing into the car with a force that leaves him dizzy. The
pain is unreal, setting his skin on fire as his whole head throbs. And it’s not over.

His father’s fist hits him again in the head, this time clocking his eye socket, and Jimin tries to put
his arms up to protect himself but then he’s being kneed in the stomach and he goes down, all the
air in his lungs disappearing. The blows rain down with feet and fists, smashing into any part of
Jimin they can reach and he’s trying to fight back, trying to scream, trying to do something that
will get the violent onslaught to stop. But he’s weak and thin from not eating much and months
without proper exercise, hardly able to find the strength to curl up in a ball when his father’s boot
hits him square in the gut with all the strength of a man who is not only much taller but also much
stronger than Jimin.

He’s helpless.

Helpless when his father reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a belt and starts whipping him
with it, the leather lashing across his back and flaying it with stripes of white-hot agony, the buckle
chewing into his skin. The whole time he’s still crying out for his father to stop, pleading for
mercy, and yet his father won’t listen, foul words spilling from his mouth every time his arm
comes down with the belt. Somewhere in Jimin’s brain, it shuts off his ability to properly
understand it and he’s thankful in a way. It’s easier to focus on protecting himself when all the
words are blending into one spewing tirade of hatred and disappointment.
He’s doesn’t know how long it goes on for. Maybe he blacked out for a bit, he’s not sure. But the
sound of the tires crunching near his head, the low swoop of the headlights as they turn against the
buildings—it’s all real and Jimin just manages to tilt his head to see his father’s car racing away,
red lights blinking in his vision until they blur into one distant speck and disappear.

(The gravel pressing into his cheek gives him something else to focus on because if Jimin really
managed to come up with a coherent thought he would realise he's all alone.)

There’s a trickling warmth making it’s way down his face, working with gravity to puddle next to
his head and Jimin’s tongue flicks out, catches the metallic tang of blood. He’s bleeding from his
forehead too—can feel it congealing against his skin.

He still can’t find it in himself to move. Everything hurts. Somehow it’s worse than when he’d
been whipped and raped by Chang; he knew Chang was a bad person. But to be beaten so brutally
and with such cruelty by his own father—there's something so incomprehensible about it, Jimin
can’t even begin to wrap his head around the whole thing even as he’s laying in his own blood-
soaked gravel.

It could be hours later when Jimin feels his phone buzz in his pocket and he could almost laugh.
Even when he’s utterly broken, his phone still works. It takes him at least a minute to be able to lift
his hand far enough to reach back and fish out his phone, the illuminated screen swimming in front
of his eyes. Jin texted.

FROM: Jinnie-hyung

When are you coming back? Do you want me to pick you up?

Yes , Jimin thinks. He needs to be picked up . The dots in his brain take an age to connect before he
realises he actually needs to text Jin in order for that to happen, and he drops the phone on the
gravel next to him so he can rest his hand on the ground while he uses his fingers to type.

TO: Jinnie-hyung

Yes
The phone buzzes barely two seconds later.

FROM: Jinnie-hyung

Where are you? Did everything go okay with your dad?

Jimin tries to breathe as his muscles shift and another wave of pain races down his body.

TO: Jinnie-hyung

Lcotatino

It’s all spelt wrong and Jimin hopes Jin will understand as he swipes to the home page and finds
the tracking app all of them have installed on their phones. He turns it on, thankful he has enough
data for it to work, and watches as the screen lights up with another text from Jin.

FROM: Jinnie-hyung

Why r u so far out, Jimin? Wtf happened? R u OK? Omw

TO: Jinnie-hyung

hury

He doesn’t remember much else except watching in complete numbness as his screen lights up
again and again as Jin keeps texting, being too tired and sore to move his fingers the few
centimetres it will take to open his phone. He drifts in and out of consciousness instead, the
thought that Jin is driving to get him the only thing that stops him from completely letting go. Yet
when he sees headlights racing towards him down the road—the only car to drive past in the
minutes or hours he’s been lying here—he almost thinks it’s his father coming back to finish off
the job. And that thought even crossing his mind scares him more than anything else that’s
happened to him in this one night.
 The only thing he can think is how it’s not his father who practically leaps out of the car and runs
over to Jimin. It’s not his father with questions and cries tumbling out of his lips that Jimin wishes
he could answer.

It’s Jin who kneels by his side and cries for Jimin to please be okay. It’s Jin who asks him where
it hurts and Jimin tries to tell him but really he just wants to sleep and so he makes one feeble
attempt to latch onto Jin’s sleeve before his back is on fire and he gives up. It’s Jin who lifts him
up, murmuring apologies the entire time, and Jimin knows he doesn’t mean to but it hurts so much
he can’t help the scream that’s torn out of his chest.

It’s Jin who cares about Jimin lying all alone on the outskirts of Seoul when it should have been
his father who cared. But it was his father who put him there in the first place.

It’s only when he’s in the car, laid down carefully on the backseat with Jin’s sweater tucked under
his head, that Jimin allows himself to actually cry. The sobs burst out of him until he’s blind and
dizzy with them, chest heaving even though it hurts, eyes burning and cheeks stinging as the salt
gets into all of the wounds, and still, Jimin cries.

He thought he would've run out of tears by now.

Chapter End Notes

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence and Parent/child violence/abuse. I'm not

sure exactly what may constitute graphic but there is a great deal of suspense and the
violence occurs between Jimin and his father so if parent/child abuse is an issue,
please skip this chapter and I can email you a summary
(piedpiperthewriter@gmail.com). There's no shame in looking after yourself!

To those of you who have read the chapter:

Let me know what you thought of the chapter in the comments! Constructive
criticism, comments, thoughts, feelings! I will do my best to respond to them all!
 Jin means safety.
Chapter Summary

“Jin? What’s going on?”

“Jimin—his dad came and took him out for dinner—no, not dinner—I don’t even
know—”

“Jin,” Sejin interrupts, sounding much more awake. “Take a deep breath. Where is
Jimin now?”

“He’s in my car but he’s bleeding and I think—I know— it’s his dad who did it, and
he left him out in the middle of fucking nowhere and I don’t know what to do!” Jin’s
crying by the end of it as well, almost hysterical with the need for someone to tell him
it’s all going to be okay because right now, he’s not sure.

Chapter Notes

Hello beautiful people!

Firstly, to every person who commented on the last chapter with their thoughts and
feelings, and to those who emailed me as well, I want to say a massive thank you!
Reading what you guys have to say quite often ends up influencing the story as
ChopHouseKpop knows very well ;) and it's also a great motivator to keep putting out
chapters!

This chapter is one I had a battle with but I think (e.g. hope) turned out well! You can
probably guess what's going to happen just from the title ;)

Anyways, I love to read your comments and if you have any ideas about where you
see the story going, let me know! Feel free to email me at
piedpiperthewriter@gmail.com

Stay safe loves,

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Jin doesn’t think he’s ever driven so quickly in his life. He’d known something was wrong from
the moment Jimin had stepped into the living room, a fake smile plastered all over his face. Jin had
spotted it from a mile off and although he couldn’t understand the cause of the obvious tension
between Jimin and his father, there’s not much he could do to dissuade Jimin from leaving. His gut
was telling him not to let him go and it’s this thought which keeps racing through Jin’s mind as he
gets closer and closer to where Jimin is. He should’ve done more.
He thinks he’s going to be sick with trepidation when the GPS on his phone tells him he’s within
fifty metres, then twenty, then ten and there’s no sign of life anywhere. But finally, the headlights
illuminate Jimin’s crumpled form splayed over the gravel parking lot and it’s all Jin can do not to
jump out of the car right there and then at the sight of his precious Jimin lying unmoving on the
ground.

The next few minutes are a blur. He knows he’s saying stuff but he doesn’t even know what,
words spilling from his lips as he rushes forward because Jimin’s not moving and Jin doesn’t think
he could live with himself if he’s come too late. It’s almost worse when Jimin’s eyes open and
they’re completely empty, hardly seeing what’s in front of him. Jin doesn’t even know if he should
be moving Jimin because there’s blood everywhere on his face and he can see more blood seeping
into his shirt from random gashes all along his back.

It’s so fucking red.

Jin thought to see Jimin after Chang was bad enough but there’s something even worse about
finding him like this, abandoned in a car park on the outskirts of Seoul, bleeding and bruised and
barely conscious. And Jin knows it’s Jimin’s father who is responsible for this but he pushes that
knowledge to the far depths of his mind to deal with later because right now Jimin needs him to be
present and focused.

Jin doesn’t even realize when he started crying but there are tears dripping off the end of his nose
and falling onto Jimin’s bloody forehead, and he rubs them gently away with shaking fingers as he
tries to get some response out of him about where he’s most hurt. It’s obvious Jimin’s trying—his
lips twitch and his fingers catch feebly on Jin’s sleeve—but no words come out and eventually he
just sighs, arm flopping back onto the ground as his eyes drift shut again.

Something in Jin’s heart cracks when he’s lifting Jimin up and he sees the moment his face
contorts in utter agony, eyes snapping open and a choked cry bursting out of him with the sort of
rough power that only comes from true pain. Jin would do anything to never hear that sound again
and he stumbles to the car, murmuring apologies which can do nothing for Jimin, both shocked at
the lightness of the body in his arms and terrified as the lights inside the car reveal even more
damage. The whole left side of Jimin’s face is painted purple with bruises—clearly, his father was
right-handed—and the skin around his eye is almost black. There’s a cut oozing blood on his
cheekbone (rings maybe?) and more blood shining wet and dark in his hair. And that’s just Jimin’s
face.

Jin tries to lay the boy on the backseat but Jimin babbles almost incoherently, grappling with Jin’s
shoulders in a way that makes it impossible to put him down until finally, Jin realizes the worst of
his injuries are on his back. He lays Jimin on his side, ripping off his sweater so there’s something
soft for his head, ignoring the sticky red tinge of blood on his hands and trying not to let Jimin see
how panicked he is. He feels so far out of his depth.
This all feels like a nightmare, every minute blending into another minute of absolute horror and
shock, and Jin wishes he’d taken up Namjoon’s offer to come and join him. He’d declined only
because Namjoon already looked exhausted and it was close to twelve am when Jimin had first
responded to his texts. He certainly never thought he’d walk into a scene like this.

He sticks his phone into the holder and calls Sejin as he drives, checking over his shoulder every
few minutes just to make sure Jimin hasn’t…he’s not sure what he’s expecting. All he knows is
that Jimin is lying on the backseat, eyes shut and fingers limp where they dangle off the edge of
the leather, and maybe that’s a tear trickling down his cheek but Jin’s not sure. Sejin picks up on
the sixth ring, voice sounding very much like he just woke up but Jin can’t even find it in himself
to feel remotely guilty.

“Jin? What’s going on?”

“Jimin—his dad came and took him out for dinner—no, not dinner—I don’t even know—”

“Jin,” Sejin interrupts, sounding much more awake. “Take a deep breath. Where is Jimin now?”

“He’s in my car but he’s bleeding and I think—I know— it’s his dad who did it, and he left him out
in the middle of fucking nowhere and I don’t know what to do!” Jin’s crying by the end of it as
well, almost hysterical with the need for someone to tell him it’s all going to be okay because right
now, he’s not sure.

“Shit, and you’re in the car now?” Sejin asks, obvious urgency in his voice.

“Yes, it took me, like, an hour to get out to him and we’re only just on our way back now.” Jin can
hear as Sejin swears again faintly in the background, almost as if he’s moved the phone away from
his mouth but when his manager’s voice returns, it’s calm and steady.

“Okay, I need you to think really carefully about this, Jin. Do you think Jimin has life-threatening
injuries?”

“I’m—”

“Think about it, Jin. Don’t just answer. It’s okay—it’s all going to be okay, but I need to know if
we need to meet you with an ambulance so he can go to the hospital.” Jin swallows, trying to keep
a clear head so he doesn’t drive off the road but also unable to fight the urge to keep looking back
at Jimin. This time, when he does look, Jimin’s eyes are open but he doesn’t seem to be looking at
anything in particular.

“I don’t...I don’t think it’s life-threatening,” Jin manages to reply in the end, “but he’s all bloody
and bruised and I think he might be concussed.” Sejin exhales with what sounds like mild relief.

“That’s good, well, not good but—”

“I get it, I know,” Jin assures, looking back at Jimin once more. How could someone hurt him like
this? Especially his father?

“We can’t take him to the hospital at such short notice without attracting far too much public
attention but the Private A&E After Hours Clinic is open. I can send you the directions or do you
know where it is?”

“I know where it is, just,” Jin has to swallow down the overwhelming tide of panic threatening to
overwhelm him, “I’m scared, Sejin-hyung. I don’t know what to do—if he’s even going to be
okay.”

“He’s going to be fine,” Sejin says, and he sounds convincing enough for Jin to feel at least
minutely better. “All you need to focus on is getting to the clinic and we’ll sort the rest from there.
Do the others know or do I need to ring Namjoon?”

“Namjoon knows I went to pick Jimin up but we had no idea about any of this. His dad said he was
taking Jimin out to dinner and I didn’t hear anything from him for hours.” Jin tries to quell the bile
rising in his throat. “I knew he didn’t want to go, hyung. It was written all over his face but I didn’t
realize—I feel so fucking stupid for letting him go.”

“It’s not your fault, Jin. Don’t think about that, okay?” Sejin’s tone is firm but kind. “Call me if
anything changes with his situation. Is he awake right now?” Jin checks.

“His eyes are open but I’m not sure if he’s really with it.”

“Okay, just try and keep him awake. I’ll phone Namjoon and let the rest of the boys and Bang PD
know, and I’ll meet you there.” Sejin pauses suddenly, and when he speaks again his voice is
much gentler. “You’re doing well, Jin. Just keep driving.”

Jin keeps those words on the tip of his tongue, repeating them with every minute that passes, every
second of glancing back just to make sure Jimin is still awake. Just keep driving. He’s in a sort of
haze now and he keeps talking to Jimin, all sorts of useless crap spilling from his mouth—
reassuring Jimin everything is going to be okay because maybe that’s what Jin needs to hear. Jimin
blinks at him sometimes, teardrops caught in his eyelashes, lips parted and crusted with blood. And
Jin just keeps driving because that’s what he has to fucking do just to make things okay.

(What does okay even mean? Not life-threatening?)

Just keep driving.

Jimin wants to sleep but Jin keeps looking over his shoulder, telling Jimin to stay awake for just a
little longer. But he so wants to sleep he lets his eyes drift shut only for bony fingers to reach back
and nudge his shoulder in a gentle but persistent manner. He catches words of Jin’s conversation
with Sejin—they’re going to the After Hours Clinic apparently—and afterwards Jin keeps
muttering on about driving even as he’s telling Jimin to stay awake.

It’s a big confusing mess and Jimin can’t tell which parts of him are aching and which parts of him
have gone numb because his whole body feels like a block of concrete that’s been smashed into
thousands of bits and thrown back together in a pile on the backseat of Jin’s car. Random things
keep floating into his brain, bits and pieces of useless information that he can’t quite catch before
they’re slipping away and he’s left in the dark, confused again.

His lips are cracked with dried blood and he tries to make them work, only succeeding when his
tongue flicks out to wet them although he wants to vomit at the acrid, metallic taste.

“Jin?” He asks in the end, but then the second part of his sentence disappears from his mind and
Jin couldn’t even hear him anyway. “Jin,” he tries again, and this time Jin does hear him and Jimin
feels the moment the car swerves slightly as his hyung’s head whips around to look at him. He’s
been crying too it seems and his eyes are huge and glistening even as he puts on a smile Jimin
knows to be fake.

“Jimin, everything’s going to be okay!” Jin tells him and Jimin wishes he could unscramble the
words in his brain so he could come up with all the questions he needs answering but all he can
supply is that one word that keeps echoing around his mind.

The one word which means safety and saving and cold nights and gravel against his cheek as his
phone buzzes on stone. It means someone cares but it also means someone didn’t and Jimin’s brain
is filled with cotton wool and pain so he says it just to see if he can.

“Jin.” Talking hurts.

“Yeah, Jimin, it’s Jin. It’s me,” Jin murmurs, and Jimin just stares at him, trying to unravel the
threads keeping him from saying anything else.

“Jin.”

“Jin,” is repeated right back to him. “It’s Jin. I’m sorry, Jimin.”

“Jin,” is the last thing Jimin whispers before the car goes over a bump and his wounds are pressed
against the back of the car seat. It hurts.

It feels like hours since they started driving and yet it ends so quickly in a sudden onslaught of
noise and hands, dizzying to the point Jimin can’t do anything but jerk away from all these
unwelcome touches, trying to ignore the agonizing ripples of pain washing over him with every
movement.

“Jimin, it’s Sejin.” A voice cuts through the chaos and Jimin twists his head, forces his eyes to
open properly as he sees his manager leaning into the car, bright lights behind him which make
Jimin’s head pound.
He passes out.

The next time he wakes he’s in someone’s arms, cradled against a broad chest, and they’re inside.

“Jin?” He mumbles, trying to get his bearings but his hyung isn’t anywhere in his line of vision;
it’s Sejin carrying him down a corridor. “Jin?” He slurs again, rough voice unfamiliar even to his
own ears.

(Jin means safety)

“I’m here, Jiminie,” Jin’s voice murmurs out from somewhere near his head and Jimin twists
again, trying to find him, oddly relieved when he spots his hyung walking just behind.

“Jin,” Jimin mumbles. “Jin.”

“I’m here.”

The doctor keeps asking Jimin questions and he tries to formulate proper answers but it’s hard.

“Who hurt you, Jimin?”

“...my appa,” he whispers, feeling dreadfully like he’s releasing some terribly dark secret into the
world. A secret out of his control now but his head hurts too much to lie and he doesn’t think
anyone would believe him if he did. The doctor asks Jimin other questions too, and his hands keep
touching Jimin even though he doesn’t want them to. He’s too tired to tell the doctor to stop and so
the hands keep going, poking, prodding, invading, and Jimin just lies there and stares at the ceiling
with its huge glaring lights and pretends not to feel as his shirt is lifted and fingers roam under there
too.

“You’ve got a mild concussion,” the doctor tells him, “which is why your head probably feels a bit
all over the place.”

“What sort of recovery process are we looking at then?” Sejin asks next to him and Jimin turns his
head to look at his manager.

“He seems to have avoided the worst somehow so at least two weeks without exercise or strenuous
activity.” The doctor keeps looking at him but Jimin can’t focus on his face. He’s tired and
overwhelmed and he’s not even sure what’s happening to him anymore.

“The injuries on Jimin’s back look consistent with having been hit with a belt. Is that right, Jimin?”
Jimin licks his lips, tries to answer but ends up nodding instead. “Right, we’ll clean up the
lacerations from the buckle but they’re pretty shallow so we won’t need to put stitches in them. I’ll
also prescribe some cream for the welts and bruising.” The doctor frowns and Jimin doesn’t like
the way it makes him look.

“I am worried about the impact to his torso, particularly the soft tissue areas in the abdomen which
holds important organs. It’s possible for there to be some deep trauma from a strong kick or punch
and sometimes that only becomes apparent later on so it’s important to keep an eye out for any
signs of complications. If the bruising, swelling, and tenderness become too intense that your pain
medications aren’t making a difference, you need to go to the hospital, okay, Jimin?” Jimin tries to
nod again, not quite sure if he succeeds.

“Is there any pain medication he can get for that?” Sejin asks, and the doctor nods.

“I’ll prescribe pain relief medication regardless because I’ve seen signs both Jimin’s 7th and 8th
ribs are cracked.”

“Cracked?” Sejin sounds shocked but all Jimin can think is how the ceiling lights make his head
swim.

“Yes, it’s more common than you think, especially in cases of blunt force trauma. There’s not
much we can do except advise the patient to not do anything strenuous and to avoid exercise for a
few weeks. Try not to twist around too much or lift anything heavy and they should heal in about
six weeks time.” The doctor clears his throat. “Finally, the cut on his cheekbone is rather deep so
we’ll apply some local anaesthetic here in the clinic and I’ll pop in a couple of stitches. They can
be taken out in about two weeks.”

“You’ll do that now?” Sejin asks, and Jimin watches the doctor nod.

He feels oddly disconnected from his body, almost like this isn’t happening to him but rather to
someone else, and maybe Sejin’s noticing because he looks at Jimin with confused concern written
all over his face before he turns back to the doctor.

“Is it, uh, normal for people to be so...dopey, for lack of a better word, after such an event?” He’s
speaking quietly, almost like he thinks by doing so Jimin won’t hear him but they’re only a foot
apart. It’s inevitable.

“Yes, it’s probably a combination of his concussion mixed with a significant amount of shock and
adrenaline all getting pushed into his system at once. It’s like a chemical overdose for the brain.”
And now the doctor and Sejin are both looking at Jimin and he hates the attention so he tries to
ignore them.

Jin. Where did Jin go?

“Jin,” he mutters.

“Jin’s waiting outside, remember?” Sejin explains and Jimin licks his lip. He can still taste blood.

“Why?”

“Only one person’s allowed in here with you, Jimin,” the doctor says, and Jimin glares at him,
vaguely pleased in some strange way when the doctor looks uncomfortable.

“Jin,” he mumbles again, the word slipping over his tongue like silk over a jagged ridge. “Jin.”
Coming home, Jimin is high as a kite on a powerful cocktail of pain medication. It makes him
sleepy and tactile, hardly aware of his surroundings as Sejin carries him into the apartment. It’s
past three o’clock in the morning, probably much closer to four, and all Jin can think about is
going to bed and crying into his pillow. But when he walks into the apartment and sees the other
five all sitting in the living room, varying expressions of shock and worry on their faces, he knows
he can’t go to bed just yet. There’s utter silence in the room as they all regard Jimin cradled in
Sejin’s arms, still wearing his blood-stained shirt, his face a vibrant canvas of reddish-purple
bruises and a couple of stitches contrasting sharply on his cheekbone.

“He’s okay,” Sejin reassures but it does little to ease their expressions, and honestly, Jin doesn’t
blame them. The silence continues even as Sejin brings Jimin through to his and Hoseok’s room,
Jin following just behind. They lay him carefully on his stomach so his back won’t take the brunt
of his weight, and Jin tucks the blankets around Jimin’s half-unconscious form. They’ll worry
about clean clothes in the morning; he’s basically asleep already although his forehead remains
continuously furrowed and his mouth pinches tight with some unknown tension.

Jin ends up standing in the middle of the living room when Sejin leaves, staring down at his hands.
There’s still blood under his fingernails—Jimin’s blood his brain reminds him—and there’s
something so wrong about it that Jin can’t help but stare, unable to tear his eyes away. He barely
notices when the others surround him until he’s suddenly wrapped up in a pair of arms, looking
over his shoulder to see Taehyung clinging to his back.

Apparently, that is all it takes to release a dam of pent up emotions and Jin is embarrassed to feel
that familiar burning sensation starting up behind his eyes, lower lip trembling before it all just
ends up coming out in big, shaking sobs that wrack his body with ridiculous force.

He just wants everything to be okay.

Jimin wakes up in his own bed, mildly disoriented when he tries to remember how he got here. He
can’t really recall, although he has a feeling it was Sejin. He lies there for a few minutes, not
moving because the low buzz of pain running through his body reminds him moving will only
make it worse. His mouth feels absolutely disgusting, dry and faintly metallic, probably from
leftover blood. The events of last night suddenly drop on Jimin like a fifty-pound weight slamming
into his chest. Flashes of driving, of being absolutely terrified. His father’s face as he’d screamed
about Jimin bringing shame to the family, about being a dirty faggot— don’t think about it. He
remembers Jin, remembers the pain as he was lifted off the gravel, remembers the doctors and the
hands touching him everywhere. He remembers and he wishes he didn’t.

He remembers thinking he was going to die last night. For some reason that thought is what tips
him over the edge and without any warning, there’s bile rushing up his throat and Jimin barely
manages to wrench himself over to the side of the bed before he’s vomiting on the floor.

It burns, mostly just stomach acid anyway, and Jimin coughs and splutters trying to breathe. The
sudden movement has pulled at the wounds on his back (from the buckle, that he remembers) and
Jimin can feel tears stinging, threatening to come out so he blinks sharply until the feeling
disappears. Only a few seconds later and the door to the room is opening and Jimin tilts his head
from where it’s hanging over the side of the bed to see Hoseok coming in, stopping abruptly when
they make eye contact. Hoseok's eyes flick from Jimin's face to the vomit on the floor, expression
turning almost comically horrified as he realises what he's seeing.

“Shit." He’s rushing forward. “Are you okay? Here, I’ll help you lie down again.” His brow
furrows. “Are you going to be sick again? I’ll grab you a bucket?” Jimin just shakes his head,
resisting when Hoseok’s hands try and push him gently back onto the bed.

“Just, leave it. ‘S fine,” he mumbles. Don't touch me, please. “I’ll—I’ll clean it up in a second.”
Hoseok looks even more horrified.

“No, I’ll do that! You should rest.” He’s fluttering around the edge of the bed, obviously not sure
of what to do with himself now that Jimin is refusing his help. “Hold on, I’ll get Jin. He has your
pain meds—do you want more? I’ll go get him.” Before Jimin can even say anything, Hoseok is
practically running out of the room, and Jimin can hear him calling for Jin.

He just wants to hide but that can’t happen, not when Jin walks in a few minutes later, full of
concern and sympathy. Jimin’s still slumped on the edge of his mattress, head dangling over the
side, so he ends up just staring at the floor and letting them talk over his head. Hoseok is
explaining what happened and then Jin is crouching next to Jimin’s head and there’s a
hand carding gently through his hair. It actually feels sort of nice (Jin means safety) but it also
reminds Jimin how much his head actually hurts.

“How’re you feeling, min?” Jin asks carefully, and Jimin tries to shrug but his back feels paralyzed
with pain.

“Hurts,” he mutters in the end. “Everything.”

“I’ve got pain meds for you but you’ll need to sit up so you can drink some water with it,” Jin
murmurs, and his fingers are still running gently through Jimin’s hair, pushing it softly away from
his forehead. “We’ll help you.” Jimin just manages a nod, wincing when the movement makes his
head throb.

Sitting up proves to be one of the most agonizing things Jimin has had to do, and although he grits
his teeth until his jaw is aching, he can’t help the sounds that spill over his lips. It hurts, it fucking
hurts. Still, it’s good to get some water in his mouth and at least the taste of blood is being washed
away. Hoseok and Jin stay as he’s drinking the water and swallowing the pills, and when he’s
finished, Jin is already wiping at the vomit with a towel.

“Sorry,” Jimin manages, not sounding quite so hoarse now his throat has had some sort of liquid
down it.

“I don’t mind,” Jin replies, and he shoots Jimin a sad sort of smile that doesn’t really reach his
eyes. “You need to have a bath to get rid of the blood as well.” Jin’s lips are pinched. “We didn’t
want to undress you yesterday when you were so sleepy from the meds.” Jimin looks down at
himself, realises he’s still wearing the shirt and pants from yesterday. His once white shirt is now
covered in huge splatters of blood; it looks like something out of a horror film.

“Oh. Thank you.” He means it too, not sure if he could deal with waking up half-naked and not
having any recollection of it. That’s happened before and he’d rather not be reminded of it. Jin just
smiles again and Hoseok seems to at least be trying from where he’s hovering in the background.
Jimin feels bad for no apparent reason.
“I’ll go run a bath. It’ll be twenty minutes so are you fine to stay here?” Jin asks, and Jimin nods,
fiddling with his bottle of water. There are rips in the knees of his pants as well and he becomes
vaguely aware of how his knees are stinging. Grazed, maybe?

When it's time to get to the bathroom, standing up proves more difficult than Jimin had expected.
Jin calls Jungkook over to help support him because his legs feel like jelly and there’s a weird
ringing noise in his head which makes it hard to focus on balancing. He can’t get over how much
his head hurts and he recalls the doctor saying something about a concussion. When they get to the
bathroom, Jungkook and Jin deposit him gently on the closed seat of the toilet before Jungkook
leaves, eyes huge with worry as he looks back at Jimin every few seconds.

“Can you get undressed on your own?” Jin asks, and he’s watching Jimin carefully as if he’s
worried he might lie. Jimin’s not actually sure so he tries lifting his arms to unbutton his shirt, only
for his ribs to flare red hot with pain, punching the air out of his lungs.

“No,” he grits out in the end, cheeks burning with frustration.

“I can help you,” Jin offers and Jimin wants to refuse but realistically he knows he can’t do it on
his own so he forces his pride down.

“Yes, please.” Jin approaches him the same way you’d approach a wild animal when you’re
unsure of its reaction. He kneels on the ground in front of Jimin and his fingers are quick and
gentle as they unbutton Jimin’s shirt. Jimin just looks at Jin’s eyelashes and tries not to flinch every
time fingers touch his chest.

Getting his shirt off isn’t too difficult. Jin tells him how the doctor took it off to disinfect the
wounds on his back and Jimin pretends he remembers (he doesn’t) because at least it makes him
feel a little less violated.

“Pants too?” Jin asks, and Jimin nods after a minute, avoiding eye contact with the man in front of
him.

Don't be stupid. This is Jin. Jin means safety.

It’s not as bad as he thought it would be and Jin is nice enough to pretend not to notice the way
Jimin’s breathing speeds up as the fabric bunches around his thighs and is pulled further down his
legs. He’s left sitting on the closed toilet in only his underwear, shivering now that he’s almost
fully naked, cheeks hot with embarrassment.

“You can do…the rest?” Jin asks, and Jimin nods. There is no way someone else is taking off his
underwear for him. Jin stands up, knees popping insanely loud. “Call out if you need any help,
okay?” Jimin nods again. He won’t—they both know he won’t—but at least the offer is there.

Jin leaves and Jimin forces his legs to take his weight so he can get over to the door and lock it
firmly behind his hyung. Only then does he allow himself a moment to catch his breath, leaning
against the sink. He knows he’ll be bruised up but there’s a difference between feeling the pain and
actually seeing a visual representation reflected back at him in the mirror. It’s shocking, there’s no
doubt about that. He didn’t think it was possible for the whole side of his face to be so colourful—
purple, red, black, blue. Even just looking at it makes Jimin’s head throb more.

He can’t really see his back properly but the little glimpse he catches as he turns leaves his stomach
rolling. Huge, purple and red stripes criss-cross all over his shoulders right down to the small of his
back. There’s the odd gouge and cut peppering random parts of his skin from where the buckle had
chewed up the skin, and even though they look clean, there’s still blood smeared over parts.

Breathe, Jimin reminds himself. You’ve had worse.

The problem with bathing when you’ve got a concussion, cracked ribs, and welts all over your back
is that you can’t really do much. It takes Jimin five minutes to figure out a way to get into the bath
without passing out from the pain as the hot water stings and burns in his cuts and his ribs scream
at being forced to crouch. He ends up half slipping, landing with a solid ‘thunk’ on his butt that
sends water sloshing over the side of the bath and probably sounds far more dramatic than it
actually was. Even if his ribs hurt, the water does a pretty good job of cushioning the fall. But once
he’s in he strikes another problem. He can hardly lift his arms above elbow height so there’s no
way he can wash his back or his hair. Even his face is currently off-limits. He keeps trying but
eventually, he has to concede, angry tears of pain and frustration dripping into the bathtub until
Jimin whacks his hand into it just to watch it splash over the edge once more.

He’s feeling destructive and helpless and there’s only one thing he can do.

“Jin?” He tries calling out but his voice barely gets above speaking volume. “Jin!” He tries again,
louder this time, relieved when he hears footsteps on the other side of the door and Jin’s voice,
muffled by the door.

“Everything okay, Jimin?” No, everything is not okay.

“I can’t—can you help?” Jimin tries to swallow down the mixture of emotions pounding in his
chest.

“Are you in the bath already?” Jin asks, and Jimin realises he locked the door behind his hyung
before he got in.

“Yeah, but I—I locked the door.”

“That’s okay, I think we still have the key somewhere. Give me a minute.” Footsteps move away
from the door and Jimin is left waiting in the warm water, wondering how much more he’ll have to
endure before life gets better. Jin is back in a couple of minutes, and there’s a quiet knock on the
door before it opens and Jin’s worried face pops into the bathroom.

“Are you okay?”

“I can’t lift my arms,” Jimin mumbles, wishing Jin would just come in and shut the door already.
“Oh,” Jin looks anxious. “Do you want me to help wash your hair and stuff?” Jimin swallows,
splashing with the water in front of him.

“Yes, please.”

It’s not as bad as he thought it would be. Jimin ends up facing his back towards Jin so he can keep
at least some modesty and Jin kneels down next to the bath so he can help wash Jimin’s back and
hair. The feeling of hands working the shampoo through his hair would almost be relaxing except
the bubbles sting random cuts on his scalp and the other cuts as they wash down his back, and he’s
hyper-aware of Jin’s presence out of his field of vision. Jin seems to realize how Jimin’s feeling so
he murmurs on and on about random things, telling Jimin what each of the others is doing today
and what the weather’s like. As he’s massaging the conditioner into Jimin’s scalp he talks about
this recipe he wants to try—some type of Italian pasta dish—and Jimin focuses on that instead of
the hands touching him. Maybe he wouldn’t mind it so much except he can hardly think straight
because his head feels like it’s been stuffed full of cotton wool and the bright lights in the bathroom
hurt his eyes. It’s like trying to swim through syrup, and Jimin is drowning.

Jin is extra careful as he washes Jimin’s back but it still hurts like anything. For some reason, Jimin
finds that poking the dark splotchy bruises all down his legs stops him from focusing on the greater
pain from his back and so he does that, clenching his jaw to keep any unwanted noises from
escaping.

“Turn your face a bit and I’ll wash off some of the blood,” Jin says, and Jimin turns his head as far
to the side as possible, wincing at the feeling of the cloth on his skin even though Jin is nothing but
gentle. “Sorry,” Jin murmurs but Jimin just shakes his head.

“It’s fine.”

When they’re finally done, Jin ruffles Jimin’s wet hair gently with one hand.

“All done. Do you think you need help getting out of the bath?” Jimin hesitates then but gives in.

“Um, yes, please.”

“I’ll shut my eyes and lift you, and then you can grab the towel, okay?” Jin says, and Jimin nods,
trying not to flinch when Jin’s hands slip under his arms. “Three, two, one, up.” In one swift
motion, Jimin is lifted up and out and he manages to snag the towel so he’s covered within a
second of getting out of the bath, hoping his accelerated heartbeat isn't able to be felt by Jin's
hands. “Are you decent?” Jin asks, and Jimin nods before realizing he still has his eyes shut, hands
still supporting Jimin so he doesn’t slip.

“Yeah,” he replies, and Jin’s eyes open, the older man smiling when he makes eye contact with
Jimin.

“That’s much better,” he says, letting go of Jimin so he can stand on his own two feet. “How are
your legs? Can you walk on your own?” Jimin tries a couple of steps before deciding he can. The
bath at least has relieved him of a lot of stiffness, and washing away the dried blood on his back
especially makes it easier to move without feeling like his skin his going to crack.
 “I’ll manage.” He keeps a tight grip on the towel around his waist before a sudden thought stops
him in his tracks. “Getting dressed...I’m not sure…”

“I can help you, don’t worry,” Jin says, and Jimin sighs, relieved he doesn’t have to actually ask
but frustrated at his own lack of independence.

“Thanks,” he mumbles as they make their way down the hallway into his room, and he means it.

Half an hour later he finds himself sitting on the bed, snug in his favourite shirt and sweatpants, Jin
sitting next to him as he blow-dries Jimin’s hair. Jimin hadn’t asked for it but Jin had insisted,
clucking on about how he wasn’t about to let Jimin catch a cold on top of everything else. It makes
something warm in Jimin’s chest even if he wishes he could just go to bed. He’s basically falling
asleep just like this. The pain medication had finally kicked in and it makes Jimin feel all sleepy
and docile like he’s transported out of his body and he's floating near the ceiling, watching how his
head threatens to drop every few seconds as Jin’s fingers run through his hair and the warm air
from the blow dryer heats his scalp.

He just wants things to get better.

Chapter End Notes

Do you have constructive criticism, thoughts, feelings, ideas, you want to share? Let
me know with a comment or email me at piedpiperthewriter@gmail.com
 Infectious
Chapter Summary

“It’s good to hear you laughing again.” There’s a pause and Jimin turns his head in his
pillow, sees Hoseok flush as if he’s said something he shouldn’t. “Sorry, I know I
shouldn’t have said any—”

“Nah, it’s good,” Jimin interrupts. And he’s telling the truth.

He doesn’t even remember the last time he laughed. Hoseok just doesn’t have to know
the reason why.

Chapter Notes

I'm back! I've said it before but I'll say it again—I won't ever abandon this fic without
any warning. I just have to work around my school terms and I honestly can't write
during the school term so I only write in the holidays. Hence, you'll get another couple
of chapters over the next few weeks ;P

Before we continue, can I just mention CHICKEN NOODLE SOUP with a SPRITE on
the side! Damn, my man HOBI really pulled through! Look at him go, and I love his
collab with Becky G. She seems really genuine, not sure if that's just me but the vibe
she gives off is really sincere!

Also, go check out Halsey 'Clementine'! That's a really great song and was my on-
repeat listen while I was writing this chapter.

With all of that aside, here's another chapter for you all :) Thank you all for your
incredibly kind comments on the last chapter! Hopefully, I've gotten around to
answering them all, but just know your words are so inspiring and motivating and I
love to read them all!

Lots of love to you all, my beautiful readers!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Like a recurring bad dream, the police come back to interview Jimin. It’s a much quicker process
this time, and the assault charge is filed against Jimin’s father only hours later. They find him at
home in Busan, and according to the police, he didn’t even blink when he opened the door. He’d
expected them.

Jimin isn’t sure how he feels about the whole situation. His concussion makes thinking hard
anyway but there’s a part of him which seems to have shut down since his beating, blocking out
anything more than a feeling of utter lethargy. That first day, he hardly moves, hardly eats, only
drinks enough to stop himself from getting more of a headache.

His mother calls within a few hours of his father’s arrest, crying into the phone even while Jimin
just lies there, mind drifting away. She apologizes a thousand times over, each time more
unintelligible through her tears, but when Jimin finally musters up the courage to ask whether this
will change things between his parent’s relationship, she falls silent.

“I’m—I’m not sure, honey. We’ve been together so long...I don’t know—he’s an old man, your
father. He wasn’t thinking straight…” She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself more than
anything so Jimin ignores the crushing weight descending on his chest and makes appropriate
farewells, hanging up with a heart even heavier than before. He’s not sure what he expected, his
mother’s words almost predictable.

She never stood up to him before; why would she start now?

That night, Jimin lies awake for hours, eyes prickling with tears that never quite seem to fall. He’s
not sure exactly why he’s crying—deep inside he knew he had lost his mother the last time he’d
left Busan to come back to Seoul—but the tears still threaten to properly fall and so he blinks hard,
hundreds of times, trying to get the feeling away until he finally falls asleep.

The next morning Jimin wakes up with swollen eyes and a raging headache that has him almost
vomiting over the side of his bed for the second time. Hoseok seems to realise Jimin’s state from a
single glance and he leaves the room with his hair still sticking up, back in only a few minutes with
a tall glass of water and some painkillers. They do little to help Jimin’s pounding head but he
mumbles his thanks nonetheless and tries to look somewhat less dead just lying staring at the
ceiling.

Because Jimin’s life is apparently not allowed to go well, today also marks the day the official case
against Chang and his co-conspirators will be filed.

It’s the day my life falls to pieces, Jimin thinks to himself, a wry smile tugging at his lips. Not that
there’s much life left to fall—Chang took it all already.

Still, he doesn’t even dare turn on his phone, unsure when the media will hear about it, and
honestly, not wanting to face it. The company had told him not to anyway. They would handle it,
they said. It’ll all work out in the end. Jimin’s not sure he can really believe them, and with every
passing second, the decision to press the rape charge seems more and more futile.
Who’ll believe you? Who’ll even care? You’re just a whor—

“Shut up,” Jimin mutters to himself, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to switch his brain off so he
can sleep and not have to deal with the world right now.

“Sorry,” Hoseok whispers from across the room, and Jimin’s eyes snap back open. He’d forgotten
Hoseok was still there and when he turns to look at him, Hoseok’s face is pinched in confusion and
guilt.

“Oh—no—not you,” Jimin reassures, and Hoseok breathes a minute sigh of relief before he looks
confused again.

“Who...then?”

“Just—” the voices in my head, Jimin almost says before he catches himself. “Uh—no-one.”
Imagine if he’d actually said it; they would’ve thought he was actually crazy. The idea is funny in
a morbid kind of way and before Jimin can stop, he’s giggling aloud, trying not to because it hurts
his back but also unable to stop them from bubbling out of his chest. Oh god, and now Hoseok
really is looking at him like he’s crazy but Jimin can’t stop so he rolls over onto his side and stuffs
his face into his pillow so at least the sound is a little offensive. Even with that, it’s at least another
thirty seconds before they stop and the occasional hiccuping chuckle still manages to force its way
out.

There’s silence after and Jimin is almost scared to look over at Hoseok’s bed, the image of
Hoseok’s shocked face still a little too clear in his head, but then he hears his voice, filled with
warmth.

“It’s good to hear you laughing again.” There’s a pause and Jimin turns his head in his pillow, sees
Hoseok flush as if he’s said something he shouldn’t. “Sorry, I know I shouldn’t have said any—”

“Nah, it’s good,” Jimin interrupts. And he’s telling the truth.

He doesn’t even remember the last time he laughed. Hoseok just doesn’t have to know the reason
why.

Predictably, Korea explodes at the news of the kidnapping and rape of one of their top boy groups.
Yoongi watches it all unfold with a weird feeling of detachment, a hollow fragment of himself as
the twitter hashtags start trending.

#WeLoveYouJimin
#Jimin

#BTS

#JusticeforBTS

#WeLoveYouBTS

#WEPURPLEYOU

#ARMY4JUSTICE

It should be comforting but it’s not. Instead, it’s salt rubbing into old wounds, irritating the scabs of
every cut in Yoongi’s heart as if it was made yesterday. A necessary disinfectant but utterly
excruciating.

The atmosphere in the apartment is...odd. They don’t talk really, and they all pretend not to be
looking at their phones but it’s an utterly transparent mask. Jungkook is the first one to crack under
the onslaught of articles and videos about the whole thing, his phone flying across the floor, still
open on the latest headlines. It comes to rest just under the couch and Yoongi watches it from his
chair, caught in a weird stupor, too fixated on the glowing screen to notice Jungkook storm out, the
door to his room slamming shut seconds later. His phone stays where it is, the screen lit up until
finally, it goes to sleep.

Yoongi wonders what he was reading but he’s too scared to look himself. He’ll stick to their twitter
homepage, watching as the blue arrow at the top notifying ‘new tweets’ keeps counting higher and
higher, never clicking to actually see what people are saying. Because he doesn’t want to, he tells
himself. He doesn’t need to. But really, because he’s too afraid of what they might say, not about
him but about Jimin. At the end of the day, it all comes back to Jimin.

He hasn’t even seen Jimin today, and it’s creeping closer to one pm. According to Hoseok, he’s just
lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling or...laughing. Yoongi’s not sure how to feel about that either
but if Jimin’s coping by laughing, who are they to stop him?
“This is bullshit,” Taehyung snaps from his position on the beanbag. “They’re just sensationalizing
the whole thing as if Jimin—as if we— are—are some sort of cliche drama to exploit.” His
eyebrows knit together, fingers scrolling furiously on his phone. This caustic, aggressive Taehyung
is new to Yoongi as well but he recognizes it for the costume it is; Taehyung's only trying to
protect himself in whatever way he can so Yoongi doesn't say anything as he looks at Taehyung's
heavy scowl reading through articles. They’ve all abandoned pretending they’re not reading what’s
being written about them.

There are three of them not in the living room: Jungkook, Namjoon, and Jimin. Yoongi’s honestly
not sure where Namjoon went—maybe for a walk although it’s probably not the best idea given
the current state of affairs.

It’s a short walk to Jungkook’s room, and Yoongi knocks quietly, waiting to enter until he hears a
muffled ‘come in’. Jungkook is lying almost face down on his bed, head resting on one arm while
he fiddles with a zipper on a soft toy next to him. Yoongi remembers that soft toy; Jimin had
bought it for Jungkook when they’d visited Japan together—a cute wee bear wearing a little Disney
backpack, the zipper of which Jungkook is currently yanking back and forth every few seconds.

Jungkook doesn’t look at Yoongi when he walks in but Yoongi doesn’t let it discourage him. Their
youngest has never been particularly good at expressing his feelings so they’ve all learnt to listen
to what he doesn’t say rather than what he actually does say. He hasn’t told Yoongi to get out
which, in Jungkook-speak, means Yoongi is welcome.

Jungkook still doesn’t react so Yoongi ends up walking over to the bed and sitting down next to
Jungkook’s splayed form. They sit in silence until Jungkook suddenly heaves an aggrieved sigh
and shoves the soft toy off the bed, turning his face into his pillow so only the back of his head is
visible.

“Make it all go away, hyung,” he mutters seemingly through a mouthful of fabric, and oh how that
hurts Yoongi’s heart because, in reality, there’s nothing he wants to do more than to do what
Jungkook asked.

“I wish I could,” he murmurs instead, reaching forward and running his fingers gently through
Jungkook’s hair. It’s getting long and Jungkook huffs a little puff of air into the pillow which
seems to release at least some of the tension in his shoulders so Yoongi continues, fingers playing
with the strands and scratching gently at Jungkook’s scalp like you would a small child. “You
don’t have to read all the news articles if they upset you, you know,” he says softly, fingers still
busy with Jungkook’s hair. “Remember how Bang PD told us to stay away from it?”

“You were reading them too,” Jungkook mutters defensively, but there’s no malice to his words.

“No, I haven’t read any.”

“Really?” Jungkook’s head pops up, eyes regarding Yoongi with at least a little suspicion. “None at
all? How come?” He looks puzzled and it reminds Yoongi of a puppy, cocking its head from side
to side. Yoongi shrugs.
“Just didn’t want to.”

“Oh.” Jungkook’s head buries itself into his pillow and Yoongi resumes his petting. He wrestles
with the words inside of him until finally he just blurts out what he was really thinking.

“I’m scared of what they’re saying. That’s—” he swallows “—that’s why I haven’t read anything.”

“Oh,” Jungkook says again, but this time it’s tinged with something sad. “It’s not all that bad,” he
concedes, turning his head a little so he can look Yoongi in the eye but still get his head scratched.
“I just...went searching.” Yoongi frowns, fingers pausing for a moment.

“What do you mean?” Jungkook sighs, nibbling on his bottom lip, eyes flicking away from
Yoongi’s.

“Most of the articles and news stuff are pretty good, just, some of them—the conservative ones—
they’re saying stuff.”

“What do you mean stuff ?” Yoongi asks, but he thinks he already has an idea, further cemented by
the way Jungkook’s face takes on a stony quality and his eyes darken.

“They’re saying it makes him gay and that it doesn’t count as rape . One of them said that because
it was a—a man,” Jungkook swallows hard, “that he’ll ‘infect the rest of us with his
homosexuality’ .” Jungkook spits the words out like they’re poisoning his mouth, cheeks flushed
red, and Yoongi doesn’t even know how to reply to that and so they sit utterly frozen until
Jungkook suddenly whines, elbowing Yoongi's leg.

“Ow, hyung. You’re pulling my hair.” Yoongi looks down to see his fingers clenched into
Jungkook’s hair with a vice-grip, yanking painfully at the youngsters scalp.

“Oh—sorry.” He hastily untangles his fingers and snatches his hand back to himself. Jungkook just
regards him miserably.

“I shouldn’t have told you.”

“That’s not it, Jungkook, don’t worry,” Yoongi murmurs, trying to smile but failing miserably. “I
would’ve found out at some point anyway. You shouldn’t go searching for it though. If you’re
searching for it, it means it’s not in the mainstream media.” Yet, the little voice in his head supplies
unhelpfully, and Yoongi grimaces. “Don’t worry,” he repeats instead, and Jungkook shrugs a little
nod. There’s silence for another minute, both of them staring without really looking.

“Have all your other friends been texting you too?” Jungkook asks, and Yoongi thinks back to the
numerous texts that all came flying into his messenger over the past few hours. He hasn’t opened a
single one.

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.” Jungkook sounds depressed. “I don’t want to talk about it with them, though.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Still.” Jungkook sighs. “I already had to make up a bunch of excuses why we basically went MIA
for a month, and now they all know why and it’s just—I just want it all to go back to how it was
before.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not the only one,” Yoongi mumbles not unkindly, plucking at a loose thread
on his trousers. He knows the same song and dance Jungkook went through—they all did—and it’s
not a nice feeling lying to everyone. They’d even had to fabricate a whole story on Jimin’s behalf
since he wasn’t contacting anyone, something very unusual for his usually social character. They’d
come up with a fake story about them all doing a tech detox and taking a bit of a break in general,
and Taemin had passed it along to Jimin’s other friends as well, although not without some
suspicion.

