"Proclamation from the new king: winter has affected the greenhouses more than expected and resources are at a historical low. Effective immediately, all Marked citizens will receive one daily ration card instead of three, and only be allowed to use two daily per household. The illegal theft or trade of goods will result in immediate sanctioning, regardless of strike status. For regular citizens of the outer and middle sectors, ration cards will decrease to three daily. We apologize for these harsh measures, but if we work together, the king believes that we will all survive the winter and reap the harvest of spring."

- Excerpt of a government radio broadcast to all sectors in the middle of "The Starving Winter."

_ _

One year ago

His stomach feels like it's going to eat itself, which he figures probably means that it actually is. He's been hungry before, been hungry his whole life, but never like this. So hungry he can barely think straight, so hungry that it's made him weak to the point where even something simple like standing and walking across the apartment feels like a herculean effort. He thinks that maybe, they're all going to die. One night, they're just going to curl up on the mattress and the hunger and the cold are going to take them in their sleep. Which, honestly, wouldn't be a terrible way to go, in the grand scheme of things. There are many, many worse ways to die.

"We're not going to die, Jimin-ah," Yoongi tells him, and the fire in his eyes hasn't gone out in spite of how sunken and hollow his cheeks have become. His fingers are shaking as he cuts up their meager portion of vegetables into tiny pieces, trying to stretch them as far as he can. They've had watery soup once a day for the past week - just barely enough to keep them sustained.

One fucking ration card a person, only two a house - not enough to live on by any means. And they're always last in line, behind regular citizens - left to pick over the meager scraps like vultures. Yesterday, Hoseok managed to snag a loaf of bread that was only a little stale and Jimin almost cried at the sight of it.

"This feels like dying, hyung," he tells Yoongi now, staring down at his own bony fingers.

"I know." Yoongi wobbles to his feet and puts a hand on Jimin's shoulder, which is just as bony as his fingers. If he lifted his shirt, Jimin knows he could count each individual one of his ribs easily. "I know, Jimin-ah, but we'll get through this, just like we've gotten through everything else."

He says it with such certainty, that it's almost easy to believe him. It's always been that way with Yoongi, ever since Jimin tried to rob him when he was eighteen. He was starving, then, too and so, so desperate. Desperate enough to put a knife to the back of Yoongi's neck and demand all the ration cards he had on him. Yoongi was small, like him, and had seemed like an easy enough of target. Except he hadn't flinched or trembled, hadn't seemed scared at all. He'd just told Jimin that he didn't have any ration cards, but how would Jimin like a hot meal instead? He had ramen back at his apartment that would stretch to accommodate another person. Jimin was wary of this offer, of course. Pressed his knife harder into the back of Yoongi's neck - enough to draw blood. Yoongi barely flinched. Asked if Jimin was hungry, and he was. God, he was.

So he'd said yes and he'd followed Yoongi to his apartment like a skittish cat, ready to bolt at any moment. He kept the knife close by, half expecting that Yoongi was going to get him somewhere private and either assault him or imprison and sell him or both. But instead it was actually ramen and Yoongi let Jimin have his portion, too, and didn't seem disgusted when Jimin practically inhaled both bowls. He asked if Jimin wanted to come back tomorrow and Jimin had asked if he could bring Taehyung, who was currently waiting behind in their makeshift home.

Yes, Yoongi said and that was the start of a new chapter in Jimin's life.

He holds Yoongi's hand tightly now, bowing his head. "Maybe it would be better if we separated again? They're punishing bigger households. We'd do better on our own."

He feels sick at the thought of leaving - this is his family and this little apartment is the only place in his life that's felt like home - but he'd do if it meant they all got to eat, all had a better chance of making it through the winter.

"No," Yoongi says predictably. "No, Jimin-ah, we're a family and we stick together, no matter what. We'll get through this. It's just another month until spring. And the network is still running."

Sluggishly, but they were still getting some goods through. Because Jimin suspected that Yoongi was magic.

"Okay," he says, closing his eyes and feeling his chest warm. He's loved Taehyung all his life, but even after a few years in this makeshift, expanded family, he's not used to hearing this sentiment from others. Having people who care about him, want to look after him and support him, and would miss him when if he was gone. "We stick together."

Yoongi kisses the top of his head, uncharacteristically affectionate, and Jimin's heart twists even more.

