"Raids are increasing across the outer sectors in the wake of the new king's coronation. He's really flexing his muscles, isn't he? We've had three in the past week and they don't look like they're gonna slow down any time soon. But keep your chins up. We might be easy targets, but we're not breakable. Look out for each other. Donate ration cards where you can. Network operations are going to continue as regularly as possible. We'll get through this, and if this is our new normal, then we'll adapt. It's what we've always done, right?"

- Excerpt from a radio broadcast by revolutionary figure, Hope, one month after the coronation of the new king

_ _

This feels surreal: six people in Seokjin's living room, spread out on his couch and kitchen chairs and even on the floor. It makes his apartment feel small in a way it never has before, when it was just him in this space. He's always been solitary by nature and necessity, preferring the safety of his own home even as he got good at playing Sector 1's elaborate social chess game. Now he feels ... suffocated is the first word that comes to mind. Especially because all six pairs of eyes are on him. Yes, he was the one that called this meeting after a long, private discussion with Namjoon and Yoongi - both of them deciding that it was time to share the plan with the larger group. He's regretting listening to them now.

He should have just let Yoongi handle this.

"I'm sorry," Park Jimin says imperiously, looking commanding even from his spot on the floor. "I thought you said that you want to kill the king."

"That is exactly what I said," Seokjin says and ignores the astonished ripple that runs along the couch from Taehyung to Jungkook to Hoseok and back again. They all glance at Yoongi next - stone-faced in a kitchen chair. Never has it been more clear that he's the head of their little family.

"But with a slight amendment," Seokjin continues and everyone's gaze shifts back to him. "I'm going to kill the king."

Hoseok laughs, pure disbelief. Taehyung looks contemplative. Jungkook looks caught somewhere between sheer terror and determined acceptance. And Jimin's eyes narrow, piercing him like two bullets. Of all the people here, Jimin is the one he knows he needs to truly convince. The one that trusts him the least.

"And do what?" Jimin asks now, biting. "Put yourself on the throne instead?"

"Yes," Seokjin says, fighting to keep his tone even.

Jimin scoffs. "So one elite for another? How is that any different?"

Seokjin arches an eyebrow. "Well, to start - I'm a much nicer person."

"You're still an elite," Jimin says, curling his small hand into a fist on top of the coffee table. "How do we know you won't just turn into a tyrant as soon as you're on the throne? 'Oh, thanks for your help - now I'm going to publicly execute all of you!'"

"He wouldn't do that," Jungkook whispers, shifting nervously on the couch, and Seokjin feels a rush of gratitude and affection towards him.

Jimin shifts his glare to Jungkook. "But how do you know?"

"Because..." Jungkook's face scrunches in a grimace and his voice fails, trailing off into a weak cough. Seokjin shifts forward, unsure if he should intervene, but Hoseok moves before he can, reaching up to pet Jungkook's hair and pull him into Hoseok's side.

"He saved Jungkookie's life," Yoongi speaks up for the first time in several minutes, arms crossed over his chest.

"That's just one life," Jimin argues. "We're talking about millions of lives." He pins Seokjin with a frown. "So tell me: why do you want to be king?"

Well. This is deja vu.

Namjoon and Yoongi yield the floor to him with twin nods of their heads. Jungkook is watching him with big eyes, Hoseok and Taehyung with steely ones, and Jimin's might as well be spitting fire. He's starting to think that if he can win these human pillars of stone over, then the rest of the city will be a metaphorical walk in the park.

Ha.

He shifts his weight, listening to the kitchen chair creak underneath him. Tries to sort out words in his head. He's never been very good at speeches, but he supposes this is important practice - he's going to need to get better, just in case Namjoon refuses to write ones for him.

