Jimin blinks awake slowly. Immediately he has to squint, the brightness of the space blinding. It was all white...everything was stark white. He hears a beeping, just vaguely. He looks down...there were multiple tubes coming out of his left arm.

...Was this what death was like?

He remembers it vividly. How terrifying it was to bring a knife up to his lover's throat. How he coaxed Jungkook into closing his eyes, watching him shake from terror as he thought he was in his final moments.

He remembers how much it hurt as he plunged the knife into his stomach.

And then...he felt the energy drain from his body. He remembers talking to Jungkook, but he wasn't completely sure what he had said. He remembers kissing him...and that was it.

So now he was dead...right?

But he didn't feel dead. In fact, he didn't feel much different from any time he was alive. He looks down at his body—he was still dreadfully skinny. His body felt numb...in a sense? But still very much alive, it seems. He could feel the slight sting of the IV needles in his body...why would he have IV tubes if he was dead?

Jimin tries to sit up.

He was a bit achy...as if his body hadn't moved in a while. Was there pain in death? He died...he knows he did! This was nothing like he expected...

And then a door opens.

Jimin notices the pink hair first. His eyes widen. "...Seokjin?"

"Hey, Baby," Seokjin murmurs, his voice gentle. "How are you feeling?"

"F-fine..." He trails. "What is going on? Aren't I dead..? I thought I remembered dying..."

"Jimin, I need you to trust me," His voice becomes slightly firmer. "Can you do that?"

"Of course," Jimin furrows his eyebrows. "Why wouldn't I be able to?"

"No reason," He denies. "I just need to make sure you can. For now, all I can tell you is that you are alive. We'll speak more when you've healed, alright?"

"A-alive? How am I alive?" Panic spikes through Jimin's body. "If I'm alive, does that mean Jungkook is dead? I didn't win The Hunger Games, did I? I couldn't have! Jungkook can't be dead, he-"

"Calm down, Honey, please," His cadence soothes Jimin almost immediately—he can't help his body's reaction—his heartrate slowing just a bit. "Jungkook is alive. He is the winner of The Hunger Games."

"Oh thank everything good in this world!" Jimin cries out. "Where is he? Can I see him!? How are we both alive!?" Tears of relief dot his eyes. He pushes them back.

"Jimin..." Jin trails. "You can't see him. He...well, he thinks you're dead."

The smaller male stops in his tracks. "What do you mean I can't see him? Why am I even alive if I can't see him!?"

"Baby, please," Seokjin puts a hand on his arm. "I will explain everything to you in due time. For now, please just focus on recovering. The Games hit you hard."

Jimin brings a hand to his face, shaking his head. "Why am I even here? What is going on?"

"Just take some deep breaths for me," Jin coaches. "As long as things go well, you should be out of the ICU tonight. You'll need a psychiatric evaluation too. You aren't going to hurt yourself, are you?"

"N-no..." Jimin trails. "The only reason I hurt myself was so Jungkook could live."

"That's what I thought," He nods. "I can't tell you much, but I can already promise you Jungkook is doing really well. We'll move you into a more comfortable room so you can sleep in a comfy bed. We'll get you any food you want. Anything you wish, we can provide for you."

Jimin stares at him. "I want Jungkook."

Seokjin takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry Jimin, that's the only thing I can't get for you. I promise you'll know what's going on soon...just focus on the fact that you're alive, and so is Jungkook. Stay calm, and focus on healing. You know I'm looking out for you, right?"

"Yeah..." Jimin closes his eyes.

"You trust me?"

"Yes."

"I'm glad," Jin squeezes his hand. "I love you, Baby. Heal up soon, okay?"

"Okay," Jimin promises, though he still doesn't understand a bit what was going on.

He was supposed to be dead...but he isn't.

Like Seokjin said, he was able to leave the intensive care unit by the late evening. Jimin was moved to a room even nicer than what he was accommodated with as a tribute. They wheeled him to his room in a wheelchair, covering his eyes with a blindfold from one part of the building to another. It scared Jimin, but Seokjin knew what was happening to him. That put him at ease.

Jimin ached. His legs were wobbly, and his abdomen hurt where he had stabbed himself.

But he was alive.