That smokescreen has disappeared now.

“Hyung?” Jungkook sounds so young, it makes Yoongi nostalgic.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think Jimin will let me in if I go to his room?” Yoongi stifles a wry smile at that. There’s
no way Jimin would deny Jungkook anything; the boy’s heart is too big for his own good.

“I think he’ll let you in if you knock,” he reassures, pulling Jungkook’s shirt down where it’s riding
up his back. “Why don’t you go see? He might like some company. Just—don’t tell him about
anything you’ve read.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says, groaning dramatically as he gets up and his knees pop. Yoongi makes to
follow him out of his room but then Jungkook stops suddenly enough for Yoongi to crash straight
into his back with a startled grunt. He barely has time to blink before Jungkook’s suddenly pulling
him forward into a hug, mumbling a quick thank you into Yoongi’s ear before he’s turning tail
again, Yoongi released just as suddenly as he’d been captured.

He watches quietly from the corridor as Jungkook knocks on the door of Jimin and Hoseok’s room,
announcing his presence before he obviously hears some sort of assent and he’s turning the handle,
disappearing inside with a last toothy smile at Yoongi. It makes something warm in his chest,
seeing his dongsaeng handling himself so well, and Yoongi pads softly back to the living room
where he’d left Jin, Taehyung, and Hoseok sprawled over the furniture, with an odd seed of hope
planted in his chest.

It’s only Taehyung and Hoseok now, and they both look up at Yoongi when he comes in.

“Where did Jin go?” Yoongi asks as he flops back down in his chair.

“Stress cooking,” Hoseok replies, nodding his head towards the kitchen where they can hear a
rather eclectic cacophony of pots and pans being smashed together.

“Sounds like he’s trying to play the drums,” Taehyung mutters, fixated on what he’s reading,
although the corner of his mouth tilts up as they hear Jin drop something on the floor with an even
louder smash.
“Does it sound like he’s doing it on purpose, or is that just me?” Hoseok muses, squinting over to
the kitchen door.

“Wouldn’t surprise me, honestly,” Taehyung says, and there’s something in his tone that has
Yoongi feeling like he’s missed something.

“What happened while I was gone?” Taehyung and Hoseok look at each other as if both wanting
the other to explain until finally Hoseok sighs and relents.

“He read this article saying we were all going to be infected by Jimin because somehow him being,
um, assaulted by a man makes him gay and now we’ll all be gay too.” Hoseok scoffs. “Honestly,
the shit people can think of.”

“Jungkook read the same thing,” Yoongi says, and Hoseok and Taehyung wince in unison.

“That was why he left his phone here?” Taehyung asks, and Yoongi nods.

“I think so. He was pretty upset about it.”

“It doesn’t make any sense though,” Taehyung snarls, glaring at his own phone. “Even if you sleep
with a guy once, it doesn’t make you gay, and even then, being gay isn’t an infectious disease.
You’d think they’d be able to write something better than such a load of crap!”

“That’s what they’re saying?” In unison, all of their heads snap towards the doorway and they’re
met with the sight of Jimin, slim frame swimming in his largest hoodie and sweatpants, Jungkook
just behind him with a horrified look on his face. “Is that what they’re saying?” Jimin asks again.
“That I’ll infect you all?” There’s an edge to his voice now, and his whole face seems to have
shuttered off, eyes eerily blank against the dark purple bruising on his cheek.

None of them say a word, all too shocked to even speak, and to Yoongi’s shame, it’s Jungkook who
speaks in the end.

“It was just...one article,” he mumbles, and they all jump when Jimin’s head turns to look at him so
fast it’s a surprise he doesn’t get whiplash.

“You read it too?” He asks, and Jungkook hesitates but nods, staring at his feet like they hold all
the answers in the world. There’s an awful, pregnant pause as they all remain frozen in place, until
Jimin finally moves, hand coming up to run through his unruly hair as he moves away from them.

“Well, I’d better get out of here before I infect you all.”

It’s said with no spite, just that same eerily flat, dead tone, and before they can even begin to
protest, Jimin has locked himself in the bathroom and they hear the sound of the taps running into
the bathtub.

“Fuck,” Hoseok swears, dropping his head onto the floor with a solid thump that had to hurt.
 Yoongi is inclined to agree.

Chapter End Notes

Thanks so much for reading! What did you think? Let me know your thoughts with a
comment! Did you like it? Hate it?

Or just let me know what you thought of Chicken Noodle Soup or Clementine; two
great songs which deserve all the words they can get!
 Cleanse me of my sins
Chapter Summary

Hoseok should’ve seen it coming. He’s Jimin’s roommate—the only one who sees
Jimin for more than a few minutes every day—and yet somehow, he managed to miss
something incredibly important happening with his dongsaeng.

If only he’d known, maybe he could’ve saved him.

Chapter Notes

So, whenever I get a chance to write, I always want to save some chapters so I can post
them a little further apart but more consistently but then I get too excited and end up
posting them all in one week. I'm sorry! I have terrible self-control eek.

Anyway, serious WARNING here. I don't want to give it away but if you're
concerned you might have a trigger point, I recommend you check the tags. Otherwise,
don't—it'll probably give some stuff away ;) If you're not comfortable reading this, just
flick me an email at piedpiperthewriter@gmail.com and I'll send you a wee summary!

Same thing if you're not comfortable commenting your thoughts here; you can always
send me an email with ideas, constructive criticism, or if you just feel like a chat!

All the love to you, my dears, and I hope you're having a wonderful start to October!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The water scalds Jimin’s skin when he carefully lowers himself into the tub, suppressing a groan as
his ribs scream in protest. There are tears welling in his eyes from already getting undressed on his
own but he didn’t want Jin to help him this time and so he’d pushed past the immediate pain,
squeezing his lips together so not a sound could emerge.

He ends up shivering from the pain despite the heat of the water, and it takes more than a minute
before he can even get his breathing back under control enough to lean back as gently as possible
against the edge of the bath, resting his head against the wall. It all hurts—his body, his mind, and
now his heart.

You’ll infect them all with your gayness.

“I’m not gay,” he whispers to himself. It’s like a broken record in his head, on the one side his
brain telling him he must be gay now—

That’s not how it works, dumbass.

— on the other side, convincing himself he’s not.

In a way that’s become a habit ever since their kidnapping, Jimin digs his fingers into whatever
bruise he can reach and lets the pain distract him from the thoughts whizzing around his head.

He soaks in the water until it’s lukewarm, skin still tingling from the initial burning heat, before he
drains the tub and refills it with more hot water. He grabs a random loofah hanging from the hook
on the wall, uncaring of whose it is, and gets to work scrubbing himself down.

The more he scrubs at his skin, the more he keeps coming back to those words: infect, disease.

You’re filthy.

Before he even properly realises he’s doing it he’s working the loofah so hard against his skin that
it leaves behind broad sweeps of stinging skin. As he works his way up his legs he comes to his
knees, gasping out as the loofah tears the scabs off his grazed knees and rubs raw against the open
wounds, but still, he doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t stop his relentless cleaning until he’s scoured all over, something inside of him
recoiling at the thought of being somehow infectious and preferring to scrub the disease out of
himself even if realistically he knows it’s all bullshit.

Is it though?

When he steps out of the bath, he’s a little shocked to see thin trickles of blood making their way
down towards his ankles and he stares at them for a moment, watching as they form little puddles
on the floor. Glancing down at his arms and chest, he can see the same thing has happened to some
of the cuts and scrapes there too. There’s one cut on his bicep, probably from the belt buckle,
which looks particularly dramatic, the blood mixing with the water as it runs down his arm and
pools around his fingers.
But amongst all the pain there is only one thing Jimin can really focus his mind on; the voices in
his head have finally shut up.

Hoseok should’ve seen it coming. He’s Jimin’s roommate—the only one who sees Jimin for more
than a few minutes every day—and yet somehow, he managed to miss something incredibly
important happening with his dongsaeng. They’re not even sure when it started, and Hoseok knows
deep down he’s not solely to blame, but it’s hard not to feel like he’s failed Jimin in some way.

If only he’d known, maybe he could’ve saved him.

That first week after the court case is filed is hell. Hoseok keeps track of the headlines because it
feels somehow better to know what’s being said about them than to be left completely in the dark.
They’re not as bad as he was expecting. Most report on the case with neutrality; others offer
sympathetic thoughts, particularly towards the ‘alleged rape of one of the key singers in the band,
Park Jimin’. Of course, in a conservative country like Korea, there will be inflammatory, vile, cruel
things written as well, and Hoseok has to force himself not to read their poison over those first few
days. It’s hard and he breaks a couple of times upon seeing a particularly abhorrent headline.

They all echo a similar rhetoric—rape isn’t rape unless it’s between a man or a woman, Jimin was
targeted because he was gay and if he wasn’t already, he is now, and the most damaging of all, that
Jimin is somehow ‘infectious’. It’s ridiculous and Hoseok is aware only a tiny amount of people
actually still think so but he can’t stand to even think of people writing such horrible things about
Jimin when he knows it’s not true.

ARMY has basically blown up the internet as well, and even mainstream media worldwide are
publishing articles about it. There are theories as to how they were rescued, whether a ransom was
ever paid, and if any of the other members were involved in any other sort of abuse.

Only Jungkook and Namjo—don’t go there.

Hoseok forces that thought out of his brain as quickly as it appeared. He never ever wants to see
that image of Namjoon and Jimin in his mind again, especially not after seeing how it nearly
destroyed the two of them. There’s a sour taste in his mouth as he tries to redirect his brain
somewhere else than the memory of Jimin, naked, on his knees in front of Namjoon.
Don’t think about it.

They all keep a close eye on Jimin, especially those first few days, and it seems like there isn’t
much change in Jimin’s behaviour either before or after the case hit headlines. He’s a little more
reclusive, although that doesn’t mean much considering he hardly left his room before either, and
although he doesn’t really eat or drink all that much, Hoseok thinks it’s to be expected. Having the
trial brought to the courts is one thing; having it thrown into the court of public opinion is another
thing entirely. He’s not really expecting Jimin to feel great about it.

He tries not to invade Jimin’s space too much and, looking back, that’s probably the first of many
big mistakes Hoseok makes. The one thing he is thankful for is that Jimin doesn’t seem to be
concerning himself much with what is being said, and after that first disastrous day when he
walked into their conversation in the living room, the rest of them have made a blanket rule of not
discussing anything they read. Most days Jimin spends in bed, not even on his phone, just lying
there either asleep or staring at the wall.

(In hindsight, there’s no way Jimin would be able to sleep so much if he wasn’t awake at night.)

It should’ve worried Hoseok more than it did but honestly, he was just relieved Jimin wasn’t taking
any part in anything online, whether it be good or bad. And that’s the thing, there’s so much good
stuff being said as well—supportive tweets, emails, posts, articles, videos, reports—but it only
takes one bad thing to make all of that other stuff seem worthless.

Hoseok just wishes it didn’t have to be that way. He doesn’t understand why people feel the need
to involve themselves in something they think is somehow sacrilegious.

The first real sign they get of something going seriously wrong with Jimin happens to coincide
with the day Jimin’s assault case against his father appears in court. Thankfully, it’s not an open
trial and so the media are unaware of the charges, but somehow the bastard manages to get slapped
with only a fine and six months probation.

“It’s bullshit,” Yoongi fumes to them, pacing round and round the kitchen where they’re all
gathered minus Jimin until Jin finally throws a spatula in his direction and tells him to shut up.

Hoseok doesn’t understand it either but Jimin hardly seemed to bat an eyelid when he found out,
just stared at the email from the police station before turning around and going straight to bed. That
happened to also be the same day they realised Jimin had stopped eating.

It’s not like they’d all been completely unaware of Jimin’s poor eating habits but normally Jin
managed to get him to eat at least something. They’d all put it down to his injuries and his
concussion, and before that, to his general state of lethargy, until all of a sudden, it started to mean
something more.

Hoseok’s not sure how to explain it but there seems to have been a shift; before, Jimin just seemed
to forget to eat but would eat if Jin brought him something. But the day of the assault trial and the
days after, Jin fired off a text to each of them asking if they’d seen Jimin eating anything that day,
and when all of them answered in the negative, he officially cracked.

“He’s not eating, Namjoon,” Jin hisses. “And he’s lying about it, saying he did. Do not tell me
that’s healthy.” Namjoon looks helpless.

“I’m not saying it’s healthy. I’m just saying it’s probably just an accident, what with all the turmoil
at the moment.”

“When was the last time he had eating problems, Namjoon? Do you remember what it was like at
the time? Why he started in the first place?” Hoseok watches Jin’s finger jab into Namjoon’s
chest. “He wanted control then, trying to handle all the pressure. If there’s any time when he
probably feels out of control, it’s now.”

“I’ll talk to management,” Namjoon mumbles, guilt flashing over his face, quick as anything. “I
didn’t think about the last time.”

“I know you didn’t,” Jin snaps before he seems to catch himself. “Sorry, I’m just—it worries me.”
Namjoon nods, grimacing and patting Jin’s arm awkwardly. It makes Hoseok want to cringe from
his spot at the table.

“We’ll get it sorted.”

‘Getting it sorted’ apparently means their managers coming to their apartment and sitting Jimin
down to have a ‘serious discussion about his health’ in a group environment. Hoseok gets what
they’re trying to do—in the old days they always said they sorted their problems out as a group—
but in their current state it has a predictable outcome.

“What’s going on, Jimin?” Sejin asks, and they all watch, equally uncomfortable, as Jimin regards
Sejin first with indifference, then confusion, and briefly, mild irritation. The emotions flit across
his face one after the other before Jimin seems to catch himself, a stone wall dropping down
behind his eyes.

“Nothing.”
“You’re not eating,” Sejin says, and Jimin’s eyebrows twitch.

“Yes, I am.” There’s an uncomfortable pause and Hoseok suddenly finds the wall very interesting.
Jin shifts next to him on the couch.

“According to the others, you’re not,” their other manager, Hobeom, says quietly, and they all
wince in unison as Jimin turns to look at them, accusation and betrayal clear to see.

“I am eating.”

“You’re not really,” Jin murmurs in the end. “You didn’t eat at all over the past two days and most
days you don’t eat unless I bring you something.” Hoseok sees the moment Jimin’s face goes taut
with some sort of suppressed emotion, hands clenching on the sleeves of his hoodie.

“Why do you care?” Jimin turns back to their managers as well. “Why do all of you care what I do?
It’s my body; I can eat if I want to.” Sejin and Hobeom sigh in unison, worried frowns etched on
both their faces.

“It’s not healthy, Jimin.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child!” Jimin explodes, voice harsh in the previously quiet room. “I
can do what I want!”

“We’re not try—”

“And why do they all have to a part of this conversation as well?” Jimin spits, flinging one arm at
the six of them settled on the couch and the floor. Hoseok is inclined to agree with that question,
the feeling of wanting to bury himself in the couch cushions getting stronger with every passing
second.

“Because you’re a group, Jimin, and you're not looking after yourself,” Sejin explains. “You’re not
eating.”

“Yes, I am!” Jimin yells, and his cheeks flush red, the contrast startling against the healing green
bruises on his cheek. In a move that honestly doesn’t surprise anyone, he leaps to his feet and
storms out of the room, slamming the door to their shared bedroom with a loud bang that has them
all flinching.

“Whoever came up with this idea is a fucking moron,” Yoongi snaps into the resulting silence,
pushing himself off the floor and stalking away to his own room. “Seriously.”

There’s not much they can do about it after that. Bang PD apparently sent Jimin a text threatening
to send him to a dietician if he doesn’t start eating properly and for the second time, Hoseok
watches Jimin throw his phone at the wall. It’s not any less startling than the first time.

He is eating though, at least more than he was before, although he doesn’t even talk to the rest of
them anymore. It gets to the point where Jimin will walk into a room and his eyes will see straight
through them as if they’re not even there. He’ll mumble a good morning and a good night to
Hoseok only because otherwise it would be too awkward, but he may as well have been talking to
someone else, the frigid detachment the only thing Hoseok can hear. It hurts his heart, unable to
understand how it all went wrong so quickly.
And still the media are having their field day as the trial gets underway. Much of the evidence is
not allowed to be released to the press anyway but it doesn’t stop the thousands of articles, all
repeating the same thing, from being published. One small blessing in the whole shit storm is that
they don’t need to actually go to court themselves; they’ve each written victim statements to be
read out on their behalf.

It’s a jarring moment when the first photos of their kidnappers make their way into the press, and
Hoseok knows the moment Jimin sees them as well because he promptly rushes out of the kitchen
and vomits in the bathroom, his phone left open on the table with Chang’s face looking up at them.
Hoseok takes the liberty of deleting the tab.

He’s not the only one badly affected by the images and Hoseok ends up with a lapful of Jungkook
only a few hours later, the youngsters face tear-streaked even as he denies it all. Hoseok knows he
still gets nightmares about their ordeal; seeing photos of the man behind it all was obviously not a
great development.

As the days pass and the trial continues, the level of tension in the apartment reaches a breaking
point. It’s so bad Hoseok can’t even remember the last time it didn’t feel like a thunderstorm
inside, everyone depressed and crumbling under a heavy blanket of anxiety. They’ve been in touch
with their lawyers and there’s a ninety-nine percent chance their attackers will be convicted and
charged with the most severe charges possible, so it’s not as if they should feel all that worried, but
the longer the trial goes on, the more Hoseok thinks the world is so incredibly unfair.

Even once those men are in prison, probably for the rest of their lives, the seven of them here in the
apartment aren’t just magically healed from their trauma. It’s not a fairytale—not by a longshot—
where the villains are defeated and life goes back to normal. That’s not how real life works, and the
way things are going at the moment, Hoseok can’t see it ever getting anywhere close to how it
was.

The BTS they were before their kidnapping seems like a distant memory.

They’re all so angry now, even Hoseok, annoyed by the littlest things and with absolutely no
tolerance for each other. Taehyung shows it most clearly and it hurts Hoseok to see his once calm,
kind, compassionate dongsaeng turn into a young man filled with anger and aggression, unable to
get rid of the sharp bite in his words.

But he understands.
He understands why Namjoon and Yoongi lock themselves up alone in their studios for hours on
end, even when Hoseok himself can’t step foot inside his own studio without getting even more
depressed.

He understands why Jungkook works out his anger with thousands of press-ups until he’s purple in
the face, shirt sticking to his back with sweat.

He understands why Jin seems almost manic, constantly busy with a thousand things but not really
busy with all that much because he’s always thinking of Jimin and blaming himself for Jimin’s
descent.

He even understands Jimin’s behaviour, understands his self-imposed isolation in his bed because
some part of Hoseok wishes he could do the same thing.

But he can’t.

That discipline is part of his character and always has been, and so Hoseok pushes himself out of
bed every day. He makes himself eat his three meals and drink a full bottle of water even if he just
wants to ignore everything. He makes himself go to the gym or the dance studio, and once he’s
there, he forces himself to be perfect. If he’s perfect, nothing can hurt him.

If only you’d been around Jimin more, you might’ve noticed…

But he didn’t notice, not until it was too late, and it wasn’t even him who first saw it—it was
Taehyung.

He should’ve seen it coming.

Taehyung’s normally a pretty heavy sleeper, the last one to get up in the morning, and the most
difficult to wake up according to their managers. It’s unusual for him to find himself awake at three
o’clock in the morning but he’d decided to drink a full bottle of water right before bed and
eventually his full bladder had woken him up with the urgent need to relieve itself.

He stumbles down the hallway to the bathroom, eyes hardly even open, and reaches out blindly for
the door handle. He tries to pull the door open, almost braining himself as he moves forward when
it doesn’t.

“Who’s in there?” He calls out, blinking sleepily at the handle still grasped in his fingers. There’s
silence on the other side and it’s unusual enough for Taehyung’s brain to start to properly wake up.
“Are you nearly done?” He waits for a second longer and he’s almost getting concerned when
there’s sudden audible movement on the other side of the door and he hears a reply.

“It—It’s Jimin.” A pause. “I’ll be out in a sec.” Taehyung steps back from the door, slightly
relieved but unsure why. Still, there’s something...off...about the way Jimin was talking. He
seemed tense—nervous even—the words just a bit too high, almost like he’s doing something he
shouldn’t be.

That doesn’t make sense, his brain deduces, and he tries to shrug it off but it stays there, festering
at the forefront of his mind. It’s at least another two minutes before the door finally cracks open to
reveal Jimin, face flushed and eyes flicking everywhere but Taehyung’s face, and the whole thing
just seems so bizarre to Taehyung that, even with a full bladder, he knows something’s not right.

“How come you’re awake?” He asks before Jimin can slip past him back to his room. Jimin
freezes, hands pulling at the sleeves of his thin pyjama shirt, shoulders hunched. He’s still not
looking at Taehyung.

“I—I needed to use the bathroom.” Why does he look so nervous?

“Is everything okay?” Taehyung asks, trying not to sound too suspicious but failing miserably.
Jimin nods and tries to push past Taehyung with all the desperation of a cornered animal, and it all
feels so wrong that Taehyung can’t just let it slide.

“Wait a second,” he says, reaching out and grabbing Jimin’s arm to stop him running away. He’s
not expecting for Jimin to yelp and yank his arm away, and they both freeze. “What…?”
Taehyung’s eyes shoot down to Jimin’s arm. Jimin starts backing away again, but Taehyung won’t
let him, eyes glued to Jimin’s wrist currently being cradled in the fingers of his other hand.

“Just—go to the bathroom, Tae. I’m going to bed,” Jimin mumbles, trying again to push past
Taehyung but Taehyung steps in front of him again.

“What happened to your arm? Why did you cry out?” He reaches forward, tries to catch hold of
Jimin’s arm so he can look but Jimin suddenly shoves him back hard enough he stumbles into the
wall.

“Nothing! Leave me alone!” He hisses, moving away from Taehyung, back to the room he shares
with Hoseok.

“Is that blood?”

“No, just stop!” Jimin snarls, but his eyes are huge in his face and Taehyung knows his own eyes
aren’t playing tricks on him. There is blood seeping through Jimin’s pyjama sleeve, and it sends
the most awful wave of icy cold shooting down his spine.

“I’m waking up the hyungs,” he says, hardly able to get the words out because of the horrible
sinking feeling in his chest.

“No! Why—you don’t have to wake them up—there’s nothing wrong!” Jimin’s voice cracks and
he looks like he’s about to cry.

“Jimin, why is your arm bleeding?”

“It’s not—just—leave me alone!”

“Stop lying!” Taehyung doesn’t mean to yell and he winces when Jimin flinches back. Apparently
that’s all it takes for the door next to him to suddenly swing open and Yoongi’s gravelly tone to
enter the conversation.

“What the fuck is going on?” Both Taehyung and Jimin startle, and Yoongi seems to realise he’s
interrupted something serious because his previously barely-cracked eyes suddenly open properly,
hands coming up to rub at his face in the thick silence. “Does one of you want to explain to me
why you’re yelling at each other at three o’clock in the morning?” Taehyung opens his mouth to
answer but Jimin gets there first.

“Nothing. Taehyung’s interfering,” he says, lips pinching even as he slightly positions his arms
behind himself.

“Jimin’s bleeding,” Taehyung blurts out, and that seems to get Yoongi’s attention as his eyes snap
towards Jimin.

“Where? What happened?” Jimin glares at Taehyung but there’s clear panic written on every facet
of his face and he presses himself back against the wall.

“Nowhere,” he replies at the same time Taehyung says, “his arm.” Yoongi’s eyes flick between the
two of them before they come to rest on Jimin. There’s a sadness in the way he looks at Jimin but
his voice is cool and collected.

“Show me your arm.” Jimin looks horrified.

“No, there’s nothing wrong! Just go back to bed both of you!” Yoongi shakes his head.

“I’m not going back to bed if Taehyung says you’re bleeding, Jimin. If you’re not then just show
me and we’ll leave you alone.” He’s utterly calm but Jimin starts backing away from them,
shaking his head, the panic getting clearer and clearer to see.

“Stop it!” Another door opens just behind him and Jimin lurches to the side, fear in his eyes as
Namjoon blearily sticks his head out, closely followed by Jin’s door opening as well.

“What’s going on?” They ask almost in unison, both going from sleepy to alert in the space of two
seconds as they catch onto the atmosphere in the hallway.

“I’m going to bed!” Jimin spits, and he turns around in a whirl, ready to disappear into his and
Hoseok’s room but Namjoon puts out a hand to stop him and that seems to be the tipping point. All
the tension and panic in Jimin’s body manifests itself into a full-on panic attack and he lashes out,
clawing at Namjoon’s hand to get him to release his shoulder, stumbling backwards into the wall
where he ends up sliding down to hit the floor. His chest is heaving, both hands cradled against his
chest as he struggles to breathe and Taehyung can almost feel the desperate panic coursing through
his body.

Namjoon looks utterly bewildered and they’re all frozen in place in shock. As if things couldn’t get
worse, both Hoseok and Jungkook have now emerged looking equally shocked, the hallway getting
more and more cramped with every passing second. It takes Yoongi dropping to the floor next to
Jimin, trying to get him to breathe properly, for them all to snap back into action. But Taehyung
can’t do anything except stare at everything going on in front of him.
It feels like his fault.

“Fuck, Jin, call Sejin,” Namjoon says. “Let’s try and get Jimin to calm down in the meantime.” He
turns to Taehyung, the one closest to him. “How did this all start?” Taehyung swallows, tries to
stop his voice from trembling as he looks at Jimin on the floor, wheezing and shuddering as
Yoongi whispers to him.

“He—I—I had to go to the bathroom a-and,” he swallows again, trying to collect himself, “and
Jimin was in there and when he came out he looked... weird… ” Namjoon’s looking at him,
perplexed.

“What do you mean weird?”

“He was all red like he’d been doing something bad.” It sounds dumb now. “And then he tried to
just disappear but I thought something wasn’t right so I-I grabbed his arm and he—he cried out as
if I’d hurt him.”

“Did you grab him too hard?”

“He’s b-bleeding, hyung,” Taehyung says, and now his voice really is trembling. “He’s bleeding
through his sleeve but he won’t tell me why.”

“He’s bleeding?!” Namjoon looks flabbergasted, head snapping around to look back at Jimin.

“Jimin, keep breathing. You’re okay,” Yoongi says. He’s not touching Jimin, just sitting close
enough to him that Jimin can’t help but be forced to listen, and it seems to be working because
Jimin’s breathing has at least regulated and although he still looks terrified, he’s not
hyperventilating anymore.

“Yoongi hyung, I just wanna go to bed,” Jimin whispers, and he’s looking at Yoongi with those big
eyes, pleading Yoongi to just let him go. He can’t do it.

“I can’t let you, Jimin,” he murmurs. “Just tell hyung why you’re bleeding.” Jimin shakes his head,
panic filling his eyes once more.

“I’m not! I’m okay, hyung! Just—please—let me g-go.” Jimin’s crying, tears spilling over onto his
cheeks, and Yoongi wishes he could believe him but the way Jimin’s shielding his arms against his
chest doesn’t look normal. He just hopes it’s not what he thinks it is.

“Sejin’s going to come, Jiminie. Just sit tight until then, okay?”

“I don’t want to, hyung,” Jimin pleads. Yoongi chews his lip and makes a decision.

“How about you just show me? The others can leave but we have to know why you’re bleeding,”
he says, hopeful when Jimin hesitates. But his hopes are dashed as Jimin shakes his head, pulling
away as the tears keeping trickling down his face.
 “There’s nothing wrong. Why don’t you believe me? I’m fine.” He’s so obviously not fine but
Yoongi doesn’t think this is quite the appropriate time to tell Jimin this when it seems like he’s
trying to convince himself more than anything.

Any doubt about what Taehyung might have seen is completely eradicated when Jimin shifts and
Yoongi catches sight of a dark splodge of something on the sleeve of his pyjama. It’s blood, clear
as day, and the cementation of his suspicions has a heavy weight dropping in Yoongi’s stomach.
There’s no denying it now.

How did they miss this?

Chapter End Notes

Yay, you made it through another chapter! Feel free to comment! I love to read them
all and I always reply before the next chapter is put up :)

If you have constructive criticism, thoughts, or feelings you're not comfortable

commenting publicly, you can always email me at piedpiperthewriter@gmail.com!
Same thing if you just feel like a chat!
 You'll think I'm crazy...
Chapter Summary

PLEASE READ WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER:

“You must think I’m crazy, huh.” It’s not a question, and Yoongi is startled both by
Jimin’s words and the weariness in his voice.

Chapter Notes

!!!!MAJOR WARNING!!!!

I'm sure you can guess what is going to be discussed in this chapter based off the last
one so if you are AT ALL going to triggered by self-harm, skip this chapter and drop
me a comment or flick me an email so I can give you a summary. There's no
description of the actual acts but the theme is incredibly strong here.

IF YOU READ IT AND YOU'RE NOT OKAY, PLEASE SEND ME AN EMAIL. I

don't care if you just need to vent or if you need some support or a chat, I will
ALWAYS answer so please, if this triggers you or makes you upset, REACH OUT!

(piedpiperthewrite@gmail.com) <3

As some of you will know if you've been reading this story for a while, self-harm is
something I've personally dealt with. I think it's important to tell you guys so you don't
think I'm going super in-depth into something I'm ignorant about. If you've dealt with
it yourself and this seems very different from your own experience, I'm sorry I can
only write from my perspective but I hope you will still be able to engage.

I'm super proud to be five months without having had to resort to self-harm so this
chapter was pretty bittersweet for me to write and is definitely one I found a cathartic
process in producing!

On a lighter note..........

I have a question for y'all! Can you recommend me some good works/writers here on
AO3? I'd love to hear who are your faves so drop them in a comment! Some of my
personal favourites include:

Heal3r (Composure, Resonance) ———>I've definitely cried with both of these!

TheMetaBard (Come Back Home, Hand in Hand) ———> PURE TALENT RIGHT
HERE, GO CHECK IT OUT

moodring (Espresso Marmalade) ———>ugh the emotional turmoil is real

Bandit4life (Tie me up) ———> Just a really really good, emotionally charged story!
 jonghyunslisterine (Sunflower) ———> Beautifully written and somehow very
realistic? Even in a mafia universe!

Arobeebee (The Companion, It might just come back to bite you) ———>
AWESOME if you love hybrid AU!)

Can't think of any more off of the top of my head although there's plenty of amazing
writers so anyway, hope you enjoy this next chapter and thank you again for all of
your support; it's incredibly inspiring reading what you guys think.

I hope you find this chapter as compelling to read as it was for me to write <3

All the love and stay safe,

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Sejin arrives at their apartment barely twenty minutes after Jin first called him and by that time
everyone is wide awake. Jimin is still slumped against the wall in the hallway, all the fight
seemingly drained out of him although he won’t look up from his knees and he keeps his arms
firmly pinned against his chest. Yoongi just sits next to him, trying to calm the whirlwind of
thoughts racing through his head. The others have dispersed, Namjoon pulling Jungkook and
Taehyung away to the kitchen and Hoseok and Jin following closely behind. It’s the best thing for
now; they don’t want Jimin to feel more cornered than he does already.

So now it’s just Jimin and Yoongi, hardly more than a couple of inches apart but feeling like there
are a million miles between them. They sit there in heavy silence until the sound of the doorbell
cuts through the air. At the sound, Yoongi can almost feel the waves of panic start rolling off
Jimin once more.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs but Jimin is trembling, forehead dropping down to rest on his knees.

Yoongi can hear Sejin’s low voice from their spot although he can’t understand what they’re
saying, and he sees Jimin tense up as his voice gets closer and closer. Yoongi looks up just as Sejin
enters the hallway, only able to offer him a grim smile which Sejin d. Sejin still looks remarkably
calm and collected considering he’d almost certainly been called out of bed.

“Jimin,” he says, walking towards the two of them. “Do you want to talk here or in the living
room?” There’s no negative emotion in his voice but Jimin curls in further on himself and Yoongi
can hear his breathing increase. He doesn’t answer, and Sejin waits a few seconds before walking
further forward, crouching down in front of the pair of them. “Jimin,” he repeats lowly, and Jimin
flinches. “Let’s go out to the living room.” There’s a pause before Jimin exhales, the breath
shuddering through his body, but he nods ever so slightly.
“Up you get,” Yoongi murmurs, not sure whether to actually help Jimin to his feet considering his
reaction to Namjoon’s hand earlier. He’s slightly relieved when Jimin gets up on his own but as he
walks behind Jimin as to the living room, his uncertainty returns. Does he stay or join the others in
the kitchen?

“You stay, Yoongi,” Sejin tells him, conveniently noticing his dilemma, and Yoongi chews his
thumbnail but nods as he follows Jimin into the living room. Sejin points Jimin towards the couch
and Yoongi joins him there.

Yoongi expects Sejin to take a seat in one of the chairs but instead, he pulls their sturdy coffee table
forward and sits on the edge, essentially boxing Jimin in with their knees barely fifteen centimetres
apart. It’s unclear whether it’s because he doesn’t want to sit too far away or whether he’s
intentionally boxing Jimin into the corner of the couch so he can’t run away like he did last time
he’d been forced to talk to their managers. Jimin doesn’t even react, knees pulled up to his chest as
he looks down at his hands instead of at Sejin’s face. If he did look up he would’ve seen the kind
anxiety embedded in every line of their managers face; no judgement, just compassion.

“Now, Jimin. Why don’t you tell me what’s happening?” Sejin asks gently, leaning forward on his
knees. Jimin sniffs, a lone tear dripping off the end of his nose into his lap.

“Nothing’s happening.” He sniffs again, still not looking up. “I just want to go to bed.” Sejin
doesn’t relent, and Yoongi watches him squint at Jimin as he continues.

“What were you doing up at three o’clock in the morning? How about you start there?”

“Bathroom,” Jimin mumbles, and Sejin nods.

“Okay, and what were you doing in the bathroom?”

“Nothing,” Jimin mutters out before he chokes on a sob, shuddering breaths making his shoulders
heave. Yoongi takes a risk and carefully puts one hand on Jimin’s back, gently rubbing soft circles
into his shoulder blades. He’s ready to take his hand away at any sign of discomfort but Jimin
doesn’t shrug him off so he continues, softly working out some of the tension in his muscles
without hurting any of the healing scars from his father.

“Why is Taehyung saying he saw blood on your sleeve?” The words drop into the air like lead into
water. Jimin’s trembling again—Yoongi can feel the vibrations through his fingers—but he doesn’t
answer, lips pressing together so hard they’re going white. “Did you hurt yourself, Jimin?” Sejin
asks, and god, hearing those words aloud makes something crack in Yoongi’s heart.

Please let this all be a misunderstanding.

It’s those words that seem to make something snap in Jimin and now the tears are coming thick
and fast, enough of an answer in itself. Sejin looks pained, brows knitted together with a severity
Yoongi isn’t familiar with.

“We’re going to figure this out, Jimin. It’s okay,” he murmurs, hoping it’ll help, but it doesn’t seem
to ease Jimin’s sobs in the slightest. He seems to be trying to stop at least, ribcage heaving
desperately, but his attempts are failing miserably. Sejin continues, unrelenting.

“I need to see, Jimin. Can you show me your arms?”

Oh god.

Yoongi’s not sure if he can deal with physically seeing the evidence of his dongsaengs pain
mapped out on his arms; they don’t know how bad it really is but by Jimin’s reaction it’s not going
to be pretty. It’s not like he’s unfamiliar with self-harm—god, all of them know of his own history
with depression and mental illness; he’s written it into his songs more than once—but self-harm
was something he’d ventured into for only a short period of his teenage years. And then again, that
was himself, not anyone else.

Not Jimin.

“Jimin, I need to see before this conversation can go any further,” Sejin probes gently, and Jimin
looks up at that, turning briefly to Yoongi with desperate panic written all over his face. He looks
so vulnerable.

“Please, can’t we just—just forget about it?” he pleads, but there’s resignation in his voice. He
knows it has to happen. Sejin just shakes his head ever so slightly.

The silence clunks back into place and Yoongi waits with bated breath as Jimin stares down at his
own arms. Finally, he exhales in one long breath, arms coming up to his chest for half a second
almost like he’s praying before his shaking fingers reach for the end of the sleeve on his left arm.
Yoongi has to force himself not to make a noise as Jimin carefully rolls back his sleeve, first on
one arm, then the other. He hisses slightly under his breath as the fabric peels up from his skin and
Yoongi can almost feel what Jimin’s feeling himself, his own arm aching in phantom sympathy
pain.

Neat cuts extend halfway up his forearm, slightly more clumsy on his right arm than his left.
There’s a mixture of light and deep, old and new. They’re shocking in their uniformity and their
sheer number; each cut leaves only a tiny gap between the previous one, and on some of the
obviously fresher ones, there’s blood seeping out, brilliant red against some of the unmarked
patches of skin.

It says so much to Yoongi about the state of Jimin’s mind. To put yourself through such a
tremendous amount of physical pain—and he knows how much cutting hurts, particularly on the
arms—means his mental anguish must have been incredibly substantial. The regularity of the lines,
each almost the same length, even the ones which are more like scabs than fresh cuts, tells Yoongi
exactly what Jimin needed every time he sliced himself open: control.

A horrible thought occurs to him then.

What if his eating problems were his first port of call but when he was forced to start eating
properly, he needed something else and started cutting instead?

“Thank you, Jimin,” Sejin says, and Yoongi, startled out of his reverie, finds it remarkable how
collected Sejin can be when faced with one of his charges seemingly regularly inflicting incredible
pain upon himself. Jimin is quick to roll his sleeve back down, those tell-tale bloodstains now clear
as day on the thin fabric. Oddly enough, showing Sejin and Yoongi seems to have calmed him
down, and although there’s still a worrying amount of tension in his posture, his breathing is less
constricted than before.

He’s got nothing left to hide; all he can take now is our reactions, Yoongi reminds himself,
recalling too easily the feeling when his mother first realised he was self-harming and depressed.

“What did you use, Jimin?” Sejin asks, and Jimin swallows, fingers knitting together as he draws
his legs closer to his chest.

“Razor blades. In the bathroom,” he whispers, sniffing harshly, eyes glued to his knees.

“Okay,” Sejin says. “When we’re done talking, I want you to go with Yoongi and bring me all the
razor blades you have. Are there more in your room?”

“No,” Jimin mumbles. “Because I share with Hoseok—I—I didn’t—not with him the room.”

“When did you start? Are we talking months or weeks?”

“Not months,” Jimin mutters, fingers twisting and turning with every word. “Just—in the last two
weeks with this.” Yoongi and Sejin both frown at him. What does this mean?

“What do you mean?” Sejin asks, and Jimin shrugs slightly.

“Before I didn’t use razor blades but I would make myself hurt just—just so it would all stop.”

“How?” Sejin presses and Jimin’s eyes flick up at the two of them.

“Nothing bad but I would—um,” he swallows, “where I had bruises or—or cuts, just pressing on
them was good.” He winces. “Well, not good but it—it did something.” There’s a brief silence and
Jimin starts fidgeting uncomfortably with his sleeves, maybe regretting saying as much as he did.
Sejin takes a breath, seemingly taking his time to get collected.

“I have to ask this, Jimin.” His lips pinch. “Are you...suicidal?” The word makes Yoongi’s stomach
turn; how stupid, he hadn’t even considered that yet. His anxiety is not helped by the fact that
Jimin takes a long time to answer.

“I’m not—I was, I think?” He gulps, adam's apple bobbing furiously. “But when I’m doing this,
the feeling—it goes away?” He blinks at his fingers with weird detachment. “I don’t want to die
but—but living doesn’t seem very fun at the moment.” There’s a bitter smile curling at the edges of
his lips but the whole situation is so not funny Yoongi can see there’s no humour there.
“I’m worried about you if I leave tonight,” Sejin says honestly, and Yoongi is inclined to agree.
Jimin doesn’t seem to care, back to staring at his knees, something so empty about his gaze it has
Yoongi shivering.

“I’m not going to do anything,” he mumbles defensively, pulling his sleeves further down over his
wrists. The bloodstains look black against the pale fabric. Sejin hesitates.

“Forgive me, Jimin, if I don’t utterly believe you.” Jimin’s head snaps up and he starts to protest,
albeit feebly, but Sejin holds up a hand. “I’m not saying you’d act on any...suicidal tendencies. I
just don’t feel particularly comfortable about the state of your wrists right now.” Jimin shrinks
down on himself, all the fight deflating from him in the space of only two seconds. Sejin continues,
pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“I’m going to phone Bang PD and tell him what’s going on and we'll decide from there what we're
going to do.” He looks at Yoongi. “You go with Jimin, get all the sharp things in the bathroom
including all of your boys’ razors, and the first aid kit and bring it out here.”

Yoongi stands up, back cracking, and Jimin pushes himself up a few seconds later. He looks
utterly defeated and Sejin looks guilty as he pats them both carefully on the shoulder before
excusing himself to phone Bang PD. Jimin leads the way to the bathroom looking like some little,
forlorn bird. He stays quiet the whole way to the bathroom, and when he gets there he just stands in
the middle looking lost, Yoongi waiting awkwardly for him to reveal wherever he’s been hiding
his blades. He gives Jimin a minute to gather his thoughts before clearing his throat.

“Do you want me to grab them from…?” Jimin startles and Yoongi wonders if perhaps he read the
situation wrong. His silence was probably less of gathering his thoughts and more of him getting
lost in his head. That scares Yoongi now.

“It’s okay,” Jimin mumbles. “I’ll get them.”

“Okay,” Yoongi agrees, unsure what to do with himself until he remembers what Sejin said about
grabbing all of their razors. It’s quick—they keep them all in the same place—and he doesn’t
forget to grab the wee tin of replacement blades they keep in the medicine cabinet. Now that he
comes to think of it, it’s looking emptier than it should. He’s slightly morbidly interested as to
where Jimin managed to hide the extra blades if he wasn’t keeping them in his bedroom, watching
as Jimin drops to his knees and reaches under the vanity. When his hand reemerges he’s holding a
small white envelope, a lump of blutack in the middle. Yoongi tries to quell the churning of his
stomach when he sees the telltale rust coloured stains on the edge of the paper.

He waits for Jimin to stand up but Jimin just kneels there for a minute, looking down at the
envelope in his hand before he suddenly looks up at Yoongi.

“You must think I’m crazy, huh.” It’s not a question, and Yoongi is startled both by Jimin’s words
and the weariness in his voice.

“Wh— no,” he replies. “You know I went through some similar shit when I was a teenager.
You’ve heard my music.” He huffs a dry, humourless laugh. “What sort of hypocrite would I be if I
thought you were crazy?” Jimin shrugs, looking back at the envelope in his hand.

“I didn’t think about that.” He still doesn’t move, caught up in whatever thoughts were running
 through his head, and Yoongi makes a split-second decision, dropping to his knees so he can look
Jimin in the eye.

“You’re not crazy and—and I know I might not be the best example of things getting better
considering my track record with depression but—but it’s possible. This isn’t—you don’t have to
do this. You deserve so much better than to be hurting yourself like this.” Jimin looks at him and
Yoongi holds his gaze unwaveringly, trying to get his point across.

“I can’t help it, hyung,” he whispers, and his voice cracks, tears welling up in his eyes. “Just
because you guys know doesn’t mean I can just magically stop.” He drops back so his butt hits the
floor, coming to rest against the edge of the bath. “I don’t even know if I want to, hyung. It’s the
only thing which makes it all stop.”

“Makes what stop, Jimin?” Yoongi asks, and Jimin flushes.

“You’re going to think I’m actually crazy,” he mutters.

“I know you’re not crazy, Jimin-ah. That’s not going to change,” Yoongi says softly. Jimin fiddles
with his sleeves and avoids his eyes. There’s a long moment where he doesn’t speak but finally, he
bites his lip and seems to make a decision.

“Sometimes,” he starts before huffing a wry laugh. “Actually, a lot of the time, the thoughts going
through my head are—they’re horrible. And they keep going and going even at night. The only
time it stops is when I’m,” he breaks off, gesturing at the envelope in his hand. “I know it’s fucked
up, hyung,” he continues, blurting out the words without even looking at Yoongi as if he’s still
afraid Yoongi is going to judge him. Yoongi just shakes his head, wondering how he managed to
miss all of this shit going on with Jimin.

You fucked up, Yoongi. You’re a terrible hyung.

“Don’t worry, Jimin. You’re not crazy—I—I know what you mean,” he says, and he reaches out,
grabs the envelope from Jimin’s hands without any resistance. “We’ll get you proper help and it’ll
all get better.”

“I’m not so sure, hyung,” Jimin murmurs, still staring down at his now empty hands. “I don’t think
it can.”

Chapter End Notes

I'm almost scared to ask this time but... what did you guys think? Let me know in a
comment or feel free to flick me an email at piedpiperthewriter@gmail.com

Stay safe loves

 Speak to me
Chapter Summary

Here it comes.

Chapter Notes

Merry Christmas everyone! I actually wanted to get a chapter out as a Christmas

present but that didn't happen so you're getting it a day and a half later instead
whoopsie.

I've finally graduated high school which means more time for writing when I'm not
working and I'm super excited! I'm also pretty excited for 2020 because I just have a
feeling it's going to be an amazing year for everyone. Fingers crossed that comes true!

SOOOOOOO...... this chapter.

She's pretty wordy! Lots of dialogue but you gotta admit it's good when they're
actually communicating and not just stewing in their own problems. This is probably
the first chapter in the ENTIRE fic where I can safely say it's mostly positive!! I know,
absolutely shocking to think I can write something positive but that's what we're
getting here because healing is important ;)

Wishing you all the happiest new year (don't start any resolutions you know you'll fail
because you'll only disappoint yourself) and I hope you keep reading this in 2020 as
well! My new year's resolution is to start answering comments the day I receive them
instead of always replying right before/after I update.

SIDE NOTE: It's crazy to think I've been writing this story for roughly a year now and
I'm so blessed to have made contacts with so many of you either through your emails
or through the comments. I'm so lucky to have such supportive readers and even if I
get really insecure about my writing, you guys always have something nice to say to
lift my spirits and I'm so thankful.

All the love for 2020

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Jimin probably doesn’t find it as weird as he should, sitting in the BigHit company building before
the sun has even begun to rise. He’s in one of the smallest meeting rooms, cradling a cup of black
coffee in his hands, trying not to focus on the feeling of tight bandages around his cuts. As it turns
out, Sejin’s first aid course finally had a purpose.
But the bandages around his wrists do nothing to stop the thoughts running through Jimin’s head
and he takes a long sip of his scalding coffee just so he can think of something other than what a
useless fuck-up he is.

“He’ll be here in about two minutes,” Sejin says from across the table and Jimin feels goosebumps
erupt on his skin. He sinks lower in his chair and pulls his hoodie further over his face, abandoning
his coffee so he can wrap his arms around himself.

Here it comes.

They hear Bang PD’s footsteps before they see him but as the door opens Jimin squeezes his eyes
shut and tries not to vomit. This is his worst nightmare and he doesn’t want to look up and see the
disappointment in the face of the very man who has supported Jimin since the first time he walked
in the company doors so he sits there, slumped as low as possible in his seat, eyes squeezed shut
until they burn with the effort.

“Jimin,” Bang PD says gently.

Fuck, you’re such a failure.

“Sejin has told me what happened this morning, Jimin, but I wanted to hear it from you,” Bang PD
says, chair springs squeaking as he sits down in the chair next to Jimin. Jimin manages to open his
eyes and fixes his gaze on Bang PD’s feet just visible in his line of sight.

There’s a part of him that would like to just be able to tell everything—just to get it off his chest—
but a bigger part of him seizes up at the idea and he finds himself trapped, completely frozen in
fear.

“Jimin, talk to me,” Sejin murmurs softly, and Jimin forces himself to look up at his manager,
trying to focus on Sejin’s face and not the burning presence of Bang PD next to him. “Just start
from when you got out of bed, okay? Bang PD just wants to make sure we’ve got it all correct.”

“I—I told you it all anyway,” he mumbles, but Sejin just shakes his head a fraction.

“We need to hear it from your mouth, not mine.”

There’s an incredibly long silence, broken only by the heat pump in the corner whirring to life,
warm air filling the room a second after.

And Jimin thinks.

He thinks about how to say all the words trapped in his throat—how to even begin properly—and
he wonders what this means in the end. He’s got nowhere else to go, no-one else who will care for
him if he’s kicked out of BTS. Because the members do care, Jimin knows that, and anything
they’ve done has come from a place of love even if it hurts at the time.

He thinks and he thinks and the only thing it does is make him realise something he really
should’ve realised a long time ago.

He just really needs help.

