"Did everyone hear the news? I'm sure you did, it's everywhere. On the side of every building and in every newspaper - even the shitty, redacted ones they print out here. The king is dead. Long live the king. His youngest son has been named the new king, since, you know, his older brother died of illness last year. Well "illness." With quotation marks. Never know with these elite, right? Anyway, I doubt any of us will be invited to the coronation. And I bet everyone's as curious as I am about what kind of ruler he'll be. Probably not a kinder one. We can be sure of that, at least."

- Excerpt from a broadcast by revolutionary figure Hope

- -

Namjoon wishes, certainly not for the first time, that he knew what to do. That he didn't feel so helpless in the face of this world he's supposed to know and understand. That there was an easy way to fix the heaviness of Yoongi's breathing, the dilation of his pupils, the sweat slipping down the sides of his face.

The words pouring from his mouth.

"Please," he says, whines, and tries to move again, to get closer to Namjoon who's got him at arm's length in the confines of the car, fingers digging into Yoongi's shoulder to press him against the seat. "Please, please, I'll be good, I promise, I swear..."

Namjoon doubts Yoongi even knows what he's saying at this point. Even knows who Namjoon is.

"No," he still says. "No, hyung..."

Yoongi makes a broken sound in the back of his throat and thrashes. He's hard, in the confines of his tight pants, and his hips rock instinctively, seeking friction he isn't going to get.

It was going okay, is thing. It was, it has been, for the past three weeks. The charity gala was a success and then the birthday party of another old university acquaintance after that. People have started to talk, to notice him and Yoongi, to be curious, and it's exactly what they were hoping for, even if no blackmail material is forthcoming yet. They knew they needed to work their way farther into the circle first, choose targets carefully - this was all according to plan. Until tonight. When someone drugged Yoongi.

And Namjoon doesn't even know who. The man he loaned Yoongi to insisted it wasn't him and by the time Yoongi was returned, he wasn't coherent enough to tell Namjoon himself. Or what exactly the drug might be. It's an aphrodisiac, Namjoon knows that much. A fucking powerful one - and they're common at parties and events. Guests like the illusion of consent, like to buy into the false idea that all companions are eager for sex, and what better way to do that than to pump a drug into them that sets their bodies on fire to the point of begging for release?

"I'm sorry," he says to Yoongi now and gets a hiccuping sob in return.

Fuck, this is his fault. He should have been paying better attention - not let himself get so distracted with conversation. Should have grilled the man harder. Should have never let Yoongi do any of this in the first place.

"Please," Yoongi says again, so unlike himself. It's as though the drug has stripped away every ounce of personality and independent thought and replaced it with manufactured need. "Please, master, please fuck me, please..."

Namjoon remembers Yoongi a month ago, telling him about the master who drugged him and tied him to a bed and let the drug eat away at his defenses until all he could do was beg to be fucked. He remembers the fire that burned in Yoongi's eyes and the disgust in his voice when he said it. When he hurled words at Namjoon like they were knives. He understands now. God, he understands and he still doesn't know how to fix it.

"No," he says again and Yoongi whimpers. Tears are starting to spill down his cheeks and his skin is so hot to the touch it's terrifying.

Can this kill him? Would sex actually provide any kind of relief?

He needs Seokjin. He has no idea how aphrodisiacs fucking work.

"I'll be good," Yoongi promises for what feels like the hundredth time. "Please, master, I'm sorry, I'll be good, I'll be good for you, please I need you, I need it, please fuck me, master...." he hiccups, words slurring, and presses his face against the seat, panting into the leather.

Namjoon is so fucking scared, so stupidly helpless. He scoots closer still and rubs gently at the back of Yoongi's neck, hoping to soothe him at least a little. Hoping this won't just make it worse. Yoongi whines and sobs again, squeezing his eyes shut, but he doesn't try to get closer to Namjoon and he's clamped his mouth shut - probably sensing the begging isn't working and hoping being quiet will.

Namjoon cards gentle fingers through Yoongi's dark, sweaty hair. "It'll be over soon," he says and hopes that isn't a lie. It's been about half an hour and he has no clue how long these drugs typically last. Would getting Yoongi to throw up work? Probably not, this far into it. The drug's too saturated into his system now - nothing to do but ride it out.

Yoongi's shaking by the time the car pulls up in front of Namjoon's apartment building, barely able to walk. Namjoon guides him into the elevator with a firm hand on his shoulder, ignoring the questioning look from the security guard. The man knows not to pry - has probably seen far worse in the two years he's been working here.

