"Sometimes, I can't breathe. Even though I know it's over and that I'm safe. I wake up with all the air trapped in my lungs and a phantom hand around my throat. My body aches, as though it can't let go of the pain even after the wounds have scarred over. I hate it. This fucking ... terror. Of all the atrocities the elite committed against me, maybe this is the one that makes me the angriest, the most helpless. It's over. It's fucking done. And yet I'm still afraid. A shattered part of me is going to be afraid for the rest of my life and that's the legacy they've left. I don't know how to reckon with it. I don't know if I'll ever be able to."

- Excerpt from the private journals of Min Yoongi, formerly known as Suga

_ _

"What happened to you?"

Seokjin closes his eyes and sinks onto the bed, trying to ignore Jungkook still lingering in the doorway. Somehow, he hadn't factored this in: that Jungkook might follow him. Might be far more stubborn than Namjoon.

"Because I recognize those kinds of wounds," Jungkook continues in the whispery voice that Seokjin is still getting used to hearing. "But I don't understand why you have them. Who hurt you?"

Whatever I want, Sohyun whispered to him a mere three hours ago, you give to me, Seokjin-ah. Just for two hours, I can do whatever I want. Deal?

He'd been expecting it. She would never let him fully in without first testing his loyalty and punishing him for his rejection of her years ago, simply on the matter of her pride. Two hours, in many ways, had been a reasonable condition—far more lenient than he was expecting, especially given his blatant excuses for why he'd ignored her for so long and showed up slightly disheveled with a mark on his neck that she dug her nails into.

But none of that negates the ache of the wounds beneath his clothing that he's stubbornly trying to ignore. He doesn't want Jungkook to see them. This isn't Jungkook's burden to bear, or anyone's. Not with Yoongi laid out in a ruin on Namjoon's guest bed. Not with the memory of red bathwater fresh in his mind and the scared curl of Jungkook's bloody back.

"It doesn't—"

"Don't," Jungkook cuts him off with surprising fierceness. "It does matter. It matters to me."

"Why?" Seokjin asks before he can stop himself.

Jungkook stares at him in disbelief. "Because I care about you."

"Because I saved your life," Seokjin reasons and a frown cuts across Jungkook's face before he closes the distance between them, stopping so close that their legs are almost touching.

"You did save my life," he says. "And I will be grateful to you forever for that. But I also care about you because you're you. Because you're kind and you've given up so much to help us and you didn't just save my life, you treated me like a person when no one else would. You're part of my family now, hyung."

Seokjin jerks his head up at the hyung, at the easy way it falls from Jungkook's mouth. Jungkook looks back at him, steady, and it feels like a strange echo of the time Jungkook climbed into his lap on the couch, desperate to please him because he thought it was what was still required. How far they've come, he thinks.

Jungkook's hands land on his shoulders—his touch light and careful. "You're my family," he repeats, firm, leaving no room for Seokjin to argue. Not that he could around the lump that's taken up residence in the back of his throat. "And I protect my family, hyung. So who hurt you?"

Seokjin lifts his hands to Jungkook's waist, tangling his fingers in Jungkook's baggy shirt to anchor himself. "You can't protect me from this, JK-yah. It's my fight."

"Doesn't mean you have to fight it alone."

He swallows, feeling himself start to crumble like the old buildings in the condemned zone—slowly collapsing inward. He cleaned himself up in Sohyun's bathroom while she watched, leaning against the counter as he washed his wounds with water from the sink. You really would have made a great doctor, she mused, so casual it threw him off-balance. He'd still managed to smile at her in the mirror with his last shreds of armor, determined to play the part of devoted sidekick well enough that she wouldn't be able to see through him.

It comes in handy, noona, he'd said and hadn't flinched when she ran a possessive hand down his scratched-up back.

Flicker forward to Jimin's face when he came through the front door—a study in devastation as he took in the marks Seokjin hadn't been able to cover up. Yoongi's back, Seokjin said before Jimin could offer either condemnation or comfort, we need to hurry. And that swallowed up both of their priorities immediately, washing everything else away like a flood.

Now Jungkook's hand moves up to the side of his neck, fingers resting carefully at the end of the red imprint from the rope Sohyun wrapped around his throat and pulled tight until the room swam and black started to close in.

"Hyung," Jungkook says, half-demand, half-plea, and Seokjin slumps forward into him, face pressed against his sternum.

"There's an ally we need," he explains, muffled. "Or at least, we need to keep her distracted. Unsuspecting of us. This was her price."

"To hurt you?"

"Payment for the wrongs I committed against her. A test to show I'll follow her, no matter what she demands."

"What kind of wrongs?"

Seokjin swallows down a helpless laugh. "We dated. A long time ago. I ended it, hurt her pride."

"Why did you end it?"