It could’ve been minutes or hours by the time Jimin stops talking. Once one word left his mouth,
it’s like the floodgates opened and he couldn’t stop. He only dares look at Bang PD once, right
before he tells him about his panic attack in the hallway, and there’s a crushing realisation that all
the emotion on Bang PD’s face isn’t disappointment—it’s concern. Concern and worry and care in
such tremendous amounts Jimin can’t look at him again for fear of crying. He does cry in the end,
tears slipping down his cheeks despite his best efforts to suppress them, and he wipes them away
with his sleeve until Sejin pushes a box of tissues over the table.

The entire time Jimin is talking, Bang PD doesn’t say a word. He sits there in complete silence,
letting Jimin set the pace, the only sign of shock or surprise being a sharp inhale when Jimin shows
him his bandaged arms.

They sting again at the reminder.

Only when Jimin is finished does Bang PD finally speak.

“Thank you for opening up like this, Jimin,” he says and Jimin dares a quick glance at his boss,
looking away just as quickly when he accidentally makes eye contact. “I’m sorry we didn’t know
and that you felt like this was your only option,” he says, holding up a gentle hand when Jimin
opens his mouth to protest. “I know you’re eternally selfless, Jimin, and you’ll try and change my
mind about this but at the end of the day, we should’ve been more aware of your frame of mind.”
Jimin’s mouth snaps shut and Bang PD continues.

“Sejin filled me in earlier as to the basics of the situation so I could at least begin to coordinate
some sort of treatment for you but I think it has been incredibly valuable to hear it from your
mouth. We’re going to get you better, Jimin, but to do that, I need to know if you want to get better
as well. So I must ask you, are you willing to put in the work, as hard as it may be, to turn this
whole situation around and get you the help you need?” The question hangs heavy in the air and
Jimin takes in a shuddering breath, letting it exhale just to give himself some time to think. He’s
not sure why; he already knows the answer.

“Yes.”

Yoongi is woken up from his nap by the sound of soft knocking on his bedroom door and he
manages a mumbled ‘come in’ before promptly knocking an empty mug from his bedside table
onto the floor. It splits into two pieces with a loud crack and Yoongi curses, swinging his legs off
the side of his bed so he can reach down and pick up the separate halves to put them on the
nightstand.

“Bad time, hyung?” Jimin’s soft voice murmurs around the edge of the doorframe and Yoongi
almost knocks the pieces back on the floor out of surprise as he sees Jimin peeping in.

“No—not at all—fuck,” he manages, sucking his index finger as one of the sharp shards pierces
the skin and a bead of red wells up on the tip. “Come in,” he continues, trying to hide his shock at
Jimin coming to his room; Yoongi didn’t realise he was even back from whatever talks he had had
at the company building let alone that he would be in any sort of mood to talk.

Jimin still walks in somewhat hesitantly but there’s something different about him, an unexpected
lightness to his step as he crosses the floor to perch on the end of Yoongi’s bed. There’s a
smoothness to his brow Yoongi hasn’t seen in a long while and even if his body is still completely
curled into itself like some protective shield, it seems more cosy than defensive. All these details
Yoongi would not have expected considering the dark start to the day.

“Everything okay, Jiminie?” Yoongi asks, not sure what to say to this changed Jimin. Jimin nods,
fingers pulling the ends of his sleeves over his hands.

“I just wanted to tell you, um,” he hesitates, “I’m going to this programme thing in the Yongpyong
mountains. They’re going to help me get better,” he says, and he looks up at Yoongi, eyes wide
with something unfamiliar Yoongi doesn’t think he’s seen in those eyes for what feels like forever.

It takes him a second to realise it’s hope.

“Anyway, Jimin mumbles, pulling on his sleeves again. “I’m going in a few hours so I thought—
thought I should tell you all and I wasn’t really sure where to start.” His eyes flicker back down to
his lap and Yoongi forces himself out of his stupor.
Jimin is going to get better.

He’s up in a flash, lurching forward to pull Jimin into a hug. He realises too late he should’ve asked
but Jimin’s initial tension eases within seconds of being caught up in Yoongi’s arms and Yoongi is
relieved to feel slim arms wrapping around his waist.

“Fuck, I’m so proud of you,” he manages, choked with the feeling rising up in his chest. Jimin’s
head rests against his shoulder and all Yoongi can think is how the next time he gets to hug Jimin
like this, it’ll hopefully be without the bulky bandages he can just feel pressing against his back.

He hardly dares to hope but he can’t stop himself.

Taehyung cries when Jimin leaves and even Jungkook discreetly wipes the tears off his cheeks
until Jin pulls him into his chest where his tears can soak into his sweater. The rest of them endure
with glossy eyes and bitten lips as they stand in the hallway of the apartment while Jimin gives
them all a brief hug—even Namjoon albeit quickly—before he leaves.

Sejin is there with a car and he’ll ensure Jimin gets to this place in the mountains which is
supposed to help him. It’s a therapy clinic, Jimin had explained to Yoongi earlier, and they’ll be
able to deal with Jimin’s self-harm and eating problems so he can live in a way that lets him be
happy. They’re also specialised in trauma therapy and they have a ‘no news’ policy to stop
anything triggering from filtering into the clinic. Yoongi isn’t sure if that includes the results from
the court trial. All he knows is that for three months Jimin will be away from the six of them and
as much as it’s for a good reason, even thinking about it has his chest feeling somehow emptier
than he thought was possible.

He’s not exactly sure why.

Jimin spends the entire three hour car drive to the clinic staring out the window, trying to focus on
the music coming through his headphones so he doesn’t succumb to the nervous butterflies
flapping in his chest. He wants to go to the clinic—he really does—but the thought of being utterly
alone in this strange place for twelve weeks without any contact with the outside world is
terrifying.
You’re such a weakling, needing ‘special treatment’ because you’re such a fuck-up.

The thought pops in uninvited and Jimin grits his teeth, determined not to fall prey to the negativity
swirling at the edges of his brain. This is a good thing, he tells himself.

Weakling—

“This is a good thing!” Jimin doesn’t even realise he’s spoken out loud until he catches Sejin
peering at him curiously in his peripheral and he rushes to pull his headphones out.

“Everything okay?” Sejin asks quietly and Jimin nods, embarrassment heating his cheeks into two
mini infernos.

“Yeah… sorry,” he mumbles, too awkward to just put his headphones back and pretend he didn’t
just say that out loud but also not really in the mood for talking. The problem is solved for him
when his phone suddenly lets out a resounding ‘ding’ and Jimin has an excuse to pick it up. He’s
shocked to see a text from his mother.

My dear Jimin-ah,

I know things have been difficult between us but Mr Shihyuk has let me know you are
seeking treatment at a clinic for the next ten weeks after some sort of incident? He hasn’t told
me any details except that the clinic doesn’t allow outside contact but I hope you know how
much I love you. Keep fighting, my son. I’m so proud of you.

Jimin’s not sure how to feel, the words in front of him suddenly blurring as an overwhelming
feeling rises in his throat. He sniffs the feeling away and stuffs his headphones back in his ears,
determined not to cry. Sejin looks over again but this time Jimin doesn’t do anything except fix his
gaze out the window, focusing on the trees whizzing by rather than answering all the questions
Sejin probably has.

“I’m so proud of you.”

The first week without Jimin feels like some sort of weird dream. Taehyung keeps expecting to see
Jimin around the apartment, walking out of his room or curled on the couch in the living room.
Even if his presence in the apartment had been a quiet one over the past months, his absence is
impossible to ignore.

So Taehyung does what he does best which is finding other ways to fill the emptiness in his heart.
He spends hours away with his friends or alone, anywhere as long as it doesn’t remind him of
Jimin, and he tries to ignore the feeling that these twelve weeks—however important they are for
Jimin—are somehow taking his best friend further away from him than he ever thought possible.

Taehyung’s quite aware he’s probably been the worst best friend over the past couple months.
Even when Jimin was back with them, Taehyung had tried to connect but it felt like they were
separated by thick, impenetrable glass, occupying the same space but constantly at odds with each
other. He just didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to help Jimin when Taehyung hardly
knows how to help himself. And it’s not that he didn’t want to help Jimin—of course he wants his
best friend back—but after everything Jimin went through, it’s hard to go back to what they had.
Taehyung’s trusted method for making someone feel better is to tackle them to the nearest soft
surface and to not let them emerge from a cuddle until their worries were either fixed or
temporarily abated. But with Jimin, how was that meant to work? And it’s not like Taehyung could
exactly fix Jimin’s situation or even make it better, especially not now.

Every time he shuts his eyes he remembers Jimin’s furious desperation as he hid his arms behind
his back, and the way he’d flinched as Taehyung had grabbed him.

Don’t think about it.

Taehyung’s sure he's not the only one feeling helpless, he knows that, but he’s so lost and alone,
and some days he’s not sure they’ll ever get back the old Jimin at all. Even the bond within the
group feels shattered, all of them living in one apartment yet so far away from each other.

Surrounding himself with other friends feels like a cheap trick, running away from his problems
like an absolute coward, but for once in his life Taehyung can’t find it in himself to do anything
else. He doesn’t know what else he can do.

8 days after Jimin left for the clinic, the court case finally reaches a conclusion. Park Chang is
sentenced to a life sentence without the possibility for parole and the majority of the other men
involved in the case will be locked away for at least twenty years. The news doesn’t fill Taehyung
with joy like he thought it would. Instead, it still feels like not enough of a punishment and
Taehyung hates that he feels that way. He’s never been a vengeful person, never prone to extreme
rage and a need for revenge, but seeing Chang’s face plastered all over the news and knowing he
will never have to deal with the broken shell of Jimin the man created, it makes Taehyung blind
with fury. He takes out his frustrations on the wall, bruising his knuckles and putting a fist-sized
hole in the plaster.
Somehow, it still doesn’t feel like enough.

He talks it out with the therapist they’re all seeing, trying to explain the bubbling pit of anger
constantly boiling in his stomach. She’s nice about it, non-judgemental when he tells her about the
broken wall although she picks his brains afterwards.

“Have you spoken with your hyungs about how they feel about it?” She asks and Taehyung shakes
his head.

“We don’t talk as much as we used to but especially not about anything to do with—” he swallows,
trying to quell the anger—" that man.” The therapist tilts her head, writing something down on her
piece of paper.

“So you’ll talk about other things with them but nothing to do with the ordeal you all went
through?” Taehyung nods and she frowns. “That’s sad, Taehyung. From what I understand, you
were all incredibly close before. What do you think has changed?” Taehyung stares at her.

“What do you mean? Some of my best friends literally got assaulted. How is that—what do you
mean, what do I think has changed?” He’s breathless with frustration and she seems to realise,
putting out a hand and patting Taehyung’s arm sympathetically.

“Of course, Taehyung. My apologies for not wording that correctly. Such a traumatic experience
does not come without long-lasting effects but I what I do wonder is what is stopping you and them
from talking about it.” She readjusts the clipboard on her lap. “You told me a few weeks ago how
you used to sort out any problems between the members by talking amongst the seven of you.
Clearly, you used to be effective communicators but that seems to have been lost, doesn’t it?” Her
voice is kind, not judging, and Taehyung nods begrudgingly.

“I guess so.”

“Do you have any idea why?” She asks and Taehyung shakes his head.

“Not really.”

“Do you ever ask each other explicitly how you’re doing?” She regards him thoughtfully. “Often
with traumatic experiences, people feel like they’ll come across as pushy if they’re constantly
asking how someone is doing just as much as people feel like they’re oversharing when they talk
about their feelings, but it doesn’t have to be a huge thing. Sometimes all it takes to re-establish a
connection with someone is to find a moment to just check in with him—just having a discussion is
enough. Does that make sense?” She asks and Taehyung nods slowly.

She’s right, he can count on one hand the number of times he’s actually asked any of the others
how they’re really doing. Most of the time they’re all too busy dancing around the elephant in the
room to actually realise how much they avoid any discussion on the topic.

“Without getting into the sexual component of the abuse suffered by some of your members, is it
shameful for you to talk about what you all went through?” She asks and Taehyung thinks about it.
Is it? He’s not really thought of it consciously as being a shameful thing but when he thinks about,
by not talking about it, it implies that there’s something inappropriate about the whole thing.
But it’s real life; it’s what we went through.

“I didn’t—I don’t think we consciously think of it that way but I guess it sort of is if...if no-one
talks about it?” Taehyung says and the therapist nods.

“That’s important to realise. Can I be honest with you, Taehyung?” She asks and Taehyung nods.
“I think a lot of your anger is actually just bottled up from weeks of not ever being able to talk with
the others about how you feel, not just about the court case but about the whole experience itself.
Spending time with people not associated with BTS—that’s a way of avoiding the problem and
although it’s totally understandable,” she adds, “it won’t be helping. The other members, those are
the ones who will know exactly how you feel, Taehyung, and it would be really helpful for you all
to open those channels of communication like you used to. You don’t always have to talk about
everything you’re feeling but at least the option is there. Does that sound good?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung says. He’s being honest too. As much as he knows it’ll be hard, breaking down
those barriers between them all feels like the first step to actually getting better.

“In order for this to work, you’re all going to need to be on board with this. Do you want me to talk
to each of them when they come in or do you want to start that conversation instead?” She asks,
smiling at him kindly. Taehyung thinks about it but he already knows.

“I’ll talk to them.”

He starts the conversation one evening by ordering a bunch of chicken and calling them all into the
living room for dinner. It’s not often they’re all in the same room together at the same time but
Taehyung picked a day when he knew they would all be here and he’s determined to make it
work.

“Don’t go to your room,” he tells Jungkook when the younger makes as if to head off with his plate
of food. Jungkook stops and stares at him, cheek bulging cutely with chicken.

“Why?” he asks through his mouthful.

“Just—I have something to talk about,” Taehyung says, relieved when Jungkook shrugs his
shoulder after a second and goes to sit down on a chair. “The rest of you as well,” he says bravely,
eyeing Yoongi who looks half a second away from disappearing into his room as well.

“What do you want to talk about?” Namjoon asks, flopping heavily onto the couch with his own
plate of chicken.

“I’ll wait till you’re all sitting down,” Taehyung replies, grabbing his own plate of chicken and
scooting back so he can rest on the beanbag. Eventually, they’re all sitting on the couch or on
chairs, the only sound the chewing of hot chicken and the click of chopsticks.

“Okay,” Taehyung starts, a sudden rush of nerves making him drop his chicken onto his plate. He
leaves it there for now. “You know how I went to the therapist two days ago?” There are some
vague nods and Taehyung continues. “Well, I was talking with her and we came to the realisation
that none of us talk anymore.”

“We’re talking now, aren’t we?” Hoseok asks, looking confused as he sucks on a chicken bone.
Taehyung shakes his head.

“I don’t mean casual conversation, which we hardly do anymore to be honest,” he adds. “I mean
actually talking about important stuff. Like how we feel.”

“Who says we want to talk about it?” Yoongi mumbles, chopsticks paused in mid-air, and there’s a
murmur of agreement. Taehyung grits his teeth, determined not to let this conversation end without
a good result.

“We used to talk about everything,” Taehyung reminds them.

“Yeah, but that was before—you know” Jungkook cuts himself off, a frown marring his features as
he stuffs another huge piece of chicken in his mouth.

“See, this is the problem,” Taehyung says. “We used to talk about everything but now, when it
matters most, we don’t.”

“I don’t see you exactly being a perfect example,” Yoongi mutters and Taehyung has to take a deep
breath in order to not get annoyed.

“I know, I’ve been a—a shitty person for the past couple of months and I’m sorry. I should’ve
talked with you guys instead of running away from everything but—but that’s why I want it to
change!” He gazes around at them, noting the way Jin and Namjoon are both regarding him
thoughtfully and drawing on that for courage. “I don’t want us to become complete strangers.
You’re basically my family and I don’t want Chang and the rest of them to be the reason we drift
apart.”

“So, start talking,” Yoongi snaps, unusually aggressive as he puts his plate down and crosses his
arms. “It’s all good and well to say all this shit but, like I said, you’re not exactly practising what
you preach.” Taehyung stares at him, increasingly frustrated, but before he can even say anything,
Jin steps in, the voice of reason in what is becoming an increasingly tense exchange.

“Yoongi, give it a rest. Taehyung just acknowledged he’s not the best example but that doesn’t
mean people can’t change.” Jin looks over at Taehyung. “I actually agree with Taehyung. We used
to be so good at talking. Any problems any of us had were all solved with discussion and it meant
we could look out for each other. We’re not doing that anymore.”

“Exactly,” Taehyung chimes in, irritation subsiding with Jin’s support. “It doesn’t mean you have
to say stuff you don’t want to, I just want us to at least be able to look out for each other like we
used to.” There’s silence following his words and Taehyung looks at each of them hopefully.
Namjoon and Jin are both nodding and Hoseok looks relatively open to the idea. Only Jungkook
and Yoongi are frowning albeit without voicing their disagreement. “Okay,” Taehyung says when
the silence stretches on too long. The nerves in his stomach are back with a vengeance. “I’ll start.”

“What, now?” Hoseok asks, surprised, and Taehyung nods determinedly.

“Why not?”

“Oh,” Hoseok says after a second, leaning back so he can lean on the armrest of the couch.
“Okay.”
“I’m just going to say how I’m feeling at the moment,” Taehyung says, “and I’m not expecting all
of you to do the same but I just think it’s a good way to start.” He swallows, gathering courage
before deciding to just launch straight into it. “Honestly, I’m angry about the whole trial. I’m not
sure why but I just hate the whole thing with a passion and even a life sentence doesn’t feel like
long enough for what Chang did. I’m worried about Jimin even though he’s getting treatment and
I’m also worried that when he comes back things still won’t be better.” He takes a breath. “I’m
worried about our future as well but at the same time, it feels selfish to even think like that so I
guess I’m feeling pretty guilty as well. On top of that, sometimes I don’t feel like doing anything
but I know if I don’t then I’ll start thinking about everything too much so I make myself go and do
stuff just so I don’t have to think about it.” He pauses, trying to think if there’s anything else he
should add. He’s managed to avoid looking at the others while he was talking but a quick glance
around shows five faces with far less judgement and irritation than he was expecting, even Yoongi.
“That’s it,” Taehyung finishes awkwardly.

There’s a silence, each of them waiting for someone else to say something before Jin finally sighs.

“I guess I can go next.” He fiddles with his sleeves. “I’ve been feeling pretty lost, I think? Like,
I’m not sure what to do now that everything’s changed and anything I do do feels like I’m
somehow running away from the real issue.” He pauses and there’s a tension in the air as they wait
for him to continue. “I feel like I’m failing at being a good hyung, especially with Jimin, and I
can’t get over the idea that I could’ve done more to help him.” Jin chokes and Taehyung is shocked
to see a tear falling onto his hyung’s lap. “Anyway,” Jin continues, clearing his throat. “I’m
hopeful when Jimin comes back that everything will start working itself out but until then I’m just
trying to find my feet a bit.” When he finishes he keeps staring at his sleeves, avoiding all of their
gazes, and Taehyung gets the feeling Jin is probably a lot closer to an emotional breakdown than
he thought.

Namjoon goes next, words careful and measured. “I’m pretty similar to Jin and Tae, just not really
sure how to deal with everything. Working feels like the only thing I can do but,” he laughs wryly,
“it’s not like I’m actually getting a lot done. I’m worried about Jimin too.” He grits his teeth,
eyebrows scrunching painfully together. “Especially because I know I’m part of the reason he was
so...affected, by everything.” There’s a deeper meaning to his words and Taehyung shivers as his
brain takes him back to that moment when Jimin was forced—no, he’s not going to think about
that. He can’t be the only one because Hoseok quickly fills the silence, clearing his throat yet still
somehow sounding like there’s something stuck just underneath his Adam's apple.

“I get what you mean, Joon. It feels like I’ve been trying to distract myself for months,” he
mumbles, “and honestly everything feels so irrelevant and unimportant. Like, I was thinking the
other day about those discussions we would have about making sure we’re letting fans know how
much they mean to us and how thankful we are for their support.” He frowns. “I don’t want to be
ungrateful but just the idea of going back to that life feels so unfathomable. They’ll never
understand what it’s been like for all of us, especially you, Namjoon, and Jimin, and the idea of
trying to go back to before—I hate it. I don’t want to be the ‘ray of sunshine’,” he snorts derisively,
“when I don’t think I’ve ever felt more like a thundercloud than now. Fans, performances, music
shows—it all feels like the biggest load of bullshit that I don’t even want to have to think about.”
He takes a breath, hands running through his hair. “But at the same time, there’s a part of me that
can’t even imagine not being part of BTS any more. You guys—like Tae said earlier—you’re my
family, you really are, and I can’t just walk away from that. I don’t want to just leave that all
behind.”

Taehyung watches his hyung rub at his forehead, feeling oddly emotional at his words. It so
perfectly describes how he feels as well, caught between two decisions and unsure of what to do.
He looks to Jungkook next, waiting for their maknae to see what he has to say. Jungkook’s never
been particularly enthusiastic when it comes to talking about his feelings but he’ll normally always
try. Now, Taehyung is surprised to see Jungkook’s eyes glistening with tears, hurriedly wiped
away with his sleeves.

“Give me a sec,” he mumbles, bunny teeth catching on his lip as he gathers himself, and something
about the tremor in his voice has Taehyung’s heart-clenching, desperately wanting to comfort his
dongsaeng but also not wanting to interrupt him.

“Sorry,” Jungkook mumbles eventually. He hesitates before his bottom lip wobbles and a fresh tear
balances precariously on his eyelashes. “Fuck,” they hear him mutter and Taehyung’s almost ready
to go over there when Jungkook finally gets it under control, clearing his throat several times
before fixing his gaze on the floor, words sounding like they’re being forced out. “I’m doing okay
but I get worried about all of you and Jimin, and—and sometimes I feel like I can’t do anything to
help, like all I’m doing is just taking and taking and never giving back anything to any of you even
though I want to.”

He pulls his sleeves over his hands, fidgeting in his seat. “I keep getting nightmares and flashbacks
to everything that happened so I guess I’m not sleeping that well which doesn’t help with
anything.” He clears his throat, eyebrows knitting together, eyes still fixated on the floor. “I just
want everything to go back to how it used to be and I know that’s not possible but I hate being
stuck in this weird space where it’s like there’s nothing to do except just exist.” He stops abruptly,
seemingly running out of words if his furrowed brow is anything to go by.

They all wait, looking to Yoongi to continue the conversation, but Yoongi looks anything but
enthusiastic, arms folded defensively across his chest, knees brought up to meet them. Taehyung is
still hopeful his hyung will join the conversation but as the silence stretches on and still Yoongi
doesn’t do anything except focus his eyes on the floor, the chances seem much slimmer.

“Yoongi-ah,” Jin prompts eventually and Yoongi’s eyes flicker up to meet those of his only hyung.

“I said already I don’t want to talk about it.” His voice is tight with tension, belying his impassive
expression.

“Come on, hyung,” Taehyung pushes gently. “You don’t have to say much.” Yoongi’s eyes flick
over to Taehyung, piercing through him with some sort of indescribable emotion.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Yoongi repeats, but he sounds unsure.

Vulnerable.
 It’s not something Taehyung’s familiar with hearing in Yoongi’s tone and it disarms him. He
doesn’t want to pressure Yoongi any more but then Jin is speaking, voice gentle like waves on a
sandy shore.

“How do you feel about Jimin going to that clinic?” He asks quietly and Taehyung doesn’t miss
the way Yoongi’s eyes twitch, lips pinching together even as his brow softens.

“It’s good. I’m proud of him.”

“Yeah?” Jin says and Taehyung remembers why Jin and Yoongi have shared a room for so long;
Jin gets Yoongi. “It’s weird not to have him here though, isn’t it?” Yoongi nods, still looking
unsure but with some of that rigid tension leaving his body.

“I don’t like it,” he mumbles eventually. “But I know he needed to go.”

“It’s weird having his bed empty again,” Hoseok chimes in, fingers fiddling subconsciously with
his hair. “But Yoongi’s right, he needed to go and all we can do is hope he can get the help he
needs.”

“He will,” Namjoon says with a confidence Taehyung certainly wishes he had. “And Taehyung,”
Namjoon adds, “this was a good idea. How can we ever expect Jimin to open up to us again if we
can’t even communicate amongst the six of us?”

“I like it when we talk,” Taehyung murmurs, “but only if this continues. I don’t want us tomorrow
to go right back to barely talking anymore.”

“I’m sure we’ll all do our best, won’t we?” Jin says, eyes piercing as they sweep their little circle
and Taehyung is relieved when there is a murmur of assent, the heavy weight in his heart lessening
just a little.

Maybe, just maybe, they’ll all be okay.

Chapter End Notes

Leave me a comment letting me know what you're thinking or feeling! If I'm

following my new year's resolution (I'm starting today) then you should be getting a
reply pretty quickly :P And thank you so much for reading!!
 Let me show you.
Chapter Summary

"Let me show you."

Chapter Notes

BLACK SWAN is a piece of friggin ART y'all. I'm so in love with the song—the
Spotify version particularly—and the dance vid is just INCREDIBLE. Anyone else
lowkey want Jimin to perform it as the lead? hehe, a girl can dream.

ANYWAY. Leaving my overwhelmed, emotional heart behind. So this chapter is a

little chunkyyyy but hopefully, you all like it! Let's just say, things have undergone a
dramatic SHIFT.

FEELINGS is the keyword for this chapter. And I'm talking like top-notch emotional
feelings that are best read whilst listening to Black Swan on repeat. ;)

On another note, I'm quite proud because I almost managed to keep to my new year's
resolution although I know for a fact there are still a couple of comments on the last
chapter which I (still) haven't answered. Baby steps, y'all, baby steps. I will get good
at answering quickly someday!!

Lots of love to you all and welcome to 2020!!!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Yoongi lasts approximately a month before he does something completely unprecedented both for
him and for those around him: he books a plane ticket to New Zealand.

It’s a spur of the moment decision, born at three o’clock in the morning from a moment of
impulsivity (and depression). Yoongi doesn’t want to deal with the hollow feeling in his chest so he
runs away from it like he always does, choosing New Zealand purely because it seems like the
farthest place from Korea he could possibly go where he’ll hopefully be somewhat anonymous but
there’s still some semblance of civilisation. He’s always wanted to go since his trainee days
anyway when Namjoon used to tell great stories of his three months there studying.

At least he’s got a good excuse now; it’s not like they’re doing much with Jimin gone.
When he wakes up the next morning he almost forgets what he’s done until he opens his phone and
finds the booking receipt still open, one ticket to New Zealand booked for the 27th, hardly two
days from then. The reality sinks in and Yoongi groans, flopping back onto the bed as the weight
of his decision crashes down on him. There’s a war playing out in his head and he knows how
easily he could cancel the ticket but there’s a part of him that just wants to say, ‘fuck it’, and go.
After all, what does he really have to lose? Long days in the studio doing nothing or long days in
the apartment, doing nothing. Both have the same result: doing nothing. Just… existing. Maybe
what Yoongi actually needs is just to leave, go someplace else for a change rather than continuing
this monotonous pattern for the next three months.

So he does exactly that.

It’s one thing to accept it for himself but another thing completely to try and explain his early
morning madness to everyone else. He lets the company know first, sending a text to Bang PD
saying he’s going on a trip leaving in two days and receiving a reply within a few minutes in the
form of a phone call.

“Yoongi, what’s going on?” Bang PD thoroughly weary. It almost makes Yoongi feel bad. Almost.

“I’m going on a trip,” Yoongi says, not even attempting to sound anything but blasé.

“Yes, I got that part. Where are you going and why?”

“New Zealand—”

“ New Zealand?” Bang PD interrupts incredulously and Yoongi finds himself unable to stop
smirking, suddenly very glad they’re having this conversation over the phone so his face isn’t
visible. He’s always been a sucker for a touch of rebellion.

“Yeah.”

“Yoongi,” Bang PD sounds worried, “what are you possibly going to do in New Zealand?” Yoongi
thinks about it, suddenly much more secure in his decision to go in the first place.

“I’m going on holiday.”

“For how long?” Bang PD asks and Yoongi purses his lips. That is something he didn’t think
about.

“I’m not sure. I haven’t booked the return ticket yet.”

“Are you serious?” Bang PD’s voice is loud enough Yoongi pulls the phone away from his ear.
Okay, maybe that’s one detail he shouldn’t have mentioned. There’s a long pause and then Bang
PD sighs.

“I’m worried about you, Yoongi. This isn’t like you.”

“No, it’s not,” Yoongi agrees mildly, unable to find it in himself to care. “I just thought it would be
fun.”
“ Fun ,” Bang PD repeats. “Yoongi, forgive me for reacting like this but I’m not sure if you’re in
the right state of mind to be making these sorts of serious decisions.”

“What is that meant to mean?” Yoongi snaps, suddenly thoroughly irritated. “We’ve kept
ourselves holed up here for months now in a virtual swimming pool of depression. To me, it seems
like a holiday somewhere far away from all the bullshit is probably the best thing I could be doing
for myself and I’m sorry you’d rather I sit here for another three months doing nothing.” He
pauses, forcing himself to swallow down the anger still bubbling in his stomach before he
continues. “I’m not phoning you for permission but I thought you’d at least appreciate I let you
know before I go,” Yoongi finishes, grip tightening on his phone. There’s a long silence and he
almost checks to see whether Bang PD hung up on him—he honestly wouldn’t be surprised—
when the man finally answers him.

“I’m sorry, Yoongi. I didn’t mean to offend you—I’m just a little... worried. You have to admit this
is rather uncharacteristic for you.” He pauses. “But thank you for letting me know—I do
appreciate it. I would also appreciate it if you could book your return ticket before you leave.”
Yoongi opens his mouth ready to argue before realising its pointless.

“Fine,” he says in the end, ready to hang up. But right before he’s about to hit the ‘end call’ button,
Bang PD speaks again.

“One last thing, Yoongi.” His voice softens. “Enjoy yourself, okay? I’m glad you’re taking time to
yourself.”

“Oh.” Yoongi is surprised. “Thanks… I will.”

This time, he does feel a little bad.

Yoongi just casually drops the bomb to the rest of them that evening when they’re eating dinner.

“I’m going on holiday for a few weeks,” he says, taking a strategic bite of rice along with his soup
so he has an excuse to look at his bowl.

“What?” Jin says, clearly shocked. “Where are you going? Back to… Daegu?” He sounds
disbelieving. Yoongi shakes his head.

“New Zealand.” There’s a collective gasp.

“New Zealand!?” They say in almost perfect unison and Yoongi chances a glance upward. There
are five identical expressions of almost aghast shock staring at him.

“When did you decide this?” Namjoon asks, spoon clinking heavily in his bowl. “And why New
Zealand?”

“Well,” Yoongi starts, setting his own spoon down, “you used to say how much you liked it and I
felt like leaving for a bit so I thought, why not New Zealand?”

“First Jimin, now you,” Jungkook snaps suddenly. “Anyone else feel like disappearing too?” His
face is set in an ugly frown and Yoongi flinches unconsciously.

“It’s not about disappearing,” he defends. “I just need a break.”

“A break from what?” Jungkook pushes his bowl away. “We’re not doing anything.”

“Exactly,” Yoongi says. “We’re just sitting here, bored out of our minds, and personally, I’m sick
of it.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Jimin’s not here, and the media are just waiting for us to go out and
do something stupid. It’s not about being bored ,” Jungkook snaps, teeth hooked on his lower lip as
he speaks, betraying his nerves at speaking so rudely to his hyung.

“Don’t speak to me like that,” Yoongi hisses, suddenly furious at the audacity of Jungkook to
accuse him of not even noticing Jimin’s absence. “Of course I’ve fucking noticed. Doesn’t mean I
want to be reminded of it every time I walk out and he’s not here.” His chest is heaving and he
forces his jaw shut, effectively ending the conversation with one cold look in Jungkook’s direction.
To his chagrin, the youngster looks at least somewhat apologetic.

“When are you leaving?” Jin asks, filling the silence.

“Tomorrow night at eight-thirty.”

“I’ll drive,” Jin says calmly, scooping another spoonful of soup into his mouth.

“Oh, you don’t—”

“Did I stutter, Min Yoongi?” Jin asks, eying Yoongi. “It wasn’t a question.” Yoongi swallows the
end of his sentence, flushing in embarrassment.

“Okay, um, thanks, hyung.”

“You’re welcome,” Jin replies smoothly, ladling more soup into Yoongi’s bowl. “Now eat. I’m not
sure if they have good Korean food in New Zealand.”

Yoongi lands in New Zealand’s Christchurch airport utterly jet-lagged and without a single plan of
what to do next. It’s ten-thirty in the morning and the moment he steps out of the airport doors,
bags in tow, he’s hit with just how clear the air feels. It’s the beginning of Summer and compared
to Korea, the air feels somehow that it’s travelling deeper in his lungs than he thought was
possible.

He stands out there for a moment, just breathing deep even if it’s still city air before he decides it’s
time to actually figure out what he’s doing. Just to his left is a booth where you can hire a car so he
heads that way somewhat confidently despite his limited English, coming away ten minutes later
with the keys to a shiny little car, his for the next three weeks. That’s how long he’s got until he
needs to be back here at Christchurch airport to catch his return flight to Korea.
The only thing Yoongi had done to prepare for New Zealand was to bookmark one article about
some of the best spots to visit in the South Island (the less populated Island out of the North and
South). One of the places that had stood out to him was Lake Tekapo and he found himself
entranced late last night by stunning images of turquoise water and fields of flowers.

He makes it his destination and sets his phone to GPS mode, using it to find a supermarket so he
can at least get some food before he starts the three-hour journey to the lake. It’s weird to be
driving on the left, especially considering Yoongi hasn’t driven in months, and he’s struck by
nerves as he navigates his way through the city, trying to read the English signs in order to find the
supermarket.

Yoongi wasn’t completely irresponsible and knowing he could be spotted by potential fans, he
wears a face mask and a hat. He still attracts stares as he wanders the aisles, trying to figure out
what to buy. He comes out with a bag of meat, rice, and some veggies, aiming next for the Asian
supermarket he’d spotted just next door. He’s relieved when he walks in to immediately see his
favourite Korean snacks displayed near the door, and when he walks out with another bag full of
Korean food some of his nerves at being in this strange country alone start to abate.

He can do this on his own.

The drive is stunning and Yoongi wonders why they’ve never come to New Zealand for a Bon
Voyage season; it seems like the perfect place with it’s majestic and ever-changing scenery. The
roads are surprisingly empty considering it’s the beginning of Summer, and there’s something awe-
inspiring about the long stretch of clear road in front of him and the way it lets him marvel at the
views outside the car.

He stops randomly alongside the road at one point, snacking on Korean honey butter chips and
letting himself breathe in his first real breath of New Zealand wilderness. It tastes like sunshine and
fragrant flora, filling every nook and cranny of his lungs till he thinks he’ll never want to breathe
anything else apart from this clean air. There are mountains in the distance, still faintly covered in
snow despite the bright blue sky and sunny weather, and Yoongi marvels at the contrast. Even the
sun feels hotter here, he decides. Sharper, somehow much more so than Korea despite the
temperatures probably being about the same.

Yoongi feels a world away from their stifling, depressing apartment in Seoul and even further away
from the memories of trauma and terror which haunt him. Looking out over wild plains of long
waving grasses and flowers with the mountains in the back and the sun blazing down over him, he
feels like he’s masquerading in somebody else’s life. It doesn’t feel so bad.

⇝
By the time Yoongi actually makes it to the little town on the shores of Lake Tekapo, it’s about
three o’clock in the afternoon. He’d made many stops along the way—some to take pictures,
others just to explore the little scenic spots along the road—but nothing compares to the beauty of
Lake Tekapo and the surrounding shore.

Wild meadows of lupins wave softly in the summer breeze, stretching as far as the eye can see in
stunning mixtures of purple, white, and pink. Their brilliant colours are reflected in the lake itself
and the sight of the water has Yoongi parking his car at the first lake-facing car park he finds. The
water is a brilliant blue, the same colour as the sky, and it’s surrounded by rolling grasslands and
snow-capped mountains in the distance.

Yoongi’s not sure why New Zealand doesn’t advertise Lake Tekapo more than they do because,
honestly, no picture could do the scene in front of him any justice. He drags himself away from the
shoreline only long enough to find a little motel, booking a single room in broken English with the
help of a translating app and a lot of hand gestures. The lady who owns the motel is kind, her
accent similar to the one which sometimes slipped through Namjoon’s English after he first came
back from New Zealand years ago. She gives Yoongi a smile and a lollipop for seemingly no
apparent reason, before showing him to the room.

It’s simple—delightfully so—with a tiny kitchenette, a double bed, and a small table all crammed
into one room. From the window, Yoongi can see the corner of the lake and he can’t help but stare
at it even as the lady speaks to him about something unrelated. She seems to realise what he’s
looking at because the next minute she’s pushing a little pamphlet into his hand with another
smile, pointing at a map of the lake shown in clearer detail.

“It’s beautiful,” she tells him. “You should go and explore.” Yoongi understands enough to be able
to nod and agree.

When he’s finally alone in his little room, he drags his suitcase in from the car, throwing it on the
bed without much care, before grabbing his room key and heading back down to the lake. It’s only
a short walk (barely two minutes) and Yoongi makes his way there with overwhelming emotion
swirling in his chest.

It’s pure, unbridled happiness, he realises, stumbling giddily over the pebbled shoreline until he can
reach the water. He scoops a handful just to feel it’s crisp coolness before taking a few steps back
and sitting on the ground. There’s something about this place—about New Zealand— which has
invigorated something in Yoongi’s heart and he’s suddenly filled with so much appreciation for
the world and its beauty.
He can’t remember the last time he felt this way.

He takes photos all of that first afternoon and evening, sending the best ones to the group chat
using the data voucher he purchased from the motel staff. Within a few minutes, he’s bombarded
with reactions, even from Jungkook who had still been a little frigid upon Yoongi’s departure.
They hadn’t really talked it out but Yoongi hadn’t missed the way Jungkook had hugged him with
almost suffocating power as he was leaving.

Dinner is instant noodles and a cup of freeze-dried coffee that tastes like shit but somehow
becomes palatable when consumed on the edge of the lake. Some locals pass by as he’s sitting
there and Yoongi pets their dog, apologizing to the owners when he doesn’t understand everything
they’re saying. They’re incredibly friendly, especially considering they’re actually complete
strangers, and quite happy to entertain his broken attempts at English.

“It’s all good, mate,” one of them says at some point, winking just like Jin would, and Yoongi
can’t help but grin at the familiar gesture.

He sleeps better that night than he has in months despite a lumpy mattress and the sound of the
television from the people in the room next to his filtering through the wall. Suddenly, coming to
New Zealand feels like the best decision Yoongi could have ever made.

Four days later and Yoongi is ready to move on. The magic of the lake still captivates him but he
also wants to see more, to keep travelling through the majestic landscapes while he still has time.
He drives further down the South Island of New Zealand to Queenstown, staying there for a few
days to explore before moving on to another lakeside destination—Te Anau.

The magic of Lake Tekapo may have had him entranced in the first few days of his travels but in
Te Anau Yoongi finds magic of a different sort and he goes by the name of Baek Dohyun.

(Baek Dohyun prefers to be called by his English name, Oliver, and he speaks Korean with a slight
kiwi accent).

Yoongi meets him for the first time when he goes to a little corner shop to restock his food stores,
almost run over by a boy on a skateboard as he turns out of the shop with his arms full of bags. The
boy skids to the side to try and avoid him and Yoongi gets such a shock he drops both his bags and
stumbles back, cursing in Korean. The boy looks up at that, eyes scrunching cutely as he regards
Yoongi with a curious grin.
“You’re Korean,” he says, in lightly accented Korean, and Yoongi assembles himself enough to be
able to nod.

“You are too,” he manages to reply, and the boy shrugs a shoulder.

“Sort of. My parents immigrated but I was born here.”

“You speak good Korean though,” Yoongi remarks as he tries to re-assemble his bags, looking up
to see the boy grinning even more widely. He’s about Yoongi’s height, casually dressed in
sweatpants and a hoodie, and he flips his skateboard up against his leg with practised ease.

“I speak it at home all the time. What’s your name?” The boy asks and Yoongi hesitates, unsure
whether to use his real name with this boy who may or may not recognize it.

“Min Yoongi,” he says eventually and the boy’s eyebrow twitches.

“Oh, I was right!” He says, seemingly to himself. “You’re famous,” he comments mildly and
Yoongi cringes, ready to pick up his bags and flee. “Not too famous here though, I bet,” the boy
continues, and Yoongi’s not sure whether to be offended or not. It’s true though—he can count on
one hand the number of people who have recognized him so far.

“Yeah, well, I prefer to keep it that way,” he mumbles, beginning to pick up his bags so he can
start walking back to the little motel room he’d booked at the water’s edge.

“I’m Baek Dohyun,” the boy says, darting forward and picking up one of the heavier bags, “but
you can call me Oliver.” He shoulders the bag with a grunt. “I’ll carry this one for you. Where are
you staying?”

“Why Oliver?” Yoongi asks, suddenly unsure what to do with this eager young man who seems
both completely unperturbed by his fame (a good thing) and also seems to know no social
boundaries (maybe not such a good thing). Oliver just smiles, shrugging as he lets his skateboard
hit the ground with a clatter.

“Only my parents call me Dohyun and everyone else has always called me Oliver. Now, where are
you staying?” He must catch something wary in Yoongi’s expression as he asks because he rolls
his eyes. “I’m not a creepy stalker fan, I just happen to know who you are. I won’t tell anyone.
Don’t worry,” he assures, readjusting the bag on his shoulder with a grimace before looking back at
Yoongi expectantly.

“Braemar Lodge Motel,” Yoongi replies as a way of answer. “And… are you sure you want to
carry that? It’s heavy.”

“Sure,” Oliver says. “I don’t think you could carry it anyway.” He pokes his tongue out playfully,
giving his skateboard a nudge and hopping expertly on, skating a few metres before stopping and
looking back at Yoongi. “Come on, then.”

“How old are you?” Yoongi asks as they make their way to his motel, Oliver skating slowly
alongside him as Yoongi walks.

“21. How about you?”

“25,” Yoongi replies, watching as Oliver does a crazy wiggle on his board. “Do you go to
university?”
“Yeah. I study architecture up in Wellington but it’s holidays,” Oliver says, eyes glittering
mischievously as he looks over at Yoongi. “Are you on holiday by yourself or do you have the rest
of your members smuggled away in your room?” Yoongi snorts.

“Just me. I’m not really into the whole kidnapping thing,” he says sarcastically before suddenly
realising what he said. Oliver cocks his head to the side, watching Yoongi with a sharper gaze.

“I can imagine,” he says knowingly, and Yoongi realises Oliver might be more aware than he
thought.

“You know…?” He asks wearily, and Oliver hesitates but nods, eyes a little rounder and less
playful than before.

“I’ve seen the headlines.”

“Here?” Yoongi asks incredulously.

“Yup,” Oliver replies. “Not, like, huge- huge but some of the news channels covered it and my
parents saw and told me.” He smiles softly. “My mum’s a big fan of you guys.”

“Oh,” Yoongi mumbles awkwardly, not sure what to say. Oliver seems to get it because he skates a
little faster, attempting to flip his board in some sort of skilled manoeuvre that fails and has the
board crashing on the pavement with a loud noise, enough to break the tension in the air.

“How long are you staying in Te Anau for?” He asks, turning back to look at Yoongi as he runs his
fingers haphazardly through his hair.

“Not sure yet,” Yoongi says, shrugging as best he can with two heavy bags pulling on his fingers.
“I’m on my own so I don’t really have to have a plan.”

“Well,” Oliver says, smirking suddenly. “If you’re bored, you’ve at least got one friend in this
shithole you can hang out with.”

“A friend?” Yoongi asks, confused, and Oliver’s eyes widen as he pushes a finger into Yoongi’s
chest.

“Me, dumbass!”

“Oh,” Yoongi says, feeling a bit stupid but also surprised at the confidence of this random stranger
he met just ten minutes ago. Oliver doesn’t seem to care, skipping joyfully along with the plastic
bag on his shoulder as he chases his skateboard down the sloping pavement.

As it turns out, Oliver is like a rather enjoyable leech, following Yoongi into his motel room like
he owns the place.

“Are you always like this with people?” Yoongi asks him at one point and Oliver looks over from
where he’s munching on Yoongi’s freshly bought bag of chips.

“Like what?”

“So…quick to make yourself comfortable.” Oliver shrugs,.

“Do you mind?”

“No,” Yoongi replies after a second. And he finds it’s true. He likes the company of this confident
twenty-one-year-old full of life and laughter, something refreshing about his easy nature and ready
smile.

“Well, then I guess there isn’t a problem,” Oliver says smugly, stuffing another handful of chips
unashamedly into his mouth. Yoongi can’t do anything except agree.

Oliver stays well into the evening and Yoongi finds himself enjoying speaking Korean again after
more than a week without. They make their way down to the shore just before sunset with cups of
this weird chocolate barley drink Oliver calls Milo. Apparently, he carries a tin of it around in his
knapsack as a permanent fixture.

“You drink this every morning?” Yoongi asks, taking a tentative sip, surprised to actually like it.
Oliver nods, taking a huge gulp which he seemingly immediately regrets as he sprays the scalding
liquid everywhere and whines mournfully at his burnt tongue.

“Normally we use milk and not just hot water so it’s not that hot,” he explains, staring into the
depths of his steaming mug with visible regret. It’s cute, the way his lips pout in disappointment.

“Your mouth is meant to heal faster than any other part of your body,” Yoongi comments, lips
twitching into a smile when Oliver sends him a withering stare.

“Because that’s such a comfort when my mouth feels like I swallowed Satan himself.”

“It should be!” Yoongi defends, grinning even as Oliver slides closer just to dig a sharp elbow into
his ribs.

“I better go,” Oliver says eventually, and Yoongi looks over from where he’s sprawled out on the
grass staring at the stars.

“What’s the time?”

“Almost nine. I promised my mum I’d be back before nine-thirty,” Oliver explains, stretching thin
arms above his head and exposing a flat stomach as his hoodie gets pulled up as well. Yoongi
forces his eyes up to Oliver’s face and nods.

“Oh. Okay then.”

“I’ll come tomorrow?” Oliver asks and Yoongi raises an eyebrow.

“Are you asking or just letting me know?” Oliver matches his eyebrow with an eyebrow of his
own.

“If that’s how you’re going to play then I’ll see you at ten tomorrow morning. Will you be up
then?”

“Sure,” Yoongi replies. “You can be my tour guide for the day.”

“Sure,” Oliver echoes, jumping up suddenly and grabbing his skateboard from in the grass. He
waves at Yoongi as he shoulders his bag. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you,” Yoongi murmurs, and he watches Oliver’s slim frame speed away on his skateboard,
illuminated by the light of the moon and a single streetlamp at the end of the narrow path.

As promised, Oliver arrives at the door of Yoongi’s room at exactly ten o’clock the next morning,
this time dressed in a stripy green and yellow t-shirt and faded blue jeans, both which look about
ten times brighter next to Yoongi’s black sweater and track pants.

“Are you going to a funeral?” Oliver questions sarcastically as he looks at Yoongi’s clothes.
Yoongi doesn’t even bother replying, just cuffs Oliver’s head with a snort.

“Good morning to you too. Now, as my tour guide, what do you have planned for today?”

“Well, I figured you’re famous so you’re probably not on a completely broke tourist budget which
means we can have a bit more fun than normal tourists probably would.” He grins. “How do you
feel about caves?” Yoongi stares at him blankly.

“Um—”

“We’re going to the glowworm caves!” Oliver yells excitedly, enthusiasm radiating off of him
despite it being before lunchtime.

As Yoongi soon finds out, Oliver’s energy only seems to increase throughout the day, and as it
turns out, he’s a pretty awesome tour guide as well. They visit glowworm caves, beautiful spots
alongside the lake where Yoongi could take some more photos (half of which have Oliver’s face as
a blur in the front every time he tried to photobomb without Yoongi noticing), and a local cafe with
a blind but friendly dog outside the door. Oliver’s laughter is utterly infectious and the entire day
makes Yoongi realise just how much he’s missed having a ‘normal’ friend—someone who isn’t
involved in the industry, who doesn’t know everything about Yoongi and doesn’t treat him like
he’s made out of glass.

(You can’t run away forever)

Similarly to the first evening, sunset finds Yoongi and Oliver back at the lakefront. This time,
however, Yoongi actually cooked them both dinner in the little motel kitchenette and they bring
their plates down to the grass by the water. When they’re both done, Oliver grabs his hoodie and
lays it out like a pillow, patting it with his hand.

“Lie down here and I’ll teach you some of the constellations.”

“What makes you think I don’t know them already?” Yoongi grumbles, not seriously, as he rolls
onto his back and lays his head onto half of the hoodie. Oliver just flicks his forehead and lies next
to them, sides touching and head sharing the other half of the hoodie.