"We're almost home," he tells Yoongi - not sure if Yoongi's actually listening to him - and gets no response beyond another faint whimper. He keeps Yoongi upright as he enters the passcode for his front door and half drags him across the threshold. Yoongi crashes to his knees as soon as Namjoon lets go of him, catching himself with his hands and staying there: on all fours in Namjoon's entryway, the sound of his labored breathing loud in the stillness of the darkened apartment.

"Please," Yoongi rasps again and moves, shifting onto his knees so that he can dig his fingernails into his arms. Namjoon watches in stunned horror as Yoongi claws at his own skin through the thin fabric of his shirt, the gossamer cloth ripping easily. "Please, please, it hurts..."

Fuck, how much was he given? Is he overdosing? Is this normal for whatever this drug is?

"Stop it," Namjoon says, crashing to his knees, as well, and reaching out to grab Yoongi's hands, prying them away from his reddened arms. "Stop, Yoongi."

"It hurts," Yoongi sobs, swaying in Namjoon's grip. "Please, master, it hurts...."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry. Stand up for me, okay?"

He manages to get Yoongi back to his feet and walks him towards the guest bedroom, a horrible idea forming in his mind. He hates the thought of it, but he isn't going to have sex with Yoongi and he doesn't know what else to try. Once they're both inside, he closes the door and gives Yoongi a gentle push towards the bed. Yoongi, still trembling, goes far too willingly, sinking down onto the mattress and watching Namjoon with wide, unfocused eyes.

"Take off your pants," Namjoon says quietly. "Leave your underwear."

Yoongi complies without hesitation, shimmying out of his black pants and dropping them to the floor, then laying back on the bed and spreading his legs - a clear invitation. Most any other elite would take advantage and it makes Namjoon want to burn the whole fucking city to the ground.

"That's it," he says instead, trying to make sure his voice is calm. "That's good. Stay there."

Yoongi's breath hitches, but he doesn't fight - keeps himself still as Namjoon goes to the wardrobe and pulls out the rope he used on Yoongi before. He doesn't like keeping a method of restraint when this is meant to be a safe place, but he's dealt with companions before who were violent towards themselves, who were risks of suicide, and tying them down temporarily was necessary.

"Put your hands above your head," he says and watches Yoongi do it, watches the rapid rise and fall of his chest and wonders if there's a small part of Yoongi that's still coherent. That's watching this happen and feeling helpless to stop it.

He ties Yoongi's arms to the headboard with ropes around his wrists. Yoongi whines - a mixture of fear and desire in the sound - and still doesn't fight or try to get free, just squirms and pants, keeping his legs open.

Namjoon takes a deep breath of his own, leans down and presses his lips to Yoongi's temple - the only comfort he can offer. "I'm sorry," he says and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. It does little to muffle Yoongi's desperate wail or garbled pleas.

He staggers into the living room and drops onto the couch. His hands are so timorous that it takes nearly three tries to fish his phone out of his coat pocket and dial Seokjin's number.

"Hello?" Seokjin says after the third ring. He sounds exhausted and strung out, voice rough and a little wet - like he's been crying. "Joon-ah?"

"Hyung," Namjoon says, the edge of the phone digging into his palm from the tightness of his grip, "hyung, someone drugged Yoongi - an aphrodisiac - and I don't know what to do."

Seokjin curses under his breath. "You didn't see what it was?"

"No, but it's really strong. He doesn't know who I am and he's running a fever and he - he tried to hurt himself. Clawing at his own skin. He said it hurts, but I don't know what he meant."

"Shit," Seokjin says, the weight of understanding in the word.

"What is it? Do you know?"

"I can't remember the exact name, but yeah. It gets passed around at parties. It's technically illegal, I think, because of how strong it is, but no one cares if you give it to a companion. It's chemical based, not organic. I don't know who manufactures it."

"Is there anything I can do?" Namjoon asks, not bothering to keep the desperation out of his voice.

"No," Seokjin says wearily. "No, you just have to let it run its course. It'll be out of his system in a few hours."

"Hyung ... does it help? Does sex help?" Namjoon's afraid of the answer - knows he can't, but Yoongi is crying now, weeping, and it's breaking his heart one piece at a time.

"No." Seokjin's voice is firm - fierce, even. "No. That's a lie they all tell themselves, but it doesn't. Even if Yoongi begs you for it, it won't actually give him any relief. His body has just convinced his brain that sex is what he needs - that's all that fucking drug does. It's awful, but there's nothing you can do."