Ah, this is the question he's been afraid of. He squeezes his eyes shut, dredging up the words from somewhere deep inside him where they cower in the dark. He managed to force them out for Jimin, he can do it for Jungkook too. "There was ... she owns companions. She wanted us to have sex with one of them, pushed me to. I didn't feel like I could refuse, at the time. But after ... I couldn't keep seeing her, even if my family wanted me to."

He holds his breath because if anyone is going to condemn him, it feels like it will be Jungkook. Should be Jungkook. Jimin offered unexpected compassion, but he also didn't fully understand. Jungkook has been that companion, has been hurt in the same ways that Seokjin hurt the boy under Sohyun's ownership and...

"I'm sorry, hyung," Jungkook says softly. "That she hurt you like that. It's ... it's a special kind of pain, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't know," Seokjin murmurs. "I..."

"You do know," Jungkook counters. "I can see it, hyung. It's okay." Jungkook finally steps back and sits down next to him. Seokjin huffs out a surprised breath as he's pulled into a hug—Jungkook's chin hooked over his shoulder. "You should stop feeling guilty," Jungkook says. "You're not the one who needs to feel that way."

Seokjin wheezes, though he's not sure it's a laugh or the beginnings of a sob, and squeezes his eyes shut again. He can't fall apart now—not when Yoongi is going to need care and they're so close. How can he be a king if he's this frayed? No one would bother following him. But the tears refuse to be swayed or blinked away, continuing to well up and blur his vision.

Traitor, he thinks to his body. He hasn't cried in front of anyone in years. Not even Jimin, not even at his parents' funeral.

"I don't know how to stop," he admits, grateful at least for the solid anchor Jungkook currently is—the easy way Jungkook holds him up.

"I can't speak for them," Jungkook says. "But as a companion, too, if you need forgiveness, I can give that to you." He pulls away far enough to squeeze Seokjin's shoulders again, an intense look on his face. "I forgive you, hyung. You're forgiven."

Oh. Oh shit, here come the tears, rapidly spilling over and streaking down his face.

He hiccups a little pathetically, even as he tries to nod in acknowledgement of what Jungkook has just given him. Jungkook draws him into another tight hug and it makes his injuries ache and sting but he doesn't care. He fists a hand in Jungkook's shirt and holds on for dear life as he struggles to get himself back under control.

Jungkook doesn't offer any petty words of comfort. Perhaps, more than anyone, he understands this strange, burning sort of grief. Seokjin feels like there is a fire inside of him with nothing left to consume—everything is a blackened husk but the flames refuse to go down. He can feel the scream pressed to the backs of his teeth and knotted on his tongue, rattling against his ribs as he frantically swallows it down, down, down.

He's not sure how long they sit tangled up together on the bed as he weeps into Jungkook's shoulder and Jungkook rocks him gently back and forth, soothing. Finally, finally, though the tears abate and he's able to breathe without sniffling. He pulls back slowly, wiping away the last remnants with the sleeve of his shirt. He tries to smile like he always does for Namjoon—reassuring, confident, a hyung who's in control of himself and his life—but it won't come. He thinks, from the tenderness on Jungkook's face, that Jungkook at least isn't going to hold it against him. Or the snot-coated wet-patch on the shoulder of his shirt.

"Sorry," he still tries, a half-baked attempt to tape some of his dignity back together.

"Don't apologize," Jungkook says and helps Seokjin get the last of the tears off his skin with the back of his hand. "We're even now, hyung."

Seokjin remembers, suddenly, cradling Jungkook as he wept on the living room floor, sounding like an ocean of sorrow and agony was pouring out of him with each wracking sob.

"Yeah," he whispers. "I guess we are." He sucks in a deep breath, trying to figure out if he feels better. He does a little, he decides. Like he's been hollowed out, but the fire is fading and he'll be able to rebuild eventually. He wonders if Jungkook feels like this too: like desolate earth waiting to be replanted.

He cups the back of Jungkook's head and also struggles to decide what to say. What could possibly convey just how thankful he is for Jungkook's support and his stubbornness and his lack of judgment? For the forgiveness he never had to offer? For the way he feels like bedrock, propping up Seokjin? He isn't good with sentiment and he never has been, even as he's slowly thawed his heart from the ice it was encased in when he was younger.

Oh. Wait.

"I love you, JK-yah."

Jungkook's eyes widen and for a moment Seokjin is terrified that he overstepped some kind of invisible boundary, but then he's been crushed into another hug and Jungkook sounds a little choked up when he says, "I love you, too, hyung."

"Yah, you can't start crying now or we'll both be a mess," Seokjin teases, even if his voice is still raspy.

"Sorry," Jungkook says and lets him go. His gaze turns sharp again. "And do you need help? With ... with anything?"

Seokjin shakes his head. He's not quite ready for Jungkook to actually see the physical evidence of his time with Sohyun. The fact that she marked his face is already bad enough, and besides the wounds are mostly superficial: scratches, bruises, two cuts from a knife when she got a little more adventurous—nothing like the horror wreaked on Yoongi's body and nothing that won't heal easily.

