Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jeongguk is assigned to guard Taehyung about a year or so after his graduation. It’s an important job, he’s told, and an honor, supposedly rare for his ranking to be sent undercover. Particularly for such a long play, because there’s no deadline, no objective, simply a curiously blank file containing one photo and simple instructions.

Kim Taehyung. 26. Amnesiac. Keep him safe, keep him moving, keep him happy.

Jeongguk complains to Namjoon as politely as he can after realizing the job could last years. He’s in his prime, just out of the academy with top marks and ready to take on the world, career already promised to him. A position as a glorified babysitter should surely go to an older agent readying for a quieter life.

Namjoon shakes his head before he’s even finished speaking.

“This is important,” he says, and pushes the open file back across the desk to him. He looks at Jeongguk carefully. “He’s not just anyone. You were chosen for a reason. You’re smart. Think about it.”

“One of ours?” Jeongguk guesses after mulling it over. Namjoon doesn’t confirm it, just reaches out to tap at the file. Kim Taehyung’s eyes meet his in a glare up out of his grainy picture.

“He doesn’t remember anything,” Namjoon says. “But that doesn’t change who he is, or the fact that he’s in danger. Protect him, keep him safe.”

“Safe from what?” Jeongguk asks, and raises his hands when Namjoon frowns. “I’m only asking for the mission.”

Namjoon seems to choose his words carefully. “There may be...people,” he says, “Who will try to take him. They’ll lie to him, and they’ll lie to you. You cannot trust anyone.” He emphasizes the last part dangerously, and repeats for good measure: “Do not trust anyone.”

“I understand,” Jeongguk parrots, and stands when he’s dismissed with a nod. He lingers at the doorframe, though, and turns back to see Namjoon’s questioning eyes.

“Hyung,” Jeongguk asks. “Will he ever remember?”

Namjoon looks bothered by something in a way Jeongguk can’t quite place his finger on. He presses his lips into a line, looking away.

“He shouldn’t,” he says distantly. Then, quieter, so Jeongguk almost doesn’t catch it: “He should hope not.”

Jeongguk visits the medical center the day after his meeting with Namjoon and is introduced to Hoseok, who’s a bright presence amidst bleach white walls and sterile air. Hoseok doesn’t bat an eye as they pass by the armed guards outside Taehyung’s room, so Jeongguk tries not to, either.

In a hospital wing all his own, Kim Taehyung sleeps, all but dead to the world. For the most part, Jeongguk finds he’s like his picture. There are differences, though—the set of features so defiant in his file’s photo are softened by sleep, now, lips just parted. His hair’s longer, a wavy black bunched up on his pillow and washed dull under fluorescent lights. He’s thinner, too, looks small dressed in a hospital gown and a mess of wires. Monitors beep steadily. He looks lost.

“He’s in a coma,” Hoseok says quietly, like there’s danger he’ll wake. Jeongguk glances at him sharply, but he shakes his head, gesturing. “Induced. To let him heal.”

“Heal from what?” Jeongguk asks. Hoseok shifts, looking uncomfortable.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I’ve just been taking care of him since.”

Jeongguk senses his hesitation, and presses, “Do you have any ideas?”

Hoseok gives him a tight lipped smile. “It’s not my place to guess.”

It’s forced, clearly so, but Jeongguk’s been trained enough in body language to know it’s all he’s going to get out of him. He files it away, but lets it go for now, turning back to Taehyung.

“How long has he been under?”

“About two weeks,” Hoseok says. His shoulders have untensed, just slightly, but Jeongguk catches the relief in them that he’s pursuing another topic. “I’m going to start withdrawing the barbiturate tomorrow. You should be here.”

Jeongguk nods. The ventilator’s rhythm fills the silence. In the pause, Jeongguk tilts his head. “Can he hear us?”

Hoseok shrugs. “Not really,” he says. “Sometimes there’s patches of awareness, a few minutes here and there for patients. But it’s like a dream.” He raises an eyebrow. “He’s not going to remember this, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

It had been, but it’s more than that, too. Aside from the occasional, minor training injury, Jeongguk’s never spent prolonged time in the medical wing, and certainly never near anything so serious. Taehyung looks dead, only the mechanical rise and fall of his chest any indicator he still breathes. Swallowed suddenly by his own mortality, Jeongguk sways, and turns away.

“And you’re waking him up tomorrow?” he asks, keeping his eyes away from the bed. Hoseok gives a half-shrug.

“Well, we’ll begin to,” he says. “It’s going to take some time for him to recover. He’s going to be confused. You really should be there, though. Since.”

It goes unspoken: since Jeongguk will be taking a place in his life, a liar with the mask of a friend. “I will be,” Jeongguk promises, hollowly. “Orders.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” Hoseok says, and calls after him as he turns to leave. “Hey. Jeon. This is your first mission, right?”

Jeongguk pauses, looking back. Hoseok’s smile is a sharp contrast to how he’d been earlier, an absent sun in the shadow of Somnus.

“I don’t know how much you’ve been briefed on the situation here,” he says, nodding to Taehyung. Not at all, Jeongguk thinks, a little dizzy. “But not everyone is going to ignore questions like that being asked.”

The message is clear. Jeongguk thinks to the armed guards in the hall outside, and swallows. He nods once, twice, stiff. “I understand,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As Hoseok had warned, Taehyung doesn’t wake immediately. His eyes open, and Jeongguk is there, but they’re empty, Taehyung simply sighing in response to anything he’s told.

Jeongguk’s already cleared his things from the trainee quarters, so he stays in the unit, Hoseok pulling a cot for him when Jeongguk had denied a hospital bed beside Taehyung’s. The noise of the machines quickly becomes background, and he spends his time in any way he can. On his phone, mostly, newly-issued now he’s a full-fledged agent and able to catch up on the world he'd missed while he’d been isolated in the training regimen.

Whenever Taehyung wakes, though, Jeongguk is beside him. He’d been warned Taehyung would be confused, recovering slowly from long-term sedation; still, he’s advised to let Taehyung see him, know him, because Jeongguk’s got a cover story for when he wakes up, and plenty of presence to establish. Beyond that, though, he finds a curious sort of protective instinct developing, perhaps aided by how delicate he looks against the gurney.

He’s more lucid each time. Once Jeongguk looks up to see Taehyung’s turned, cheek pressed into his pillow, looking at him. Jeongguk freezes, a chill going through him, but Taehyung’s eyes are dazed. His brow just furrows slightly, lips falling apart, and Jeongguk wonders if he’ll speak. So he stands, crossing to him, and isn’t sure what compels him to take Taehyung’s hand in his.

“Taehyung?” Jeongguk says, trying out his name on his tongue.

The first thing Kim Taehyung ever says to him is a whisper, his eyes glassy and confused. It’s a name, one Jeongguk doesn’t recognize.

“Jimin?”

“What?” Jeongguk asks, confused. In surprise he loosens his grip on Taehyung’s hand, and is startled when Taehyung squeezes back, refusing for a moment to let go—but then he’s drifting again, eyes sliding shut, the only indication anything had happened a slight increase in the monitor readings. Like distress, a shadow of something like pain on Taehyung’s face, then it’s gone, and he sleeps once more.

Three days later, Jeongguk’s returning from the cafeteria when his phone buzzes.

he’s awake

He jogs, first, then finds himself running despite curious looks, unsure why a shiver’s gone through him. The guards let him through without comment.

In the hospital room Taehyung lies awake, sedative fully withdrawn, blinking up at the ceiling while Hoseok checks his monitors. When his eyes fall on Jeongguk, it’s like it’s for the first time, startlingly warm against the sickhouse backdrop.

“Hey,” Jeongguk greets, a little breathless. He lingers close to the doorway, weight of a first impression heavy on him. “Taehyung?”

“Hey,” Taehyung says back. His speaking voice is deeper than he expected, husky from sleep. His eyelashes flutter. Then, the expected, polite— “Who are you?”

Taehyung listens to him without comment as Jeongguk tells him the story he’s been given. That they’re roommates, friends, ongoing two years now. That he’s been in an accident, details still emerging but he’s alive, thank god. Hoseok works silently around him.

“What do you remember?” Hoseok asks Taehyung when he’s finished. Something twists in Jeongguk’s chest to remember the last time Taehyung had half-awoken, glancing nervously to Hoseok, but Taehyung doesn’t show any recognition.

“I... “ Taehyung looks to be thinking. A shadow passes over his face, realizing. “Nothing.” He looks at Jeongguk helplessly, and Jeongguk wonders at how his heart twists to see the expression. “I can’t—remember anything?”

Hoseok tells Taehyung, appropriately subdued, that he may still be recovering from sedation. But then he’s showing him scans Jeongguk hasn’t seen, telling him as solemnly and as sorry as only a nurse could that even beyond remnant confusion, retrograde amnesia is suspected.

Later, alone, they sit together in silence. Jeongguk finds himself reflecting, and is sure Taehyung is, too. He can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like to wake with no memories, but even so he’s made his observations:

That Taehyung is important, armed guards and warning signs all around him any time Jeongguk asks questions. That he’s intelligent, listens to Jeongguk with piercing eyes and asks questions that would have Jeongguk worrying if he hadn’t spent hours rehearsing answers. Taehyung only cries once, a filial son when Jeongguk tells him about the loss of a made-up set of parents he doesn’t remember. Uninterested in hearing about ‘inheritance money,’ the convenient explanation for why he’s going to be taking Taehyung away, never staying too long in the same place.

It’s late when Taehyung speaks again, lights dimmed and features made soft by the glow of the monitors.

“We’re friends?” Taehyung asks. An innocent question, but his tone’s different from earlier, when they’d had an audience. Jeongguk swallows.

“Yes,” he lies. Taehyung watches him a moment, dark eyes on him, until Jeongguk’s fighting the urge to shrink back. A minute later, Taehyung seems satisfied, relaxing.

“I see,” he says quietly. “Earlier, you seemed... never mind.” Before Jeongguk can question it, he shakes his head. “I’m sorry I don’t remember you.”

“Don’t apologize for that,” Jeongguk says immediately. Guilt blossoms in his chest. Taehyung seems genuinely regretful. “It’s not something you can control.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung echoes absently. He shifts, turning on his pillow to look at Jeongguk. “I wish I remembered, though. I must be missing so much.”

Jeongguk offers him a smile. “I’ll help you catch up,” he says kindly. “We can get a TV in here or something. You’ve got a lot of pop culture to catch up on.”

“Show me some of my favorites?” Taehyung asks, smiling back at him. Jeongguk mentally falters for a moment, but manages to recover. “Of course,” he promises.

“Okay,” Taehyung whispers. His eyes drift closed, and Jeongguk wonders if he’s fallen asleep, but his voice comes again. “You’ve been staying with me?”

Jeongguk catches himself nodding, and answers aloud for Taehyung’s closed eyes. “Yeah,” he manages.

Taehyung bites his lip, tugging up on the blanket. “Thank you,” he says, eyes slipping back open to look at Jeongguk warmly. “I must be really lucky to have a friend like you.”

Somehow Jeongguk manages to keep his voice from shaking. “S’nothing,” he mutters. There’s something curious sinking in his stomach, already beginning to doubt the assignment—it’d sounded easy on paper, but he’d forgotten the human element, the one that’s now looking at him gratefully like Jeongguk’s anything but a liar. “Goodnight, Taehyung.”

As it turns out, there’s not too much acting needed. Close in age, they click almost instantly, and as the days pass, Taehyung opens up more to him. Jeongguk’s able to forget it’s a job when Taehyung isn’t asking questions, and glad for it. He isn’t sure how well he could play pretend if he’d ended up disliking Taehyung, but that fear goes unfounded.

Because Taehyung’s kind, easy to get along with, until a cloud starts to hang over him two weeks from the day he’d woken up. The credits are rolling for Princess Mononoke on the television they’d convinced Hoseok to wheel in when Taehyung turns to him, expression unhappy.

Jeongguk waits patiently for him to open up. Finally, he asks, “Jeongguk?” and Jeongguk nods for him to continue. “Can I ask you something?”

Jeongguk blinks at him. “Yeah,” he says. “Of course.”

“I—” Taehyung purses his lips, thinking a moment. Then— “Do you know when I can leave?”

Jeongguk hesitates. He’s started to wonder it himself; Taehyung’s doing well with physical therapy, recovering fast, mental faculties checked out. There’s not a reason Jeongguk can think of that he’s still here, still guarded and monitored, and Hoseok has avoided the question every time he’s asked.

“I... don’t know,” he admits, picking the words carefully. Taehyung’s expression falls, and Jeongguk’s not sure why it bothers him so much. Why it has him leaning forward, desperate to reverse it. “Hey,” he says intently, “I’ll try to ask around. I’ll find out why. Okay?”

“Okay,” Taehyung offers quietly. Jeongguk swallows, unsure why he’s promised, why it matters to him, but tells himself he’s curious, too. Almost inaudibly, Taehyung adds, so soft, “I don’t like it here.”

There’s something deeper in Taehyung’s eyes that scares Jeongguk, beyond traditional hospital distaste. “No?”

“No,” Taehyung shakes his head. He glances around a moment, almost fearful, and then pauses before closing his eyes. Voice dropping, like he’s afraid he’ll be overheard, punished for it. “I hate it here, Jeongguk. I know it’s fine, ‘cos you’re here, and we’re friends…” he glances at Jeongguk. Jeongguk nods instantly, shoving back guilt. “But I feel awful. Restless. Like something... bad is here. And I know what that sounds like, I do, I just…” he takes a deep breath. “I want to leave.”

Jeongguk feels his stomach drop as Taehyung talks, a struggle to keep his voice careful. “I know you do,” he says. “That’s normal to feel, right? I don’t think anyone likes being in a hospital, Taehyung.”

Taehyung looks unhappy. “Maybe,” he says, sounding unconvinced.

“I’ll try to find out when you can leave,” Jeongguk says again. Taehyung’s shoulders untense just so, relieved.

“Thank you,” he says. Jeongguk gives him the best smile he can.

Hoseok’s been no help, so during Taehyung’s next examination, Jeongguk goes to Namjoon. He interrupts a call, but refuses to leave, and finally Namjoon seems to acquiesce, closing out of the call with a murmured apology.

“Jeongguk?” he greets, albeit wearily, gesturing to the chair across his desk. Jeongguk takes a seat. “How’s your assignment going?”

“That’s what i wanted to talk to you about,” Jeongguk swallows. Namjoon purses his lips. “Taehy—the subject is curious about when he’ll be discharged.”

“Just that?” Namjoon frowns. He’d stiffened when Jeongguk had mentioned him, but it melts away as Jeongguk talks. “Simple. He needs to recover.”

“He’s been recovering,” Jeongguk interjects, shrinking a little from the resulting stare. “With all due respect. He’s been recovering. He’s doing well with physical therapy and all mental tests, and...he’d like to go home.”

“And you want to know why he’s still here, is that it?” Namjoon asks. Jeongguk nods. “Have you spoken to his nurse?”

Jeongguk frowns. “Hoseok won’t answer definitive questions,” he says. “He doesn’t seem to believe I have full clearance on this mission.”

“You don’t,” Namjoon says. Jeongguk tries not to curl his lip. “But if you really must know—it’s above me. The orders are to wait to see if he remembers anything.”

“Why does he need to stay here for that?” Jeongguk asks, crossing his arms defiantly. “My mission’s to take care of him, right? I can call if I need anything. Unless,” he adds after a moment, knowing he’s testing a boundary, “There’s something he’s not supposed to remember?”

It comes out as more of a question than he intends. Namjoon’s quiet for a while, long enough Jeongguk starts to sweat, even with the years he’s known him, felt comfortable enough to talk back. Finally, though, Namjoon lifts his head.

“I’ll see what I can do,” is all he says. There’s an air of finality to it, so after a second Jeongguk nods, and stands to leave.

Taehyung is so, so happy the day he’s discharged, ripping his hospital issue bracelet off with distaste the second they’re out the door. It’s like a weight Jeongguk hadn’t even known was there is lifted the second they check out, and his excitement is infectious, Jeongguk unable to hold back a smile when Taehyung bounces in his seat the entire drive home.

home. It’s a humble apartment, furnished by one of their agents with an eye for design, just the right level of lived-in so as not to arouse suspicion. They'll be staying until they have confirmation Taehyung is recovered and clearance to leave.

“So this is the place?” Taehyung asks when they’re through the door. He seems to like it, smiling when Jeongguk nods, and spends time flitting around everywhere, messing with all the little details and undoubtedly searching for clues about his life. He won’t find anything, but Jeongguk lets him go.

The cover story quickly becomes the truth, just not with as long of a history as Taehyung thinks. For all intents and purposes, they live together, shop together, eat together. Watch movies, play video games, everything two guys in their 20s should be, if one wasn’t an undercover agent and the other an unknowing asset. Still, it’s a semblance of normalcy, Jeongguk almost able to forget there’s any mission at all. Taehyung recovers rapidly, almost blossoming once out of and away from the hospital, and they’re both happier for it.

Until the nightmares begin.

It’s terrifying the first time it happens. They’re asleep in the dead of night when suddenly Taehyung is screaming—and screaming and screaming, and Jeongguk’s going for his gun and bursting into his room with every instinct set fire to by adrenaline.

But there’s no intruder, only Taehyung, thrashing in his bed and sobbing. Jeongguk’s sliding the gun under the bed and moving to shake him in an instant, starting when Taehyung grabs at him wildly, clawing at his arms. Jeongguk hangs onto him regardless, catches and pins Taehyung’s hands and calls to him, yells to him over his shouts, that he’s safe, that it’s not real, that you’re here with me.

Taehyung wakes like it’s from the grave, gasping for air and staring into Jeongguk’s eyes and yet somehow past him.

“Ji—Jeongguk?” he says, weak, and shudders when Jeongguk touches him. Jeongguk rubs at his shoulder and only hesitates a moment before crawling into the bed. Taehyung’s grateful for it, clinging to him immediately, entire body trembling.

“It wasn’t real,” is what Jeongguk whispers to him. That doesn’t matter, because they keep coming, anyway, several nights a week until Jeongguk’s no longer surprised, until it becomes routine to wake Taehyung up from whatever haunts him and give him comfort. Once he submits a report, exhaustedly, a profile and request for sleep medication, typing it in the dead of night before Taehyung’s crying out again, nearly throwing himself from the bed. And they get worse— because sometimes he begs, for some phantom figure to stop, please, oh god please— and cries that name Jeongguk doesn’t recognize, always with so much pain.

Jimin.

Taehyung doesn’t like to talk about the nightmares, but manages it once. “I can’t move,” he explains, voice breaking. “In the dreams. And my head—something hurts, so badly. Someone’s screaming for me, but there’s nothing I can do, and then—and then it’s all gone.” he shivers, looking sick.

“And who’s Jimin?” Jeongguk asks. Taehyung only blinks back at him, confusedly.

“I don’t know,” Taehyung says, looking uncomfortable. “I don’t remember—why? Is that something I say?”

Jeongguk never mentions it, after that.

“He’s having nightmares, you say?”

“Yes,” Jeongguk answers quietly. Taehyung’s asleep, at least for now, Jeongguk standing alone in their kitchen with the ticking of the clock and streetlamp leaking in his only company. “Started a day or so after the meds we were given ran out.”

“And you want more.”

Jeongguk swallows. He’d asked for Hoseok, but the person he’s been given instead sounds cold, impatient. He calls to mind the sound of Taehyung crying in the night, though, and asks again, purpose re-strengthened.

“He can barely get through a night,” Jeongguk murmurs. “It’s not healthy. He needs more sedatives.”

There’s a shuffling of papers. Jeongguk wonders how thick Taehyung’s file is, the real one that he’s never seen.

“He can’t rely on pills forever,” the doctor replies flatly. Jeongguk grips the receiver in annoyance, gritting his teeth. When the doctor speaks again, however, there’s something new in his voice, an edge that has Jeongguk’s academy-honed instincts wary. “What does he dream about?”

