"It's sorted," Jimin nodded curtly, tossing his phone onto the velvety green sofa before sinking into it himself. 

His top buttons were undone, shirt hanging loose from his waistband, dishevelled.

Hana always liked him better this way. He felt more like home when he wasn't pristine.

With an unlit cigarette clamped between his teeth, he rummaged around in the coffee table drawer until he found the lighter Hana used for the candles, and lit it up. Cutting down on his vices had been a goal for Jimin, but without the drugs or the constant stream of new women, he had taken to chain-smoking whenever he got stressed.

"How was he?" Hana asked, not really wanting an answer, but holding her hand out for a toke of the cigarette. She hated the smell, hence the candles, but was in desperate need of a nicotine hit - something, anything, to calm her nerves.

"Yeah, fine, he's sent a message to Hae Pa and some other little gang that's been running on the outskirts. Seemed surprised that someone's been fucking with our stuff," Jimin sighed, voice monotone. "Said it's been pretty quiet in the city lately."

Jimin seemed indifferent to Namjoon, lately. If he was being honest with himself, he was thankful that there was still someone back home if they needed him.

The fall out from their departure hadn't been pretty. Namjoon had been furious, as expected. Their saving grace was the fact he didn't even realise until some low-level Dal Pa yob mentioned the fire, which proved just how little he actually cared.

Still, Namjoon played the victim card, accused them of 'deserting' him and threatened to ruin them unless they came back. That first conversation didn't end very well. Hana was still grieving and had taken to telling everyone who crossed her path that she'd "tear them limb from limb." It sounded a lot better from Yoongi's mouth, that's for sure.

Jimin had to be the one to pick up the pieces, and it set the tone for how they conducted business. He was 'good' cop, and Hana was 'bad'.

Now, their arrangement was mutually beneficial. Namjoon kept them in the loop if and when they wanted to know what was happening in the city, and they gave him a good deal when it came to trafficking illegal goods across the East Sea. It was just business. 

"It's never quiet," Hana stretched her legs out in front of her and rested her heels on the walnut coffee table, breathing out the smoke that had been resting in her lungs. "He's just not been listening."

"Meeting's in a week's time," he yawned back, ignoring her comment as he accepted the cigarette back from her. He'd had a long day and couldn't be arsed to bitch and moan about things. 

"You know what date that is, right?"

"Yep."

Namjoon had insisted on the date. "Momentous" he had called it, an "apt memorial". If Yoongi had still been alive, he would have told him to read the room and not be such a pompous cunt. Jimin had been tempted to do the same. 

"Dickhead," Hana snarled. The last place she wanted to be on the anniversary of Yoongi's death was with the people who had caused it.

Realistically, she knew that only one person was to blame for Yoongi's death, but they had all played a part; none more so than herself and Jungkook. If they hadn't caused a scene with Ku Minsu, then the fight wouldn't have happened, and Taehyung wouldn't have pulled the trigger on Yoongi. Jimin had tried to reason with her, tell her that Yoongi made his own choices that night, but she wouldn't accept it. 

If she had been stronger, less easily swayed, more focused, then perhaps the chain of events that led to it never would have happened.

She had gone nearly insane thinking about alternative outcomes of that evening. Every single one of them was better than reality - even the version where she and Jungkook died instead.

Almost as if he could read her mind, Jimin asked what she was going to do about Jungkook. He snorted, knowing she was lying when she said 'nothing'.  

The question left an uncomfortable discourse in Hana's mind. She had no idea what she was going to do. All she knew was that he was going to be there, without a doubt, now that he was Saffy's bitch. 

Retiring to her office, Hana sat at her black leather desk chair, feet propped up on the seat, knees at her chin. There was a loose hem by the cuff of her sweatshirt, and she played it, twisting her cold fingers around the thread. Her eyes rested on their usual spot; Yoongi's switchblade. Pouting at it as if he could still see her, she began to vent.

"I don't know what to do, Yoongs."

'What do you want to do?' is what she knew he would have said. He wouldn't ever give her the answers, just encourage her to make the right decision for herself.

"It's not just him; it's everything. I never wanted to go back. I wanted to get out and do right by you, but it feels like I fell at the first hurdle and never got back up again," Hana spoke painfully. It was cathartic in a way, being able to talk at Yoongi just like she had used to, but she missed him punctuating her worries with words of wisdom. 

"I know, I know," she replied to the memorised voice of Yoongi telling her that she did her best in her head. "But it wasn't good enough. I still fucked it all up, didn't I?"

She let the silence punctuate her words this time. She didn't deserve the luxury of Yoongi's voice filling her head, but dear lord did she need it. Pulling downwards on the loose string she had been playing with, it unravelled from the material until it reached a tough knot in the seam of her cuff. At what point would she stop unravelling? Would she ever?

"You told me to stay away from him, and I didn't and look what happened," Hana lamented, snapping the thread off entirely. The skies outside were stormy, waves crashing against the island, soundtracking her sorrowful ramblings.

If Yoongi were there, he would have pulled a chair up to the opposite side of Hana's desk and rested his feet upon it, hands interlocked across his stomach. 'Staying away didn't do me any good, did it, kid? Still ended up dead,' he would have said, finding humour in his ill-fated choices. 

A clap of thunder roared across the ocean, rippling the waves as lightning illuminated the office. "That your way of telling me to stop being such a cry baby?" Hana smiled towards the switchblade, finally finding some semblance of peace. 

"I miss you," she whispered, a smile still on her face, but sadness in her eyes. 

The knowledge he was gone would never get any easier, but she was finding ways to cope. Shutting Seoul out had been working so far, but it was time to face the music. If Yoongi could have spent years doing it, then she could manage for one measly meeting. 

Getting to her feet, Hana walked calmly to face the roaring tides beneath her. Grey clouds cried mercilessly down upon the cold waves that crashed into one another, all fighting for dominance. They frothed as the current battered them around, never simmering, only getting rowdier. 

"Sink or swim," she sang softly to herself, acknowledging her two fates. She wasn't sure which one she was destined for. All she knew is that she wouldn't find out until she jumped in at the deep end.

Yoongi would have been smiling at her fondly now, proud of the woman she was becoming. 'You got this, kid.'