And he felt more alive than he had in weeks. The Hunger Games left him so weak, both physically and mentally. He was a dead man walking by the end of it. But now his life didn't need to end in order for Jungkook to survive. It revitalized him in a sense. He was still hurting, and still very much confused...but he was allowed to live again.

The sky hadn't darkened yet. It was late July at this point—the sun wouldn't set until pretty late at night. Jimin peers out the window. Everything looked so peaceful...Jimin hadn't felt at peace in so long.

How was Jungkook doing right now, Jimin wondered? He thought Jimin was dead. His heart clenched at the thought. He wasn't suffering, was he? No...Jimin should be realistic. If he were in Jungkook's shoes, he wouldn't be able to contain his grief. With the way Jungkook reacted to Jimin up until he lost consciousness, he knew he was probably hysterical.

Jimin squeezes his eyes shut at the thought. Grief pools in his stomach at the thought of Jungkook hurting so bad, the feelings so intense that he has to curl up on the bed—as much as he can without irritating the healing wound.

He had stitches in his abdomen, crossing over the shallower cut Caspian gave him diagonally. That scar was almost invisible, just slightly paler than his typical skin tone. One wouldn't be able to see it unless they were looking for it. Capital medicine was basically magic.

But Jimin wasn't thinking about the cuts right now. He only thought about Jungkook. How much pain was the younger boy in right now? The thought of Jungkook grieving so deeply for Jimin—who wasn't even dead—shattered his soul.

All he wanted to do was go to him. He knew that Jungkook was somewhere in The Capital with him—probably quite nearby. Yet he doesn't get to know that Jimin is alive...he was suffering, and Jimin couldn't do anything about it. For once, Jimin could do nothing.

...Jimin was the source of his pain.

He tries not to think about it, but it was so hard. He tries to reason with himself—that it was The Games, not him, that he wasn't the one who was choosing to be away from him.

But Jungkook believed Jimin was dead.

And so Jungkook grieved for Jimin, while Jimin was doing absolutely fine—more or less. Indirectly or not, Jimin was still hurting him. He was hurting the love of his life...

The love of his life who he may not get to see for the rest of his life. Jimin wasn't sure yet...he doesn't understand anything about the situation. If Jungkook believed he was dead...does that mean he'd have to think so forever? Why wouldn't Jungkook get to know if that wasn't the case?

He was just so confused.

Jimin didn't want to think about it anymore, too overwhelmed by the myriad of questions darting around his brain. So instead he decides to try and rest. The windows had a dimming feature, so he was able to quickly make the room dark. He gets under the covers, feeling as if he were laying on a cloud.

He didn't realize how exhausted he was until he reached the covers. Jimin didn't think physical comfort like this existed in life...

Sleep hit him before he could even comprehend he was tired.

When he woke up the next morning, he was still alone. He sank into the bedding, drowning in the fluffy comforter. He struggled a bit to get out of bed, rolling slowly until he got to the edge, careful not to rub against the stitches.

He sits up, taking a breath. Then he stands. The clothing he wore was what they gave him when he was discharged. It was comfortable—material he wasn't at all familiar with. It fit him well, as if made just for him. Perhaps it was. He decides not to change.

Jimin opens the door of his bedroom. It leads out to a larger space—a common space, he believes. There were doors just like his lining the inner wall. On the outer wall were floor-to-ceiling windows. Jimin walks to the windows slowly. A gorgeous courtyard graced the earth below. Jimin was quite high up, he realized, on one of the upper floors.

The courtyard was surrounded by interconnected buildings, isolating it from the rest of the world. There was a dynamic fountain as a centerpiece; three tiers, water shooting up multiple stories and cascading down into the pools below. The pathways traced symmetrical plots of grass into the yard, dotted with beautiful, colorful flora. It was so peaceful looking. It calmed Jimin.

He explores some more. There was an elevator further down the hall—the elevator he rode up in. He walks to it.

He presses the button. Nothing happens. Confused, he tries again. Nothing. He looks to his right. There was a fingerprint sensor.

Panicking slightly, he tries one of his fingerprints on the sensor, and then another. He tries all ten, but they all come back red.

He's trapped on the floor.

He tries to control his breathing, but he can't. He begins to hyperventilate. What was going on? Where was everyone? The common space was empty, there was no one in the courtyard. He was alone, and he was trapped.

What were they going to do to him!?