"I'm fine," he promises. "I took care of it."

An infinite, painful sadness crosses Jungkook's face for a moment before he nods. "Okay. But if you need anything, I'm here. We're all in this together, right?"

"Right."

Jungkook rises from the bed. "I'll let you sleep, then."

"Wait, actually..." Seokjin hesitates, teetering on a fulcrum. A part of him wants to curl up alone in bed and slowly, carefully fix all his battered armor back in place until none of the cracks are visible. But another part can't stop replaying the devastation on Jimin's face and the defeated sag of his body onto the couch. He thinks of Jimin's mouth on his skin last night and how careful Jimin was with all his ghosts and fragile pieces.

The fulcrum tips. Seokjin decides to be brave.

"Can you send Jimin in here, please?"

Jungkook arches his eyebrows in silent question, but doesn't actually give voice to it. Just nods again and slips from the room.

Alone, Seokjin presses a hand to his chest and reminds himself to keep breathing.

_ _

I'm going to break, Jimin thinks as he trembles on the couch—Taehyung's arms around him like Taehyung is desperately trying to hold him together, prevent the impending shattering. He can't get the image of Yoongi, naked and battered, out of his mind. That should have been him, would have been him if Yoongi hadn't stepped in front of the metaphorical bullet.

Minseok called him pretty, at the party. Called him all kinds of things that he refuses to dwell on. Said he wanted to see Jimin bleed, wondered if Seokjin would be interested in selling him as he ran a hand down Jimin's body and slipped it between Jimin's leg and Jimin's vision whited out. He barely remembers biting Minseok or Seokjin's foot on his neck, but the guilt sits heavy in his stomach. He should have let it happen, shouldn't have lashed out, shouldn't have fought back.

Yoongi's protected him so many times and now...

"It's not your fault, Chim," Taehyung murmurs against his shoulder.

Jimin shakes his head, hating the tears that are falling again. Hating that all he can see when he closes his eyes is the fucking brand on Yoongi's thigh and the blood staining the towels beneath Yoongi on the bed.

"It is," he hiccups. "I fucked up. Bad."

"What happened?"

Jimin swallows. There are things that he's tried desperately to protect Taehyung from, but he supposes the time for that has passed.

"One of Yoongi's former masters was at the party last night. He's ... he might be planning a coup with some other elite and we're trying to keep tabs on them. Figure out what they're up to. So when he asked to borrow me, Seokjin had to hand me over. Couldn't risk pissing him off. And I thought it would be just ... him calling me pretty, tugging me around, maybe some kissing. I'd dealt with that so far. But...." Jimin's breath hitches. Taehyung rubs his back in soothing circles.

"But it wasn't. He talked about Yoongi. He called him Gloss but I knew ... I just knew it was Yoongi. He mentioned seeing Yoongi with Namjoon and wondering if Namjoon was being too lenient with him. And Tae-yah, the things he did to Yoongi..." Jimin shudders at the memory, squeezing his eyes shut. He can almost feel Minseok's breath on his ear. Minseok's fingers tracing the length of his spine.

"He tortured him. He loaned him out at private parties and let anyone hurt him. He chained him up and gagged him so that he couldn't talk, dehumanized him so far that ... it was awful. And he kept saying that he'd like to see me bleed. Wondered how much I could take. Thought I'd look pretty crying. Said I reminded him of Yoongi, how fierce I was, and he'd love to break me down. He was in the market for a new companion, now that he'd sold off Yoongi, and maybe Seokjin would be interested. He'd pay good money, for something like me."

He feels Taehyung's hand still and curl into a fist against his back, clenching at the fabric of his shirt. "And then he touched me. He tried to stick his hand down my pants and said we should go somewhere more private and I just ... I lost it, Tae. I bit him. In the middle of the fucking party and then ... he wanted to punish me, for what I'd done, but Yoongi offered himself up instead and now..."

He sobs, burying his face in his hands. Still forces the words out past the sharp ache in the back of his throat. "He branded him. He branded Yoongi-hyung. He tortured him again. R-raped him. And it's my fault. It's all my fault."

Taehyung is quiet for a long moment as Jimin cries, stroking through Jimin's hair. When he speaks, it's with the careful deliberation he always uses if he doesn't want to mess up his words or be misunderstood. "I don't think Yoongi-hyung would see it that way, Jimin-ah. You know how protective he's always been about us. I think it would have hurt him more to have you bear it. And I know that doesn't ease the guilt, or the grief. But blaming yourself doesn't do anything, either."

A part of Jimin knows that Taehyung is right, but he shakes his head, unable to accept the truth in Taehyung's words. Yoongi will surely hate him for this. Why wouldn't he?

"Jimin-ah." Taehyung's big hands cup his face, turning his head until he's starting into Taehyung's dark, serious eyes. "The night that Yoongi and Jungkook got sanctioned, I gave them bad intel. I hadn't realized that there'd been a disturbance in the sector and the police had changed their patrol shifts. I sent them straight into a trap. Do you blame me?"

