Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was like gunfire.

So many shots and flashes of light. There was no way he could go through that.

No way he could survive it.

“Yoongi-”

The air was colder than a meat locker, and yet, perspiration beaded at the base of his neck, crawling slowly down his back.

Hot and cold, freezing and sweating.

So many shots…

“Yoongi!”

Jimin’s hands, all warm flesh and cool rings, surrounded his face.

“Look at me, hyung. It’s you and me, ok?”

Another round of shots. God, there were hundreds of them.

”Sirs, we’ve arrived at the artist’s entrance. Sorry for the inconvenience, but security is here to escort you-”

“Wasn’t this supposed to be a SECURE entrance??” Jimin cut through the driver’s apology, mercilessly. “You call this a fucking INCONVENIENCE? This place is crawling with paparazzi! This is RIDICULOUS!”

Yoongi breathed, quietly.

It’s not that he had a problem with crowds, per se, but he had a big problem with a crowd full of strangers.

Fans, he could deal with. Thousands of them could stampede him and he’d be totally fine. Fans were friends. Fans were family.

Photogs, on the other hand, were just nameless, faceless shadows with cameras. And while Yoongi appreciated their help in boosting his career, it was brutal to be swarmed like this at such a critical time.

“On three, hyung.” Jimin kissed him softly in the back of the limo provided by the venue. Pillow soft lips against Yoongi’s cold, numb mouth. “You and me, on three. Ok?”

He held Jimin close, wrapping his arms tightly around his neck. If only they could just stay like this, or better yet, go home and nap in front of the fire.

Jimin broke the embrace and brushed the hair from Yoongi’s eyes with a gentle touch.

“One…”

Yoongi may have been the one performing, but Jimin was in charge. He knew where they had to be and when. He knew how long until the curtains go up, who was where, who did what, and God help them if they didn’t do it right.

“Two…”

When Jimin said it was time to go, it was time to fucking go.

He nodded once.

“Three.” Jimin kissed him again, a quick motivational peck, then pounded the door twice.

The driver responded by swinging the car door open and the sharp clicks of shutters blended with hundreds of voices to create a blinding and unbearably loud walk to the entrance.

Jimin stepped out first, glamorous in his onyx brocade suit, and glittering blazer. The many flashes reflected off the pure gold details sewn into the ornate fabric, and even at the height of his stress, Yoongi had never seen anything more stunning.

“Cover!” Jimin barked, and suddenly the snap of many black umbrellas sprang to life, wielded by a dozen men and women in smart, black suits and holstered weapons.

The security personnel flanked them on both sides, creating a wall of bodies between them and the yelling journalists, while the umbrellas formed a dark tunnel, blocking out the lights.

“We’re ok.” Jimin soothed, pulling Yoongi along. “Come on, hyung.”

Yoongi felt much better without the bright bulbs in his face and many blurred questions melting together. He focused on the click and clack of Jimin’s gold-heeled Chelsea boots upon the frigid ground, guiding him to the door.

The presence of so many guards was certainly comforting, but nothing felt safer than Jimin’s fingers locked in his, cooling his skin with the cold kiss of jewels, the largest being his engagement ring; their promise of forever.

Once inside the building, they were immediately ambushed by a frantic woman, apologizing and hinging at the waist with bow after bow.

“We are so, so sorry!” She sang. “We had barriers up, but they got over them, somehow! I promise, this will NEVER, EVER-”

“You’re fired, Soomin.” Jimin stated, calmly.

She spluttered into shocked silence.

“But… sir? It’s-it’s common for paparazzi to find performers-”

“Yoongi isn’t common.” He shed his jacket and folded it over his arm. “Consider your contract as our security team terminated after tonight. Let’s go, hyung.”

He gave his hand, which Yoongi held obediently, not daring to argue on behalf of the stunned woman.

“You ok?”

The elder hummed and nodded. He felt quite sad for their security lead, Soomin, who, in Yoongi’s opinion, was both capable and competent at her job.

Competence wasn’t enough to save her tonight.

There was no greater example of a caterpillar to butterfly transformation than watching Jimin’s metamorphosis over the last year.

Only months ago, he was a nervous, insecure wreck at Yoongi’s shows. He hid in the back, where the elder couldn’t even SEE him, and many times he’d disappear before the set was even over, unwilling to witness the hordes of screaming girls grappling to get the attention of Yoongi and his friends.

But, that Jimin was long gone.

Now, the kid strut into every venue, like he owned the place, dressed from head to toe in designer names Yoongi couldn’t readily pronounce. He hired, he fired, he ripped people to shreds, never settled for less than perfection, and best of all, always sat immaculately front and center stage, close enough for Yoongi to see the whites of his eyes.

This was the main reason why Yoongi planned their wedding in secret.

Jimin already did so damn much for him.

“We’re going to the dressing room.” Jimin snapped. “We’ll take your four best guards with us. Hopefully, you can manage that.”

The stricken lady bowed mutely and pointed out the chosen team members to follow them.

Yoongi gave her a tiny nod in return.

Sorry, Soomin.

They hadn’t made it ten steps, when Hyuna jumped out of nowhere to greet them.

“You must be Min Jimin.” She extended a hand. “It’s a pleasure.”

Jimin bowed slightly and shook her hand.

“And you are…?”

“Hyuna’s the event manager.” Yoongi rushed to say, hoping to save her from Jimin’s warpath. “She’s done an amazing job, so far.”

Jimin made a noncommittal “hm” of acknowledgment.

“We’ll see about that, when the night’s over.”

Hyuna smiled, graciously.

“Well, I’ve done my research.” She led the way towards a door with Yoongi’s name on it. “You’re well known in the venue circuit as…”

“A tyrant?” Jimin suggested, smiling coldly.

Hyuna waved a delicate hand, not missing a beat.

“As a man who demands service that’s befitting of Yoongi’s performance caliber.” She swiped her key to unlock the door and held it open for them. “And I couldn’t agree with you more. Enjoy, gentlemen. Please let me know what more I can do for you.”

She handed Jimin their personal key card with another strained smile.

Jimin eyed her carefully and stepped inside. He scanned the room quickly, his shrewd gaze settling on the fruit and cheese spread, deli sandwiches, and drinks, then turning around to locate the restroom and count the air purifiers.

There always had to be four purifiers.

Always.

“Looks good.” Jimin nodded, impressed. “Where are Hobi and Namjoon?”

“Mr. Kim is just two doors down.” She jerked her head to the left. “And Mr. Jung is actually in the total privacy room on the lower level… he requested it, specifically.”

Jimin stopped fiddling with the thermostat and frowned at her.

“Hobi’s where??”

“Oh… the total privacy suite?” She repeated. “It’s just downstairs… but only accessible to the user.”

“Why would he do that?”

Yoongi’s mouth went dry and the fresh, purified air suddenly turned stale.

And so it begins.

“Well, I don’t know, Mr. Min.” Hyuna answered, apologetically. “I would send him a message for you, but the privacy suite ensures just that: absolute privacy. It’s completely closed off and has its own separate entrance and exit. I’m sor-”

“Hang on- where’s my wallet?” Jimin patted his body. “I just had it.”

“Uhh...” She blinked. “I- I don’t know, sir? Shall I send someone to check the limo-”

“NO. It’s not in the limo. I JUST HAD IT.”

Yoongi took Jimin’s arm.

Fucking hell, the kid was losing it.

“Jimin-ah, I’m sure it’s around here somewhere. Please calm do-”

“Hyung, we just got here!” Jimin jerked out his grasp. “I haven’t even had TIME to put anything down! I felt it when we entered the building and now it’s gone!”

“Ok!” Yoongi shot back. “Just relax! Hyuna, can you please check if he dropped it on the way to the dressing room??”

“Unless I didn’t drop it.” Jimin suggested, icily.

Yoongi and Hyuna stared at him.

“S-sir..?” She ventured.

“You heard me.” Jimin's tone was pure acid. “Maybe we should be checking pockets, not the floor!”

Yoongi’s jaw dropped at the accusation.

“Jesus Christ, Jimin!”

“Everything has been a complete SHIT SHOW since we arrived!” Jimin pointed out. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re stealing, too!”

Hyuna shook her head in disbelief and Yoongi didn’t even know where to BEGIN apologizing for his fiancé's behavior.

Still, he had to try.

“Hyuna I’m so-”

“No. That’s quite, alright.” She clapped her hands together. “The safety and security of our performers and guests is our top priority. I’ll activate a search of every person on the floor without delay.” She cleared her throat, tightly. “Starting with myself.”

In a flash, she emptied the contents of her pockets and purse on the table and stood back with an expressionless face.

“Are you fucking happy now?” Yoongi tried to control his voice, but the anger still came through. “We just humiliated her and she doesn’t even have your wallet!”

The look Jimin gave him was lethal.

“So WHAT if she doesn’t have it?!” He yelled. “SOMEONE DOES! Maybe you should focus on helping ME instead of- oh…”

Jimin went rigidly still.

“Oh my God, I think...” He grabbed his blazer and checked the inner lining. “Shit, it was in my jacket. SHIT. I’m so- I don’t even know what to say-”

He hastily gathered Hyuna’s things and handed them to the visibly shaken woman.

“I’m a wreck tonight, Hyuna, please, please forgive me.” Jimin bowed nearly to the floor. “I am SO embarrassed, oh my God…”

Her smile, while genuine, looked painted on.

“All’s well that ends well, sir.” She bowed. “Let me know if I can be of further assistance.”

She left and Yoongi remained quiet for a long moment, then suddenly broke down laughing.

Honestly, there was no other response to that fiasco.

“Don’t, Yoongi…”

But Jimin was laughing at himself, too, his cute little hands covering his face.

“You’re a goddamn LUNATIC, Jimin-ah!”

The younger was red with shame.

“Hyung, I think I’m losing it, I swear to God. I’m so stressed… everything is riding on tonight. Everything…”

You have no idea, sweetheart.

“It’s over now.” Yoongi dismissed. “Let’s just… move on, fuck.”