"Okay," Namjoon whispers, hating how relieved he is. "How many hours is a few?"

"Two or three? But that's just a guess. It depends on how much he was given."

Two to three hours. They can get through that, surely. "Okay. Okay, thank you."

Seokjin sighs. "Just ... look after him, Joonie."

"I will." Better than he did at the party. "And, hyung, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Seokjin deflects, like Namjoon was expecting him to. "Something unexpected with my companion but we've cleared it up. I was actually going to ask if - if I could bring him over to meet Yoongi tomorrow - thought it might help him to have another companion to talk to - but it depends on how Yoongi's feeling, of course."

"I'll let you know tomorrow," Namjoon says. First, he has to get them through the rest of the night.

"Of course," Seokjin repeats. "Call me if he gets worse, please."

"I will," Namjoon promises, knowing that Seokjin also cares about Yoongi - wants to help him as much as possible.

They hang up without saying goodbye. In the guest bedroom, Yoongi has fallen silent except for the occasional, gut-wrenching whimper. Namjoon drops his phone onto the couch and buries his face in his hands, willing himself not to cry.

That won't help anyone.

_ _

Two hours pass so slowly they feel like two decades. Namjoon wanders the apartment, randomly pulling things out of place and putting them back. He cleans out his fridge; washes all of his dishes even though most of them are clean; paces in a useless loop from the front door to the guest bedroom and back again; checks on Yoongi once, but his presence seems to set Yoongi off, makes him thrash and beg, so he forces himself to stay away after that.

Finally, finally - two hours and thirty-eight minutes after leaving the party - he hears the creak of the bed shifting and Yoongi's hoarse voice call his name.

He rushes into the bedroom so fast he nearly trips over his own feet. Yoongi's head turns when he comes tumbling through the doorway and his gaze is mercifully clear.

"Namjoon," he repeats and doesn't seem capable of much beyond that. "Namjoon."

"It's okay," Namjoon says, hurrying over to the bed to untie Yoongi's arms. His wrists are red and raw, even with the softness of the ropes, and his makeup from the party is smeared under his eyes. Namjoon helps him sit up. "I'm so sorry."

Yoongi shakes his head and stays silent. Adrift, Namjoon brushes tentative fingers through his hair. "I'll get you water."

He darts back out to the kitchen to fill a glass, then wets a washcloth in the bathroom sink and grabs antiseptic cream from the first aid kit before returning to Yoongi - who is still sitting in the middle of the bed with his head down, looking almost like a doll with its strings cut. The comparison chills Namjoon so he shoves it aside.

"Here," he says, holding the glass out for Yoongi to take.

Yoongi drains it one long gulp before handing it back so Namjoon can set it on the bedside table.

"I brought a cloth," Namjoon says, leaning closer. "It's warm."

Yoongi nods and lets Namjoon wipe the makeup from his face until his skin is bare and shiny. Lets Namjoon rub cream carefully over his damaged wrists. Namjoon helps Yoongi out of the ruined shirt next, dropping it on the floor next to the pants. The pajama set Yoongi usually wears to bed is folded carefully at the end of the mattress, but when Namjoon reaches for it, Yoongi grabs his wrist.

"Wait," Yoongi says. "I... I ... need...."

He glances down. Namjoon follows his gaze and realizes that the front of Yoongi's underwear is damp and the room smells faintly of sex. Yoongi's cheeks are red with humiliation and he won't meet Namjoon's eyes as he squeezes his legs together, clearly trying to hide.

It's not your fault, Namjoon wants to tell him, but settles for silently getting up to retrieve a new pair of underwear from the dresser. He turns his back as Yoongi changes, staring up at the ceiling and trying to figure out how to ask if the sheets need changing, too, without making this even more embarrassing for both of them.

"Okay," Yoongi murmurs. "You can look."

He's standing by the bed, clad in the pajamas - his sweat-stiffened hair shoved off his forehead.

"Do you want a shower?" Namjoon asks him gently and Yoongi bites his lip. Nods. "And ... and the bed?"

Yoongi winces and swiftly looks away again, focused on the floor. "Yes."

"Okay. I'll do that while you shower."

"I can-" Yoongi tries to protest.

"No," Namjoon insists. "It's okay."

"Okay," Yoongi whispers and practically flees the room.

Namjoon takes a deep breath, then another for good measure, and sets to work. He strips the bed and decides that he's just going to throw the sheets out. No need to keep any reminders. The discarded clothes go in the trash bag, too. That done, Namjoon lights a candle to get rid of the smell and puts fresh sheets and a new blanket on the bed. Throws the ropes back into the wardrobe where they can be forgotten, then mindlessly fluffs the pillows, just for something to do.