"Jimin! Jimin it's okay! They'll take your prints soon," A hand touches his shoulder. He whips around, shrugging it off.

His eyes widen, mouth agape. "N-Namjoon!?"

"Long time no see, Jimin," His dimpled smile graces his presence—the smile he hadn't seen since the moment Namjoon died...

Namjoon died.

But here he was, alive and obviously doing well, smiling at Jimin. His hair was dyed purple, and his clothes looked lavishly expensive. He...he almost looked like a Capitalite.

"What is going on..?" He breathes.

"Seokjin will be here soon," Namjoon promises. "He'll explain everything. We've gotten quite acquainted in the last few weeks."

Jimin was just speechless.

From behind Namjoon, another figure appeared. Dark hair covered his eyes, but Jimin knew that face. He wore a white cashmere sweater, making him look almost angelic. Jimin couldn't help but wonder if he was wearing the clothes his mother designed. "T-Taehyung..."

"Hi Jimin..." He smiles softy. It was the first time Jimin had ever seen him smile. It was...well, it was just plain wonderful. "It looks like we won't need to wait until the afterlife to become friends."

"Y-yeah," Jimin nods, slowly walking up to him. The scar under his left eye was just slightly visible. Jimin's must be the same—he hadn't had the courage to look at himself in the mirror yet. "I guess not."

The elevator dings behind them. Jimin turned around, and there was Seokjin.

"Oh, I see Namjoon and Taehyung have found you," Jin smiles softly. "I'm sure you have a lot of questions. Let's get you some breakfast, and I'll tell you everything."

Seokjin is able to call for food, and orders Jimin an array of delights. Jimin was too overwhelmed to touch any of it, but Jin refused to start without Jimin eating at least something, so he grabbed a small plate of fruit, and a bit of bread. It wasn't until he chewed and swallowed a couple mouthfuls that Jin would actually begin.

Jin sat next to Jimin on a couch in the common space. Taehyung occupied his other side. Namjoon, on the other hand, sat in a chair that matched the couch, hands folded as he looks at the smallest former tribute.

"Alright," Jin takes a deep breath. "Jimin...before I explain to you what is going on, I must reveal something I've been hiding about myself."

"What?" Jimin furrows his eyebrows. "Jin, I don't know if I can handle anymore surprise."

"You're going to have to," He looks him in the eye. "Jimin...remember right before you entered the arena when I told you there was something I wished I could tell you, but I couldn't? Well, this is it. And it starts by telling you that I was once a tribute in The Hunger Games."

As if hit by physical force, Jimin starts to sway, back and forth, eyes wide. Seokjin grabs his hand, and Taehyung touches his shoulder, grounding him. He forgets to breathe for a moment, before his body finally tells him he must.

Jin continues. "When I was twelve years old, I was reaped for the 89th Hunger Games. I fell quite early on. I died in The Hunger Games."

Jimin shakes his head slowly. "You're lying. How..?"

"An older career from District 7 got me," He tells him. "Shot an arrow through my chest on only the third day of The Games."

"But how does no one remember you?" Jimin argues. "You're hiding in plain sight! You've done interviews with Caesar since then!"

"I know. It's incredible, isn't it? How I can go on so undetected?" Seokjin smiles softly. "They've put a chip in my arm. It omits certain frequencies that mess with the brain, so the general population starts to not recognize you after a while. But I was once just a kid in an arena. Remember that year? That decrepit city they were forced to fight in?" Jimin nods, but he doesn't remember Jin being there at all. It was like the memory of him was wiped from his mind. "Well, I was there. And I died...but I woke up in a white room, just like you, eleven years ago, alive as ever. They revived me. And they revived you too."

Jimin puts his head in his hands, trying to process everything that was going on. They revived him? Who was they?

"For a twelve-year-old, I was seen as mature for my age," Seokjin starts again. "I was calm, charismatic, and promising. I actually was told I had a good number of sponsors. But then I died, like one would expect of a twelve-year-old in an arena of death. That should've been it for me, but it wasn't...I was the first of a new movement."

"Movement..?" Jimin trails, staring at him helplessly. "What do you mean, Seokjin? What is going on?"

"Jimin, you've been recruited for a movement," Jin reveals. "So have Namjoon and Taehyung. We're trying to stop The Hunger Games by recruiting fallen tributes and training them to be Capital citizens."