Jeongguk furrows his brow. “What?”

“Has he talked about anything?” The doctor says. Jeongguk’s breath catches to hear a soft click like a recorder. “In his sleep, or to you. Names, places. Anything he might remember.”

Jeongguk thinks to Taehyung, so sick and scared telling Jeongguk his dreams. He thinks, too, to the way Namjoon had said they’re waiting to see if he remembers anything, and how much Taehyung had hated the hospital, told him so fearfully he’d felt something bad there.

He sucks in a breath.

“Nothing,” Jeongguk replies quietly, when he’s certain he can speak calmly enough. “He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t remember them. He just—can’t sleep.”

The call ends quickly after that, with a promise to send a lighter dosage for Taehyung to taper off with. When it arrives, though, the medication doesn’t do much. Relief only comes one month later when an exhausted Taehyung asks, looking away, if Jeongguk will sleep with him that night.

“They never come back after you come in,” he says, hoarsely, expression miserable. “Please. I’m sorry, can we just—try.”

It’s the first peaceful night since the beginning. Taehyung’s still the type to toss, but they sleep through the night, and when Jeongguk stirs, Taehyung’s blinking open his eyes to smile at him so gratefully, looking about to cry.

“Thank you,” he says.

“You slept okay?” Jeongguk asks, a rasp with sleep, still drowsy. Taehyung nods slowly, eyes wet.

“I dreamt instead—” he curls closer to himself, breath shuddering. “I remembered something, I think. A feeling from before, of someone being here for me. I think—was it you?” Jeongguk doesn’t reply, waking with something cold washing through his veins. “I remember someone. Someone I’m with. Watching out for me. Making me feel safe. I felt the same when I woke up. It was you, I’m sure of it. You’re my friend, we’re—?”

“Taehyung,” Jeongguk whispers back, desperate to stop the tide. He doesn’t know whose presence Taehyung’s remembering, but it’s not his; the thought of filling that void, using it for his cover, makes him sick. “We’re—yeah. Go back to sleep, okay?”

“Okay,” Taehyung nods, eyes already closing. His face is the most peaceful it’s looked since Jeongguk’s met him. “Thank you. Thank you for staying with me. Thank you, Jeongguk.”

Jeongguk can’t make a reply, but Taehyung’s already fallen back asleep, anyway. He lies awake for a time, Taehyung’s words— i remember someone, was it you? and the name Taehyung lets slip when he’s half-gone playing back in his head.

After that, they never sleep apart.

Once the dreams fade, the two of them return to what could be mistaken for a normal life.

Taehyung’s smile startled Jeongguk, at first. It’s bright, open, honest, the kind of expression he hasn’t seen given freely since before he was recruited into the agency. Reapers don’t tend to smile, but the change is a welcome one, and Jeongguk finds himself laughing along, enjoying himself, more often than not.

Every lesson, every piece of advice about undercover work he knows—don’t let it become reality. Don’t become attached. But training never warned about boys with bright eyes who don’t deserve the lot they’ve been given. It’s hard and harder as the months go by, as thoughts of extraction become distant and life with Taehyung becomes just that—his life.

They travel, when the passports come. They’ve got time and money, and Jeongguk lets Taehyung pick the destination, only orders on his mind.

Keep him safe. Keep him moving. Keep him happy.

It’s fun, for a long while, several months spent flitting around and never staying in the same place too long. Fun, at least until the illusion shatters. The first time it happens, it’s early winter. They’re a little outside Tokyo and out drinking because they can, and it’s all liquor and fun and laughter and games until Jeongguk hears a very distinct “Taehyung?” from behind them.

Before Taehyung can turn Jeongguk leans forward, enough that his breath ruffles Taehyung’s hair.

“Could you grab another round?” he asks, smiling pleasantly and praying Taehyung will humor him. Some god’s listening, because Taehyung rolls his eyes good naturedly and disappears into the crowd.

Heart pounding, Jeongguk turns back and barely takes in the man’s features before grabbing him by the front of his shirt, just low enough not to draw attention but taut enough to keep him in tow striding away from their table. The man’s nails dig into Jeongguk’s wrist but he follows, rather foolishly, even outside past the neon exit and into the alleyway.

“Who are you?” Jeongguk asks immediately, hand going to his side. The other man shakes him free, and Jeongguk lets it happen once his blade is gripped safe in his hand.

“I could ask you the same thing,” the man retorts, eyes wide for all his cockiness. “Taehyung, he—he’s alive? What happened? Where has he been?”

“Leave,” Jeongguk says, barely hearing himself with the way his head spins. He’s prepared himself for possibilities like this, warned from day one Taehyung would need protection, but with the first real encounter faced before him all he can do is feel dizzy and clench his hands into fists. “He’s not who you think he is. Get lost.”

“He’s not—? Bullshit,” The man says, a little hoarse. “Who the hell are you?”

“Someone who knows him,” Jeongguk says. “Knows he doesn’t want to see you.”

“You’re—not one of us, are you? You’re one of them,” the man breathes. “You took him. We thought—then we thought he was dead, but—this whole time, you people took—”

The knife’s light in Jeongguk’s hand. He slashes out, a warning swipe, just scowls at the yell that rips out of the man’s throat as he staggers back, chest running red from a shallow stripe. It’d be so easy to finish, but Jeongguk thinks of Taehyung back inside, and loses his taste for blood.

He’s felt regret for kills before. Every agent has. Jeongguk only hopes he never learns regret for sparing a life.

“Stay away from him,” Jeongguk warns, and flicks the knife with disdain to hide how his hands shake. “Stay away from us.”

When he goes back inside, Jeongguk takes Taehyung by the arm, muttering something about not feeling well and swallowing back the taste of guilt on his tongue. They leave that night, and Jeongguk only realizes he’s shaking when Taehyung takes his hand in his. Jeongguk flinches and looks, startled, but Taehyung only keeps his eyes fixed out the train’s window, the comfort offered silently.

Jeongguk had guessed Taehyung was an agent, of course. He’d just never considered the possibility that he hadn’t been one of theirs.

It takes Jeongguk time, but Taehyung’s willing to give it. Sullen for a few weeks, just recently bouncing back, but he’s respectful of it.

“Jeongguk,” he asks in Bangkok, bared legs all sprawled and hit with fading light from the open balcony. The night breeze is just enough to save them from the hostel’s broken AC, but both of them are barer for it nonetheless.

“Taehyung,” Jeongguk answers back, still reflecting. After calls to the agency gone unanswered, Jeongguk’s tried to move on, putting the incident behind. He’s on his own, now, feeling it properly in the field, but making a report seems unneeded at this point, anyway. They haven’t been followed, Jeongguk’s sure of it. It’s fine. They’re fine.

Taehyung’s pretty by sunset. Pretty always, if Jeongguk’s honest with himself, but the falling sun paints his skin gold, natural tone recovering from hospitalization. Jeongguk’s been trying not to notice, has been trying to notice anything else, keep his mind fixed on the mission.

Anything but Taehyung.

Unaware, Taehyung just tips his head back, bowed lips in a pout. A picture of relaxation, but there’s a tension set to his mouth and brow when he says, “I wanted to ask you something.” When Jeongguk doesn’t say anything, he moves, pushing himself up in a half-stretch to sit beside Jeongguk. His hand hovers a moment like he’s reaching to place theirs together before pulling back, thinking twice about the action.

“Go ahead,” Jeongguk says absently, watching the sun fall behind the cityscape. He steals a glance when Taehyung doesn’t reply, but he’s looking away, out the window with distant eyes.

“Stop me,” he says, fingers curling. Jeongguk watches his knuckles whiten, watches him bite his lip. “If I’m wrong, or—or I’m making you uncomfortable, but I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh, no,” Jeongguk jokes weakly, but Taehyung doesn’t reply. Instead his leg bounces, anxiety induced, but then he turns to Jeongguk, spilling out all at once.

“I think I remember you,” he blurts out. Jeongguk freezes, but Taehyung continues. “I mean—not really, not exactly. But sometimes it’s like—I can remember the presence, y’know? Sitting and talking, hanging out. Like my body remembers, like it’s a ghost. And it feels…”

Jeongguk’s not sure if Taehyung’s paused to give him a moment, whether to recover or reply. He can’t seem to do either, just fixed and staring. After a second he continues.

“I think we were—I remember—Jeongguk, were we—” Taehyung begins, then stops, suddenly, cutting himself off.  He continues a moment later, barely skipped, but subdued now, like it’s not quite what he wanted to say. A clipped statement. “We were... friends?”

Not at all, Jeongguk thinks. Not even—

“Yeah,” he says. A little bit of a laugh forced. “Of course, Taehyung.”

“Friends,” he repeats slowly. “Then, maybe also—”

He can’t hear him say it. “Friends,” Jeongguk replies, a little too quick, a little too firm. “What’s gotten into you tonight?”

Taehyung hesitates, looking on the verge of saying something else before looking away. “I just,” he shrugs, looking odd. “Wondered if we were... just wondered, I guess.”

“You think I’d lie to you?” Jeongguk manages to sound playful. He places his hand over Taehyung’s, where he hadn’t before, Taehyung looking down in surprise. When he replies, it’s quiet.

“Of course not,” he says. “You’re my best friend. I just—” he stops again, shaking his head. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”

“You can talk to me,” Jeongguk says back just as quiet. He swallows back anxiety. Taehyung wavers on the verge of replying a moment, but then he’s shaking his head more fiercely. He turns his palm up, lacing his fingers with Jeongguk’s.

“It’s nothing,” he says again. “I’m just—I’m glad for you, is all.” He catches Jeongguk’s curious glance, and reddens. “I mean I’m glad to have you. Thank you. I know I don’t... remember anything, but I feel like... that’s all I wanted to say, I guess. I feel like I do, sometimes. And I feel—anyway. Thank you for staying with me.”

There’s a sour taste in Jeongguk’s mouth.

“Of course,” he replies, all he can think to say. Jeongguk manages a weak smile. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

In Berlin they’re drinking again, Taehyung’s cheeks flushed red with with three drinks under club lights. He’s a lightweight, Jeongguk’s learned, but he lets Taehyung have his fun, always careful about what he himself drinks and keeping an eye on exits. If Taehyung notices his wariness, he never says anything—only leans in tonight, hand squeezing Jeongguk’s arm as he says, “Dance with me.”

Taehyung’s leading them to the floor before he can say no. “How do you know if you know how to dance?” Jeongguk yells over the music. Something flickers on Taehyung’s face, long enough Jeongguk falters and nearly apologizes, but then he’s grinning back at him.

“Guess you’ll just have to show me, huh?”

Jeongguk knows it’s the liquor that has Taehyung leaning back into him, but it’s still hard not to melt when Taehyung tips his head back, eyes closed. Bass pounding around them and lights pooling neon, and Jeongguk’s mouth dries when Taehyung breathes hot against his neck, arms circling around his waist.

“Jeongguk,” Taehyung’s voice is sweet. “Jeongguk, Jeonggukie. You’re not doing it right.”

What Jeongguk’s not doing is touching him. Taehyung rectifies this by lacing their fingers, dragging Jeongguk’s hands up his sides and giggling for it. Jeongguk gives him a weak smile, tugging back, but it’s no use.

“Taehyung—” Jeongguk tries, weakly, but it’s lost to the music. And he’s lost to watching Taehyung, head tipped back and his smile angelic, club lights painting him a cherubic neon.

“Aren’t we?” Taehyung interrupts. He’s leaning in, tugging Jeongguk’s hand to his chest, splayed to his heart. “Aren’t we together, Jeongguk?”

“I—“ Jeongguk flinches back, panic swallowing him whole. “We’re friends.”

“Isn’t it more than that?” Taehyung leans close to follow him desperately, eyes blown wide with liquor and lust. “Gukkie, I think about it s’much—it makes sense. I loved you, didn’t I?”

Ice in his veins, Jeongguk works to untangle their hands, shaking his head. “Taehyung,” he says, breath knocked out. “It’s not—you’re drunk, okay? Let’s get out of here. Let’s go.”

“I remember someone,” Taehyung mumbles weakly when Jeongguk hooks an arm around his waist. He’s insistent, leaning into him. “I remember loving someone. Someone by my side. It had to be you.”

It wasn’t, Jeongguk thinks. A more treacherous voice says but it could be.

Sometime midsummer and all too late Jeongguk realizes he cares a little too much. Taehyung is, to be painstakingly brief, everything. He’s kind. He’s intelligent. He’s funny. He’s beautiful, and he’s strong, because he’d woken up alone in his mind and had taken on the world anyway.

More often than not, Jeongguk is thinking about Taehyung. The real Taehyung, the one he’s never met, buried somewhere within his own mind. Even left alone for so long Jeongguk’s stuck looking over their shoulders, terrified for Taehyung to be recognized again when he himself doesn’t even begin to understand where he’d come from, why he’d been given a civilian identity.

If they would have been friends if they’d ever met otherwise.

Jeongguk doesn’t know much about how the brain works, but he likes to think the Taehyung he knows can’t have been too different to the one that’s as good as dead. Even when a voice in his head whispers that’s denial, that the only reason Taehyung even likes him is because he doesn’t know the truth.

In Paris they find a park bench and an ice cream stand, a divine combination for both watching the sun set and the tower light up. The Eiffel’s impressive from below, and in the small park to the plaza’s side Taehyung kicks at his feet like a kid until both of them are laughing for nothing and lightheaded.

“I had a dream last night,” Taehyung ventures when the sun’s gone, “One I remembered.”

Jeongguk can still remember his screams, and says carefully, “I didn’t hear anything.”

“It wasn’t a nightmare,” Taehyung says quietly. “It was like—it was like a memory.”

Taehyung glances at him. This topic never goes well, especially not with Jeongguk’s off-kilter heart as of late—but he keeps his expression schooled neutral and says, “Tell me about it.”

They settle back slowly, tower alight against the sky and breath hanging between them in the air. Sitting a little too close, because it’s just cold enough to blame it on body heat. There’s a pause before Taehyung speaks. “I don’t remember much of it,” Taehyung’s voice is soft. “But there was someone there. Calling for me.”

Taehyung’s hand finds Jeongguk’s unbidden.

“Do you understand?” Taehyung says. “I remember that it wasn’t you.”

Frozen, Jeongguk keeps his eyes fixed firmly ahead. Taehyung’s hand on his doesn’t move.

“I can’t remember his face,” he continues, eyes to the sky and unfocused. “But I think I must care for him, because he’s crying, and I’m crying, too.”

“It’s just a dream, Taehyung,” Jeongguk whispers. They both know it’s a lie.

“He’s gone, isn’t he?” Taehyung asks. Jeongguk wonders if Taehyung even knows who he’s asking after, and hates that even if Jeongguk knew the answer, he couldn’t tell him. Taehyung continues anyway. “I think I remembered him, at first. Remembered the feeling of him there. And that’s why I—why I thought it was you. Why I projected that on you. But you know what? It doesn’t matter.” His face is close when Jeongguk turns, his eyes soft. “It doesn’t matter. Because he wasn’t there. You were, Jeongguk. You cared enough to stay.”

“Taehyung,” Jeongguk manages to choke out. Taehyung squeezes his hand.

“I’ve thought so much about it, and—I love you,” Taehyung says. Jeongguk closes his eyes. “You’re all I’ve had. Since I woke up, all I’ve had is you. I don’t know what you’re afraid of, or what we're running from, but I don’t know what I’d do without you, either. So I want to help you. I want to love you. And I think you want to love me, too. So stop me if I’m wrong,” he echoes once more, leaning close. “But if I’m right—“

When they kiss it’s soft, strawberry still on their lips and Jeongguk’s eyes wet despite himself. It’s selfish, awful, really, because there’s someone out there, someone Taehyung doesn’t remember, but—oh, he wants him, knows that he can be kind when all this world has been to Taehyung is cruel.

“I love you,” Taehyung whispers again when they part.

“I—” Jeongguk tries, and chokes. Taehyung seems to understand, squeezing his hand and bringing it to his face. He kisses Jeongguk’s knuckles.

They stay like that until it’s fallen too cold, breath hanging between them and Taehyung resting his head on his shoulder.

Jeongguk’s not sure he’s ever felt guiltier.

But they work. They delight in each other, their relationship sweet. It takes time, but Jeongguk learns to let himself be beyond the guilt; and Taehyung is patient with him, too, never misses a chance to tell Jeongguk that he’s fine, that he’s his, that this is what he wants. That Taehyung is the happiest he’s been since waking.

Jeongguk has a larger frame of reference for himself. He knows he’s the happiest he’s ever been in his life.

It’s almost a year to the date everything falls apart.

It’s spring in Santiago, and Jeongguk’s followed home.

He becomes aware of the masked man about a block from the apartment they’ve rented, slipping in and out of the crowd as he trails him. Jeongguk’s never been one to play, so he slips down an alley rather than prolong the inevitable confrontation.

And he hasn’t even let his guard down, but it’s not good. Because the man that follows him wastes no time on flashy moves or cheesy lines, just rains down upon him like he believes in his own justice. His style curiously mimics Jeongguk’s trained own, and Jeongguk’s out of practice to boot, pinned quickly against the wall and struggling until he feels the knife press to his throat.

“Where is he?” the man hisses, the first words he’s spoken. His voice is unexpectedly soft, a lilt to his words though his tone’s all spitfire. When Jeongguk swallows his throat bobs against the blade. “Answer me.”

“Little hard with a knife against—” Jeongguk chokes when the man hits his throat, butting into the hollow with the handle of the blade. He coughs weakly and manages a glare.

“Don’t fucking mouth off,” the man snaps. “Where are you keeping Taehyung?”

A chill goes through Jeongguk. He disguises it with a harsh laugh. “Who?”

“I’m running out of patience,” the other agent snarls. “Don’t make me use other methods to convince you. I need to find Kim Taehyung.”

“Get in line,” Jeongguk spits, throat scraping. “What is it with him, huh? What the hell did he do?”

“What did he do—?” The man’s eyes spark with anger above the mask. “You’re the one who—stop fucking around. Tell me where—”

He cuts off, the two of them freezing at the sound of running footsteps, turning as one. Jeongguk closes his eyes, praying, but somehow he already knows. Taehyung rounds the corner, eyes wide.

Almost immediately, Jeongguk’s dropped. The man turns fast to Taehyung, and panic races through Jeongguk, but he only lowers his weapon and tugs down his mask.

“Taehyung,” the stranger calls instantly, stretching out a hand, his voice so harsh before turned soothing. “Tae, baby, it’s me—”

And scared, Taehyung asks, “Who are you?”

The man freezes.

Jeongguk will think, later, he’s never seen someone’s soul dim so fast. He sees it in the sag of his shoulders, an expression of horror.

In the moment, though, Jeongguk’s only concern is Taehyung. He shoves past the agent and to Taehyung’s side, holding him. The stranger makes a noise of pain, and then—when Jeongguk turns back, he’s running, quickly gone. He thinks of pursuit, but Taehyung grabs him.

“Who was that?” he asks, alarmed.

Jeongguk shakes his head. “Mugger,” he says hoarsely, taking Taehyung’s hand in his trembling own and leading them home.

“He knew my name,” Taehyung says, confusedly. “Jeongguk—hey—”

The second they’re in, Jeongguk locks the doors, triple checks the rooms for wires and tells Taehyung to pack.

Jeongguk sees him again in Buenos Aires. With a quick lie Jeongguk suggests shopping separately for a while, and Taehyung agrees, parting with a smile and a kiss to Jeongguk’s cheek. Immediately after, Jeongguk catches his eye. He’s sitting on a bench a ways away, just watching. Jeongguk goes to him and sits beside.

“It’s you,” Jeongguk says finally, quiet. He knows—he should be running, getting Taehyung far away, but something keeps him still. He looks small, now, infinitely less than the hellfire he’d been in combat.