"Of course not," Jimin says. He remembers Taehyung slumped at their rickety kitchen table with his face pressed to his folded arms and his shoulders heaving, and his heart aches with the dulled remnants of the knife-point sorrow he felt on that night. "It was a mistake. It could have happened at any time. And besides Yoongi and Jungkook wouldn't..."

He trails off when he catches sight of the pointed look that Taehyung is giving him. Swallows. "That's different, though."

"Is it?" Taehyung asks. "Looks pretty similar to me. And mine was a dumb mistake. Your safety was at risk."

Jimin squeezes his eyes shut again. "Please stop being right."

Taehyung laughs sadly and presses a kiss to Jimin's temple, warm and lingering, infused with comfort. "Can't. Not when you're tearing yourself to shreds." Another kiss and then Taehyung's voice drops to a whisper. "I'm really glad you're safe, Chim. Even if I'm worried about Yoongi. I'm really glad it wasn't both of you."

Jimin isn't, but he's not going to reject Taehyung's confession or his comfort. So he makes a noncommittal noise and burrows deeper into Taehyung's arms, focusing on getting his tears and scattered, angry thoughts under control. He's not good to Yoongi or anyone if he breaks, keeps falling apart.

A door clicks and Jimin looks up, terrified that it's going to be Hoseok or Namjoon coming to report that something else has happened and Yoongi is back in danger. But it's Jungkook, emerging from Namjoon's bedroom. His eyes are red-rimmed but he smiles sadly at them when he spots them on the couch.

"Is he okay?" Jimin asks, because Seokjin feels like another failure. He came home with most of his wounds covered up and refused to look Jimin in the eye, as though the intimacy of the night before never happened.

"I think he's going to be," Jungkook says. "He's asking for you."

Oh. Jimin isn't sure what to do about the rush of elation and relief that courses through him, or the questioning looks he can feel coming from Jungkook and Taehyung, but he wobbles to his feet.

"I should go to him, then."

"Chim...?" Taehyung starts, sounding nervous.

Jimin shakes his head. "Not now, okay, Tae-yah? We can trade secrets later. I'll tell you about Seokjin and you tell me where the hell you two were." Now, Jungkook and Taehyung share a guilty glance and Jimin huffs affectionately at them.

He accepts a hug from Jungkook, watching as Jungkook sits down next to Taehyung after and lets Taehyung sink a gentle hand into his hair. It seems that some kind of barrier has broken between them, and Jimin's glad for that, at least. He leaves them in their little cocoon and crosses over to the closed door of Namjoon's bedroom. There's no mirror for him to try to fix his puffy face and red eyes, but he doubts that Seokjin will mind considering the circumstances.

The door opens silently—unlike the ones in his old Sector 10 apartment that always creaked and moaned on their rusting hinges—and Jimin stops just inside the threshold, absorbing the hunched form of Seokjin on the bed. He looks like a study in exhaustion and Jimin struggles to ignore the answering pang in his chest.

Seokjin looks up at him—face just as puffy and eyes as red as Jimin's own must be. "Hi," he whispers.

He seems ... shy, a little uncertain, maybe ashamed, and the pang sharpens.

"Hi," Jimin answers, closing the door behind him. "I wasn't sure if you'd want me here."

"I wasn't either," Seokjin admits with a wry twist of his mouth. "I'm not ... good at this."

"Me neither."

"At least we can be terrible together."

Jimin approaches the bed, stopping in front of it to carefully cup Seokjin's face—thumb resting close to the cut beneath his eye. Seokjin tilts his head up to allow easier access, and Jimin is grateful that he's not shying away from the touch.

He notices the bloodstains still on Seokjin's skin and frowns. Seokjin catches him looking.

"It's Yoongi's," he says softly. "I was going to shower."

"Let me help you, then," Jimin says with what is probably far too much desperation. But action has always driven him and he hates feeling helpless like this. He couldn't prevent either Seokjin or Yoongi from being hurt but maybe he can at least do this.

Seokjin hesitates, bites his lip. Jimin understands: it's hard to be vulnerable, to set aside your armor. He's never wanted anyone to look at his wounds, not even Taehyung. He thinks that him and Seokjin are similar in this regard, unused to leaning on someone. So he sweeps his thumb gently under Seokjin's eye and murmurs, "please."

Seokjin caves with a quiet nod, tilting his cheek further into Jimin's hand. Jimin reminds himself to be careful with what he's being given as he shifts back to help Seokjin to his feet. Seokjin winces, a low hiss escaping him. At Jimin's questioning look, his lips quirk in a bitter smile.

"She wanted me to ride her. Didn't give me much time to prep."

Jimin squeezes Seokjin's hand tight and grinds his simmering rage beneath a mental heel, snuffing out the embers before they catch fire. He can gut Kang Sohyun later, after all of this is over. For now, he brings Seokjin's hand up to his lips and kisses the back of it, noticing the flush that spreads lightly across Seokjin's cheeks. Then, he reaches up for the top button on Seokjin's shirt.