“You don’t strike me as the type,” he says primly.

“Excuse me?” Yoongi pretends to be affronted and Oliver laughs in his ear.
“Shush. I’m your tour guide, remember? I’m going to give you a tour of the sky instead.” He
settles down, head knocking lightly against Yoongi’s. From their close proximity, Yoongi can
smell Oliver’s deodorant—fresh and clean like a warm summer morning.

“Start with an easy one so I don’t have to strain my eyes,” he requests and Oliver huffs.

“Fine. If you look up to your right, there’s one called the Southern Cross. It’s made up of that
star”—he points— “and those ones directly above it that sort of make a cross shape.”

“There’s so many,” Yoongi murmurs, awestruck at the beauty of the sky at night. Without the light
and air pollution always blocking the sky in Seoul, it’s amazing to see the night sky literally
peppered with trillions upon trillions of stars in unimaginable quantities. “There are so many sappy
songs comparing eyes to stars and I always swore I’d never write one but, honestly, I’d write it
about these ones.”

“You guys must write a lot of love songs,” Oliver remarks.

“Yeah, some,” Yoongi murmurs.

“Have you ever been in love?” Oliver asks and It has Yoongi’s heart suddenly skipping a beat as
his brain automatically flashes a familiar face in front of his eyes.

What. The. Fuck.

“ Yoongi?” Oliver asks again, turning on his side so he’s leaning on an elbow, hovering on the
edge off Yoongi’s vision. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer.” He sounds guilty, and honestly, it’s
not that Yoongi’s even actively trying not to answer—he just physically can’t get the words out of
his mouth, so shocked at the sudden realisation that he’s in love. And that’s not even the most
shocking part. He’s in love with —

“Fuck. I’m in love,” is all Yoongi manages to choke out, trying to process the thought.

“Wait, you didn’t know?” Oliver questions, looking incredibly confused (and Yoongi doesn’t
blame him). “How do you not know?”

“I guess…” Yoongi’s struggling to process and he ends up just staring blankly at the sky for a solid
thirty seconds, Oliver thankfully not saying anything to interrupt. “How the fuck,” Yoongi
murmurs in the end. It feels like he’s short-circuiting. “Somehow—don’t even ask how—but I
didn’t realise that’s what I’ve been feeling and when you asked me, his face just popped straight
into my brain—“ Yoongi stops short, stomach dropping as he realises his slip of the tongue.

“His?”

“Fuck, don’t worry,” Yoongi says, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead as he sits up so he can
leave because this whole thing is turning out disastrously.

“You’re gay?” Oliver asks, eyes wide in his face as he stares at Yoongi. “Hey, don’t go!” He calls
out as Yoongi scrambled to his feet.
“I have to,” Yoongi says, heart beating like a drum in his chest. He’s revealed far too much about
himself; he can’t afford any more slip-ups.

“I’m gay too,” Oliver mumbles and that stops Yoongi in his tracks, whipping around to see Oliver
now also on his feet, looking every bit like a kicked puppy.

“ You’re gay?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out so aggressively but Oliver just nods, bottom lip
suddenly sticking out in a fierce pout.

“Is that a problem?” He asks, and Yoongi can only stare before Oliver’s words suddenly catch up
in his brain.

“What—no, fuck no.” He forces his mouth to cooperate. “I’m gay too.” It feels weird to say it
aloud but the look of relief and wonder on Oliver’s face is enough to make him want to say it again
and again. “Not openly though,” he tacks on at the last second. “Well, only to people close to me.
Korea’s still not good with anything LGBT.”

“You’re gay,” Oliver whispers again, mouth hanging open, and Yoongi steps forward, glancing
around to make sure they’re still all alone under the night sky.

“Yeah—just—don’t say it so loud,” he whispers back, and Oliver’s jaw snaps shut as he hides his
mouth behind his fingers in almost comical horror.

They stand there in complete silence, both processing this newfound information about each other.
Yoongi’s not sure where to go from here but Oliver pulls himself together first, lying back down
with his head on the hoodie once more, patting the grass next to him.

“Come on.”

“More constellations?” Yoongi asks dryly but he does as Oliver wishes.

I’m in love. I’m in love. I’m in love. I’m in love. I’m in love. I’m in love.

“Nah, can’t remember that many anyway,” Oliver says with a snort. “Let’s just talk.”

‘“Okay,” Yoongi agrees. “Now you know all my dark secrets, how about you? Have you ever been
in love?”

Min Yoongi, you dumbass. How did you not realise something so important?

Oliver chuckles.

“Yup. Still in love actually but he doesn’t want me.” He moves suddenly, fumbling in his pocket
before he pulls out his phone. When the screen turns on, he faces it towards Yoongi. It’s a picture
of Oliver hugging another man on a random beach somewhere, arms tightly wrapped around each
other. The other guy is attractive with blond hair and piercing blue eyes and they look happy
together.

“What happened?” Yoongi asks, and Oliver sighs like a lovesick puppy.

“He went off to a different university—didn’t want to be tied down to anyone.”

“Oh.” Yoongi crinkles his nose. “Seems like a dickhead to me.”

“Yeah, but I can’t stop how I feel for him so... “ Oliver chuckles sadly. He stuffs his phone back in
his pocket and Yoongi gets the feeling Oliver’s much more hurt than he’s letting on but Oliver
doesn’t seem to dwell on it for long, bumping Yoongi with his elbow.

“So… this person you’re in love with. Do they love you back?”

“What?” The question catches Yoongi off guard. “Oh—no.” He swallows, chest suddenly filled
with even more sadness. “He’s straight and—fuck, I didn’t even realise that’s what I was feeling.
Like,” he hesitates, trying to figure out how to put it into words, “I know I care about him a lot and
I always have, and like, I’m not dumb—he’s fucking attractive. But I just didn’t think—I shouldn’t
be in love with him.”

I’m in love. I’m in love. I’m in love. I’m in love. I’m in love. I’m in love. I’m in love. I’m in love.

“Have you asked him how he feels?” Oliver mumbles innocently and Yoongi huffs a wry laugh.

“Dude, I didn’t even realise my own feelings until about five minutes ago.”

“Oh, true.” Oliver laughs, much louder in the stillness of the night. “Do you think you will when
you go back to Korea?”

“He’s straight, Oliver. And he’s… dealing with his own issues at the moment. He doesn’t need me
wrecking it all.”

“How do you know he’s straight?”

“He’s literally had girlfriends,” Yoongi says but Oliver seems unperturbed.

“Doesn’t mean anything. He could be bisexual.”

“Look—I know him and he’s straight. He also doesn’t love me and he most certainly doesn’t need
someone else fucking with his head. He’s—he’s had enough of that over the past while,” Yoongi
says, flustered and flailing.

Why the fuck does it sound like he’s trying to convince himself.

“Well, aren’t we sad,” Oliver comments after a moment. “Both in love with people who don’t want
us back and probably never will.”
It’s like someone dropped a heavy stone on Yoongi’s chest.

“Don’t hold back,” Yoongi says sarcastically, sitting up a little so he can see Oliver’s face. There’s
a smirk pulling at the boy’s lips and Yoongi huffs. “At least pretend you feel bad for me.”

“I do!” Oliver defends, dark eyes glittering as he grins up at Yoongi.

“No, you don’t,” Yoongi replies, raising an eyebrow, and Oliver looks wounded.

“Well, you don’t feel bad for me either.”

“Who said that?” Yoongi asks, equally injured. “Of course I do. But I also reckon you can do better
than that asshole.” His words have Oliver’s smiling slipping just a little before he seems to reel it
back, grinning mischievously at Yoongi.

“Yeah, well, what are you going to do about it?” He challenges, cocking his head to the side and
smirking at Yoongi. It has his previous words echoing through Yoongi’s head once more.

“Both in love with people who don’t want us back and probably never will.”

The next words out of his mouth are reckless, a knee-jerk reaction to the realisation that not only is
Yoongi in love with someone but that they’re never going to be together.

But I’m in love. What the fuck am I doing?

“Let me show you.”

If Yoongi thought he was the one initiating something, he was dead wrong. Oliver’s grin widens
and he moves at the same time as Yoongi, pushing him back on the grass and straddling him, all in
one quick movement. It has the air rushing out of Yoongi’s lungs and he grunts at the impact,
staring up at Oliver’s face surrounded by stars, lit only by the moon and a couple of far off
streetlamps.

“I thought I was the one meant to be showing you,” he murmurs, unable to stop his mouth corners
lifting in amusement, and Oliver shrugs, tilting his head just a little.

“I like seeing you from this angle.” It’s not an answer so much as a question and Yoongi answers it
by tugging Oliver down a little further, catching the back of his neck in a gentle grip that lets him
guide the younger boy to his lips.
 Oliver kisses just like his personality, all wild enthusiasm and surprising confidence. He tastes like
spearmint gum and summer sunshine, and he doesn’t pull back until he’s gasping for air, chuckling
even as his hips roll expertly against Yoongi’s.

Why am I doing this? I’m in love!

Yoongi pulls him straight back down, delighting in the weight of another and the slow lick of
arousal curling in his belly. And when kissing isn’t enough for them anymore, he flips them around
so this time it’s Oliver on his back, head lolling back with a blissful smile as Yoongi pulls both
their shirts off and kisses delicate trails down Oliver’s lean abdomen to the fuzzy trail of hair just
below his navel. It’s all warm skin and soft kisses and when his fingers finally peel Oliver’s jeans
and underwear further down his legs, he wastes no time in swallowing him down to the hilt,
relishing the gasping cry of pleasure which spills into the night air.

The whole situation goes entirely against everything Yoongi’s media trained personality would
consider appropriate behaviour but there’s something mesmerising about being in New Zealand,
half-naked next to a lake with an attractive cock down his throat, Oliver’s fingers twisting and
tugging in Yoongi’s unkempt hair and only the stars to watch them.

If Yoongi is momentarily distracted by a familiar face popping into his mind, Oliver never has to
know.

I’m in love. I’m in love. I’m in love. I’m in love. I’m in love. I’m in love. I’m in love. I’m in love.

Chapter End Notes

Did you like it? Who do you think Yoongi is in love with? Let me know with a
comment (and I will seriously do my best to answer promptly) how you felt about this
chapter! It makes my day to read all your thoughts, big or small :)
 Messy
Chapter Summary

Basically...

Yoongi's not as much of an asshole as some of you think he is lol.

Also, Jimin makes a friend. Sort of.

Chapter Notes

Hello, my lovelies,

Another chapter for you all before I go to bed. Comments from the last chapter being
answered when I wake up! (I'm officially abandoning my new year's resolution lol)

Don't really have much more to say except some light warnings for panic attacks and
minor violence. Also, some of y'all need an updated definition of what 'cheating'
actually is lol. Yoongi ain't cheating you morons ;P

Lots of love!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Yoongi wakes up the next morning to the soft rustle of bedsheets and gentle movement next to
him. It takes him a second to remember the previous night and when he does, the blissful state he’d
managed to escape to yesterday has left only residual guilt and a sinking feeling in his gut. A quick
look to his left reveals Oliver still half-asleep on the motel bed, stretching like a cat with his arms
above his head, eyes happily closed to the world. And that has Yoongi’s brain fully awake, pushing
him straight off a metaphorical cliff and into reality with startling speed.

“‘Morning,” Oliver mumbles, rolling over as his eyes crack open half a centimetre, one arm
slinging lazily over Yoongi’s chest. His fingers trace mindless little circles on Yoongi’s skin. “Did
you sleep well?”

“Yeah, you?” Yoongi murmurs. Oliver smiles like a Cheshire cat, eyes blinking sleepily upwards.

“Best I’ve slept in a while.” The words have something wrenching painfully in Yoongi’s heart and
the guilt he feels increases with every passing second.

You’re playing with him.

“I’m guessing you hadn’t fucked anyone in a while, eh?” Oliver continues, giggling huskily on the
mattress next to him.

“What?” Yoongi mumbles, half-distracted by the weird guilt in his heart and half by Oliver’s
fingers still tapping soft patterns onto his chest. Oliver smirks.

“Just seemed like there was some pent-up frustration there,” he whispers cheekily, giggling again
when Yoongi flicks him on the nose for his impertinence. “Well, if the pain in my ass is anything
to go by,” he continues, and that has Yoongi’s brow furrowing as the words register.

“Wait, did I hurt you?” He asks, sitting up on his side so he can see Oliver’s face properly. Oliver
doesn’t seem concerned however, fingers coming up to fiddle affectionately with Yoongi’s
earring.

“It’s okay, nothing I can’t handle.”

“You shouldn’t have to handle—did I really hurt you?” Yoongi feels suddenly sick, worry coursing
through his veins. But Oliver just huffs a laugh, eyes scrunching cutely.

“Don’t worry so much. I would’ve told you if you hurt me last night.” He shrugs. “You’re not the
only one who hasn’t seen much action for a while.”

“Oh.” Yoongi’s worry doesn’t completely disappear but the smile on Oliver’s face and his relaxed
demeanour don’t seem like he’s at all resentful of the way things turned out last night. Which is to
say, much more… active than Yoongi would have expected. Not that he’s going to complain.

“How much longer are you in Te Anau for?” Oliver asks, thin arms pulling Yoongi back down so
he’s lying on his back again and Oliver can nestle into his side.

“I’m not sure,” Yoongi replies, playing absentmindedly with Oliver’s hair. It still feels weird to
have the warmth of bare skin against his own after so many months without any sort of contact like
it. “I don’t really have any plans for the rest of my time in New Zealand anyway.”

“Stay for a few more days?” Oliver murmurs, soft lips pressing against Yoongi’s ribs, and with
such tactile persuasion, Yoongi can’t bring himself to do anything but agree. He feels Oliver’s
mouth curve into a smile when he does.

Maybe he could’ve left the guilt in his heart untouched but when Oliver’s fingers dance back
underneath the sheets at his confirmation, Yoongi can’t keep it in. He pushes Oliver’s hand away,
sitting up just to get some distance and feeling horrible when he sees Oliver’s face, shocked and
hurt.

“Sorry, I’m just,” Yoongi sighs heavily, hands pushing through his hair, trying to get a grip on his
thoughts. “Last night was amazing but—but I’m still—” his mouth struggles to form the words
until eventually, he just forces them out. “I’m still in love with someone else and I don’t, I don’t
want to play with your—I don’t know, I just don’t want to hurt you when I’m just going to leave in
a couple of days.” He swallows. “Does that—does that make sense?” He looks up at Oliver’s face,
slightly afraid to see what expression will look back at him. To his relief, Oliver’s hurt expression
has mostly disappeared.
“Don’t worry about any of that,” he says, flopping back on the pillow. “This is just sex, right? It’s
fun, it feels good, and if you think I’m somehow going to catch feelings for you in a few days then
—well," he cocks an eyebrow, "that ain’t happening. I’ve got my own unrequited love to deal
with.” Oliver smiles suddenly, full of warmth. “You can still be in love with your straight boy,
whoever he is, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun on the side, does it? You’re not in a
relationship with him.”

“You don’t mind...?”

“You think I mind fucking around more than once with the same person?” Oliver asks and Yoongi
winces slightly at the crude wording.

“Well… yeah.”

“Good sex is good sex,” Oliver says with a grin. “And I happen to like you as a person which
makes it even better. But no feelings.” He winks. “Love is messy enough so we’ll just stick to
being friends who fuck, if you want to, of course?”

The words hang between them for all of three seconds before Yoongi manages to push down the
guilt in his chest. He gives his answer without words.

To Jimin’s surprise, he doesn’t hate the clinic upon arrival as much as he thought he would. It’s
fancy, made for people with money to spend, and so at least it’s exclusive in its clientele, no more
than fourteen people in the clinic at one time. The whole atmosphere is calm and quiet and it feels
somewhat like the whole building is wrapped in cotton wool. Still, the peaceful atmosphere does
nothing to change the reason he’s there and the program he’s part of.

When Jimin had first arrived they had taken away all his ordinary clothing, giving him a few sets
of modern hanbok to wear instead. After Jimin’s initial surprise had subsided, he actually hadn’t
minded too much. Both Taehyung and Jungkook had worn them a lot and they were surprisingly
comfortable. They’re all a pale set of blue which he’s not a huge fan of; it’s a little unsettling to
look around and see himself and the other thirteen people there all dressed exactly the same like
something from a mental asylum in a horror movie.

You basically ARE in a mental asylum, dumbass.

Jimin tries not to focus on that.

He shares a room with another guy named Chaeseok who doesn’t say a lot but has a smile like
rainbows and the cutest teddy bear sitting on his bed. He’s been there a few weeks already and
doesn’t hesitate in telling Jimin the reason for his admission into the clinic.

“I attempted suicide for the third time and my parents didn’t want to deal with the fallout so they
sent me here.” The beaming smile that follows is discomfiting and Jimin struggles to find an
appropriate response. He settles in the end for a quiet, “I’m sorry,” and Chaeseok shrugs lightly,
smile still plastered on his face. “It’s okay. What about you?”

“Why am I here?” Jimin asks, caught off guard, and Chaeseok nods. Jimin swallows. “Oh. Um.”
He tries to figure out how much he should say but before he’s even opened his mouth, Chaeseok is
speaking again.

“Aren’t you that guy from BTS who...?” Chaeseok trails off, eyebrows raised curiously. Jimin’s
heart thunks down to his feet.

“I—I,” his tongue feels thick in his mouth and the longer the words stay trapped in his throat, the
harder it gets to breathe.

“Hey, just breathe,” Chaeseok says, breaking through the tension with his worried voice. “Sorry, I
didn’t mean to—you don’t have to talk about it.” He reaches out an arm, probably to comfort Jimin
but in Jimin’s anxiety he flinches away before he can catch himself. Chaeseok’s arm drops back by
his side and Jimin manages to inhale at least one big lungful of oxygen, struggling to compose
himself.

Everyone knows about you.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps out in the end but Chaeseok just shakes his head.

“Don’t apologize—I shouldn’t have said anything.” He rubs awkwardly at the back of his head,
waiting quietly as Jimin pulls himself together. Eventually, he jams a thumb at the door. “Do you
want a tour of the place?” Jimin nods his head without really thinking about it.

“Sure.” Anything to chase away the reality that probably every person here knows what has
happened to him.

Aren't you the guy from BTS who...?

As it turns out, Chaeseok, for all of his slightly eccentric demeanour, happens to be a nice person to
hang out with. His smile is a permanent fixture on his face and even though Jimin knows it says
nothing about what he might be feeling inside (it was his third suicide attempt that landed him in
here after all) it beats the depressing atmosphere he was expecting to see here.

He meets most of the other residents of the clinic, at least, the ones who aren’t in therapy sessions.
Jimin doesn’t fly under the radar as much as he would’ve liked if some of their shocked
expressions are anything to go by, but no-one says anything outright except one older, slightly
senile woman who pats him on the head and tells him she’s heard his music on the radio. Jimin
tries his best to smile at her even if thinking about their music feels like a lifetime ago.

The staff at the clinic give him that first day to settle in, unpacking the few belongings he was
allowed to bring in—some books, an iPod, and some air pods. Remembering the note about ‘no
corded headphones’ he’d been told by Sejin when he was packing has Jimin’s stomach-churning
incessantly. He won’t think too much about why that is.

Everyone eats their meals altogether in one room with a long dining table. They’re not left all alone
—some of the staff eat with them as well—and they each have specific portions meted out to them.
Jimin forces himself to finish the entire plate, even if it is much more than he would normally eat.
It has his gut clenching uncomfortably but he pushes past it; he doesn’t want all those eyes around
the table directed at him for any reason.

That first night proves to be a mostly sleepless one for Jimin. Strange sheets and the sound of
someone unfamiliar breathing lightly only a few metres away from him have Jimin’s entire body
wrought with tension. And what little sleep he does have is wracked with nightmares.

“You’re like a little dog,” Chang murmurs, tugging on Jimin’s collar with rough hands. “Mine to
play with—” he suddenly kicks Jimin the ribs—“and mine to punish.”

“Please,” Jimin wheezes, trying to get up on his hands and knees so he’s not being choked by the
collar so much. Chang just laughs and kicks him down again.

“Come on, little bitch. Keep trying,” he taunts, jabbing his boot viciously into Jimin’s kidneys over
and over again until Jimin gives up and curls in on himself, spluttering as his oxygen is almost
completely cut off. “Oh no, the bitch doesn’t want to play anymore?” Chang sneers, grabbing
Jimin’s arm and yanking him off the floor and on to the bed in one swift movement. His hands go
for his belt and he rips it out of the loops, curling it around his fist before he lets it fly. With every
strike of the belt on Jimin’s back, it feels like fire splitting open his skin.

But there’s something else too. Something weird is happening to Chang’s face. It’s warping and
twisting, melting like wax until it suddenly forms a different face, one that has Jimin’s heart rate
tripling in the space of half a second.

It’s no longer Chang whipping him with the belt—it’s his father.
He jolts awake, legs twisted in his sheets, momentarily panicking when he doesn’t recognize the
room.

“You okay?” Jimin jumps when Chaeseok speaks from the bed next to him, turning over to see the
young man facing him, leaning on an elbow. His face is drawn in shadows, eyes twinkling in the
glow from a little nightlight on his bedside table. Jimin swallows.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Chaeseok asks and Jimin closes his eyes, rolling onto his back so he doesn’t have to
look Chaeseok in the face.

“I’m fine,” he repeats, hands coming up to push away the hair sticking to his forehead, grimacing
at the sweat. “Just a dream.”

“Nightmare more like,” Chaeseok mumbles with a snort. “I get enough of those to be able to tell
the difference. Who’s Chang by the way?” Jimin freezes.

“Shut up.” The words hiss out in the air but Chaeseok doesn’t seem to get the message.

“I was just wondering—you called out his name a couple of times.”

“I said shut up,” Jimin snarls, sitting bolt upright in bed. Chaeseok doesn’t move, just watches him
quietly in the dim light. Jimin’s chest is heaving and he fists his hands in his sheets, trying to
control the raw emotion boiling in his gut. He’s not even sure what to call it—he just knows it feels
horrible.

“Sorry,” Chaeseok mumbles eventually and it sounds sincere enough.

“Are you always so fucking blunt?” Jimin mutters in reply, taking another deep breath before he
flops down on his back.

“Yeah. I get in trouble for it a lot.” Chaeseok says after a moment.

“Really.” Jimin can’t help the sarcasm in his tone.

“I just say it how it is, I guess. Not everyone likes that,” Chaeseok defends and Jimin sighs.

“I don’t mind straight shooters but...but tact, dude,” he says, rubbing at his eyes.

“Fair point,” Chaeseok says and Jimin turns his head so he can make eye contact with his
roommate, watching as he strikes a cheesy smile. “Will you accept my apologies and a promise not
to question you about the contents of your nightmares again?”

JImin hesitates but after a moment when it becomes clear the apologetic look on Chaeseok's face is
genuine, he mutters a quiet, “apology accepted,".

He settles back in his sheets and a rustle next to him tells him Chaeseok is doing the same but
Jimin is determined not to fall back into the same nightmare he just woke up from. If that means he
forfeits sleep then that’s what he’ll do. He manages to stay awake long enough to hear Chaeseok’s
breathing even out before his eyes get too heavy to hold up any longer and he’s forced to accept the
inevitability of another nightmare.

Chang’s face floats in the forefront of his mind and Jimin grits his teeth.
Bastard.

The following days Jimin learns what his life in the clinic will be like. Daily therapy sessions, on
his own and sometimes with a group, followed by different optional classes they’re encouraged to
participate in—things like arts and crafts, and yoga, but also others about anger management and
meditation. Jimin hates group therapy in particular, mostly because since the very first moment
he’d walked into the clinic it’s felt like there was a spotlight on him and if he doesn’t have to
interact with the rest of the residents of the clinic then he doesn’t want to.

Every group session they’re meant to think of something they want to achieve during their time in
the program, and thus far Jimin has come up short on saying something for the entire first week
i.e. four consecutive sessions in a row. Apparently, it has the therapist assigned to him—a youngish
woman called Johee—concerned that Jimin isn’t “committing himself to accept the help he needs
despite making the important first step of entering the program”.

“What are you afraid of, Jimin?” She asks, fingers tapping on her knee. “You don’t have to share
any of your experiences or personal information. In fact, your goal can be super broad but it’s
important to set goals as a way of proactively moving forward.” Jimin focuses his gaze on his feet
and tries not to let her disappointment, however subtly hidden behind her kind expression, affect
him.

“I just can’t think of anything to say,” he mutters eventually. It’s not entirely true.

“Really?” Johee sounds more than a little disbelieving and Jimin doesn’t blame her. It shouldn’t be
that hard but the truth is the thought of even speaking more than a few words in front of all these
strangers has chills racing up and down his spine. It’s much easier just to listen and say nothing.

“Well, nothing important anyway.”

“The things you want to say are important, Jimin,” Johee corrects gently. “We talked in your first
session about self-confidence being something to work on. How about we start by cutting out
statements like that?”

“Fine,” Jimin mutters begrudgingly.

“Why don’t we try this again. Why don’t you want to share any of your goals with the group?”

“Because I can’t think of anything to say,” Jimin repeats dutifully, glancing up to see Johee
smiling. It tickles the part of him that’s always needed praise.

“Okay. Shall we figure some out together so next time you have something to say?” Johee’s
enthusiasm is at least somewhat infectious and considering the lack of ideas he has going on, the
fact that she has enough enthusiasm for both of them is comforting. Jimin’ll take it.

“Yes please.”

As a result of Johee’s counselling, the next time Jimin is asked to share a goal with the other
members of the group, he manages to come up with, “thinking more positively about myself,”
something which, although pretty weak on its own, has the coordinator of the group, Daesang,
smiling at him encouragingly and Chaeseok clapping his hands next to him. Jimin thinks it’s all a
bit over the top but it’s nice to not have a super tense, awkward pause when they come to him.

But he should have known he couldn’t fly completely under the radar. That particular session they
focus on techniques to deal with nightmares and from the knowing look Chaeseok throws him,
Jimin wonders if his roommate had made mention to someone of Jimin’s disturbed sleep pattern.
He pushes that thought out of his head immediately.

Not everything is about you, whore.

“—Jimin?” Jimin’s head snaps up to see Daesang looking at him. “I was just asking if you’d had
any nightmares since you got here?”

Yes.

“No,” Jimin says, biting his lip when he hears Chaeseok snort.

Don’t say anything.

“Did you want to say something, Chaeseok?” Daesang asks and Jimin holds his breath, exhaling
only when Chaeseok hesitates but ultimately says nothing about the countless nights Jimin has
woken him up with his thrashing.

“Nope. Just a ticklish nose.”

“Right.” Daesang sounds suspicious but he doesn’t say anything further, turning back to Jimin.
“It’s been a week since you’ve come here, Jimin. Did you get nightmares before your arrival?” His
tone is friendly but Jimin keeps his eyes firmly planted on the ground in the middle of their circle
of chairs, not wanting to see if anyone is looking at him.

“Sometimes,” he replies in the end. He doesn’t think anyone would believe him if he said no.

“Okay, and how did you deal with them?” Daesang asks. Jimin chews the inside of his cheek,
comforted by the pain. It’s a new habit he’s found since slicing up his wrists isn’t really an option
when he’s almost constantly under watch.

“Just rolling over and trying to go back to sleep,” he mutters noncommittally in the end. His face is
heating up with every word he has to say out loud in this group with too many people and too many
sets of ears.

“And did it work?” Daesang probes.

“I don’t know,” Jimin mumbles. He wants out from under this microscope and, all of a sudden, it
gets too much. “Sorry—I gotta,” is all he manages before he’s pushing back his chair with a
screech, ignoring the stares and murmurs as he runs out of the room and away.

There are limited places to go where he won’t be immediately followed and Jimin chooses the
bathroom only because the lock gives him at least some semblance of privacy (never mind the fact
that the lock is also able to open from the other side). He can’t stop moving, heart pounding so
hard he thinks it’ll pound right out of his chest. He settles for pacing from one side of the tiny
bathroom to the other as his fingers tug mercilessly at his hair.

Predictably it’s not long before there’s a knock at the door and Johee’s voice calls out through the
thin wood.

“Jimin? Can I come in?” He’s not sure why she’s asking when she can come in regardless. Still,
the gesture is nice and he manages a grunt of assent even as his breathing quickens and his heart
rate doubles again. He’s not even sure why at this point.

Because you’re weak and you can’t even handle a question about a fucking dream. Nightmare.

Jimin whimpers, sinking to his knees on the cool tiles and clamping his hands over his ears even as
he vaguely registers Johee opening the door. “Stop, stop, stop, stop,” He forces the words into his
brain but it doesn’t help. The whole situation goes from bad to exponentially worse when Johee
puts a well-meaning hand on his back.

The thin thread separating Jimin from a full-blown panic attack snaps with splendid force. He’s
hardly even aware of himself anymore, completely caught up in his head, and it only registers a
second too late that he’s pushed Johee away with far too much force. Like he’s watching the scene
from afar, Jimin becomes dimly aware of someone screaming in his ear as he watches Johee trip
back on her heels to land awkwardly on her butt; it takes him another moment to realise it’s his
own voice crying out, and his own hands clawing at his wrists to scratch apart the scabs that lie
there.
 All he can feel is fear, coursing like electricity through his veins.

You’re weak!

There are hands on him now, grabbing at his arms and legs (since when was he lying on the
floor?), pinning him in place against the tiles like a fly squished underneath a giant thumb. Jimin’s
eyes shoot open from where he’s screwed them shut and it’s as if someone’s poured a bucket of icy
water on him, shocking him back into reality. The harsh lights on the ceiling blind him.

“Fuck—stop— get off me!” Jimin snarls, writhing under these hands, not even sure where this
rabid version of himself is coming from except that he can feel Chang’s fingers crawling over his
body and he wants them off.

They’re not listening, voices overlapping eachother into a cacophony of sound that has him
screwing his eyes shut again, trying to free himself from this relentless, all-encompassing touch.
He doesn’t want it.

“Don’t touch me!!”

He shouldn’t be shocked when they don’t let go. These days it seems like no-one ever listens to
what Jimin wants.

Chapter End Notes

Let me know what you think!

 It's all over now.
Chapter Summary

“Were you ready to come back to Korea?” Jin asks suddenly and Yoongi startles at the
abrupt question.

“Oh.” Yes and no. “I’m not sure.” He looks out over the water. “I wanted to come
back but… I had a good time.”

“Good.” Jin pauses and Yoongi sees him looking from his peripheral. “You look
much happier.”

Chapter Notes

Thank you so much for all of you who are still waiting so patiently for every chapter
to come out. I won't lie to you—this quarantine and corona situation has been really
tough on my mental health so even writing has felt like the hardest work. I'm falling
back into depression for no proper reason so every day I'm just working on getting out
of bed and doing something productive. I feel so incredibly selfish for feeling like that
when there are literal people dying but that's just how it is at the moment.

To all you lovely people who left comments on the last chapter, I'm sorry I haven't
answered the vast majority. I'll try and get around to it but I'll have to see how it goes.
Still, they are so incredibly motivating and inspiring and even if I haven't been able to
answer yet, you have no idea how appreciative I am. Genuinely.

Onto the story, this chapter brings some answers to some of the biggest questions of
the fic! I hope you enjoy and I hope the result is what you wanted :)

Wishing you all the best health,

Pied Piper

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Jimin wakes up to soft voices speaking over his head and a distinct throbbing in his skull. The
words are hard to understand through the fog blanketing his consciousness but he forces his way
out, pushing past the ache until his mind and body connect and he’s able to open his eyes. He
regrets it almost immediately as the lights on the ceiling blind him with their brightness.

Whatever reaction he has must show on his face because there is someone ordering the lights to be
dimmed, soft footsteps getting further away before the light filtering through Jimin’s eyelids
decreases drastically in brightness.

“Try opening your eyes again, Jimin,” someone says and Jimin hesitates but does as he’s told,
relieved when the action doesn’t inflict more pain on his eyes. There’s pain in other parts of his
body though, a deep ache in his bones like he used to get after long days of intense rehearsals and
non-stop dancing. It hurts to swallow too, deep in the back of his throat.

Johee pops into his line of vision, leaning carefully over the bed. There’s another woman next to
her too, a nurse.

“How are you feeling, Jimin?” Johee asks gently, and Jimin’s brow furrows. He doesn’t remember
how he ended up here, lying on this bed with this unfamiliar ceiling above him.

“What…” it hurts to talk, his voice barely a rough rasping whisper. He forces the words out
anyway. “What happened?” Johee looks worried.

“You don’t remember?”

“Remember what— oh.” It comes back to him suddenly in one huge flood—the questions, the
panic attack, all the hands clawing at him on the floor. Johee must see it on his face.

“You’re okay now, honey,” she assures.

(It reminds Jimin unbidden of that first police officer who found him. She called him ‘honey’ too.)

“Hold on a second and I’ll change the bed so you can sit up properly,” Johee murmurs, flitting out
of Jimin’s line of vision. A moment later and the mechanics of the bed whir into action, pushing
Jimin into a sitting position. Something falls off his lap as the bed moves and Jimin looks down,
picks up Chaeseok’s bear from where it had rolled against the metal frame of the bed.

Chaeseok was here.

The bear is soft, a rainbow ribbon carefully tied around its throat and two sparkly blue eyes set
against fluffy white fur. Jimin loosens the ribbon just a little.

“Chaeseok came and dropped that off while you were still sleeping from the sedative,” Johee says
and Jimin looks up at her.

“You drugged me.” It’s not a question but Johee nods. She looks surprisingly unbothered by
Jimin’s flat tone.
“The doctor decided it was in your best interest considering the level of your panic attack and the
potential for you to hurt either yourself or someone else.”

“I wouldn’t have hurt myself,” Jimin scoffs hoarsely, resentful of the total blank in his memory
when it comes to the last—how long? He’s not even sure. Johee grimaces, tight-lipped.

“Actually, you did hurt yourself, Jimin.” She points at his wrist and Jimin looks down, shocked to
realise they’re both wrapped in white bandages. “You tore off all the scabs and scratched the skin
to pieces.”

Jimin’s fingers touch the bandages, trying to feel the damage. It stings when he presses and he
realises Johee is telling the truth. And then he remembers something else, eyes snapping up to
Johee’s face.

“I hurt you too.” He’s horrified at himself. Johee just shakes her head, smiling gently.

“It’s okay, you didn’t hurt me.”

“I pushed you.” Jimin stares down at his hands, suddenly sick to his stomach as the pieces of his
memory fall back into place.

“You reacted to me getting into your space while you were having a panic attack. You didn’t hurt
me,” Johee reassures seriously. “And I know if you’d been thinking straight, you wouldn’t have
lashed out like that so it’s okay.” She pats Jimin’s bedcovers. “Don’t beat yourself up about it,
okay?”

“You aren’t mad?” Jimin asks, instantly hating how young he sounds. Johee just shakes her head.

“It’s nothing to worry about, honey. Let’s just focus on figuring out how we can stop this sort of
thing from happening again.” She smiles, a cheeky glint to her eyes. “I’m not giving up on you just
yet so you can’t give up either.”

Jimin is allowed back to his room with Chaeseok though he’s been given a wristband to wear—a
bright pink one—that Johee says will let people know not to touch Jimin if he’s ever verging on
another panic attack. That was one of the first things they’d talked about and Johee’s no-nonsense
attitude towards the whole situation actually makes it either for Jimin to open up about his
feelings. So now he’s got a pink wristband as a safeguard for his future in the clinic.

“If something like this happens again and you start hurting yourself, it might be that someone has
to touch you and this wristband isn’t going to stop that,” Johee explains. “However, if you’re
building up to one and you get into that hyperventilating stage, this will at least warn people you
need space to come back down from that, okay?” Jimin nods. Anything to stop people from
touching him, even if it’s just for a moment.
“I’d like to have a good session tomorrow but for this evening, just take it easy, go chill somewhere
quiet, and don’t do anything too strenuous.” Johee fixes him with a serious look. “Your body has
used up a huge amount of energy with the panic attack this morning and the sedatives will
probably still make you feel a bit sluggish for the next few hours.” She also won’t let Jimin walk
back to his room and Jimin is mortified to find himself being wheeled along by a bespectacled
nurse who jokingly threatens to confine Jimin to the wheelchair indefinitely every time he so much
as sets a toe on the ground on their way through the corridors. At least it gives Jimin something
else to focus on apart from his embarrassment at being treated like an invalid. Chaeseok’s bear also
provides a welcome distraction and Jimin cuddles it as subtly as he can, unable to resist the downy
fur against his skin.

“Roomie!” Chaeseok yells when Jimin comes back in, jumping dramatically on his bed like some
overgrown toddler. The nurse wheeling Jimin tells him to stop but even she can’t seem to resist
Chaeseok’s infectious enthusiasm and her reprimands don’t seem to hold much sincerity. Jimin
manages a tight smile, fighting the flush on his cheeks as he’s reminded of the hoarseness of his
throat from all the screaming he’d done.

Everyone will have heard you.

“This room was far too quiet without you,” Chaeseok cries, flopping violently on his bed with all
the pomp of a leading star in a cliche Hollywood drama.

“Thanks for lending me your bear,” Jimin says quietly once the nurse has helped him into his own
bed. He still holds it in his hands, looking down at those silly plastic eyes and the multi-coloured
ribbon around its neck. Somewhat reluctantly, he throws it gently onto Chaeseok’s bed, lips
twitching into a smile at Chaeseok’s big grin as the bear once again returns to his possession.

Even if a little part of him wants to blame Chaeseok for his comments in the group session, the
honest kindness on the boy’s face makes it hard for Jimin to hold a grudge. And he shared his bear
which, looking at how tight Chaeseok is squeezing it, means a lot.

Jimin doesn’t have to go to group therapy the next morning. Instead, Johee sits him down on her
couch with a soft blanket to keep him warm and a hot cup of lemon tea for them both.

“Today, we’re going to discuss and revise your treatment plan, okay?” She says and Jimin nods,
sipping his tea. That doesn’t sound too bad, at least, not as bad as group therapy. Johee looks down
at her notebook. “Firstly, I wanted to talk about the medication you’re on at the moment. Who
prescribed it to you?”

“Um, my family doctor in Busan.” Not that it was really prescribed. Jimin’s father cashed in a
favour with their family doctor to prescribe Jimin medication for his depression without a
consultation. Johee seems to read his mind.

“With a consultation?” Jimin pinches his lips but shakes his head. He may as well tell her the
truth.

“My parents were… embarrassed, I think,” he mumbles. “But I didn’t take it regularly either. Not
until I got here.”

“Was there a reason for that?” Johee asks gently. Jimin shrugs.

“It makes me feel weird so I just stopped after a while.” He swallows, guilt swirling in his stomach
as he remembers pouring it down the toilet in a moment of anger. “And it was pretty easy not to
take it while I was in Seoul but obviously, my company knew what I was taking and sent it to you
guys too.” Johee nods, brow furrowing.

“So although you’ve been taking it while you’ve been here, that’s the first time in a while, right?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you mean when you say it makes you feel weird, Jimin?”

“Um,” Jimin hesitates, not sure how to describe it. “I just feel a bit… disconnected from myself…
if that makes sense?” Johee nods encouragingly so Jimin continues. “I’m not sure it did much
except mess with my sleep—” a lightbulb goes off in his head—“oh, and I think it gives me
nightmares,” he blurts out.

“Nightmares? You’ve been having nightmares while you’re here?” Johee scribbles something in
her notebook. “Do you feel like telling me anything about what sort of things are in your
nightmares?” She asks and Jimin immediately shakes his head, suddenly uneasy as the familiar pit
of anxiety in his gut starts to rear its ugly head. He tries to settle it with a sip of lemon tea, thankful
when Johee doesn’t push the subject.

“Okay, well first things first, we’re going to get you on some different medication. The one you’re
on is obviously not doing you any favours so that’ll be top of my list. Secondly,” she dots
something else on her page, “I’m happy to do more individual therapy sessions with you rather
than group sessions, at least until you’re feeling a little more stable emotionally. Does that sound
good?” Jimin nods, surprised at how easily she talks about all these changes.

“You’re allowed to do all that?”

“Of course,” Johee says kindly. “We start everyone off with the same timetable of individual and
group therapy but if it’s not right for you, then we can always adjust. I’m here to help you so that
means being flexible.” She smiles. “Everyone’s healing journey looks a little different. What’s
important is that you know I’m here for you whenever you need, even if that means coming in just
to read a book and have a quiet moment.”

“Thank you,” Jimin murmurs, ducking his head. Johee just waves it off.

“Not a problem. Now, we were meant to do this over the next few days so I thought we may as
well do it now.” She pulls out a whiteboard from next to her chair. “Together, we’re going to come
up with a brainstorm about what you want to focus on while you’re here at the clinic. That includes
how we go about helping you and what you want to feel like when you walk out of these doors in
eleven weeks time.” She holds out a pen with another of her infectious smiles. “Park Jimin, are you
ready to properly start your healing journey?”
For the first time, in all honesty, Jimin thinks he is.

Taehyung manages to convince their manager to let him pick Yoongi up from the airport, arguing
that it’s late and dark at nine pm and no-one will be expecting Yoongi to be coming off a flight
from New Zealand of all places. He waits somewhat anxiously at the exit of the arrivals terminal,
leg jogging impatiently as he watches people slowly coming out towards the baggage claim.
There’s a tiny sliver of him that worries Yoongi might not even return at all.

And then he sees him—his Yoongi hyung—masked and wearing a beanie but so obviously
recognizable. He must recognize Taehyung behind his own mask as well because as soon as his
eyes catch sight of him, Yoongi quickens his pace, eyes crinkling. Taehyung doesn’t even hesitate
when Yoongi is close enough, launching forward to give him a bone-crushing hug that has Yoongi
chuckling audibly into Taehyung’s shoulder.

“Missed me?” He asks with a hint of sarcasm and Taehyung nods, suddenly overwhelmed at
having his hyung back in Korea. It’s been one thing having Jimin away from them—at least they
knew he was safe—but with Yoongi they’d not even had much contact while he was away.

“Just glad you’re back safely,” he says when Yoongi finally extracts himself, mumbling about his
bags. That makes Yoongi smile again and he ruffles Taehyung’s hair as they start walking to the
baggage claim. For the first time in the three weeks since Yoongi left, Taehyung feels like he can
breathe a little easier.

Taehyung can’t help but look over at Yoongi the whole way they’re driving home. He looks
different than when he left. More tan, a little less put together as travellers are apt to be, but most
noticeably, there’s a sparkle in his eyes Taehyung hasn’t seen since before everything happened.
They start the drive in comfortable silence, both understanding the logic in waiting to share stories
until they’re amongst the others, but Yoongi can’t seem to help it.

“Have you guys been alright the past few weeks?” He asks and Taehyung nods.

“Surprisingly, yeah,” he answers honestly. “Jungkookie took it hard the first few days after you left
but Yugyeom pulled him out of the apartment and distracted him. I think he thought you weren’t
coming back until Yugyeom convinced him it was stupid,” Taehyung murmurs, glancing over at
Yoongi to see him frown.

“Really?” Taehyung nods.

“It’s been okay though. Quiet. We missed you.”

“Oh.” Yoongi fiddles with his shirt. “I missed you guys too.” It sounds weird coming out of his
mouth—oddly vulnerable for his normally stoic hyung—but Taehyung can see the sincerity in the
way Yoongi looks awkwardly out the window.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, trying to break the stiff atmosphere. Yoongi nods, looking relieved.

“Yeah, I slept through the meal on the plane.”

“Good, we ordered takeout so it should be there when we get home.”

“Everyone’s there?” Yoongi sounds surprised as Taehyung nods.

“Yup. We want to hear about New Zealand, hyung,” he says, grinning as Yoongi hides a pleased
smile behind a cough.

Taehyung barely has a chance to open the door of the apartment before Jungkook comes barreling
out, almost knocking Yoongi down in his eagerness to pull him into a hug. Namjoon steps out at
the commotion, rolling his eyes when he sees Yoongi’s luggage dropped all over the floor.

“Jungkook, I told you to wait until he was inside,” he says reproachingly but Jungkook just shrugs,
grabbing Yoongi’s luggage as if it weighs nothing.

“Couldn’t help it,” is all he can offer in response as he crashes against the doorframe on his way
through. Namjoon lets out a weary chuckle and raises his eyebrows at Taehyung in the hallway
before he steps aside to let them all in, hugging Yoongi on his way through.

“You better be hungry, hyung. We ordered too much,” he says to Yoongi as they all make their
way inside. Taehyung lets the others pounce on Yoongi and goes to help Jungkook where he’s
caught a bag strap on one of the door handles.

“Yah, Jungkook, stop yanking,” he says affectionately as he carefully unhooks the strap to
Jungkook’s bewilderment. Jungkook flashes him a grin as he battles his way down the hallway,
disappearing into Yoongi and Seokjin’s room with Yoongi’s luggage. There’s an almighty thump
and Taehyung can’t help but wince, cuffing a flushed Jungkook over the head when he re-
emerges.”You better not have broken any of his stuff.”

“What did I hear about breaking stuff?” Jin’s voice calls out behind them and Jungkook ducks his
head.

“I didn’t break anything, hyung. Just…dropped it a little heavily.”

“Okay, well, come and grab some plates from the kitchen before you destroy anything for real.”

The two of them obey Jin’s instructions and within the space of a couple of minutes, the six of
them are seated in the living room around the table.
“I’ve missed Korean food so much,” Yoongi groans as he takes a bite of japchae, eyes closing with
satisfaction.

“New Zealand cuisine not up to the same standard?” Hoseok asks, grinning as Yoongi just stuffs
his mouth full and shakes his head.

“It wasn’t bad. Just, not like Korean food,” he explains when he’s swallowed. “And most of the
Asian restaurants or takeaway shops were Chinese or Thai. I cooked most of my own food
anyway.”

“The trip was good though?” Jin asks and Yoongi nods.

“Amazing. I get why you always wanted to go back, Namjoon.” His eyes drift and Taehyung can
see him disappearing back into his memories. “It’s so big. So much space and fresh air, and
everything is beautiful in a totally unreal way. It feels like you’re driving through a postcard.” He
scoops a huge bite of rice, waving his spoon sagely as he chews. “I want to go back with all of you
actually.”

“Did you get recognized?” Taehyung asks, pushing another piece of chicken absentmindedly onto
Jungkook’s plate.

“Uh,” Yoongi hesitates. “Not really. I had some people who would look twice but I wore a mask
when I was in the city so they probably weren’t sure. Anyway, I spent most of my time in little
towns or in the middle of nowhere.”

“Those lakes you sent pictures of looked amazing,” Hoseok says. “And the forests. It really looked
like the Lord of the Rings.”

“The whole country looks like something out of a movie and the people are friendly too.”

“Ah yes, the famous kiwi hospitality,” Namjoon comments with all the airs of a seasoned New
Zealander that has Jin scoffing and hitting his arm.

“It’s true though. Even random strangers just come up and talk to you.”

“In English?” Jungkook chokes out, cheeks stuffed with rice. Yoongi grins.

“Yeah. I tried my best and they were nice about it so it was fine.”

“I hope you didn’t try selling them your chains for ‘ three dollar’,” Hoseok cackles and Yoongi
whacks him with the couch cushion next to him as they all descend into laughter.

“Don’t remind me,” he groans but Taehyung can see he’s hiding a smile.

“Leave him alone you savages,” Jin reprimands but he’s stifling his own laughter. “I’m not done
asking him questions yet.”

“Ask him in English,” Hoseok crows and this time it’s not just Yoongi whacking him with a
cushion.

“Settle down, settle down,” Jin says, seizing the pillow in Yoongi’s hand before he can inflict any
more damage on a cackling Hoseok. Predictably, it doesn’t work and pretty soon every pillow
within reaching distance has turned into a weapon of some sort. Taehyung just watches in fond
amusement, basking in the warmth of having his hyung home.
Yoongi’s sleep that night isn’t as undisturbed as it should be considering his exhaustion. He wakes
up every few hours, not used to the muffled noises of the city creeping through the cracked
window in his and Seokjin’s room. He sits up one time, looking over at Seokjin’s sleeping form in
the bed next to him with jealousy as he tries to settle the odd feeling in his stomach. Eventually,
despite his unrest, Yoongi’s overall exhaustion wins out and, when the sky is just beginning to
lighten, he manages to fall into a deep sleep for the first time since his head hit the pillow.

He wakes up after one o’clock in the afternoon, padding out to the kitchen for coffee even as he
wishes he could sleep for longer. An unexpected fondness fills his chest seeing Taehyung and
Jungkook cuddled up on the couch, both on their phones but with Jungkook sprawled lazily over
Taehyung’s legs. It’s good to see his dongsaengs getting on so well.