"I have a comfortable life, you're right," he says. "My parents died when I was young, but my family has always looked after me. Made sure I had enough money, got me a quiet job where I'd stay out of their hair. Pretty much let me do as I please. I have plenty of food and that coffee table's made of real wood. My closet is full of fancy clothes. But peel all that back - all the gold and the parties and the wealth - and there's this ... this seething mass of poison underneath. I saw it in the boarding houses when I was eighteen and my cousin told me that I could kill a woman there and it wouldn't matter because she was a sanctioned. At the auction houses where they parade people in front of me like objects. At the parties where they don't bat an eye at my reputation, just make jokes about the murders I supposedly commit. Because it isn't rape to them. Or murder. Because a man can beat a boy half to death in a garden in the middle of a party for ... for fighting back against someone assaulting him and it's acceptable. "

He digs his fingers into his thigh, surprised at the level of emotion churning in him - bubbling hot just beneath his normally cool surface like molten lava.

"And that makes me angry. Makes me fucking furious. We're all monsters, every last one of us." He locks eyes with Jimin, who will burn this city to protect the people he loves. "And I want a better world. One where none of this is okay. Where elite don't kill their children over a mutation that isn't their fault. Where there are no Marks or companions or sanctioning. I want to build that world. And I can only do that from a throne."

A long pause. Seokjin tries not to fidget as he watches them, attempting to pluck clues from their impassive expressions.

"That's a nice speech," Hoseok says at last. From the tone of his voice, it's impossible to tell if he's offering a serious compliment or not.

"But only a speech," Jimin says.

Seokjin shrugs. "My words are all I have right now. I'll tell you the same thing I told Yoongi: if I fail, or it looks like I'm becoming a tyrant, then kill me. I'll hand you the knife or the gun or whatever tool you want to use."

"This is the only way, Jimin-ah," Yoongi chimes in when Jimin opens his mouth, looking ready to offer up a scathing retort. His voice is quiet, serious. But it commands attention. He looks at each of them in turn: Hoseok, Taehyung, Jungkook, Jimin - and his gaze is close to pleading. "This is the only way. If we were to revolt, then we would still have the Eight to contend with and we're not strong enough for that. Throwing the city into chaos isn't going to solve anything. But this can. We put a king on the throne who's on our side and we enact reforms that way."

"You would still have the Eight to contend with," Taehyung says, speaking for the first time since all of this started. He taps a random rhythm on his thigh. "They'll come after you before the king's blood has even dried."

Yoong winces. "We're working on that part."

Hoseok sits up straighter, using Jungkook's arm for support. "What do you mean?"

Namjoon has his head bowed, shoulders hunched inward. Seokjin sucks in a breath and holds it, feeling his lungs begin to burn as Yoongi whispers, "I'm good currency. For information. And we think there might other members of the court who are sympathetic, if we can find them."

All the blood drains from Hoseok's face. "Currency?" he says and sounds like he's been shot again. Taehyung makes an equally wounded sound and Jungkook just closes his eyes. Jimin's are burning, fixed on Namjoon. "Yoongi, what-"

"You know how this works," Yoongi whispers, staring at his lap instead of looking up at Hoseok's ashen expression. "Don't make me spell it out for you."

"No," Taehyung says, swaying to his feet. "Hyung."

"This was your suggestion," Hoseok says to Namjoon and it's a furious statement, not a question. Seokjin wonders exactly how he's going to get this situation back under control before Jimin pulls out the gun that he's almost sure is hidden under his clothes and shoots either him or Namjoon with it.

"No," Yoongi interjects, standing. Shoulders back and jaw clenched in defiance - a leader. "It was mine."

Hoseok looks stunned and then betrayed. "Your suggestion? Why? "

"Because I believe in this, Seok-ah," Yoongi replies. "Because my body's already ... already used up. This is a small sacrifice."

Hoseok shakes his head. Namjoon hasn't moved a centimeter; Jungkook's eyes are still closed and he's curled up into a ball against Taehyung's side; Taehyung's gaze is darting between various distraught faces, even as he puts a comforting arm around Jungkook's shoulders.

"How can you say that?" Hoseok asks. "You're not-"

"I am," Yoongi cuts him off, harsh, and both Taehyung and Hoseok flinch. "And it's my choice. You don't get to make it for me. You weren't even here."