Yoongi tried to find the right headspace, while Jimin busied himself with their pre-show routine. The younger took Yoongi’s phone for safekeeping and made sure to snap a few backstage photos of their preparations.

The fans loved those, apparently.

There was so much to remember.

Lines, transitions, opening remarks, closing remarks, staging, props… but all Yoongi could focus on was the fact that Hobi had ostracized himself. There would be no hugging and hyping before they go out on stage.

Not tonight.

Hobi had cut them all off like a diseased limb.

Or, better yet, like whatever limb he was planning to take from Jungkook.

“Yoongi.” The laughter faded from Jimin’s voice. “You’ve been really quiet…”

He looked up at Jimin’s flawlessly made up face. The kid was on God tier tonight: sweeping smoky eyes, with a dusting of gold glitter on his lids that clung to his lashes like tiny stars. The look was completed with golden-hazel contacts that shimmered with every blink of his beautiful eyes.

Yoongi had no idea how Jimin pulled shit off that would make anyone else look like a circus act.

“Everything’s going to be ok, hyung.”

Oh, if only that was true.

Jimin kneeled in front of him, resting his bejeweled hands lightly on Yoongi’s knees.

“I need you to push every distraction out of your mind right now. There are 50,000 people out there Yoongi. They love you. They need you.”

Yoongi covered Jimin’s hands with his own and squeezed softly.

“Hyung, you need to say something.” He demanded- loving, but firm. “You gotta let me know you’re ok, or else I’m not gonna be ok.”

NOBODY’S gonna be ok.

“I’m just reviewing the set, Jimin-ah…” Yoongi deflected. “It’s the longest one ever and I don’t wanna forget anything.”

“Yoongi-”

“I’m fine.”

“Hyung-”

“I’ve got this!” Yoongi snapped. “Stop worry-”

“I love you…” Jimin whispered.

Yoongi knew Jimin was going to say that.

He didn’t want to hear it.

Didn’t deserve to hear it.

Even the thought of saying it back made him want to retch all over the deli sandwiches.

“You shouldn’t.” He argued, knowing fully well how ugly that sounded. “You’re wasting your life with me.”

Yoongi had finally slammed into the rocky bottom of despair and there was no coming out of it.

No matter how hard everyone cheered for him tonight, it didn’t change the fact that he was a failure and Hobi hated him.

Jimin only smiled at him, pityingly.

“And I thought I was the drama queen.” The younger murmured, standing up. “Snap out of it, hyung. Hair and make-up should be here right about-”

A knock interrupted his sentence and Jimin smirked.

“-now.”

Nervous butterflies filled Yoongi’s insides.

The concert would be over in a mere 2 hours, and then what???

WHAT HAPPENS THEN??

“Jimin!” Yoongi choked. “We need to talk-”

“YOU need to get it together.” Jimin retorted. “We’re down to 30 minutes now. You can do this. And I’ll be right there with you- you know that.”

“But Jim-”

“You know!” Jimin repeated, one hand on the doorknob.

Yoongi sighed, heavily.

“I know. Of course, I know.”

“I love you, ok?” Jimin reminded.

Another sigh, full of regret and sadness.

“I love you, too.”

Yoongi knew there was no point trying to discuss it.

I’m out of time.

Jimin jerked open the door and a small team flooded the room and buzzed around Yoongi. He gave himself over to them, remaining pliant, as they stripped him down to his underwear and re-dressed him in his concert attire.

“Don’t pull him like that!” Jimin roared. “Be careful!”

As usual, Jimin hovered over everyone like a watchful helicopter, making sure the staff treated Yoongi like a freshly laid egg.

By the time he’d put on the distressed sweater (Yoongi thought it looked like moths had gotten to it, but everybody swore it was stylish) fitted black jeans, and boots, Jimin had kicked one of the stylists out and reduced another to tears.

If the whole world wasn’t going to hell in a handbasket, Yoongi would have laughed at his wonderful, but slightly psychotic fiancé.

“Fifteen minutes!” Jimin bellowed.

The stylists rushed out, like they were escaping a burning building and Yoongi secretly wanted to go with them.

Minhee, the makeup artist, entered next.

Jimin had a love/hate relationship with her and Yoongi could only pray that she was on her A-game tonight, or else Jimin might actually make a blood sacrifice out of the poor girl.

“Natural and simple.” Jimin instructed. “Not overstated, but he has to shine, given how big the arena is tonight.”

She nodded and got to work brushing, smearing, and patting products all over the elder’s face, while Jimin either encouraged or sharply corrected her work.

“Hyung, stop moving.” Jimin chose a lip color and handed it to the Minhee.

“I’m breathing.” Yoongi muttered.

“Well, stop breathing, then.” He rebuked. “A little more on his neck, Minhee… perfect. Ok, set him.”

Setting, priming, baking, Yoongi didn’t understand any of it and stopped asking a long time ago.

She sprayed his face and fanned him for a few seconds, then promptly turned to Jimin for approval without even bothering to ask Yoongi’s opinion.

“Good.”

Minhee’s face dissolved into what looked like immense relief. Soon after, she packed her things and exited, leaving the two of them alone once more.

“Three minutes, hyung. Anything you need to tell me?”

Ha, ha.

Well, that was a loaded question, but with three minutes to go, what was the point??

“Thank you… I couldn’t do this without you.”

Jimin lifted and kissed his hand, no doubt to protect Minhee’s hard work.

“Let’s go.”

Everything was moving too fast, but also too slow. They followed the arrows to the back of the stage, bustling along quickly with their four guards, only to come to a freezing stop when they reached their destination.

Yoongi swallowed a nervous lump, when he saw his parents, as well as Namjoon’s, Tae’s, and Jungkook’s, standing in a tight semi-circle alongside Umma. Also present were Jimin’s old bosses, Yeri and Sana; and in front of everyone, stood Taehyung and Kook, hand-in-hand.

Almost all of them held beautiful bouquets and wore brilliant smiles that Yoongi couldn’t return.

Hobi and Namjoon were getting their mic’s taped on and had their backs turned, but the redhead immediately glanced his way with a cold glare, as though he’d sensed Yoongi by the smell of his betrayal.

After a moment, Hobi focused his hate laser on Jungkook for a short beat, before turning away with a small grin.

A nasty chill crept up Yoongi’s spine.

“Yoongi!” His mother danced and skipped her way over to give him a big hug. “We know you don’t have time for socializing, but we’re so proud of you all!”

“Thank you, mother.” Yoongi hugged her back the best he could, since a crew member was snaking wires under his clothes.”

She moved on to congratulate the others, and Hobi gave her a big, sunny grin that disappeared the moment Yoongi met his eyes.

After an awkward handshake from his dad and a kiss from Umma, everyone left for their VIP box seats when the 90-second timer came on.

Yoongi knew what that meant.

It was time for Jimin to go.

“It’s you and me, right?” Jimin tweaked a few strands of his hair and brushed their lips together. “Always?”

Yoongi stared at him in earnest: part fear, part apology, part hopeless infatuation.

“Always...”

Jimin hugged Namjoon and Hobi quickly, then after one last, long look at Yoongi, exited with their guards.

The backstage crew were still running around and shouting last minute instructions, and this was typically the time when Yoongi and his friends did their customary huddle.

Nobody moved tonight.

Finally, Namjoon dragged both Hobi and Yoongi together and ducked his head low between them.

“Whatever’s going on? Bury it now and bury it good, cus if you fuck this up for me...” Joon paused, while a helper clicked the buckles on his military style vest. “I will kill you both, myself.”

He stalked off to peek at the howling crowd, leaving them alone.

An unbearable weight crushed Yoongi’s chest, as he surveyed his best friend, who looked radiant in a satin suit and long, velvet coat.

If only they could just make this shit right, before it’s too late.

“Hobi-”

“Just a sec.” Hobi said, brightly. “Here, guys!”

The redhead pulled a pistol out of his beautiful, eggplant overcoat and handed it to his personal security team, to Yoongi’s absolute horror.

“Break a leg, Yoongi.” A familiar voice, teased.

The voice belonged to a body that seemed to materialize right from the shadows. A body that Yoongi never thought he’d ever see again, even in his wildest, craziest dreams.

HONGBIN??

Yoongi was speechless, and some mixture of panic, revulsion, and blinding rage filled him like a hot, steaming cup of hate.

How??

How could Hobi??!

So, his security team wasn’t even security, at all. Just a few of their deadbeat friends from back in the day. Yoongi hadn’t even seen them with all the parents and guests around, but now that the place had cleared out, there they were.

Plain as fucking daylight.

“Ten seconds!” Someone called out.

Namjoon had gone pale and appeared to be in physical pain at the sight of Hobi’s sneering friend. After a final, nasty grin, Hongbin left the backstage area with the other fuck face.

“Five!”

The trio could only ogle each other: Namjoon in petrified silence, Yoongi in staggering bewilderment, and finally, Hobi, the picture of evil itself, with his flaming hair and dark, burning eyes.

“Three seconds! Everybody ready!?”

Yoongi’s heartbeat was racing uncontrollably. He could barely hear himself think over the loud screams of their beloved fans- and the thought brought him to a terrible realization.

Hobi could do anything to Jungkook, anything at all, and nobody would hear it.

The concert was the perfect cover.

“And TIME! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!!”

They stepped onto the hidden platform with shaky legs, eyeing each other warily. As they rose higher and higher, Yoongi’s stomach sank in agony.

He looked at Namjoon and wished he hadn’t.

The blonde’s handsome, dimpled face was twisted in disgust.

I’m so sorry, Joonie…

An explosion of 50,000 chanting voices slammed into them, as their heads cleared the stage. In his peripheral vision, Yoongi saw the huge panthers inflating in a matter of seconds, their front legs raised in an attack position.

It was all so surreal.

Hobi tapped him on the shoulder, giving him one last wolfish smile, before jumping out in front of the crowd.

“Showtime, Yoongs.”