“It’s me,” is what the stranger says, a little weak. “And that’s Taehyung.”

Jeongguk nods. The man’s lip trembles.

“He kissed you,” the stranger says, his voice soft. It’s not a question.

Jeongguk swallows hard. The agent looks weary, ready to give up, and Jeongguk thinks he might be beginning to understand. Every instinct tells him it’s his chance to lie, chase the man away. Never know the truth, but keep he and Taehyung safe, happy in the dark they’ve created.

It’s unfair. Justice wins out.

“He doesn’t remember anything,” Jeongguk says.

The man’s lips part, and he catches a sharp intake of breath.

“Who are you?” Jeongguk asks, all vitriol gone.

“My name is Jimin,” the man says, and closes his eyes. Jeongguk’s heart drops. “I’m his husband.”

Jimin slips him an address and vanishes into the crowd before Taehyung returns. Jeongguk lets him go, in favor for showing up at his door two days later. Jimin looks unsurprised to see him, lets him in like a friend, quietly offering a seat and a drink.

“Who are you?” Jeongguk asks again when they’re both seated.

In the late afternoon sun, Jimin looks fallen, all sharp angles and dark eyes. He watches out the window with a paranoia Jeongguk can barely begin to understand, and runs a hand through his hair.

“My name is Jimin,” he says, same as before. “I guess I was like you, once.”

“Who do you work for?” Jeongguk asks, while he’s already breaking rules. He’d given up on ever knowing the truth before Taehyung had even been discharged from the hospital, but now it’s like a figure straight out of Taehyung’s dreams stands before him, and he needs to know.

Jimin stands abruptly, something bothering him. He crosses the room to draw the blinds shut. In the dark the silence is somehow more pronounced.

“No one,” he says. “Not anymore.”

There’s bitterness playing behind it, but Jeongguk’s got a one track mind when it comes to Taehyung’s safety.

“So why were you following us?” Jeongguk asks, folding his arms around his chest. He means to look intimidating, but it comes off more as though he’s hugging himself close. “Why do you want to talk to Taehyung?”

Jimin glances at him, over him, and looks back away. “I told you,” he says. “He is—was,” a shadow passes over his face. “My husband.”

Jeongguk swallows. “He doesn’t remember you,” he says. Jimin winces, and feeling guilty, he amends, “He doesn’t remember anything.”

“I know,” Jimin whispers. “I thought he might, if he saw me—I hoped—but he doesn’t remember. I couldn’t take it, I—I ran.” he laughs harshly. “He doesn’t remember anything.”

Jeongguk leans forward. “Do you know why?”

Jimin’s glance is sharp. “You don’t?”

Jeongguk hesitates and shakes his head. Jimin stares at him a moment before sitting back down across from him, head in his hands before exhaling and facing him.

“How much do you know?”

Jeongguk thinks back with bitterness. “Nothing,” he says. “I was told he had amnesia, and to guard him. Keep him moving.” A conversation from so long ago returns to him, and he tenses. “And that people would try to take him.”

Jimin nods slowly. “That’s what I wanted,” he says, and Jeongguk stiffens. Jimin shakes his head at him. “Yes, that’s why I was following you. I’ve been on your trail for a while. But then I watched you,” he looks down, voice softening. “It’s not just a cover, is it? You love him.”

“...Yeah,” Jeongguk manages softly. “Yeah, I do.” Jimin nods to himself, and Jeongguk’s nails dig into his palm. “You... aren’t angry?”

“That you love him?” The smile Jimin gives him is exhausted. “How could I be?” he asks. “How could anyone not? I know. I love him, too.”

Taehyung—with his warm eyes and smile, soft hands in his. Jeongguk understands, too. Still, Jeongguk scans his face, wary. “How can I believe you? I was told not to trust anyone.”

Jimin shrugs. “You don’t have to believe me,” he says. “But I’d like to at least talk to you. I've been wanting to. And I’m sure you have some questions for me, too.”

“I do,” Jeongguk says. He frowns at Jimin. “Why doesn’t he remember anything? What happened to him?”

Jimin laughs softly, a sound without humor. “They really didn’t tell you anything, did they?” Jeongguk scowls, but he just shakes his head. “Mm. Right to the elephant in the room. I can see why he likes you.” Jimin’s smile flickers the instant he says it, seeming to regret it the moment it’s out his mouth.

“Tell me,” Jeongguk suggests quietly in its place.

“You haven’t thought about it?” The corner of Jimin’s mouth twists up without humor. “Tell me. What do you think, agent?”

Jeongguk swallows. “He... was like us, too,” Jeongguk says, his first observation from so long ago. Jimin nods. “Not from my agency?” Jimin nods again, Jeongguk shivering to think back on the man that had tried to talk to Taehyung, had accused Jeongguk of stealing him. He wonders if leaving him alive had led them here, if that been the mistake that had tipped Jimin to their trail. “So you’re... from the same group? And his lover. You want him back.”

He trails off when Jimin holds up a hand. “Not quite,” he says, smile sad. “I told you, I was like you once.”

Jeongguk’s brow furrows, then he realizes. “Wait, you’re—with us?”

“Was,” Jimin corrects. He hesitates, and continues carefully. “I was started... very young. I was running intelligence by the time I was sixteen.”

It’s a little younger than an industry standard, but not unusual enough to warrant the apprehension in Jimin’s eyes. Jeongguk knows himself to be an exception, scouted and recommended at twenty. He’s had to fight twice as hard on the training mat to catch up. He nods.

“I was the best, you know,” Jimin continues, closing his eyes. “We both were, Tae and I, in our day—he was probably even a little better, though I'd never have admitted it. Fresh out of our respective training programs, rivals in the field. We ran into each other, fought quite a bit, stole from each other even more than that—never anything serious, though. Scuffles, play-fighting, really. But then one day, he broke my arm."

"Broke your arm?" Jeongguk repeats, a little taken aback.

"An accident," Jimin clarifies, and hand comes to rub at his arm seemingly unconsciously, lost deep in the recall. "And he didn’t have to, but... he stayed the night with me. Patched me up and gave me the documents he was running to boot. Things were... different after that.” Jimin shakes his head, memory playing in his eyes. “He helped me realize... a lot of things. About who I was, about who I worked for. We started trading back and forth to fuck with the higher-ups, then selling that information outside our agencies as partners. We ran a few years later. They didn’t like that very much.”

“Ran?”

“Eloped, actually,” Jimin looks down, smiling to himself. His fingers come up to play at a thin chain on his neck. “It’s why relationships are discouraged, you know? Loyalty’s too easy to drop after. We didn’t care about anything else. All we needed was each other.”

“He doesn’t remember anything,” Jeongguk says quietly. The doesn’t remember you is included. “So what happened to him? What did he do?”

He realizes it’s a mistake the second it’s out. Jimin sits up, the serenity that had taken him remembering Taehyung now gone in an instant, his eyes flashing. “He didn’t do anything,” he snaps. Jeongguk raises his hands, alarmed, and realizing, Jimin shrinks back, shaking his head dizzily. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t know anything. But he—I can’t hear that. I can't. Because he didn’t do anything. Know that,” he stresses. “He didn’t deserve this.”

“Didn’t deserve what?”  Jeongguk asks. Softly, because Jimin still looks on edge, something in his eyes when Jeongguk had mentioned faults. “What happened to him?”

"Happened to him?” Jimin laughs. It’s despairing. “They took him away. Don’t you understand? They did this to him.”

Jeongguk shakes his head. It’s not a protest so much as it is denial, but his stomach’s churning. “That’s—no. That’s not possible.”

“It is,” Jimin says. His smile’s gone. “You hadn’t even considered it?”

Not exactly. But he’d had suspicions, hadn’t he? From the day he’d first seen Taehyung, lying in an induced coma surrounded by armed guards. Every question of Jeongguk’s deflected, the need for an elaborate cover story and the truth nowhere to be found. It all adds up in the worst of ways.

Whatever had happened to Taehyung’s memory, it’d been intentional.

“But why?” Jeongguk whispers.

“You haven’t figured it out yet?” Jimin asks. His smile’s bitter. “He’s a hostage.”

Jeongguk frowns. “A... hostage?” he asks, mind racing.

Jimin laughs shortly. “So I stay in line,” he says, shaking his head. “So they feel safe a little longer.”

“Who’s they?”

“You,” Jimin fixes his eyes back on him. “Well, your people. You don’t know anything. I can see that now.” He bites his lip with a humorless smile. “You’re just as much a puppet as he is.”

“I’m not—“ Jeongguk protests weakly, then shivers. Thinks to his suspicions, of being kept in the dark. Sent to keep on the run with Taehyung in hand and vague instructions. He swallows. When he manages to speak again, it’s muted. “What are you going to do?” he asks, a little afraid of the answer.

“It’s not obvious?” Jimin asks. His smile spreads full, but it’s hollow. “I want revenge.”

Unconsciously, training has his instincts alarmed. Jeongguk thinks to the knife at his side. Jimin catches the tension.

“It’s why I came for him,” he says, settling back. “I wanted to make sure he was safe. That they couldn’t hurt him again.”

“I wouldn’t let them,” Jeongguk says immediately, urgent. He shakes his head, bile rising at the thought of it. “I won’t. I…” he trails off, the word love caught in his throat.

Jimin catches it anyway. “I know,” he says, looking distant. “I hated you, you know."

Jeongguk tenses.

"Well, I wanted to," Jimin corrects softly. "When I heard about you. When I saw him go to you. But I can’t.” he tips his head back wistfully. “I’m glad you love him. I’m glad he wasn’t alone. And I’m glad he’ll be safe now.”

“What are you going to do?” Jeongguk finds he’s whispering, his skin crawling. Jimin looks—like he’s been hurt beyond compare, something shadowed in his eyes Jeongguk can’t understand.

“I remember them all,” Jimin says. Jeongguk sees his nails dig into his thighs. “All of their faces. All of their awful voices. Mocking us while—I’ve been digging up old contacts, biding my time. I’m finding every single one of them.”

Jeongguk isn’t sure what to say. He tries something, but it chokes off. Jimin continues undeterred.

“They made me watch, you know,” he says dully, shuddering from the ghost of some distant memory. His eyes are blank, looking through and past Jeongguk. “When they did it. When they took him away. They made me watch.” Unconsciously he curls in on himself. “I never got to say goodbye.”

And all Jeongguk can think to say— “You should talk to him.”

Jimin looks startled. Refocusing on Jeongguk, he swallows. “He doesn’t know me,” he says. He looks miserable. “He’ll never remember me.”

“You don’t know that,” Jeongguk says. Jimin laughs, short and bitter.

“You didn’t see what they did.”

He’s fading again, an absent horror on his face. Jeongguk wrings his hands.

“Don’t you want to talk to him?”

“More than anything,” Jimin says wistfully. “But I can’t. He’s—He’s happy with you. You make him happy. I can see that. And I can see that I’d ruin that.”

“You can’t know that,” Jeongguk says quietly. “I think... whoever he was before. He loved you, right? He’d want to know.”

Jimin frowns at him. “How can you want that?” he asks, almost marveling. “He’s happy with you. If I entered that picture, there’d be no going back. How can you offer that to me?”

Jeongguk looks at Jimin, dulled by the fading light and grief. In a crueler world, Jeongguk might be happy; probably should be, that Jimin looks so lost, that a few words could split open the cracks Jeongguk can see in his mind and break him away from Taehyung forever.

It’s unfair. It isn’t him.

“If I lost him,” Jeongguk murmurs, “I’d search for him, too.” Jimin’s quiet, so he continues. “You haven’t seen. There’s been so many times—he wants to know who he is. He used to say your name. While he slept.” At that, Jimin looks stricken. “He deserves to know who he was. ...who he loved.”

“He's said my name?” Jimin asks softly. Jeongguk nods. Jimin shivers. “...Thank you. For telling me. For talking to me. You’re... I’m glad he has you. I am.” he smiles at Jeongguk sadly. “I should probably hate you. You should probably hate me. But here we are.”

“I’m just doing the right thing,” Jeongguk whispers, half-trying to convince himself. “You should talk to him.”

“He’s happy with you,” Jimin says again. “I wanted to take him away while I found the others, but—to do what? Lock him away? Take him away from everything he knows? ...Loves? He’s safe now. He’s happy now. I would ruin that. I’m not good for him," Jimin says bitterly, "Not anymore. Especially not who he is now.”

“Come with us anyway,” Jeongguk blurts out the offer, uncertain quite why. There’s a finality in Jimin’s voice. He’s seen it once before, on an agent that had volunteered for a suicide mission. He sees Jimin on the precipice now, a stab of loss going through him for Taehyung, for who he was. For everything Jimin could answer. “You can talk to him. We could run.”

“Run?” he looks taken aback, then almost fond. For a second Jeongguk thinks he’s won, but then: “See, that’s not enough for me anymore,” Jimin says. He closes his eyes. “I want to watch them burn.”

Jeongguk suppresses a chill. “Still,” he tries, faltering. “He—wants to know about himself. He’s wanted that for so long, and... I want what he wants. I think you should talk to him. Even if it’s... after you find them.”

If Jimin hears the question in his voice, he ignores it—doesn’t give any indication of whether he expects himself to survive to an after. “Maybe,” he says finally, unconvinced. Then suddenly, he asks: “Does he know who you are?”

Jeongguk's silence is answer enough. Jimin tilts his head. “I think you should tell him that first. He hates—hated lies.”

“I—” Jeongguk looks down. “I’ve wanted to. So many times, but…”

“Tell him now. The truth isn’t that bad yet,” Jimin says. “Tell him now, while you don’t know anything.”

That certainty is back in Jimin’s voice, this time firm. He won’t get anything else out of him today.

“What about you?” Jeongguk asks. “If you... take care of things. What about you?”

Jimin looks to the window once more.

“You really want me to talk to him?” he asks.  “Even knowing who I am, knowing what could change?” Jeongguk hesitates, but then thinks of Taehyung, erased, and murmurs a confirmation. “Then I’ll find you,” Jimin says, a reluctant promise. “When I’m ready.”

The apartment’s dark when Jeongguk returns. The door’s locked, all curtains closed, but there’s complete silence, almost no sign of life.

“Taehyung?” Jeongguk calls. His hand goes to the blade at his side, heart picking up a pace, all the more alert for the conversation he’s just had.

He’s almost ready to panic as he sweeps the house, but finds Taehyung in the last room he checks—their bedroom, on his knees on the floor and facing away from Jeongguk. Sagging in relief, a breath Jeongguk hadn’t realized he was holding lets out. He half-crosses the room.

“Taehyung,” Jeongguk calls. “Hey, are you—?”

Jeongguk sees it when he gets closer. Taehyung’s got their luggage out before him, Jeongguk’s, specifically—and Taehyung had never bothered to help unpack, before, but now Jeongguk’s suitcase left unlocked is lying open, metal of a case catching dim light.

Taehyung turns to him slowly. His eyes are wide, case clicked open before him.

“Jeongguk,” he whispers. Jeongguk can barely hear, the blood roaring in his head so. “Why do you have a gun?”

“I—” Jeongguk’s voice catches in his throat, stretching an arm out. Taehyung recoils, so he freezes, voice weak. “Taehyung, I can explain.”

“What is this?” Taehyung breathes out. He holds up a hand to point at the case, fingers trembling. “Jeongguk, what is all this?”

Jeongguk doesn’t even need to look. Ordinarily the case is locked, but he must have been sloppy this morning, slipping out a favorite blade and filled with apprehension to meet Jimin. It’s an industry standard, bulletproof casing and tell-all contents. His gun, ammunition, thousands in various currencies. Multiple passports and IDs for both he and Taehyung, throwaway phones and tap wires and more.

“It’s—” there’s no way to say it’s nothing. Taehyung looks scared. It’s the first time Jeongguk’s been the reason.

“Jeongguk,” Taehyung interrupts. He’s shaking bodily, now. “Who are you?”

It goes about as well as one might expect. Taehyung listens with a quiet kind of horror as Jeongguk tells him everything—his training the last two years, the assignment he’d been given. That when Taehyung had woken up, he was meeting him for the first time. When Jeongguk finishes, he reaches out; Taehyung recoils.

“Everything was a lie, and you... you lied to me.” he whispers. He sounds broken.

“I didn’t have a choice,” Jeongguk pleads back. He tries to reach for him again. Taehyung stiffens.

“Maybe not at first,” he shakes his head, betrayal etched onto his features. “But after all this time—I love you, and—were you ever going to tell me?”

Jeongguk swallows painfully. There’s no lying to Taehyung, not anymore, at least not secrets that are his own to tell. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. Helplessly. Taehyung’s face falls. “I wanted to! So badly, so many times, Tae. I just didn’t know how.”

“I love you,” Taehyung says again. He looks sick. “I believed you.”

“I love you,” Jeongguk swears, leaning desperately when Taehyung turns away. “Please, Taehyung. Believe me. Tonight, I was coming home to tell you. Because I love you, and because I don’t want to lie anymore.”

Taehyung lets Jeongguk take him into his arms, not fighting, but limp.

“This past year,” Taehyung says pained. “I—I thought you were hiding something. The way you looked at me, the things I felt. That maybe you even—that this—“ he gestures to his head, “was somehow your fault.” He breathes out shakily, and Jeongguk realizes his own hands are trembling. “But I loved you. I thought you’d tell me when you were ready.”

“I’m ready now,” Jeongguk says brokenly. “But—I don’t know anything about you. That’s what the truth is—I didn’t know you. Before.” Taehyung’s silent. “God, I’m so—I’m sorry, Tae.”

It takes a few minutes for him to speak again, even longer to finally lean into Jeongguk’s chest.

“How do I know you’re not lying now?” he mumbles. Jeongguk’s heart clenches. “That there’s—something more terrible, and this is just your story, ‘cos I found—“

“I love you,” Jeongguk says fiercely. His grip tightens. “You have to believe that. You have to know that. After everything. You know I love you. Maybe this—us—started as an assignment, Taehyung, but now—all I have is you.” Taehyung sucks in his lip, and Jeongguk kisses his forehead, desperate to convince any way he can. “I haven't filed an honest report in months. I don’t care about anything else anymore. If they wanted to hurt you, I’d run with you in a second. All I want is to keep you safe.” he pauses, file flashing to his mind, and continues hollowly. “Keep you happy.”

Finally Taehyung relents, turning into his chest. His arms come up to wrap back around Jeongguk, and Jeongguk pulls him closer and tighter for it.

“Then,” Taehyung shudders. “Can you—I want to know you. Tell me about you, the real you. Not the story they gave you.”

Jeongguk thinks, exhaling. “There’s not… much to tell,” he says. Taehyung starts to look away, but he catches his face. “I mean it. I was—recruited a few years ago. Paramilitary, they said, from aptitude tests. But…” he bites his lip. “S’not government, Tae. The ones who approached me. There’s all these outside merc organizations, each trying to get an advantage on each other, manipulate politics from the outside. There’s three, I think, in this country. I don’t even know, really, I’m ranked so low, aside from some field training, this... you were my first, my only, mission.”

Taehyung takes that in. Then he murmurs, “Guess you fucked that up pretty bad, Guk.”

It’s so unexpected Jeongguk doesn’t know what to think, but then he’s laughing softly, eyes stinging. The both of them are, Taehyung giggling and hiccuping with muted almost-hysterics.

“I don’t think loving you was part of the job description, no,” Jeongguk says into his hair when they quiet back. “But I could never regret it. I just—I wish you didn’t have to find out like this,” he admits. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you earlier. I didn’t know how.”

“I guess I can see how that’d be hard to bring up,” Taehyung says reluctantly. He sighs again. “But now I—I want to know so much, Jeongguk. Who I was before. I thought you’d tell me one day, when you were ready, but now…” he looks bitter. “I’m back at square one.”