"I'm here now," Hoseok argues, still looking like he isn't sure if he wants to cry or scream or just vomit onto the floor. Seokjin dearly hopes he doesn't choose that last option. "And no plan is worth you being hurt. Even something like this. You can't just ... just let people do this you in exchange for information."

"Too late," Yoongi snaps. "You're too fucking late, Seok-ah, so don't make protests now. Don't-"

Namjoon reaches up, not looking at Hoseok, and threads his fingers with Yoongi's, squeezing tight. And Yoongi ... calms. All the fight drains out of him as he squeezes back and leans against Namjoon's chair. Seokjin watches Taehyung's gaze turn contemplative, Jimin's catch on fire again, and Hoseok's just ... freeze. Yoongi might as well have slapped him in the face, Seokjin thinks. Or shot him again.

"Please," Yoongi says, eyes wet and tired. "Please, Seok-ah, I just got you back. I don't want to fight with you about this. It's done already. It's okay."

Hoseok shakes his head again, seemingly speechless, and Seokjin claps his hands in the ensuing silence. "Right. Time for a break, everyone take five. Talk amongst yourselves and keep any weapons concealed." A pointed look at Jimin, who smirks back at him.

Taehyung shifts closer to whisper in Jungkook's ear while Yoongi lets go of Namjoon's hand so he can crouch by the sofa with his fingers curled around Hoseok's knee. Namjoon watches them and Seokjin feels a twinge of sympathy at the kicked puppy expression on his face, even if there's nothing but trouble and heartbreak down that path. Then, he excuses himself and slips to the balcony, sucking frigid night air into his lungs. He isn't surprised when the door opens behind him only a few moments later and Jimin joins him, walking right up to the railing and resting his arms on it.

"It looks so pristine from up here," he says, staring out over their sprawling city - bathed in light from the skyscrapers surrounding them to the distant hills of the outer sectors, slowly giving way to the black of barren earth beyond the walls.

Seokjin hums. "That's what's so deceptive about height. Climb up far enough and you can't really see the world below you."

Jimin's mouth curls. "Now you're talking in metaphors."

"Maybe."

A snort. "Don't bother. It's just hard to trust that you won't have the same problem, when you get high enough."

"That's the difference between me and the king." Seokjin mimics Jimin's pose, folding his arms over the railing and staring at the ground over thirty stories below them. "I've had my feet on the ground - he never has."

Jimin stays quiet long enough to be agonizing. "Yoongi believes in you," he says when Seokjin is actively considering just fleeing back inside and pretending that this day never happened. "He believes in you enough to...." A broken sound spills from his mouth and his grip on the railing turns white-knuckled.

"Yes," Seokjin says softly and then shoves the rest of the nervous words back down his throat.

"I don't." Jimin turns to look at him properly, and in this moment there are enough cracks in his armor that Seokjin catches glimpses of the fear underneath - vast and and all consuming, like an abyss in the corners of Jimin's sad smile. "But I would follow Yoongi anywhere. So I'm in."

Seokjin breathes out, shaky and relieved. "Thank you."

Jimin just nods and heads back inside without another word. Seokjin takes a moment to collect himself, slot every piece of steel he can back in place. Then, he turns and follows.

The lion's den awaits.

_ _

Kill the king. The words echo in Jungkook's head like city bells. Kill the king. Seokjin wants to kill the king. And once upon a time, Jungkook would have been ready to pick up the knife himself, but that person belongs in another life now. That person died, he thinks, when his first pair of masters forced him into their bed, and he's buried so deep in the earth that Jungkook will never be able to exhume him again.

Now there is only the churn of fear in the empty expanse where he thinks courage used to be. Courge like the kind he can see in the bow of Yoongi's head and the unyielding wildfire in his eyes when he looks up at Hoseok, visible even through the black of his grief.

"Please," he hears Yoongi whisper. Watches Yoongi's fingers curl desperate over Hoseok's knee. Yoongi never used to beg for anything, but Jungkook thinks that the Yoongi of Before is buried in the earth, too - that his grave sits right next to Jungkook's. "Please, Seok-ah, I...."