"Capital citizens!?" A deep pit forms in Jimin's stomach. "What do you mean Capital citizens? I can't possibly become part of this, Seokjin, I can't! I want to go home...I want to see Jungkook! Why can't you let me see Jungkook!?"

"He isn't allowed to know you're alive," Jin's voice softens. "No one can. I'm sorry Jimin...this organization is hidden from the public. We can't risk it. If we are found out it is incredibly likely that President Snow will order us to be rounded up and publicly killed. She wants to continue the Snow legacy. You know it was her grandfather who co-founded The Games, right?"

"Yes, of course I know that..." Jimin trails. "But what does that have to do with anything? Why choose me to become a Capitalite? How is that going to stop anything!?"

"You will be a testament that the districts are more powerful than the Capital citizens think," Seokjin explains. "You give the tributes power. You're alive after all! You're going to get trained to become a Capitalite. I knew from the second I met you that you were a perfect candidate. You're highly adaptive, and astonishingly beautiful. You'll fit right in. That is what we look for in this organization. I hope you know I fought incredibly hard for you."

"But what does the organization even do?" Jimin presses. "You're being so vague."

"Victoria Falconeer is the leader of this movement," Jin stares at him. "She made it her goal to become Head Gamemaker so that she could begin this process. She used to be the head geneticist at The Academy, where she perfected the technology to bring the newly dead back to life. She worked with medical techs under her to create an almost flawless system, and it worked. It worked on me eleven years ago—her first year as Head Gamemaker."

Jimin just stares at him, wide-eyed.

He goes on. "Since then, she has slowly been infiltrating influential spaces regarding The Hunger Games. She and a team of others—myself now included—choose tributes we believe could be helpful to us over the course of this movement. There was a bit of criteria that had to be met, and you, as well and Taehyung and Namjoon, were the three that qualified this year. Usually there is only one that we're able to save. I'm quite proud we could save three this year."

"You couldn't be fatally wounded above the neck," Namjoon takes over for a moment. "I was stabbed in my ribcage once, Taehyung was speared in the abdomen. Those were easy wounds for Victoria Falconeer to fix. You stabbed yourself in the stomach, it was truly best case scenario. I was terrified when you put the knife up to Jungkook's throat—if you were the victor, we would've recruited him."

"Caspian, for example, couldn't have qualified, even if we did want him," Jin moves on. "He was too sporadic to be trusted, but even if that wasn't the case, he was shot through the neck. We have no technology to save such vital arteries yet. I am so glad you stabbed yourself where you did. It was one of the easiest cases."

"...I didn't know," Jimin murmurs. "I couldn't have possibly."

"You were just lucky," Taehyung turns his head to look at him. "We were all very lucky."

"I wouldn't call being part of The Hunger Games lucky," Jimin points out.

"No, but we get to use our experience to help future generations of children," Jin presses. "You were also chosen for reasons I listed before—you'll fit right in as a Capitalite as long as you've been given proper training. You're beautiful—which the Capital of course loves. You're charming, and you understand the importance of putting on an act, holding your tongue when necessary. You understood the why behind what we were doing every single time I explained it, instead of just getting angry with me for the what. That's important for this job.

"Our goal is to infiltrate influential spaces along with Victoria Falconeer. We are to become educated on the politics of The Games, and the people that run it. And slowly, we change the general populations' minds. It's like a frog boiling in water. You must turn up the temperature slowly, so the frog doesn't know it's being boiled alive. You plant the seeds in the minds of citizens, and slowly thoughts begin to bloom in their heads that wouldn't be there without our influence. We want to get these evil people out of favor with Capital citizens, get them out of power with as little bloodshed possible."

"But that means The Hunger Games will keep going for a while," Jimin notes. "Dozens, if not hundreds of kids will die while we sit around and do nothing."

"Not nothing," Jin counters. "Viewership for the game was down by 2% last year. That doesn't seem like a lot, and of course the numbers spiked this year, as it was the 100th anniversary, but that is change we haven't seen since the 10th Hunger Games. Viewership has never lessened in the entire history of The Hunger Games past the 10th year. That is the start of positive change."

"Why were there three times the amount of tributes this year then?" Jimin questions. "If you're trying to save children, why throw so many more into the arena?"