"I can..." Seokjin starts to protest.

"Let me," Jimin insists. "I want to take care of you."

Seokjin huffs. "I'm the hyung."

"You are," Jimin agrees. Right now, Seokjin's stubbornness reminds him painfully of Yoongi, who has always tried to hide his weak and fragile parts from them. "But you can lean on me for a little bit."

Seokjin sighs, but lets Jimin unbutton his ruined shirt and ease it off his shoulders—an echo of last night. He's bare underneath, no undershirt, and Jimin pauses to catalogue the evidence of his time with Sohyun: two shallow cuts on his stomach, just above his belly button; thin red lashes from some kind of whip across his sides and curving onto his back; faint burns around his nipples and on his chest.

"Hot wax," he says, when Jimin gently touches the reddened skin. "She's creative. Has always had an arsenal of ... toys and things."

Jimin once again has to curb his rage. He bends down and presses a kiss to Seokjin's collarbones, thankfully free of anything but a few marks similar to the one Jimin left on his neck. He hates the idea of Sohyun copying them, but at least he can soothe now.

"Jimin-ah, I can't..." Seokjin says, a little strangled, and Jimin strokes his hip in reassurance.

"I know. No further than this, I promise."

"Okay, thank you."

"Don't thank me," Jimin says and Seokjin laughs softly.

"Sorry, I'm still ... in a weird headspace. I get ... floaty? Sometimes. When she does stuff, when it hurts. It can be hard to pull out of it, but I had to because Yoongi needed ... and now I just feel strange." He shakes his head, as though trying to clear it.

Jimin kisses his shoulder and squeezes his hip. "I've got you, hyung. Let's go shower."

"Mm," Seokjin agrees and lets Jimin lead him into the en suite bathroom.

Jimin leaves him by the sink to turn on the shower, watching in the reflection of the glass as he takes his pants off and sets them on the counter. Like Yoongi, his thighs are marked up, too: red bands where it looks like he was tied down, a few more lashes, some scratches from Sohyun's long nails. As he removes his underwear, Jimin breathes a private sigh of relief that there is no blood streaked between his legs.

Seokjin notices him looking and grimaces. "She did let me prep some, fortunately. And then she was more interested in me fucking her at the end." He winces. "Sorry, you probably don't want to know that."

"I do," Jimin says. "If you want to tell me, I want to hear it."

He isn't petty enough to feel possessive and even though it hurts, hearing what Seokjin went through, he'll bear the pain if it means easing some of Seokjin's burden.

"I used to like it sometimes," Seokjin continues, wrapping his arms around himself. "It was new and exciting, like getting high. But..." he shudders and looks away, not seeming to want a response from Jimin about this.

"Water's warm enough," Jimin says gently instead, opening the shower door. "Mind if I get in with you?"

"No, I want you to sit on the counter and watch me shower like a creep," Seokjin says, gaze returning and tone shifting to a more familiar teasing.

Jimin smiles at him and starts unbuttoning his own shirt. He makes quick work of his pants and underwear next, then holds out a hand. Seokjin sighs, overly put upon, and laces their fingers together, allowing Jimin to lead him once again. Jimin backs under the warm spray and draws Seokjin into him—hands on his hips to steady him. Seokjin gasps a little when the water first hits his tender skin, but then he's leaning into Jimin and the warmth, expression relaxing.

"Good, hyung?" Jimin asks and Seokjin nods, blinks down to where Jimin's holding him.

"Your hands are so small."

"I'm compact but lethal," Jimin says.

Seokjin actually laughs a little. "Lethal feels like an understatement sometimes."

"Not towards you, though," Jimin promises, a little shocked at the sudden intensity with which he wants Seokjin to believe this. "Not anymore."

"You still have permission to kill me if I'm a bad king," Seokjin murmurs.

Jimin kisses his shoulder. "You won't be."

"You sound more sure of that than I am."

Maybe right now he is. But what Seokjin's put himself through, what he's given up and sacrificed ... someone who only wanted power wouldn't do that. Wouldn't rush to Yoongi's side, wouldn't yield so easily to Jimin when society tells them they aren't equals and never will be. Jimin's known plenty of people who only craved some measure of power. They're the Sohyuns of the world: eager to hurt, to bring others low, and unwilling to kneel themselves, no matter the circumstances.

"I'll believe it for you," he tells Seokjin, reaching up to push Seokjin's wet bangs off his forehead. "If that's what you need."

"It might be," Seokjin admits and that's good enough for Jimin. He kisses the hollow of Seokjin's throat, over the red welt, and then turns his attention to the intimidating array of products lined up on the shelf.

"Fuck, does Namjoon actually use all of these?"

"Probably not," Seokjin says, amused.