"You decided to stay," Hoseok says and he doesn't move away from Yoongi but he's stiff beneath his touch. "You chose to join this ... whatever this is and stay and you never told me. Never reached out to me. I thought you were dead." Those last words crack like Hoseok's ripped them unwilling from the core of him, the very center of the bloody mess of his heart, and it hurts. Hoseok and Yoongi always felt like bedrock to him - a love so unyielding and strong that it could withstand anything. But he was wrong about that, he's seeing. Like he was about so many things.

"I'm sorry," Yoongi says, sounding as though Hoseok's driven a fist into his stomach. More than once. "I'm sorry, I wanted to keep you safe. I didn't want you to see this. To ... to look at me like you are now."

"How am I looking at you?" Hoseok asks in a hushed, small voice.

"Like you don't recognize me," Yoongi whispers and Hoseok flinches, finally pulling away from Yoongi to curl onto the couch. He hisses at the pull of his wounds from the motion and Jungkook wants to reach for him but isn't sure if he should. Isn't sure of which side he needs to take on this rapidly widening faultline or if there should be sides at all.

"I don't recognize you," Hoseok says.

The pained sound Yoongi makes scrapes bloody furrows into Jungkook's heart and he stands before he can stop himself, pulling free of Taehyung's grip. "Help Hobi-hyung," he murmurs and then goes to Yoongi's side, gently tugging him to his feet. Namjoon disappeared somewhere, probably to give them privacy, and Jimin's out on the balcony with Seokjin, so Jungkook takes Yoongi to the safest place he can think of: the guest bedroom, with its lock on the door.

He flips that lock and then gathers Yoongi into his arms. Can feel the tremble of him as he tucks his face against Jungkook's neck and knows the vicious mantra that's probably clawing at his mind: filthy, broken, worthless, wrong filthy filthy filthy-

There are things Jungkook could say: you aren't or he doesn't understand or I'm here, but all of them seem inadequate and all of them are knotted up in a hopelessly tangled ball somewhere under his tongue. They don't come when he wants them to, they rarely ever have, so he settles for tilting Yoongi's chin up and dragging his lips across Yoongi's temple, down to his cheek. They're softer with each other than they used to be, but that feels like a small, beautiful consolation for all they've endured. So he kisses across the bone of Yoongi's cheek and then he bends down a little further and kisses Yoongi on the mouth. Maybe it's wrong, that he can kiss Yoongi so easily and not Taehyung, but there is nothing sexual about this. Nothing romantic, either. He's never loved Yoongi that way, but he does love him. So much it breaks him, sometimes. And no one kisses them - their mouths are for other things and their bodies aren't worth this kind of gentleness, so he presses his lips to Yoongi's in defiance of that, to say all the things he can't with his voice: you're valued worthy special loved. Feels Yoongi's arms tighten around him and Yoongi shift up to meet him, but the kiss stays slow and languid. Relatively chaste, considering everything that Jungkook's done and had done to him over the last year. Perfect and comforting, nonetheless.

When he pulls back, he doesn't let Yoongi go far - just moves his lips up to the center of Yoongi's forehead and lets them linger there, pushing Yoongi's hair carefully out of the way so that he can touch skin.

"I love you," he says quietly. "So much, hyung. And I'll follow you. I believe in this, too. Hobi-hyung just ... doesn't understand. Give him time. This is your choice - he doesn't get to invalidate it."

Yoongi hiccups out a stuttering breath and squeezes Jungkook's waist. "I love you, too, Jungkook-ah. Thank you."

A knock on the door prevents Jungkook from saying anything further. He shuffles over and flips the lock back, watching as the door creaks open to reveal Taehyung. He looks worried, some of the stony facade that he's been wearing to face Seokjin chipped away, and Jungkook steps aside to let him go to Yoongi. He does, quickly, and wraps his arms around Yoongi in much the same way Jungkook did.

"It isn't right," he says over Yoongi's shoulder, fierce and shattered.