***********************************************************************

If Yoongi depended on his friends for his concert energy, he would have been fucked.

Thankfully, that wasn’t the case.

Yoongi got his energy from the people. Each face held a story and he could read every one, feeding off their auras like a supernova, and exploding back out to them in a force of power and movement.

He covered every inch of the stage, acutely aware of how much bigger it was than usual.

Between the running and his rapid rap style, in which he hardly drew breath, Yoongi was winded within the first ten minutes and Namjoon didn’t look much better off.

Only Hobi seemed to be able to handle the intense physical demands with ease.

At his toughest, most tiring moment, Yoongi turned to the crowd for strength. The screamers in the front, who had to be restrained, the dreamers who listened quietly with tears in their eyes, the privileged who were front row at every show, and the struggling ones who gave their last pennies just to be in the same room as him- they all mattered.

Every last one.

The VIP box was elevated above them, giving their family and friends a bird’s eye view of the stage and its performers. Taehyung was rocking out between Umma and Mrs. Min, dancing and holding both women close in a manner that was both amusing and disturbing.

Yeri and Sana were also dancing and recording, while the other parents waved and cheered them on energetically, except for Yoongi’s dad, who just bobbed his head awkwardly, while looking very alarmed.

Hobi’s mother was less animated, probably because of her prosthetic leg, but Yoongi could still feel the love and pride emanating from her eyes and it filled him with overwhelming grief.

Yelling louder and dancing harder than the rest, than maybe anyone in the whole fucking stadium, was none other than Jimin.

His own Jimin.

There he was, like a diamond gleaming in the dust. And really, with his gold detailed suit, he did look every bit the royal amongst peasants.

The younger, who used to be so subdued at concerts, was positively vibrating with unbridled joy, his hair flying and arms waving, to the point that Yoongi thought he might fall right out of the skybox.

As much as Yoongi made sure to hit every point on the floor, he never wasted the opportunity to stand directly below the box and serenade his biggest fan boy.

Hobi and Namjoon hovered around there, as well, making sure they connected with their own loved ones, while the fans on the floor lost their marbles from the close proximity.

After a hot, sweaty, and exhausting half hour, they broke to address the crowd with their opening statements.

Namjoon was the best at this with his heartfelt and candid words that touched the souls of every person, as though he was having a private conversation with each one.

Hobi was the life of the party, whooping, hollering, and sending the crowd into a frenzy with his vibrant personality, and charming, megawatt smile. He was the ultimate hype man, the heartbeat of their group and Yoongi knew their careers would be over if Hobi ever left them.

Once his turn came around, Yoongi kept it simple, short, and honest- just like he always did. His fans knew him, loved him, and took him for who he was in a show of acceptance that he’d never received from even his closest relatives.

Their opening address signaled the end of the first segment, which meant it was time for outfit changes and solo stages.

Yoongi threw a parting glance at Jimin and noticed Jungkook for the first time that night. Shit, he’d been so focused on how gorgeous and happy Jimin looked up there that he never even saw the other kid.

The fact that him and Jimin were standing so close together made Yoongi quite uneasy. What if Hobi was planning something fucking crazy, like getting Hongbin to take Kook out, assassin style?

While Yoongi fretted and worried about his mortal peril, Kook was laughing and dancing, completely unaware of it all.

“Yoongi-ssi! Clear the stage please!”

Yoongi sighed and slipped behind the stage panels amidst cries from his fans who begged him to come back.

He was helpless. He couldn’t do a thing.

Not right now, anyway.

Besides, there were people that Hobi cared about in that skybox- his mother for one, as well as Umma, Jimin, Tae…

Hobi would never be so reckless as to open fire on everyone in the middle of a concert that’s streaming live.

Right??

Slightly comforted, Yoongi turned himself over to the crew for hair and makeup, while wriggling out of his clothes. He tried to find Hobi, but there were too many hands pulling and pushing him into the new ensemble.

Jimin would go berserk if he was there to witness this manhandling.

“Having fun yet?”

Yoongi jumped, startled by Hobi’s sudden presence.

His fiery hair was delicately curled beneath the wide brim of his stylish, white fedora. The hat matched his custom, designer suit, also blindingly white, and cut to perfection to mold his fit physique.

Stay calm.

“I don’t think we have the same definition of fun.” Yoongi replied coolly, his stylist helping him into his own dazzling red suit and black blouse. “But if you’re willing to talk, I’d like to do that.”

Jungkook be damned, Yoongi wasn’t going to be intimidated.

Not now, not EVER.

A harried manager ran past them at warp speed and squeezed Hobi’s shoulder.

“Ten seconds, Hoseok-ssi!!”

Hobi nodded at her and popped in his earpiece.

“Guess what, Yoongs? We don’t have the same definition of friendship, either.”

The redhead spun on his heel and jogged to the platform, which, after the five-second countdown, took him up to the cheering crowd for his solo performance.

“What the hell are you looking at?” Yoongi spat at the stylist.

She squeaked and bowed before scurrying off.

“Joonie…”

Yoongi ran up to his friend who was busy getting his hair dried and waited impatiently until he was finished.

“Don’t even try and tell me anything, Yoongs.” Namjoon shook his softly blown waves. “This shit is so fucked up; I can’t even believe I’m still here.”

“Did you know about Bin??”

Namjoon swung to face him, making his stylist squawk indignantly when she nearly dropped the curling iron.

Yoongi feared that his friend might actually pick it up and attempt to burn him with it.

“Did you see my fucking face? Hobi locked himself in some dungeon and didn’t come up for air until the curtains opened. Everything we’ve worked for is going straight down the shitter right now!!”

“That’s not true, Joon.” Yoongi pleaded. “We’re holding it together! We look good out there!”

“Great… that’s really great, Yoongi.” Joon waved off his hairdresser, so they could speak privately. “What about after the show?”

Yoongi went deathly silent.

“I-I don’t know yet…”

The distressed manager scrambled over to Namjoon’s shoulder.

“Namjoon-ah! 60 seconds!!”

“Wrong answer, Yoongs.”

Namjoon grabbed his mic and set off for the platform where Hobi would soon be descending.

Yoongi decided he was going to be right there waiting for him, too.

Enough was finally enough.

“Yoongi-ssi! You’re up after Namj-”

“I know when the fuck I’m up.” Yoongi growled, pushing past her to meet Hobi at the return point. “Stay out of my way.”

Ok, so he’d messed up.

Fine.

Yoongi could accept that.

He could accept Hobi’s anger, too, and even his desire to make Jungkook pay for all the pain and suffering the kid had caused. Yoongi had been sorry, so very sorry for how casually he’d treated Hobi’s feelings, but this…

This was the limit.

Bringing Hongbin here drew an enemy line. That disgusting fool disrespected Jimin, disrespected Yoongi, fuck- he regularly disrespected Hobi, too.

He disrespected the earth by just living on it.

Yoongi waited patiently, watching Hobi reappear in slow motion. The pointy toes of his white leather boots came first, followed by his long legs, torso, shoulders, and finally his face, which was trained on Yoongi with sharp, watchful eyes.

Well, fuck.

There goes the plan to catch him off guard.

Hobi hopped off the platform lightly and removed his hat, twirling it one hand and placing it back on his head with a theatrical flourish.

The fans were still chanting his name madly above them, waiting for the next star to surface.

“Good news!” Hobi winked. “They loved the hydro jets. I made the whole crowd wet.”

Yoongi glared at him.

“Everybody out!”

The backstage staff halted in shock.

“You heard me!” Yoongi repeated. “Now! And I swear to God almighty if one more person tries to remind me of when I have to go up, I WILL LOSE IT!”

Hobi sauntered over to the snack table, wholly unbothered.

“Hongbin?” Yoongi asked incredulously, once they were alone. “Hongbin, Hobi? You don’t want vengeance, you just wanna insult me!”

“What I really want is this donut -”

Yoongi snatched the donut right from Hobi’s hand and threw it across the room, then proceeded to dump the entire tray of them into the trash.

“Sorry, brother...” Yoongi stepped up to him, menacingly. “Looks like we’re fresh out.”

Hobi froze, staring at the trashcan full of treats.

When he looked back up at Yoongi, it was obvious that their disagreement had reached its breaking point

Good.

This was what Yoongi wanted. To provoke Hobi to talk, to scream, to even fight him if that’s what it took to find a resolution.

“Hmmm….” Hobi nodded, thoughtfully. “That’s unfortunate. Your golden boy is gonna pay for that stupid move. I promise you that.”

He moved on to the cheese plate instead, while Yoongi‘s heart broke.

“How could you bring him here, Hobi? How??”

“Who? Bin??” Hobi popped a cheese cube in his mouth with a look of innocence. “He’s not so bad, Yoongs. Actually, you’ll be pleased to know that Hongbin is totally reformed!” The redhead smiled, cheerfully. “A new man! Just like Kook!”

Yoongi absorbed the words silently.

So, that was it.

Hobi was fighting fire with fire.

“You want me to feel bad? Congratulations, then. I feel bad. Want me to apologize. I’M SORRY. What more can I honestly fucking do to appease you??””

Yoongi was pissed.

He didn’t mind admitting his faults and working towards a solution, but all the badgering and threatening had to fucking stop.

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re confused over which one of us actually got shot?” Yoongi shuddered, enraged. “That was ME, remember?! I got hurt. I lost Jimin. YES, you were always there for me, but Kook hasn’t directly done anything to you! What is all this really about?!?”

Thunderous applause poured in from the stage, which meant that Namjoon’s solo was over.

Fuck.

A few of the staff members were peeking in to see if it was ok for them to return, but Yoongi remained focused on Hobi, who’d gone curiously quiet and sullen.

“Hobi-yah…” Yoongi reached for him. “Talk to me-”

“Touch me and lose that hand.”

The world stood still.

Jungkook, Jimin, and all 50,000 screaming fans ceased to exist.

“Are you kidding?” Yoongi asked, mystified. “Is that a fucking threat?”