Jeongguk’s breath catches. “Not...quite,” he admits. Taehyung blinks at him. “I was telling the truth, that I didn’t know anything about you. But…” he closes his eyes. “I met someone today.”

There’s a soft touch to his face. Jeongguk leans into Taehyung’s hand on his cheek, continuing.

“You remember—in Santiago. The man who—I said he was a mugger.”

“Yea,” Taehyung says, then his voice is catching, too. “Oh, god. He knew my name. I thought—it was just from your phone, or something, but—“

“He knew you,” Jeongguk swallows. “Before.”

He dares to open his eyes.

Taehyung’s eyes are even wider than before, fixed on him. A stab of pain goes through Jeongguk, because Taehyung wants to know the truth. Deserves to know the truth.

But Jimin had made him promise. And this part isn’t his secret to tell.

“I met him again, today. He... worked with you,” Jeongguk says. It’s not exactly a lie. “He said—you were one of us, Tae. From different groups, but made a partnership.” He hesitates. “Ran from the life together.”

“Oh,” Taehyung breathes. Jeongguk searches his face for any sign of remembrance, but there’s none to be found.

“And he said—what happened to you…” Jeongguk swipes at Taehyung’s temple with his thumb, wincing. His voice drops. “That it was... a punishment. That it was intentional.”

It takes a moment to sink in, but when it does, Taehyung looks nauseated.

“Intentional?” his hand comes up to cover his mouth. “You didn’t—“

“I wasn’t there. I didn’t know until today,” Jeongguk reassures quickly. “I just... you were in medical when we met, so I thought... it was an accident, maybe, and you weren’t safe there, so I had to take you. But…” he shudders to remember the look on Jimin’s face, called back to remember some long-ago horror. Remembers how Taehyung had looked so ill when he’d woken, told Jeongguk he’d felt something bad had happened there. Jeongguk’s not sure he wants either of them to ever learn the details.

“I need to talk to him,” Taehyung says suddenly. He seizes at Jeongguk. “Where is he now? I need to talk to him, ask him about myself.” Jeongguk doesn’t reply immediately, and he looks crestfallen. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”

“I couldn’t stop him,” Jeongguk says helplessly. “He said he’d find us again when he was ready.” Taehyung hangs his head, and Jeongguk pulls him tighter. “I’m sorry. I tried. I know you want to learn about yourself, that you would’ve wanted to talk to him, but I couldn’t stop him.” he thinks to that day in the alley, admits, “I don’t think I could have forced him, either. I’ve... never met anyone who fought like that.”

Taehyung sighs. “You’re a rookie, remember?” Jeongguk smiles weakly at him. “It’s... fine. No, it’s not. But if there’s nothing we can do.”

“Until he finds us,” Jeongguk agrees quietly.

They go back to check the apartment anyway. It’s swept bare, no sign remaining that anyone had ever been there.

The call comes two days later. It’s an unmarked number on Jeongguk’s private phone, which only means one thing. He excuses himself to take the call, Taehyung watching after him with concerned understanding from their cafe table.

“Hello?” he answers, a little tersely.

“Jeongguk,” Namjoon wastes no time, voice urgent. “Where are you right now?”

“Argentina, still,” Jeongguk replies. “Nothing’s changed. I haven’t submitted a new report.”

“That’s not it,” he replies. “Listen, you need to get out of the country. Get far away.”

Jeongguk tightens his grip on the phone, instincts on edge. “What?”

“There’s been a... sighting,” Namjoon says almost delicately. Jeongguk stills. “Of someone. He's a declared threat to you, to both of your safety. He’ll try to take Taehyung. Do you understand?”

“I... understand,” Jeongguk agrees. He tries to inject confidence in his tone, far more than he feels. “A threat, you said? I’ll get us out.”

“A threat,” Namjoon repeats. Then— “Jeongguk,” he asks, almost too carefully. “You haven’t made contact with anyone in the field, have you?”

Has he. Jeongguk wills himself to breathe. “Not since Tokyo,” he lies. “We’ll leave tonight.”

There’s static on the line for a pause, tension roaring in Jeongguk for every second Namjoon doesn’t speak. Finally, though: “Okay,” he says. “Be careful. If anything’s off, promise me you’ll run. Trust me. You’re not ready for this fight. Consider this one armed and dangerous as hell.”

Jeongguk thinks to the bruises Jimin had left for days when they’d scuffled even briefly. “Promise,” he says. “See anything, run like hell. Got it.”

“Good,” Namjoon says. He sounds relieved even rushed, and Jeongguk sags a little guiltily. Namjoon had been one of his best mentors, had believed in him where others said he wouldn’t make it through training. It hurts too badly to think what he might know, what he might even have been a part of. “Listen. I might be MIA for a bit, radio silence, but stick to the mission, okay?”

Jeongguk swallows back the accusation that it’s been radio silence already, that sometimes he’d wondered if he and Taehyung’s globe trotting had been forgotten. It doesn’t matter anymore. Even knowing the truth, now, and that Jimin’s already gone, appearances need to be kept up. He’s already mentally packing.

“Always do,” he replies quietly. Then the click of the line, and he’s alone again.

Jeongguk’s a little more careful on his way back to the table. If Jimin’s been sighted—if he’s as much a target as Jeongguk might expect he’d be—the crowds around him feel masked, sleeper agents or cameras a potential. He feigns a smile for Taehyung, tugs at him when he asks what’s wrong.

“Not here,” he murmurs, and Taehyung understands. “We’re leaving tonight.”

It’s back to normal just like that. At least, as close to normal as either of them could know. They relocate often, but try to find joy in it, too. Play games, sometimes; pretend they’re writing a book, that they’re blogging a world tour, that they’re a couple on honeymoon. That one stings just a little, but Jeongguk plays along.

Winter’s long gone and summer is peaking before radio silence is broken once more. This time, there’s no transmission, no call as warning. Instead Jeongguk finds himself face to face with someone who must be a fellow agent, because while the stage is menacing: he and Taehyung making their way to their apartment a little too late, streetlamps dimmed, one of their clear words is yelled out to him. Jeongguk’s still tense, keeps a hand on Taehyung beside him, but offers a stiff nod.

“Jeon,” the man says. He steps forward, closer into the pooling light, and tugs down his mask. Jeongguk knows him; only goes by Goya, and that he had been one of the harsher mentors at the academy. A nightmare of a man, always an advocate to shoot first, ask questions never. Knows, too, that he had recommended against both Jeongguk’s recruitment and advancement, the information relayed to him by a partial mentor.

“Sir,” Jeongguk greets politely, a little guarded. “Nice to see a familiar face out here.”

“It’s not a coincidence,” Goya says lazily. His eyes drift past Jeongguk to Taehyung. “I’ve been asked to make a check on the asset.”

Jeongguk wills himself to stay still. “Everything’s fine on my end,” he says, playing it off with a smile. “I usually go through Kim Namjoon?”

His eyes turn on him sharply. “He's gone,” he says flatly, and Jeongguk stiffens. “Ran about a month ago. It’s why I’m here in person to make the check. Has he made contact?”

“No,” Jeongguk says, furrowing his brow. “He—he told me he might be MIA for a bit, but that was all.”

“Well, he’s gone,” Goya repeats, “And we’ve had reported sightings of a... certain threat,” the wording is off, but Jeongguk understands with his next sentence. “Someone's got a grudge. Picking off anyone related to a certain event.”

Again his eyes shift to Taehyung. Jeongguk looks to him, too. He’s staying so calm, Jeongguk feels a flare of pride. He just stares back steadily, expression unreadable. Jeongguk turns back. “I haven’t heard anything,” he says carefully. “You’re close to compromising me yourself.”

Goya rolls his neck, steps closer. Jeongguk tenses despite himself. “I don’t believe that,” he says slowly. Jeongguk bites the inside of his cheek til he can almost taste blood. “I’m calling you back for questioning. Him, too,” he says, gesturing to Taehyung.

“I’m not—sure why you think that’s necessary.” Jeongguk forces a polite chuckle.

“Shut it, Jeon,” Goya scoffs, and Jeongguk’s heart sinks. It should be relieving to know this is personal, not anyone suspecting Taehyung, but then he continues, “He should've been killed anyway, I never saw the point of—” but before he can continue his eyes are widening, and he’s moving in a way Jeongguk knows all too well.

Almost in slow motion, Jeongguk sees him reach inside his coat. Instinct flaring, he’s grabbing for his own gun and shoving Taehyung behind him, but before he can do anything there’s a muffled pop Jeongguk knows too well. Before him Goya looks down, stunned disbelief as red stripes out from his throat. He clutches once, swaying, drops first to his knees then falls to his side, a puppet with cut strings. Jeongguk spins to see their sniper.

Jimin lowers his gun to his side. Taehyung yanks at Jeongguk, but he’s frozen as Jimin strides toward them, and then right past to where Goya’s stretching weakly for his dropped gun. Jimin kicks it aside, and Jeongguk flinches to see Jimin lift and land his foot down on Goya’s neck.

“Do you remember when you held me down?” His voice is low, a snake's hiss, but audible in the quiet street. A sick gurgle is the only response. Jimin leans down, pressing the barrel of his gun to the agent's forehead. “Do you remember when I said I’d be the last thing you’d ever see?”

Dimly, Jeongguk registers himself reaching to pull Taehyung back, keep him from seeing. He’s not fast enough. Even with the suppressor on Jimin’s pistol there’s a subdued snap as bullet meets brain. Spraypainted, Jimin straightens with an expression more satisfied than any reaper. The calm Taehyung had kept while they’d had to pretend is shattered with what he’s witnessed. His eyes are wide on Jimin, and echoed in them Jeongguk sees everything he’s tried to shield Taehyung from.

“Jeongguk,” Taehyung whimpers, tugging at him. “He—He just killed —”

Taehyung doesn’t know Jimin. His panic is what gears Jeongguk into action, grabbing for his wrists and then his face to soothe him.

"He's safe,” he promises, pressing their foreheads together. Taehyung’s breath shudders out, and Jeongguk thumbs at his cheeks. “It’s okay. We’re fine. You’re safe.”

Taehyung nods, breathing deep. Jeongguk kisses his nose before turning to Jimin—he’s watching them with an unreadable expression, his eyes blank. Jeongguk knows, though, he’s told the truth. Taehyung’s safer here now between the two of them than he ever has been, can see it in the way Jimin glances to him once.

“I figured he was going for you,” is all Jimin says. He holsters his gun. “Do you need a ride?”

It’s a rental, Jeongguk’s fairly certain. Too clean, nondescript. Jimin confirms it, then he asks, “You don’t drive?”

“I can,” Jeongguk says. “But we usually just take transit. Blends in easier.”

He’s crawled into the backseat with Taehyung. The conversation would probably flow smoother if he were sat in front with Jimin, but Taehyung’s still shaken from what he’s witnessed—the first time he’s seen so much blood, at least in his current memory. He hasn’t let go of Jeongguk’s hand once.

Occasionally Jimin meets his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Blending in,” he muses. “I haven’t been able to do that in a while.” As though Jeongguk hadn’t been able to tell by tonight’s events. “They’re starting to remember what fear feels like.”

“They?” Taehyung interrupts. Jeongguk sees Jimin’s eyes flick to him in the mirror.

But all he says is, “Make a left here?”

“Don’t you already know where we’re staying?” Jeongguk confronts him, a little bold. Jimin doesn’t respond before switching lanes, confirming it alone.

“Isn’t that a bad thing?” Taehyung murmurs to Jeongguk. Jimin replies anyway.

“I was tracking him,” he says. Jeongguk swallows to think of empty eyes and pooling blood back on the street, how easily Jimin had dumped Goya off the bridge. “And he was tracking you.”

“To check in on us,” Jeongguk guesses, “Because you’re still after them. Right?”

Again Jimin doesn’t confirm it. Reaching their apartment block, he pulls over, and kills the engine. He doesn’t turn back when he says, “You should be fine. He hadn’t reported coming into contact with you yet. It’ll look like I got to him first.”

“What about you?” Jeongguk asks. “You’re leaving again, aren’t you?”

Jimin hesitates. Jeongguk sees it in the tension of his shoulders, but then Taehyung speaks up, leaning forward.

“You can’t,” he says. Jimin stiffens. “You’re—the one, aren’t you? Who knew me before. Who’d find us. I want to talk to you,” Taehyung says, almost pleading. “Don’t leave.”

“Taehyung,” Jimin whispers. Jeongguk watches him draw in a breath, and close his eyes. He almost doesn’t expect Jimin to agree, but then he’s softening. “Okay,” he says quietly. “One night.”

One night turns into two, then three, then a week. That first night Jimin declines any questions, insisting Taehyung rest. Taehyung’s upset, but Jeongguk takes Jimin’s side, seeing Taehyung’s hands still trembling from what he’d seen. Jeongguk sympathizes, still remembers his first few missions, and holds him extra tight.

On the third night, Jimin relents, and tells Taehyung about himself. At least as much he knows, he says, and leaves himself curiously absent. Tells Taehyung he’d been a filial son, recruited for the wages he’d send home. Tells him how they’d met with the smallest of smiles on his face, and Taehyung even offers a belated apology for breaking his arm. It seems to startle Jimin for a second, but then he laughs, a bright sound and the most at ease Jeongguk’s ever seen him.

Jimin loves Taehyung. So, so much. It’s easy enough for anyone watching to see, except maybe Taehyung himself. Jeongguk watches from the wall, arms folded across his chest and listens intently; Jimin fills in the gaps too easily for his words to be anything but the truth, tells Taehyung the story of his life. He leaves himself out of the puzzle, but from the outside Jeongguk can see and hear too readily the way his features brighten and the fondness that colors his voice. The way he relaxes so easily in Taehyung’s presence, looking longingly when Taehyung looks away. Taehyung only listens rapt, and doesn’t realize that in this life he listens to, he’d loved Jimin, too.

A week later a suitcase takes permanent residence in the guest room. Jimin doesn’t ask, but Jeongguk’s quick to reassure him he’s free to stay. He still vanishes, sometimes for days on end, and neither Taehyung nor Jeongguk want to ask where he goes. He spends the nights with them when he can; but it’s in silence, and he rebuffs Taehyung’s questions more often than he answers them.

“How do we know we can trust him?” Taehyung asks Jeongguk one night.

For a moment it hits him. It’s a possibility to consider, certainly should consider if he’s worth even half his training. A planted agent, because what had Namjoon said? Not to trust anyone, and that there would be others who would try to take Taehyung.

But Jimin hasn’t tried to take Taehyung. He’d told Jeongguk it’d been his original plan, true, but why leave them now? Even aside that, Jeongguk feels in his heart Jimin’s telling the truth—there’s no level of acting for the way Jimin looks at Taehyung, even when he thinks Jeongguk doesn’t see. For the way he’d agonized telling Jeongguk about before.

“He doesn’t tell us anything,” Taehyung presses again when Jeongguk stays quiet. “He can’t just—say these things about me. From years ago, then not tell me more. I want to know more about myself. About what happened to me.”

“I think…” Jeongguk tries, his throat closing. He loved you. “That it’s hard for him.”

It’s not a good response. Taehyung furrows his brow, hurt. “It’s hard for me, too. I barely know anything.”

“I don’t think he likes what he knows,” Jeongguk says uneasily. “I don’t think it’s easy for him to talk about, Taehyung. Not to you, not even to me.”

Taehyung turns to him, eyes wide. It’s only a second later Jeongguk realizes his mistake.

“What do you mean, ‘not even to you’?” he asks, looking betrayed, and rightfully so. “Jeongguk, what has he told you?”

Jeongguk bites his lip. Taehyung clutches at his wrist. “Taehyung, I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“You can’t?” Again, it’s the wrong response. Taehyung’s voice is hiking up, eyes hurt. “You already hid so much from me, Jeongguk, you know you did, and—I know you couldn’t tell me who you were, but I know now. I deserve to know!” His nails dig into Jeongguk’s wrist, voice falling to a whisper. “Why won’t anyone let me know.”

“Because you’re not ready to know the truth,” Jimin says. The both of them spin. He’s at the doorframe, returned from his patrol out, shrugging off his coat. He won’t meet either of their eyes. “You might never be.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Taehyung recovers first. “What you told me before—that wasn’t the whole story, was it?”

“No,” Jimin says calmly. Taehyung’s expression drops a second, like he hadn’t expected the answer to come so easily.

“What are you hiding from me?” he accuses. “You can’t just—waltz into our lives, spin me some story and not tell me why I’m like this. There’s no way for me to even know you’re telling the truth, because I don’t remember anything. I don’t even know why I don’t!”

“I've never lied to you,” Jimin says quietly. He won’t meet either of their eyes. “I just haven’t told you everything.”

“Then tell me now,” Taehyung insists. Jimin’s silent. He presses, “I mean it. I don’t trust that you won’t tell me how this happened to me. I don’t like that I barely know anything of myself, and I don’t like that you’ve got my boyfriend hiding things from me now, too,” Taehyung says. Jimin doesn’t move, lips pressed into an unhappy line. “Even that, you won’t answer! Why?”

“Taehyung—please,” Jeongguk tries.

“It’s not fair, Guk!” Taehyung must be aware of how petulant it sounds, shame tinging the desperation in his voice. And that’s not fair to him, either, because everything Taehyung says is true. He deserves to know, has been lied to so much. But this part isn’t Jeongguk’s story to tell. Jimin, its keeper, looks pale.

“I’m not sure how much you’re ready to hear. If ever,” Jimin says finally, voice careful. Taehyung’s hands clench into fists at it, knuckles turning white.

“I’ve been living like this for over a year,” he hisses. “I want to know the truth about who I am. And I want to know why you’ve told Jeongguk more than me.”

Jimin’s answer is flat. “Because he’s not you.”

Jeongguk blanches at that. Taehyung’s mouth has fallen open dumbly, closing and opening a few more times. He shuffles angrily, looking between them before looking down.

“And what’s so bad about me, huh?” he asks bitterly. Jeongguk reaches for his hand, but it’s denied. Jimin seems to soften, but Jeongguk can’t tell if Taehyung notices.

“Taehyung,” Jimin calls cautiously, something deeper behind it, something choked up. Jeongguk realizes he rarely hears Jimin say Taehyung’s name, let alone in his presence. “Oh, Taehyung. There’s nothing bad about you.”

“Then why won’t you tell me anything? Why won't you talk to me?” Jimin flinches, but Taehyung continues undeterred, “You said we worked together, but you won’t even look at me.”

Taehyung does find Jeongguk’s hand now, expression miserable. Jeongguk squeezes back, scared to death of speaking. There’s something scarred deep in the air between Jimin and Taehyung, but he can’t say he disagrees with Taehyung’s curiosity. Jimin tips his head back once, chest shuddering in a breath almost turned sob. He blinks back at them.

“Please, just—” for the first time, he looks weak. “Who you are now, Taehyung. You’re safe. You don’t have to know this—you have the chance to forget. Do you know how much I wish I could forget?” he closes his eyes. “Right now you’re not ready to hear it. You might never be. Please, just trust me.”

Taehyung takes a moment to reply, but when he does his voice is hardened with hurt. “Trust you?” he narrows his eyes. “You’ve barely told me the truth. I used to think—I used to think I remembered someone I loved,” and Jeongguk sees Jimin recoil at that, feeling sick himself. “But you won’t tell me anything, and you want me to trust you? No,” he shakes his head. “I trust Jeongguk. I love Jeongguk. But you... I don’t even know you.”

Jimin chokes, then. The spell broken, Jeongguk pulls at Taehyung, horrified. “Taehyung,” he protests, knowing what it means to Jimin. “That’s—”

“No,” Jimin interrupts, shaking his head. He’d looked stricken when Taehyung had said it, but the expression is gone now, hidden away behind his usual mask. “It’s fine. He’s right.” he hesitates imperceptibly. “...I’m a stranger.”

Jeongguk feels his heart ache. Even unknowing of the truth Taehyung seems to sense something shifted in it, seeming a little regretful but not backing down.