"No," Yoongi agrees, eyes slipping closed. "It isn't."

"You shouldn't have to do this."

"But I do," Yoongi counters.

Taehyung clutches at the sides of Yoongi's shirt. "Then I'll help you. Whatever it takes, hyung. I'm here."

Yoongi's face scrunches up like he's about to cry, but no tears actually come. "Thank you," he murmurs. "Thank you, Taehyung-ah."

Jungkook glances out the open door into the living room and sees Hoseok standing near the couch, using the arm of it to support his weight. He blinks back at Jungkook with wet eyes, looking more lost than Jungkook's ever seen him. And Jungkook knows that this must hurt - to have someone that you love, someone that's been yours while you've been theirs, and suddenly none of that is true anymore. Suddenly, you're different people. He knows, because he feels it with Taehyung. Because he's terrified that someday soon, Taehyung will look at him like this, too: without recognition, full of fear and uncertainty. Like Jungkook has became alien, like there is something else wearing Jungkook's skin.

He's still Yoongi, he wants to say, but maybe that isn't true. The Yoongi Hoseok knows is in the earth, gone forever.

The Yoongi of Now brushes past Jungkook on the way out of the guest bedroom, stopping in front of Hoseok with an equally uncertain expression.

"I'm sorry," Hoseok says and reaches out a hand, runs tentative fingers over Yoongi's cheek. "I didn't mean it."

"You did," Yoongi counters without anger. "But I understand. We're different people now, aren't we, Hoseokie?"

Hoseok doesn't argue with him, because he's right. Jungkook can see it in Jimin and Taehyung and Hoseok - all these fresh shadows carved by long months of separation, by grief and loss and the harsh cruelty of survival. All of them are different people, all of them will never be the same again. They can't go back to that apartment in Sector 10 with the mattress they piled with blankets and the faulty shower and the plant Jungkook was carefully trying to cultivate. But he hopes, desperately, that they can still fit together. That this is still a family.

He doesn't know what he'll do if it isn't.

"We are," Hoseok says. "But you'll always matter to me, Yoongi. And if you believe in this - if you think we can do this ... then I'm in. Of course I'm in." He laughs, broken and wet. "I'd follow you anywhere."

"Thank you," Yoongi breathes and shifts forward to fully hug Hoseok. Jungkook thinks it's the most the two of them have touched since they brought Hoseok here. Hoseok presses a hesitant kiss to Yoongi's clothed shoulder and Yoongi's fingers gather fistfuls of Hoseok's loose shirt, and it's a long time before they step apart to smile tearfully at each other.

Jungkook feels something in his chest expand in relief at the sight of that, a band of anxiety loosening. They're a family, even if all the fault lines are still visible.

_ _

Seokjin declares that they all need a breather and they'll reconvene this little tribunal tomorrow to discuss plans for the seven of them moving forward. Jimin is glad for a chance to catch his breath - find his feet in this new and uncharted world they've been suddenly submerged in. Hoseok hobbles back to the bedroom with Jungkook's help and Taehyung follows after squeezing Jimin's hand in a silent we'll talk later. Namjoon and Seokjin also exchange a wordless conversation of their own - one that results in them retreating to the other side of the apartment, towards what has to be Seokjin's bedroom. But not before Namjoon stops to talk to Yoongi. Jimin watches the way that he puts a hand on Yoongi's shoulder and the way that Yoongi leans into the touch, tilts his head so Namjoon can murmur in his ear. He watches and feels ... conflicted. An angry, terrified part of him wants to march over there and tear them apart - make sure that Namjoon can never put his hands on Yoongi again - but another part acknowledges the gentleness with which Namjoon treats Yoongi. How Yoongi seems comforted by it - like Namjoon is a rock in the middle of a storm. It doesn't make sense, but so many things feel that way right now.

So he does nothing. Holds himself back until Namjoon is gone and he can follow Yoongi back out to the balcony, just like he did with Seokjin (who has so many pretty words, but Jimin's never fallen for those) what feels likes only minutes ago. Or years?