Hobi turned back to the Hors d’oeuvres table and pulled out a strikingly large carving knife from where it was wedged in a block of cheese.

The redhead flipped the blade expertly, throwing it high into the air and catching it perfectly by the handle, without ever taking his eyes of Yoongi’s ashen face.

“Touch me again and find out.”

For a brief second, Yoongi considered taking him on and ending it all right there, in a man-to-man show down; winner takes all.

However, he dismissed it, the next second. Hobi was right and Hobi was obviously hurt.

Hobi was also STRONG.

“I would never, ever fight you, Hobi.” He tried to keep the emotional warble out his voice, but it was impossible. “So, if that’s how you wanna play it, then go ahead. Do your worst.”

The redhead rolled his eyes, and looked quite bored with the whole thing.

“I would, but…” Hobi launched the knife into the wall, sticking it on the first try with a frightening thud. “That’d be stabbing you in the front. You don’t deserve that kindness.”

He walked off and Yoongi had no time to follow him. The stage clock showed 20 seconds until he was up.

Legs shaking, heart pounding, and sweating like a pig, Yoongi raced to the platform.

Shit, SHIT!

“It’s crazy out there.” Namjoon advised, when he returned. “They’re throwing stuff on stage, be careful.”

His friend delivered the warning flatly and without even looking his way.

Yoongi wiped his tearing eyes with an aggressive hand and climbed on.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

His solo was a sad one.

Yoongi felt this was a good thing, because there was no way he would be able to evoke any other emotion than just that: pure sadness.

It was also a good thing that his performance consisted entirely of him either laying down on a bench or walking on a little treadmill that went nowhere, because he had neither the strength nor desire to do anything more than that.

He made sure to set the pace to extra slow, before he started the song.

He’d penned this hit a long time ago; back when he was certain that there was no hope for him and Jimin. Back when their collective efforts to make things work only seemed to make things worse.

The treadmill was symbolic- a nod to the many attempts at progress that essentially got them nowhere, as if they were walking in place.

Jimin swayed lightly from side to side, like a golden flame dancing in a gentle breeze. His smile was small and knowing and his pretty eyes were locked on Yoongi’s.

Yoongi knew that Jimin wasn’t the only person who understood the meaning behind the song.

His deep level fans, the ones who analyzed every single word of his lyrics, made the connection immediately about his rocky experience navigating a real relationship for the first time, and with a man, at that.

Others just liked the song.

Some just liked him in the shiny, red suit.

Regardless, the crowd sang with him, for him, to him, and the comfort he took from that was unspeakable. It was 50,000 people simultaneously holding his hand, telling him that everything was going to be ok.

Except, it wasn’t.

It wasn’t going to be ok.

Hongbin was somewhere in this building, waiting for the beat down of his life that Yoongi was more than ready to deliver to him.

And Hobi- shit, he was literally homicidal, but Yoongi wouldn’t be able to touch him. He would trade places with Kook, if it came to that, but he wasn’t going to lift a finger against his friend.

The crowd went fucking wild and Yoongi blinked at them, confused.

Oh…

The song was over and he hadn’t even noticed.

The trio only had seconds to rush through a wardrobe change before reappearing for their final number that was supposed to be jam packed with special effects, including a laser light show and a ring of fire around the stage.

Joon went first, easing the hollering fans into the song with his signature tongue twisters and strong command of English, delivered in his mellow style. He stepped to the edge of the pyro ring and walked right through the flame barrier, which was timed to open up for just a couple seconds.

Yoongi had been nervous about this, but Hyuna assured them it was perfectly safe and being monitored by the team backstage.

Hobi went next.

The flames, which had simmered and turned blue for Namjoon, flipped back to an angry, pulsing, and altogether fitting shade of red for Hobi’s verse, which was both powerful and provocative.

He growled and roared his way through the lines with an aggression that Yoongi could feel in his bone marrow. Then, with a sweeping motion of his arm, Hobi extinguished the entire fire ring, only to drop to his knees and pound the stage with a fist, relighting the inferno with a deafening explosion.

Yoongi stumbled a little, shocked from the heat and brightness.

Well, then.

Hyuna never told them about this part. A quick peek at Joon confirmed that the blonde was also surprised by this development.

God of fire.

God of fire.

Everyone was chanting their lungs out for Hobi and he played the part, like he was born for it, lifting and lowering the flames with a swish and flick of his hands, as though he was the conductor of hell’s orchestra.

A closed fist, raised high in the air, plunged the arena into total darkness, thus ending the redhead’s commanding performance and Yoongi was certain the audience had spiraled into total madness.

Ok.

So, clearly, Hobi had gone completely fucking rogue and added his own modifications to their final stage.

How the hell was anyone supposed to follow after THAT shit?

Yoongi peeked at Namjoon again, but the blonde looked more shaken than the crowd at this point.

Ok, here we go…

He moved forward for his verse, meeting Hobi’s cold eyes, as he approached the edge of the stage.

Immediately, the ring of fire turned on in a poisonous green, illuminating Yoongi’s face like a ghost.

Just power through it.

This song was all about haters.

The three friends had written it together as a big ‘fuck you’ to the naysayers who’d hounded them ever since they entered the scene as a relatively unknown and not very well funded group.

But tonight, Hobi was singing those damning lyrics to Yoongi.

He just knew it.

Yoongi’s verse wasn’t as hard hitting as Hobi’s, but he still felt something raging inside of him.

Everything was so fucking unfair.

Goddammit, all he wanted to do was make music, make money, and get married in peace.

Why was that so much to ask?

People literally did this EVERY DAY, but for Yoongi? No sir, no fucking way. If he wanted anything good, he had to crawl through the world’s biggest obstacle course of BULLSHIT.

He didn’t notice that his voice had ticked up in volume, growing steadily louder and harsher, as he grew increasingly incensed.

The fans closest to him screamed maniacally when a spurt of flame erupted several feet into the air, dissolving seconds later.

Yoongi quickly realized that he could control this, just like Hobi did.

Oh?

Well, hello.

He thrashed and flailed with his lyrics, bouncing across the floor, as his own fire show came to life, throwing ghastly looking fireballs skyward and holy shit- it was epic.

A stomp on the ground smothered the flames to nothingness, before reappearing as ten-foot high columns, surrounding Yoongi in a green goblin glow.

The crowd was crazy, insane.

Yoongi thought he might be losing his own fucking mind right along with them.

Music was his first and only passion; his only outlet, and boy, did he have a lot to let out tonight.

Red faced and breathless, Yoongi dispatched his final lines, as if they were his last words on earth, but they were suddenly smothered and drowned out by an unexpected voice.

Hobi?

Yoongi faltered and fell silent, staring at the redhead in astonishment.

Hobi didn’t HAVE another verse.

He’s fucking freestyling over me??

UNBELIEVABLE.

UNREAL.

Hobi jumped in front of Yoongi and the flames suddenly switched from green back to red, thanks to the ever-watchful pyrotechnic team.

He took over the entire performance, courageously stepping down the stage stairs to be closer to the ravenous audience, who were scrambling like rats on crack to get near him.

The heat on stage was suffocating and the smoke was blinding, but Yoongi felt none of that.

With a quick, calculated jump, he landed directly next to his band mate and waged lyrical war, spitting bar after bar into his face; inventing them on the spot and delivering them so fucking fast that he wasn’t even sure what he was saying anymore.

Green to red, red to green.

The fire flashed and switched colors, depending on who had the floor, and Yoongi wondered dimly just how confused the tech team must be right now, because this was some next level, rap battle shit that they’d never discussed.

The ground was shaking, the walls were quaking, and Yoongi had gone so deaf that he could only hear the words in his head, thundering in his skull.

Bodies were all over the place; thumping, jumping, dancing, fainting.

The audience was probably dead at this point, Yoongi surmised. There was simply no way humans could sustain screaming this loud and this long without some type of health consequences.

If I don’t breathe soon, I’ll be dead, too.

Lyrics spilled from his lips in a blur, blazing from his brain to his mouth too quickly to calculate or comprehend. Hands and fingers clutched at his ankles- fans trying to pull him down into the pit- while security valiantly fought them off.

Hobi ended with a blitz of scathing lines and threw his mic out into the crowd, where no less than 100 people went full on, hunger games trying to catch it.

Yoongi continued rapping for another death defying 15 seconds, then dropped his own microphone by his feet, not wanting to worsen the feeding frenzy in the pit below them.

And that’s how the concert ended.

With Yoongi and Hobi standing nose to nose, Namjoon nowhere in sight, and 50,000 people collectively shitting themselves.

“What the fuck was that??” Joon muttered under his breath, sliding between the two friends, or perhaps enemies, Yoongi didn’t know anymore.

Always the poised and professional leader, Namjoon ushered them into their ending commentary, and they spent the last few minutes greeting and thanking their beloved fans.

Finally, Yoongi cast a reluctant glance to the skybox, where Jimin stared down at him, his pale and flabbergasted face a stark contrast from the confused smiles of their family and friends.

Of course, the younger was well aware that something had gone terribly wrong with the last song, despite the fact that the dramatic finale would likely go down in history as their greatest live performance of all time.

“Come on!”

Namjoon tugged them to the platform and shoved them on.

“Smile and fucking wave!”

They smiled and waved, while they descended to a chorus of cheers and cries.

In spite of everything, Yoongi allowed himself these few seconds of happiness.

They had done it.

From their bedrooms to garages, garages to clubs, clubs to small stages, and finally this: sharing their music with the world and receiving ear-splitting, reverberating applause in return.

A tiny grin of satisfaction was still touching Yoongi’s lips when all the lights suddenly went out.

“The fuck-?”

Yoongi couldn’t hear the rest of Joon’s sentence over the roars of the crowd.

They were going fucking FERAL out there.

Something fluttered and fell through the platform hole and landed on Yoongi’s face.

The hell is that?

He squinted at the bits of paper in his hand.

Confetti??

Mini lights snapped on in the arena, basking the whole place in a soft glow, while a shit ton of black and red confetti continued to fall from above, transforming the arena into a giant, hellish snow globe.