“You wouldn’t have to be,” he says, softening, “If you told the truth. There’s more to the story, isn’t there?”

“I can’t,” Jimin says, sounding strained. “I can’t. I can’t do that.”

There’s reluctance in it despite the conviction in the words. Both Jeongguk and Taehyung sense it, glancing at each other.

Taehyung pursues it. “Can’t,” he asks carefully, “Or won’t?”

“I can’t,” Jimin repeats, composure beginning to crack. "I can’t. I can’t—I can’t hurt you, Taehyung. Not—”

He cuts off. The unspoken not again is clear in his eyes, and Taehyung seems to catch it. He frowns.

“What do you mean?” Taehyung asks. “What’s going to hurt me? What can’t I know?”

Jimin’s eyes flicker to Jeongguk. There’s more here, Jeongguk senses, than his buried love, something deeper he’s thinking of. But—Jeongguk can’t disagree with Taehyung. He’s curious himself. Jimin seems to sense he’s lost his ally.

“You want to know,” Jimin says hoarsely, “But you’ll regret it. It’s better if you don’t know what happened. If you don’t know me.”

Taehyung steps closer to him. “That isn’t your decision to make.”

“Yes,” Jimin whispers, eyes vacant. “It is.”

Taehyung stares at him a moment. He glances helplessly back to Jeongguk.

“Jimin,” Jeongguk hears himself mumble. There’s another conversation coming back to him, when he’d been reluctant to reveal himself to Taehyung. When Jimin had looked in his eyes and down to his soul and told him you should tell him, he hated lies. Jimin shrinks back, but Jeongguk finishes anyway. “He deserves to know.”

Jimin deflates. “He does,” he agrees, and looks to Taehyung. “But you don’t want to. Neither of you do.”

“What about before?” Taehyung asks. “Would I have wanted to know before?”

Jimin shivers. “You would have wanted to know, yes,” he manages thickly. “You always would have.”

“Then tell me,” Taehyung almost pleads. He reaches for Jimin, who freezes but doesn’t draw back, even when Taehyung touches his arm. He looks lost, and Jeongguk thinks in that moment that no matter how often he’s tried to imagine the burden Jimin must feel, it’s nothing close to its true weight, if Jimin’s eyes are anything to judge by. “If you ever cared about me, then tell me.”

It’s daring, and awful. Jeongguk thinks he can see a light in Jimin’s eyes go out. “Because you would have wanted to know?” Jimin breathes out. Taehyung nods. That’s when Jimin breaks, laughing bitterly. “Taehyung, that doesn’t mean anything. That curiosity was the death of you.”

Taehyung’s hand falls back to his side. Jimin touches his arm in its absence. Some horrid floodgate has broken, and he says, “You really want to know? The two of you? Taehyung, my love?"

“You—then it was you—” Taehyung’s eyes widen. He looks to Jeongguk. Jeongguk looks away. This part he knows. “You loved me,” Taehyung realizes. “I—loved you, didn’t I? We were lovers.”

This time Jimin’s laugh is despairing. “Oh, Taehyungie,” he says, and clutches for his neck. He fumbles at the necklace there, pulling it from under his shirt. From the chain dangles two gold rings now intertwined on one neck. Taehyung’s eyes widen as they fall to them, and lift back to Jimin’s with horror. Jeongguk can see tears starting in his eyes. “Baby. We were everything.”

“Oh,” Taehyung says weakly. “Oh, god.”

“We ran,” Jimin grips the chain, fist trembling. “We ran, but they found us. They got us a message—if we met and handed over everything we’d stolen, they’d let us go free. I said we had to run faster. You were curious," Jimin squeezes his eyes shut. Jeongguk thinks he might be sick, skin crawling to hear such detail in Jimin’s raw tone, all his guesses nothing to hear confirmation aloud. “They took us back for punishment. We were so scared for each other, thinking we’d be tortured, executed.” Jimin almost giggles. “If only we’d known. Oh, darling. I might have killed you with my own hands.”

Taehyung's hand finds his, then, gripping tight. Jimin's eyes fall to the motion.

“They made me watch,” Jimin continues almost to himself, eyes fixed on their joined hands. He sounds far away. “They strapped us both down and made me watch. Told us so happily what was going to happen, they have—a white room. Set up for surgery, except instead they—they—” his voice breaks. Jeongguk wants to tell him to stop, but can’t quite find his voice. Taehyung looks similarly ill, his hand slick in Jeongguk’s, but there’s no stopping Jimin now. His eyes go blank. “Into the brain. They punctured the membrane, showed me onscreen and I—I didn’t understand it, what they were saying, I was too scared and I couldn’t hear over you screaming—” he shudders bodily, looking ready to gag. “Do you understand? You were awake. And when you—when you stopped moving, they explained to me everything of you they were taking away as they did it and they gagged me so I had to hear over my own screams—”

“Stop,” Taehyung whispers, voice cracking. “Stop. Stop.”

“I begged,” Jimin says, eyes blown wide and distant. “I asked them to take me instead, to leave you alone. You told me to shut up, to live on. I pleaded anyway, but it didn’t matter, because they wanted to punish me,” he drops to a whisper, eyes wet. “They hurt you to punish me. I told Jeongguk it was a punishment—but it wasn’t yours. Don’t you understand? It’s my fault you’re like this. It's my fault you're gone. And I never even got to say goodbye.”

“Jimin,” Jeongguk says hoarsely, and almost reaches out. “Jimin, you’re not—” okay, he wants to say, seeing the spiral down in Jimin’s eyes, but realizes: it’s been like this for a long while. Jimin’s just been a little too good at hiding it.

“They let me stay when they put you under, at least,” Jimin closes his eyes. Jeongguk jolts at his next words. They must have just missed each other, and he’d never known what was happening a floor up: “Induced a coma for you to heal in, said that you’d be rehabilitated. Kept with an agent who’d lie to you, keep you far away from me, they said. A fucking willing hostage,” the first sob comes, his chest shuddering. “I’d never see you again and you wouldn’t even know you were lost.”

“I didn’t—” Jeongguk shivers. “We were so close, and I never even—”

“You weren’t meant to know,” Jimin says. “I’ve thought about it, Jeongguk. It seemed so odd to me that the agent responsible for guarding Taehyung didn’t even know he was a prisoner. But it’s because it’s disgusting. Isn’t it? Anyone who knew would try to save him.”

“I can’t remember,” Taehyung’s shaking, eyes fixed on Jimin’s face. His cheeks are wet. “I thought—when I woke, that I missed someone, then—my nightmares, but I still couldn’t—but you’ve gone through so much, and I can’t remember anything.”

“That’s not your fault,” Jimin says instantly, distraught. “You didn’t have a choice, baby. What they did was—” he has to stop for a second, paling. “But I remember. Every one of them, Taehyung. I’ve been finding them all, making them suffer. Goya? He retrieved us, mocked us for falling in love. I told them all, that I’d get to them someday—but when I heard you'd been sighted, I came for you. I wanted to take you, hide you away, but—ah, you weren’t mine anymore.”

“I love him,” Taehyung whispers. Jeongguk squeezes his hand, his own eyes wet. “I could never leave him. I love him so much, Jimin.”

“And I don’t want you to be sorry for that,” Jimin’s voice is gentle now. “I’ve spent so long looking for you, Tae,” his smile can barely be called as such, it’s so pained. “I’m glad you found him. That you had someone. I can be alone while I finish this. Because I knew that... I’d never find you again. Not really.”

“I can’t remember, can I?” Taehyung realizes lowly. “I can’t ever remember.”

“No,” Jimin whispers. “What they did—if you’d seen the needle—you’d know it’s permanent.” he sways, and laughs shortly, then, the sound harsh. He buries his face in his hands. “God, I’m—I’m so sorry. I never should have done this, any of it.”

“Jimin?” Jeongguk asks, alarmed. He continues like he hasn’t heard.

“I knew you were happy now,” Jimin says, agonized. “I knew you were happy, but I just couldn’t let go. To see you smile, to even be around you again felt so—but now I’ve ruined the happiness you found, that you could have had without me. I’m always so selfish, and you’re always the one who pays for it.”

That’s not true, Jeongguk wants to argue, but he’s got no way of knowing, not really. Still so unknown to them, Jimin looks away.

“I’ve loved you for so long, darling,” he breathes. “But I’ve got nothing to show for it but the scars on your mind. It should’ve been me. I—” he breaks off. “I’m so sorry.”

And then he’s gone, striding out and the door slamming shut behind him. In his absence there’s barely a second of stillness between them before Jeongguk and Taehyung falter, and find each other to hold steady. Jeongguk sees his own horror mirrored in Taehyung’s expression.

“God—” Taehyung sobs into his shoulder. Jeongguk tries to rub at his back, his world spinning. “He was right. I wish I hadn’t asked. I wish—” he fists a hand in Jeongguk’s shirt. “I want to forget.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jeongguk says numbly. “You didn’t know. We didn’t know.”

“You didn’t…?” Taehyung pulls back to look at him. “You didn’t know either?”

Jeongguk shakes his head. “He said—he said this was done to you, but not—how, or any—” he shivers. “Details.”

“He was right. I shouldn’t have asked,” Taehyung says again, voice muffled as he presses his face back into his shoulder. “But I can’t stop thinking about him alone with this, Jeongguk. If that had been us—you—I think I’d die.”

“I wanted to tell you,” Jeongguk murmurs, stroking his hair. “I knew that he loves you, Tae. I wanted you to know, but…”

“I understand,” Taehyung whispers. “That wasn’t your story to tell.”

They sway for a time, find their way to the bed in silence. Exhausted, clinging to each other, they fall asleep still tangled in each other’s arms.

It’s why Jeongguk feels Taehyung before he hears him. The telltale tossing before the whimpering begins, sheets twisting around them.

“Stop,” he cries. “Please, stop, stop—”

Jeongguk’s about to sit up when a clear voice stills him, keeps him frozen. In the light slanting in through the door open just a crack, Jimin stands at their bedside, strokes Taehyung’s hair.

“It’s over,” he’s whispering, voice thick with tears. “It’s okay, baby. It’s alright. You’re safe now.”

“Jimin,” Taehyung mumbles, like he always does. Jimin chokes on a sob.

“I’m here, Tae,” he promises, voice cracking. “I’m here, love. I’m here. You’re not there anymore.”

“Jimin,” Taehyung says again, but this time it’s more of a sigh. His hand finds Jeongguk’s, and even feigning sleep Jeongguk can’t help but squeeze back. Through the dark he sees Jimin’s hand come up to card through Taehyung’s hair, stroking back his bangs. They stay like that for a while, Jimin coaxing Taehyung back down into sweeter dreams and Jeongguk barely daring to breathe. When Jimin finally speaks again it’s soft, words following the kiss he presses to Taehyung’s forehead.

“Tae,” Jimin whispers, heartache thick in his words. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Jeongguk is the first to talk to him. He finds Jimin on the roof that morning, staring out across the city like he’d rather be anywhere else. Jeongguk sits beside him silently, just barely apart.

“Sometimes I wish it’d been me,” Jimin says. He sounds absent, expression miserable, deepest thoughts spoken aloud. “So many times. I wished it so much—because I’m awful. Haven’t you realized? I’m a terrible person, but he always loved me in spite of it.”

“You’ve been through a lot,” Jeongguk says back softly. “What you’ve been through—I’m not sure I could’ve survived that. Without—”

He cuts himself off, but knows Jimin catches the unspoken: without Taehyung. Taehyung, so easy to love, and Jimin had loved and lost him first. Jimin curls in on himself.

“I know it’s selfish, but I still wish it,” he whispers. “I wish I hadn’t seen that done to him. That it had been me instead. So I didn’t have to remember. I wish this on him instead,” he gestures to himself. “Because I’m selfish, and wish I could forget the pain, but also because... Taehyung is so strong. He’s so good, Jeongguk. He was always stronger than me and he’d know what to do—” Jimin clenches his fists until his knuckles paint white. “He would have known what to do, but I don’t. I don’t know what to do and I’ve been so scared.”

“You’ve done the best you can,” Jeongguk murmurs. “You’ve done better than anyone could.” Then, unsure what spurs him on—Jimin looks so small, so lost—Jeongguk bites his lip and tries, “Can I touch you?”

Jimin stiffens, unable to mask the surprise in time. He looks at Jeongguk, eyes wide, but something like longing falls over him to see Jeongguk’s arm outstretched. He hesitates, but Jeongguk sees the moment he breaks with a shiver, curling into him. He wraps his arms around Jimin like he has so many times to comfort, like when Taehyung’s still breathing heavy from a nightmare. Jimin seems just as fragile now.

Murmuring, Jeongguk asks, “When’s the last time anyone held you?”

Jimin stills. “One of the assistants who strapped Taehyung down. Got a grip on me before I—”

“No,” Jeongguk says. “Like this.”

Like you’re loved, he almost says. Jimin seems to forget barriers, curling into Jeongguk.

“My Taehyungie,” he whispers, breaking. “Before they found us.”

Jeongguk runs a hand over his hair, eyes closing. They sit for a while, then, and Jeongguk wonders who Jimin imagines is holding him.

“I’m sorry. I thought I was over this,” Jimin mumbles after a time. “That I could do this without him. Live with just the memories, live for revenge. But seeing him again—I love him so much, Jeongguk.” he bites his lip. “I’m sorry. He’s all I had for years. He’s still all I have, even if it’s just a memory.”

“Don’t apologize for loving him,” Jeongguk’s throat clicks painfully. “He wouldn’t want that. I don’t want that.”

“You’re good, too, you know,” Jimin whispers to his heartbeat. “Being so kind to me. If I were in your position, I would have been so angry. So jealous.” he hangs his head. “I’m not good. Not in any way. It’s why I deserved to be punished.”

“You don’t deserve punishment,” Jeongguk says instantly. This he knows, can feel it intrinsically.

“You can’t say that,” Jimin shrugs, pulling back. “You can’t say that because you don’t know me.”

“I feel it,” Jeongguk says more firmly. “You love him so much. You act like this is your fault, but none of it is. You just wanted to love him. That’s not bad. What they did—that was bad. You’re not the one who’s wrong.”

Jimin closes his eyes. “I’m still not a good person,” he says. When he reopens them, they’re colder. “You’re just out of training, aren’t you? I’ve killed, Jeongguk. More than whatever training exercises you’ve been on, in the rush of a fight. I’ve hunted, and I’ve murdered. And I don’t care. I won’t stop, not until everyone who hurt him is dead.”

“You can’t scare me,” Jeongguk shoots back. “Tell me. You were with Taehyung, who he was before. Did he ever kill, too?”

Jimin’s silence is all the answer he needs.

“And you didn’t think he was a bad person.”

“That was different,” Jimin won’t meet his eyes. He stares at the ground. “We did what we had to do.”

“And you’re doing the same now,” Jeongguk says. “I’m not just—fresh out of training. I know what our work is, Jimin. I was—I was slated for assassinations,” Jeongguk finds himself admitting quietly, something shared privately to him before graduation, something he’s never told even Taehyung. “I accepted that. But I was a better match for him instead. So you can’t scare me off. You admit he did what he had to do, so why can’t you feel the same about yourself?”

Jimin’s back to silence, this time slow acceptance. Jeongguk can almost hear his mind working.

“You’re maddening, you know,” he says in a mutter. “But... I can see why he loves you.”

It glows through him. Jeongguk swallows, squeezing Jimin’s shoulder before letting him go.

“I still think you should talk to him,” he says. “I know it’s scary. That it’ll be hard, but... he wants to know, Jimin. He deserves to know. About himself, about you.”

Jimin exhales slowly. “I know you’re right,” he says exhaustedly. “Maddening.”

“Friends?” Jeongguk dares to ask. Jimin starts, and Jeongguk wonders how long it’s been since Jimin’s trusted anyone. If Jimin even trusts him now.

Jimin looks dazed. “Okay,” he says. They’ve separated, but he seems a little warmer for the comfort, the burden a little less. “Okay.”

It’s late when Taehyung talks to Jimin, later still when he comes back. Jeongguk hadn’t intended to wait up; there was just no way he could find sleep, curled alone in their bed and so much racing through his mind.

Around three a.m. the door clicks open. A few padded footsteps, and the shift of the mattress as Taehyung crawls back into bed beside Jeongguk, into his arms when he opens them. His eyes are swollen, voice thick, the exhaustion that comes after a long, hard cry. Jeongguk rubs his back until he’s ready to talk, if that time ever comes.

“He told me about us,” is what Taehyung says when he finds the words. “About how we met, and more. About everything.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Jeongguk whispers back. He kisses his forehead, and Taehyung snuggles closer into his chest. “It’s—you. And him. Your past. I won’t ask."

“That’s not it,” Taehyung closes his eyes, guilt tinging his voice. “I just—I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to do.” Jeongguk squeezes him tighter, and so quietly he almost doesn’t hear it, Taehyung adds, “I don’t know him. I know you.”

“But you did know him, Tae,” Jeongguk says back gently. “You did.”

Taehyung’s lips set unhappily. “What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know,” Jeongguk admits. “But I can’t just—” he sucks in a breath. “If someone took you from me, I’d look for you, too. I don’t think I’d ever stop.”

“You, too,” Taehyung whispers back, burying his face in Jeongguk’s chest. “You, too.”

“It could’ve just as easily been you,” Jeongguk realizes. Taehyung pulls back, brow furrowing. “He said—he wished it’d been him they took. And it made me think. If they’d picked him, I’d be guarding him. ...You’d have been the one looking for him.”

Taehyung looks stricken. “I…”

“I don’t want to think about it, it just—it made me realize,” Jeongguk says. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t think he knows, either. But I don’t think he deserved this. Or that he deserves to be alone. I think you—we—are the only people he has left.”

“He doesn't feel... about you?”

“For…?” Taehyung searches his face, and Jeongguk shakes his head. “No, he... he said he was glad. That you had me. That we had each other.”

“Oh,” Taehyung closes his eyes again. Like he’s bracing himself, he says, “...we were married.”

Jeongguk nods. “I know.”

“And he feels glad,” Taehyung marvels. “I don’t know how anyone could be so good.”

Jeongguk recalls, “He doesn’t think he is.”

“I don’t think I could be that good,” Taehyung admits. Jeongguk disagrees, but in the moment he can only feel pity for them both, unable to see they’re as good as the other. He strokes Taehyung’s cheek.

“No?”

“No,” Taehyung bites his lip. “I’d try to steal you back.”

“I think he wanted that, too,” Jeongguk shares, “At least at the beginning. He found us to take you away, but...”

Taehyung blinks at him. “Not anymore?”

“No,” Jeongguk says. “He saw us. Saw how we are.” he pauses. “He didn’t want to see you, then. He didn’t want me to tell you about him. He thinks he’s not good enough. That he’ll ruin your happiness.”

Taehyung mulls it over. “I don’t think so,” he says carefully. “I don’t know how you feel, but—I’m glad to know. About myself, about us. Even if it wasn’t…” he breaks off, and Jeongguk knows: even if the happy ending they deserved was torn away, Jimin now its only witness.

“I know,” Jeongguk says. “I am, too. Even if it’s not my story.”

Taehyung shakes his head, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “It’s yours, too,” he says. “It is now.”

“I guess so,” Jeongguk replies softly. “I don’t... think I want him to leave. He doesn’t seem okay, Taehyung. I think we’re the only friendly faces he’s seen in a while, and you’re his—anyway, I think he should stay. If you agree, I don’t think he deserves to be alone. I don’t want him to leave just yet.”

“Me, neither,” Taehyung nods. Jeongguk lets out a drawn breath. “He asked me, tonight. If I wanted him to leave.” Pain crosses his face. “I’m glad you feel the same. Even if I don’t remember—or know what to do, really—I don’t want him gone.”

“Then we should talk to him,” Jeongguk says back, “in the morning.”