Jin is in the kitchen as well, seated at the table as he reads through a stack of paper in front of him.
He looks up with a smile when Yoongi comes in.

“How’d you sleep, Yoongi-ah?” He says affectionately, glasses slipping down his nose.

“Fine,” Yoongi mumbles, clearing his throat to get rid of the scratchiness. Jin nods, looking back
down at his papers as Yoongi stumbles over to the coffee machine.

“What are you reading?” Yoongi asks when he’s filled himself a cup and has pulled out a chair at
the table as well.

“Some stuff Bang PD sent me about PTSD.” Jin looks up over the edge of his glasses. “He thought
it might be useful if we familiarize ourselves with it so when Jimin comes back we’re better
prepared than we were last time.”

“That’s good,” Yoongi murmurs, sipping his coffee.

“Some of this reminds me a bit of Jungkookie too,” Jin says, brow furrowing as he turns over the
page. “You know he’s still getting nightmares?”

“Really?” Yoongi feels like a bad hyung for not knowing this. “I didn’t realise. I thought they’d
stopped a while ago.”

“They got worse when you left,” Jin says, no judgement in his tone. “He’s been sneaking into my
bed or Namjoon’s at least a couple times a week.”

“Oh shit. Poor kid.” Yoongi swallows the guilt threatening to make his voice waver. Jin always
seems to know what he’s thinking though and he looks up, fixing Yoongi with a strict stare.

“Not your fault, Yoongi. I think it’s actually been good for him to have to confront someone other
than Jimin leaving for a little while.”

“He shouldn’t have to deal with PTSD. He’s still a fucking kid,” Yoongi mutters.
“We’ve all got PTSD to some degree,” Jin says ruefully. “But I think it’s especially hard for him
because we’ve been his family since he was fifteen.” He sighs. “Ah well, we’ve just got to do our
best.”

“How’ve you been?” Yoongi asks, noting the dark circles under Jin’s eyes. “You’re good at always
looking after everyone else but have you been looking after yourself too?”

“I’m okay,” Jin murmurs, eyes scanning over the page in front of him. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“You shouldn’t have to handle it on your own though, hyung,” Yoongi says. That guilt flares up
white-hot in his stomach again. “I—I shouldn’t have gone off to New Zealand and left you—”

“Don’t you dare, Min Yoongi,” Jin cuts him off, papers dropping onto the table with a thud. “You
know as well as I do that you needed to go and clear your head for a bit.” He shakes his head. “I
don’t want to hear any of that guilt shit coming out of your mouth, not for something you needed.”

“I haven’t been a very good hyung to the others these past few months.”

“You’ve been better than you think,” Jin says. “Look at Taehyung and Jungkookie and all that time
they’ve spent in your studio. And Jimin—” Jin fixes Yoongi with a piercing look— "don’t tell me
you did nothing for him. He trusts you more than any of us.”

“But—”

“But nothing, Yoongi,” Jin cuts him off firmly. “You’ve done more than enough. Stop beating
yourself up about nothing.” He settles back to his reading, not without a kind smile in Yoongi’s
direction, and Yoongi drinks his coffee, marvelling for the millionth time in his life at the wisdom
of his oldest hyung.

“Let’s go for a walk later, hm?” Jin asks a few minutes later and Yoongi nods, setting his cup in
the dishwasher. For now, he heads back to his room, ruffling Taehyung’s hair where it’s splayed
over the back of the couch as he walks past. Both his dongsaengs grin up at him, identical cheeky
smiles, and Yoongi matches it with a smile of his own.

It feels good to be home.

Jin tugs Yoongi out of their room an hour later so they can go for a walk down by the river. It’s
getting into spring weather and the first blossoms are out on the trees, a crisp breeze blowing them
down onto the river banks like something out of a drama. They don’t talk much but they walk for a
long time before stopping at a little bench alongside the water. There aren’t too many people out
and with both of them wrapped up in coats and masks, they’re virtually invisible, no-one offering
them a second glance.
“Were you ready to come back to Korea?” Jin asks suddenly and Yoongi startles at the abrupt
question.

“Oh.” Yes and no. “I’m not sure.” He looks out over the water. “I wanted to come back but… I had
a good time.”

“Good.” Jin pauses and Yoongi sees him looking from his peripheral. “You look much happier.”

“I am, I think,” Yoongi mumbles, fiddling with his sleeves. “Well, in some aspects.” He’s not
really making sense, he knows, but he’s not sure how much to tell his hyung. It has him thinking
though, memory filled with images of Oliver, trickles of their conversations and Yoongi’s deeper
realisations. “I met someone,” he blurts out before he can stop himself, ducking his head to avoid
Jin’s gaze. He can feel his ears burning.

“What’s his name?” Jin asks curiously. Yoongi’s stomach flutters uneasily as Oliver’s face flashes
in front of his eyes.

“Oliver. His Korean name is Baek Dohyun.”

“He’s Korean?”

“Sort of. He was born in New Zealand but his parents are Korean,” Yoongi explains and Jin nods in
understanding.

“Gotcha. You had fun with him?” There’s no judgement in Jin’s tone but it still has Yoongi
squirming in his seat. He shouldn’t be embarrassed. None of the members have ever been weird
about his sexuality and that hasn’t suddenly changed. Still, they haven’t really talked about it much
over the years; none of them really have the time or energy to invest in a relationship.

“Yeah,” he murmurs but then his brain brings him right back to the conversations he had with
Oliver and it feels like Yoongi’s happy memories are dunked in a bucket of cold water.

“Well aren’t we sad,” Oliver comments after a moment. “Both in love with people who don’t want
us back and probably never will.”

“Yoongi?”

Both in love with people who don’t want us back and probably never will.

“Yoongi? Are you okay? Jin is shaking his shoulder and Yoongi startles out of his thoughts.
“Yoongi, you’re crying.” Jin sounds so shocked it forces Yoongi back to reality with shocking
speed.

“What?”

“You’re crying, Yoongi.” Jin’s face is aghast and Yoongi’s hands move up automatically to his
cheeks, feeling the warmth of tears as the sudden realisation dawns on him that things won’t just
sort themselves out now he’s back in Korea.
He won’t just love you back.

For some reason, that’s when the grief shatters over him twice as hard, tears falling thicker and
faster than Yoongi thought was even possible. He’s never been a quick crier but maybe it’s his
exhausted state or something in Jin’s tone that has the hardly healed wound in Yoongi’s heart
ripping open. Jin is grabbing his shoulders but all Yoongi can do is cry, completely disconnected
from his body. He’s watching Jin’s mouth move but he can’t seem to process anything and
eventually, Jin’s horrified face seems to realise and he pulls Yoongi against him instead, muffling
his cries into his jacket and rubbing comforting circles between his shoulders.

Yoongi never thought his first experience of utter heartbreak would result in a panic attack on a
rickety wooden bench next to the river, bawling like a baby in the arms of his utterly bewildered
hyung.

But nothing lasts forever and eventually, Yoongi’s shuddering sobs have died down and he’s able
to breathe properly. Still, Jin doesn’t make him sit up properly, squishing Yoongi’s head against
his chest and mumbling comforting words in a continuous flowing litany of sentences. That dies
down too at some point and Yoongi just keeps a hold on Jin’s jacket, face planted against his chest
as the two of them sit there in utter silence.

“You miss him that much?” Jin hesitantly asks some minutes later and it takes Yoongi a moment to
figure out what Jin’s talking about.

“No,” he chokes out in the end, trying desperately to find a way to explain this to his hyung.

“What—why are you crying then, Yoongi-ah?” Jin asks gently, voice full of confusion. And
Yoongi is done with hiding how he feels.

“I’m in love.” His voice cracks and almost immediately there are more tears leaking out of
Yoongi’s eyes.

“With… Oliver?”

“No—not him.” Yoongi is making absolutely no sense. “I’m in love, hyung, but he’ll never love
me back.”

“Who , Yoongi-ah?” Poor Jin is so confused. “Who won’t love you back? Who are you talking
about?”

“I—I can’t—” the words are stuck in Yoongi’s throat and he’s got his eyes clenched so tightly shut
his head is pounding from the pressure.

“Just tell me,” Jin murmurs and his hand comes up to play with the soft hair at the base of
Yoongi’s skull. “I won’t judge.”

“He doesn’t love me, hyung,” Yoongi whispers. “He won’t—he can’t.”
“ Who, Yoongi? Help me understand,” Jin pleads and Yoongi grits his teeth, fighting the tears
welling up in his eyes.

“Jimin . ”

It rolls off Yoongi’s tongue like a breath of air and there’s a part of him which hopes Jin hasn’t
heard but Yoongi feels the moment Jin stiffens, fingers stilling at his scalp. It’s all over.

“Jimin? Like, our Jimin?” Yoongi tries to read Jin’s tone. Disgusted? Horrified? He just sounds
surprised. “You’re in love with Jimin-ah?” Jin asks and Yoongi whimpers pathetically, still hiding
his face in Jin’s chest. But Jin’s hands come down to Yoongi’s shoulders and then he’s being
pushed lightly back, forced to look at Jin’s face. He’s not sure what he’s seeing. Shock, surprise,
but… not much else.

“Oh, Yoongi,” Jin murmurs. “That’s okay.” But Yoongi’s brain refuses to accept that. It’s not
okay. “Since when?” Jin asks quietly, fingers coming up to brush Yoongi’s fringe out of his eyes.

“I don’t—I’m not sure.”

“But something happened in New Zealand to make you realise?” Sometimes Jin is far too
perceptive for his own good. Yoongi nods, hot shame warming his neck as a fresh wave of tears
burns his eyes. He never cries.

“I’m a bad hyung,” Yoongi sobs in the end, hands coming up to rub viciously at his eye sockets.

“Why do you say that?” Jin asks and Yoongi moves his hands enough to stare incredulously at his
hyung.

“I’m—I'm taking advantage of him. He’s hurting and broken and I’m falling for him.” Jin frowns.

“You’re not taking advantage of anyone, Yoongi.”

“ Hyung,” Yoongi hisses. He feels like he’s going crazy trying to get Jin to understand how bad
this is. “Jimin got fucking assaulted and now I’m in love with him. I’m disgusting.” He’s clawing
at his hair.

“Min Yoongi, you’re not in love with him because he got assaulted.” Jin sounds unusually strict
but there's sadness there too. “You’re in love with him because he’s a wonderful person and you
care about him and your heart is too damn big.”

Yoongi cries again. And this time, when he tells Jin that Jimin won’t love him back, his oldest
hyung doesn’t do anything except to pull Yoongi into another hug.

Yoongi knows there’s nothing Jin could say anyway.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos make my day! Stay safe from
the virus!
 Isn't it possible?
Chapter Summary

“This is different,” Jimin snaps.

“Most definitely,” Johee says. “But the basic principle is the same. You’re writing
your feelings onto a piece of paper.”

“Don’t simplify it!” Jimin’s not even sure why he’s getting worked up. It’s not fair on
Johee; she’s doing her best.

Chapter Notes

Hello again my wonderful readers. Who thought you'd be getting another chapter so
soon!

Thank you for the lovely comments on the last chapter; they are all so appreciated.

This chapter is important in sorting out some of the most homophobic and problematic
opinions expressed by characters in this story. Thanks to some in-depth conversations
with some of you lovely readers, I have had this set in my head as a goal for something
that needed to be addressed before the story ends. Not everything is fixed just like that
(as is the nature of life too) but particularly when it came to statements like 'men can't
be raped', I wanted to do a chapter focusing on debunking that properly, for the sake of
the characters as well as you readers.

It feels like we're finally winding up the loose threads on this story and the end is
somewhere in sight! A few chapters away still but it's there! I wonder what you guys
will think about the ending when it finally comes...

Enjoy! Stay safe from the virus!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

It has been exactly six weeks since Jimin arrived at the clinic and… it’s actually going okay.
Things aren’t perfect—and Jimin wasn’t expecting that—but the past weeks there has been a shift.
Life is looking up.

Maybe it’s to do with the new anti-depressants he’s been prescribed after lengthy consultations
with the doctor at the clinic. Every morning he takes something called Zoloft and although the first
few days of taking it had been accompanied with nausea and headaches, Jimin finds the medication
has a heavy weight lifting off his chest for the first time in months. He’s not stupid, Jimin knows
he’s been depressed, but he never realised how physical his depression felt. And now that it’s
being helped with his medication and he feels a million tons lighter, Jimin almost can’t believe
he’s survived so many months of feeling so terrible for no good reason.

It’s not all sunshine and rainbows. The medication doesn’t just fix everything and bring Jimin back
to the person he was before he was kidnapped but, for the first time, it feels like there’s hope.
There have been some other realisations too, mostly about Jimin’s preconceived ideas of what
therapy at the clinic would be like. Every passing week he’s waited to be forced into doing things
he hates, publicly humiliated or made to talk about things he doesn’t want to talk about. To his
continuous surprise, it’s not like that. Yeah, there’s plenty of confronting of all the demons
currently residing in Jimin’s head but it doesn’t feel like he’s alone in facing them. Johee is there,
pulling Jimin through those tough conversations with her understanding smile and targeted
questions.

There are always potholes in the road to recovery as Johee likes to say and Jimin encounters his fair
share those first six weeks. Potholes that aren’t fixed by talking or with medicine are the ones that
have Jimin tracing the pink scars on his wrists, fighting that incessant itch to grab a blade and take
out his frustrations on his skin just so he can focus on something else. He can’t, of course. Not in a
clinic where, as much as they’re fed the illusion of privacy, they’re also constantly being
monitored by the staff. So he has to settle for pinching himself hard on the leg whenever he finds
his mind slipping near territory he doesn’t want to enter, bruises blossoming under the fabric of his
pants where no-one will see them.

Johee notices of course.

“Does the pain help?” She asks one day during one of their individual sessions and Jimin’s head
snaps up from where he’s carefully studying the carpet.

“What?”

“You’re pinching yourself again,” she points out gently and Jimin snatches his hand away from his
thigh as if he’s been burned.

“I—” he’s not sure what to say.

“It’s okay, let’s talk about it,” Johee says. “We talked about self-harm when you first got here, do
you remember?”

“Yeah,” Jimin mumbles, twisting his fingers in his lap.

“It seems like it’s a continuous coping mechanism for you, right?” Johee asks and Jimin nods after
a moment.

“It helps me focus on something other than my thoughts,” he explains after another lengthy pause.
Johee hums agreeably.

“So really, if you had another way of dealing with those thoughts, you probably wouldn’t feel the
urge to hurt yourself?” Jimin considers her words.

“I guess not,” he murmurs doubtfully. “I dunno what would help instead though.”

“Step one seems to be to make you feel more in control of your thoughts,” Johee suggests. “I’ve got
an idea.”

That’s how Jimin starts daily meditation. It’s difficult at first, sitting still in one place for thirty
minutes at a time with his eyes closed and nothing to do except let his brain do its thing. Too often,
Jimin’s brain chooses those moments to pull out the nastiest, darkest memories it possibly can and
it feels impossible to stop. But Johee won’t let him give up and she helps Jimin focus his thoughts,
acknowledging the bad ones but then visualising sending them away. Eventually, it even becomes
one of Jimin’s favourite parts of the day, a certain measure of control in grabbing his blanket and
heading into one of the little private session rooms so he can have his thirty minutes of quiet
focus.

It feels like he’s gone back to school in a sense except that this school is all about learning how to
live again and although Jimin doesn’t feel like he’s doing a very good job, at least he’s trying.
Trying has to be enough he reminds himself on those nights when he can’t sleep and his head is
spinning. Trying is the first step to succeeding.

Somewhat unexpectedly, Jimin makes a good friend out of Chaeseok. They’re still very different in
personality—Chaeseok is much crazier, by his own proclamation—but they build up a bond being
in the same room. As Jimin finds out, Chaeseok also happens to be a fantastic storyteller and there
are many nights when neither of them is ready to sleep where they face eachother from their
respective beds, Chaeseok’s voice rising and falling in the bewitching throes of another great story.
Jimin wonders sometimes how Chaeseok would get along with the others; he can see the striking
similarities between Chaeseok and Taehyung’s personalities but also, in Chaeseok’s quieter
moments, the same thoughtful energy of his older hyungs. He gets nostalgic thinking about his
members back in Seoul, wondering what they’re up to while he’s gone. It’s hard to fight that deep
pang of regret when he thinks about the circumstances of him leaving; it feels like all he’s done is
disappointed everyone around him.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Jimin-ah.”

Yoongi’s voice pops into his head out of nowhere and Jimin squeezes his eyes shut, trying to hold
onto the familiar tone before it disappears again.

“You’re going to be okay.”

⇝
They’re halfway through the seventh week when Johee sets Jimin a task he’s really not sure he can
complete.

“I don’t want to,” he says stubbornly, eyes glued to the stack of blank paper in front of him.

“You don’t have to send them, Jimin,” Johee assures him and she pushes the paper closer. “It’s just
a letter. Your chance to get out all your feelings on paper to anyone who hurt you.”

“It’s not going to do anything.”

“You don’t know that,” Johee says. “It’s a way of helping you confront your feelings about these
people without having to actually speak to them face to face. They don’t only have to be people
who hurt you either. If you want, you can write to people who have impacted you positively as
well.”

“I wouldn’t know how to start,” Jimin mutters and he knows he’s weakening. Johee notices
immediately of course.

“I’ll help you. Does that sound good?” A long pause. It’s a battle of wills now, Jimin against
himself.

“Fine.”

Their session that day doesn’t get further than making a list of people Jimin will write to and even
that leaves him feeling mentally drained. Johee gets him to write the list of positive people first. He
writes each of the members first, then Bang PD. He writes Johee’s name too and although she
doesn’t comment on it, her smile gets a little bigger. It’s hard to think of anyone else so Jimin
leaves it there.

Top of the list of people who’ve hurt him is Chang. It gives Jimin a weird rush of power to write
the man’s name, makes him feel like he’s in control instead of Chang. The second name is much
harder to write, mostly because Jimin doesn’t know what to call him anymore. He writes ‘Appa’
first, then scribbles it out, writing his father’s full name instead.

“I don’t know if I should write my mother’s name,” he mumbles when his pen has gone still in his
hand for too long.

“Has she hurt you in any way?” Johee asks. “How do you feel about how she handled everything
with your father?” That sets Jimin thinking and he stares at the sheet of paper for a moment before
finally writing her name near the bottom, away from Chang and his father. It feels wrong to put
them too close together.

Johee puts the paper in a plastic folder for Jimin to take back to his room.

“I’m proud you’re doing this, Jimin,” she tells him encouragingly. “It’s not easy but I think it will
really help you.” Jimin shrugs.

“Maybe.”

“Do you know who you’re going to start with yet?” Jimin shakes his head. They agreed he would
try and start at least one letter before their next scheduled session in two days time but he’s
stumped at where to begin, even though Johee’s given him some ideas.

“It doesn’t have to be formatted properly or anything,” she reminds him. “Just write what you feel,
okay?”

You can do this, Jimin.

As it turns out, Jimin fucking can’t.

He turns up in Johee’s office after the two days with nothing to show for it except an incredibly
bad mood.

“I can’t do it.”

“Why do you feel that way, Jimin?”

“Because… because it’s bullshit!” Jimin snarls, throwing the folder onto the table. “Writing isn’t
going to do anything and I can’t do it anyway.” Johee looks utterly unperturbed by his outburst.

“You’re a singer, surely you’ve written lyrics before?” She asks and Jimin grinds his teeth.

“Yeah. What’s that got to do with this?” He balls his fists in the sleeves of his shirt. “I’m not
writing a song for my fucking rapist if that’s what you’re going to suggest.” Johee’s eyebrows
shoot up into her fringe.

“Of course not. I just want you to see that you can write your feelings.”

“This is different,” Jimin snaps.

“Most definitely,” Johee says. “But the basic principle is the same. You’re writing your feelings
onto a piece of paper.”

“Don’t simplify it!” Jimin’s not even sure why he’s getting worked up. It’s not fair on Johee; she’s
doing her best.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Jimin,” Johee murmurs after a moment and that has regret spiking
even higher in Jimin’s chest but he’s too wound up to apologise.
“I’m done with the session,” he mutters instead as he picks at his trousers.

“Are you sure?” Johee’s offering Jimin a lifeline to stay in her office and fix this.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t feel even slightly better when he’s out in the hallway but at least he doesn’t
have to talk to anyone anymore. “Running away again,” he fumes at himself. The only thing
stopping him from feeling even shittier about his actions is the folder he’d picked up from the table
again on his way out. He couldn’t bring himself to just leave it there.

Out of all people, Chaeseok ends up being the one to help Jimin the most. They’re both sprawled
on their beds, Chaeseok reading a book while Jimin complains about the assignment he’s been
given.

“I don’t even know where to start.” Jimin flops over onto his side with a groan and Chaeseok looks
over, bemused.

“Just imagine you’re talking to them and then say all the horrible things you want but just write
them down.”

“You’re exactly like Johee, making it sound so simple.”

“It is that simple,” Chaeseok says, dropping his book onto his stomach so he can focus on Jimin
properly. “If the guy who hurt you”—he’s careful not to say Chang’s name and for that Jimin is
grateful— “was standing right here, what would you say?”

“I dunno,” mutters Jimin feebly. “Fuck you, I guess.”

“Right, so start with that,” Chaeseok says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I can’t start a letter with ‘fuck you’,” Jimin fires back. Chaeseok shrugs.

“Why not?”

“Just—because that’s not how letters work.” It sounds even more pathetic out of Jimin’s mouth
than it did in his head.

“You can write the fucking letter however you fucking want,” Chaeseok says exasperatedly,
although not unkindly. “If you want to tell the guy to chuck himself off the friggin Eiffel tower,
you could do that too. You’re not even sending it to him so why does it matter what the format is?
Just write how you feel.”

“It’s not that—”

“I swear to god, Jimin, if you say it’s not that simple one more time I will write you my own
letter.” Chaeseok chucks his bear over so it hits Jimin on the leg. “Find a quiet spot, cuddle the
bear, cry your wee heart out if you need, and write down how you feel.”
There’s not much to argue with there so Jimin grabs the bear and his blanket, heading out to the
little room he normally uses for his meditation. He sits on the floor so he can reach the coffee table
as he writes and at the very top of the first page he writes those two simple words.

Fuck you.

It’s not that difficult after that.

If Johee is more than a little surprised when Jimin drops a pile of pages in front of her at their next
session, she doesn’t show it.

“I wrote two of them,” Jimin tells her. “To my mother and Chang.”

“How did it feel?” Johee asks curiously. She makes no move to pick up the paper.

“Good, I think.” Jimin’s not lying either. There was something incredibly cathartic about scribbling
every ounce of pain and hurt on those pages. He’s not sure if it even makes much grammatical
sense, at least not for Chang’s letter; there was too much to get out and Jimin had accidentally
stabbed the pen through the page more than once. The letter to his mother was much shorter,
barely filling half a page, and it didn’t contain even a quarter of the amount of viciousness in that of
Chang’s. “I cried.”

“Good crying or bad crying?”

“Both,” Jimin replies honestly. Johee smiles at him.

“I’m proud of you, Jimin. That’s really good work.” Jimin flushes, uncomfortable with the
compliment. He’s certainly not proud of how he behaved last time they’d seen eachother.

“I’m sorry about, um, my outburst last time.” Jimin chews his lip. “I got caught up in my head and
I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” Johee pats his arm.

“Thank you, Jimin. I didn’t take it personally,” she says kindly. “These walls have certainly heard
more than one raised voice over the years.”

“Sorry,” Jimin mumbles again anyway, grateful when Johee waves it off with another smile.

“Have you had any thoughts about your letter to your father?”

“I’ve thought about it but… I don’t know how to say everything. It’s more complicated for him.”
Somehow writing a letter to his own father has become a more difficult task than writing a letter to
his rapist. How the fuck that ever happened is beyond Jimin’s comprehension but Johee just nods
understandingly.
“Shall we talk this one through together?” She frowns sympathetically when Jimin nods. “It’s
much harder when family hurts us, especially in the ways your father did. Talk to me about some
of the things your father has said to you.” Straight to the point. Jimin swallows harshly.

“He thinks men can’t be raped,” he mumbles, picking at his sleeve.

“And do you believe him?” Johee asks carefully.

“... no.”

“You don’t sound completely certain.”

“I never wanted Chang to—to do that to me,” Jimin mutters. “But he made me—he forced me to…
react… physically.” Jimin feels the nausea gathering in his gut.

“You didn’t want it though,” Johee reminds him. “That’s rape, Jimin. It doesn’t matter how you
react physically. If you’re being forced against your will, it’s rape.”

“I know.” And Jimin does know but it’s hard when he can hear his father’s voice in his head,
calling him a faggot, reminding Jimin that men can’t be raped. “He thinks I’m gay now too.”

“Your father thinks that? Because you were raped?”

“Yeah.”

“And are you gay?” Johee asks easily. Jimin’s head jerks up.

“No—of course not. I can’t be gay.” He doesn’t mean to sound so disgusted; it just comes out that
way, too entwined with his father's words to be easily separated.

“Do you think it would change anything if you were gay?”

“I just said I’m not,” Jimin snaps but Johee doesn’t even flinch.

“I’m not saying you are, Jimin. Just humour me for a moment. Hypothetically, if you were gay,
would it change your feelings about the situation?”

“I didn’t want it.” Jimin’s voice is trembling. “I’m not gay—I didn’t ask for that to happen to me.”
His head hurts. Johee won’t back off though.

“Can a gay man be raped, Jimin? In your opinion?”

“Yeah—yeah, of course,” Jimin splutters. Yoongi's face flashes in front of his eyes. “One of my
closest friends is gay—I believe he could be r-raped.”

“But you think if you were gay that that somehow means you were asking for it?” Johee is twisting
Jimin’s brain into knots.

“I don’t know,” he whispers in the end and Johee seems to take pity on him.

“That’s okay, Jimin. That’s why we have these discussions, right?” She pats his arm carefully
before her gaze softens.

“Yeah,” Jimin mumbles, looking over at Johee as she settles comfortably back in her chair. She lets
out an easy sigh.

“You know, Jimin, even if you were the gayest man in the whole world, it doesn’t change anything
about your experience. I know you’re straight but still, a person’s sexuality does not change the
fact that you didn’t want it. ” Her lips purse. “I don’t normally say people are wrong but in the case
of your father, he is so wrong, Jimin. Men can be raped and gay men can be raped too. I know it’s
hard when there’s someone twisting your thoughts about sexuality into somehow being relevant to
your experience but the important thing is that you are comfortable with who you are.”

It’s good to hear someone say it, some deep part of Jimin which has been grappling with himself
feels like it’s breathing a little easier.

“I don’t hate gay people,” he says in the end. “I know I say the wrong stuff but… I’m just—I’m
scared that if I—” he swallows— “if I was gay, people wouldn’t believe me.” And that’s it exactly.
“I want them to believe me.”

“You are believed, Jimin,” Johee assures quietly and she’s looking at him with something akin to
pride. There’s something else there too and after a moment she chews her lip looking conflicted. “I
was actually going to wait until a little later in the program to tell you this news but I think it would
be beneficial for you now if you want to hear it of course.”

“Hear what?” Jimin has no idea what she’s talking about.

“The trial results,” Johee says carefully, eyes fixed on Jimin’s face. “The trial is over.”

“Oh.” Jimin’s not sure how to feel but he also knows there is no way he can go about not knowing
the result now that he knows the trial is over. “Please… tell me?”

“It’s good news, Jimin,” Johee murmurs. “Chang got the maximum sentence. Life without the
possibility of parole.”

Every time Jimin had imagined this moment, he’d expected the news to fill him with some sort of
overwhelming joy, maybe even have him crying, but instead, he just feels… numb. And it’s okay.
Johee lets him take all the time he needs to process the information, sitting there quietly in her
office, and Jimin just sits there absorbing the fact that Chang will never have the possibility of
hurting him again.

“How are you feeling, honey?” Johee asks some time later and Jimin looks over at her.

“Happy, I think. I’m not sure.”

“I’m sure it’s all a bit confusing,” Johee reassures. “Especially because that man has been at the
centre of so much trauma in your recent life, but that’s all normal, okay? However you feel is
valid.”

“Thanks,” Jimin manages after a moment. Johee just smiles.

“No worries.” She raises an eyebrow. “In light of our recent conversation, does it feel better
knowing you’ve been believed by the courts too?”

“Yeah,” Jimin breathes out in huge shuddering exhale, suddenly comprehending exactly what the
trial means for him. Men can be raped. He knew this but it’s still—it’s different having it legally
recognized. “I was raped,” he blurts out in the end. He’s not sure why he says it but all he knows is
it feels real now; his experience isn’t just a dirty secret his father doesn’t believe in. “I was raped
and my father was wrong.” He swallows, mouth suddenly dry, feeling like his eyes have been
opened to something he’s known but not fully understood.

My father was wrong.

Jimin writes the letter to his father that evening, curled in his bead with Chaeseok’s bear once
again cuddled under his arm. He writes and writes, hand aching as he fills page after page, going
right back to when he was little and the first time his father called him ‘a little faggot’ for wanting
to do ballet. He finds himself talking to Chaeseok in between, something good about sharing that
part of himself with his new friend.

Chaeseok listens and doesn’t interrupt except for the occasional sympathetic noise. Only when
Jimin finally throws down his pen and folds the pages in half to place on his bedside table does
Chaeseok speak properly.

“Your father sounds similar to my dad,” he says quietly. “Although without the violence. My
brother is gay, you know?” Chaeseok rolls over on his bed to look over at Jimin properly. “He
came out when he was twenty-one and my father’s never been able to accept him. He thinks my
brother is just confused.” He points at the bear. “That bear was a gift from him when I got admitted
to the psych ward for the first time.”

Jimin looks down at the bear in his arms. The obnoxiously bright rainbow ribbon around its neck
makes more sense now.

“Is your brother happy now?” He asks. Chaeseok smiles.

“He got married in Canada a couple of months ago.”

“It’s legal there?” Jimin can’t help but be surprised. He knows Korea is conservative but it’s easy
to forget the rest of the world is so much more open about gay rights.

“Yup. His husband is Canadian so they live there now.”

“Huh.” Marriage—it’s weird to think about. Jimin’s not sure if he can ever see himself getting
married, having to share everything that’s happened to him with someone new.

The two of them lie on their respective beds in silence for a few minutes and Jimin thinks
Chaeseok has drifted off to sleep until the other boy suddenly stretches, yawning loudly.

“Have you ever heard of the Kinsey scale, Jimin?”

“The what?”

“Kinsey scale.” Chaeseok blinks over at Jimin, lips pulling into a grin. “It’s like a measurement of
sexuality.”

“What do you mean?” Jimin’s not sure where Chaeseok is going with this conversation. Chaeseok
rolls over so he can prop himself up on an elbow.

“Well, according to the guy who invented it—I think his name was Kinsey—almost no-one is fully
straight or gay. Everyone falls somewhere on a spectrum.”

“You actually believe that?” Jimin doesn’t mean to sound so incredulous but it’s a sensitive topic
after his discussion with Johee today. Chaeseok doesn’t seem in the slightest bit perturbed by
Jimin’s reaction.

“I mean, I’d call myself straight but if there was someone who came along that ticked all my boxes
and happened to be a guy, I’d go for it,” Chaeseok says, smiling easily when Jimin just stares at
him blankly. “Don’t tell me you’ve never looked at a guy and thought he was attractive.” Jimin
opens his mouth, ready to protest before he realises he’s most certainly done that. His mouth snaps
shut and Chaeseok cackles. “See!”

“I’m not gay,” Jimin defends, part of him not even sure what he's defending against in the first
place. “I just… can appreciate a good looking guy.”

“Have you ever kissed a guy?” Chaeseok asks curiously and Jimin reels back, anxiety slithering in
his gut.

“I’m not kissing you.” His voice trembles against his will and Chaeseok seems to realise he’s
touched a nerve.

“No, I’m not suggesting that! Sorry, I didn’t realise how that would sound. Just in general though,
have you?”

“C-Chang made me kiss him.” Jimin’s not sure why he’s telling Chaeseok this; the less he has to
remember about all those times Chang forced him to respond, the better.

“Shit, sorry dude.” Now Chaeseok looks really lost. Jimin feels sort of bad—it’s not like the guy is
purposely trying to dredge up bad memories.

“I’ve, like, pecked a friend when I was seventeen or something,” he mutters out in the end.

He remembers that night so clearly. He and Taehyung had been up late drinking soju they’d stolen
from Namjoon’s studio stash and watching corny dramas in the living room long after everyone
had left to go sleep. A drunken dissection of all the major kissing scenes in the drama had ended
with Taehyung proclaiming the actors had no idea what they were doing and Jimin challenging
him to prove it. He still remembers tasting the soju on Taehyung’s lips and the softness of his
tongue (it’d definitely been more than a peck) against his own. They’d never spoken about it after
that night but somehow they’d avoided it being an awkward wedge between the two of them; if
anything, they’d gotten closer.

“Okay.” Chaeseok looks like he’s found his feet again. “If you can kiss a guy and you can admit
 it’s possible to find a guy attractive, isn’t it possible you could be, like, two percent gay?” Jimin
wrestles with that one.

“I’m not attracted to my friend like that though.”

“Not necessarily him. Just, a guy in general.”

“I’m not… I’m not sure.” Jimin’s about done with this conversation and Chaeseok seems to sense
it.

“Sorry, I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable.”

“You’re not,” Jimin assures but Chaeseok quirks an eyebrow disbelievingly. “Fine, yeah, it’s
uncomfortable. I don’t—it’s hard to think about with everything my father’s always said and then
everything with being—with Chang.”

“Fair enough,” Chaeseok concedes easily. “It’s just a theory anyway. Nothing’s set in stone.”

They both turn over to go to sleep pretty soon after that, although Chaeseok tells Jimin to keep the
bear for the night. “For good luck,” he’d said. Jimin ends up lying awake for ages, bear clutched
to his chest as his fingers play with the ribbon around its neck, just thinking about everything
Chaeseok told him.

“If you can find a guy attractive, isn’t it possible you be, like, two percent gay?”

It hurts Jimin’s head to think about, especially considering he’s spent the better part of the day
having an entire conversation with Johee about why he’s not gay. You wouldn’t be gay though, a
little voice in his head says. You could be bisexual.

“Stop,” Jimin mutters to himself, forcing his brain to focus on something else. Enough thinking for
today.

Chapter End Notes

Comments and kudos make my day! Thank you for reading!

 Dear Yoongi,
Chapter Summary

Love,

Jimin

Chapter Notes

What do we have here?! Another chapter! *gasps dramatically*

This chapter was difficult to write for an unusual, unprecedented reason. I lost one of
my parents to cancer when I was little and researching the feeling of heartbreak made
me realise just how much the death of a parent is heartbreak as well. So yeah, difficult,
cathartic, and emotional to write—but I enjoyed the experience too!

I'll probably go reply to some of the comments on previous chapters tonight so I'll do
my best to get to you all! I must say, I had a wee cry over the kindness you all show
me. It's really underserved and so appreciated.

Thank you so much for your continued support, especially those who have been
following this story for more than a year! You guys are the real legends :)

All the best my lovely readers. Stay sane if you're in quarantine. Keep safe from the
virus!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Those weeks after Yoongi returns from New Zealand are some of the hardest weeks of his life. It’s
something he never thought he would say again after everything that had happened to them but it’s
true. He’s broken in a different way this time and it’s a pain Yoongi wouldn’t wish on his worst
enemy—a pain so deep he’s sure he’ll never get over it.

How he can hurt so much for someone he never had is beyond Yoongi’s comprehension.

But he has to live, has to be there for Seokjin, Namjoon, Hoseok, Taehyung, and Jungkook more
than he was before. It feels like the universe is playing some sort of perverted trick on him,
allowing Yoongi respite from the trauma of their kidnapping only to replace it with pain and grief
of a different sort. And this pain is Yoongi’s to bear on his own.
Despite this, Seokjin, being the amazing person he is, does his best to help Yoongi in whatever
ways he can. He reminds Yoongi to eat when Yoongi spends another day completely listless,
without an appetite or motivation; he wraps Yoongi in random hugs that threaten to squeeze all the
oxygen out of him; he forces Yoongi to take walks with him so they can get fresh air. Most
importantly, Seokjin never tries to get Yoongi to talk about it and for that, he is the most grateful.

He immerses himself into the exhausting dance that is trying to be the best hyung to the rest of the
members throughout the day before collapsing in his bed at night only to soak the sheets with tears
once more. He can’t let himself slip back into that depressive mindset he was in a few months ago.
No, this time he has to be strong, has to keep it together for his dongsaengs. He can’t let them
know how he feels. It may take every measure of grit Yoongi has to not let his pain show in his
face, to keep a certain liveliness in their conversations and interactions, but he has trained himself
to hide his emotions over the years and Yoongi is good at it.

Like a repeat of those early weeks after they’d first been rescued, Yoongi disappears back into his
studio for long hours each day. But where he’d spent all those weeks with nothing to show for it,
this time his fingers fly over the keys, song after song spilling out into the air, each more broken
than the rest. His writing is consumed by his thoughts of Jimin—by the thought that he can’t have
him —and Yoongi finds himself totally unable to write anything else. Taehyung and Jungkook still
come down to his studio occasionally to hang out and Yoongi is sure they will figure out what he’s
writing about when they hear it but they don’t seem to, oblivious to the raw anguish Yoongi is sure
is oozing out of every syllable.

Hoseok seems to cotton on relatively quickly that something is different with Yoongi. He’s always
been one of the most perceptive of the group, always listening, always watching, quietly observant
behind that sunshine smile of his. It’s a side of Hoseok the fans don’t really realise the depth of.

“Everything good with you at the moment, hyung?” He asks Yoongi one morning and it’s more
than just a customary question. He’s watching Yoongi with those knowing eyes, pinning him in
place with his sincerity. Yoongi just mumbles a non-committal reply and escapes to the studio,
afraid of what Hoseok might see if they make more than fleeting eye contact.

That night, Yoongi stumbles home drunk on expensive wine he’d sipped straight out of the bottle,
letting the alcohol numb the fissures in his heart, at least temporarily. He makes it to the shower
before he collapses, letting the hot water mix with his tears as the tiles swim in front of his eyes.
He’s not sure how long he’s in there for but when he staggers out, his feet take him past the door of
his and Seokjin’s room, headed straight for Hoseok and Jimin’s.

He tries to be quiet but the door slams awkwardly under Yoongi’s heavy hands and he trips over
the edge of the rug. Hoseok wakes up with a surprised grunt just as Yoongi collapses on Jimin’s
bed and Yoongi can feel his heavy gaze as he fumbles clumsily with the blankets. The other man
doesn’t say anything though and Yoongi can pretend he’s alone, clutching pathetically at Jimin’s
pillow just to smell the faint remainder of Jimin’s scent. He goes to sleep that night with tears
burning behind his eyes, drowning Yoongi’s heart until he’s sure he’ll suffocate from the effort of
staying afloat.

Seokjin visits him in the studio that next afternoon, dropping down on Yoongi’s couch with a soft
sigh.

“Hoseok is worried about you.”

“He doesn’t need to be,” Yoongi mutters, keeping his eyes fixed on his computer even as the
screen blurs in front of him.

“Is it getting better, Yoongi-ah?” Seokjin asks quietly and Yoongi clenches his jaw so hard he
thinks he’ll crack his teeth. He doesn’t trust his voice to answer him so he does what he always
does when he’s lost for words: he lets the music speak for him instead. He finds the track he’d
been working on last night, pressing play without even looking back to see if Seokjin will stay to
listen. There’s nothing he can do but shut his eyes as the first notes swell in the air, gritty guitar
and a heavy drum setting the tone before his voice cuts in.

I can’t hold back these tears

Let me cry

They say a man ain’t supposed to cry

So I’ma let the song cry

I’ma let my soul cry through these words

I need to try to free my mind

Sometimes I need to cry just to ease my hurt

What am I supposed to do?

Hold it all together when I think of you?

The song continues on and Yoongi isn’t sure when Seokjin stands up but then there are arms
winding around his shoulders and the touch just makes that hurt in Yoongi’s heart ache more.
Eventually, the track cuts off and then it’s just silence, Yoongi still in his chair, Seokjin’s arms
wrapped around him like a vice, neither of them saying a word.

“You ever had your heart broken, hyung?” Yoongi mutters later when they’re both on the little
couch in the studio, staring numbly at the wall in front of them. Seokjin hums, fingers scratching at
a loose thread on his jeans.

“Once, sort of,” he replies after a moment. “Well, I had to break hers. It was when I joined the
company.”
“Oh.” Yoongi didn’t know about this. “You didn’t tell us.”

“I hardly knew you guys at the time.” Seokjin smiles wryly. “It would’ve felt a bit pathetic
considering how much you’d each given up to be here.” Yoongi’s not sure how to reply to that so
he goes back to staring at the wall and they sit in silence for another few minutes.

“Why does it hurt so bad?” It comes out as a whisper, one Yoongi almost hopes Seokjin doesn’t
hear but, of course, his hyung does—they’re sitting right next to eachother after all.

“I’m not sure, Yoongi-ah,” Jin murmurs after a moment. “I wish I could take it away.”

“I wish I wasn’t gay,” Yoongi spits, rubbing at his eyes. “Then I wouldn’t be—I wouldn’t have this
problem.”

“Don’t say that Yoongi,” Jin says reproachfully. “It’s part of who you are. You can’t help who you
fall in love with.”

“I know,” Yoongi mumbles resignedly. He picks at his thumbnail just so he has something to focus
on.

“How did you realise?” Jin asks hesitantly and Yoongi pulls his thumb away from his teeth.

“Oliver.” He can remember the conversation like it happened yesterday. “He asked me if I’d ever
been in love and,” he swallows hard at the memory, “Jimin’s face just popped into my head.” He
scoffs bitterly. “The more I thought about it, the more I realised the way I was feeling wasn’t
just…normal. Somehow, it didn’t really sink in until our conversation the day after I got back.”

“I’m sorry,” Jin murmurs and Yoongi squints at him.

“‘S not your fault.”

“Still.” Jin sighs. “I don’t like seeing you unhappy.”

“You’re not meant to be worrying about me.” The guilt in Yoongi’s chest flares white-hot for the
millionth time. “Save your worry for the others.” Jin’s elbow jabs softly into Yoongi’s ribs.

“Yah, I’ll worry about who I want to, you included.” He eyes Yoongi gently. “Hoseok will too,
you know.”

“I feel bad for making him worry,” Yoongi mutters guiltily.

“He’s known you’ve been off since you came back but apparently you sobbing drunkenly into
Jimin’s pillow was another level and he wasn’t sure what to do,” Jin remarks dryly. “The kids and
Namjoon haven’t figured anything out though.”

“Let’s keep it that way.” Yoongi clenches his fingers into his hoodie. “I’ll get over it at some
point.”

“Mm.” Jin doesn’t comment further on that but Yoongi doesn’t miss the way his brow furrows.
“Just… keep talking to me.”
Almost nine weeks after Jimin left for the clinic they receive six letters in the mail, each with their
name and address carefully written in Jimin’s telltale handwriting. Jungkook is the one to answer
the door when the mailman rings the bell early in the morning, and within a couple of minutes he’s
shouting through the apartment, calling for them all to get out of their rooms.

Yoongi almost rips the letter out of Jungkook’s hand, joining Seokjin on the couch as the rest of
them sprawl around the living room to read them.

“I didn’t think he was allowed any contact with the outside,” Hoseok murmurs but there’s a pleased
grin on his face as he pulls his letter out of its envelope. Yoongi can’t even muster a reply, fingers
shaking as he tears his own envelope in his hurry to get the letter out. It’s a single sheet of yellow
paper with the emblem of the clinic in the top right-hand corner but Jimin has filled it with words
on both the front and the back and Yoongi has to fight to keep his face composed when he reads
the first two words on the page, something aching in his chest at seeing his name in Jimin’s
familiar script.

Dear Yoongi.

It’s completely silent as they all read their letters but by the time they’ve finished, Yoongi notes
he’s not the only one with tears in his eyes. Apparently writing letters to people who’ve had a
positive impact on him during his recovery is part of Jimin’s therapy but it doesn’t take away from
the sincerity spilling through every character on the page. It’s interesting to get an understanding of
the way Jimin had viewed them before he’d left for the clinic; he acknowledges how his
depression made it hard for him to see them as anything but another enemy while at the same time
still understanding why they had to do some of the things they did. There’s a lot to unpack. It feels
like Jimin has had so much pent up that when he’d set his pen to paper, it all came spilling out and
it reminds Yoongi of his own songwriting.

The bit that gets his eyes watering immediately is when Jimin thanks him; it feels so undeserved
and yet he can exactly picture Jimin’s voice.

Thank you for understanding how I felt that night when Taehyung found me. And thank you for not
judging me (although I guess you never have before so I don’t know why I got scared you would). I
feel bad about the way I treated you all but you never made me feel like I was crazy or too far gone
to help. Maybe it sounds silly but sometimes when I can’t sleep here, I remember what you used to
say to me: ‘You’re going to be okay’. It makes me feel better.

I miss you, hyung. Please look after yourself and the others. Don’t stay in the studio for too long or
you’ll have Jin worried again.
PS: Can I get a hug when I get back? I miss those.

Love,

Jimin

Yoongi puts down the letter, somehow feeling a million times better at reading Jimin’s words
whilst still feeling like his heart is being cracked in two. Jimin misses him. Jimin wants a hug when
he gets back. Yoongi closes his eyes to stop himself from falling to pieces completely.

He’s almost thankful when he’s startled out of his reverie by a sudden choking noise as Namjoon
suddenly starts sobbing where he’s sitting on the floor, fingers clutching his letter like it’s a
lifeline, shoulders shaking as every breath wracks his body with a fresh wave of tears. Before he
can even register what’s going on, Taehyung is already there, wrapping Namjoon in a hug so fierce
Yoongi’s not even sure Namjoon will be able to breathe.

Namjoon doesn’t stop crying and it sounds so broken Yoongi finds more tears spilling out of his
own eyes. A quick glance around shows he’s not the only one. Jungkook moves closer, patting
Namjoon’s leg as he simultaneously scrubs futilely at his own streaming eyes.

“It’s okay, hyung,” he whispers. “Don’t cry.” It hurts Yoongi to see their youngest stepping into
that role of the consoler but it seems to help because Namjoon’s choking breaths are calming down
as Taehyung rocks him from side to side and Jungkook keeps whispering comforting words.

“You okay, Yoongs?” Seokjin asks from next to him and Yoongi looks over at his hyung’s red-
rimmed eyes. He nods.

“Yeah. You?”

“Mm,” Seokjin hums, carefully folding his letter back into its envelope. “I don’t even know why
I’m crying. He sounds so much better.”

“It’s like a different person but in a good way,” Hoseok says quietly. “More like the old Jiminie.
Before everything.”

“I wonder what was in Namjoon’s letter,” Seokjin remarks sympathetically as they watch Namjoon
snuffle into a tissue, still with Jungkook and Taehyung wrapped around him.

“I think I can guess,” Hoseok says, grimacing, and the three of them wince in unison at the awful
memory of that day when— no, don’t think about it.

“I hadn’t thought of that.” Seokjin sounds a bit sick and Yoongi doesn’t blame him. They watch in
silence as Namjoon gets his tears under control.

“You okay, Namjoon?” Hoseok asks eventually and Namjoon looks over at them through bleary
eyes.

“He says he forgives me,” Namjoon mumbles and he looks both so stricken and so relieved as he
jams his tissue back against his face, lip wobbling.

“Jimin already said he forgave you, didn’t he?” Seokjin asks, confused. Namjoon just shakes his
head.

“He said it but he was still,” his voice cracks. “Jimin was still scared of me. He was trying to make
me feel better at the time. This time—this feels real.”

“He never blamed you in the first place,” Seokjin adds softly. “But I know it’s important to you.”

“I didn’t realise how much I needed to hear it,” Namjoon says and his eyebrows scrunch together,
fielding off another sob as Taehyung squeezes him a little tighter.

“Only three more weeks, right?” Jungkook asks a minute later. “Is Sejinie-hyung picking him up?”

“I’m not sure,” Namjoon replies. “I’ll ask PD-nim.” They’re quiet after that, each busy re-reading
their letters, sharing little snippets of information when they feel like it. Yoongi just looks down at
the letter in his hands, tracing the pen, wondering how he’s possibly going to hide his feelings
when Jimin gets back.

Love,

Jimin

A week and a half before Jimin is set to leave, Chaeseok finishes his time in the program. It’s a
bittersweet moment because Chaeseok is doing much better (at least, he says he is) but he’s also
been a constant figure during Jimin’s stay, his only friend who really gets what it’s like to be in the
clinic as a patient. Chaeseok scribbles his number on a little piece of paper and puts it on Jimin’s
bedside table.