He's not sure how long it's been when Yoongi slips back into the bedroom - at least twenty minutes. Yoongi's skin is flushed and pink, like he had the water turned up to near scalding.

"I'm sorry," he says. "That you had to see me like that."

"No," Namjoon argues, shaking his head. "No, I'm the one who should be sorry. I never should have let this happen. I'm - I'm supposed to be looking out for you."

"I was careless," Yoongi mutters. "The ... the elite who had me. There was someone else with him. They made me drink. I didn't think anything of it - just that they wanted to loosen me up, maybe. It makes it easier sometimes, being drunk, so I didn't fight it. Didn't even realize they'd put drugs in it until they kicked in."

"I'm sorry," Namjoon repeats, wishing he'd punched that rat-faced bastard back when he had a chance. "And I - I didn't do anything. I promise."

"I know you didn't," Yoongi says, finally meeting his eyes. "You wouldn't." The last part is almost a whisper, like Yoongi's talking to himself instead of Namjoon.

"I wouldn't," Namjoon agrees. "Ever."

Yoongi wipes a hand over his face. "I'm ... I'm going to sleep. If that's okay."

"Of course," Namjoon says. "Do you want me to go?"

"Yes," Yoongi says, a little sharp - probably still embarrassed - and Namjoon tamps down on his stupid disappointment. Yoongi doesn't owe him anything.

"Okay," he says and heads for the door.

He only makes it two steps before Yoongi says, "no. Wait. Stay."

"You're sure?"

Yoongi nods.

Which is how they end up on the bed together, under the covers - Yoongi in his pajamas and Namjoon still wearing his clothes from the party. At first, there's a foot of space separating them, but Namjoon inches his way across it in starts and stops until he's draped carefully across Yoongi's back, arm sliding over Yoongi's waist.

"Is this okay?"

"Yes," Yoongi murmurs and shifts back, relaxing into Namjoon's hold.

They lie in silence for a few moments, but everything they're leaving unspoken is slowly suffocating Namjoon. "Did you think I was going to do something?"

A long pause.

"No," Yoongi says at last. "Not logically. But I can't always ... react logically. Not when memories are clouding my judgment. I've been drugged a lot - all of them - something happened every time. Someone used me or hurt me and I had to wake up and remember it, in pieces. Or put it together from the ways my body was in pain. I knew you weren't going to do anything, but I was still scared you would."

Namjoon squeezes his eyes shut and doesn't apologize again, just pulls Yoongi a little closer. "Yoongi ... did you have anyone? Before?"

They've never talked about Before. Namjoon's been afraid to pry, to open up wounds, but tonight... there was so little left of Yoongi when the drugs took hold and he knows that's how most of his fellow elite see him: not a person, just a pretty, eager thing to use and throw away. And Namjoon doesn't ever want to see him that way, wants to know him - all the pieces of him.

Yoongi's quiet again for a long time - long enough that Namjoon almost retracts his question, blurts out you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. But eventually Yoongi sighs and whispers, "yes. I had ... had a family. Not blood, but still mine. I loved them."

"Did you have a partner?" Namjoon asks.

Yoongi's shoulders hunch, but he doesn't pull away from Namjoon's hold. "Yes. I ... yes. He was my - I loved him. Love him."

Namjoon doesn't ask for a name, not when Yoongi's voice is already raw with grief and longing. Yoongi sucks in a hiccuping breath and keeps talking, "and there was a kid ... three kids, but one - I found him when he was so young. I raised him. And he got sanctioned with me. I've been looking - at all the parties - but I haven't found him. A part of me ... a part of me hopes he's dead. I think about everything that's been done to me, and imagine it happening to him and it ... he would be better off dead." His breath hitches and he turns his face into the pillow. "That's terrible of me, I know."

"No," Namjoon murmurs, aching. "No - I ... we could try to find him."

"How?" Yoongi asks. "Records are sealed and they even take our names. We have no place to even begin looking. I've come up with a thousand plans in my head - none of them would work." He sighs and shifts, clutching his pajama shirt, right over his heart. "He's gone. I know that, but my heart...." he trails off with a shattered, pained sound, and Namjoon holds him tighter.

"What about the others?" he asks, desperate to offer some kind of solution. "Your partner? I could contact them, send a message or -"

"No," Yoongi cuts him off. "No. They're ... it's better if they stay far away from this. I don't want them involved and I'm not - I'm not the person they remember, anymore. I don't want them to...."