"Sometimes I imagine I can see our apartment from here," Yoongi says, gaze on the distant hills of the outer sectors. "Even though that's stupid." He sinks down against the glass windows, legs splayed out in from of him, and looks so exhausted that it aches. Jimin wishes he could reach inside and pull out everything in Yoongi that is hurting - every drop of poison and darkness and blood.

"It isn't stupid," he says, also sitting. He feels ridiculous in these loose, too-big clothes from Seokjin's closet that feel too soft and expensive against his skin. "I miss it, too. It was home."

"What do you think?" Yoongi asks, cautious in a way that Jimin isn't used to. "About what I'm doing?"

"I hate it," he replies, because they've never lied to each other. "I want to burn this sector to the ground - everyone who thinks it's okay to treat you like ... like currency. But I understand, too. Why you made this choice. We have to play the game to win, don't we?"

Yoongi laughs, a wet sound, and wipes a hand across his face. "Yeah, we do."

"We've always been alike," Jimin continues, reaching out to take Yoongi's hand and thread their fingers together. "Haven't we? We're pragmatic so that other people can hope. If it were me, I'd do the same thing."

And he already has plans forming in his head, churning in the back of his thoughts.

"Sometimes I think I taught you too well," Yoongi murmurs, looking at Jimin sadly.

Jimin smiles. Squeezes Yoongi's hand. "No, I've been like this since I was a kid, remember? You and Hoseokie-hyung and Jungkook - you taught me how to love. And Hoseok still loves you. More than anything. You just need to give him time."

"God," Yoongi mutters. "Stop just saying shit like that."

"Not a chance," Jimin fires back. "Get used to it." Then he pauses, playing with Yoongi's fingers, turning his hand over. He has little scars across his knuckles that are old and one across his palm that's new. Abrasions on his wrist that will never completely fade. Jimin can see the outlines of where ropes have been tied, over and over and over again - visible even beneath the black ink of the seal.

"Just ... we're here now," Jimin continues. "All of us. Please remember that. You're not alone anymore."

Yoongi shifts to rest his head against Jimin's. "I know. I just don't want any of you to get hurt."

"The feeling's mutual," Jimin says. Hesitates, because he hasn't wanted to bring this up, but he thinks it's unavoidable. "What about Jungkook? Is he-?"

"No," Yoongi says immediately. " No. I won't ... that isn't happening." It sounds more like that can't happen with the desperation lacing Yoongi's voice. "He's suffered enough." Yoongi drops into a whisper. "He's still just a kid and he's suffered enough."

What about you? Jimin doesn't ask because he knows what Yoongi's answer would be: the same as Jimin's own, if their positions were reversed.

"Good," he says instead. Bites his lip. "What about me, then?"

"What?" Yoongi asks, straightening in alarm.

"What if I went in with you," Jimin says, because this is part of the plan that's been formulating - one small piece of it. "As a companion."

"No," Yoongi snaps predictably.

"Just listen to me." Jimin turns so that he's facing Yoongi, their knees touching. "Listen, hyung, okay? Not a real companion. Not one that would be traded, but ... the elite treat you - us - like objects, right? That means they ignore us. People talk in front of a potted plant and don't think anything of it, and I'm sure it's the same for Marked. So all kinds of information is just waiting to be eavesdropped on. Or shared from other companions."

"Companions are usually forbidden from talking to each other," Yoongi says, but his tone has turned contemplative. Jimin can see the gears turning. "At least in theory."

"Are they ever left alone?"

"Sometimes. If their master decides they want other entertainment for the evening. Not everyone likes to make use of us - sometimes we're literally just there as a pretty decoration."

"So I'll be a pretty decoration. Seokjin's. He's going to need to enter the playing field soon, isn't he? He won't have to loan me out to anyone. I'll just ... make connections. Eavesdrop. I might not get as much information as you, but I'd still be useful. And it would keep Jungkook safe."