Before Yoongi could even figure this out, what had to be a million pounds of black and silver streamers fell from the roof and blanketed the fans. The last thing he saw before the stuff covered his face was Namjoon fighting to get it out of his hair.

“Yoongi!” Joon growled, ripping streamers from around his neck. “What is this SHIT??”

Wait a minute-

Yoongi stilled in the act of freeing himself from the slippery tendrils.

If Namjoon didn’t order these annoying decorations…

Who did??

SHIT.

Yoongi fought his way out of the streamers and spun around in circles, looking for any sign of red hair.

“Where’s Hobi??”

Namjoon spat confetti out his mouth.

“Huh-?”

“HOBI!! WHERE’S HOBI???”

“HOW THE FUCK WOULD I-”

Yoongi shoved past him and jumped back onto the platform, but he couldn’t find the mechanism to make the it move.

“Hey!” Yoongi pointed at a random staff member. “Lift this thing! Now!!”

She stared at him crazily.

“I’m sorry, but we- we can’t do that??” She stammered. “You’ll trigger the intro music and confuse the fans!?”

“Who gives a shit?! LIFT IT UP!!”

Yoongi tried to operate the machine himself, but he was clueless and starting to panic.

“Forget it-”

He hurried off the platform and sprinted to the exit, but a remarkably strong hand yanked him back just before he could open the door.

“What the actual FUCK do you think you’re doing?”

Namjoon looked ridiculous with a silver streamer resting on his head like a halo, but his eyes were dangerous.

“They’ll see you. You’re gonna start a riot if you walk out there! You have to use the back exit, idiot!”

There was absolutely no time for that.

“Get off me!” Yoongi slapped Joon’s hand away. “No time to explain! Gotta find Kook!!”

Hobi was missing.

The lights were out.

There was shit raining from the fucking ceiling.

Goddamn you, Hobi.

He hesitated before leaving- Joon had made one solid point. If the fans recognized Yoongi out there, it would be utter and complete pandemonium. 

Yoongi grabbed a black staff hoodie and shrugged it on, making sure to zip it all the way and secure the hood over his head.

Black hoodie.

Black jeans.

Black boots.

He was just a shadow; virtually invisible.

“Ok…” He muttered, psyching himself up. “Ok, ok...”

“You’ve lost your shit, man!”

Yoongi ignored Joon’s uncomfortably accurate observation and stepped out into the uncertain sea of blended faces and figures, closing the door firmly behind him.

He regretted it immediately.

The venue was huge, hot, and packed. Yoongi had always fantasized about wading into the sea of his fans and just being close to them, but he quickly found that the reality of this was, frankly, terrifying.

He was thrown into the throng by a solid mass of bodies, moving blindly through falling confetti and streamers.

Just find Kook.

That’s all Yoongi needed to do. Just get the kid, get Jimin, and get out.

Every step he took was a boxing match. People slammed into him from all angles; many of them still singing and dancing, while they grabbed fistfuls of decorations to do what with, Yoongi could not begin to fathom.

Yoongi was frustrated to find that his progress was slow and painful, and his visibility non-existent.

How do they DO THIS??

He focused on planting one foot in front of the other, squeezing and dragging himself through the crowd, while furiously swatting decorations out of his line of vision. The skybox was just ahead, just a few more feet.

Yoongi squinted above him, desperately trying to catch a glimpse, and yes- yes? Yes! There was a flash of gold buttons moving and shifting up there.

Jimin!

Heart pounding madly, Yoongi squirmed through the human wall and tried to maintain sight of Jimin’s silvery hair, when a human wrecking ball smashed into him, sending him flying onto a group of girls.

Dazed and disoriented, Yoongi saw the running figure shooting for the restroom, like the sky was falling.

Oh.

My.

God.

The kid just had to use the fucking bathroom.

Yoongi stood up to continue his mission when he realized that his hood had slipped off during the fall.

Shit, shit, shit!!

He replaced it hastily, but not before one of the girls he’d bumped into screeched beside him, which set off all her friends, screaming shrilly.

Oh no-

Fear, unlike any that Yoongi had ever experienced, flooded his entire body.

Namjoon was right.

He’d been spotted, and now the whole fucking place was gonna go nuts and he’d probably be trampled and DIE-

“DID YOU SEE HOBI’S HAIR?!!” Girl number one shrieked.

Yoongi blinked, confused.

Hair?

“IT’S SO LONG!” Girl number two screamed back and to Yoongi’s endless shock, actually broke down in tears.

The rest of their friends joined in for a teary worship session over Hobi’s lengthy locks, without so much as a glance in Yoongi’s direction.

Yoongi’s first thought was to begrudgingly agree with them.

His next thought was to take this WHOLE SCENE to the grave with him.

Puzzled, but grateful for his luck, Yoongi hurried to the skybox area, where his family was milling around, laughing and drinking cocktails provided by the wait staff.

A set of six formidable looking guards formed a body barrier between the VIPs and the general public, and Yoongi wasn’t sure how to identify himself to them without causing a commotion.

Jimin, however, was scanning the crowd around them and caught Yoongi’s eyes like a magnet, recognizing him immediately, despite the disguise.

“Hyung..?” The younger pushed through the guards and rushed over. “What are you doing he-”

“Where’s Kook??”

“What’s going-”

“WHERE IS HE??”

Jimin baulked at the look on Yoongi’s face.

“He- he left-”

Left???

“Left HOW?” He demanded, glancing at the steps leading up to the skybox. “Did someone go up there?? Did you see anybody!?”

“No, he just left!” Jimin repeated. “On his own! He got up and walked aw-”

“TO GO WHERE!? Weren’t you right next to him!?”

Jimin had to clasp his hands over his ears to hear Yoongi over the crowd.

“I DON’T KNOW!” He roared back. “I couldn’t see through all this confetti! It’s everywhere!!”

Of course.

Of course, he couldn’t fucking see.

Nobody could.

Hobi wanted it that way.

“I gotta go-”

“But hyun-”

Yoongi took off, heading back the way he came, through the suffocating human ocean. Only this time, he didn’t wriggle and squirm his way to the backstage room, but rather, followed the signs for the basement exit.

It was only one quick flight down, yet it was clear that this was the right place. Yoongi could see the private stairs connecting to the backstage area, but if that wasn’t enough of a giveaway, Hobi’s name was boldly embossed on the metal door.

The open, metal door.

Yoongi paused.

He hadn’t been expecting that. His plan was to just pound the damn thing down until Hobi opened up, but it suddenly occurred to him that Hobi was the one person on earth whose moves he couldn’t anticipate.

Ok, then.

Hobi’s way, it is.

Yoongi sized up the room as soon as he entered, and he didn’t like what he saw.

For starters, it was really fucking nice- much nicer than his own dressing room. Secondly, Hongbin was in it, stinking it up with his nasty presence.

Hobi had done some redecorating.

The expensive furniture had been mindlessly tossed aside; leaving the middle of the room open and empty, save for a desk. Jungkook sat behind this desk, pale and quiet, and Yoongi couldn’t help but think he looked like a student serving the worst detention you could ever imagine.

Hongbin and some other idiot flanked Jungkook on either side, and while nobody had any weapons drawn, it was obvious that the kid couldn’t just get up and help himself to a sandwich.

The similarities between this scenario and his run in with Jin were eerie and disconcerting, but as always, Yoongi swept all emotion off his face.

“Sup, Yoongs?”

Hobi was definitely winning the smugness game.

The redhead sat on the edge of the desk facing the door with a mild expression, like they were all just friends having a little get together.

He flexed his hands, intimidatingly.

“Got a fresh pair of gloves. Ready to break ‘em in.”

Unlike his two bandmates, Hobi had limitless stamina and didn’t tire out on stage as easily.

His hair and makeup were still impeccable, and honestly, really goddamn nice, but there was no time for admiring that now.

Yoongi did a quick, easy calculation.

Three against one.

Shit.

“How’d you like the new set?” Hobi taunted. “I personally prefer it to the original.”

Nobody on earth had tried Yoongi like Hobi was trying him. Then again, nobody else could.

Nobody knew him long enough or well enough to know every single button to push.

“Was alright.” Yoongi returned, coldly. ”I personally think you could use some work.”

“Oooh…” Hobi gasped, dramatically. “Now I know your ass is scared, throwing cheap shots like that.”

The fact that Yoongi couldn’t actually deny this was both sad and upsetting.

“Our parents are waiting for us.” Yoongi reminded. “Can you stop wasting time and just let Kook go? I have shit to do.”

“You have a point. You also have confetti in your hair.”

Hobi pointed at the door and Hongbin moved to close it, walking a wide arc around Yoongi to avoid physical contact.

It was the smartest thing Yoongi had ever seen him do.

“How braindead could you possibly be, Bin?” Yoongi chided, brushing his hair off. “Do you just not want to live?”

Hongbin shut the door and scurried back to safety behind Hobi without answering.

“Alright, pick a finger.” Hobi held up Jungkook’s powerful arm by the wrist. “Any finger, and make it quick. I, too, have shit to do, but you don’t ever really consider me, do you?”

Kook swallowed, but was otherwise motionless.

“Did he just tell you come down here, Kook?”

The kid nodded.

Well, damn.

Yoongi appreciated the simple brilliance of Hobi’s methods. Why bother dragging the kid kicking and screaming? Hobi probably just texted him and threatened to chop his nuts off if he didn’t come on his own.

He sighed, deeply.

“Hobi-”

“Just let him do it.”

Everyone in the room stared at Jungkook.

“Here, this one.” The kid wiggled the pinky on his left hand. “Just do it. Is there any ice?”

Yoongi needed a second to get over his speechlessness.

“Kook, he’s not cutting off-”

“If we put it on ice and I go straight to the hospital, they can reattach-”

“Aww, look at him.” Hobi jeered, laughing to his friends. “He actually thinks I’m gonna put his finger on ice, like a bottle of champagne.”