He trails off, but Namjoon can hear everything he's leaving unsaid: see me like this, see how much has changed, see how much was broken...

"Okay," he says, swallowing all of his shallow, pointless reassurances. "Okay, but if you ever change your mind, I'll help. I promise."

Yoongi laughs softly, a sad sound. "I know you will."

There's another lull in conversation, as Namjoon tries to figure out how to word his next request. "Hyung," he says and gets a sleepy hum from Yoongi, "Seokjin's companion - the one he rescued from a party. He isn't - I don't think he's doing too well. Seokjin was wondering if he could bring him over tomorrow, to talk to you. He thinks having another companion to interact with might help. Would that be okay?"

"Of course," Yoongi mumbles. "I want to help him."

"Okay, I'll talk to Seokjin. Thank you."

Another hum, even more sleepy than the first. Namjoon listens to Yoongi sink into sleep and presses a careful kiss to the back of Yoongi's shoulder, thinking that this might be good for Yoongi, too. He should have someone else he can draw comfort and support from. Someone who understands him better than Namjoon could ever hope to.

Someone who doesn't fucking own him.

_ _

Jungkook tells himself not to be afraid as he gets ready. Seokjin hasn't provided him with any makeup or different clothes, so he's taking that as a sign that this is going to be just a talk and nothing else. He's never spent time with another companion outside of sex or the auction houses, where everyone keeps to themselves and keeps their heads down. His second master owned several others, but they weren't allowed to speak to each other - only brought together for parties. And Jungkook was her favorite, which means the others resented him for getting special treatment - even though Jungkook would have gladly traded with any of them. His place in her bed, as far as he could tell, earned him little more than some extra food and a lot of pain. She liked games, liked messing with his head, liked making him struggle to please her - struggle to earn a reward that was impossible to get. That she would always, always withhold from him while telling him he just wasn't good enough - was never good enough, why didn't he try harder-

He shakes his head, trying to get rid of the memories. It's just going to be a talk, he tells himself again as he holds out his wrist for Seokjin to put the tether on. And if it isn't, maybe the other companion will be kind, at least. Maybe he'll be given something to make it easier, to carry his mind far away so his body can enjoy what's happening.

It's strange, stepping out of Seokjin's apartment in the afternoon light, wearing plain clothes. If it weren't for the tether and the tattoo and the seals, he'd almost look like any average pedestrian, on their way to whatever fancy places Sector 1 residents frequent.

He follows Seokjin obediently into the car, trying not to think about the last time he was here: raw and shaken from the party and the guest that almost killed him.

Seokjin's been quiet all morning - quiet since last night - and it's making Jungkook nervous. Seokjin promised he wasn't mad and he doesn't seem angry. Just ... sad? Sad, Jungkook thinks, and doesn't know why. Doesn't know how or if it's even his place to ask about it. He has his usual notebook and pen resting in his lap (another good sign - that Seokjin asked him to bring them), but he doesn't write anything. It probably isn't his business, anyway. He should just stay obedient, especially after his screw up last night.

"Hey," Seokjin says as the car glides down the street, reaching out to lay a hand on Jungkook's knee. "It's going to be okay."

Only then does Jungkook realize he was bouncing his leg up and down with nervous energy and he winces. Those tics - the auction house made an effort to beat them out of him, and it's a testament to how comfortable he's gotten with Seokjin that they've started to come back. He stills his leg with an apologetic dip of his head and purposefully keeps his hands folded, as well. He doesn't want to annoy Seokjin by drumming his fingers against his notebook like he's itching to.

Be good for him, he orders his body - the tense coil of fear in his gut that won't completely dissipate. It'll be okay.

Too soon, the car is pulling into the parking deck of another towering apartment building - all shiny glass and modern fixtures and bristling with security. Jungkook watches as Seokjin signs him them both in at the front desk, then obediently puts his free wrist on the counter so the security guard can scan his seal, tagging him in the building's security system. Now, alarms will activate if he tries to leave without being cleared.

The guard escorts them to the elevator and presses the button for the thirty-sixth floor. Seokjin's cousin must be as wealthy as he is, to occupy one of the upper level apartments. Seokjin takes his hand in the elevator, seemingly uncaring of how clammy Jungkook's skin is, and squeezes in silent reassurance. Jungkook blows out a shaky breath.

(Just talking. It's just going to be talking.)