It makes sense to him. He's good at this - at subterfuge and deception and sleight of hand. At donning a dozen different masks and moulding himself to them. It's why Yoongi chose him as a successor, entrusted the network to him. Jungkook is smart and capable and strong but he cannot lie in the same way Jimin can.

And Yoongi sees all of that, Jimin knows, but his expression bleeds sadness and uncertainty. "It's such a horrible world," he says. "It's a horrible world, Jimin-ah. I never wanted you to see it. Or ... or me in it."

Jimin cups Yoongi's face. "I know it is. That's why you shouldn't be alone in it. You think seeing you there is going to make me love you less? Sorry, but you're stuck with me, hyung. I'm here for life. We all are. So let me help you. I've never cared about the danger. I wouldn't be here if I did. And if you think we have a chance at this, then I'll fight with you until we win or we can't fight anymore. I thought you knew that."

Yoongi's eyes gleam, reflecting the city lights. It's cold, Jimin can feel it starting to numb his mouth and hands, but the prinpick of it in his lungs is invigorating.

"I told you not to just say shit like that," Yoongi grumbles and Jimin leans forward to kiss him on the cheek.

"And I told you to deal with it."

"Brat."

"You love me."

Yoongi softens. "I do."

"I love you, too, hyung," Jimin says. "We'll survive. We have so far."

"Yeah." Yoongi stands with a faint groan and extends a hand to help Jimin up. "For now, let's get some sleep."

Sleep. Sleep sounds good. He hasn't been doing much of it for a long time, even on Seokjin's too-soft guest bed and too-soft couch - worry over Hoseok and the future keeping him up into the small hours, writing imaginary plans on the ceiling until his mind was spinning and sick. The same thing will probably happen tonight, but Jimin is certainly happy to try to get a decent rest, at least.

"Yes," he agrees, threading his fingers with Yoongi's. "Sleep sounds good."

_ _

"Well," Seokjin says, seated on the end of his bed. He loosens the collar of his shirt and then ruffles his hair, looking a bit more like the cousin that Namjoon has known his whole life, instead of the starched and perfect version Seokjin always presents to other people. "That could have gone better. Or worse."

"Do you think they'll help?" Namjoon asks from his spot in Seokjin's desk chair, long legs folded under him.

"Yes," Seokjin answers without hesitation. "They believe in Yoongi, even if they trust us about as far as they can throw us."

Namjoon hopes that Yoongi trusts him a little more than that, after all this time, but it's hard to know for certain, especially now that Yoongi's real family is in the picture - protective and sharp and loving all in equal measure.

"Do you really think we can do this?" Seokjin asks suddenly and Namjoon starts. It's rare, seeing vulnerability like this - Seokjin exposing his tender underbelly, even around Namjoon who knows him best.

"Yes," he says honestly. "Or well, I hope we can. I've always clung to hope."

Seokjin smiles at him, affectionate and tinged with sadness. "You've always been such an idealist, Namjoon-ah."

"One of us has to be," Namjoon quips even as something sharp slides between his ribs - knowledge, shaped like a knife, that Seokjin may not last long on the throne. That a part of Seokjin he doesn't address isn't planning on lasting long.

"Yes," Seokjin says. "I guess you're right."

"Do you remember when all this started?" Namjoon asks, wanting to think about something other than their yawning and uncertain future.

This time, Seokjin's laugh is a little more genuine - louder and squeakier. "You were crying."

"That wasn't the detail I wanted you to focus on," Namjoon gripes.

"You were eighteen," Seokjin continues, ignoring him. "And you came to me after the boarding house. Crying. I'd never seen you cry like that before."

"And you told me, after I'd spilled my guts to you about how horrible the whole experience was, well do you want to do something about it?"

He can almost feel the old weight of Seokjin's hand on his shoulder, the scrape of the cloth soothing away his tears - see the uncharacteristic seriousness in Seokjin's expression, hear the unyielding steel in his voice. It had been a precipice, a fulcrum, but Namjoon had known instantly that he wanted to fall.

"I didn't expect you to say yes," Seokjin says with another, quieter laugh. "You were just a kid."