“In the morning,” Taehyung agrees, exhaling soft. His arms wrap around Jeongguk and hold fast. “G’night. Love you.”

“Love you,” Jeongguk murmurs back. Guilt flashes through him once, to think of Jimin somewhere in the house, sleeping alone, if he's sleeping at all. He shoves it down. “‘Night.”

Jimin is packing when they catch him. Rather, packed; he’s flipping through money clips, all separated by currency. Already counted, but it’s clear he’s keeping his hands busy.

“We caught you,” Taehyung greets gently. Jimin doesn’t look up.

“I almost left,” he says, “Last night. But—” He breaks off, and shrugs. “But here I am.”

“Guess you want to stay?” Taehyung tries politely. Jimin sucks in his lip, dumping the clips into a bag.

“Guess I wanted to say goodbye,” he says, pushing himself up. “This time.”

Taehyung looks at Jeongguk, who takes a deep breath. Carefully, he says, “Neither of us wants you gone.”

The look Jimin gives him is exhausted. “I’ve done nothing but cause you trouble,” he says, and folds his arms across his chest. It comes off more as self comforting than defensive. “I should have left you alone.”

“Things might not have stayed that way,” Jeongguk insists. “You can’t know that we would have been left alone.”

“No, but I do know that with me around, you won’t be.” Jimin shoots back. “I want you to be happy, and safe. And neither of those can happen if you’re looking over your shoulders because I’m bringing an army down on me.”

“But safety’s in numbers, right?” Taehyung tries. Jimin scoffs weakly, but he persists. “We ran before.”

“That’s not you anymore, Taehyung,” Jimin looks like it pains him to say it. “Have you ever even held a gun in this life?”

“You can teach me.”

Jimin sighs. “I agree you should learn to defend yourself, things being as they are, but Jeongguk could teach you that.”

“I can,” Jeongguk says, “But I can learn more from you, too. Before—when we fought—you ended me. You could train me.” Jimin hesitates, so he presses on. “So I can protect him better.”

“And besides,” Taehyung says quietly. “We talked about it. We want you to stay.”

Jimin looks to his hands, curls them into fists. “How can you ask me to do that?” he mutters. “To put you in danger again, Taehyung. And this time, I’m endangering the one you love, too.”

“We’re not helpless,” Jeongguk says firmly, “We can learn from you, but we can make our own decisions, too. We want you to stay.”

“Because you pity me,” Jimin says flatly, “Am I wrong?”

Jeongguk flinches, but Taehyung steps forward, shaking his head.

“Because we talked about it,” he says, “And we want you to be happy, too. You deserve it.”

Jimin’s lips part, looking on the verge of firing back, but Taehyung sets his jaw stubbornly. Jimin scans his eyes over his face once, and then almost imperceptibly softens.

“You really want me to stay?” he asks. The both of them nod. “...then I’ll wait with you. Until I find my last target. Then it’ll all be over.” he tips his head back with a sigh, closing his eyes. Jeongguk is too afraid to ask what he means.

The next time they move, Jimin comes with them. He departs on a different date, and travels separately, but sets up a safe house for them by the time Taehyung and Jeongguk arrive, smaller bedroom claimed for himself.

He slips quietly, almost reluctantly into their life; Jeongguk watches him reteach Taehyung how to disassemble and reassemble a gun, Taehyung claps when they spar and Jimin pins Jeongguk. Steadily, they both improve. Jimin rarely smiles, but there’s a small one curving his lips to watch Taehyung at the local shooting range. Jeongguk sees another when he finally bests Jimin in combat, subdued surprise then warmth as he takes Jeongguk’s offered hand to stand back up.

“I have something for you,” Jimin says one day, uncharacteristically nervous. “The both of you.”

They’re back in Europe, a little town on the Italian coast. The sea breeze comes in cool through the open window as it stirs the curtains, and both Taehyung and Jeongguk look up at him with surprise.

Jimin looks down under their gazes. “It’s not much,” he admits. “But I went back to one of... our old safehouses. After... you know.” his eyes dart to Taehyung, and from behind his back he pulls out a book.

Taehyung takes it gingerly when Jimin holds it out to him. Looking over, Jeongguk recognizes Oscar Wilde even though the cover’s worn, semi faded with age.

“This was yours,” Jimin says tenderly. “A complete works. There’s—notes, marks, inside. You left them. I—haven’t looked,” he shakes his head. “I couldn’t, but... you might like to.”

“Jimin,” Taehyung breathes. He flips open to one page at random, then through a few others. Sure enough, the book’s well-loved; there’s highlights, lines scrawled into passages, occasional loose leaf notes tucked in.

“There’s others, too,” Jimin says. “I’d have liked to tell you more. About the things you enjoyed. But this was—” he pauses a moment, watching Taehyung. That adoration is back in his eyes, immense though distant. Taehyung doesn’t look up in time to catch it, flipping through. “You used to read this one to me. So I couldn’t help but grab it.”

Taehyung looks up at that. He blinks at Jimin once, then smiles, swallowing.

“Thank you,” he says. “I’d like that. To hear more about myself. And—I’d read to you again, if you like.”

Jimin bites his lip. Scans Taehyung’s face as though searching for insincerity, but Taehyung’s all genuine, eyes warm. “I’d like that, I think,” Jimin says finally, almost shyly. He stares at him a second longer before shaking his head slightly to gather himself and leaning back to turn to Jeongguk.

“I also found... it’s not as sentimental, I know. I didn’t know you before. But…” Jimin hesitates, then slips a case out of his coat. He clicks it open and presents it to Jeongguk. There’s a blade resting inside, steel a wicked curve and engraved handle. Peering closer, Jeongguk can see a vaguely floral pattern etched into the grip.

“I had it commissioned, before,” Jimin says, “For Taehyung. He loved Van Gogh. It’s based off Almond Blossoms.” He pauses to exhale. “I wanted to protect him with it, but... I failed.”

“Jimin,” Jeongguk says instantly, “You didn’t—”

Jimin holds up a hand and shakes his head. Crestfallen, Jeongguk falls silent.

“You don’t have to use it,” Jimin says. “But I think I’d like if you kept it safe. Gave it a better fate than I would.”

Jeongguk nods, clicking the case shut. “I will,” he promises. “And I’ll use it, too.”

Jimin offers him a tired smile. “Thank you,” he says.

“You’re leaving again,” Taehyung’s the first to realize, “Aren’t you?”

Jimin doesn’t look at either of them. “Yes,” he says. “I found the doctor. The one who...” He trails off, eyes closed.

“Hoseok?” Taehyung asks suddenly, a little fearful. Jimin cracks open his eyes, vaguely confused.

“You know Hobi?” he asks. Taehyung looks just as scared, and Jeongguk quickly confirms they’d met him. Sensing their fear, Jimin shakes his head quickly. “No. He didn’t have anything to do with... what happened. You can trust Hoseok.”

“That’s good to hear,” Jeongguk murmurs. “He took care of Taehyung.”

Jimin smiles tiredly. “He promised me he would,” he says. “After the... anyway. This is different.”

“But you’re coming back, right?” Jeongguk stresses. Jimin looks confused.

“You want me to?” he asks.

“Yes,” Taehyung confirms immediately, glancing to Jeongguk, who nods, too. “We still have so much to talk about, and... we want you here, with us. We do.”

After a moment Jimin meets their eyes. “Okay,” he says, and that’s all.

He’s gone by the morning.

“You don’t have to feel guilty,” Jeongguk whispers to Taehyung one night, holding each other so close. “If you love us both.”

“Gukkie,” Taehyung almost whimpers back, guilty. Jeongguk silences him with a kiss.

“You’re good, Tae, so good,” he says, so gently. “Loving more than one person, it’s okay. It just means you have a lot of love in your heart. It’s not a bad thing.”

“I love you,” is all Taehyung says, whisper floating between them in the dark.

“I know,” Jeongguk says. “And I love you. But he loved you first. You loved him first, too.”

“Stop that,” Taehyung says, finding and clutching his hands. “You know I love you. You know I couldn’t be without you.”

“I know,” Jeongguk repeats. Taehyung waits for him to gather his thoughts, kissing his knuckles. “I just—I want you to be happy. I want us all to be happy.”

“I want that, too,” Taehyung says. Barely audible, he admits, “But...I don’t know if Jimin will ever let himself. The way he looks sometimes, Guk…”

Jeongguk understands. “He told me once,” he says. “He wanted to watch them all burn. For hurting you.” he closes his eyes, curling closer. “I think I understand it. I want him to be happy, too, but I don’t think he can forgive himself until this is over.”

He doesn’t say the unspoken, and wonders if Taehyung’s picked up on it, too; he’s too observant not to have, but neither of them want to voice it. The way Jimin looks, talks, like he’s just waiting for an end. Where neither of them can follow, no matter how they’ve emphasized to Jimin he’s welcome with them. That they want to be with him.

Jimin returns a week later. He doesn’t speak for three days, but they welcome him back with the best smiles they can muster, and reluctantly say goodbye to the little villa as they move north.

In Amsterdam, Jimin surprises them with tickets to the Van Gogh museum. He won’t answer when Taehyung asks if they visited together before, just wanders along with them, smiles fondly at their excitement. Jeongguk’s never visited a museum proper outside of any sort of mission, and Taehyung’s been drinking in every bit of the artist he can ever since Jimin mentioned he’d been a fan. He’s fallen in love all over again, almost running from one exhibit to another.

“If there was a way to remember,” Jeongguk asks quietly, “Would you do it?”

In front of Almond Blossoms their hands are intertwined.

Taehyung says, “There’s no way. He said so.”

“But if there were?”

Jeongguk regrets the question almost immediately. Taehyung’s face falls, glancing back, and Jeongguk mirrors the movement. Jimin’s still a ways away, sitting on a bench and examining something on his phone, looking bundled in a thick coat and scarf. Taehyung seems to shiver.

“Don’t make me,” he whispers. “Don’t make me hurt either of you.”

“I won’t,” Jeongguk brings his hand up to kiss the back of it, shaking his head. “I won’t. I’m sorry.”

They stand in silence for a minute like that, Jeongguk following the tracing of branches and thinking of its likeness on Jimin’s knife now his. Just when he thinks they’ll make to move on, Taehyung says quietly.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs. “Even if I could remember. The good things... there’d be so much pain, too. I’m happy now as things are.”

Jeongguk nods once, swallowing. With that they turn to leave, the both of them starting to realize Jimin’s behind them. He’s looking up at the painting distantly, no indication of how long he’d been listening. He doesn’t meet their eyes.

“Jimin,” Taehyung murmurs, guilty. Jimin drops his eyes to him and offers a small smile.

“C’mon,” is all he says. “The self portraits are my favorites.”

Neither of them sleep that night. The restlessness is only intensified when Taehyung comes back from the hallway bathroom to report guiltily Jimin’s room light is still on. It doesn’t take long for them to decide what to do, neither of them disagreeing.

Jeongguk’s the one to knock softly on his door. A second passes before Jimin calls for them to come in.

They push the door open. Jimin’s got himself seated on the floor, looking terribly domestic in sweatpants and a cotton tee. He's cross-legged and surrounded by plans spread out around him and has a marker in hand. He’s looking up at them with surprise, then worry.

“Is something wrong?” he asks anxiously.

“We’re safe,” Jeongguk assures quickly.

Jimin relaxes just a bit, but is still cautious when he asks. “Then...?”

“We can’t sleep,” Taehyung says. “You can’t either, right?”

Jimin blinks at him. “I... no,” he admits. He stares down a moment. In a second’s glance, Jeongguk thinks one of the prints looks vaguely familiar—then Jimin rolls it up, leaning back on his hands. “Doing a bit of late work.”

“Well, we were wondering...if it’s not too much of an interruption,” Taehyung brings the book out from behind his back. “I could read to us.”

Jimin’s jaw slackens before he can mask it, staring at the Wilde copy for a long minute. “I—” he bites his lip, struggling for a moment before he whispers. “I think I would like that,” he manages, “If you don’t mind.”

“Course not,” Jeongguk says. Taehyung invites himself onto the bed, and Jimin stands, staring at him a little warily. Then back to Jeongguk, who gestures for him to lead. Taehyung had left space for Jimin in the middle, but deliberately, almost shyly, Jimin climbs in on the side and keeps to himself. Taehyung surrenders, scooting over to the middle, and Jeongguk joins in beside him. Jimin looks like he makes an effort to relax, laying back a little stiffly, an inch or so left between he and Taehyung.

“What would you like to hear? I haven’t got a chance to read ‘em all yet,” Taehyung muses, flipping to the table of contents. He traces a finger down, eyes scanning his own notes, left in another life. “The Nightingale and the Rose sounds pretty."

“Too sad,” Jimin whispers, turning just slightly so he’s faced to them, cheek pressing into the pillow. “The Happy Prince.”

Taehyung finds the page, and reads aloud, voice rich. Every so often he trails off, distracted by the little scribbles of his writing in the margins. Both Jeongguk and Jimin are patient, watch and read along, one fascinated, one fond. At the end of the story he sits back with a frown.

“That wasn’t very happy,” Taehyung says. Below The End his own dainty scrawl has left a concise ‘capitalism’ underlined with a sad face beside it. Jeongguk nearly snorts.

“S’not meant to be,” Jimin murmurs drowsily. They look to him, and it’s the most unguarded Jeongguk has ever seen him, face softened by sleep and a little pouty against the pillow. He wonders how often Jimin had fallen asleep to Taehyung’s voice before.

“Can I read another?” Taehyung asks gently, seemingly just as awed. Jimin nods.

“Please,” is almost inaudible.

So Taehyung reads. In order, for the most part, though he skips over The Nightingale and the Rose without comment. Jimin falls asleep first, head dropping onto Taehyung’s shoulder. Taehyung drifts off beside him, voice slowing before lulling to a stop altogether. Eyes heavy, Jeongguk takes the book from him, closing and setting it gently aside before curling up beside Taehyung and surrendering to sleep.

By morning Jeongguk opens his eyes to he and Taehyung in bed, alone. Heart sinking, he sits up immediately, but calms once he sees Jimin at the window.

Jimin doesn’t turn when Jeongguk walks to him. He almost goes to stand beside him, but stays just a half distance back.

“I know I shouldn’t be doing this,” he says quietly. “Getting close to him. Getting close to you.”

“Jimin,” Jeongguk begins to protest, but Jimin shakes his head. He turns, finally, eyes swollen.

“But being like this,” he continues in a whisper, “It’s the happiest I’ve been. In so long.”

They all sleep together after that. Read sometimes, switching narrators. Taehyung reads most often, but Jeongguk picks it up once to try, and they encourage Jimin, too, who’s unable to keep from giving voices to all the characters until they’re all laughing too hard to continue.

Taehyung’s usually in the middle, but as time goes on it becomes less of an expectation. Jimin’s tense the first time he takes the center, but has a smile on his face the whole day after. Once Jeongguk wakes with Taehyung’s face tucked into his neck and Jimin’s head on his chest. Breathing soft, content; it’s almost like they’ve found peace.

Really, Jeongguk should have known better.

“I need to talk to you,” Jimin tells them one day.

Jeongguk’s instantly on edge, if only for Jimin’s somber tone. He’s not dressed for a day in even despite the weather outside, mundanely garbed in an oversized black hoodie and jeans but looking certifiably miserable. Jeongguk can’t help but glance to Taehyung. Taehyung seems just as worried, eyes flicking over and behind Jimin. Searching for the suitcase they hate to see by the door.

“I need to say something to both of you.” Jimin says, summoning himself up. “First, I’m leaving tomorrow.”

It’s not unexpected. He’s been spending an increased amount of time on his phone—last week Jeongguk had caught him in a call in rapid-fire Mandarin, only catching leader and end. He’s been appropriately sobered, as well. But in his face now there’s something heavier than one of his missions out none of them like to talk about.

Jimin holds up a hand to protest Taehyung’s beginning questions. “Before you ask me anything, I have to say this. Right now, before I back down.” Reluctantly Taehyung nods, and Jimin’s voice softens. “I wanted to say—if you’ll indulge me a moment. Because I never got to tell this to you before.” Taehyung’s brow furrows, and Jimin takes a breath. “So—thank you. Even though you don’t remember, I want to say it. Just once. Because I never got to—” he shivers. “Thank you for loving me.”

“Jimin,” Taehyung murmurs instantly, his eyes wide. Jimin shakes his head.

“Just—I’m glad to have loved you, Kim Taehyung,” Jimin whispers. “I never deserved you.”

Taehyung pushes himself up instantly, shaking his head. Jeongguk sees the moment Jimin’s eyes widen, when Taehyung wraps his arms around Jimin and pulls him in for a tight hug. Jimin stiffens for a few seconds, but then he brings his arms up, too, burying his face in Taehyung’s shoulder. Jeongguk sees him shudder a little.

It’s an embrace so heavy Jeongguk wonders if they’ll ever be able to part. Jimin ends it, pulling back with reluctance. He exhales, turning to Jeongguk, who stands.

“Jeongguk,” Jimin says, “I wanted to say—thank you for being good. For letting me stay, and for taking care of him.” Somehow Jimin smiles at him. “This, here—it’s the happiest I’ve been. Thank you for that. Thank you for loving him.”

“Jimin,” is all Jeongguk can muster, “Why does this feel like a goodbye?”

Jimin’s smile falters. He shuffles his feet and looks to the floor.

“It took a few months, but my source managed to coordinate enough missions,” he delivers almost matter of factly, a briefing tone, even as he won’t meet their eyes. “The maximum number of agents are out on assignments right now. The director will be—”

“No,” Jeongguk interrupts, already shaking his head. “No, no. No, Jimin—the agency?”

It’s impossible. Headquarters itself—Jimin still won’t meet their eyes.

“Like I said, the minimum number of agents will be in place,” he shrugs. “I’m going to flush our files, cripple them—your data will be gone. You can run. And then the director who ordered this... punishment. He’s the last one. In the chaos, it’ll be so easy.”

“There’s no way you can get that close,” Jeongguk whispers. “Unless—”

“What are you planning?” Taehyung glances back to him fearfully. “Jimin, what are going to do?”

“The only way he could get that close,” Jeongguk says quietly, “is to be captured.”

Finally Jimin raises his gaze, familiar blankness back. He offers a hollow smile.

“No,” Taehyung says instantly, seizing up. He grabs for Jimin’s shoulder, looking sick. “You can’t just—and to go back there—”

“You don’t understand, Taehyung,” Jimin shakes his head. “Neither of you do. It’s—It’s him. He’s the one who did this all. He’s the last one. And if I can purge the system from the main branch—don’t you get it? Your files, all the information on all the agents, on you! Gone. You can be free.”

“And what about you?” Jeongguk steps forward. “Jimin, what about you?”

Jimin shrugs again. “That doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?” Taehyung chokes. “How can you say that? It does matter, Jimin, you matter. We care about you. I—I think I’m falling—”

“Don’t,” Jimin says sharply. He takes a staggered step back away from them, alarm flaring in his eyes. “Don’t say—just. Please. Don’t.”

“It’s true,” Jeongguk whispers. “We... care about you. Won’t you think about it?”

Jimin still looks shell shocked. He glances between them, looking torn.

“One night,” he says finally, faintly. “We can talk in the morning.”

The sight of Jimin’s suitcase, when it finally does appear by the door, weighs heavy on all of them. They avoid the topic, holding true to his promise to discuss it in the morning; dinner tense that night, Jimin's eyes intent on them. After that blurs, sleep coming too quickly, too easily. Jeongguk thinks he dreams Jimin’s voice, soothing soft comfort to them—that somehow they’ve moved from table to bed, and that when Jeongguk tries to stir, groggy, he finds himself unable to move.

Taehyung shakes Jeongguk awake at dawn.