“NOBODY IS CUTTING HIS FUCKING FINGER!”

Yoongi was seething. This was pointless and cruel.

Hobi only gave him that infuriating smirk and held out his free hand to Hongbin, who quickly supplied the redhead with a small, sharp blade.

“You’re gonna leave here screaming.” Yoongi pointed at Bin. “I can’t fucking wait to hear it.”

He turned back to his best friend, holding out a demanding hand.

“Give it to me.”

“Fuck you.” Hobi spat.

“Give me the knife, or I’m gonna take it!”

“I’d like to fucking see you tr-”

Yoongi reached out and snatched the blade, before the redhead could finish his sentence.

“It’s over-”

The gun was in his face in an instant, making Yoongi fall silent.

“Congrats, Kook.” Hobi sneered. “Yoongi just scored you an upgrade.”

They held each other’s gaze over the gun’s barrel and then Yoongi broke into a smile.

Jung Hoseok was not going to shoot him at point blank range.

“Yeah, fucking right, Hobi.”

Hobi redirected the pistol to Jungkook’s knee and the younger whimpered pathetically, squeezing his eyes shut.

Yoongi stopped smiling.

“Jesus, Hobi-”

“That was a test.” The redhead hissed. “Thought you might actually do the right thing and apologize, but nope, not Min dipshit Yoongi. You just had to have the upper hand, as if I couldn’t rip you apart with one arm up my own ass.”

“I DID APOLOGI-”

“You don’t even know what that word MEANS-”

“Then, I’m SORRY!” Yoongi yelled, frantically. “Holy shit, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!!”

“Don’t listen to him, Hobi.” Bin advised. “Faggot is full of shit. Probably fucking this one and his boyfriend, too.”

Hobi cocked the weapon and Yoongi’s heart stopped.

The creaking of the door opening should have been a blessing to Yoongi’s ears, but with the current climate they were in, it really wasn’t.

“Hobi…?”

Jimin inched his way in with saucer shaped eyes.

“Didn’t you lock the fucking door?” Hobi snapped at Bin, who stared wildly at Jimin in shock.

“I SWEAR I did-”

“Well, you obviously didn’t, fucktard!”

The one look Jimin gave Yoongi was enough for him to want to take Hobi’s gun and turn it on himself.

Fuck...

“What’s going on?”

It wasn’t Jimin who asked.

It was Tae.

The brunette frowned at the unfolding scene. Knowing him, Yoongi had expected a full-scale meltdown, but Taehyung only appeared to be quietly studying the situation.

Hobi opened his mouth, but said nothing.

“What are you doing, Hobi?”

And dear God, Tae could have been asking a grocery attendant where the watermelons were, he was so fucking calm.

“Tae-!”

“Shut up! SHUT UP!” Hobi silenced Jungkook with a jerk of his gun-wielding hand. “Everyone get out! Jimin-” Hobi looked at Tae, but didn’t appear willing to address him directly. “Both of you! GET OUT!”

“I’ll get rid of them-” Bin started.

“DID I FUCKING ASK YOU?!” Hobi bellowed. “Just stand there and stay useless!”

Yoongi took a teensy step towards him.

“Why don’t you give me the gun, Ho-”

“Shut up, Yoongi!”

Jimin muffled his cry with a hand and didn’t seem to know where to look between Hobi, Kook, and Yoongi.

“Hobi, you’re upset, aren’t you?”

Tae’s voice was unbelievably gentle.

Yoongi was almost inconceivably afraid for him.

“Tae, don’t...” Yoongi directed.

“Why?”

The question threw Yoongi for a loop.

Was he BLIND!?

“I knew it would be a lot to ask for Kookie to come tonight.” Tae explained. “I thought things were ok, but they’re obviously not.”

Jimin sent Yoongi another glance that was literally unreadable.

“Can we talk about it?” Tae continued. “Just us?”

“I need you to leave.”

Despite the gun in his hand and the fire in his eyes, Hobi didn’t sound half as threatening as he had all night.

“No.” The brunette disagreed, easily. “I’m not leaving. I’m sorry for how you’re feeling, Hobi.”

Yoongi suddenly felt like an outsider in this situation; like there was a storyline here that he wasn’t a part of.

A knock on the door interrupted the awkward and complex moment.

“Nobody open that!” Hobi growled.

Tae blinked at the door.

“I’m gonna open it.”

“I SAID DON’T-”

Tae opened the door.

Holy mother of God.

There were no words to describe the horror on Hobi’s face when he saw who was standing on the other side.

“Umma!” He hastily stuffed the weapon somewhere in the back of his pants. “What- hi-we didn’t-“

Yoongi’s grandmother stepped into the room, adjusting the long, pretty scarf around her neck and Yoongi was certain, absolutely certain, that Jimin’s eyes were going to fall out of his head.

All the men in the room wore identical masks of alarm, each one of them stiffening and standing to attention, while looking 100% guilty.

All, that is, except for Taehyung.

“Hello.” The brunette smiled and waved.

She marched right past him to where Jungkook was seated.

“What are you doing?’

“Nothing!” Hobi rushed. “We’re just talking!”

She looked at Jungkook’s terrified face.

“Why is he sitting there like that?”

Yoongi held his breath.

We’re all dead.

“Because... we’re talking…” Hobi repeated.

Umma sent a glare around the room that hit everyone like a sucker punch to the gut.

“Jungkook, are your hyungs being mean to you?” She asked sweetly, holding his hand. “It’s ok, you can tell me.”

It took many seconds of wide-eyed, pin-drop silence before Kook could open his mouth.

“N-no…” He replied, hoarsely.

She cocked her head at Jimin.

“Jiminie??”

Jimin stared at Yoongi who stared at Hobi who stared at Jungkook.

Jesus.

It was dinner all over again.

“I- I don’t know, Umma...”

“Why are you holding a knife, Yoongi??”

Yoongi choked a little at the god-forsaken blade in his fist.

“I…” He cleared his throat, avoiding her beady eyes. “…because I-”

“It’s mine.” Hobi supplied, with a slump of his shoulders. “It’s my knife, but we weren’t-”

The slap she delivered to the side of his face echoed through the room.

Hobi gasped, but was wise enough to say nothing else.

“I blame you, Yoongi.”

Yoongi spluttered back to life.

“But I didn’t do anyth-!”

The blow she landed on his cheek made Yoongi’s head whip violently on his neck. He blinked away the moisture forming in his eyes in disbelief.

“Umma-!”

Hobi didn’t make it to the next word before she slapped him again, and just the sound of it made Yoongi cringe from second-hand pain.

“We’re sorr-” Yoongi shrieked.

Smack.

“Please-”

Smack.

Five hits in, and with Umma showing no signs of tiring, the friends decided to halt their apology attempts. Yoongi could actually taste blood in his mouth, and Hobi had to twist away to spit his out.

“Disgusting!”

She pulled the bewildered Jungkook to his feet, while burning Yoongi to a crisp with eyes of brimstone.

“Pathetic!” She threw over her shoulder at Hobi. “You’re lucky your mother isn’t here to witness this stupidity, but I’m going to tell her everything!”

Umma clamped another hand on Tae’s wrist and dragged both men to the exit, tiny and frail between them.

“Come, Jimin.” She ordered. “How dare these hooligans ruin your nice night like this…”

Yoongi cast a look of longing at Jimin, but the younger gave him nothing, said nothing, and just followed Umma out with a shake of his head.

And then they were gone.

The remaining men stood there in confusion.

“So… that happened.” Yoongi noted, incredulously.

“I wasn’t gonna hurt him.”

Yoongi tsked.

“Well, you fucking fooled me-”

“He deserved it.” Hobi spat. “Deserved to be shit scared.”

“But why, Hobi? Why go through all this?”

Yoongi rubbed his pulsing cheek, gingerly.

I need a fucking ice pack.

“Why? Are you stupid?? Because of what happened to you!”

“Is this even really about me?” Yoongi returned. “Was it ever??”

Hobi faltered.

“What the fuck kind of question is that?”

“The kind you should answer?”

The redhead chuckled and inspected his own abused cheek with a gentle hand.

“Your golden boy is safe, ok? I won’t touch him. It’s done.”

Yoongi glowered at him.

“You really think I give a rat’s mangy ass about Kook? Seriously??”

“I know.” Hobi rolled his eyes. “It’s about Jim-”

“It’s about you.” Yoongi interrupted. “Jimin, too, sure, but you, also. You, more so. You were there before Jimin. I was dumb as hell to forget that.”

“Hobi don’t listen to h-”

“Shut up.” Hobi pointed a leather-clad finger of warning at Hongbin. “Did I ask you to talk?”

“But I-”

“Did the words talk and Hongbin come out of my mouth in a fucking sentence?”

The elder grumbled and huffed, but remained silent.

Yoongi watched his friend closely, waiting for the right moment to speak again.

“I’m sorry, Hobi-yah. I’m genuinely sorry. I never even thanked you for accepting me and Jimin, you just did it. I’m sorry for that, too.”

The redhead peered at Yoongi intensely, as if trying to run him through an invisible lie detector.

“What more can I say, Hobi?” Yoongi inquired, carefully. “I love you; you know that. I need you. Joon needs you. What do I have to do? Suck your dick?” He turned to face Hongbin, slowly. “You know, cus I’m such a faggot, according to Bin here.”

Hobi pivoted to face Hongbin, as well.

The elder suddenly looked very uncomfortable.

“You’re fucking kidding-”

“Why’d you call him a fag, Bin?” Hobi asked, quietly. “That wasn’t part of the plan.”

“Yeah, Bin?” Yoongi moved to stand next to Hobi. “That hurt, man.”

“Fuck-” The second, nameless person squeaked and ran out of the room, leaving Hongbin to fend for himself.

“Are you that fucking gullible, Hobi?” Hongbin demanded, shakily. “After all these years!? You still just follow Yoongi around! You can’t see that you don’t mean SHIT to him!”