Jimin picks a shampoo that smells of what the bottle tells him is lavender and squeezes some into his hand. "Okay, bend down a little, hyung."

"This is quite the spa treatment," Seokjin jokes, but obliges, letting Jimin work the shampoo into his hair.

"Don't get used to it," Jimin says, but it's a half-hearted threat. He thinks that he'd be willing to take care of Seokjin like this for a long time, and it's terrifying.

Seokjin hums and ducks down further so Jimin can rinse his hair out. Next, Jimin picks up another bottle that claims to be some kind of "citrus" bodywash and carefully sponges Seokjin down, trying not to aggravate any of his wounds. He hesitates around Seokjin's groin and Seokjin brushes his arm, high above the seal.

"It's okay," he says. "You can touch me. Want you to."

Jimin kisses Seokjin's jaw and dips a hand between his legs, cleaning him with the sponge but also letting him feel the pressure of Jimin's hand against his cock. Seokjin gasps, rocks into the touch a little, but Jimin backs off before it can escalate, wanting to offer pleasure and comfort more than sex when they're both so frayed and in the middle of a crowded apartment. He feels good, though, that the desire is still here for both of them—that they might have the potential to be more than just a night.

He angles the showerhead to rinse the soap from Seokjin's body, then turns it off, reaching past him to get the towel sitting just outside the door.

"You're good at this," Seokjin says as Jimin hands it to him to dry off.

"Taking care of someone?"

"Yeah."

"Surprised?"

Seokjin smiles at him. "A little."

"I have a lot of practice, believe it or not. With Taehyung. And Jungkook. I look after the people I care about, even if this doesn't always come as naturally as it does for someone like Hoseok."

Seokjin tucks the towel around his waist and retrieves the other one for Jimin. "You're a good person, Park Jimin."

Jimin ducks his head as he takes the towel, hating the blush he can feel heating his cheeks at the simple praise. Not many people outside of his family have said that before and for some reason it holds more weight, coming from Kim Seokjin.

"Come on, let's get dressed."

He raids Namjoon's wardrobe for two sets of clothes. He has to roll the pants up to his ankles to get them to fit and the shirt swamps him, but the material is soft. Seokjin eases himself back onto the bed and lets Jimin put a sweater over his head, wincing as the motion of raising his arms tugs on some of his injuries.

Jimin kisses his cheek when he's finished, smoothing his wet hair down. "Do you need bandages?"

"It can wait," Seokjin mumbles. "I don't want to go back out there right now."

Jimin hums and gets up to close the curtains, shutting out the morning light. It feels different, climbing into bed with Seokjin a second time. More deliberate. He pulls the covers over them both as Seokjin flops over onto his side, which seems to be less tender than his front or back.

"Jimin-ah," he whispers, uncharacteristically hesitant.

Jimin shifts closer. "Yes, hyung?"

"Would you ... touch me some more?"

Jimin's chest constricts again. "Of course."

He cups Seokjin's face in the dark, runs his fingers over Seokjin's brow and down his cheek and the side of his neck. Then, he leans in and fits their mouths together. Seokjin sighs into the kiss, relaxes under Jimin's hands. Jimin kisses him thoroughly, trying to erase any remnants of Kang Sohyun he can. Reluctantly pulls back when he can feel Seokjin drifting off under his hands.

"Sleep, hyung," he murmurs.

"Wake me up if anything changes with Yoongi," Seokjin mumbles back, eyes already drooping shut.

The band around Jimin's lungs tightens. He's not sure he's ever met a man as wholly good as Kim Seokjin is. "I will," he promises, petting Seokjin's hair. "I will. Sleep."

Seokjin relaxes with another faint sigh, going limp against the pillows. Jimin rests his chin on top of Seokjin's head and closes his own eyes, listening to the even cycle of Seokjin's breathing, even though he knows sleep won't come for him any time soon.

_ _

A soft noise wakes Namjoon, wrenching him out of sleep so abruptly that he has to take a moment to orient himself. He's on his guest bed and afternoon sunlight is pushing through the barrier of the curtains. That's right, he went to sleep what must have been a few hours ago with Hoseok and ...

Yoongi.

He shifts up on one arm when he realizes that noise hasn't stopped and is coming from his right. The source, when the last fog of sleep clears, is immediately apparent: Yoongi's awake and weeping quietly as he stares up at the ceiling with blank eyes. It looks automatic, like Yoongi's body is crying without Yoongi's full input, and Namjoon's heart hurts sharp and visceral.

"Hyung," he whispers, shifting closer before he can stop himself, driven by a desperate need to comfort and soothe.

Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut and cries harder, shoulders heaving. Hoseok is still passed out on his other side, arm draped protectively over Yoongi's stomach. Namjoon takes a gamble and cups Yoongi's face.

"Hyung. I'm here, I've got you."

Yoongi sucks in a hitching breath, eyes still closed. "Namjoon-ah," he croaks and Namjoon goes weak with relief.