“For when you finish. Text me,” he says, grinning wildly as he lugs his bag to the door.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Jimin calls after him, trying to squash the bubble of unease in his
stomach which wonders whether Chaeseok will still be there in a couple of months time. Chaeseok
pauses with his fingers on the door handle, bear stuffed under his arm.

“You know what? This time, I don’t think I will.” He looks around the room. “This place might’ve
done some good after all.”
“Chaeseok, your parents are waiting,” a voice calls from the hallway and Chaeseok looks at Jimin
for the last time.

“Bye, friend,” he says, face splitting back into that signature smile of his. Jimin tries to smile back
but a part of him just wants to cry.

“Bye, friend,” he repeats and then Chaeseok is gone, away to his parents and life outside. Jimin just
has to trust that Chaeseok is willing to live this time.

As it turns out, nine days is a long time when you’re on your own. Jimin has the other residents,
therapists, and Johee of course, and he talks with her every day, but it’s different coming back to an
empty room, only the sound of his own breathing as he falls asleep each night.

It’s not too bad. He works with Johee going over all the coping strategies he’s learned and pre-
emptively preparing for situations which could set him off with a panic attack. A lot of it is
learning how to handle direct questions or insensitive comments, essentially minimising his
vulnerability. Johee also sets him up with a new therapist in Seoul, a colleague of hers who has the
same calm demeanour Johee does. Jimin spends a few days video-calling the woman to see if
she’ll be a good fit for when he’s leaving the clinic and he likes her, likes her motherly but direct
approach.

“Hyoyeon is happy to meet with you once or twice a week, depending on what you feel like or
need at the time. And of course, you can always text or email her if things are getting too much and
she’ll get back to you that same day,” Johee tells him as they sit in her office, sipping tea and
writing a list of things for Jimin to remember when he leaves. “I can’t give you my contact details
because it’s against the rules of the clinic but if you ever want to get in touch to let me know how
you’re doing, just pass a message through Hyoyeon.” Johee smiles and Jimin murmurs his thanks.

“It’s weird knowing I’m leaving in two days.”

“I’m sure it is. Do you feel prepared though?” Johee asks and Jimin nods.

“Mostly. I’m nervous but also ready to just… figure it out properly… on my own.”

“That’s a great mindset to have.”

“It’s been really good being here though,” Jimin adds. “I really thought I was going to hate it—I
only came because I didn’t know what else to do—but I feel more like the old Jimin now.” He
pulls at his sleeves. “I know its not ever going to be the same as before the kidnapping but, maybe
there’s more hope now?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question but Johee just hums
agreeably.

“You’re right, things probably won’t ever be the same as they were before but do you think it’s
possible to be happy with this version of you too? You’ve overcome so much. I would be sad for
you to ignore that and only focus on going back in time.” Jimin contemplates Johee’s words.

“I guess I hadn’t really thought about that. Going back to good times just feels like the obvious
answer.”

“Promise me one thing before you go then, Jimin. Focus on being happy as you are now and don’t
aim for the past,” Johee says, watching Jimin carefully. “Future you can be happy too, you know.”

“Do you want a pinky promise?” Jimin asks cheekily and Johee chuckles, extending her hand.

“Fine. Pinky promise.”

“Pinky promise,” Jimin repeats dutifully, grinning when Johee laughs again.

The day Jimin leaves the clinic feels surreal. Sejin will be there to pick him up just after lunchtime
but until then Jimin busies himself packing up his meagre belongings in his duffel bag, carefully
folding Chaeseok’s number into his folder of pamphlets Johee’s making him take. He goes around
to say goodbye to the other residents, on familiar terms with most of them by now. He hasn’t made
any close friends like Chaeseok but he’ll still miss them all in their own way. He has one last chat
with Johee and he hugs her when he leaves, both of them pretending not to notice the tears in their
eyes. If she hadn’t been his therapist, Jimin thinks they might have been friends.

Sejin is seated in the foyer when Jimin walks out the door and he doesn’t miss the huge smile on
his managers face.

“Hi, Sejinnie-hyung.” He tries not to be awkward but it’s hard, nerves swirling in his gut.

“Jimin.” Sejin looks so happy and it puts Jimin at ease. “Are you—how are you?”

“Good.” Jimin shoulders his bag, waves at the staff as they finally walk out the doors. “Happy to
leave though.”

“They were nice to you?” Sejin asks and Jimin nods.

“Really nice, and,” he smiles at the memory of Chaeseok’s brilliant grins, “I made a friend too.”

“That’s awesome, Jimin.” Sejin looks so relieved Jimin thinks the man might cry.

“Did you miss me?” He asks cheekily, giggling when Sejin’s ears go pink.

“Of course I missed you. I always miss you guys when you’re away.” He grabs Jimin’s bag when
they get to the car and places it in the backseat, turning back to Jimin when he’s done. “Ready to
see the others?” Jimin smiles at him and it’s genuine.

“Yeah, I think I am.”

Chapter End Notes

Comments and kudos make my day! Or if you're shy, feel free to reach out to me at
piedpiperthewriter@gmail.com

I love to hear from you!

 New Normals
Chapter Notes

Another day, another chapter :)

Somehow, the ideas have been flowing these past few days and I'm loving it! I totally
recommend listening to Brielle Von Hugel's version of 'the one that got away' while
you're reading this chapter, just if you really want to enter into those proper heartbreak
feels.

Thank you for all your kind words on the last chapter and I hope you enjoy this!
Whoever told me about Prozac, you've made an unexpected contribution ;)

All the love my wonderful readers. Stay safe!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The waiting is the worst part. They sit awkwardly in the living room, oddly formal, every one a
bundle of needless tension. Yoongi has sequestered himself on an armchair, clenching his sweaty
palms into fists and trying to ignore Seokjin’s sidelong glances every few minutes. They shouldn’t
be like this; this is meant to be a joyous occasion. But there’s still that little sliver of doubt and fear
in all of them that maybe Jimin won’t be better, that they’ve misread the tone of their letters so
badly. It’s unbearable to think about.

There is the sound of the key turning in the lock, the soft click as the door opens, and it has them
all standing immediately, an awkward moment as no-one knows if they should step into the
hallway or not. They don’t have time to make that decision because then Jimin walks into view and
there’s a collective, sudden intake of breath from them all.

Jimin looks good . He’s gained a bit of weight, those gaunt, sunken cheeks no longer so hollow,
skin rosy and clear instead of sallow and sick-looking. And his eyes, Yoongi sees it immediately,
they’re different. Where before they were cold and blank, shuttered to hide his sadness, now
they’re bright with a spark of life.

Jimin smiles at them, slight nerves mixed with relief. “Did you miss me?” He asks and that's
enough for them all to move forward, faces split into a thousand smiles of their own. Jimin hugs
them all, quick but kind, and when he gets to Yoongi last he laughs shyly. “Can I get the Yoongi
hug I asked for?” Yoongi can’t even answer, his heart so overwhelmed with emotion that he just
pulls Jimin in, squeezes him with two months of heartbreak but also so much relief. Relief that
Jimin is back and better.
For the sake of his poor heart, he’ll ignore the way Jimin rests his chin on his shoulder.

Jimin has never understood the concept of home being where the heart is. Home has always been
his parents' house and then partially their apartment in Seoul. But now that he’s back, even though
he’s returning to their apartment, Jimin finally understands what people mean. Seeing his members
is like coming home and it’s got nothing to do with their apartment.

Behind their welcoming smiles they’re all nervous, he can tell, and he is too, especially in those
first few minutes. And it’s okay. It’s been three months apart and none of them has been apart from
each other for that length of time since before they debuted. They’re navigating uncharted
territory.

That first evening at home feels to Jimin like finding something you didn’t realise you’d lost until
it’s there, clutched in your grasp with all the familiar relief curling in your belly. It’s not like he
hasn’t missed them—of course he has—but it’s easy to forget the little things he loves about each
of them. Like the way Seokjin smiles when he’s listening and focused, that slow blink and the
simultaneous fond curl of his lips. Or the way Namjoon’s dimples flash into existence every time
he laughs. There are Jungkook’s huge eyes that get even bigger when he’s thinking hard, and
Taehyung’s arm wrapped around their maknae’s shoulders with his incessant need to always cuddle
something. Hoseok still scans the room as he listens, checking up on each of them in turn in that
perceptive, caring way of his, and then there’s Yoongi, soft and quiet and unreadable, always with
the best hugs to give.

Jin has apparently been busy cooking all afternoon so, within five minutes of Jimin’s return, he’s
bringing out a variety of side dishes and a massive pot of tteokguk. Taehyung steers Jimin to sit
down around the low table in the living room and the rest of them settle down as well. It’s
comfortable and it reminds Jimin of many times before they were ever kidnapped when they
would share group meals just like this on their days off. Still, he's jittery, somewhat expecting them
to pounce on him to talk about his time in the clinic, but it’s actually fine.

They ask him general and unobtrusive questions, like what the food was like or whether he made
any friends. Jimin tells them about Chaeseok and Johee, remembering he still needs to text
Chaeseok as he promised. Apart from that, he doesn’t share too much; it feels a bit too raw to lay it
all out in the open on his first night back.

“What have you guys been up to?” Jimin asks through a mouthful of kimchi, looking around at
them all expectantly.

“Yoongi went to New Zealand,” Taehyung blurts out and Jimin’s jaw drops as he looks over at his
Hyung. Yoongi looks a bit uncomfortable at the sudden attention, ears flushed pink.

“Really? How long for?”

“Three weeks,” Yoongi mumbles looking down at his hands. “Just… felt like getting out of the
country for a bit.”

“You’ve always wanted to go to New Zealand anyway,” Jimin prompts, pleased when Yoongi
smiles and tells him more.

That’s how they spend the rest of the evening, sharing stories from Yoongi’s travels as well as
other things they’ve all been busy with. Jimin is perhaps most shocked to hear that Seokjin has
opened a Japanese restaurant in Seoul with his brother.

“You what?!” He squawks, coughing as he inhales a lungful of rice. Seokjin looks embarrassed but
there’s a definite pride in his voice.

“It’s just something Seokjung and I have always wanted to do and now seemed like a good time,”
Seokjin explains. “I’m just the director anyway. Seokjung is the owner and CEO.”

“Still, that’s so cool, Hyung!” It fills Jimin with so much warmth to see Seokjin passionate and
proud of his work like this.

“The food is really good too,” Hoseok chips in. “I took my sister there on one of the first nights it
was open.”

“I’ll visit when I get the chance,” Jimin promises.

“You should go with Jungkook-ah,” Seokjin says. “He wants to learn how to cook.” They all laugh
as Jungkook squirms in his seat, cheeks pink.

Jimin doesn’t get to bed till almost eleven o’clock that night and even then he’s busy on his phone,
catching up on things he’s missed over the past three months. He texts Chaeseok too, saving the
boy’s number in his phone and delighting when there’s a reply within a couple of minutes. They
text for a while although it feels like a foreign thing to do with him considering they’d lived a tech-
free life for their shared months. Chaeseok seems happy; mostly because his brother has come to
visit for a week and he hasn’t seen him in almost a year.

Hoseok has already fallen asleep by the time Jimin actually slips under the covers to go to sleep as
well. There are fresh sheets on his bed and he wonders briefly why—he’d made sure they were
clean before he went—but it still smells like Jungkook’s favourite fabric softener and the same
laundry detergent they’ve always used since Jimin first started living together with the members.
He’s almost asleep when he hears the door crack open, a thin sliver of light shining over the floor.
Yoongi’s familiar silhouette is the one to appear in the doorway but his Hyung doesn’t say
anything, just looks over to Jimin’s bed like he’s checking he’s actually there. Jimin hears him
release a barely audible sigh, standing stock still before he’s gently shutting the door, gone without
a word.
Maybe if Jimin wasn’t so exhausted, he might’ve wondered what he was doing but, as it is, he’s
asleep not even a minute later.

Yoongi has done many difficult things in his lifetime but effectively trying to squash his love for
Park Jimin takes the top of the list. He thought it would be okay; he thought seeing him might
make it more real—might make it clearer to him that this love just can’t be. But the moment Jimin
had walked in, Yoongi was gone. Any attempt he’d made to stifle his feelings over the past months
went straight out the window and he was reminded exactly why he was in love in the first place.

Yoongi just wishes he could confess, could take the rejection and move on, but he can never. He
knows he has to suffer this one out until his feelings disappear and he can start thinking about
Jimin like he used to. Like a friend.

Because Yoongi swears on all the things he values that he will not be the one to confuse Jimin and
break their friendship and entire bond just when the other man has made leaps and bounds in his
recovery. He can’t do anything to jeopardize this healthier, happier Jimin. Yoongi will not do it.

Having Jimin back is like the clouds have parted to reveal the sun after a three-month storm. Not to
say they hadn’t all done their own healing while Jimin was gone but—but it’s Jimin and the
remarkable change in him since before he left is something Yoongi can hardly comprehend.
Remembering that weak, broken Jimin who huddled on the couch with bloodstained sleeves that
dreaded night feels like an entirely different person.

Jimin comes to his studio the first day after he’s back and Yoongi almost cries at the familiar sight
of his dongsaeng curling up on the couch, legs drawn up to his chest. He’s not sure when crying
became his standard response to everything but he hates it.

“It’s so good to be back,” Jimin says, reaching over the side of the couch to grab the blanket
Yoongi always keeps there. Yoongi hums, turning in his chair to look at Jimin instead of his
screen.

“You look happier,” he says truthfully, not missing the way Jimin’s smile reaches his eyes for the
first time in months.

“I got new meds. That helped a lot.” Jimin pulls his sleeves over his hands and leans back into the
couch with a content sigh.
“Which one?” Yoongi asks and Jimin scrunches his brow.

“Zoloft? Something like that.”

“Ah, I took that before I started Prozac.” Jimin nods.

“My roommate took Prozac.”

“Chaeseok, right?”

“Yeah.” Jimin looks happy that Yoongi remembers and Yoongi has to squash the instant flare of
jealousy in his chest. He’s pathetic, he really is, being jealous of this Chaeseok who makes Jimin
so happy. “Have you been alright, Hyung?” Jimin asks a moment later and Yoongi swallows hard.

“I’ve been okay. Missed you,” he mutters, clearing his throat when it feels like his heart gets stuck
in his chest.

“I missed you too,” Jimin says softly. “But I’m glad I went. It was good to get proper help.” His
eyes scrunch as he smiles. “Did you guys get my letters?”

“Of course,” Yoongi says, chest warming at the way Jimin nibbles on his bottom lip. “It was
beautiful, Jiminie.” He’s not normally so… Yoongi’s not even sure how to describe it. Lovesick
that traitorous voice in his head supplies. Like a pathetic, lovesick puppy.

“I’m glad you liked it. It was good to write it all out.” Jimin huffs a laugh, amused. “I get now why
you and Namjoon always say writing a song is the best way to get your feelings out.”

“Mm.” If only Jimin knew how many songs Yoongi had written about him. “Was the letter writing
your therapist’s idea?”

“Yup,” Jimin says, nodding. “Initially it was just writing letters to the people who, um,” he
swallows, eyes flicking away from Yoongi’s, “people that hurt me. But then she said I could write
positive ones too and actually send those instead of just ripping them up.”

“It’s a good idea.”

“I didn’t think so at first,” Jimin says, brow furrowing, eyes far away. “I told her I couldn’t do it
and she asked me why I couldn’t think of it like writing lyrics.” He giggles suddenly, something
guilty flitting across his expression. “You wanna know what I said to her?”

“Should I be worried?” Yoongi asks, not seriously. Jimin just lowers his voice like he’s telling a
secret.

“It was really bad. I told her I wasn’t going to write a fucking song for my rapist.” He stutters over
the last word but there’s triumph there too and even if Yoongi’s not sure how to react, at least
Jimin is smiling about something.

“That’s bold of you,” Yoongi manages in the end, matching Jimin’s grin with a smile of his own.
“Although, I always said I’d love to see you write a diss track. That could’ve been your chance.”
It’s such a morbid thing to joke about but Jimin is giggling again, sliding down the couch as he
laughs, and just hearing the noise has Yoongi’s heart fracturing for the millionth time.

Fuck, he’s missed this.

Being back means figuring out a new normal. A new normal means new routines that don’t
involve lying in bed all day, pinned under the weight of his depression, and Jimin’s not sure where
to start. He doesn’t have to think too much about it that first day because Bang PD asks for a
meeting and Jimin finds himself in the company building early in the afternoon.

It’s not as awkward as he thought it would be. Bang PD just wants to check in, see how Jimin’s
doing, and make sure he has all his appointments booked for the next few weeks at least. There’s
something fatherly about the way he smiles fondly as Jimin tells him a little about the clinic, and it
makes Jimin’s chest warm. He makes his way down to the studios afterwards, knocking on
Yoongi’s door before he lets himself in.

Genius Lab hasn’t changed much since Jimin left. There’s a couple of photos from New Zealand
printed out and stuck to the little pinboard Yoongi has on a shelf and a ridiculous amount of paper
coffee cups waiting to be taken out to the recycling but, apart from that, it’s the same Genius Lab
Jimin has spent so much time in over the years.

Later, when he’s done talking with Yoongi, he curls up in a ball on the couch with the blanket that
lives in the studio, and just watches Yoongi’s fingers flying over the keys while he works. There’s
nothing much to hear because Yoongi keeps his headphones on so Jimin lies there and lets the
click of the keys and the gentle whirring of the fan in the corner lull him into a dreamless sleep.

It just feels good to be home.

Figuring out a routine means finding something to fill his days a little more effectively than only
sleeping. Luckily, Jimin doesn’t have to figure it out on his own. Hoseok asks him if he wants to
come with him to the practice room and see if he’s up for some dancing. Jimin remembers Hoseok
asking him the same thing only a few months ago; he’d snapped then, cursing at his Hyung
because how was Jimin meant to dance when he couldn’t even find the energy to get out of bed?
It's weird to think about how things have changed.
Walking into the practice room is like walking back in time and it reminds Jimin of one of the last
times he’d been in here, getting ready for a concert. It feels like a whole lifetime ago.

“Do you want to just freestyle?” Hoseok asks, chucking his stuff in the corner and looking at Jimin
expectantly.

“I’m not—I’ll just watch you for a bit, Hyung,” Jimin mumbles, suddenly overcome with a rush of
nerves. He hasn’t danced for over six months and frankly, he’s not even sure if he’ll remember
how. Hoseok just smiles easily.

“Okay. It’s just for fun anyway,” he assures and Jimin manages a tight smile before sitting against
the mirrors, knees pulled up to his chest.

Watching Hoseok freestyle to whatever songs come up on his playlist turns out to be enough for
Jimin for that first day. It’s fun watching Hoseok popping and locking, pulling out all sorts of old
school dance moves Jimin had forgotten he could even do, laughing together when Hoseok would
make a mistake and fumble a move. And Jimin wants to join in, he can feel that old spark stirring
in his bones, pulling him to get up and dance like he used to, but there are also the nerves, churning
up a storm in his stomach.

What if he can’t do it? What if he’s forgotten how?

The nerves are better by the time they’ve been there for almost two hours and even if Jimin’s legs
are stiff from sitting still for so long, he joins Hoseok as he stretches, relishing that oh-so-familiar
ache in his muscles as he contorts himself into different positions. He’s lost some of his flexibility
but it’s not as bad as he expected. Nothing he couldn’t get back if he tried.

“Do you want to come again tomorrow?” Hoseok asks, sweat making his skin glisten under the
harsh lights. Jimin nods.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

“We don’t have to freestyle,” Hoseok says as he stretches his arms above his head. “We can do
whatever you want—go over some old routines if that sounds like more fun.” Jimin swallows,
anxiety flaring up again. “Or you can sit, that’s okay too,” Hoseok adds hastily and Jimin wonders
briefly how easy it is to read his feelings on his face.

“I’ll see how I feel tomorrow,” he promises, and Hoseok smiles, joints clicking as he stands up.

“Good.”

He doesn’t dance the second day either but on the third, Jimin forces himself to stand, running
through some basic movements just to see if he can still do them. Hoseok chucks on a song they
used to dance to a lot when they were trainees and Jimin tries to remember the moves. It’s hard to
get his body to cooperate, his limbs feeling clunky and out of place every time he tries to dance a
sequence, and with every passing second Jimin can feel his frustration rising. It’s like he’s lost all
his technique, right back to the beginning when he couldn’t dance at all.

“I can’t do it,” he huffs bitterly, dropping into a crouch to watch in the mirror as Hoseok flows
through the sequence like it’s no trouble at all.

“It’s your first time dancing in months,” Hoseok reminds him, coming over to sit on the floor next
to him. “You gotta give it time.”

“I just feel useless,” Jimin mumbles. “Dancing used to be my thing and now I can’t even do the
simple shit properly.” Hoseok just pats his shoulder sympathetically.

“Did you know I chipped a bone in my ankle when I was thirteen?” He says suddenly and Jimin
frowns, looking up at Hoseok in surprise.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t allowed to even walk without my moon boot for at least two months and it took me
another couple of months to be allowed to dance again.” He shrugs. “It was hell for the first few
weeks back and I thought I’d completely lost my ability to dance but it worked itself out in the end.
My muscle memory was still there.” He smiles at Jimin. “You’ll be okay. You’ve got the muscle
memory.”

“It feels like my muscles are made of concrete,” Jimin mutters sourly but he gets back up to try
again, grateful when Hoseok starts the song over for him.

He goes to bed that night with aching muscles, falling asleep almost before his head hits the
pillow, and his dreams are filled with dance, endless replays of routines and concerts and
performances like a non-stop movie.

Every day he and Hoseok go to the practice room for a few hours, sometimes with Jungkook or
Taehyung joining them, and every day Jimin tries to get his body to do what he wants. It helps that
Taehyung and Jungkook are almost as rusty as he is—it feels less like just a Jimin problem then—
and Hoseok knows how to keep it fun.

They start going through some of their old BTS choreography, mostly the older, easier stuff, and
slowly Jimin finds the motions easier, finds he can get his muscles to do what he wants with less
effort. Their sessions become more enjoyable then and Jimin finds himself itching to go back to the
studio every day, loving the feeling of the wooden floor under his feet and the music loud in his
ears. And Hoseok is right, Jimin does still have the muscle memory.

After those first few weeks of complete frustration, Jimin is back to doing some of their newer
choreographies. It’s nowhere near as polished as it used to be and Jimin’s lack of fitness means he
can’t do all of the moves but he finds he doesn’t mind. Even when he’s flat on his back on the
floor, chest heaving after a particularly strenuous number, he can find the joy in just being able to
move somewhat like he used to.

He tells Hyoyeon about it at one of their twice-weekly therapy appointments, struggling not to leap
up and dance right there with how good it feels.

“I can’t dance like I used to but I forgot how good it feels to just work at something. I don’t even
mind doing the routine over and over now that I’m getting stronger,” he tells her and Hyoyeon
smiles.

“It’s good to see you so passionate about something, especially something you love to do so much.
Have you considered performing again at some point in the future?”

“Performing? Like concerts?”

“Yeah,” Hyoyeon says, waving her hands when Jimin’s brow furrows. “I’m not trying to pressure
you. I’d just like to see where your headspace is.”

“I don’t… I don’t know,” Jimin admits. The idea feels ridiculous.

“Can I ask why?” Hyoyeon questions gently and Jimin chews his lip.

“It’s been more than half a year since any of us have even interacted with our fans. They’ve
probably forgotten us.” He sighs, something twinging painfully in his chest as he thinks about it.
“And we’ve not exactly been practising. I haven’t even tried singing since before everything
happened.”

“That’s okay,” Hyoyeon says warmly. “You don’t have to think about it if you don’t want to. I was
just interested in what your ideas are for the future.”

“Is it dumb if I say I haven’t really thought about it?” Jimin asks, something like shame warming
his cheeks. He’s been so happy just to be dancing again, he hadn’t even considered what they’re
going to do over the next few months.

“Not at all,” Hyoyeon assures. “It’s all about taking one step at a time, exploring your options so to
speak. You’ve got a lot of them, you know. If you didn’t want to go back to performing and want to
do something else instead, that’s totally up to you.”

“Mm,” Jimin hums but he’s already caught up in his head. Hyoyeon seems to know what he’s
doing.

“Don’t go and fret about this later, okay? Let’s just focus on one thing at a time.” She pokes
Jimin’s knee playfully when he doesn’t respond. “Okay?” She repeats and Jimin huffs a laugh.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Good. You’re doing well, Jimin. No need to worry unnecessarily,” Hyoyeon says and it helps to
soothe some of the anxiety in Jimin’s stomach. “ Baby steps,” he can hear Johee’s voice reminding
him in his head.

⇝
He doesn’t stop thinking about it though and Jimin feels stupid he’d managed to ignore the fact
they can’t just live like they are forever. At some point, a decision will need to be made on their
future and a part of Jimin knows a significant part of that decision comes mostly down to him. He
knows Hoseok, Namjoon, and Yoongi are still making music, still constantly in their studios or in
Hoseok’s case the practice room as well. Jungkook and Taehyung are both dancing again and
sometimes Jimin hears Seokjin singing in the apartment when he thinks he’s there alone. Whether
that means they all want to go back to performing is another question but Jimin’s too scared to ask,
mostly because he doesn’t know it himself yet.

Performing means putting together another album, dealing with the media buzz that now has a
whole nother level of drama to cover, standing up on stage in front of thousands of people who all
know what’s happened to them—to Jimin in particular. Even just the thought has a cold sweat
breaking on his forehead and Jimin forces himself to focus on his breathing. He’s not about to have
a freaking panic attack over something that hasn’t even happened.

“You good there, Jiminie?” Seokjin asks when he walks past where Jimin is sitting on the couch in
the living room of their apartment. Jimin forces himself to nod and smile.

“I’m fine, Hyung.” Seokjin doesn’t look particularly convinced but he doesn’t question Jimin,
flopping down in an armchair as he plays a scrabble game on his phone. They sit there in
companionable silence, Jin swearing occasionally under his breath when his opponent plays a
particularly good word while Jimin just stares at the wall, turning ideas over and over in his head.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Jin asks eventually, phone dropping into his lap as he stretches his
arms up with a yawn.

“Just… thinking,” Jimin murmurs and Jin squints at him.

“About good things I hope?”

“Maybe?” Jimin’s not really sure if these are good thoughts or not. Important thoughts, sure, but
scary too.

“Anything I can help with?” Jin asks, switching his phone off completely so he can focus on Jimin.
Jimin bites the inside of his cheek.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles with a heavy sigh. “Have you thought about the future, Hyung?”

“In what context are we talking?”

“Just—we can’t just do this forever, can we?” Jin frowns at that.

“If by this you mean taking the time to heal then I don’t think there’s a problem,” he says slowly.

“But… but what about when everyone has enough. What are we going to do?” Jimin pushes. Jin
just shrugs lightly.

“It’ll depend on what we want to do when that time comes. I wouldn’t worry about it yet.”
 “You don’t worry about it, Hyung?” Jimin asks, baffled by Jin’s lack of concern. “We’re just
sitting around doing nothing.”

“Are we?” Jin’s eyebrows pinch together. “You’ve just come back from three months away and
you’re already back into your dancing with Hoseok. Everyone’s working on their own things; I
wouldn’t call it nothing.”

“That’s not—sorry, Hyung.” Jimin swallows, trying to figure out how to say it. “I didn’t mean it to
come out like that.”

“It’s okay, Jiminie,” Jin says, brow softening. “I think I get what you’re saying, I just don’t think
you need to pressure yourself. From what I’ve been getting, we’re all happy with what we’re doing
at the moment.”

“You too?” Jimin asks and Jin nods.

“Yeah. It’s good to have you back and I’ve been singing again as well.”

“I hear you sometimes,” Jimin admits, smiling at the memory. “You’re good, Hyung.”

“Thanks, Jimin-ah,” Jin murmurs, ears pink. “I’ve been getting lessons again; it’s nice.”

They fall silent again after that and Jimin goes back to staring blankly at the wall, floating away
with all the ‘what if’s’ circling through his brain. Hyoyeon is right, there are so many options. It
hurts Jimin’s brain to think about but at the same time, he can’t stop his brain from whirring
around and around.

Jin switches on a movie and, at some point, Taehyung comes slouching out of his room, eyes still
puffy with sleep and hair a mess. He lets out a gravelly “ooooh” when he sees Kung Fu Panda on
the screen and Jimin can’t help but think how cute Taehyung is when he’s all sleepy and soft. A
moment later he sees Taehyung looking over at the couch with some hesitancy and makes a split-
second decision, patting the cushion next to him.

“Come on.” The slight knot of anxiety that rises in Jimin’s gut at such close contact with someone
is worth just seeing the way Taehyung’s face splits into a smile.

Later, when he’s pressed shoulder to shoulder with Taehyung, hovering on the edge of sleep as the
film plays on, Jimin thinks it’s not actually that bad and he lets himself slide over to rest his head
on Taehyung’s shoulder.

He won’t think of it like a step back to the old Jimin but it’s most certainly a positive step forward
to the new Jimin and, for now, that has to be enough.

Chapter End Notes

Comments and kudos make my day! Also, feel free to email me at

piedpiperthewriter@gmail.com I love to hear from my readers and get to know more
about you!
 Nightmares
Chapter Summary

It’s almost six weeks after Jimin has returned that Yoongi gets his first nightmare.

Chapter Notes

Enjoy this one y'all. Especially the person who asked for Yoongi hugs; it made a tiny
appearance at your request ;)

I'll keep these notes short but I just wanted to say thank you again for all the lovely
comments! You make my day!

Stay safe wherever you are! Remember to look out for those in your community who
are living alone!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

There is something bothering Jimin. Yoongi’s not sure what it is but he’s noticed something
different in the way Jimin is behaving compared to his first few weeks back and it unsettles him.
It’s not even particularly obvious but when you’re so focused on one person, it’s easy to see when
they change. It starts with Jimin zoning out more frequently, seemingly deep in thought at random
points during the day. He’s been coming to Yoongi’s studio quite regularly, mostly just lying on
the couch on his phone, but then he stops going on his phone and just stares at the ceiling instead.

“What are you thinking about?” Yoongi asks the first time but Jimin just jolts a little, turning to
look at Yoongi with a smile.

“Oh, nothing much.”

“Are you sure?” Yoongi knows not to push too much with Jimin, knows he’s more likely to open
up if you give him time and space, but it’s hard not to be curious.

“Yeah, I”m fine, Hyung.”

It happens more frequently after that, Jimin just thinking for hours on end, not distracted by his
phone or anything else. And Yoongi doesn’t want to be worried but he is; it reminds him too much
of the last time they let Jimin get so caught up in his own head. It’s not the same, he tells himself.
Jimin is still dancing every day, still talking with them all, still doing much better than he was
before the clinic.
He’s getting worried about nothing.

It’s almost six weeks after Jimin has returned that Yoongi gets his first nightmare. In his
nightmare, he’s sitting in the practice room, watching Jimin dancing when the door suddenly slams
open, none other than Chang sweeping in and snatching Jimin into his arms with a leering smirk.
And Yoongi wants to get up, wants to save Jimin from that despicable creature but his arms and
legs have become concrete and he can’t move, can’t do anything but scream as he watches Jimin
being dragged out the door and away from him.

He wakes with a start, sweaty sheets wrapped around his legs, a scream caught in his throat. He
must’ve made some sort of noise because Jin is sitting up in bed, watching Yoongi with huge eyes.

“Everything okay?” He asks and Yoongi wants to say he’s fine, wants to wave it off but to his
horror, he feels his eyes burning, tears welling up like someone’s turned on a faucet against his
will.

Yoongi is not a crier—he refuses to be one—but he’s crying now, sobbing into his hands because
of a fucking nightmare over something that never—that won’t happen. Jin stumbles over and sits
on Yoongi’s bed, pulling him into a hug but Yoongi can’t seem to stop, can’t turn the tears off
even as his Hyung pats his back and mumbles comforting words in his ear. Later, when Yoongi
has finally stopped crying and has managed to give the barest details of his nightmare, Jin just
sighs a sad sigh before pushing him on the shoulder.

“Move over, I’m sleeping in your bed tonight,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep, and Yoongi
doesn’t have the energy to push him away. He doesn’t have another nightmare that night, not with
Jin there, one arm slung over Yoongi’s waist, keeping him grounded.

A few days later though and there’s another one, equally as frightening, where Yoongi is forced to
watch Jimin being stolen right out of their living room, under his very eyes. He can move in this
nightmare but he’s too late, door slamming in front of his fingertips as Jimin’s cries echo into the
distance, letting Yoongi know just what a failure he is. Yoongi doesn’t go back to bed after this
one. Instead, he sits in total darkness at the kitchen table at 4 o’clock in the morning, a cup of
coffee in hand, watching the red numbers on the stove slowly ticking over as the tears dry on his
cheeks.

As the number of nightmares tallies up, he finds himself more desperate during the day, eyes
constantly focused on Jimin whenever they’re in the same room, something uncomfortable
churning in his gut when he doesn’t seem him for too long. It gets to the point where Yoongi is
sure everyone must see it on his face, must feel the tension radiating off of him like a tangible
thing.
It helps that he locks himself in his studio all day, drowning himself in his music to keep his mind
far away from his worries. It doesn’t stop him thinking about Jimin—not at all when every song he
writes is made with Jimin in mind—but it’s better than the gut-wrenching terror he feels every time
he thinks about losing him again.

Jimin notices (how could he not?) and it leads to an uncharacteristically frosty exchange between
the two of them late one night in Yoongi’s studio.

“Are you coming back to the apartment?” Jimin asks him, stifling a yawn behind a hand. Yoongi
just shakes his head, pushing his headphones off his head as he turns his chair around to face him.

“I’ll stay for a bit longer,” he mumbles, ducking his head when Jimin frowns. He’s not about to tell
the other man the only reason he’ll stay so late is that he’s afraid of another nightmare about losing
him.

“It’s late, Hyung.”

“I know, Jimin-ah,” Yoongi says, managing a stiff smile to try and alleviate Jimin’s concern. Of
course, it doesn’t work.

“Have you been alright lately?” Jimin asks, brow furrowing. “You’ve been a bit… off.” Yoongi
flushes, turns his chair back around to his computer just to hide his face, heart beating twice as fast
as it normally does.

“I’m fine. Although, I was going to ask you the same thing.” It’s pathetic, throwing it back at Jimin
like that, and he winces when there’s only silence behind him.

“Why?” Jimin sounds terse and Yoongi forces himself to turn back around.

“Just, you’ve been thinking a lot.” It sounds even stupider coming out of Yoongi’s mouth than it
did in his head and he kicks himself as Jimin begins to look marginally pissed off.

“I’m allowed to think,” he says flatly.

“I know—fuck, don't listen to me, Jimin,” Yoongi mutters, rubbing his hands over his eyes, trying
to clear the fog in his brain.

“You never answered my question properly. Why are you being weird, Hyung?” Jimin pushes
bluntly and Yoongi swallows hard.

“I’m just tired.”

“Are you sure that’s it?” Jimin sounds doubtful and Yoongi’s brain goes at twice the speed to
come up with a better excuse.

“It’s just—I’ve been having nightmares,” he blurts out in the end, watching Jimin’s expression
soften.

“Oh. Why didn’t you say so before?”

“Because… because they’re about you.” Yoongi snaps his mouth shut but it’s too late, his mouth
has done the damage and now Jimin is looking doubly concerned.
“What do you mean?”

“Don’t listen to me—I’m not—”

“It’s okay, Hyung.” Jimin swallows. “I know what they’re like and it sucks,” he says quietly. And
oh how Yoongi does not deserve the sympathy in Jimin’s expression.

“Don’t worry about me,” he mumbles in the end, fixing his gaze on the floor.

“Of course I’m going to worry about you if you’re having nightmares.”

“It’s not—forget I said anything.”

“Why are you ashamed, Hyung?” Jimin asks abruptly. “Jungkook still has nightmares sometimes.
You look after him then so why can’t you accept the same?” Yoongi has absolutely no answer to
that so he just stays silent, fiddles with his sleeves to avoid Jimin’s piercing gaze.

Eventually, Jimin just sighs, reaching forward to pat Yoongi’s knee as he stands up from the
couch. “I’ve got valerian pills in my room. Come back with me now and I’ll give you some.
They’ll help you sleep.”

“Valerian what?” Yoongi squints at Jimin suspiciously.

“It’s a plant-based sleep supplement,” Jimin explains, stretching his arms above his head with a
tired groan. “I swear it helps.” When Yoongi still doesn’t stand up Jimin steps forward and
removes the headphones from around Yoongi’s neck, placing them carefully on the desk. “Come
on, we’re going.” It doesn’t take much to persuade Yoongi after that, not when he’s got Jimin’s
deodorant clouding his nose and warm fingers clasped softly around his wrist.

Yoongi is a weak man when it comes to Park Jimin.

There is something bothering Yoongi and Jimin doesn’t fully believe it’s just nightmares. His
Hyung looks exhausted, that’s for sure, but underneath that, there’s an odd sort of tension like
Yoongi is a rubber band that’s being stretched too far. He’s not sure what to do about it, especially
because it only seems to tighten every time Jimin is around. It’s not like Yoongi is being cold to
him but there’s something different in his gaze that wasn’t there a few months ago and Jimin
doesn’t think it’s only because Yoongi’s having nightmares about him.

Although, really, that’s a whole ‘nother kettle of fish and Jimin is too afraid to ask what happens in
Yoongi’s nightmares to find out why he’s having them in the first place.

Yoongi isn't wrong though when he said Jimin was thinking a lot. It’s true—when he’s not dancing
he’s got the same litany of ‘what if’s’ coursing through his brain and he can’t seem to stop. The
longer he mulls over the future, the more lost he becomes, unsure of what to do but feeling the
pressure to decide weighing down on his shoulders like a ticking time bomb.

He can still remember the thrill of performing, the rush of endorphins when they’d come off stage,
the screams of the fans as the music thrummed through his body, and the excitement of sharing
their art with the world. They’re the best memories of Jimin’s life.

But then he remembers the headlines when their court case had first been filed and the scars on his
arms that have warped his skin and made them impossible to cover with makeup. He feels the
sickening anxiety of everyone knowing what happened to him—of people looking at him
differently —and he’s right back at the beginning, stuck between a rock and a hard place with no
idea which way to turn.

He talks to Hyoyeon about it, trying to gain some perspective when it feels like he’s moving
forward without a compass.

“I don’t know what to do,” he mumbles, fingers prodding incessantly at the bruises on his legs
until he snaps himself out of it and stops.

“Talk me through it,” Hyoyeon says. “What are the things stopping you from either saying yes or
no to performing again.”

“There’s a lot on both sides,” Jimin says, sighing as he thinks about it. “And I feel like I’m going to
regret it either way.”

“What are you going to regret?”

“Just… everything. If we were to perform again, there are no guarantees people would even want
to listen and—and they’re only going to focus on all the shit we’ve been through. That’s if the
others even wanted to do it again and if we didn’t, then—then I don’t even know what I’d do,”
Jimin tells her morosely. “I can’t do anything except singing and dancing so I’d just be stuck at
home forever.”

“You don’t want to be seen as a victim,” Hyoyeon says carefully. “Is that right?”

“I don’t want to be a headline forever,” Jimin says sourly. “Every article is only going to talk about
the rape aspect because it gets attention.”

“You really think so?” Hyoyeon asks. “You don’t think it’ll become old news at some point?
There’s only so many times they can run the same story.”

“They do that with every scandal,” Jimin mutters bitterly. “Whatever happens, I’ll always just be
Jimin from BTS who got kidnapped and raped, and nothing about our music.”

“That’s a callous way to view the whole thing.”

“It’s true though,” Jimin retorts. “The media are vultures.”

“But who are you performing for?” Hyoyeon asks. “Yourself, the fans or the media?”

That stops Jimin short.

“Myself and the fans, I guess,” he says in the end and Hyoyeon smiles gently.

“So if you’re not performing for the media, why does it matter what they say?”

“Because—because it just does,” Jimin snaps, frustrated. “They have a lot of influence.”

“Only if you listen to them,” Hyoyeon reminds him and Jimin huffs an exasperated sigh.

“You say that like it’s easy to ignore.”

“Isn’t it? How often did you read the tabloids for all your previous album releases?”

“Not…that often,” Jimin admits and Hyoyeon raises an eyebrow.

“It seems to me like you have the answer to your problem, Jimin. You’ve been doing it anyway.”

“That was before though,” Jimin protests weakly.

“ You’re the one most in control of what you let in your bubble, Jimin, aren’t you? Don’t give the
media that control. That’s your power.” Hyoyeon says and Jimin doesn’t have an answer for that.

“I guess so,” he mumbles eventually. “It’s just hard not to let it affect me.”

“It is hard,” Hyoyeon agrees with a reassuring smile. “But that’s another conversation entirely.”

Jimin’s conversations with Hyoyeon are helpful for the future but it doesn’t stop the present from
being just as difficult. He’s still trying to figure out his life as it is now, trying to interact with the
others as he used to whilst still protecting himself from the things that have his anxiety running
through the roof. It’s the little things that frustrate him most, like the way he still flinches when
someone touches him unexpectedly or the random flashbacks he’ll get after being triggered by the
most random of things.

The others are good about it all but there are always moments when someone forgets and they’ll
jump on Jimin in excitement only for him to leap about a foot in the air, still uncomfortable with
being grabbed. As a result, he spends a lot of his time hanging out with his hyungs in their studios
where the chances of it happening are lower, sometimes in Namjoon or Hoseok’s but most often in
Yoongi’s.
Namjoon’s took the most getting used to but Jimin forced himself to go there just to prove to
himself he can do it without being uncomfortable. At first, Jimin would just sit on Namjoon’s
couch, playing around on his phone or watching him work. Now he’s comfortable enough to fall
asleep and, after one unfortunate incident involving a rather vivid nightmare disturbed by Namjoon
shattering a glass near his head, Namjoon knows not to go near him while he’s napping. It’s a
careful balancing act they’ve figured out together but Jimin’s proud of his progress.

Yoongi’s studio will always be his favourite just because his Hyung seems to know exactly what
he needs when he comes in. Yoongi doesn’t expect him to talk and yet he’s always got a listening
ear ready if Jimin needs one. He’s a quiet worker too, unlike Namjoon and Hoseok who are
constantly humming and whacking beats on their desktops with their hands; Yoongi will just chuck
on his headphones or scribble away on a piece of paper, mumbling barely audibly under his breath.
Jimin likes to just sit and watch, sometimes curious about what his Hyung is working on (Yoongi
never used to wear his headphones so much) but content to just sit and chill.

Jimin still has days where getting out of bed feels like the biggest task on earth but, thanks to his
time in the clinic, he’s learned to manage it. He meditates every day, sometimes just for ten
minutes, sometimes for the full thirty or longer, and that helps to refocus him into a clearer
headspace. Quite often he’ll sit on the balcony and just let his mind sort itself out without
distraction.

Then there are the days when the itch to self-harm rears its ugly head in full force as Jimin nitpicks
over his mistakes and perceived failures. Those are the days he latches himself onto someone else,
scared to be alone in case he suffers a moment of weakness and does something stupid. Jin is his
first choice mostly because his Hyung doesn’t ask too many questions and just lets Jimin follow
him around like a lost puppy all day but other times he’ll hang out with whoever’s free, pretending
he’s just lonely. It works for Jimin even if it still makes him feel pathetic but he’s willing to deal
with that shame rather than jump headfirst into the dark pit of problems he’s only just crawling out
of.

“Have you made any more progress in your thoughts of the future?” Hyoyeon asks at his next
session. Jimin smooths down the front of his sweater and chews his lip.

“I think so.”

“And?” Hyoyeon prompts gently.

“I—I want to do it,” Jimin says, nerves fluttering his stomach even as Hyoyeon smiles at him
encouragingly.

“I’m glad to hear it, Jimin. Have you brought it up to your members yet?”

“Not yet,” Jimin tells her. “I’m—what if they don’t want to?” Hyoyeon shrugs not unkindly.
“I think you should talk to them and have that discussion. It probably won’t be an instant decision
for them either, just like it hasn’t been for you,” she warns gently. “Give them space to actively
think it over as well.”

“I’m nervous,” Jimin admits.

“That’s okay. Don’t you think it just means you care enough to want it to work out?”

“True.” Jimin sighs, leaning back on the couch to look at the ceiling. “I just feel like everything
I’m doing at the moment is so much harder than it should be. Even if I’m enjoying it, I just—I just
want something to be easy. I’ve had enough of the hard shit.”

“Fair enough,” Hyoyeon says. “You’re coping with everything remarkably well though. You
should be proud of yourself.”

“I am,” Jimin mumbles and he’s telling the truth. Things might not be 100% all the time but his
three months at the clinic and now his sessions with Hyoyeon have changed his perspective on his
own recovery. He’s doing enough.

“Have you decided when you’ll talk to them then?” Hyoyeon asks. Jimin shakes his head.

“Didn’t get that far yet and I thought I’d talk with you first anyway.”

“Well, let’s discuss then,” Hyoyeon says cheerfully. “I’m excited for you.”

Jimin decides to wait until a day when they’re all home at the same time for dinner. That involves
wrangling Yoongi out of his studio at a reasonable hour and making enough ramyeon to entice
Jungkook away from his console. They eat in the kitchen, half seated on the bar stools around the
island, while Taehyung, Jungkook, and Hoseok lean over from the other side to reach the massive
pot in the middle.

It’s quiet for a while as they all eat the ramyeon and Jimin waits for a moment when they’ve all got
food in their mouths before he puts down his own plate and decides to just drop the bombshell and
watch what happens.

“I was thinking about something,” he starts, heart beating a little faster as they all turn to look at
him, “and I want you to think about it before you answer.”

“What is it?” Jungkook asks thickly through a mouthful of ramyeon, snorting when Jin whacks
him and whispers “gross” in his ear.

“Well.” Jimin swallows. “How would you all feel about making an album?”

Predictably, the effect is instantaneous. Taehyung starts wheezing and coughing having choked on
his noodles, Jin and Jungkook’s mouths drop open in utter shock, and Yoongi, Hoseok, and
Namjoon just stare at Jimin like he’s grown a third head.
“What?” Namjoon asks, clearing his throat as he puts his plate down. “You want to make another
album?”

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Jimin mumbles, uncomfortable with the intensity of the six pairs of
eyes currently trained on him. “It just feels like it could be the right time.”

“Is this actually you talking?” Jungkook asks dazedly and Jimin nods.

“I just wanted to know how you guys felt about it.”

“This is something you want to do, right?” Namjoon asks, face still full of shock. “It’s not some
therapy thing is it?”

“Of course not,” Jimin says, unable to stop the irritation creeping into his tone at the question.
“I’ve talked about it with my therapist but it was my idea and I wanted to see how you guys felt.”

“This is what you’ve been thinking about the past few weeks,” Jin says suddenly, the realisation
dawning on his face. "I was wondering what had you so absorbed."

“I didn’t just come up with it last night,” Jimin defends. “I’m not being impulsive.”

“ I want to,” Taehyung says abruptly, looking decidedly unbothered compared to the rest of them,
at least now that he’s coughed the last of the noodles out of his windpipe.

“You want us to decide now? ” Jungkook asks, gaze flicking back and forth between Taehyung and
Jimin. It reminds Jimin of what Hyoyeon told him.

“No, no, take your time. I’m just putting it out there but you can think about it as long as you
want.”

“You’re really sure about this?” Yoongi asks slowly and Jimin’s eyes flick over to see his hyung
watching him with clear concern. It’s the first thing Yoongi has said and the clear worry on his
usually impassive face has Jimin’s gut-clenching just a little with anxiety.

“Yeah,” he replies, trying not to let the nerves show on his face.

“Right,” Namjoon says after a moment. “Okay. This is—we can think about this.” It sounds more
like he’s trying to convince himself than anyone else and Jimin chews his lip.

“Have none of you guys thought about it at all?” he asks. It seems odd that Jimin is the only one to
have considered it.

“We’ve thought about it,” Jungkook says, looking around at the rest of them. “I just don’t think
any of us were expecting you to be the one to suggest it.”

“Why? Because I’m damaged ?” Jimin snaps defensively, regretting it instantly as Jungkook’s face
drops. “Shit—ignore me—just pretend I never said that.”

“It’s okay,” Jin says after a pause. “I think what Jungkook is saying is that none of us thought you
would bring it up because you’ve been through the worst shit of any of us and objectively, you
have the most to lose.” His brow furrows as he continues. “I just don’t want you to suggest this
because you think you have to for our sakes.” He looks around at the six of them. “I don’t think
any of us would mind if you wanted longer before we jump back into it—if any of us want longer,
really.”
“Believe me, I’ve been through all the pros and cons in my head,” Jimin says. “But it’s been
helpful talking about it in therapy and realising I'll only regret it if I don’t at least suggest it. Take
your time to think about it,” he adds. “I’m not expecting an answer right now.”