Yoongi could admit that Bin was making a decent attempt at saving his own life, but the elder was woefully mistaken if he thought he could dismantle a lifetime of friendship over one, single incident.

Despite this recent fuck up, Yoongi had an impeccable track record of being there for his best friend through literally everything.

And “everything” included two broken arms (each one on a separate occasion), countless black eyes, homelessness, a poisoning attempt, and that one really weird time when he helped Hobi dispose of a body, only to find that the guy wasn’t even dead.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Hobi repeated, darkly.

Hongbin moved towards the door, but Hobi kicked it shut with a quick flick of his snakeskin boot.

“Where ya going, Bin?” Yoongi sang. “Can’t leave without me keeping my promise to you?”

Hongbin startled them by lunging violently at Hobi.

Yoongi didn’t realize how exhausted he was until he had to wrestle the much larger man off his best friend, but Hobi was up in an instant, and that truly marked the beginning of the end for Hongbin.

Yoongi watched with glowing admiration while the redhead knocked the elder senseless with a well-placed elbow to the head, before forcing him into Jungkook’s vacated chair and wrapping the lower half of his face in duct tape.

Nobody did it quite like Hobi.

“How’d you like the special effects?” The man wasn’t even short of breath. “I had Hyuna add them last minute.”

Yoongi shrugged and casually stabbed Bin in the thigh, wrinkling his nose delicately at the blooming gush of blood.

“I was more impressed with you.”

“Hush-” Hobi admonished a squealing, crying Hongbin. “I can’t hear Yoongi complimenting me so nicely.”

Yoongi glanced around for something big, blunt, and heavy.

“Sorry for the drama, Yoongs. You know I get sensitive.”

Hobi handed him a golf club that Yoongi accepted with raised brows.

“Forget it; it was my fault. And really?? There’s mini golf in here, too?!”

“And an air hockey table.” Hobi added, grinning. “Hyuna hooked me up.”

Yoongi gave Bin a moment to get fully acquainted with the idea, then with a light jump for momentum, proceeded to break his kneecap.

The elder shrieked, went rigid, then rolled off the chair and onto the floor.

“He’s faking.” Hobi kicked him, roughly. “I bet he’s just playing dead, the bitch ass.”

“Why’d you even bring him?” Yoongi knew he sounded petulant.

Hobi laughed.

“To piss you off, of course- plus he started a fire in my kitchen. He’s also been selling photos of me to tabloids, but my kitchen... my fucking KITCHEN? Let’s bury him.”

Yoongi considered the mechanics of moving Bin to get his access to his good knee, but didn’t like how much bending that involved.

“Is Jimin gonna be ok, hyung?”

Silence.

“I dunno. Can you turn him over for me?”

Hobi sighed and kicked Hongbin over.

Yoongi lined up the club and landed a solid hit, breaking the elder’s nose, or maybe his jaw. He couldn’t exactly tell. Either way, the duct tape was effective in reducing his screams to wet gurgles.

“I didn’t mean for this to affect… stuff… with you guys. You know, cus of the-”

“Wedding.” Yoongi finished flatly, stepping out of the way, so the river of blood didn’t stain his shoes.

As important as Jimin and the wedding were, Yoongi couldn’t get over how odd Hobi’s whole tirade had been.

“Hobi, are you ok? Like really ok?”

He searched for the telltale signs of nervousness: a flicker in the eyes, a change in countenance, but Hobi was even better than Yoongi at being blank.

“What do you mean?”

“Just… anything you wanna tell me… or, I dunno… talk about?”

“Such as?”

Hobi’s voice had hardened, taking on a challenging tone.

I have no idea what I’m doing.

Dr. Hwang made it seem so fucking easy when she asked all those invasive questions.

Yoongi studied him closely.

Fluffy hair, full lips, clear skin, doe-like eyes, and his signature aristocratic nose.

Hobi was undeniably pretty. Pretty and talented. Pretty and talented and kinda famous.

Yet, he’d been single for a while.

“Just anything at all. Anything you might want me to know.”

Hobi leveled him with a stare that made Yoongi’s heart race for no reason.

“No.”

With that, the redhead turned back to Hongbin’s mangled body.

“Are we done here?” He laughed a little. “I swear he just keeps coming back, no matter how much we kick his ass. Like a goddamn cockroach.”

Yoongi shook off the weird vibe.

It had been a long day with way too much packed in.

“I gotta see Jimin. Can we, like, leave him here? Or…?”

“You go ahead. I got it.”

How many times had Hobi said that over the years? More than Yoongi could ever count. But tonight, he didn’t sound the same.

“No, I’ll help. We can just dump him outside-”

“Yoongs.”

Hobi wasn’t looking at him, but he didn’t have to.

“I swear on my mom, I’m fine. Just gimme space, man. Let me know how things go with Jimin and maybe we can grab a drink tomorrow, or something.”

Yoongi struggled to hide his dismay at Hobi’s brush off.

That’s fine.

People need space sometimes.

That’s totally fine.

So, why was his chest tightening painfully?

“Ok… I guess… bye, then.”

Hobi smiled brightly, just like his usual self.

The embrace they shared was warm and real.

Everything seemed normal, but at the same time, not at all normal.

Yoongi’s brain was too fried to dwell on it further. Hobi was a grown man and if he needed time alone, well, Yoongi had to give it to him.

“Sir, your car is ready! We’re ready to leave whenever you a-“

Mark stumbled to a halt at Hongbin’s gagged, bleeding, weeping figure on the floor and all noticeable color drained from his face.

“Ugh…” Hobi rubbed his temples, tiredly. “Didn’t I tell you not to come down here?”

The kid twitched horribly, shaking at the sight before him.

“Bathroom’s in the corner.” The redhead sighed and grabbed Bin by the ankles. “Tell the car to come around back when you’re done.”

“You sure you’re ok, Hobi?”

Yoongi didn’t mind staying to help, even if he had to listen to the gross splashes of mark’s vomit hitting the toilet- assuming he made it to the toilet.

Hobi just beamed at him, sunny and radiant.

“Kiss Mariah for me.”

**************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

All the lights were on at home.

What the hell did that mean?

The car rolled to a smooth stop and Yoongi felt every joint in his body cry for help when he unfolded himself from the backseat.

“Sir!”

Yoongi turned impatiently.

“Yes?”

“I’m terribly sorry- but if I may- can I ask you to sign this?”

“Sign?” Yoongi squinted at the sheet in the dark. “Wasn’t all this covered by the venue?”

The driver blinked at him.

“I meant an autograph… please. If you don’t mind… it’s for my son?”

“Oh.” Yoongi smiled, shyly. Things like this were still weird, but getting more common by the day. “Hang on.”

He made the painful walk to his car and popped the trunk open, then pulled out one of their albums from the many boxes.

“Pen?”

Yoongi signed the cover and wrote a short note to the recipient, whoever that may be.

“Oh my God, sir, my son is gonna shit himself. Thank you so much!”

He laughed at the driver’s candor.

“Drive safe.”

It was another agonizing walk to the door, but Yoongi made it there eventually, and let himself in.

Jimin was sitting on the couch, facing the entrance with his legs crossed, and a cup of tea in hand.

He took a careful sip, eyes locked on Yoongi’s over the brim of the ceramic mug.

Yoongi couldn’t help but compare him to an angry parent, who’d stayed up all night just to catch their wayward teenager red-handed, coming home late.

Jimin’s gaze lingered on Yoongi’s swollen cheek.

“You’re back.”

The elder made his way to the sofa and quite literally collapsed on it.

“I’m back.”

He rolled his head to the side and stared at his fiancé.

Jimin put his mug down. Yoongi could smell the sweet cinnamon scent of chai, and wow, he could really use a hot drink and some love right now.

The younger pinned him with a slow smile that gradually broke into a low giggle.

“You did it.”

He returned the smile.

“We did it.”

Jimin jumped up from his seat, excitedly.

“Did I do ok?? I was freaking out ALL night! What if I messed up? What if Hyuna-” Jimin’s face fell. “Oh fuck, Hyuna! I feel terrible! And- oh my God- Miss Soomin! She must be so confused-”

“It’s fine.” Yoongi soothed. “We’ll call them tomorrow and apologize. Just say it was pre-concert nerves. Besides, Soomin will be happy to know she isn’t really fired.”

Jimin looked frantic.

“I was AWFUL to her…”

Yoongi didn’t want to add to the younger’s distress, but yes, Jimin had been really awful to the poor security manager who was actually pretty great at her job.

But it had to be done.

Yoongi didn’t know what to expect when he called Jimin yesterday to tell him everything; the whole truth and nothing but the truth. All he knew was that he was fighting an uphill battle all alone when he didn’t have to.

He hadn’t been alone for a year now.

It was time to stop acting like it.

Instead of the anticipated blow out, Jimin had, in fact, surprised him by listening calmly to the full story, even with Jungkook and Taehyung sitting right beside him.

Once the elder finished narrating the long, harrowing tale of Hobi’s threats and the imminent danger Jungkook was in, Jimin simply thanked him for his honesty and asked if Yoongi wanted him to bring home any ice cream.

They planned the whole thing that night, together, over a gallon-sized bowl of mint chocolate chip.

Yoongi had the advantage of knowing Hobi well, but the extreme disadvantage of Hobi being Hobi: smart, fast, strong- and very, very upset.

Hyuna had outlined the different dressing rooms in her email to them and Yoongi noticed that Hobi had already selected the private quarters for himself.

It didn’t take a genius to guess why.

The problem was: how would he get in?

“I think I almost passed out when I saw all the confetti.” Jimin admitted. “I didn’t let Kookie out of my sight the whole time, and the next thing I know, he’s gone! Then the streamers came down- fuck- it was insane! I couldn’t see shit!”

“That was all Hobi.” Yoongi reached for Jimin’s abandoned chai. “He made Jungkook go down there alone, then launched the party bullshit to confuse me. It wasn’t a bad idea, to be honest.”

“You left without the key card?” The younger accused. “After everything I went through to get it, you just ran off without it!”