"Thank fuck," he breathes, pressing his forehead to the side of Yoongi's head. "I'm here, I promise. Hoseok too."

Hoseok, who is waking up now with distress written all over his face.

I don't know what to do, Namjoon tells him with a pointed look and Hoseok shakes his head, taking Yoongi's hand.

"Jagiya."

Yoongi's face crumples and he sucks in another shaky breath, like he's trying desperately to get himself under control. Namjoon wants to tell him that it's okay to cry, if that's what he needs right now. No one is going to judge him for it.

Hoseok beats him to it. "Love, it's okay. Just let it out."

Yoongi opens his mouth but all that comes out is a wail that's a grating mixture of sorrow, agony, and anger—not unlike the sound Hoseok made when he saw the brand on Yoongi's thigh for the first time. Namjoon swallows back his own grief and runs soothing fingers through Yoongi's hair. He's so caught up in Yoongi that he doesn't notice the door opening and Jungkook rushing through, looking panicked.

"He's okay," Hoseok says, though that seems like a blatant lie.

Jungkook shakes his head, not retreating. Taehyung is hovering in the doorway behind him, face pale and scared. Namjoon understands their fear. Yoongi's been like bedrock to all of them, unshakeable in spite of everything. To see him so broken is horrific and Namjoon isn't sure how to handle it. But determination is written all over Jungkook's face as he approaches the bed and puts a hand on Hoseok's shoulder.

"Let me," he insists.

Hoseok hesitates, but caves quickly, wobbling to his feet to let Jungkook take his place. Namjoon also retreats, sitting up on the bed as Jungkook actually drapes himself over Yoongi, their foreheads pressed together.

"I love you," Jungkook whispers.

Yoongi sobs and reaches up with flailing hands to grab the back of Jungkook's shirt. Jungkook presses Yoongi gently into the bed, like he's trying to ground him, and shifts Yoongi's face to his neck as Yoongi continues to shake. Yoongi burrows into him, still crying. Taehyung drifts closer, eyes wide, but no one speaks—perhaps too afraid to break the hush that's fallen over the room as Jungkook starts to hum softly, some old lullaby.

Gradually, Yoongi calms—in hitching starts and stops—until Jungkook shifts to plant a lingering kiss to his hair.

"Jimin," Yoongi hiccups into Jungkook's shoulder. "Jimin..."

"Is safe," Jungkook promises. "We're all safe. Just stay here with us. I know it's hard, but don't go back to him, hyung."

It takes Namjoon a moment to realize what Jungkook means: the dissasociation and the flashbacks—Minseok's specter continuing to haunt Yoongi's mind and torture him there.

"I'm trying," Yoongi rasps. "I'm trying."

"Hyung," Taehyung says, apparently unable to keep quiet any longer. He shuffles past Namjoon, climbing onto the bed next to Yoongi and Jungkook and taking Yoongi's hand, kissing the back of it. "Hyung, I'm so sorry I wasn't here."

"Didn't ... want you to be," Yoongi says. "It's okay, Taehyung-ah."

Taehyung shakes his head, eyes wet, and presses Yoongi's hand to his forehead. Namjoon wonders for at least the third time today if he should leave them alone. Surprisingly, the same internal battle seems to be happening inside of Hoseok.

"Let's give them a minute," Hoseok whispers to him and nods towards the living room.

Namjoon follows him out, closing the door softly behind them. Jimin and Seokjin have yet to resurface and Namjoon's glad for that, at least. He can only deal with so much emotional upheaval at once and right now he feels frayed to tender threads, seconds from snapping.

"Do you think," he says to Hoseok, "that he'll be okay?"

Hoseok sinks onto the couch, curling his hands into fists against his skinny thighs. "He's ... I used to think that there was nothing he couldn't come back from. I want to believe that's still true."

"I told him once that he's the bravest person I've ever met," Namjoon says and Hoseok smiles up at him sadly.

"Me too. He always has been."

"Then we'll believe in him together."

Hoseok nods and blows out a long, exhausted breath. Namjoon feels the sudden urge to hug him—hold him like he did last night, like he was holding Yoongi this morning. But he still doesn't know where the boundaries are with Hoseok and he doesn't want to step over one now, so he keeps himself back. Just sits down next to Hoseok on the couch in silent solidarity and watches the light outside make the skyscrapers gleam.

_ _

I'm not going to break, Yoongi thinks as Jungkook settles down beside him and tries not to feel the echo of Minseok's touch in Jungkook's and Taehyung's hands on his skin. I'm not going to break.

His whole body hurts and the last twenty-four hours sit as a blurry, agonized hellscape at the forefront of his mind. If he inhales too deeply he can smell his own flesh burning, feel the aching remnant of screams in his throat, taste the bitter tang of blood on his tongue, but he's not going to fucking break . He won't give Yoo Minseok that satisfaction, even as the dirt of violation coats his skin and sobs threaten to climb back up from the depths of his chest. He won't. Not after he already clawed his way back from the abyss Minseok carved inside of him once before.