“He’s gone,” he says, distraught. “I tried to stay awake, I did, but—”

“He—” Jeongguk pushes himself up, head spinning, voice hoarse. His mouth is dry and he curses inwardly for not having been more careful, having suspected when Jimin insisted on helping with dinner. “I think he drugged us. He never planned to let us—Shit.”

“He’s going to be killed,” Taehyung brings his hands to his mouth. “There’s no way. The things I felt there—Jeongguk, it’s bad—”

“Don’t think about it now,” Jeongguk grabs for him. “He may not have been that long.”

The reassurance is more for himself than Taehyung. There’s no trace of Jimin left in the apartment. All that’s out of place is Taehyung’s Wilde collection, set squarely on the dining table. A note lies atop it.

“It’s—” Taehyung reads quickly after picking it up. He swallows. “Instructions. A contact in Osaka?”

“Fuck that,” Jeongguk can barely hear himself over the blood roaring in his ears. “Pack. I’m booking a flight to Seoul.” Taehyung looks at him, hope spreading slow across his face. Jeongguk takes a breath. “We’re going after him.”

It’s the longest flight of Jeongguk’s life. Each hour he’s obsessively factoring where Jimin could possibly be depending on different times he could’ve left. If he’s still in-flight, if he’s close to landing, if it’s already too late. Taehyung isn’t as outwardly anxious, too good at that same mask he’s seen on Jimin. But Jeongguk knows he’s running the same calculations, because six hours to landing—the earliest Jimin could have left based on when they’d passed out—he’s turning into Jeongguk’s shoulder and hiding his face. Jeongguk holds him, similarly sick.

Seoul doesn’t feel familiar in the least. Ever-changing, but the feeling goes beyond the cityscape. It’s like they left a lifetime ago, the both of them entirely different and fallen together. Taehyung’s hand finds Jeongguk’s unbidden.

“It might not be too late,” Jeongguk whispers. It feels like a lie.

The drive’s quiet for the most part. Tense; Jeongguk had used every ounce of patience he possessed to keep calm through the rental process, wanting to scream when the clerk had to manually run his ID before issuing a car.

“I’m sorry,” Jeongguk tells Taehyung. It’s prompted by the turn off down the familiar country road outside the city, and the way Taehyung’s unbuckled his seatbelt to fasten on a holster beside him.

Taehyung glances at him. “What?”

“I promised to keep you safe,” Jeongguk says, agonized. “Away from all of this, and—now I’m taking you right back.”

Taehyung’s shaking his head before he’s even finished. “He’d do it for us,” he says gently, “We do it for him.”

“Still,” Jeongguk whispers. “I should have left you behind, I should have—”

“Stop that,” Taehyung says. “I know—enough from him to defend myself. And he deserves to be happy, too.” He clips the straps to his belt. “This is my choice."

“I know,” Jeongguk murmurs. “I just don’t want to regret it.”

It’s easy enough to park a ways off in the trees. Headquarters is nondescript, at first glance, a private residence, because most of what matters is underground. Jeongguk’s thought far enough ahead to calm himself when he takes Taehyung through the ‘main’ entrance—any agent enters through any of the various heavily guarded entrances throughout the grounds, and this one is a show more than anything, a guard to turn away innocent solicitors.

Jeongguk’s worked the desk himself several times back as a recruit. He sees himself in the bored look of the trainee at the desk, sitting up when they walk through the doors, likely some of the first in days. Before he can rattle off a security spiel Jeongguk tosses his card down onto the desk, shaking his head.

“Jeon Jeongguk,” he tells before rattling off his access code, then gestures to Taehyung. “He's with me. Doesn't have a number.”

The recruit swipes his ID, frowning at the screen. “You’re out on active assignment,” he says, glancing up with suspicion. “You’ll have to go through full security measures. I have to call this in.”

Jeongguk thinks fast. “He’s—got civilian clearance. We’re out of the field for a medical appointment. Detectors will throw off the metal he’s got.” He resists crossing his fingers behind his back, aware of the dozens of cameras broadcasted to the recruit’s screen, and prays Jimin had been correct listing who could be trusted. “Jung Hoseok is his nurse.”

The recruit blinks at him before shrugging. “I’ll get a line,” he says, going for the phone and punching in the code. Jeongguk glances to Taehyung, who at least appears outwardly calm, playing idly with his hands.

“There’s a Jeon Jeongguk here to see you,” the recruit says into the phone. He glances up at them. “Yeah, he’s got a patient with him. Says he has an appointment, that the scanners fuck up his tech.”

Jeongguk holds his breath. It’s one of the longest moments of his life, but after a few agonized seconds the trainee shrugs.

“I’ll send them in.” he hangs up the phone, hitting the keyboard in sequence. The first entrance opens—the generic one for cleared agents, with the most basic of scanners. Jeongguk lets his breath go. “He says he’ll meet you halfway to medical.”

Jeongguk offers a stiff bow, struggling to keep his pace normal as he and Taehyung walk to the elevator. He’s really only back to breathing normally when the doors slide shut and he feels the familiar descending tug.

“You all right?” Taehyung murmurs to him. Jeongguk nods.

“I’m fine. Just—” he swallows. “I’m worried. It’s too quiet.”

Their walk is tense. Jimin had been right—it’s the emptiest Jeongguk’s ever seen the agency. They pass only one other agent, someone Jeongguk doesn’t recognize. She just gives a polite nod that Jeongguk returns, and wonders at how long it’s been.

True to his word, about halfway through, Hoseok rounds a corner. He greets with a smile for the cameras, but grips Jeongguk’s arm too tightly, leans in to insist through a gritted smile— “Are you insane?”

“We need to find Jimin,” Jeongguk murmurs back. Hoseok stiffens. “He’s coming here. He left us, he’s going to get himself captured—”

“You met—? Nevermind. He wouldn’t be that stupid,” Hoseok pales. “Actually—yes, he would. It’s smart. There’s no other way for him to get close enough.” He shakes his head, refocusing. “You have to get out, now. Before he acts.”

“He’s not here yet,” Taehyung says. “He can’t be. It’s too quiet.”

“Not at all,” Hoseok says. “That’s his style. Gets himself in before he—”

He cuts off when the walls shudder. The lights flicker a moment before flashing alarm-red. Jeongguk recognizes an explosion from too many drills.

“You have to go now,” Hoseok hisses. “You can go through the medical exit. Everyone will be going the opposite way.”

“No way,” Jeongguk looks to Taehyung for confirmation before shaking his head. “We have to stop him.”

“Stop him?" Hoseok looks between them disbelievingly. “It’s too late. Even if you could get him out—after that—” he gestures to the alarm system. “Don’t you get it? He doesn’t care about anything else. He wants this.”

“He cares about us,” Taehyung insists, “He does. I know he does. And we—we care about him too.”

Hoseok runs his eyes over him, softening just a little. “That’s why he’s doing this, Taehyung,” he says. “Listen to me, both of you. This is planned. It’s what he wants, you have to—”

“Jung?” Someone’s rounded the corner. Jeongguk ducks his head just a little to recognize one of his instructors. In the chaos it seems he’s unrecognized, and no one seems to know Taehyung, the confidentiality of his assignment confirmed. “What are you doing? You’re needed in medical.” The agent’s eyes light on Jeongguk and Taehyung. “And you two. Get to the armory, there’s some lunatic lighting up the place.”

“Yes, sir,” Jeongguk reports. Hoseok looks to them helplessly.

“Jung, people need your help.” The agent says sharply. Jeongguk hears him curse under his breath as he goes, looking back to them once.

“C’mon,” Jeongguk murmurs to Taehyung. They break into a jog, then run, almost immediately, unable to keep to a walk. The two of them slip their guns out when they’re closer to the fray, but Taehyung’s the one to stop Jeongguk, eyes reflecting a racing mind.

“What is it?” Jeongguk asks, heart pounding. “We have to go.”

“I don’t... think he’s there,” Taehyung mulls. Jeongguk realizes as he speaks. “I know I don’t know this building, or remember being an agent but—it doesn’t make sense. Why would Jimin set off a firefight when—”

“His goal’s the director,” Jeongguk whispers. Taehyung looks to him anxiously, realization reflected on both their faces. “You’re right. Fuck. What Hoseok said—about his style, getting himself in. This is a distraction.”

As if on cue, there’s another distant burst. It’s farther away than previously, away from the main office.

“He’s leading them away,” Taehyung says. He takes a breath, steadying himself. He’s handling remarkably well, and absently Jeongguk wonders if a part of his instincts are coming back, muscle memory of his former life. He wishes he hadn’t put Taehyung in a situation where needs it. “So where do we go?”

Jeongguk swallows, refocusing. “We stop him before he gets to the main office,” he says. “I know a way.”

Jeongguk’s a recent graduate, and had often taken more to exploring than socializing with other recruits. It’s why he’s well-used to the all the back routes and maintenance lines, and he’s guessing Jimin is too, remembering the plans he’d held and quickly hidden that had seemed so familiar at the time. He’s trying to avoid questioning, too, any sightings or explaining away their route, so it makes sense.

“Jeongguk—” Taehyung gasps beside him as they run, “What if—what if we’re too—”

“We’ll find him,” Jeongguk says, because he can’t imagine anything else. In the moment there’s no time to even think, but he knows intrinsically, anyway; Jimin deserves more than this end. Deserves to see how good he is, that Taehyung and Jeongguk are falling fast, want so much more for him than martyrdom, if they can only find him in time.

Jeongguk hears the gunshot before they round the corner.

His blood’s ice, his own terror reflected on Taehyung’s face. Adrenaline roaring in his ears it takes a second to decode the situation before him—Jimin’s fighting, relief knocking the breath from the both of them to see he’s the one holding the gun. One of his enemies is falling back from the shot. Jeongguk sees him click the trigger once more to silence, then throw aside the empty gun. Jimin launches himself at the remaining guard, lithe as he dodges a swipe from a blade to deliver a staggering punch. He overcalculates, though, stumbling just a little with it, and in slow motion Jeongguk sees the guard recover first.

“Jimin,” they yell in unison, as a warning. It’s got the opposite effect. Jimin freezes, turning to them with wide eyes—

and twists sideways as the guard’s blade slashes across his cheek. Red drips as he staggers back, then straightens, too late.

Jeongguk doesn’t see the blade go in, barely hears Taehyung scream beside him. All he notices are Jimin’s eyes, widened in what’s almost surprise as the guard shoves the knife into his gut. And then Jimin’s falling, fallen, hand to his stomach stained red. The guard turns, and Taehyung and Jeongguk’s guns raise as one. Two shots, one through the chest, the other tearing a messy crater through his throat. With a choked gurgle the guard lurches back and falls, twitching. It doesn’t matter; all that Jeongguk sees is Jimin lying back, before he and Taehyung are sprinting to him and crouching beside.

“What are you—here—” Jimin tries. Taehyung catches his head before it can hit the floor slumping back. He’s breathing heavily, fingers streaked crimson where they dig around the knife buried in his stomach. “Get away. Get out. Before—”

“Shut up,” Jeongguk says. He’s not sure how he manages to slip out his phone, hand shaking so badly.  “I'll call for help. We’re going to get you out of here.”

“God damn idiots,” Jimin breathes, laying his head back with a groan. "S’not even deep, you rookies. I’ve had so much worse.”

There’s blood pooling up his fingers, staining his shirt as he speaks. Taehyung chokes on a sob, pressing his hand down atop Jimin’s with no care for the bloodflow. “Jeongguk!” he pleads.

“I’m trying,” Jeongguk almost cries in frustration, hitting any code he knows. Even the emergency numbers give the same result, one he’d known, really, trained so long underground here— no signal found. Scrabbling at the phone is the worst way of coping, because even if someone were to pick up, what could he say? Who could help them, here? They're alone, and it's the worst. “Jimin, can you move?”

“M’staying right here,” Jimin says. Weakly, he shoves at Taehyung’s wrist. Taehyung doesn’t budge. “You have to go. Both of you, now. They’ll figure it out soon.”

“Jeongguk,” Taehyung cries again, eyes wide on Jimin. “Jeongguk, he’s—what do we do?”

“There’s no signal,” Jeongguk whispers despairingly. “If we get outside, I can call for help—”

“You have to go now,” Jimin insists in a growl, eyes slipping shut. Jeongguk’s heart skips a beat. “I already—did it. Flushed all the data when I set the timers. They’ll try to retrieve it but—” he grimaces once, then breathes out and smiles. “They’ll be too late for that. All they’ll find is me. That's exactly what I want.”

“Shut up. Shut up!” Taehyung interrupts. “That’s not—you’re coming with us,” he begs, putting pressure back. “Jeongguk, please, I don't know what to do—”

“You have to go!" Jimin snaps. "Do you really think they'd let me die like this? That'd be a mercy." At that his snarl somehow manages to fold into a smile, and the gash on his cheek twists with it. "No, the punishments they prefer—it doesn't matter. It's perfect. I'll be brought so, so close to mock, and then..." he licks across his teeth. "Go. Now! They need to find me, so they stop looking for you. So I can get close, so I can end this. It's all I've dreamed of."

Jeongguk gives up, tossing the phone down. “Come with us,” he pleads, throat swelling painfully. “Please, Jimin. Don’t do this. The agency, what happened, it doesn't have to matter anymore. We have each other, now." He tries for a smile, but it stings tears in his eyes and falters when his lip quivers. "We can all run. Together.”

“I told you,” Jimin whispers. “I’m going to watch them burn."

“You don’t have to go down with it!” Taehyung snaps. “You dreamed—of us, too. I know it. Jimin, please, just sit up—”

“I’m not leaving. I can't. But you are,” Jimin manages. “Just—please. Before they—Taehyung, baby. Look at me.”

“You can’t stay here, you can’t, I—I never even got to know you,” Taehyung hiccups, fisting a hand in Jimin’s shirt. “I never got to—” love, they realize together, Taehyung’s eyes brimming to match Jeongguk’s as they meet.

“We don't have time,” Jimin says weakly. “Please, before—let me look at you, again. There's something I need to ask.”

Taehyung trembles as Jimin opens his eyes, as he reaches to trace Taehyung’s jaw. When he speaks, it's like to a ghost.

“I love you, Taehyungie,” he whispers, “I’ve loved you for so long. I always will. Thank you for loving me, too. For saving me. And I—" His voice breaks in its tenderness, far too soft for its backdrop of steel and blood. "I'm so sorry for what they did to you. If I'd just—If I'd been better—but I’m making it right, now. Just like I promised. It’ll all be over soon. So, please. Please, can you forgive me?”

“Jimin,” Taehyung begs, eyes wide, leaning into the touch even as he presses down harder around where the knife made home. “Whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault. Nothing was. Don’t blame yourself anymore."

Jimin's face is pale. "Please, Tae."

"It wasn't your fault!" Taehyung insists again, higher, and chokes. "Nothing was, none of it was. I never would have blamed you, Jimin, I know that."

Jimin shivers. "Please forgive me," he begs again, eyes glassy. "I need to hear it. Just once."

“Taehyung,” Jeongguk says, scared. “Just—say—”

Taehyung wavers before giving in with a shudder. “I forgive you,” he chokes out. Jimin sighs, eyes fluttering shut. “I forgive you. I do, I—I love you. If you let me, Jimin—”

“I’m so glad,” Jimin murmurs. “Jeongguk—”

“I’m here,” Jeongguk says frantically. Jimin’s hand twitches, and he grabs for it. “Jimin?”

“Take him away from here,” Jimin says. Another distant explosion rocks the rafters. “Take him far away. Inside the book—there’s instructions there. Someone who can help you get away. I’ve set everything up for you. I've done all of this for you. Please.”

“You can show us,” Taehyung says desperately. “You can show us yourself. When we go home, we can read it together again.”

“We can’t leave you,” Jeongguk follows, squeezing Jimin’s hand. “You know we can’t leave you.”

“You know you have to,” Jimin grits back. “You knew this was my plan. Think, Jeongguk. Even if I could leave now, I’m not well enough to fight. Everyone is looking for me. I’d never make it out of here. You can’t do that to him. You have to take Taehyung and run, now.”

Jeongguk sits back on his heels, tears blurring. Jimin’s right, and he hates it. There’s no way to get out and past security, not stealthily or by a fight with Jimin injured. And Jimin deserves better than this, better than being left to the end of this path he’s set himself down—but Taehyung does, too. Deserves a home, a permanent one, far away from this terrible place and its terrible fate. Deserves whatever Jimin is willing to die for them to run to.

Jeongguk has spent hours trying to imagine what Jimin must have gone through, the guilt he’d lost himself in. For the first time, he thinks he can understand a glimpse of what Jimin must have felt when he was unable to save Taehyung.

“Love him like I can't,” Jimin says, thumb tracing Jeongguk’s palm. “You’re so good. I wouldn’t trust anyone else—please, promise me, keep him safe—”

“Keep him happy,” Jeongguk whispers with horror. Jimin smiles. And deep down Jeongguk knows it’s over, but still— “We should’ve been faster. I’m so sorry—please. Come with us...”

“You have to go now,” Jimin says gently. “No one will pay attention to you leaving once they find me. All your records are deleted. If you follow my instructions, they’ll never find you. Live.” Something hard presses into Jeongguk’s hand, passed to him from Jimin’s, and he nearly crumbles to recognize the chain. Only when he sniffs hard does he realize fully he’s crying. “Do you understand? Go.”

“Okay,” Jeongguk rasps after a moment, fumbling and grabbing for Taehyung. “Okay. Okay, I—thank you, Jimin. For everything. If—if we had more time—”

“I know,” Jimin whispers. “I’d love you, too.”

“Jeongguk, we can’t—” Taehyung tries to wrench free when he hears it, struggling as Jeongguk grabs and tugs him up with him to his feet. “No, we can’t, what are you doing, not without him—”

“We have to go,” Jeongguk looks away, squeezing his eyes shut. “Tae, we have to go now.”

“No,” Taehyung nearly screams, but Jimin’s eyes are closed again, hands clutched to his stomach and breathing shallow. He lets himself be dragged even refusing to turn forward. “We can’t leave him here! When they find him—they're going to—”

Jeongguk pulls Taehyung to him, grabbing his face and kissing him. “We have to live,” he says, pulling back desperately. “Do you understand? He—He did everything for you, for me, for us. For him, we have to go.”

Taehyung’s shoulders wrack in a sob, but this time when Jeongguk runs, he follows.

The wreckage passes by them like a dream. Jimin had been right about their escape; there’s such a preoccupation with the search for him that there’s barely anyone through the halls, and those they pass don’t bat an eye. The guard’s desk is empty, too, and they stumble out of the elevator almost numb, focusing only on getting away. Taehyung sobs when another alarm rings, an intercom announcing suspect in custody.

The world only spins back into focus when Jeongguk sees two figures by their car, pulling Taehyung behind him and going for his gun. The woman closest to him is faster, drawing a pistol and aiming with ease. Jeongguk’s eyes slam shut, bracing himself. The shot never comes. He blinks them back open, exhausted.

“Keys,” she says. Her partner holds out a hand. Jeongguk just stares a moment, mind blanking. She raises the gun higher.

“We’re leaving, too,” Taehyung rasps. He pushes past Jeongguk, who stiffens. The woman takes a half step back, shoving the gun forward more aggressively. He stops, and raises his hands. Jeongguk trembles to see the dried red on them. “That’s what you’re doing, right? We can go together.”

“I’m not gonna ask twice,” she says, but then her partner steps forward, looking exhausted.

“Hear them out,” she says, and focuses on them. “Did you see when the system went down? All our files are gone.”

“All of them?” Jeongguk breathes. So Jimin hadn’t just freed them—he’d crippled the facility itself. “So you’re running?”

She narrows her eyes. “You’re not?”

“We are,” Jeongguk says. Adrenaline fading, the exhaustion’s starting to hit in waves. He thinks he’d like nothing more than to lay down for a long, long time and cry. “You’re going to the city, too, right? We can drive together.”