"That was president Snow's idea," Seokjin sighs. "Victoria tried to fight it, saying it was boring to do something so similar to what they did in the 50th, but she wouldn't hear it. In fact, she wants the 150th games to have four times as many as usual."

"That's sick..." Jimin trails.

"That's the sickness we're trying to destroy," Seokjin nods.

"But why are we being recruited?" Jimin asks. "Why do they need dead tributes to spearhead this!?"

"That's just it—they believe we're dead," Seokjin's eyes gleam. "They'll never see it coming. The goal is to get the general population on our side just enough, before revealing us to the country. How beautiful will it be seeing that President Snow, her ancestors, and all the people working for her were bested in their own game? We will spark hope in our nation—enough for protests to form. The general Capital population at that time will already want to avoid a war—they're against The Hunger Games too. They'll vote the people out of power, kill President Snow if it must come to that, convict the people that let The Hunger Games continue this long, and hopefully finally find peace for the districts."

"But the issues in Panem are so much more than just The Hunger Games," Jimin protests. "We're living under dictatorship."

"But The Games are what will cause the house of cards to crumble," He points out. "The whole institution is built on The Games. Once their biggest source of control is destroyed, change will seem that much more possible. When The Hunger Games is gone, food distribution can be fought for next, and then the districts will have the strength to propose laws. We can focus more on the environment, and build up the economy. The Snow empire is built on oppressing the districts. Once we destroy that, we can focusing on bettering the nation for all. Even The Capitalites are unhappy with this government model—I've heard the chatter. They're more oppressed that you would believe."

"I don't believe they're oppressed at all," Jimin shakes his head.

"You'd be surprised," Seokjin shrugs. "They'd benefit from this change too."

"...And how long would this change possibly take?" Jimin furrows his eyebrows, helpless. "Our whole lives?"

"Hopefully not, but possibly," Seokjin speaks honestly. "Victoria is hoping that the whole plan—The Hunger Games bit at least—takes less than 35 years. That means we have 25 to go. But it could take more time, and it could take less. Regardless, I'm committed to fighting until we overturn The Hunger Games."

"...So I just have to sit here and pretend to be a Capital citizen for 25 years—if not more—while strings are being pulled?" Jimin questions. "I just wait around and do nothing?"

"Not nothing," Jin denies. "Look at me! There's more of us within The Games' mechanics than you think. Gamemakers, stylists, training staff. There are victors on our side, and Capital escorts too!"

"Really?" Jimin's eyes widen. "Does Yoongi know about this then?"

"And Hoseok," Seokjin reveals.

"Hoseok?" He breathes. "B-but he's just...so Capitalite."

"He's a great actor," Jin shrugs. "Once you truly get to know him, I bet you'll find that he is an incredibly intelligent, empathetic, dedicated member of the movement."

"I spent years of my life hating him..." Jimin trails. "A-and I guess meeting him humanized him a bit, but..."

"He plays the role well," Seokjin assures. "Victoria recruited him because she knew he could."

"I-if Yoongi can know, why can't Jungkook?" Jimin asks. "Why can't Jungkook know I'm alive?"

"He's too emotionally invested," Seokjin stares at him sadly. "He's in love with you—someone he believes is dead. If he knew you were alive, he'd change his tune. It would be too suspicious. We only recruit mentors who have no close ties with people. You know how Yoongi is. He doesn't have any friends, hardly any loved ones. There's no one he would accidentally share this information to."

Jimin is silent for a moment.

"I'd love to train you to be a stylist," Jin says gently, changing the subject. "I think you'd be really good at it—being the leader of a prep team, and styling outfits for tributes. You'd help scout out recruits for the movement, and during The Games you'd come to parties and talk to Capitalites, make relationships with them, subtly bring our ideas into their lives. You will play an important role. I can tell you right now I have absolute faith in your abilities. You are so charming, Jimin, more than I think you understand. You are perfect for this role."

"W-what are you guys going to be doing?" Jimin looks between Namjoon and Taehyung.

"I'm going to work under Dr. Victoria as a Gamemaker," Namjoon answers. "She's trying to slowly phase out the excruciating practices of Hunger Games' past. No more fireballs or flesh-eating mutations. Taehyung will be a stylist too, since he already wanted to work in that area anyways as a cosmetologist."