He remembers, vaguely, Hoseok cradling him in warm water and Namjoon crying with a sponge clutched in his hand. Shame rears its ugly head, burning in his belly, at the knowledge that they've both seen him brought so low—born witness to every mark and wound on him, listened to him beg phantoms to show him mercy. He's not sure he wants to know what they think of him now, and yet the not knowing is also gnawing at him.

He's exhausted and heartsick and the blissful emptiness of sleep is beckoning him again. Jungkook must sense him drifting somehow, because he kisses Yoongi's cheek and murmurs, "go back to sleep, hyung. You'll still be here when you wake up."

Yoongi swallows at the sudden rush of warmth he feels. Jungkook, who understands. Jungkook, who is safe now and will never have to hurt like this again. Taehyung, who is also safe and fitting his mouth gently against Yoongi's shoulder.

Some things have gone right, at least.

"Okay," he murmurs, turning his face so that Jungkook's lips brush against his. Minseok never kissed him, wouldn't stoop as low as that. But Jungkook does and Yoongi sinks back under to the feel of Jungkook's mouth on his own: careful and tender and comforting.

When he comes to again, it's dark outside the windows and Hoseok is once again curled up beside him in Jungkook's place. His heart seizes at the feel of Hoseok's body pressed to his, unsure if he wants to move closer or flee.

I'm sorry, he wants to tell Hoseok, that you've seen this ruined part of me now.

He's tried to hide the wreckage for so long, but now here it is, seeping out of him like a polluted river. Staining everything.

"Stop it," Hoseok murmurs, startling him. "Whatever you're thinking, it's wrong."

"How do you know?" Yoongi whispers.

"Because I know you. I can feel you pulling away." Hoseok sits up—his pleading expression engulfing Yoongi's vision. "And you don't have to. If you think I love you any less, you're wrong."

"I'm a mess," Yoongi protests. "I've been..." Hurt, torn open, violated, fucked up...

"If he had hurt me the same way he's hurt you, would you stop loving me?" Hoseok asks.

"No," Yoongi blurts, horrified at the idea.

Hoseok's fingers brush his cheek. "Then you have your answer."

Yoongi frantically swallows back another surge of tears. He'd hoped—in a tender, delicate part of him he was scared to acknowledge—that him and Hoseok had truly built their love on bedrock, but he's never been so unsteady before. It's easy to doubt everything when you feel made of fault lines.

"Hoseok-ah..." the rest of his words fail him but Hoseok merely leans down and replaces his fingers with his mouth.

"I love you, jagiya. Until the day I die. I won't stop a second sooner. Not now, not ever. My heart hurts —for you, for us—and I want to gut that monster with my bare hands, but you're not allowed to believe that I'll ever think less of you for this. For anything that's happened. I won't let you."

A sob escapes before Yoongi can catch it and he reaches up trembling hands to cup Hoseok's face, shifting Hoseok's mouth to his. Hoseok kisses him with a fierceness that Jungkook lacked, not like he's trying to soothe but instead seeking to erase as many of Minseok's remnants as he can. Like he's trying to pour something into Yoongi.

(Yoongi thinks it might be love.)

Yoongi holds on for dear life and lets Hoseok tilt his chin up, lets Hoseok deepen the kiss with a brush of his tongue, lets Hoseok flood all the aching, tattered spaces inside of him. When Hoseok pulls back, it feels like he's taking all of Yoongi's air with him, but not in a bad way.

The door clicks open, then, and Yoongi turns his head to see Namjoon entering, carrying a steaming bowl. "Hoseok, Seokjin is insisting that we try to eat something—"

He freezes when their eyes meet, his own widening in shock before filling with blatant relief.

He didn't train you right, did he? Minseok's voice snarls and Yoongi bats it away stubbornly, replacing it with the way Namjoon held his hand in the aftermath of a nightmare all those weeks ago, the way Namjoon has never once treated him as less, in spite of the initials Yoongi wears on his arm. He thinks he might still want to kiss Namjoon, watching him step closer to the bed, and that someday soon he could be okay with that desire.

For now, he lifts a hand and whispers, "Namjoon-ah," because he wants to be selfish and drink up this comfort too.

He expects resistance from Hoseok, but Hoseok surprises him by shifting back to allow space for Namjoon to kneel next to the bed and rest a hand on top of Yoongi's head.

"Hyung," Namjoon hiccups, looking awed and heartbroken all at once. "I'm so glad you're back."

"Me too," Yoongi murmurs. "Come here."

Namjoon curls over him, pressing their foreheads together, and Yoongi feels Hoseok on his other side, lying down so he can fit his face against Yoongi's neck in an echo of Taehyung earlier. Yoongi clings to them both and reminds himself to breathe.

(Inhale. Exhale out slow.)

His family is safe and he's still alive and no matter what Minseok wants, he isn't going to break.

(Inhale.)