She looks suspicious, but her partner steps forward. “Fine. I don’t want to fight anymore.” They glance to each other, gazes held for another second before lowering the gun. Jeongguk fishes the keys out of his coat.

Exhaustedly, they climb into the car. It’s quiet, and Jeongguk wonders how obvious it’d been that they’re beyond fighting, now. In the backseat Taehyung buries his head in Jeongguk’s shoulder. Jeongguk tips his head back for most of the drive, eyes closed but unable to sleep. At one point he opens his eyes and sees the womens' hands intertwined between the seats, and looks up to catch the first ones' eyes on him in the mirror.

“You lost someone today?” she guesses. Jeongguk swallows, and looks to where Taehyung’s curled against him. Jeongguk almost expects him to be asleep, he’s been so still, but sees he’s staring out the window. Unmoving, eyes blank.

“Yeah,” Jeongguk manages, voice hoarse. “Yeah, we did.”

Her eyes flick over them once more. “I’m sorry,” she says, and that’s that.

They part in Seoul with a nod. Jeongguk even returns the rental car, and has the agent book them a hotel. Moving like they’re in a daze, the first thing they say to each other is when Taehyung stops, something noticed. He frowns and tugs at Jeongguk’s hand.

“What are you holding?” he asks.

Startled, Jeongguk glances down. His left fist has been clenched for hours, aching now, only realizing when Taehyung’s pointed it out. He’d forgotten what Jimin had passed to him. Slowly he uncurls stiff fingers.

Two rings on a chain catch the light.

There’s not much to say. They oversleep in exhaustion both mental and physical, dozing on and off for almost a day until it’s time to meet the flight he’d booked them to Japan. Boarded on the plane is the first time they talk, even hint at what’s happened, still stunned.

“Jeongguk,” Taehyung murmurs to him as the flight peaks. “I can’t stop—seeing his face.”

“I know,” is all Jeongguk can say. It's hard not to, when they don't even know if he's still alive. When there's no way they'll ever know when or how it finally happened. He can only hope it was painless, and close his eyes. “I know.”

Jimin’s directions take them to a small, dimly lit bar on the outskirts of Naniwa. There’s no sign of life, or even that the door’s been opened in years, but while they’re still on the step hesitating whether or not to knock, a security camera turns. A few minutes later, the door clicks open with a muted jingle. The man who greets them is slender with a shock of messily done-back black hair. He doesn’t say much, just runs his eyes over them once before stepping aside to let them in.

“Jeongguk, right?” he says once they’re inside, and then looks to Taehyung, expression difficult to read. “I know you don’t remember me, Taehyung, but it's nice to see you again, even like this.”

“You knew me?” Taehyung asks. “Before?”

He nods, and the ghost of a smile crosses his face. “I did," he sounds nostalgic, “I'm Yoongi, by the way. We have a lot to talk about.”

Jeongguk frowns at the last part, but before they can say anything he turns. They follow after a second’s pause, and Yoongi leads them through the darkened bar and down to a back door. The stairs are a steep and narrow descent, and at their end there’s two separate doors with pinpads Yoongi keys a pass into. What they enter, though, couldn’t be any different from the room above. It’s sleek, almost a studio, with nearly a dozen monitors and keyboards all scattered around. Yoongi drops into the chair, spinning around to run his fingers down a file cabinet. When he finds the drawer he needs, he unlocks it with a key from around his neck, fishing out a thick envelope before spinning back and handing it out to the two of them.

“It's for you," he says. "From Jimin."

The two of them look to each other, a little lost. Jeongguk’s the one to take it, peeling back the seal and peeking inside. He realizes what he sees almost immediately, but it takes a whole other minute to process it, falling into the sofa behind him. Taehyung follows suit, reaching for the package.

There’s dozens of papers inside. Most notably is the identification, all-new sets of passports and IDs with various names and nationalities. What takes him a second longer to sink in are the banking slips, dozens of institutions offering congratulations on being a new account holder with all information enclosed. Beside him, Taehyung gasps to see the amounts listed. There’s more than enough to run away several times over, to live comfortably for the rest of their lives.

“No,” Jeongguk whispers. “He... did this?”

Yoongi leans back in his seat. “He’d been setting it up with me, in between his targets,” he says tiredly. “The agency seized most of your offshore accounts when he and Taehyung were... taken, but some he kept hidden.” he pauses, nodding to Jeongguk. “He asked me to add you as a shareholder a few months ago.”

It rocks Jeongguk to his core. Taehyung understands first. “He never planned to survive this,” he realizes in a thick whisper. “Did he?”

“No,” Yoongi says. He purses his lips, glancing back to the cabinet. “I... made him some documents, anyway. Just in case. I hoped he would change his mind," and there's a pause there, heavy. "God knows I tried," he says. "I promise you, Taehyung. I tried."

Jeongguk thinks: We did, too.

"When we met," is what Jeongguk whispers instead. "He told me running wasn't enough for him."

Yoongi doesn't look surprised. "He came to me after Taehyung was..." the pause is heavy, too horrid to be brought aloud. "He was different, after that. For a long time. I knew what he was planning. I told him it would never end well for him, and he didn't care... But after meeting the two of you, his eyes changed again. I really thought he might..." again the silence is left alone. "But I knew when I heard about the base attack. When I saw just the two of you." He rubs his temples. “So it's finally over. He’s gone, then?”

Jeongguk swallows painfully and nods. It’d been easy to shove the events to the back of his mind while they’d been in transit, unsure where Jimin’s instructions were leading them, but now it comes flooding back. Taehyung’s the one to murmur a confirmation, lip wobbling a little but gathering himself up bravely.

“I’m sorry to hear it. Even knowing what was going to happen—" he cuts off. "He was a good friend. You were, too, Taehyung,” Yoongi closes his eyes a second, then opens them to refocus. “How did it happen?”

“He—he was stabbed,” Jeongguk manages. He has to exhale slowly to stay calm. “And then he told us to—we had to leave him. We heard when they found him.”

But Yoongi tenses with the second part, glancing sharply at him. “Wait. What?”

“What?” Jeongguk says back, confused by the sudden shift in his tone. Yoongi blinks at him once, leaning in.

“Jimin,” he says, and asks slowly, seriously, “You saw him die. Right?”

“He... was stabbed,” Jeongguk repeats slowly. There’s something horrid sinking in his stomach. “We... couldn’t stay. But they killed him.”

Yoongi looks alarmed, now. “You didn’t see it happen?”

The two of them glance to each other, then shake their heads. Taehyung looks like he might be sick.

“Why?” he asks. “Why does that…”

“Shit,” Yoongi curses, hand running over his hair. “God. I—hope. For his sake, that they killed him.”

“What do you mean?” Taehyung asks. Jeongguk looks down and only just realizes Taehyung’s hand is gripping into his thigh, knuckles turning white. “Of course he is. He killed everyone involved. He took down the database, we were there. They hate him. Why wouldn’t they kill him?”

Yoongi almost looks pitying. “Because there are worse things you can do to someone than death,” he says, and pauses heavily. “You of all people should know that, Taehyung.”

“...No,” Jeongguk’s the first to whisper the realization, horror and guilt washing over him anew. Jimin's scoff echoing again in his mind, so unafraid even covered in blood, you think they'd let me die like this?

Taehyung’s gone pale. He seizes Jeongguk’s hand. “We have to go back for him.”

Yoongi’s shaking his head before he finishes. “It’s too late for that.”

“What do you mean?” Taehyung says, standing. He sounds almost petulant, fear dripping in his voice. “What are they going to do to him?”

Yoongi hesitates, speaking slowly. “It depends,” he says, wincing. “It’s been one of their favorite games to play since they figured it out—it was supposed to be a medical device, did you know that? Remove traumatic memories, fix problematic behaviors. But since they got their hands on it..." he shudders. "Sick. Fucking around with the cortex, with the frontal lobe,” he can’t look at them for the next part, glancing down. “They could... do anything, really. Regress his memory to before he met you, Taehyung, back to their perfect soldier. Maybe take all of it away, like they did to your memory, and retrain him. Or even...” he seems to regret the thought and breaks off, shaking his head.

“Or even what,” Jeongguk says. He’s dizzy. “What?”

“Or even… when we left, they’d been experimenting.” Yoongi says, looking back up. His eyes are apologetic, but he finishes anyway. “With changing associations in the brain. Of fear, of dislike. To alter relationships. Personalities. Maybe... turn love into hate.”

Jeongguk’s world lurches. Taehyung takes a half-step, too. “We have to go back,” he mumbles to himself, then straightens and insists it more desperately. “We have to find him!"

“Taehyung, no. Think. Even if they've kept him alive to...” Yoongi says, tone softening. “He wouldn’t want you to risk yourself. He wanted you to be safe.”

“Well, I don’t care what he wants,” Taehyung says, voice thick. Jeongguk sees the first tears brimming.

“Taehyung—”

“No, I’m sick of it. He—He sacrificed so much.” He spins to Jeongguk. “Everything, Guk. More than we'll ever know. You saw that, just as much as I did! He deserves to be happy, too, you know he does. Not—not that. ”

“It’s too late,” Yoongi says, more harshly. Taehyung spins back to him, mouth open, but he cuts across. “I mean it. You don’t know—what he did, how much he did, for you to be able to get away,” he says, gesturing to the package. “He always knew what would happen to him. He went to the facility anyway. And he didn’t do all of it for you to just throw it away and turn yourself back in. Because that’s what you’ll be doing, Taehyung.”

“We could find him,” Taehyung whispers, but it’s muted, helpless. Likely doesn’t sound convincing even to himself. “I don’t want him to hurt anymore.”

“He told me once,” Yoongi says quietly, “The worst they could ever do to him was to hurt you. He had to watch that once. Don’t make him see it again.” Taehyung shuts his eyes, shoulders shaking just so. “I saw the fallout of losing you, Taehyung. What it did to him. And I knew him before he met you, too," he softens. "I know you don't remember, but you were everything to him, Taehyung. He wanted to be better for you. And he wanted better for you. He did everything for you, so... No matter what happens now, do it for him.”

Exhausted, Taehyung collapses back beside Jeongguk. Jeongguk wraps an arm around him immediately, though he’s stiff. “Tell me, at least,” Taehyung says, shaking his head. “You knew us, right? Before?”

Yoongi thinks for a moment, searching his face for the change in topic. He nods. “I left the agency two years ago,” he says with a shrug. “But he was already slipping info out with you by then, so we kept in touch.”

“I see,” Taehyung murmurs. “And you know what happened to me.”

Sympathy shadows his face. “Yes,” he says. “Jimin came here when he escaped. He wouldn’t talk, at first. Not for a while after. I renewed some contacts inside and figured it out. That’s how I know what might…” he trails off, the possibilities unspoken.

"Someday," Taehyung whispers. "Not now. But someday—if we could talk. If I could hear more. About him. About us. There was so much I was afraid to ask him. But now..."

Yoongi hesitates, then nods. "I could do that," he says. Taehyung nods back.

“We really do have to go, don’t we?” Taehyung whispers to Jeongguk. Jeongguk can’t find it in himself to answer, pressing a kiss to his jaw before hiding his face in Taehyung’s shoulder instead. “God, I want to hate him,” Taehyung laughs brokenly. “He did all this for us. And now he could be—”

“We can’t think about that,” Jeongguk forces himself to say. “Yoongi's right. If we don’t go, then everything he did will be for nothing. We have to do it for him.”

“He knew what might happen,” Yoongi repeats quietly. “Everything I made for you, he asked to be hidden from him. He never saw the names, the information. He did that intentionally, so you could get away. ...Even from him, if need be.”

Miserably, Taehyung says, “I just can’t bear the thought that—we’re going to live. Just like that. I already hated it when I thought he would be—” he shivers, unable even now to voice their uncertainty if Jimin's even still alive. “But now you're telling me he could be alive, could be alone, or in pain, or... worse. And still, we're just going to run away.”

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi says, “If it means anything, I agree with you. He deserved better.” he shakes his head, a small, wistful smile on his face. “But if you remembered... he was always like this. Stubborn, self-sacrificing ass.” he leans back in his seat. “I’ll keep an eye and ear out for you two.”

“Okay,” Jeongguk says. Taehyung looks to him, eyes exhausted. “One more thing... my mentor. Namjoon. How much did he know? Where is he?”

Yoongi’s nodding before he finishes. “He's safe,” he says. “We keep in contact. He… couldn’t stay, after what they did,” he says. Taehyung looks down, and Jeongguk nods. “Handling your case, Taehyung, seeing what they did. To both of you. He trained Jimin, too, did you know? And then he had to look into his eyes and tell him they were sending Taehyung away. That at least he'd chosen his best student for the job."

Jeongguk swallows, and nods. Can't even picture it, being told a stranger was taking away the love of his life. It's bizarre to think Jimin had known of him, albeit as an enemy agent, before Jeongguk had ever even heard of Taehyung. But it's a tired, useless fact now, doesn't change anything that's happened, so he can barely care to process it.

"He made sure you two would be safe, then he left." Yoongi continues. "But he’s fine. I expect we'll be speaking a lot more, now, picking up the scraps Jimin left of the facility. But I’ll pass on that you’re okay. ...And if I hear anything about him... I'll let you know."

“Okay,” Jeongguk says again, blankly. Taehyung stands before him, and he follows, gripping the envelope tight. The same exhaustion is ringing back, guilt back with a vengeance with the new information. “Thank you.”

Yoongi doesn't seem to accept the thanks. Jeongguk wonders dully what's happened in this room, what he's seen—how often Jimin had sat where they are now, making plans for a future that didn't include himself. Knowing what might happen to him, and sending Taehyung and Jeongguk off anyway, where they'd be safe. Safe, even from him.

Instead, all Yoongi manages is a simple, pitying, "Take care."

“I can’t help but feel responsible,” Taehyung says, before they try to start over.

The train’s close to boarding. He and Taehyung are standing on the platform, tickets in hand and luggage beside them. Taehyung’s got himself wrapped in one of Jimin’s scarves.

“He did so much,” Taehyung continues. “So much more than I can even remember. Than I can ever know. And I just... let him hurt for me, every time.”

“That’s not true,” Jeongguk interjects. “You had no choice in any of this. He wouldn't want you to feel responsible. Taehyung, he…” he bumps into him softly, shoulders touching. Taehyung looks down. “He was happy to have loved you. You know that.”

“You, too,” Taehyung whispers. “I know he loved us, in the end. I know he did. I just... I wish we could have convinced him. I wish we’d had more time.”

Jeongguk’s heart aches. But then the train’s coming, and they’re stepping forward, and there’s nothing left to be said.

They settle in Daegu, Taehyung’s hometown and the location of one of their favorite safehouses, according to Jimin. A lot closer than they probably should have gone, but it’s domestic, in a way, a connection neither of them personally know but one that had been fostered by him.

And so they live.

It’s hard, at first, for a long while. Nightmares return, for both of them this time, drastically, horribly changed; Jeongguk spends too long dwelling on what might have been different, if he’d just been faster, insisted they try to make it out with Jimin, his stubbornness be damned. Though where Jeongguk’s are all guilt, he thinks Taehyung’s might be worse—he tells Jeongguk it’s like his old dreams of immobility and pain, except this time, Jimin is the one strapped down and screaming.

It helps some when they talk with each other about it. Find the beginnings of recovery with one another, come to peace with what Jimin had wanted. The stages of their grief spent together, reading to one another and remembering the good, discarding solemnity for a spring day.

Fittingly enough, it’s the last day of winter that he finds them.

They’re in the garden. Trying for roses come spring, so they’re checking where they’ve pruned on the deadwood. Taehyung’s let his hair grow long again, curls dark and soft around his face, and Jeongguk can’t help but smile fondly, take his jaw in hand and kiss him.

“Not now,” Taehyung mumbles after a minute, though he’s smiling, cheeks dusted pink. Jeongguk returns the expression fondly and crouches beside him, running a hand mindful of the thorns. Taehyung reaches to take a leaf in between two fingers, but then he stills. There’s a soft thud as the pliers slip from his hand onto the soil.

“Tae?” Jeongguk asks, glancing up at him. Taehyung doesn’t move, staring straight across the hedges. Jeongguk’s brow furrows, and he straightens. “Hey. Tae, what are—” It dies in his throat as soon as Jeongguk turns.

He’s standing a ways away, at the edge of the plot. Wearing a long coat, hands in pockets, and there’s a scar across his cheek where the knife had bit, faint pink but there. Jeongguk feels the world sway, then dip, stepping forward. Taehyung’s the pressure on his arm that has him pause, glancing with apprehension. And Jeongguk remembers; it could be a stranger before them. Their perfect soldier.

No, Jeongguk thinks he prays, then. Not after everything, not after hopes raised and crashed, after they’d loved and lost so hard— Please. Let it be him.

A heartbeat passes. Jimin smiles. The expression’s small, a little nervous. Entirely human, entirely himself.

“Jimin,” Taehyung breathes, and then—the two of them are running together, nearly tripping in their haste, and Jimin’s tearing up, his arms spread. They barrel into Jimin, caught and held close, only a moment’s hesitation before he squeezes back, laugh soft and tearful in their ears.

Taehyung kisses him first, hand curling behind his neck and pressing their lips together with tears already brimming in his eyes. Jimin breaks it with a gorgeous sob, smile dazzling even with wet cheeks. Something shrinks in Jeongguk, but arm loosening, Jimin turns to him.

He almost looks apologetic, shy. He meets Jeongguk’s eyes, and murmurs, “Can—Can I—?”

He doesn’t have to finish it. Jeongguk steps forward, cups his face in his hands and kisses him. Jimin’s lips are as soft as he’d ever dreamed, all warmth with wonderfully light pressure as Jimin’s hands come up gently to his wrists. They only part when he’s dizzy, first breath heady and all crashing together in an embrace.

“It’s you,” Jeongguk whispers, tears blurring his vision. “It’s really—how?”

Jimin pulls back, just barely. None of them can seem to let go. “A miracle, really,” he says, and shivers. “I did it, though, I—got close enough. He’s gone. Everyone’s gone, now.” His hands find way into their hair. Jeongguk leans into the touch, and sees Taehyung mirror it. “The ones left—I was still going to be—but Hoseok dug up an old friend.” he presses his forehead to Jeongguk’s, sighing so his hair ruffles so. “Our favorite mentor, some others. Sat down and talked about ethics, for once. Ruled I had just cause for it all, unhooked me and let me up. Trashed the equipment. Yoongi gave me the hints to find this place once I proved I was... still me.”

“It was that close,” Taehyung breathes. Then he chokes on a sob, half-shoving at Jimin. “You—Don’t you ever leave again. You can’t. We thought—we thought you might be, and then—”

“I know,” Jimin swallows, “I know. Baby. I just—I couldn’t live with myself. I didn’t care if I died, if they...” he interrupts when they both make to protest, shaking his head. “I was never afraid of dying,” he says, “Or anything else they'd do to me. I was only afraid they’d take you two away. I only knew fear when I thought... when I thought I might forget that I loved you.”

“We love you,” they say in tandem, so close it’s two voices as one.

“Somehow,” Jimin shivers. “I know it now. I could fight for that. I could keep fighting for it.”

“Don’t fight anymore,” Taehyung shakes his head. “Living is enough.”

“It’s really over?” Jeongguk asks. Jimin wipes at his face, and nods.

“It’s over,” he says, and looks down. “I—didn’t expect to survive. I didn’t want to, for so long. But now…” he inhales, blinking fast. “If there could be a place with you two—if you’d have me—”

Jimin cuts off as they pull him back in, kiss, finally safe, finally happy. All the time in the world theirs, living just—no, more than enough.

Hands entwined, they make their way back, almost tripping over each other in haste and unable to let go. Jimin crouches beside them, now, takes a first bud between his fingers and smiles at what they’ve created. Thumbs once at the chain that now hangs around Jeongguk’s neck, looking the most at peace he ever has.

By serendipity, their future is together, the universe theirs.