Yoongi smiled wistfully at the memory of Jimin’s golden globe performance earlier that night.

And really, it was better than anything Yoongi had seen at the movies.

The essence of the plan was simple- get Hyuna’s master key card, so Yoongi would be able to break into Hobi’s dressing room. Doing this successfully was the challenge, but Jimin had brilliantly devised a way, using his infamous reputation as the perfect cover.

The crazy part was, it actually worked.

Everyone had heard about Jimin’s draconian character on the set. All the younger had to do, according to him, was sell it a little bit.

He sold it a LOT.

By storming into the venue and firing the first unfortunate soul he saw, Jimin simply confirmed the rumors that people already believed.

That unfortunate soul happened to be Soomin.

As expected, Hyuna was on them immediately, doing damage control and trying to ensure the rest of the night went smoothly. It was easy, almost too easy, for Jimin to throw a shit fit about his wallet and get the unsuspecting woman to empty her purse and pockets.

Yoongi was worried about Jimin’s ability to switch the cards in plain view, but he was wrong to doubt him. The younger did it so quickly and so deftly that Yoongi didn’t even realize it was done, and poor Hyuna was too busy worrying about her career at that point.

He was like a little fucking cat burglar.

“I didn’t need the key card, after all.” Yoongi zoned back to conversation. “Hobi was waiting for me, door open and everything, sitting on the desk like a fucking principal.” He gulped the rest of the cold chai. “It worked out, though, right? You were able to use it to get in with Tae at the perfect moment.”

“You didn’t tell me Hongbin would be there!” Jimin whistled and sat on the ottoman in front of Yoongi. “I couldn’t fucking believe that Hobi brought him… what’d you do when you saw him??”

Hongbin.

Hobi’s hidden ace up his sleeve. Nothing had ever hit Yoongi harder below the belt than seeing that piece of fucking filth on HIS set at HIS show.

“I had no idea till I saw him backstage.” Yoongi revealed, reliving the hurt of that discovery. “Had some words with Hobi over it, but you had my phone. There was no way for me to tell you and no time for me to deal with it.”

Until later.

Jimin eyed him warily.

“Is Hongbin alive, hyung…?”

“If you can call that living, yes.”

They pondered that for a moment.

“How did you know?” Jimin asked quietly.

“Know what, baby?’

“Don’t play dumb. Tae. How did you know Tae would make Hobi stop? That wasn’t some lucky guess, hyung. You knew somehow. How??”

The elder pulled himself into a sitting positon, then promptly gave up and slumped back against the cushions with a tired sigh.

He focused on Jimin properly for the first time. The younger had changed from his concert attire into soft pants and one of Yoongi’s tour shirts. Ironically, Hobi’s face was emblazoned across the front.

Most of his make-up was gone, but that was just fine by Yoongi.

It didn’t change a thing about his beautiful face.

“Actually, I think it was Umma who stopped him if you wanna get technical.” Yoongi smiled and rubbed his affected cheek. “Think she might’ve dislodged one of my molars, too.”

He didn’t even have to ask how his grandmother was holding up.

Nuclear warfare couldn’t take that woman down.

“She didn’t come until later.” Jimin argued. “I didn’t know it would take her so long to get down the stairs.” He cocked his head, thoughtfully. “I mean, sure, she made him hide his gun, but you were adamant about Tae being there, not Umma.”

“I just needed as many people there as possible, Jimin-ah. You know for the thing? When a bunch of people get together and guilt trip someone?”

Jimin pinned him with a withering glare.

“It’s called an intervention, Yoongi.”

The intervention had been Jimin’s idea, also. And while Yoongi could see the benefits of having all the people Hobi loved in one room, begging him not to do a terrible thing, he knew it wouldn’t mean shit to his friend.

It might have stopped him tonight, but it wouldn’t stop him tomorrow.

And he would absolutely strike again.

The real answer was Tae.

Yoongi wasn’t completely sure why; wasn’t completely sure that he WANTED to know why, but it was clear from Hobi’s first reaction to the Taekook news, that Taehyung was a significant piece of the puzzle.

“He couldn’t look at him.”

Yoongi blinked, startled.

“Who?”

“Hobi.” Jimin explained. “He couldn’t look at Tae directly. Didn’t you notice that?”

I don’t have balls for eyes, do I?

Of course, Yoongi had noticed.

It was only the most fucking obvious moment of the entire situation.

“Not really, no.” He lied.

Jimin scoffed at him.

“Come on, hyung-”

“Look, Jimin, he was probably just ashamed, you know? It’s fucked up to do that shit in front of someone’s boyfriend. Hobi’s ruthless, not fucking heartless.”

He plopped the empty mug onto the table.

“Speaking of which, how is Kook?”

Jungkook was the only person tonight, besides Hobi, who knew nothing about the attempt to save him. Jimin had carefully and secretly prepared both Tae and Umma, but it was imperative that Kook remained ignorant, in order for him to be genuinely afraid.

Hobi could fucking smell fear… and he’d know if it was fake.

“Doing ok, all things considered.” Jimin shrugged. “I think he’d honestly risk anything for Tae, hyung.”

Yoongi honesty didn’t think Tae needed anyone to risk it all for him.

The brunette was practically impervious to pressure. Yoongi knew he’d lose his fucking MIND if he walked into a room to find Jimin in Jungkook’s position, but Tae just two-stepped his way in there and proceeded to converse with an armed and dangerous man, like it was nothing.

“Does Tae have, like, hostage training, or something?”

Jimin chuckled and walked the empty mug to the sink.

“You know, hyung, if you actually invested time in getting to know him, you’d discover that there’s a lot more to Kim Taehyung than meets the eye.”

Oh, fucking spare me.

Taehyung had earned Yoongi’s respect- there was no denying that.

He still couldn’t stand him, though.

Yoongi closed his eyes and reveled in the dark, emptiness of his mind.

No concert.

No Hobi.

No Kook.

He heard Jimin behind him leaning over the sofa. A moment later, soft hands tousled his hair, then descended down his face, neck, and chest.

“Hurting?” Jimin whispered, plush lips at his ear.

“Mhhmm.”

“I booked you a massage tomorrow.”

Finally.

Some good fucking news.

“Dr. Hwang would be so proud of you, hyung.” Jimin murmured from somewhere in Yoongi’s neck. “I know I am.”

Yoongi was rather proud of himself, too.

Contrary to popular belief, he’d taken their session with Dr. Hwang very seriously. He listened, he absorbed, and he truly understood Jimin’s complaints.

And there was something particularly interesting about Jimin’s statements.

The younger had never expressed any desire for Yoongi to change his behavior- he’d merely protested against Yoongi’s lack of inclusiveness.

“I want you to include me.”

Those were Jimin’s words.

Verbatim.

The thought struck Yoongi that perhaps he didn’t have to do anything differently. Maybe all he had to do was exactly what Jimin requested: include him.

So, he did just that.

He’d be lying If he said he wasn’t apprehensive, even frightened about finally opening up, letting go; but he figured that if he couldn’t confide in the man he was going to marry, the man who changed his life, then who could he ever confide in?

“Thank you…”

“For what, hyung?”

Showing me how it can be.

“Just everything.”

Jimin had already more than proven that he was the rightful holder of Yoongi’s heart and hand, but the kid had really outdone himself tonight, and not just tonight, but from the moment he took Yoongi’s burden and made it his own, just like he always does.

It was kinda funny.

Yoongi had asked Jimin to be his life partner, but he got a partner in crime, as well, and at no extra cost.

It was the deal of a lifetime.

“Maybe next time we can solve our issues without any lies or treachery.” Jimin proposed, smacking a kiss to Yoongi’s forehead.

I wouldn’t bet on it.

“Let’s go to bed, hyung. Your parents are coming for breakfast.”

The younger stretched and headed for the stairs.

“Go ahead. I’m right behind you.”

“No, you’re not. You’re on the couch, half asleep.”

Yoongi twisted to face him, with a painful hiss.

Lord, that masseuse couldn’t come fast enough.

“I just need five.”

The younger looked a bit suspicious.

“Promise?”

“Jimin, you know how I feel about bed.”

That point seemed to hit home. Satisfied, Jimin climbed the steps and disappeared, leaving Yoongi with his troubled thoughts.

Yoongi didn’t like the fact that he’d lied to Jimin about Hobi, right after establishing their new level of trust.

Except that it didn’t feel like a lie.

It felt more like… staying out of something that neither he nor Jimin belonged in.

It felt like respecting his oldest, dearest friend.

He pulled out his phone and rubbed the glossy screen.

Just call him.

Yoongi desperately wanted to talk.

Man to man.

Friend to friend.

Brother to brother.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that Hobi might look okay, while being anything but.

It was easy to hide storm clouds behind a sunny smile.

“Yoongi!! It’s been ten minutes!”

Shit.

“Bring the ice cream!!”

Yoongi hauled himself off the couch and shuffled over to the freezer.

I can’t do it all.

It was hard, but Yoongi had to submit to the fact that he simply could NOT solve everything at once. He’d just concluded his biggest performance yet, but not the most important one.

That one was in ten days, and he owed to Jimin and himself to give the wedding his undivided attention.

Everything else could wait. It wasn’t like the world was gonna fucking end.

Armed with the remnants of their ice cream, Yoongi started a slow crawl up to the bedroom.

Were there always so many steps?

“And my own spoon!” Jimin yelled again. “I don’t like how you lick yours!”

Yoongi turned and stared at the bottom of the staircase.

I could just jump.

He can’t make me do stuff if I’m dead.

Wincing terribly, he stumbled back down to the kitchen for another spoon, moving as fast as possible before Jimin called again.

“Actually, hyung-”

Yoongi stilled.

He’d already made it halfway up the stairs.

“Can you bring me a bowl, too!? Sorry!”

“No problem, baby.”

Yoongi returned to the kitchen, dumped everything he was holding into the trash, and promptly curled up on the couch for a much needed night of rest.

He slept to the sound of thousands calling his name.