"It wasn't my first choice, but I'm happy to make a difference," Taehyung meets his gaze.

"What would happen if I said no?" Jimin looks back at Seokjin. "Hypothetically speaking, what would they do to me?"

"Well, that's never happened, luckily, but if it did, we'd unfortunately have to kill you once again," His tone was soft, but the words were so, so cold. "What else could we do possibly? We need to keep this under wraps, and it's not like you could go back to the districts after they saw you die on national television."

"So...you're giving me the illusion of choice by asking me to join this movement, but in reality I have no choice if I want to live," Jimin concludes.

The stylist sighs. "Technically that is correct. But I don't see why you would turn this down, Jimin. Think about it. This is a chance to save so many innocent children from the arena. This is a chance to possibly see Jungkook again, and to let your family know you're alive. You can't do any of that if you're dead. This is a good cause, Jimin, the most noble thing I've ever been a part of. Don't you trust me?"

"O-of course I do," Jimin's tone is defensive, to the point even he himself was surprised by the assurance in his voice. "It's just a lot to think about."

"Absolutely," Seokjin validates. "And your training is not going to start right this second. You will be given plenty of time to adjust to what your life is going to be like from now on. I just wanted to make sure to tell you as soon as possible so that journey could begin. And I'll be with you through all of it, alright? You know I love you, Baby."

"I love you too..." He looks down. "But...I want to know more about you—the real you. Was all that you said about being a fashion designer a lie? What district were you even from? What did you do?"

"I was from District 1, but my parents weren't wealthy," He reveals. "They were in the service industry for the wealthy District citizens. It taught me how to be charming and obedient. I was really surprised no one volunteered for me—older, stronger, richer tributes usually do in District 1. But I went into The Hunger Games, and I died. When I was brought back to life, Victoria gave me a story—who I was, where I came from—and I stuck to it. I trained under Primrose Threadwell—who is a very influential person in The Games' sphere."

"My mother has collaborated with her a few times," Taehyung pipes.

"Yes exactly," He nods once. "She was gentle, and patient, and was one of the first to back the movement—financially, emotionally, all of it. She taught me absolutely everything I needed to know about fashion, and styling, and now I train all the stylists joining our team. Most Hunger Games stylists must go through a special school, you know."

"I didn't..." Jimin shakes his head. "I've never cared about how any of The Games was run."

"That's fair," Seokjin concedes. "Perhaps that was an inappropriate figure of speech. But I digress. I trained under Primrose until I was seventeen, when I became a stylist myself. I told them I was twenty...but during my second year I was the same age as my tribute."

"Are you even twenty-three now?" Jimin shakes his head. "How much did you make up about yourself?"

"I am," Jin confirms. "I promise I didn't lie to you about that. I was twelve in the 89th Hunger Games, remember? That was eleven years ago."

"Ah, yeah..." Jimin realizes.

"Sweet thing," Jin soothes. "You can trust me. Surely you know that? What else would there be I could lie about?"

"I do trust you..." Jimin hesitates, squeezing his eyes shut. "...I'll do it. I will. I want to take The Hunger Games down. But I need time to think about it."

"Absolutely," Seokjin nods. Taehyung pats his thigh.

"I..." Jimin takes a deep breath. "May I please see Jungkook? Through the television at least? He's doing interviews tonight...I just want proof he's alive."

"Oh, Honey, I don't know if that's a good idea-"

"He's probably in so much pain," Jimin cuts him off. "The pain I will feel from watching him won't even come close to how he's feeling. Jin, he thinks I'm dead. I just want to watch over him while I can. I won't get to see him again...at least not for a while."

Jin hesitates, but ultimately concedes. "You're right...if you truly believe you can handle it..."

"I can," Jimin promises. "His pain is my pain. He is my whole world, Seokjin...I know I already said goodbye, but if I have the opportunity right now to see him again, even if only through a screen, I would be crazy not to take it."

"Okay," He gives in. "I'll make sure you're set up with a television before I go. I'm going to be with Jungkook, for you. I promised you I would be there for him, I will watch over him for you."

Jimin just stares at the taller. How wonderful this former tribute was. How easy it was for Jimin to love him.

He throws his arms around Seokjin, hugging him close. Jin, of course, hugs right back—gentle, hyperaware of Jimin's injuries, but warmly nonetheless. They hold each other for a few seconds, before Seokjin pulls back.