The elevator dings and the doors slide open smooth and almost soundless. There are only two apartments on this floor and Seokjin goes for the one furthest away, rapping on the door. A man answers a few seconds later. He's taller than Seokjin, but not as broad. His hair is silver, contrasting his honey-toned skin, and he's handsome, Jungkook thinks, in a very different way than Seokjin. It's hard to even tell they're related, except for their eyes: the same compassionate brown.

"Hey," the man says, his voice a deep rumble. "Come in."

His apartment is like Seokjin's, too - wealthy, but without being ostentatious. There's a piano in the living room, and Jungkook is abruptly reminded of Yoongi. Of the rundown store at the end of their street that sold cast-off instruments no one wanted to buy. Of the owner who would let Yoongi play in exchange for smuggled goods, and Jungkook would sit with him on the bench, enraptured by the way his hands drew music out of the battered keys.

So many memories today, and they all hurt in different ways.

Seokjin takes the cuff of his wrist and guides him towards the couch.

"This is Namjoon," he says with a wave towards the tall man. "Namjoon-ah, this is JK."

"JK," Namjoon says, dipping his head in acknowledgement. "Would you like anything to drink?"

He's so polite, just like Seokjin. Doesn't treat Jungkook like a companion, and that eases the fear another notch. He still shakes his head, clutching his notebook tighter.

"He doesn't talk," Seokjin explains quietly, in response to Namjoon's questioning look, and Namjoon seems to accept this easily.

"Okay. Just wait here, then, all right? I'll go get Yoongi."

The name hits him like a gunshot, like a bullet right between his ribs, but no. It can't be his Yoongi, can it? There are other Yoongis in this city - he's even met one, at a party, and felt all his hopes shatter. He won't let that happen again.

Namjoon disappears into another room and Jungkook wrestles his breathing under control, aware of Seokjin's worried gaze on him.

"Everything okay?" Seokjin asks and he nods.

There's a low murmur of voices from what Jungkook guesses is a bedroom. He can make out some of what Namjoon's saying but not the other person. Something about making Jungkook comfortable, about privacy, and his stomach knots itself right back up.

Then Namjoon is coming back out into the living room, a smaller man trailing behind him. It isn't until Namjoon steps aside that Jungkook gets a good look at him and when he does, he swears the entire world grinds to a halt, suspended and silent. Because that is his Yoongi, only a few feet away from him, stopping to stare in shock.

That's his Yoongi, who looks tired and a little pale, but alive. Alive, and here, and oh god. Is this a dream? Is Jungkook still asleep at Seokjin's apartment? Is Jungkook still at the party, kneeling in the garden at his master's feet?

"Jungkook-ah?" his Yoongi says, voice cracked and wet, and Jungkook can't move or speak or even breathe.

Oh please let this be real. Please please let this be real.

The world lurches, time stutters forward, and Yoongi's hands are cupping Jungkook's cheeks - big and callused, just like Jungkook remembers. There are tears dripping down Yoongi's face, falling off his trembling chin.

"Jungkook-ah," he's saying over and over, like he can't believe this is real, either. "Jungkook-ah, baby."

And the wall, the stone, the block finally shakes loose in Jungkook's throat. "Yoongi," he rasps, barely recognizing his own wheezing voice. "Yoongi."

"My baby," Yoongi hiccups, pressing their foreheads together. "Jungkook-ah." He's sobbing now, deep and gut-wrenching, kneeling in front of Jungkook, and Jungkook falls into him, marvels at the solid weight of him as his arms go around Yoongi's shaking shoulders and cling with everything he has.

He tucks his face into Yoongi's neck, feels Yoongi hold him back just as tight, just as fierce, and the tears come then like a flood. He weeps, body trembling with the force of it. Tears of joy and grief and shock. If this is a dream, he never, ever wants to wake up. Let him stay here forever: back in Yoongi's arms where he never thought he'd be again, where he's always felt more safe than anywhere else in the world.

"I'm here," Yoongi's saying, rocking him back and forth like a child. "I'm here, baby. I'm here."

"Me too," Jungkook whispers. "I'm here."

Yoongi laughs, though it sounds more like a sob, and shifts even closer, like he wants to climb inside Jungkook's skin and stay there forever. Jungkook doesn't think he'd be opposed.

"You are," Yoongi says. "You're here."

Jungkook remembers, then, Namjoon and Seokjin. He lifts his head from Yoongi's shoulder and sees them hovering in the middle of the living room, near matching expressions of surprise on their faces. They didn't know, then, about him and Yoongi. And he has to be sure - because he can't bear the thought of having sex with Yoongi for their entertainment. Not Yoongi: who gave him one time where he felt loved, felt like his body was important and worth something. He won't let them cheapen that, won't let them take it away. He pulls Yoongi closer to him, trying to shield him, and forces more words out.