“It’s definitely something to think about,” Namjoon says carefully. “And I think Jimin’s right,
we’ve got time to make a decision and talk about it with just the seven of us. I wouldn’t go saying
anything to the company just yet though.”

“Do we want to pick a date to discuss it?” Hoseok asks. “We can think about it in our own time but
it might be useful to have a time where we actually meet and talk about it properly.”

“How about a week from now?” Jin suggests. “That’s a week to mull it over on your own and then
we’ll discuss altogether.”

“I’m happy with that,” Taehyung says and the rest of them nod, even Yoongi whose expression of
concern hasn’t shifted since the start of the conversation. Jimin smiles, hugging his knee where it’s
propped up on the barstool as they go back to eating their ramyeon. There might be a completely
different atmosphere in the room but he doesn’t think it’s necessarily a bad one.

Later, while he and Yoongi are stacking all their dishes into the dishwasher, Jimin can tell Yoongi
is still thinking about it. He doesn’t have to wait long for his Hyung to crack and Yoongi finally
stands up with a sigh.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Jimin?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”

“Yeah, but,” Yoongi seems to want to say something else but then he closes his mouth, shaking his
head as he looks away.

“What?” Jimin asks. Yoongi just shakes his head again.

“Nothing.”

“Obviously, it’s something,” Jimin says, exasperated. “Do you think I haven’t thought about this at
all? Do you think I can’t make my own decisions just because some shit happened to me? I know
what the media are going to do—I know the sorts of stories they’ll run but I don’t care. Do you
want to know why?” He asks, crossing his arms as Yoongi looks over at him. “Because I’m doing
it for me and not for the media. I’m a performer, Hyung, and I’m not going to let their opinions
stop me from doing what I’m meant to do.”

“I don’t want to see you hurt,” Yoongi mumbles, fiddling with his hoodie. “I don’t want you to
have to go through that again. Not after everything.”

“It’ll be okay, Hyung,” Jimin murmurs, stepping forward to pull on Yoongi’s sleeve when he still
won’t look Jimin in the eye. “I’m not stupid. I know what to expect.”

It takes a moment but then Yoongi looks up at him and manages a wavering smile of sorts.

“I’ve never thought you were stupid, Jimin-ah.”

 ‘“Good,” Jimin says briskly. “Because that would actually piss me off.”

“You’re a brat,” Yoongi huffs affectionately. “Not a stupid brat but a brat all the same.”

“You love me for it,” Jimin tells him cheekily, wondering for a brief moment if he’s said
something wrong when Yoongi’s smile slips. Before he can say anything, however, it’s back and
Yoongi is laughing along with him.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Hug?” Jimin asks after a moment and Yoongi nods, holding out his arms. Jimin can’t help but
smile when he’s got his chin resting on Yoongi’s shoulder, happy to have convinced at least one of
the others he’s serious about what he wants. And also maybe because Yoongi’s hugs are the best.
Yeah, definitely that too.

Chapter End Notes

Comments and kudos make your author smile!

 Talking In Circles
Chapter Summary

“Why is this so hard?” Hoseok groans, staring at the floor.

Chapter Notes

Hellooooo!

Another chapter, another step closer to the end! Basically, Yoongi is emotionally
constipated, Jimin is perpetually nervous, Jin is being a good Hyung like usual,
Taehyung's just constantly excited, Namjoon is back in his leader's shoes, and
Jungkook's a cutie who blushes when he gets too much attention.

BTW, the Jimin/Yoongi scene in this was purely a reflection of my sad songs playlist I
listened to while writing this chapter.

I hope you enjoy this and that you're all staying safe at the moment :) Thank you for
your lovely comments on the last chapter! I want to reply but I burnt my finger and it
hurts to type lol

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The week crawls by, each day seeming to take twice as long as it would normally. It’s hard to stick
to the careful routines Jimin has established for himself because even joining Hoseok in the dance
studio suddenly feels much more meaningful and he’s afraid of putting pressure on the others.
They’re all a bit quieter, a little more subdued than they were previously, and although it’s not
necessarily a bad atmosphere, it puts Jimin on edge, constantly aware of the looming discussion
they are yet to have.

Taehyung is totally on board with a new album and that brings Jimin some comfort. Jungkook also
seems quietly enthusiastic but for the rest of them, Jimin has no idea what to expect. It could go
either way and the thing that scares him most is what they'll do if they’re not going back to music.
Will they just be putting it off until later or will this be the end of the band?

The day of the decision has Jimin waking up with anxiety swirling in his chest and an impending
sense of doom. They hadn’t actually said what time they’d be discussing but Jin sends a message to
the group chat saying he’s making dinner and that he expects them all in the apartment at six
o’clock sharp. It’s an unspoken understanding between all of them that the discussion will take
place then and although Jimin wishes they could just get it over and done with, he also knows it’s
smart to talk about it over a meal when they have time to actually sit and talk.

By the time six o’clock finally rolls around, everyone is seated around the low table in the living
room as Jin carefully ladles kimchi stew into each of their bowls. It’s unbearably tense and
completely silent, no-one seemingly wanting to say anything when there’s such a serious topic at
hand. Jin is the only one who looks remotely at ease.

“Eat first, talk second,” he says when they’ve all been served. “I actually worked hard at making
the stew and I’d rather it doesn’t go cold while we talk.”

They all murmur their thanks and for almost ten minutes there’s no sound except the occasional
clinking of a spoon against ceramic. Jimin forces himself to eat, wishing they could just get to it;
it’s hard to sit still with this elephant in the room.

Finally, they reach a point where everyone has eaten enough and Namjoon clears his throat.

“Right. We know what we’re here to discuss,” he says bluntly. “But I just want to set some ground
rules first.” He looks around at all of them. “I think it’s obvious but I’ll say it anyway. If just one of
us doesn’t want to do it, we don’t go ahead with it. It’s not fair to that person, it’s not fair to the
name of BTS, and it’s not what we believe in as a group.”

“Agreed,” Hoseok says as the rest of them nod. “We’re in it together, or we don’t do it at all.”

“I think it would be good for everyone to share their thoughts, not just say a yes or no without
context. Does anyone want to start?” Namjoon asks.

“I will,” Jin says, sitting back so he can lean against the couch. He takes a moment to gather his
thoughts and Jimin watches him anxiously, trying to figure out what the expression on Jin’s face
means.

“You guys know BTS is the thing I’m most proud of in my life,” Jin starts, looking around at the
six of them. “You’re my family, not just my bandmates, and I thank the heavens every day I’ve
gotten to perform together with you all.” He swallows sharply, eyes flitting over to catch Jimin’s
before they move around the circle. “I’ve thought a lot about whether now is the right time for us
to make another album. There’s a lot of factors to deal with, especially because none of us is
completely healed from everything we’ve been through, and I worry about whether rushing into
things would actually have the opposite effect and break up all the progress we’ve made.” He
pauses and Jimin clenches his fingers in the sleeves of his shirt as he watches the conflict play out
across his Hyung’s face. “However,” Jin continues. “I also think the longer we leave it, the more
difficult it will be to go back to it and I think this may be the opportunity we need to get back some
normality and control in our lives. For that reason, although I would want us to take our time, I
think we should go ahead with it.”

His words have the ball of tension in Jimin’s chest loosening just a little and he can’t help the smile
that flickers over his lips. That’s one down, only five to go.
“Taehyung? Do you want to go next?” Namjoon suggests and Taehyung nods, head raising from
where he was resting it gently on the pillow he’s cradling.

“I said it last week already that I want to do it so that’s not a surprise,” he says. “Jin-hyung is right
that we should take our time with it but I think it’ll be good to focus on something like this,
especially because Jiminie was the one to bring it up.” He shrugs lightly. “We’ve always used our
albums as a way to share our feelings and I think this would be healthy for us all considering the
circumstances.”

“Thank you, Taehyung. Jungkook?” Namjoon looks over at their youngest next and Jimin presses
his lips together to prevent himself from chewing the skin to pieces with his nerves.

“I’m with Jin and Tae,” Jungkook mumbles, and Jimin relaxes just a little. “I want to do an album
but I also think it’s good if it doesn’t have a huge time pressure on it. This album should be for us,
not for anyone else, so we should take the time to make sure it’s right.” He looks down at his lap
thoughtfully for a moment before he looks back up at the rest of them. “That’s all I have to say,” he
finishes abruptly, ears pink from all the attention.

“I’ll go next,” Hoseok says from his cushion next to Jimin, fingers steepling on his knee as he
frowns in concentration. “Firstly, I’m not going to say I’m not worried about what an album would
do to us as a group. There are groups who’ve gone through much less and the stress of an album is
enough to tear them apart better than anything else could.” His frown deepens even more. “And
we’ve also not been performing or even properly practising our skills for over half a year. We’re
starting from a much lower point than we ever have, even lower than we were before debut. That’s
a lot of work and I’m not sure we’re cut out for it anymore.” He hesitates and Jimin squeezes his
eyes shut, just praying that Hoseok won’t say no, won’t shoot this whole thing down before
they’ve even had a chance to try.

“I’m torn,” Hoseok says finally. “I wouldn’t say no to another album in the future but I’m not
totally convinced it should be right now.” There is silence after he speaks.

“Is that a complete no to now?” Namjoon asks carefully. Hoseok makes a face.

“I’m not trying to be difficult so I wouldn’t say it’s an outright no. I just—if we’re going to do this
—there has to be an absolute guarantee from eachother and from the company that we don’t rush
into anything. If there is any sort of overwhelming pressure, either from us or from other people for
this album to be completed, I’m out.”

“So, a yes on the condition that there is absolutely no time pressure,” Namjoon clarifies. Hoseok
nods and Jimin lets out a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding in. Now there’s only
Yoongi and Namjoon left to give their thoughts and for the first time, a tentative bubble of hope
opens in Jimin’s heart.

“Yoongi?” Namjoon prods and Jimin watches as Yoongi lifts his head, jaw working as he purses
his lips. It strikes him again how tired his Hyung looks, dark circles under his eyes and a sickly
pallor to his skin. He’s avoiding all of their gazes as he opens his mouth to speak.

“I’m not against doing an album,” he begins, “but there are a couple of conditions.” His eyes snap
up suddenly to look at them all with unexpected intensity. “No censorship. Like Taehyung said,
we’ve always used our albums to share how we feel, and that means this album is no different.” He
takes a deep breath. “We’ve been through some fucked up shit,” he says quietly and everyone nods
in unison, the atmosphere in the room freezing over just a little. “But I think that’s what this album
will be for. It’s about the dark and ugly and all the other shit we’re feeling.” Jimin sees the way his
eyes flick almost imperceptibly over to Namjoon. “That doesn’t mean we’re sharing information
we’re not comfortable with having the world know but it means if Bang PD tries to tell us to make
it less explicit or less emotional, I will personally be telling him where he can stick that opinion.”

“I’d second that,” Hoseok murmurs and Yoongi nods, seemingly gaining confidence from his
support.

“Other conditions are like you’ve basically all said,” he continues. “There’s no time pressure. If it
takes us a year, then it takes us a year and I don’t want to feel like we’ve got to meet the ridiculous
deadlines we’ve dealt with in the past.” He exhales suddenly, some of the tension in his face
reducing. “That’s it I think.”

“Thanks, Yoongi. Jimin? Any thoughts?” Namjoon asks and Jimin’s head snaps around, surprised
to hear his name.

“Oh—I didn’t think…”

“We know your verdict but it’d be good to hear your thoughts like the others too.”

“Oh,” Jimin repeats, swallowing as he tries to gather his mind into something a little less frantic.
He’d been so focused on everyone else’s words, he’d forgotten they’d probably want to hear from
him as well. “I mean, I agree with everything you’ve all said,” he says quietly. “I want this album
to be for us. As much as our fans are the ones who will listen to it when it’s finished, it’s a
reflection of us. I agree with what Yoongi said about censorship as well.” He chews his lower lip.
“We might lose some fans but I’d rather that happen than for us to put out something which isn’t
true to our feelings. Not that everything needs to be shared,” he adds hastily. “There’s some shit I
don’t want to touch but—but you get what I mean.”

“Of course,” Jin agrees, nodding at Jimin gently. “You and Yoongi are just talking about having
the option, right?”

“Yeah,” Jimin says, looking down at his hands to ground himself as he continues. “I guess I should
say too that I didn’t suggest this because things are suddenly all perfect.” He swallows. “There are
still days where I feel like total and utter crap or I get caught up in my head. And it might sound
cringe but the one thing that gives me hope is remembering the feeling of making music and
performing altogether. I want that back—for all of us, not just me,” he finishes, nerves rearing up
again at the silence that follows. He’s too afraid to look up and see their faces.

But then Namjoon is clearing his throat again and there’s only warmth in his voice.

“Thank you, Jimin.” He exhales in one long whistling breath, taking a moment before he speaks
his thoughts. “Since I’m last, I’ll try not to repeat too much of what you guys have already said. I
think it’s pretty clear that if we do do this, there’s going to have to be some pretty tough meetings
with Bang PD-nim and the producers about our conditions.” His mouth twists. “I’ve thought about
this a lot over the past week and I’ve realised I do want to do it but I am worried we’re running into
it too quickly. The way I think about it is, in order for us not to fall apart in the process of making
this album, we have to very clearly put it in our heads that this is an album made without any sort
of expectation of sales.” He looks around at all of them seriously. “It could be that this whole thing
absolutely flops. Our fans—the general public even—want radio songs and stuff they can dance to
in their rooms. If we make an album that doesn’t have those things and it doesn’t do well numbers-
wise, are we okay with that? Are we committing to making an album that won’t necessarily be
marketable?”

“Yes,” Yoongi says immediately. “We started out making music because we wanted to. That’s not
changing and I refuse to censor and change things to make them radio appropriate. As much as I
want people to listen to it, this album is for us first and foremost.”

“Agreed,” Taehyung says a beat later.

“Same,” Jimin murmurs, unable to stop the smile pulling at his lips as one by one they voice their
consent.

Namjoon lets out a rough breath and it feels like the tension in the room has suddenly vanished. He
smiles.

“I guess we’re making an album then.”

Jimin can’t sleep that night. He lies awake long after Hoseok’s breathing has entered a steady
rhythm, replaying the evening’s discussion over and over in his head, brain too busy to even think
about sleeping. It still doesn’t feel real that they’re actually doing this. They’re making an album.

There are so many emotions running through Jimin’s body. Excitement, joy, finally a sense of
purpose, and... fear. He’s okay with that though. He’d known what he was suggesting; this fear of
the unknown is hardly different from all the previous albums they’d put out. Except that he has
more to lose , Jimin reminds himself. Then again, as much as they will share their music with the
fans, this album is for themselves first and he’ll keep reminding himself of that.

For us.

It’s almost two-thirty by the time Jimin gives up on sleep and gets up out bed. It’s not the smartest
thing, especially because they’ll be spending the next couple of days discussing ideas and he’ll
need his wits about him, but he can’t bear staring at the ceiling for another minute.

He goes out to the balcony with a blanket, content to just sit there in the dark, head leaning against
the window behind him and with his headphones plugged in. It’s summer now and, as long as he
has a blanket, it’s warm enough out there to just enjoy being out at night, gazing over the lights of
Seoul. The city never really seems to sleep and there are still plenty of lit windows visible from
Jimin’s vantage point.

Jimin ends up just closing his eyes a few minutes later, feeling the breeze blowing on his face,
listening contently to a random classical music playlist on his phone. He’s always liked being out
at night. What he doesn’t expect is for someone to tap him on the shoulder and he almost knocks
himself out as he jerks back, head smashing into the window and leaving Jimin reeling. It takes
him a moment to realise it’s Yoongi standing next to him looking shocked and just as guilty, hand
still hovering out in front of him.

“Fuck,” Jimin groans, ripping out his headphones and cradling the back of his head as the pain
processes properly. “You scared the living daylights out of me.”

“I’m—shit, sorry,” Yoongi murmurs. “I didn’t realise you had your headphones in and you weren’t
answering so I thought you’d—I dunno—passed out or something.”

“On the balcony at three o’clock in the morning,” Jimin grumbles sarcastically, rubbing the lump
on his skull. “Because that would make sense.” Yoongi flushes.

“Is your head okay? You hit it pretty hard.”

“It’s fine,” Jimin manages, feeling a bit bad for how guilty Yoongi looks. He points at the chair
next to him. “You can sit down if you want.”

“Couldn’t sleep?” Yoongi asks when he’s sitting down next to Jimin. Jimin nods, pulling his
blanket a little tighter around himself as he readjusts his position in his chair.

“Too much to think about.” He glances over at Yoongi. “What about you?”

“Same,” Yoongi mumbles, but it doesn't make much sense because he yawns as he says it, arms
hugging around himself. Jimin makes a split-second decision, standing up so he can scoot his chair
close to Yoongi’s and let the blanket cover the both of them.

“You’ll get cold,” he offers as a way of explanation, quietly pleased on some level when Yoongi’s
ears go pink.

“Was it another nightmare?” Jimin asks when they’ve been quiet again for a minute. Although
Yoongi isn’t looking at him, he can see his Hyung’s eyes close for a fraction, like he’s steeling
himself for their conversation. It’s odd.

“Something like that,” Yoongi mutters in the end, fiddling with the blanket.

“You should see someone about it,” Jimin says. “Are you still going to therapy?” Yoongi shakes
his head.

“I stopped a while ago.”

“Oh.” Jimin isn’t going to ask why—he doesn’t want to intrude—but the question goes unspoken in
the air.
“It wasn’t really helping anything,” Yoongi says after a moment. “Nothing music can’t fix, right?”
He smiles but it looks sad, almost bitter, and Jimin wishes he could change that.

“I guess,” Jimin murmurs doubtfully. “You look tired though.” Yoongi huffs a laugh at that, head
falling back to rest against the window as he shuts his eyes.

“I’m always tired.”

They sit in silence after that, but it’s not uncomfortable. Jimin can’t stop thinking about the sadness
on Yoongi’s face though, and eventually, he can’t keep it in, turning a little in his chair to look over
at his Hyung. He’s not even sure if Yoongi’s asleep or not.

“Promise me you’ll tell me if it gets bad?”Jimin mumbles. Yoongi doesn’t reply, eyes still closed,
but he lifts his hand up from where it’s lying on the armrest between them, pinky outstretched.
Jimin stares at it for a moment before he clicks and he links his own pinky with Yoongi’s with a
huff of amusement.

“Pinky promise,” Yoongi murmurs, letting their hands fall back down onto the armrest. He doesn’t
let go of Jimin’s pinky though and so Jimin leaves it as it is.

Yoongi really does seem to go to sleep after that, his breaths evening out, and when Jimin’s eyes
get tired he leans over in his chair, lets his head rest gently on Yoongi’s shoulder as he pulls the
blanket over them a little better. He falls asleep like that, pinky fingers locked, the sounds of Seoul
faint in the background, and Yoongi’s body heat warming his cheek.

Jimin’s head hurts. They’ve been talking about ideas for the third straight day in a row and it feels
like they’re talking themselves in circles. Their album needs some sort of overriding concept to tie
each individual track together but so far none of them has been able to think of anything remotely
suitable. They’ve pulled seven chairs into a circle in the practice room, trying to keep their
apartment at least somewhat work free for the moment, and it’s only been twenty minutes since
they sat down but no-one has anything left to say.

“Why is this so hard?” Hoseok groans, staring at the floor. “One good idea. That’s all we need.”

“Even if you think it’s shit, just say it,” Namjoon says bluntly. “It’d be better than nothing.” They
all sit there, just waiting until finally, Yoongi lets out a sigh and opens his mouth to speak.

“I was thinking about this last night but I’m not sure about it.”

“Who cares, just tell us,” Jin prompts and there’s a hum of agreement.

“I was on the phone with my mum a while ago and she was telling me about a movie she’d seen—
well, it wasn’t really a movie, more like a recorded ballet show. Have you guys heard of Swan
Lake?”

“I have,” Jimin says quietly but he’s the only one. Yoongi nods at Jimin.

“Right, well for the rest of you it’s basically the story of a princess called Odette who gets turned
into a swan by an evil guy—I can’t remember his name. In the ballet, the dancer who plays the
white swan also plays a black swan.” Yoongi frowns. “It’s meant to represent good and evil and
the battle between the two. I had this idea that it would be sort of interesting to have that struggle
between good and evil played out in the album, with emphasis on the evil side.” He looks over at
Jimin suddenly. “We could do a track inspired by the original dances—not ballet,” he explains
hurriedly, “but something contemporary, and then maybe,” he looks hesitant, “Jimin could dance a
part as one of the swans? I think it would be interesting.”

Jimin blinks, surprised. A contemporary dance. The battle between good and evil—it’d be a
perfect metaphor for everything they’ve been through.

“I like that,” Jin says suddenly. “It’s interesting, it’s new, and it’s still broad enough that we can
sort of put anything under the concept.”

“Good versus evil,” Namjoon muses. “The black swan represents evil?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says and Namjoon nods, eyebrows knitting together.

“We could focus just on the black swan, make it darker,” he says after a moment. “It would keep it
fresh instead of being too attached to the ballet.”

“I like the idea of Jimin being one of the swans,” Taehyung murmurs, long fingers tapping on his
cheek as he thinks. “And the whole thing of good versus evil is interesting too.”

“My sister said something to me once about the meaning behind a black swan,” Hoseok says
suddenly, brow scrunching. “I think it’s used to represent something like an unexpected event that
has extreme consequences. Like, people will call something bad that happens out of nowhere a
black swan.”

“So, basically…” Namjoon trails off meaningfully.

“What happened to us,” Jin finishes, looking around at them all. “What do you think about it
Jimin? Jungkook?”

“It’s a good idea,” Jimin murmurs after a moment’s pause. “The story of Swan Lake and the black
swan is really powerful, and we haven’t ever had a theme like that before either.”

“I like it too,” Jungkook says. “Like Jin-hyung said, it’s broad enough that it won’t be hard to make
an album around it but it’s unique too.”

“Do we have a concept, then?” Namjoon asks into the silence that follows and there’s a moment
where they all look around at eachother before Hoseok speaks for them all.

“I think so.”
Yoongi can’t help but be incredibly nervous as they sit all together around the long table in one of
the company meeting rooms. They’re waiting for Bang PD to arrive and they don’t have to wait
long, the tension in the room increasing tenfold the moment he walks in. Bang PD himself looks
completely calm, open curiosity written all over his face; they haven’t told him why they wanted
this meeting after all.

“Good morning,” he says to them all, sitting down at the head of the table as they all murmur their
greetings in return. “It’s nice to see you all looking well,” Bang PD continues, looking around the
table. “To what do I owe this meeting?”

Namjoon clears his throat. “We wanted to talk to you about the future of BTS.”

“Ah,” Bang PD says, leaning back in his chair. “What are you thinking?” Namjoon adjusts the
papers in front of them—their outlined plans for the album—and starts speaking.

“We’ve been having a lot of discussion over the past two weeks and we’ve decided we want to
make a new album.” They’ve all got their eyes glued on Bang PD but he doesn’t look even
remotely surprised and Yoongi finds it almost unsettling, feeling as if the man somehow knows
them better than they know themselves. Namjoon continues. “We know what we want the concept
to be and we also have some conditions about how we want this process to go but we thought it
was time to share our thoughts with you.”

“This was a unanimous decision?” Bang PD asks, looking around the table at them all. Yoongi
doesn’t miss the way his eyes linger a little longer on Jimin.

“I was the one to suggest it initially,” Jimin says quietly and this time Bang PD’s eyebrows shoot
up a little in genuine shock. “But we’ve given it serious thought as a group.”

“Not an easy decision, I imagine,” Bang PD says seriously. “You said you’ve talked about
concepts. What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know if you’re familiar with the term ‘black swan’?” Namjoon asks, continuing when
Bang PD shakes his head. “Essentially, a black swan event is something that happens without
warning that ends up having extreme consequences. Yoongi came up with the idea of using the tale
of Swan Lake as inspiration so we want to base our album on the struggle between good and evil
you see in the story, focusing particularly on the side of evil represented by a black swan.”

“Interesting,” Bang PD says thoughtfully. “It’s a very compelling concept, particularly considering
your recent history as a band. By your definition, that would be considered a ‘black swan’ event in
its own right.”

“That’s what we thought as well,” Namjoon agrees.

They sit there quietly as Bang PD mulls it over in his head and with every passing second Yoongi
gets antsier. Finally, Bang PD nods to himself.

“I like it.” He looks over at Namjoon again. “So you’ve got a concept. What are the conditions of
this album?” Namjoon smiles thinly. This is going to be the more difficult part.

“Yes. Since this is our first album since everything, we’ve talked about how that will affect our
processes.” Namjoon swallows. “This album is something we are doing for us, not for the fans. By
that we mean we aren’t making this album with the intention of hitting number one on the charts or
doing what’s trendy just to increase sales. I’m aware this goes against what is considered good
business practice but,” he shrugs, “we don’t want to be held back.”

“Okay,” Bang PD says carefully. “What does that mean exactly?” Namjoon looks even more
nervous and Yoongi finally has had enough. He’s fucking tired and he’s got no patience for
pussyfooting around the truth.

“Basically, we’ll say whatever we want with no censoring and no ‘prettying it up’ for the public,”
he snaps bluntly, unsure where his heightened aggression is even coming from. “It might be
explicit or raw but that’s what we’re doing so if you disagree you can stick it—”

“If you disagree,” Jin interrupts Yoongi smoothly, “we’ll be happy to discuss it but we aren’t going
to compromise our lyrics for the purpose of making the album more marketable.” There’s a tense
silence when he finishes and Namjoon scrambles to pick up the flow of the conversation again.

“Our only other condition is that we don’t have a time pressure for completing this album like we
normally do,” he says. “We’ve been out of practice for more than half a year—it’s going to take
time and we don’t want ridiculous pressure put on us to complete it in just a few months.”

“Those are all your conditions?” Bang PD asks after a moment, face unreadable, and they all nod.
Yoongi hates that he can’t tell what he’s thinking and that unreasonable anger simmers a little
harder just underneath the surface.

He can’t keep it in.

“We’re not compromising,” he snarls, not regretting it even as Jin hisses at him to stop and
Namjoon inhales sharply. “No,” Yoongi says, turning to look at them both. “He has to know we’re
not going to roll over and change our conditions just because he doesn’t like them.”

“Enough,” Jin says firmly, grabbing Yoongi’s elbow underneath the table. “Enough ,” he repeats
again under his breath. Yoongi scowls but doesn’t see the point in pushing it further. At least now
Bang PD knows what their stance really is.

Bang PD looks over them for a long moment, until finally, he opens his mouth to speak.

“You know, I think I would have been disappointed if you hadn’t set down conditions for your
work on this album.” He eyes Yoongi with clear fondness. “I admire your passion, Yoongi. It
shows you care and that you’re doing this album for the right reasons.” Yoongi fidgets in his seat,
not expecting the sudden compliment after his outburst, and Bang PD huffs a dry laugh. “Although,
it’s not often I get yelled at in my own meeting room. Regardless, I think the things you proposed
are fair requests considering what this album means to you all. And who knows,” he smiles gently,
“I have a feeling the raw and emotional might be just what your fans want to hear after your
absence. They’ve always been drawn to your honesty and bold lyrics—I don’t see why this would
be different.”

Jin follows Yoongi silently to his studio after the meeting, shutting the door behind the two of
them with a click before Yoongi can even ask what he’s doing.

“Sit down,” Jin tells him firmly and Yoongi doesn’t have the energy to protest to his Hyung. He
does as he’s told, sitting down in his chair with a huff as Jin claims the couch. Jin doesn’t talk right
away, just sits there looking at Yoongi like he’s trying to figure something out.

“What?” Yoongi says after a minute. Jin just shakes his head.

“What’s going on with you?”

“You know exactly,” Yoongi bites back but Jin shakes his head again.

“That’s not everything and you know it. You look exhausted, Yoongi-ah.” His gaze softens. “You
won’t be able to keep this up through an entire album.”

“I’m fine,” Yoongi snaps.

“Whatever that was in the meeting isn’t like you,” Jin murmurs reproachfully. “You know that as
well as I do, Yoongi. I don’t know what’s got you so exhausted and strung out but I know it’s
bigger than your feelings for Jimin.”

“You don’t know anything,” Yoongi hisses, fingers clenching into the fabric of his trousers. “Stop
sticking your head into shit you don’t understand."

“Help me understand then,” Jin pleads. “Is it really just Jimin or is it something to do with the
album? Are you still getting nightmares?” Yoongi remains stubbornly silent, refusing to crack
under Jin’s pressure.

They sit there for at least a minute in total silence, Yoongi avoiding Jin’s gaze even as the tension
in the room mounts with every passing second. Finally, Jin lets out a sigh.

“Yoongi, I’m trying to help. I’m worried about you.”

“No, you’re not, you’re just trying to ‘fix’ me so you can move onto your next pet project and feel
good about yourself,” Yoongi snarls, head spinning, regretting the words coming out of his mouth
 almost immediately but unable to stop them. He makes eye contact with Jin and that’s a hundred
times worse because the hurt on Jin’s face is clear as day.

“You think that?” Jin asks and Yoongi wants to deny it but his pride is too big. He shrugs instead
and Jin’s face shutters, expression suddenly closed off and cold. Yoongi waits for him to get angry,
to yell, to do something but Jin just stands up.

“Okay,” he says simply, and then he’s walking out the door without a backwards glance.

It feels so much worse than yelling ever could.

Chapter End Notes

Comments and kudos make my day!

 What could be.
Chapter Summary

“That’s so good, Jiminie,” Chaeseok says, patting Jimin’s hand. “You look happy.”

“I am,” Jimin blurts out, embarrassed a second later at his own honesty. “I mean, it’s
still difficult some days but overall I’m so much happier than a couple of months ago.”

Chapter Notes

Hello hello!

Another chapter! This one was fun to write for multiple reasons, mostly because of
Chaeseok lol so I hope you all enjoy it!

On a slightly unrelated note, I'm a bit scared to say this but I was recommended by one
of my lovely readers to start a Ko-Fi account for any of you who have enjoyed this
story and would like to support me in that way. This is absolutely not necessary! I
started writing purely out of enjoyment and I love sharing my work with you all for
free! I'll put the link here if you're interested as well as in the end comments but please
don't feel any pressure.

https://ko-fi.com/piedpiperthewriter

Enjoy this chapter!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The moment the door slams shut behind Jin, Yoongi wants to punch himself. How could he be so
—fuck—he doesn’t even have the words to describe it.

Basically, Min Yoongi is an idiot.

He doesn’t have long to stew in his regret before the door is beeping as it unlocks, swinging open
to reveal Jimin’s face peering cautiously inside.

“Everything okay with you and Jin-hyung?” He asks. “He looked upset coming out of here.”

“We had a fight,” Yoongi mutters, waving Jimin inside when he wavers uncertainly by the door. “I
said some not nice shit.” He grinds the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, wishing he could
take back everything he’d said over the last fifteen minutes.
“Oh.” Jimin sits down on the couch, legs tucking up underneath him as he eyes Yoongi curiously.
He doesn’t ask what was said but Yoongi feels the pressure to tell him anyway.

“I basically told him he’s only worrying about me because I’m his pet project he wants to fix to
feel good about himself.” It sounds even worse the second time around and Jimin’s mouth drops
open.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi mutters. “I’m an idiot.”

“Have you apologized?” Jimin’s eyebrows are furrowed and it makes Yoongi’s guilt even worse.

“Not yet.”

“Shit, hyung.”

“I know,” Yoongi groans, hanging his head. “Seriously. But… I’m still mad with him.”

“What about?”

“He won’t stop trying to fix everything, even if I tell him not to worry about me.”

“He’s always been like that,” Jimin murmurs. “He cares about you, Yoongi. I’m sure he just wants
you to be happy.”

“I know but sometimes I wish he’d just leave it.”

“And let you self-destruct on your own?” Jimin remarks dryly. “That’s not how it works.
Remember what happened before I went to the clinic?”

“I—yeah, of course.” Jimin shrugs lightly, something sad in his eyes.

“I hated you all for interfering at the time but I needed it.”

“I’m a bad person, Jimin,” Yoongi mutters, rubbing his eyes wearily. “Jin probably hates me
now.”

“Jin doesn’t hate you,” Jimin assures kindly. “But you should apologize to him.” He pauses for a
moment. “And I think you should go back to therapy. It’ll help. And even if it doesn’t,” he adds as
Yoongi opens his mouth to protest, “it’s still good to talk to someone about how you feel
occasionally.”

“Jimin—”

“I’ll book the appointment for you right now,” Jimin interrupts, eyes begging. “Please, hyung.”

Yoongi can’t say no after that.

⇝
Jin is lying on his bed, doing something on his phone, when Yoongi comes in. The atmosphere in
the room is painfully awkward and it’s all Yoongi’s fault. He ends up standing by the door, unsure
how to start when Jin won’t even look up at him.

“I didn’t mean it,” he manages eventually. Jin doesn’t react and Yoongi swallows. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you actually sorry or are you just saying it so it’s not awkward?” Jin replies, not taking his
eyes off his phone in an uncharacteristically frosty move.

“No—I’m—I fucked up, hyung. I know I did.” Yoongi’s voice wavers and Jin finally looks up.

“You know how much I care about you,” he says with surprising calmness that still can’t mask the
hurt in his tone. “None of you have ever been a pet project for me, Yoongi-ah. Never.”

“I know,” Yoongi says helplessly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “It was wrong of
me to say that.” He swallows hard. “I’m going to therapy again.” Jin raises an eyebrow.

“Whose idea was that?”

“... Jimin,” Yoongi mutters, unsure why that makes him feel even guiltier. Jin’s eyes soften but the
hurt on his face only increases. Yoongi knows how bad it sounds—like Yoongi only listens to
Jimin even after everything Jin has tried to do to help him. “You were right, hyung,” he blurts out.
“It was—it is more than just Jimin. I—the nightmares are still bad.”

“Why not just tell me, Yoongi-ah?” Jin asks softly. “You know I would never judge you.”

“I don’t know,” Yoongi mumbles, horrified to feel tears burning in his eyes. Jin sighs, scrubbing a
tired hand over his own face.

“I’m glad you’re going to therapy again. It’s been helping Jungkook with his nightmares.” Yoongi
nods, throat aching as he tries to force the tears back. Jin must see the struggle because he puts his
phone down on the bed, standing up so he can walk over to Yoongi and hug him tightly.

“‘M sorry,” Yoongi grunts, tears soaking Jin’s sweater.

“You’re okay,” Jin murmurs, and even if Yoongi knows his hyung is still hurt, the tenderness with
which Jin says those words lets him know he’s been forgiven for his outburst.

A week after their meeting with Bang PD, Chaeseok texts Jimin telling him he’s coming to Seoul
and asking if he wants to catch up. Jimin replies immediately saying yes on the condition that they
meet in the apartment, just in case anyone takes photos of them out in public. He’s giddy with
excitement at seeing his friend again and the other members are happy for him too when he asks
for approval for Chaeseok to come into their home.

The day of Chaeseok’s arrival, Jimin practically flies to the door when the bell rings. He doesn’t
even check the peephole, pulling open the door and greeting Chaeseok with a hug before he can
even step into the apartment. Chaeseok laughs, hugging Jimin just as tightly before he’s lead into
the apartment. He hasn’t really changed much except that his hair is longer and dyed blond, and
something warms in Jimin seeing his friend’s infectious smile.

“The others are around but we’ve got the living room to ourselves for a couple of hours,” Jimin
tells Chaeseok happily, pulling his arm over to the couch so they can sit. Chaeseok just grins,
looking around their apartment in obvious awe.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” he remarks, flopping down on the couch next to Jimin and petting
the Kumamon plushy next to him. “You live here with the rest of your bandmates?”

“Yup, all seven of us,” Jimin says, smiling as Chaeseok cuddles the plushy to his chest out of pure
habit. “What are you doing in Seoul? I thought you didn’t like big cities.” Chaeseok grimaces.

“I still don’t but I’m flying to Canada tomorrow.”

“To see your brother?” Jimin guesses and Chaeseok nods again, eyes lighting up.

“I’ve got an internship in Canada at an architecture firm,” he tells Jimin. “It’s for a year so I’m
staying with my brother and his husband for the first few months and then I’ll get a place of my
own.”

“You’re leaving?” Jimin’s mouth drops open, excited for Chaeseok but unable to stop the little bit
of sadness at the news.

“Not forever.” Chaeseok shrugs lightly. “I’m just ready to get out of Korea for a bit and my
brother’s husband had connections at a firm that was looking for international interns. He helped
me apply,” he says proudly.

“That’s so cool, Chaeseok,” Jimin tells him, cheeks hurting from how hard he’s smiling at seeing
the spark of enthusiasm on Chaeseok’s face. “What an awesome opportunity.”

“It really is,” Chaeseok agrees. “What about you? What have you been up to since you got back?”

“I’m dancing and singing again.” Jimin hesitates. “I can’t tell you details but we’ve just made the
decision as a group to start working on some stuff again so…” he exhales roughly, smiling at his
friend, “it’s good to be back in the groove a bit.”

“That’s so good, Jiminie,” Chaeseok says, patting Jimin’s hand. “You look happy.”

“I am,” Jimin blurts out, embarrassed a second later at his own honesty. “I mean, it’s still difficult
some days but overall I’m so much happier than a couple of months ago.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Chaeseok murmurs sincerely. “The clinic really helped you, didn’t it?”

“So much. You too?” Jimin asks quietly and Chaeseok purses his lips thoughtfully.

“Yeah, I think they did.” He huffs a laugh. “At least more than I expected.”

“You’re not still…?” Jimin drifts off meaningfully and Chaeseok smiles, shaking his head.

“Life is looking up,” he says cryptically. Jimin can’t stop the sigh of relief that slips through his
lips, interrupted from responding by the quiet click of the hallway door opening. Both of them look
over and Jimin sees Yoongi slip through, shooting the two of them an awkward smile as he
shuffles quickly through to the kitchen, the door shutting behind him.
“One of your bandmates?” Chaeseok asks curiously and Jimin nods.

“Yoongi-hyung. He’s the second oldest after Jin-hyung.”

“He’s cute,” Chaeseok says mischievously, winking in Jimin’s direction. “If short and mysterious
is your type.”

“Chaeseok!” Jimin says, scandalized but laughing all the same.

“What? It’s true.” Chaeseok waggles his eyebrows at Jimin suggestively. “Remember the Kinsey
scale?”

“Oh my god, stop!” Jimin is mortified to feel his face heating up at Chaeseok’s implication and
Chaeseok starts cackling wildly.

“You’re blushing!”

“No, I’m not,” Jimin protests, stuffing his face in the couch to hide his burning cheeks. “You’re
ridiculous.”

“And you’re definitely blushing,” Chaeseok says smugly.

“I don’t think of him like that!”

“Doesn’t mean you couldn’t.” Jimin whacks Chaeseok with a pillow.

It’s incredibly hard to keep a straight face when Yoongi reappears with a cup of coffee in his hand,
looking at Jimin with a fond smile as he heads back to his room. It doesn’t help that Chaeseok is
smirking like a Cheshire cat next to him.

“I maintain my position that you guys would be cute,” Chaeseok whispers the moment the hallway
door shuts behind Yoongi and Jimin groans, abs sore from the effort of not laughing.

“You would’ve said that about any of my bandmates if they’d walked through first.”

“Do you not see the way he looks at you?” Chaeseok raises his eyebrows, a smile tugging at his
lips. “If he was gay, I’d say he likes you.”

“Chaeseok!” Jimin gasps, jaw dropping at the man’s cheek, especially because although Chaeseok
may not know Yoongi’s sexuality, Jimin most certainly does.

If he was gay, I’d say he likes you.

“Okay, I’ll stop,” Chaeseok says, dissolving into laughter as Jimin whacks him once more with the
very Kumamon plushy he’s been carefully cradling in his arms.
They talk about other things after that, just enjoying each others company after so long without. It’s
almost three in the afternoon by the time Chaeseok leaves, Jimin hugging him tighter now that he
knows he won’t see the other man for at least a year, and when the door finally shuts behind
Chaeseok’s bright grin, Jimin’s heart is filled with happiness. He knows he’s found a lifelong
friend in Chaeseok, even if they didn’t meet under particularly positive circumstances.

The first person Jimin bumps into after Chaeseok leaves happens to be Yoongi and it’s hard to not
blush as he remembers Chaeseok’s comments, finding it a little harder to look Yoongi in the eye
than he would normally.

“Was it nice?” Yoongi asks, slipping his phone into his pocket as he leans against the kitchen
bench with another cup of coffee.

“Yeah, really nice.” Jimin distracts himself with a bottle of water, hating the fact that he can
literally feel his ears glowing. Yoongi raises an eyebrow.

“Why are you so red?”

“Nothing!” Jimin yelps, almost choking on his water, feeling his whole being burn even hotter.

“Are you sur—”

“I’m off to the practice room. See you later, hyung!” He calls out behind him, rushing out of the
kitchen and leaving a very perplexed Yoongi in his wake.

Damn you, Chaeseok.

Jimin actually does go to the practice room not long after and he spends the rest of the afternoon
going over some of his contemporary skills he learnt at high school. He’s excited for there to be
contemporary dance incorporated in their new album but that also means he needs to brush up on
techniques he really hasn’t had the chance to use much since high school. It’s difficult, especially
since he’s still severely lacking in stamina and is far from the level of fitness he used to be at. Still,
there’s enjoyment to be found in rolling and writhing over the floor, muscle memory reminding
him of routines from years ago.

They have a meeting at seven in one of the company meeting rooms where they will talk with the
producers more about their concept and what sort of tracks they want to include in the album.
Around six-thirty Jimin hops in the shower in the changing rooms, swapping his sweat-soaked
practice gear for a fresh set of clothes. He doesn’t linger for long in the shower, still uncomfortable
with being naked and vulnerable in a place that isn’t completely secure, and it means he has time to
grab some food before he joins the members for their meeting.
It’s always an exciting atmosphere when they meet with the producers to decide the layout and
structure of their next album and this time is no different. Namjoon does most of the talking,
relaying to the producers the summary of the discussions they’ve had amongst themselves about
how they want their album to work. They want it to be cohesive but still showing them as
individuals.

“What about solo songs, like in Wings?” Adora asks, scribbling something on the paper in front of
her. “That worked really well and ended up being probably one of the most cohesive albums
despite there being fewer group numbers.”

“That would be interesting,” Hoseok muses, tapping the table absentmindedly. “It’s one of our best
albums I think, especially because everyone could get properly involved in the writing process.”

“So, every one of us would have a solo song and then a couple of group songs as well?” Namjoon
asks, looking around the table at all of them. “What do you guys think of that?”

“I like it,” Taehyung says and there’s a murmur of agreement.

“We’ll still work on them together, like we did for Wings though, right?” Jungkook asks, chewing
his lip anxiously. “I don’t think I can just produce a whole song on my own.”

“Of course not.” Namjoon shakes his head firmly. “It’s the same as with every song we do. We can
have individual meetings about the concept and ideas for every solo song but it’s still a
collaborative effort.”

“Good.” Jungkook lets out a little sigh of relief and Jimin pets his hair affectionately, watching the
stressed look on Jungkook’s face relax.

It’s late by the time they finish up and head back to the apartment, and no-one’s really in the mood
for talking any more. Jimin and Hoseok eat instant noodles on the couch in silence, both of them
busy mucking around on their phones. It’s peaceful and eventually, Jimin finds himself yawning
every few seconds, stomach full and body tired.

He stumbles into bed with enthusiasm, keen to catch up on sleep after his long day, but as always,
things don’t always go the way Jimin wants them to. He’d all but forgotten about his conversation
with Chaeseok but, of course, the moment he’s in bed with nothing to distract him, it starts
ricocheting around his brain.

“If he was gay, I’d say he likes you.”

Yoongi was just being nice though, right? He always smiles like that, Jimin tells himself. He’s just
looking out for Jimin.
Maybe Chaeseok is right; maybe Yoongi does like you.

“Absolutely not,” Jimin mutters to himself, shutting that traitorous part of his brain down right
away. There is no way in a million years that Yoongi thinks of Jimin in that way. God, even
thinking about it has Jimin’s whole body heating up in embarrassment. And besides, just because
Yoongi is gay doesn’t mean Chaeseok is right and even if he was, Jimin doesn’t think about
Yoongi that way. No, he most certainly doesn’t.

“Doesn’t mean you couldn’t.”

“Shut up,” Jimin whispers to the Chaeseok in his memory.

Jimin hates the fact he’s still thinking about it the next day, especially because he can hardly look
Yoongi in the eye while he’s constantly remembering Chaeseok calling him “short and mysterious
if that’s your type”.

Damn you, Chaeseok.

He gives himself a stern talking to in the shower and forces himself to be normal with Yoongi after
that. It’s okay, he doesn’t think his hyung has noticed anything off about his behaviour. Jimin does
have some questions though and so he heads down to Namjoon’s studio in the afternoon, knowing
that Namjoon is the only one of them who might have any clue how to help Jimin.

His hyung isn’t surprised to see Jimin enter his studio, just smiles and motions to the couch,
headphones on as he drums a beat on his desk. Jimin waits for a moment when Namjoon takes a
break.

“Hyung? Can I ask you something?” Namjoon turns around swiftly, eyebrows raising curiously as
he takes a slurp of his coffee.

“Sure, what can I help you with?” Jimin swallows, tucking his legs underneath him as he avoids
Namjoon’s gaze. This is so awkward.

“I was just wondering—um,” he swallows again. “My friend Chaeseok told me about something
the other day and I was just wondering about your thoughts on it.”

“Okay, I’ll do my best,” Namjoon says, looking at Jimin expectantly.

“Um, so, have you ever heard of the Kinsey scale?” Jimin mumbles, flushing as Namjoon squints
at him curiously.

“That’s the scale of sexuality, right?”

“Yeah.” Jimin chews his lip. “What do you think of it?”

“Are you asking me if I agree with it and with the premise of sexuality being on a scale in
general?” Namjoon asks, no judgement in his tone. Jimin nods, pulling his sleeves over his hands
so he doesn’t have to look at Namjoon’s face.

“I just thought you’d probably have heard of it.”

“Yeah, it came up in a book I was reading a while ago,” Namjoon muses. “It’s an interesting idea,
especially considering how homophobic society is. I think Kinsey’s probably not wrong, at least
for the younger generations now that homosexuality is viewed with less stigma.”

“You think everyone could be a bit… you know?” Jimin can’t say the word but Namjoon seems to
understand, shrugging easily.

“I don’t think it’s so strange. Most people could probably name at least one person they’d ‘swing’
for so to speak, even if they wouldn’t call themselves bisexual. The idea of it being a scale as well
makes a lot of sense too like you could be 90% straight but the other ten percent,” he shrugs again,
“who knows?”

“You think everyone is like that?” Jimin asks quietly.

“I don’t think people let themselves really think about it,” Namjoon says sincerely. “Most people
are too afraid of labels to even consider it.”

“Have—have you thought about it?” Jimin asks hesitantly, surprised when Namjoon just smiles.

“I haven’t just thought about it—I hooked up with a guy when I was a trainee.”

“You did?” Jimin can’t help the shock in his voice.

“Yeah, we did a couple of times actually. Never really went beyond just kissing, you know?”
Namjoon clears his throat, ears pink. “It was fun though.”

Jimin leans back on the couch, unsure what to say with this startling new information.

“Not what you expected?” Namjoon asks, chuckling quietly.

“Not exactly,” Jimin confesses.

“Sexuality doesn’t have to be such a big deal,” Namjoon says, eyeing Jimin carefully. “Labels
don’t have to mean anything.”

“Mm.” Jimin focuses on his hands, twisting and pulling at his sweater to shield himself from the
knowing look in Namjoon’s eyes.

“You know you can always come and talk to me about anything,” Namjoon says. “If you’re
questioning your own—”

“I’m not,” Jimin interrupts hurriedly. Because he’s not, he’s just… curious. “I just wanted to know
 your thoughts.”

“Okay.” Namjoon smiles at him gently. “Well, I enjoyed this conversation. It’s not often any of
you are interested in psychology.” Jimin forces a smile on his own face, standing up and arranging
Namjoon’s couch cushions back into their neat positions.

“I’m off to a voice lesson, hyung. Talk to you later?” He says, walking over to the door.

“Sure, I’ll see you tonight,” Namjoon replies easily, already turning back to his computer. Jimin
has the door open, both feet out in the hallway before he turns, popping his head back inside.

“Thanks, hyung.”

Chapter End Notes

Comments and kudos make my day! If you're interested in supporting me for the price
of a coffee, feel free to support me through my Ko-Fi account: https://ko-
fi.com/piedpiperthewriter

Thank you for reading!