"Alright," Jin pulls away. "I have to go, but I'll be back tonight, if you'd like."

"Please," Jimin whispers.

"Right now you have to stay on this floor, but this won't be forever," He promises. "It's for your safety more than anything. No one is trying to trap you anymore, Jimin. I promise after a while you will feel free, and secure, and hopefully happy. There are ways to contact me if you must, Namjoon will teach you. This is just a temporary space for you to stay so we can keep you safe as you learn the ways of The Capital."

If it were anyone, else Jimin would be defensive, and scared, and angry, forced to be trapped like this. But it was Seokjin. So all he says is, "Okay."

"I'll have someone set the TV up," He rubs his arms. "I'll see you later. I'm so happy you're alive, Jimin. Truly."

"...I really am too," He whispers for the first time.

Later that night, Jimin watches Jungkook on the television. Namjoon and Taehyung sat on either side of him, relatively close. There was an unspoken, gentle tenderness between the three of them...silent, but present all the same. Jimin already felt so close to these people—these people not so different than him, who he was once so wary of. These people who he couldn't trust before, because their lives were an obstacle.

They had all gone through hell, but they were back from the dead.

That was something so few people would ever experience...Now, as Jimin looked at Namjoon and Taehyung, he saw two men who were just like him. He found comfort in their shared experiences.

"It's odd, isn't it?" Namjoon speaks up as his death is played on screen. They turned on the television to watch the recap, so they wouldn't miss Jungkook when he did appear on screen. "We know how it feels to die. Watching this, I remember...how everything felt. How the blood felt in my throat, and the pain in my chest. And then I felt tired, and numb, and I was gone. I don't even remember smiling at Jungkook."

"He remembered," Jimin whispers. "Jungkook talked about you for a while after it happened."

"I told him to win," He realizes. "He did a good job."

"Such a good job," The smaller agrees. "I am so proud of him."

And then a segment started about Jimin and Jungkook. About their relationship, from the reaping, to Jimin's death. Jimin tried to watch...he wanted to relive every moment he got with Jungkook—the good and the bad. But all he felt when he watched these moments was pain.

These were Jimin and Jungkook's last moments together. These moments—filled with tragedy, and exhaustion. Moments where Jimin was no longer mentally there, a foot already in the grave. Some of the clips Jimin didn't even really remember—the lost look in his eyes proof of it. It was just awful.

And yet Jimin tried his hardest to watch every moment.

By the end, Jimin was shaking. Taehyung holds him, rubbing his arms. It takes him a good ten minutes to calm down.

Watching himself die was nothing. Jimin knew now that his death wasn't permanent. But watching Jungkook scream and cry in agony as the older lay there lifeless? Seeing him go erratic over Jimin's body to the point he had to be sedated? That was chilling, traumatizing, even.

It all happened just a day or two ago.

But then the interview came around. Jungkook comes on stage, and that was where Jimin lost it.

Visually, he was gorgeous. Deep blue was truly his color. Besides being obviously skinnier than he was when he entered the arena, it was as if nothing had happened to him. Jimin couldn't stop staring.

But his eyes were empty—Jimin noticed that before anything. Mentally, he just wasn't there. Jungkook wasn't the one who died in the arena, he wasn't the one who had to be brought back to life...so he wasn't. It was like Jungkook died instead of Jimin.

And then Jungkook said, "...Why am I alive?"

Jimin broke down.

He sobbed into Taehyung's chest.

This was possibly the last time he would ever see Jungkook, and he was in this state. Jimin hoped it was just shock, he hoped Jungkook could heal from this, but he was terrified. Terrified that Jungkook would not be able to come back from the loss he experienced in The Games.

What if this became Jungkook's reality? Lost, and empty, unable to even carry a conversation without shutting down completely...it was too much for Jimin to bear. All Jimin wanted was to run to him, to tell him he was okay...but he was trapped in this building, trapped on this floor.

No wonder they locked him in here. Or else Jimin would run.

Namjoon and Taehyung tried to comfort him, but it was of little use. Jimin could not be consoled for a long time—not for the rest of the night, really. How was he going to live without Jungkook? Knowing Jungkook was hurting, how could he just be in The Capital while the younger was suffering?

That was the last time Jimin thought he would ever see Jungkook.