"I w-won't," he says, hoping they understand. He'll fight this, fight them, if he has to. Anything for Yoongi. "We won't..."

Seokjin and Namjoon flinch, but it's Yoongi that answers him. "It's okay," he murmurs, fingers combing through the hair on the back of Jungkook's head. "It's okay, baby, we're safe. You're safe."

"We won't hurt you," Namjoon says, sounding sincere.

Jungkook nods, so relieved he could start crying all over again, and buries his face back in Yoongi's neck, unwilling to let go of him any time soon.

Yoongi. His Yoongi.

His miracle.

_ _

Yoongi doesn't think he's ever cried this much, even counting when Jungkook was first taken from him and he wept in despair on the floor of his auction house cell. His whole body feels wrung out and sore and empty and his hands won't stop shaking. Jungkook's cried himself into exhaustion, too. Is lying on the couch now with his head in Yoongi's lap, fast asleep. Yoongi runs trembling fingers through Jungkook's hair, petting him, and tries to stop his brain from cataloguing too many obvious signs of past injury: the thin, white scars on Jungkook's shoulder, peeking out from beneath the collar of his baggy shirt as it slips; the fading red on his neck, the opposite side from his tattoo; an old cut near the corner of his mouth; the scar bisecting his right eyebrow. There are more, Yoongi knows, beneath his clothes. Even more than that beneath his skin.

It hurts - like a blade twisting its way into his heart - but Jungkook is alive and Yoongi takes back his words from last night, spoken in a haze of his own pain and fading shame. He's so fucking glad Jungkook is alive. That Jungkook is here.

"I'm sorry," Seokjin says, startling him out of his thoughts. He pulls his gaze from Jungkook to Seokjin's nervous face. "If I'd known, I would have brought him over here right away."

"I know," Yoongi says quietly.

He'd wondered, briefly, if Namjoon and Seokjin orchestrated this - to get him into their debt somehow, to make themselves seem like saviors - but he knows that's his paranoia talking. The part of his brain that the last year of horror has turned into a frightened, skittish animal - unwilling to trust anything or anyone.

"You saved him at a party, Namjoon said."

Seokjin nods.

"What did you save him from?"

Because he needs to know. He can't help Jungkook bear the weight of all this pain if he doesn't understand the depth of it.

Seokjin winces, hesitates.

"Tell me," Yoongi says. "Please."

"He refused a guest," Seokjin says, wringing his hands. "The man was choking him, I think, and he fought back instinctively. His master was furious. Was beating him, when I came across them. Threatening to sell him back to the auction house. I ... intervened."

Fuck.

Yoongi curls over Jungkook, wanting to go back in time and protect him. From that moment of abuse and all the others. Wants to rewind all the way to the moment city police caught them on a smuggling run and make Jungkook leave him behind.

"Thank you," he says to Seokjin. "For saving him."

"Common human decency shouldn't warrant thanks," Seokjin says.

"In this world it does," Yoongi points out. "Especially for us. So thank you."

Seokjin nods, not arguing further, and glances down at Jungkook. He cares about him, Yoongi can see that clearly, and it eases some of the ache, knowing that Jungkook has been safe. Has been loved, at least in these past few weeks.

"I'm trying," Seokjin says, "to get him papers. To get him out of the city. If he wants to go."

He won't want to, Yoongi knows. Jungkook would never leave any family behind, especially now that him and Yoongi been reunited. He'll want to fight, he always wants to stand and fight, even when Yoongi wishes he didn't. And as if Jungkook can read Yoongi's mind, he stirs. Murmurs, "no, 'm staying."

"You'd be free," Yoongi says gently.

Jungkook looks up at him, into him, and clearly sees everything that Namjoon and Seokjin can't - every moment of violation, from the very first training session in the auction house to the drugs last night.

"You wouldn't," he says, reaching up to run his knuckles down Yoongi's cheek. Yoongi leans into it instinctively, craving familiar touch so much it surprises him.

"That's my choice," he argues.

"Then let me make mine," Jungkook says, just like Yoongi knew he was going to.

It's a relief, in some ways, seeing that Jungkook's stubbornness hasn't evaporated completely.

He sighs and rests his forehead against Jungkook's, clings to him. He doesn't have any arguments, not when he never wants Jungkook to leave him again.

"Kook," he says helplessly and Jungkook sits up, shifts into Yoongi's lap to hold him properly.