"I was eighteen," Namjoon points out.

"Still a kid."

"I'm only two years younger than you."

"Still a kid."

"Shut up."

Seokjin leans over and ruffles his hair, just to be obnoxious, a rare grin on his face. It fades quickly, though, replaced with something more tender. "I'm glad.. That you said yes. I wouldn't have made it this far without you."

"We're going to go further," Namjoon insists. "Especially now that we have them."

"Yes," Seokjin muses, glancing at his closed bedroom door. "Provided that they don't just kill us."

"They won't." Of that, at least, he's certain. "They'll be a good asset. We'll stand an even better chance now."

"Yah," Seokjin says and flicks him on the forehead. "I can hear the wheels turning in there. Enough speculation for tonight. Put away your plans and your big brain and get some sleep."

Namjoon huffs, swatting Seokjin's hand away. "I'll sleep if you sleep. Instead of just pacing or getting up when you think I'm asleep and sitting alone in the dark."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I sleep perfectly. Every night."

"Sure you do." But Namjoon leaves the pending argument there, before it can fully form. They rarely fight, him and Seokjin, but when they have it's gotten ugly. Led to long, painful periods of silence and chasms they had to build bridges over until they closed.

So instead, Namjoon watches Seokjin retreat into the bathroom to get ready for bed and tips his head back, staring up at the patterned ceiling. Trying not to think.

_ _

They recovene in the living room the next morning, and Seokjin thinks they all must look at least at little ridiculous, for how over-serious the atmosphere feels - the tension on almost every facial expression. The fact that they're in nearly the exact same positions as before only adds to the strangeness: him at the front, Jimin on the floor, Taehyung, Jungkook, and Hoseok on the couch, and Namjoon and Yoongi off to the side like a weird peanut gallery.

"So," he says into the tense silence, clapping his hands together for emphasis. "Now that we've all presumably gotten a decent night sleep, how is everyone feeling about the Plan?"

"That's a very nice word for coup d'etat," Taehyung says. Again, it's nearly impossible to tell if he's being sincere or not. Seokjin might need to get better at reading people - or rather, people who aren't elite.

"I thought so," he says. "Nice and vague. Less treasonous. So?"

"I'm in," Jimin says, backing it up with a firm nod.

"In," Taehyung agrees.

"In," Jungkook whispers - a lot of determination in his big eyes.

"In," Hoseok says with a furtive glance towards Yoongi. Yoongi's mouth twitches in a tired answering smile.

"And I know you two are in, no need to contribute," Seokjin says to Namjoon and Yoongi, ignoring Namjoon's snort. "Excellent, I'm glad it's unanimous." Another clap and he segues right into the important part of the meeting, why they're all here - scattered across Seokjin's living room like impervious statues. "So, the Plan. Right now, our target isn't actually the king. It's the Eight. We need allies amongst them if we're going to pull this off and not get immediately assassinated after. There are rumors, of elite children who have the mutation and have survived into adulthood, like Namjoon." A startled murmur rises from the couch section and ah, they might have forgotten to mention that part amidst all the emotional chaos of the last few days. Well, they're aware now, and he's sure Namjoon will provide test results if anyone still has doubts, so he just soldiers on.

"They're going to be our first target. If we can get some of them on our side, they might be able to sway their families. Or take control of them. And we also need to work our way closer to the inner circle. Namjoon and I have been on the fringes for a long time - we'll need to cultivate social favor if we're even going to get close to the king. Therefore, those are our three main missions: information, allies, and social currency."

"Sounds fairly straightforward," Jimin says.

"Sounds being the operative word," Taehyung chimes in.

"I'd like to point out that there are seven of us now," Seokjin interjects and he can feel the electricity rising, crackling through the room.

They've all been rebels for years, in one form or another, and he can tell they're ready to fight - read it in the set of their shoulders and the blaze in each pair of eyes gazing back at him. He leans forward, meets each pair of eyes in turn, and lets a smile creep slow across his face."

"So let's get started."