 Labels
Chapter Summary

“Show me what you’re working on?” He asks, thankful when Namjoon nods, turning
back to his monitor. It feels good to vent the struggles that have been going on in his
head for so long now and, as much as Namjoon’s ease with the whole situation is
frustrating, it’s also comforting to know it’s not a big deal. He doesn’t need labels or
fanfares or drama.

Park Jimin is still Park Jimin.

Chapter Notes

Hellooooooooo!

I never thought I would say this but after this one, there is only one more chapter left
and a tiny epilogue :0 Believe you me, I'm more shocked than any of you.

Writing this chapter felt like unravelling knots in a ball of wool, untangling the plot
lines so they can wrap up and finish. Very enjoyable work, I must say. But the next
chapter is even better so I'm posting that one tomorrow!!!

Enjoy this, my wonderful readers! If you want to support me on ko-fi, you can find me
here: ko-fi.com/piedpiperthewriter
Otherwise, happy reading!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Putting together an album is like putting together a puzzle without knowing the end result. Jimin
has always delighted in the process even if sometimes it feels impossible, relishing the ache in his
jaw from their endless discussions over concepts and lyrics, and the burn in his muscles from hours
of dancing.

This album is different.

Not in a bad way but for the first time they truly have no boundaries, no roadblocks for their
expression. It adds a weird sort of pressure—but not necessarily bad pressure—to make something
truly spectacular because now they’re allowed all the time they need to complete it; there are no
excuses.
At some point, Jimin pulls his head far enough out of the process to realise they’ve been working
on it for two and a half months already. By Jimin’s feeling, it could’ve been mere weeks but then
he looks at the endless drafts of lyrics and melodies filling up his phone, and he sees the bare
bones of an album slowly appearing on the whiteboard in the meeting room, and all of a sudden
that time feels like a hundred years worth.

The biggest struggle is writing his solo song. On their previous albums where they did solo songs,
Jimin would come up with the melody and sometimes an idea, and then Namjoon or sometimes
Yoongi would do most of the lyric writing. That method worked fine then but for this song… Jimin
needs to do it himself. This album is meant to be a chance for them to say how they truly feel and
that won’t work if someone else is saying those words for him.

His song started with the just four chords Jimin hummed to himself one night over and over again
until he fell asleep. He explored those chords over the next few days, recording variations onto his
phone, experimenting with melodies that flowed over and through the chords in the best way
possible. And then he got stuck on the lyrics. Like always.

But where previously Jimin’s solo efforts had been casual attempts at the sort of effortless some of
the other members were constantly bringing forth, this time he’d pushed through the initial block.
It took almost two months to get to the point where he shared the initial rough recording of his
lyrics and melody with anyone and even then he’d sent them only to Yoongi and Namjoon with the
strict instructions not to show the others.

Those few hours he’d spent hiding in one of the studios before receiving any feedback had been
some of the most stressful of Jimin’s entire career.

But, shockingly, the feedback had been good. More than good actually. Namjoon had sent him
only positive notes with a few lyric adjustments for clarity. And Yoongi—Yoongi had sent him a
piano instrumental that perfectly matched the melancholy, wistful nature of the lyrics, almost like
he’d crawled into Jimin’s brain and extracted it himself.

The process had gone pretty smoothly after that and Jimin’s confidence was boosted enough to
schedule a recording session with the producers. They’d stuck with Yoongi’s original piano piece,
adding violins and other sweeping swathes of strings to fill out the track, after which they’d spent
the next few days recording and re-recording the vocals until Adora and Pdogg had managed to
convince Jimin it was good enough.

That’s how he finds himself knocking on Yoongi’s studio door, phone with a copy of the
completed track held firmly to his chest in sweaty fingers. Even when he hears Yoongi telling him
to come in, it still takes Jimin a minute to pluck up the courage to actually go in, those familiar
nerves coming alive at sharing the song now that it’s completely finished. And it’s stupid—he
knows it’s stupid—because Yoongi and Namjoon have both heard the rough draft of it; it won’t be
a surprise for Yoongi like it would be if he was sharing it with anyone else.

Yoongi is hunched over his keyboard, brow set in heavy concentration that doesn’t waver even as
Jimin comes in and makes himself comfortable on the couch. Jimin waits patiently like he always
does and after another few seconds, Yoongi turns around expectantly.

“I brought my song,” Jimin blurts out, picking at his phone case.

“You finished recording?” Yoongi asks and Jimin nods.

“They finished the mastering today so Pdogg-hyung sent me a copy.” Yoongi smiles, leaning over
to flick his Bluetooth speaker on.

“Well, let’s hear it then.”

Jimin’s hands are still shaking as he connects to the speaker but he forces himself to be calm,
pressing ‘play’ before he can chicken out of it.

Why is he so nervous?

The strings swell out from the speaker and Jimin fixes his gaze firmly on Yoongi’s knees instead
of watching his hyung’s face.

It's not that I believe it

But that I want to try holding out

Because this is all that I can do

I want to remain

I want to dream more

Even so, what I'm saying is

That it's time to leave

Yeah it's my truth

It's my truth

I will be covered with wounds all over

But it's my fate

It's my fate

Still, I want to struggle and fight

Maybe I, I can never fly

I can't fly like the flower petals over there

Or as though I have wings

Maybe I, I can't touch the sky

Still, I want to stretch my hand out

I want to run, just a bit more

I'm just walking and walking, among this darkness

My happy times asked me this question

You, are you really okay, it asked me

Oh no

I replied, no, I'm so afraid

Still, I hold the 6 flowers tightly in my hands

I, I'm just walking, I said

Oh no

But it's my fate

It's my fate

Still, I want to struggle and fight

Maybe I, I can never fly

I can't fly like the flower petals over there

Or as though I have wings

Maybe I, I can't touch the sky

Still, I want to stretch my hand out

I want to run, just a bit more

Wide awake wide awake wide awake

Don't cry

Wide awake wide awake wide awake

No lie

Wide awake wide awake wide awake

Don't cry

Wide awake wide awake wide awake

No lie

Maybe I, I can never fly

I can't fly like the flower petals over there

Or as though I have wings

Maybe I, I can't touch the sky

Still, I want to stretch my hand out

I want to run,

Just a bit more

Jimin hardly dares to breathe when it finishes, the last strains of music fading out until there’s
nothing. Yoongi hasn’t said a whole word the entire time and even though he’s heard the lyrics and
made a piano accompaniment, Jimin knows that listening to a track once it’s mastered and
completed is a whole different experience.

He doesn’t want to look.

The silence continues until eventually Jimin can’t help but flit his gaze up to see Yoongi’s reaction
to his song. What he doesn’t expect is to see tears trickling slowly down his hyung’s face,
Yoongi’s eyes glazed over even as his jaw works furiously. He’s trying not to make any noise.

“Hyung,” Jimin murmurs helplessly. Yoongi closes his eyes, wipes roughly at the tears on his
cheeks.
“I’m okay.” He lets out a shuddering exhale that seems to vibrate through his entire body before he
lifts his head and fixes his gaze on Jimin. “It sounds amazing, Jimin-ah.”

“You’re—why are you crying?”

“It’s sad,” Yoongi mumbles after a moment. Jimin swallows.

“I don’t think like this now so much though.”

“But you did,” Yoongi says quietly. “And that makes me sad.” Jimin doesn’t know how to reply to
that and Yoongi doesn’t offer up anything else, just gives a watery smile as he rubs the remaining
evidence of his tears off of his face.

Jimin spends the rest of the afternoon fiddling around with lyrics for some of their group numbers,
wrapped in the fluffy blanket on Yoongi’s couch. Yoongi himself goes back to work as well and
Jimin pretends not to see the way his hyung will turn around to check on Jimin every so often,
something vulnerable and almost hesitant about the gesture.

(He wouldn’t know what to say about that either)

Yoongi’s therapy has helped him at least a little bit. It’s a different person than Jimin’s therapist—
a guy called Hyunsik—but Yoongi doesn’t tell him anything about the feelings he has for Jimin
because there’s no point; Hyunsik can’t do anything about it. But even if he can’t help him with his
love problems, at least he helps him with his nightmares. As it turns out, Jin and Jimin are right
and having someone to talk to and vent, although he hates being vulnerable, makes him feel
marginally better. Jimin is down to one session a week so they often try and schedule their
appointments for around the same time. They might not talk much when they come out of their
appointments but it’s still nice to share the experience with someone else who gets it.

Despite the turbulence of his own inner conflict, Yoongi finds himself enjoying the album process
and all it entails. Without so much of the pressure, even the dancing is somewhat of a fun time
although Yoongi’s stamina has gone straight out the window and he finds himself gasping for
oxygen after only one song. He spends most of his time still in his studio, working on tracks for the
album, going through the archives of lovesick depressing songs he’s churned out since coming
back from New Zealand and hoping there’s something there he can use. He makes it work.

It’s hard to even imagine a time when he’ll ever be able to look at Jimin as only a friend—when he
can stop his heart from clenching desperately every time Jimin so much as breathes in his direction
—because it seems so hopeless. How do you turn off feelings for someone? How is Yoongi even
meant to rationalize his feelings for Jimin in the first place?
He can’t, and it’s breaking him down.

Jimin doesn’t say it to Yoongi but he loves the time they spend together before and after their
therapy appointments. Sometimes, they get coffee or go for a walk and other times they just go
straight back to the apartment or the company building. Whatever it is, there’s something special
about spending time together, even if it’s totally silent.

Yoongi has always had that effect on Jimin though—made him comfortable with just existing, like
he doesn’t have to be anything except himself, and when he comes out of therapy emotionally raw,
Yoongi doesn’t ask any questions. They just exist together, quietly.

Yoongi’s therapy sessions seem to be helping him with his nightmares; the dark circles under his
eyes have been slowly lessening with every passing week and instead of hiding away in his studio
until ungodly hours of the morning, he spends more time in the apartment. There’s still something
with Yoongi, some bone-deep sadness he can’t seem to shift, a world-weariness he emanates
probably without realising.

For some reason, the sadness only seems to waver at specific moments, like, bizarrely, when Jimin
asks for a hug. He does that more often now, not just because it makes Yoongi smile but because
he genuinely loves Yoongi’s hugs and his hyung is one of the only people Jimin can stand to touch
him like that. Touching is still a tricky business. Mostly because Jimin needs it more than he wants
to admit but it’s also the quickest way to send him into a panic attack if it goes wrong—if Jimin
goes wrong. The others never touch him unless he asks.

“Hyung,” Jimin whispers, trying not to disturb the rest of the members where they’re watching a
movie in the apartment. “Can I play with your hand?” Yoongi turns to look at him, eyebrows
raising just a little before he schools them back down. He doesn’t say anything but he puts his
hand, palm up, on Jimin’s knee.

Jimin takes Yoongi’s warm fingers between his own, gently petting his knuckles, his palm, the
smooth surfaces of his nails and the rougher skin around his thumb where Yoongi has picked at it.
It might look odd to other people, fiddling with Yoongi’s hand like this, but it’s a way to satisfy the
part of him that’s starved for basic, unassuming touches, and so he lets himself have this small
thing, squashing down the shame at being so pathetic he needs to hold someone’s hand.
Yoongi doesn’t mind, anyway, so Jimin doesn’t think about it too much.

There is one thing Jimin can’t stop thinking about though, especially not now that he’s talked with
Namjoon and heard what he has to say about it. He guesses this is what some might call a soul-
searching moment. Because Jimin is not questioning his sexuality—he’s not— but he can’t stop
thinking about the damn Kinsey scale that Chaeseok told him about so many months ago, and the
more he thinks about it, the less alien the idea of sexuality being more than just gay or straight
becomes.

There’s still a part of him that dismisses the idea without wanting to venture anywhere near it, but
then he thinks about Namjoon’s confession— Namjoon, one of the most masculine men Jimin
knows— and it doesn’t feel as scary.

He experiments with the word bisexual, turning it over and over, tasting it on his tongue like a new
flavour he’s trying out for the first time. That ends with the beginnings of a panic attack in the
bathroom. After that, Jimin leaves labels alone but the idea is unshakeable, constantly worming
into his brain as he tries to figure out what it means to be Park Jimin at this exact moment in time.

Soon enough, he’s back in Namjoon’s studio, picking at the buttons on his shirt with a nervous
energy that almost has him vibrating through the couch before Namjoon throws a pillow at him to
fiddle with instead.

“What’s up?” Namjoon asks, eyeing Jimin with open curiosity.

“Nothing.”

“Lies,” Namjoon says humorously, grinning at Jimin. “Anything I can help with?”

“You said labels aren’t important,” Jimin blurts out before he can stop himself, cheeks burning
with equal measures of embarrassment and shame at even bringing this up a second time while
Namjoon is trying to work.

“Ah. The sexuality thing?” Namjoon clarifies and Jimin manages a tight nod, furiously avoiding
Namjoon’s gaze. “Are you… considering labels?” Namjoon asks carefully and even just that
question has Jimin’s chest seizing. Namjoon must see it in Jimin’s face, the beginning of a fully-
fledged panic attack, and he murmurs a hasty apology.

They sit in silence until Jimin has his breathing back under control, mortified at himself and his
over-the-top reaction to what should’ve been a simple question.
“Sorry,” he mumbles in the end, daring a glance in Namjoon’s direction. Namjoon doesn’t seem
bothered though, just shrugs with a kind smile.

“Nothing to be sorry for. It was a bit insensitive of me to ask so abruptly.” Jimin swallows, shakes
his head, clenching his hands into the fabric of his shirt to give himself something to ground the
anxiety in his gut.

“I don’t know why I’m panicking.”

“It’s scary,” Namjoon says immediately. “I’m not completely sure what you’ve been thinking
about the past couple of months but if it’s anything like I’m imagining, I’m sure it’s been
difficult.”

“I don’t like labels,” Jimin manages, chewing the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood. This
shouldn’t be so hard to talk about but it is.

“Okay, no labels then,” Namjoon assures easily. “Labels are dumb anyway.”

“I don’t know who—who I am anymore.”

“Yes, you do,” Namjoon replies. “You’re Park Jimin.” Jimin has the intense urge to roll his eyes at
him.

“That’s not what I mean, hyung.”

“What do you mean then?”

“About… the scale thing. I—” he looks at Namjoon, desperately wanting him to fill in the blanks.
Help. But Namjoon just looks at him carefully, not saying a word. To Jimin’s horror, he feels his
eyes sting with tears and he immediately drops his head, pushing the heels of his hands against his
eye sockets as if it’ll somehow keep the tears from falling. “This shouldn’t be such a big deal,” he
spits out, more at himself than at Namjoon.

“It shouldn’t be but it’s okay if it is.” Namjoon’s voice soothes some of the helplessness in his
chest. “Opening your eyes to a possible side of yourself you never thought about before—of
course, it’s hard.”

“Why didn’t you freak out about it when you… you know.” Jimin can’t even finish that sentence.

“Well, I hadn’t spent months dealing with severe residual trauma so I didn’t have that to deal with
first,” Namjoon says quietly. “And my parents have always had a positive stance towards anything
LGBT to the point where my mum used to have a girlfriend in university when people were even
more against it. The idea of sexuality being fluid just hasn’t seemed so weird.”

“Your mum?” Jimin can’t imagine prim and proper Mrs Kim doing anything of the sort and
Namjoon huffs a laugh.

“Yeah. She’s quite proud of it too.” Jimin turns that information around in his mind.

“I don’t—I don’t think I’m completely str-straight,” he whispers after a long pause, hiding his face
in his hands as his anxiety spikes again.

“I guess I’m not either,” Namjoon says casually. “If I had to label it, I’d say I’m bisexual.”
“Why is this not a big deal to you?” Jimin grits out through a gap in his fingers, a tiny part of him
verging on frustrated at how easily Namjoon can just say it. Namjoon shrugs.

“Why should it be? I don’t have to tell anyone if I don’t want to. I don’t have to label it even. I’m
still me—I’m still the same Kim Namjoon I was when I was born.”

Put like that, even Jimin can admit it makes sense. But still, he feels like he has to clear something
up.

“I’m not, like, fifty-fifty.” He hopes Namjoon gets what he means. Jimin can only deal with so
much internal crisis at once.

“Oh, okay, that’s not surprising.” Namjoon smiles. “Few people are, I imagine.”

“I just wanted to clear that up. I’m not—I’d feel uncomfortable.” Jimin’s nerves quell slightly.

“Okay,” Namjoon repeats. “I won’t speak to anyone else about what we’ve talked about. Do you
feel better now though?” Surprising even himself, Jimin thinks about it for a moment and nods.
Namjoon looks pleased. “Good.” They both pause, silence settling into place until Jimin lets out a
sigh as he flops back against the couch, suddenly tired from such an emotionally vulnerable
conversation.

“Show me what you’re working on?” He asks, thankful when Namjoon nods, turning back to his
monitor. It feels good to vent the struggles that have been going on in his head for so long now
and, as much as Namjoon’s ease with the whole situation is frustrating, it’s also comforting to
know it’s not a big deal. He doesn’t need labels or fanfares or drama.

Park Jimin is still Park Jimin.

“You’ve got twenty minutes to get down to the car. Bring shoes you can walk in,” Jin says,
popping his head into Jimin and Hoseok’s room where Jimin is lying on his bed, playing Animal
Crossing on his phone. He lifts his head.

“Where are we going? I thought we had an evening off?” Jin just grins.

“We do. I’m making you all come for a walk up Shindong hill.”

“Now?”

“Yup, no arguing,” Jin says before he’s disappearing back out into the hallway with a cheerful
wave.
Somewhat surprisingly, they’re all in the foyer by the time Jimin comes out. He’s not sure how Jin
managed to wrangle even Yoongi out of his studio at a reasonable time but they’re all there,
sneakers on and an air of confused enthusiasm, if that’s even a thing.

Jin drives them in a van he’s borrowed from one of the managers, plugging in his phone and
playing an obnoxious medley of kpop songs from the early 2000s. It gets them all in a good mood,
even Jungkook whose eyes are still swollen with sleep—apparently Jin woke him up from a nap.

“Why are we doing this?” Namjoon asks when they pull up in the parking lot at the base of
Shindong hill.

“If we walk quickly enough then we’ll be at the top of the hill in time for the sunset,” Jin replies,
checking his watch as he shoulders his backpack. “And I thought it was nice for us all to get some
fresh air for a change.”

The walk isn’t particularly difficult and the path is concrete, lit every few metres with small lights
that will make it easy to find their way down when it’s dark. Jin’s right too, it’s nice to breathe air
that’s not stuffy like the practice rooms or the studios, or air-conditioned like in their apartment.
There’s an overwhelming floral scent from the blossoming trees that dot the hill but also a tinge of
wood smoke from the city, comforting in its familiarity.

They walk mostly without talking, following Jin’s broad shoulders up and up until finally, the top
is in sight, a smooth plane of raised concrete with a small statue marking the summit. Even if the
walk wasn’t difficult, Jimin’s muscles are still glad to see a flat surface and he flops down next to
Jin, swinging his legs over the edge of the raised pavilion as he looks out at the view, everyone
else following suit.

There’s something magical about being out in the early chill of an early summer evening, Seoul
stretching out before them with its twinkling lights, the warmth of Jin and Taehyung’s shoulders
pressing on each side of him. Jin suddenly rummages around his backpack, whipping out a couple
of bottle of soju which he thrusts down the line.

“I forgot, I brought this too.”

“And here I was thinking you were trying to get us to be healthy,” Yoongi remarks sarcastically
and Jin blows him a dramatic air kiss.

“You’ll have to share one between two because I really didn’t want to carry more and before you
try and force-feed it to me too, remember who’s meant to be driving you home.”

“Aw, that’s nice of you, hyung,” Jungkook says, reaching around Taehyung and Jimin to whack
Jin enthusiastically on the back. “You’re forgiven for waking me up.”
 “Yah, you little twerp,” Jin retorts without spite as he dodges Jungkook’s hand. “This is meant to
be an idyllic moment with all of enjoying the sunset so shut up and de-sober yourselves.”

“ De- sober?” Jimin snorts as he cracks open a bottle of soju to share with Taehyung, and Jin
shrugs before breaking out into a helpless peal of laughter.

“Let me live, all of you.”

They settle down quickly with the warm buzz of soju running through their veins, watching the sky
dissolve into brilliant reds and purples. It feels almost sacrilegious to talk—to be the one to break
the quiet atmosphere as the sun creeps closer and closer to the horizon until finally, it is swallowed
by the dark ridges of the distant mountains. The temperature drops a little as they’re cast into
shadow and Jimin glances over at the others before he leans his head on Taehyung’s shoulder and
looks back out over Seoul.

It feels too early to leave because leaving means walking away from this little bubble of peace and
tranquillity they’ve created here on top of this hill and heading back into reality. Jimin doesn’t
want to yet, would rather sit here forever as the sky darkens, just enjoying being together. He takes
a deep breath of flowers and wood smoke, and settles further against Taehyung’s broad shoulder,
letting himself bask in the comfortable silence.

The chill of the evening breeze might cool his skin but the warmth in his heart is better than
anything Jimin could’ve asked for.

Chapter End Notes

Comments and kudos make my day! Thank you so much for reading!

If you'd like to support me for the price of a coffee, you can find me here: ko-
fi.com/piedpiperthewriter
 I'm Sorry.
Chapter Summary

"I'm sorry, believe me, I love you but not in that way."

Chapter Notes

This is it. THE END.

I'll save my thoughts for the endnotes so you can get straight into reading.

Welcome to Chapter 33.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Jimin should’ve known that peace and tranquillity don’t last forever.

They’ve almost finished the production and recording of the album, only a few more songs left to
be completed before they can do a full listen through. Like he so often seems to spend his time,
Jimin is sprawled over the couch in Yoongi’s studio, legs half-draped over the back so he’s almost
upside down. He’s got his headphones plugged into Yoongi’s phone, his hyung letting him have a
first listen of all the song files completed so far. Yoongi is busy writing at his desk, swivelling
from one side to the other every time he gets stuck, and Jimin finds himself absentmindedly
watching the wheels on his chair turn on the carpet as he listens to the last song they’ve finished.

When it ends, he scrolls down to see what other songs Yoongi has. Out of all of the members,
Yoongi has the most varied taste, his playlists ranging from hardcore rap to romantic ballads. What
he’s not expecting to see is an audio file with Jimin’s name as the title and immediately Jimin’s
curiosity is sparked. He knows Yoongi will write songs he thinks would suit a members voice but
they’re never named after the person and he’ll usually send a rough draft of the melody before he
even gets as far as naming the track, just in case the member hates it. There’s a part of Jimin that
wonders if maybe he should just switch off Yoongi’s phone and leave it but a quick glance up
shows his hyung totally engrossed in his work and before Jimin can think better of it, he quickly
presses play.

The song starts off with a melodic guitar strum, transitioning almost immediately into Yoongi’s
raw vocals. Jimin’s mouth drops open. It’s not often Yoongi really puts his efforts into singing, but
this.... this is Yoongi literally singing his heart out, emotional and yet so quiet, almost like he’s
singing in someone’s ear, afraid of being overheard.
That’s when Jimin registers what the lyrics are saying.

And I hate to say I love you

When it's so hard for me

And I hate to say I want you

When you make it so clear

Y ou don't want me

I'd never ask you 'cause deep down

I'm certain I know what you'd say

You'd say "I'm sorry, believe me, I love you

But not in that way"

And I hate to say I need you,

I'm so reliant, I'm so dependent, I'm such a fool

When you're not there, I find myself singing the blues

Can't bear, can't face the truth

You will never know that feeling

You will never see through these eyes

I'd never ask you 'cause deep down

I'm certain I know what you'd say

You'd say "I'm sorry, believe me, I love you

But not in that way"

You'd say "I'm sorry, believe me, I love you

But not in that way"

The moment Jimin makes the link between the contents of the song and its title, it’s like he’s been
hit in the face by a brick he never saw coming. He hardly even realises he’s stood up until he
makes eye contact with a concerned Yoongi and his brain truly processes exactly what the song
means.

If Jimin is not mistaken, Yoongi wrote a love song about Jimin. A love song. About Jimin.

Which means...

“You okay?” Yoongi asks and Jimin’s brain completely shortcircuits. He garbles something utterly
unintelligible, dropping Yoongi’s phone on the couch as if it burned him before he’s fleeing the
studio, door slamming behind him as he runs away.

Yoongi watches the door slam behind Jimin, completely baffled at his dongsaeng’s actions.

“What the fuck,” he mutters to himself, going over to the couch to grab his phone where Jimin had
practically thrown it down. And that’s when he sees it, one of the songs he’d written about his
feelings for Jimin still open on the screen.

It’s like someone has ripped the floor out from under Yoongi’s feet, the horror he feels so palpable
he finds himself weak at the knees, a cold sweat breaking out all over his body. He hits the floor
before he can even prevent himself from falling.

Jimin listened to the song. Jimin knows.

The weight of his reality has Yoongi physically sick, throat working to contain the bile that
threatens to come out. His heart is beating a hundred times faster than it should be and he realises
he’s shaking so hard he can hardly catch a breath. This is his worst nightmare and the end of BTS,
he’s sure of it. The look of shock and panic on Jimin’s face—just reliving it makes Yoongi almost
blind with the wave of shame and dread that washes over him.

There’s no way to explain this. No fucking way.

 ⇝

Yoongi spends the night on the floor of his studio, hyperventilating through one panic attack and
then another, frozen like a statue against the carpet as he keeps replaying Jimin’s expression in his
head. He can’t even imagine standing up. Standing up means admitting this is real, this isn’t just
some nightmare Yoongi will wake up from in an hour or two.

Somewhere around four am, Yoongi finally has to concede he wasn’t dreaming. This could be his
last night as BTS—there’s no way they can possibly go on now that Yoongi’s truth has been laid
bare. Jimin might’ve already gone to Namjoon, told him all about it, told him how disgusting
Yoongi is for having feelings for his own bandmate.

He cries.

It could be minutes or hours later that Yoongi falls asleep there on the carpet, face abrading on the
rough fibres, too exhausted from adrenaline and fear and hopelessness to be able to stay awake any
longer.

The incessant buzzing of his phone next to his ear is what wakes him close to nine o’clock in the
morning and Yoongi musters the strength to at least check the caller ID.

Jin.

Yoongi wishes he could just chuck his phone at the wall and lie here on the floor forever but the
tiny shred of rationality he still has tells him to pick up. Jin hardly ever phones unless it’s
important.

“Hey hyung.” His voice sounds like shit, gravelly and dry from the constant air-conditioning in the
studio.

“Yoongi, we’ve got dance practice at nine. Are you in your studio?”

“Oh.” Yoongi’s stomach drops and he struggles to sit up, body stiff and aching in all the worst
ways.

“You okay?” Jin asks concernedly. “You don’t sound so flash. Did you stay in your studio last
night?” Yoongi opens his mouth, doesn’t know what to say and ends up shutting it again. There’s a
long silence before Jin’s voice crackles down the line, staticky like he’s moving.
“Hold on, I’m coming.” Before Yoongi can even protest, Jin hangs up and Yoongi is left sitting
awkwardly in the middle of his floor, phone hanging limply in his hand. He hasn’t moved when his
door buzzes, opening a few seconds later to reveal Jin’s worried face peeking in, his eyes widening
when he looks down at Yoongi on the carpet.

“Hey,” Yoongi manages before he abruptly bursts into tears.

To Jin’s credit, he doesn’t even mention Yoongi’s strange position as he sits down next to him, just
pulls Yoongi to cry against his shoulder, hands rubbing firm circles into his spine until his sobs
have died down.

“Has this got something to do with the reason Jimin’s acting weird too?” He asks quietly and
Yoongi’s breathing hitches. “He wouldn’t say what happened but he’s not himself.”

“He knows ,” Yoongi chokes out, eyes screwing shut when Jin’s hand pauses in its ministrations
for a split second before restarting the slow circles on his back.

“Ah.” Jin’s voice sounds tight. “How did that happen?” Yoongi explains as briefly as possible,
sitting back at a certain point to rub at the drying tears on his cheeks. He feels like an empty shell,
suddenly drained of emotion.

“Oh, Yoongs,” Jin murmurs, rubbing Yoongi’s shoulder.

“I knew this would happen,” Yoongi mutters hollowly. “Just a matter of time really.”

“Don’t say that.”

“He ran away, hyung,” Yoongi whispers. “How can we possibly continue after that?”

“You need to talk to Jimin,” Jin says firmly. “I’m sure he was just shocked. If he wanted to leave
the group, he would’ve talked to Namjoon already.”

“I can’t,” Yoongi whimpers, burying his face in his hands. Jin is interrupted from replying by a
sharp ding from his phone and he sighs, eyes flicking over the screen.

“We’re late for dance practice. Hoseok wants to know what’s taking so long.”

“ He’ll be there, hyung.” Yoongi knows he sounds pathetic but he can’t help it.

“You won’t have to talk during practice, Yoongi,” Jin says. “But you can’t hide in here forever.”

Yoongi knows Jin is right but the dread curling in his stomach gets exponentially worse as Jin pulls
him to his feet, each step closer to the practice room feeling like a step closer to his execution.
They pause in one of the bathrooms and Yoongi manages to at least wash his face so he looks a
little less like death and a little more like an actual human being.
He follows Jin into the practice room like a lost child, gaze set firmly on the floor, the tension in
the room like a heavy weight pressing down on his shoulders. He murmurs his apologies for being
late, steadfastly ignoring the curious looks burning holes in the side of his skull. Somehow, he
manages to avoid looking at Jimin until the end of the very first song at least.

Jimin looks just as tired as Yoongi, although at least he’s wearing different clothes and clearly
hasn’t spent the night on the floor. The moment they make eye contact, Jimin goes bright red, eyes
immediately flicking away to focus on something else. Yoongi swallows the lump in his throat and
doesn’t look at him again.

The moment practice ends a few hours later, Yoongi runs back to his studio, ignoring the way Jin
calls after him or the surprised yelp Namjoon lets out as Yoongi accidentally jostles him in the
doorway. Only when the door of his studio is shut and locked behind him does he feel like he can
breathe properly. He paces the floor incessantly, anxiety itching under his skin, unable to even
imagine being able to go back to the apartment in this state. He can’t do that, especially because
it’s very likely Jimin will be there and the mortification of the whole situation makes him
physically sick.

He falls asleep on the couch, utterly drained and exhausted from his night on the floor, sleeping
well into the afternoon without any disturbance. When he does wake up, he throws himself back
into his work, ordering delivery straight to the door of his studio so he doesn’t have to leave the
room to eat. Only when the clock ticks past nine pm and he’s sure Jimin will be back at the
apartment does Yoongi skulk out to one of the smallest shower rooms in the building. He’s lucky
he always keeps spare clothes in his studio for times like this when he spends the night there and
he feels marginally better once he’s clean and comfortable.

It’s after midnight when Yoongi’s phone buzzes with an incoming text and he can’t help the way
his heart stutters when he sees it’s from Jimin. His fingers shake as he thumbs in his passcode and
opens the messenger app.

The text itself is short. A single line in fact—straight to the point.

Was that song about me?

Yoongi’s hands twitch, eyes burning those words into his brain. Even if he wants to lie, it’s far too
late for denial. He imagines Jimin waiting for a reply, thumbs it in and sends it before he can
change his mind.
Yes

Never in a million years had Jimin ever considered that Yoongi could be in love with him. And
now that he knows, he’s not sure what to do about it. It seems like something out of a movie—a
twisted tale of unrequited love—and yet now that it is his reality, it’s not the romantic dream of
true love like movies always pointed it out to be.

The overwhelming emotions he feels are those of shock and guilt. There’s a part of him that wishes
he’d never listened to the song, that he’d remained oblivious so things didn’t have to change, but a
tiny part of him knows that wouldn’t have been a good outcome either. So now he has to deal with
the knowledge that Yoongi might be in love with him and Jimin has no idea what the hell that
means.

He spends the first night lying awake, staring at the ceiling, trying to unravel the mess in his brain
to no avail. He never hears Yoongi come home and when Yoongi is late to practice the next
morning too, Jimin’s last slivers of doubt dissipate.

Frankly, Yoongi looks like shit.

His face is sickly pale, hair rumpled and greasy, and he’s still wearing the same clothes as the day
before. His eyes look swollen and sore too—Jimin’s stomach drops as he realises Yoongi has
definitely been crying—and he won’t even look up from the floor. He’s practically lifeless.

Jimin’s own embarrassment swells steadily with every passing minute and when they finally make
eye contact, he can feel his cheeks burning red-hot, sees the flush of panic on Yoongi’s face before
he hastily tears his gaze away and focuses on something else. He can still hear Yoongi’s voice in
his head, singing his pain.

And I hate to say I need you,

I'm so reliant, I'm so dependent, I'm such a fool

A part of Jimin is almost relieved when Yoongi practically runs away at the end of practice; it
saves him from having to decide whether to do the same thing or not.
By the time they get home, Jimin decides Jin knows something about the whole situation. Since
he’d come into the studio this morning with Yoongi trailing behind him, he’s been watching Jimin
carefully, something just too focused in his expression for it to be an accident.

When Jin heads into the kitchen for coffee the moment they’re back at the apartment, Jimin
doesn’t waste a second before following him, carefully shutting the door behind him.

“You know,” he says abruptly. Jin pours himself his coffee, a picture of utter calm, before he turns
around and meets Jimin’s eyes, leaning casually against the countertop behind him.

“Yes.” Jimin waits for him to say something else but Jin doesn’t, just looks at Jimin over the rim of
his mug.

“Well?” Jimin prompts, folding his arms tightly across his body. Jin shrugs.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“You knew he was in—he has feelings for me?” Jimin hisses, glancing back a second later to
double-check he actually shut the door. Jin takes another sip of coffee.

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It wasn’t my place.”

“But—then how long have you known about this?” For the first time, Jin looks slightly
uncomfortable.

“I shouldn’t—you should talk to Yoongi.”

“Oh my god,” Jimin breathes, the realisation dropping on him like a sack of bricks. “It must’ve
been a while.”

“Talk to Yoongi,” Jin repeats.

“I can’t do that,” Jimin says. “He’s—he’s the one who—he wrote a song.” Jin looks conflicted,
fingers flexing around his mug.

“He’s beating himself up about it,” Jin murmurs after a moment. “He thinks you hate him now.”
Jimin’s brain stutters to a stop.

“Wait, what? Why would I hate him? I’m just…shocked.”

“Yoongi’s about as emotionally constipated as they come. He’s been hating on himself for months
—” Jin snaps his mouth shut but it’s too late.

“Months?”

“Shit. I wasn’t meant to say that.”

“Since when, hyung?” Jimin pushes. It looks for a second like Jin’s going to deflect yet again but
then he lets out a weary sigh.

“Since New Zealand,” he says quietly. Jimin’s jaw drops open.

“That’s...a long time.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a tense silence as Jimin absorbs that information and Jin sips uncomfortably at his coffee.

“What do I do, hyung,” Jimin mumbles eventually.

“Talk to him,” Jin says immediately before his expressions softens, turning sad. “Don’t be
surprised if he, um, cries when you tell him.”

“Tell him what?” Jimin asks and Jin looks at him in confusion.

“That you’re not interested?” He says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe it
should’ve been but this whole time Jimin’s been trying to grapple with the fact that Yoongi has
feelings for him, it hadn’t even occurred to him there was a decision here too.

“Hold on. You haven’t thought about this?” Jin asks, bewilderment written on every facet of his
face. Jimin doesn’t even know what to answer and suddenly the silence is stretching on too long,
Jin’s jaw dropping open. “Wait, wait, wait...but I thought—but you aren’t gay...are you?” Jin asks,
suddenly sounding incredibly unsure.

“I’m not gay,” Jimin says but his brain is still working at a hundred times its normal speed, trying
to figure out why it feels so wrong to just say he’s not interested in Yoongi. Because he’s not… is
he?

“This just became so much more complicated,” Jin says, staring at Jimin like he’s grown a third
head. Honestly, Jimin can’t blame him. “You two need to talk.”

“I’m not—I don’t even know—I haven’t even thought about it.” Jimin scrambles for words.

“Don’t leave it too long, whatever… you decide.” He’s still looking at Jimin like he’s seeing a
completely different person. Not judgement exactly, just shock.

“Yeah,” Jimin sighs. If only it was that simple.

Jimin can’t figure out why this isn’t an easy decision to make. He’s never seriously thought of
Yoongi like that before so it should be easy—just say he’s not interested—except all of a sudden
it’s not. Every joking conversation he’s ever had with Chaeseok suddenly hurtles itself into the
forefront of his brain. He remembers what Chaeseok said about the way Yoongi looked at Jimin.
“If he was gay, I’d say he likes you.”

Jimin had taken it as a joke then but now those words suddenly seem a million times more
meaningful. Was he really that blind that he hasn’t noticed one of his best friends, someone he
thought he knew inside and out, was in love with him? The more he thinks about it, the more he
starts to doubt himself. Even if Jin says Yoongi feels that way, what if Jimin was wrong about the
song? What if Yoongi doesn’t feel that way?

Jimin’s head whirls and in a moment of impulsivity he texts Yoongi.

Was that song about me?

He regrets it immediately because he knows the answer but he needs to hear it from Yoongi
himself. When his phone buzzes less than a minute later, Jimin hardly even dares to look, peeking
at the reply through his fingers.

Yes

He’s not expecting to feel the rush of warmth in his chest or the sudden flutter in his stomach, and
that’s more shocking than almost anything that’s happened over the past twenty-four hours. That
means something Jimin hadn’t let himself openly consider. That means there’s actually a genuine
possibility Jimin could feel the same way.

He rolls over and bites his pillow to muffle the frustrated scream threatening to bubble out of his
chest.

What the fuck does he do?

It has been four days since Jimin found out and Yoongi thinks he’s about to go crazy. Before he
could spend his third night in the studio, Jin had come in and bodily dragged him back to the
apartment, threatening to get Bang PD involved if Yoongi didn’t come with him. The past two
nights he’s spent in the apartment with the knowledge of Jimin sleeping only a wall away but both
mornings since he escapes before anyone else wakes up, hiding in his studio as much as he can and
avoiding Jimin’s gaze at all cost.

He can’t bear to see the rejection in his eyes.

The knock on his studio door late on the fourth day isn’t unexpected; it’s about the same time Jin
always arrives to drag him out once more so Yoongi doesn’t even consider the idea it could be
anyone else. The last person he expects to see in front of him when he opens the door is Jimin.

He staggers back, catching himself on the handle. Jimin looks up at him, smiling awkwardly as his
hands twist in front of him.

“Hey, hyung,” he says. Yoongi opens his mouth to reply but he can’t get a word out and he ends up
just shutting it. Jimin swallows. “Can I come in?” Yoongi steps aside wordlessly, heart beating a
million miles an hour.

Jimin fiddles with his sleeves where he stands in the middle of the room. Neither of them sit down
and the atmosphere is so incredibly tense it makes it hard to even breathe. Jimin’s eyes flick
everywhere from the floor to the ceiling before returning to Yoongi’s face. He’s clearly nervous.

“I thought it was about time we talked,” he says. Yoongi manages a nod, clenching his teeth so
hard his jaw aches.

“Yeah,” he croaks out finally. He wishes Jimin would just say it quickly, tell Yoongi he’s not gay,
that he doesn’t think about Yoongi that way. Say it like Yoongi imagined him saying in the song.

"I'm sorry, believe me, I love you but not in that way "

“You wrote a love song about me,” Jimin says slowly. It’s a statement, not a question, but Yoongi
forces himself to nod anyway, wishes he could just melt into the carpet instead of having to endure
this conversation. Jimin mirrors his nod, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. He’s not looking at
Yoongi but at a point somewhere left of Yoongi’s head. “You’re in love with...me?” Jimin’s
question stabs into his heart like a sword.

“Yeah.” Yoongi’s voice cracks and he clears his throat.

There’s only deathly silence, neither of them saying a word until finally, Yoongi can’t take it
anymore. “Just say it.” Jimin frowns.

“Say what?”
“Don’t drag it out any longer,” Yoongi grits out. “Just say you’re not interested and I promise I’ll
do my best to find a way to get over—” He’s promptly shut up as Jimin’s hand is suddenly pressed
against his mouth, Jimin stepping a little closer to be able to reach.

“Shhh,” he says quietly.

“What are you doing?” Yoongi tries to say through the warm skin of Jimin’s palm but it comes out
sounding more like garbled nonsense. Jimin waits for him to be quiet before he drops his hand.

“Shut your eyes.” Jimin’s expression is unreadable and Yoongi narrows his eyes suspiciously, not
shutting them. “Please?” Jimin tacks on and there’s something so vulnerable about his tone that
Yoongi hesitates but ultimately does as he’s told

He’s waiting for Jimin to run away, for the sound of the studio door to slam with deafening finality.
He’s most certainly not expecting the sudden press of warm lips against his own, just a light,
almost innocent contact.

His eyes snap open and he reels back, hand coming up to touch his own lips as if it’ll somehow
make it more real. Jimin’s cheeks are pink and he’s looking at Yoongi with huge eyes. It’s so cruel
that Yoongi can’t stop the pained whine that emerges unbidden from somewhere deep in his chest.

“Why would you do that? When you—” his breathing hitches “—when you know how I feel? Why
would you play me like that?” Jimin’s mouth drops open and he looks confused.

“Wait, what?” He asks and Yoongi wishes he would stop pretending he has no idea what he’s
doing.

“You’re kissing me but—but you don’t—why are you doing this?” Yoongi’s back meets the wall
of his studio; he hadn’t even realised he was backing away.

“I like you, hyung,” Jimin says, eyebrows scrunching together. “I was trying—I really like you and
I-I was trying to show you.”

Yoongi’s whole body is suddenly covered in goosebumps. He must be hearing this wrong; now his
senses are playing cruel tricks on him too.

“No, you don’t,” he chokes out. “You’re not gay. How can you…?” He’s so close to tears, his
voice is trembling.

“I don’t like labels,” Jimin says softly. “But if I had to label it, I’d say I’m bisexual.” His voice
wavers and he suddenly looks uncertain. “If you—if you changed your mind about how you feel
—”

“No,” Yoongi blurts out, trying to comprehend what’s happening. “I’m just—you’re serious?” A
horrible idea suddenly occurs to him. “You’re not saying this because you feel sorry for me, are
you?”

“Never,” Jimin says immediately, stepping forward until he can touch Yoongi, hands coming up to
grip lightly at Yoongi’s elbows, smoothing over the fabric. “You can ask Namjoon. I talked to him
 months ago already because I was having doubts about my sexuality.”

“Months ago?” Yoongi echoes faintly and Jimin nods.

“Chaeseok told me about something called the Kinsey scale back when we were in the clinic and it
got me thinking about it properly.” He flushes. “I wouldn’t say I’m equally attracted to guys as I
am to girls but,” he smiles suddenly, “there are definitely exceptions.”

Yoongi thinks he’s going to pass out.

“I don’t think this is real,” he murmurs weakly. There’s a glint in Jimin’s eyes and then he’s
stepping forward even more, pushing Yoongi a little further against the wall before he kisses
Yoongi again, another chaste press of the lips. When he steps back, Yoongi shakes his head in total
disbelief. “Definitely not real.”

“This is very real,” Jimin says with a giggle. “Or do you need another kiss to convince you?” It’s
so flirty and cute and so Jimin , Yoongi thinks he just died and went to heaven.

“Convince me, please,” he manages.

Jimin does just that.

Chapter End Notes

We made it!

I say 'we' because, although I have been the only one writing it, the creation of 'A
Thousand Pieces' has felt like a journey made with hundreds of friends. Each of you
wonderful readers had brightened my day with your comments, kudos, and support,
and I extend my greatest thanks. Especially those of you who have been with this from
the start, you're the real legends here!

This story started at the end of 2018 and reading the early chapters now, there are
definitely things I would change but I think that's the beauty of having stuck with the
story for so long—I've been able to learn and improve with every chapter. The advice
and support I've received from you all has been invaluable.

Thank you all so so much.

There is still a very short epilogue to come, set two years later, but I view this chapter
as the official ending. If you've liked reading this story, you can always subscribe to
my profile to be notified when I post any future works.

Although I can't promise I'll be able to fulfil them, if you have story requests you'd like
me to explore, you can either comment here or email me at
piedpiperthewriter@gmail.com
Much love to you all!
 Epilogue: Angel
Chapter Summary

"Love you."

Chapter Notes

I present a tiny epilogue, just to show a snapshot of their relationship after two years.
Enjoy :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Two years later.

They come in tipsy and giggling, sneaking kisses the whole way down the hallway to their shared
room, trying to be quiet just in case they wake the others up. It’s late—they’ve been out celebrating
Yoongi’s new song collaboration with IU—but they’re not too buzzed to forget the fact they still
share the apartment with five other people, even if now they’re the only ones with a room together.

They’d only made the switch a few months after they’d first officially gotten together and it had
happened naturally as they’d all moved to a bigger apartment together as a group, none of them
ready to live alone. Within the new apartment, there would’ve only been one shared room so
Yoongi and Jimin had asked to take it, replacing the two single beds with one large double. It’s still
Jimin’s favourite part of their room.

“Shhh,” he says as Yoongi accidentally kicks the door frame. They haven’t even had that much to
drink but it’s dark and they’re honestly far too clumsy for people who call themselves coordinated.

“Fuck, this is why I hate chunky sneakers,” Yoongi mutters under his breath as he kicks them off
just inside their room, shutting the door behind them.

“I’m too tired to take my boots off,” Jimin groans as he flops back on the bed, grinning happily
when he feels Yoongi’s fingers fiddling with the laces, pulling both of them off before he crawls
up the bed and flops down next to him.

“Too tired to make out?” Yoongi asks and Jimin snorts, whacking him on the chest even as he sits
up on an elbow so he can lean over and peck Yoongi’s lips. When he pulls away, Yoongi pouts.
“More?”
“You’re insatiable,” Jimin murmurs teasingly, leaning back down again.

They stay that way for a while, making out lazily until Jimin is actually too tired to prop himself up
anymore. He collapses half on Yoongi’s chest, head nestled against his collarbone.

“We should take our clothes off,” Yoongi mutters sleepily. “Not like that,” he adds, chuckling as
Jimin flicks his nose. “But we’ll be comfier without them.” Jimin groans even though he knows
Yoongi’s right.

“Help me?” He asks sweetly, smiling when Yoongi rolls his eyes fondly but helps him anyway.

Yoongi loves to complain (not seriously) that they could’ve just stuck to a single bed and had more
floor space because they sleep wrapped around eachother all night anyway. It’s probably a fair
point but Jimin loves their bed too much to consider downsizing, even if he knows he’s practically
a limpet at night.

It’s the one thing he’s never been able to understand about himself—how he can be perfectly
happy snuggling up to Yoongi while he’s sleeping but sometimes even something as seemingly
innocuous as an unexpected touch on the shoulder can set off a panic attack.

He always knew he’d have intimacy issues with any relationship after his ordeal and although there
have been many nights of tears and frustration, it’s something Yoongi and Jimin have always
tackled together. They’ve set clear boundaries and even if sometimes Jimin feels guilty for their
lack of sexual intimacy, Yoongi’s never made him feel bad about it. Jimin loves kissing so they do
a lot of that and they’ve managed to progress to other things as well; Jimin just hopes he can get to
a point in the future where they can do more because he wants that for the two of them, wants to be
able to share that with Yoongi.

“Yoongi?” Jimin whispers when they’re both undressed and almost asleep, pressing a delicate kiss
to Yoongi’s ribs. He receives a sleepy grunt in return, Yoongi’s fingers shifting gently in his hair.
“Love you.”

“Love you too,” Yoongi mumbles, rolling over slightly as he presses a kiss on the top of Jimin’s
head where it’s tucked against his shoulder. That just nestles Jimin further against him and Jimin
smiles, drapes an arm over his boyfriend’s chest to hug him closer.

Their life has its challenges but Jimin will always be thankful to have someone like Yoongi in his
life. Someone who loves him unconditionally, who holds Jimin when he cries and laughs with him
when he’s happy, who knows exactly how to make Jimin feel better when he’s depressed, who
treats Jimin like he’s the most precious thing in the world. He can only hope to make Yoongi feel
even half as special as Yoongi makes him feel every day.
 Sometimes Jimin thinks this is heaven’s way of balancing the scales of good and bad in his life; he
might’ve had to deal with a nightmare but he’s been sent an angel in return—an angel called Min
Yoongi.

He smiles to himself at the thought of Yoongi with fluffy white wings, huffing a quiet laugh that
has Yoongi’s fingers flexing against his scalp.

“What’s funny?” Yoongi slurs, half asleep already. Jimin just grins a little wider, shaking his head.

“Nothing, angel.”

Chapter End Notes

This is the real ending of this story! I will not be writing a sequel, not because I don't
love the story but because I think if I did that then it would never end and I'd be stuck
here in a few years describing Yoongi's greying hair and Jimin's wrinkles lmao.

Thank you for sticking around for this journey!

Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!