"I'm not going anywhere, hyung," he says. "Whatever you're doing ... I'm not letting you do it alone."

And Yoongi is too tired to fight him. He doesn't want to do this alone. He thought it would be easier, knowing this is for a cause, knowing that he's choosing it, but something in him still feels like it's breaking every time he gets on his knees. Every time he lets someone touch him. Every time he opens his mouth and lets them use him like a toy. Namjoon doesn't see him that way, he knows, and neither does Seokjin, but Jungkook knows him. Has been there for so many years, through so many trials and heartbreaks. This is the boy who wormed his way past all of Yoongi's defenses and thawed out his heart. He didn't think he was capable of loving anyone but Hoseok until Jungkook came along and pried his chest cavity open. Showed him that all the walls he'd built were worthless. That survival meant nothing without others by your side.

Loving Taehyung and Jimin had been easy, a few years later. Because Jungkook had taught him how.

"You're not alone," Jungkook whispers, as if he can hear Yoongi's inner turmoil. His fingers dig into Yoongi's back like anchors. "I'm not letting you go again."

He brings his arms up to return the hug. "Me neither," he says and wills himself not to start crying again.

"I'll tell my contacts," Seokjin says quietly, not sounding upset about it. Maybe, he didn't want to say goodbye to Jungkook, either.

Then, he retreats to the kitchen and Yoongi hears him tell Namjoon to help him with dinner, but tunes out the rest. Jungkook slides off his lap to curl up next to him, head on his shoulder.

"I can't believe you're real," he whispers, clutching Yoongi's hand. "I've dreamed of you so often, but I never thought I'd see you again."

"Me too," Yoongi murmurs back.

It's getting dark outside, the sunset brilliant over the city, reflecting off all the buildings. Here, you can almost forget about the chaos of the Outer Sectors. No wonder the elite seem so blind to it.

"I hate how beautiful it is here," Jungkook says. "I always have."

"Someday, it'll be beautiful for all of us," Yoongi says, because it feels like the only hope he has left, most days.

"Namjoon and Seokjin ... they're planning something." It isn't a question, because Jungkook has always been smarter and more observant than people give him credit for. "And you're helping them."

"Yes," Yoongi says. "But can we talk about it later?"

He just wants to be with Jungkook right now, and pretend that nothing else matters. Just for the rest of today. He has a member of his family back and even though the ache of longing for the others is still heavy in his ribs, he's happy.

"Okay," Jungkook says and burrows closer to him again, reels him in, and Yoongi goes willingly, sliding his arm around Jungkook's shoulders. "Later."

"Later," Yoongi agrees and presses a kiss to Jungkook's temple.

Jungkook is here, with him, and for these fleeting moments, Yoongi is happy.

_ _

Hoseok knows, distantly, with detachment, that he's dying. Slowly, yes, but dying all the same. He's dying and Taehyung, trying so desperately to take care of him, is afraid.

"Where's Jimin?" he asks Taehyung as Taehyung changes his bandages. He might have asked before, but time has become an unfocused and muddled thing. He has no idea if they've been hiding in this factory for a day or a week or a month. A year?

Taehyung shakes his head, lips clamped together. Hoseok thinks, through the fog clouding his brain, that this is the same non-answer Taehyung gave before. Which means Jimin has probably gone to do something stupid and reckless.

"He'd better not get himself killed," he mumbles, sinking back onto the pallet that Taehyung has fashioned for him. He's too weak to stand, to even sit up. His life is trickling away with each bloody bandage Taehyung changes and it won't be long now.

Taehyung hiccups, a mixture of fear and despair, and his hands are unsteady as he wraps fresh gauze around Hoseok's leg.

"Hey," Hoseok murmurs, because it will always be his job to reassure them. Yoongi was their leader, but Hoseok is the glue. And Yoongi's gone, two of his kids are gone, but he can help Taehyung, at least. "It's gonna be okay."

"I should be telling you that," Taehyung insists.

"No ... 'm the hyung. My job."

Taehyung shakes his head but ties off the bandage without arguing any further. Then he lies down next to Hoseok on the pallet.

Hoseok shifts enough to press a kiss to his grimy hair. "We'll be okay," he says, even though he doesn't believe it. "We'll be okay, Taehyung-ah."

"Yeah," Taehyung says, also full of doubt. He wraps an arm around Hoseok's torso, high above the bullet wound that's killing him. "Course we will."

Hoseok closes his aching eyes, Taehyung's body heat keeping his teeth from chattering too badly, and wonders if he'll see Yoongi on the other side.