He tries not to think about how much he would miss Yoongi if he was gone. Would miss any of them. He'd burn worlds to save them, he knows that, and it's a terrifying truth. He closes his eyes instead of contemplating it further, listening to the sound of Yoongi breathing and the distant rattle of the train as it -

Now

- hums and shakes around him, bound for Sector 1. He's curled up in the corner of the last car, trying to be as invisible as possible, in spite of his fancy clothes. The papers worked, and he took that as a sign that perhaps this is possible, after all. He shoplifted the rest of the outfit - black pants and a high-collared black shirt under a patterned silver jacket - and snuck into a jjimjilbang in Sector 4 to clean himself up. His tattoo is once again covered with stolen makeup, and he's lined his eyes in dark kohl, as well, hoping that will help him look more intimidating. At least enough for people in Sector 1 not to bother him.

He still has the contraband phone, too, and he's scrolling through his notes, trying to remember what he can about the security in Kim Namjoon's building. Guard at the front desk and another one probably in a security booth somewhere. Security cameras watching all the entrances and exits. Special badge required to get through the front door. He imagines there's plenty of fancy tech inside - getting up to Namjoon's apartment will be just as much of a hurdle as gaining access to the building itself, but he has to try. Hoseok's life is on the line.

The thing is: he lied to Taehyung. He doesn't believe that Yoongi is still alive. Of the two of them, Jimin's always been the more pragmatic one. He accepts the truths that Taehyung cannot, so that Taehyung won't have to bear the burden of them, and this truth is that Yoongi is mostly like dead. It's been well over two months since Kim Namjoon bought him and none of his past recorded behavior suggests he keeps companions alive for only half that time.

Yoongi is dead, but Kim Namjoon isn't.

And Kim Namjoon is an elite with vast resources and influence, more than enough to save Hoseok. So Jimin is going to force him to help and then, as revenge for Yoongi, Jimin is going to kill him.

Slowly. Painfully. Without a shred of remorse.

The train pulls to a stop in the main station of Sector 1 and Jimin stands with fluid grace, taking a deep breath. It seems like only yesterday when he last did this: exited the train onto the gorgeous main thoroughfare of the inner city and let himself be absorbed into the flow of the crowd. It's a few hours until dark, plenty of time to stake out Namjoon's apartment complex and gather more information. Put a plan in motion.

Jimin keeps his head down and walks with purposeful strides, hoping that no one care hear how loud his heart is pounding in his chest

_ _

Jungkook dreams - hazy and distorted sensations of hands on his body and a voice whispering cruel insults into his ear - and wakes with a start in an unfamiliar bed. For a moment, panic claws at his throat as his brain insists that he's been drugged again, but no. He's fully clothed and he doesn't feel sluggish or hazy. And there is someone curled up next to him that he recognizes without even looking.

Yoongi.

He's at Namjoon's apartment, he's with Yoongi, who led him into this bedroom and told him to get some sleep, folding Jungkook into his arms like he used to when Jungkook was thirteen and smaller than him. Yoongi's still got an arm draped over his stomach, and Jungkook lifts it gently, looking at the initials tattooed in a column from his wrist towards his elbow. Four sets, three scratched out, just like Jungkook. He wonders, darkly, which one was the worst. For Jungkook it's the second set - the woman who bought him after the married couple deemed him too rebellious. She had been beautiful and cold and had hurt him so badly that he's walled off some of the memories for the sake of his sanity ... but there were times when she called him beautiful and good and touched him without any pain. He felt pleasure in her bed and he'd come to crave it from her, wanted to please her, and that, he thinks, is what he hates her for most of all.

Yoongi stirs and Jungkook watches him go through the same jolt to awarenesses and moment of panic, watches him assess where he is and that he's still dressed and his body doesn't hurt. It's painful, knowing that Yoongi - who has always seemed invincible in Jungkook's eyes - has had the same fear forced into him.

Yoongi's head turns, hair sleep-mussed, and his dark gaze lands on Jungkook's face and widens briefly before softening into something more familiar. "So," Yoongi says, raspy, "not a dream, then."

Jungkook shakes his head. He wants to answer back, but his throat is raw and sore from talking yesterday and from such a long silence before that. Yoongi's fingers touch it gently, concern in his expression. "Baby?"

Jungkook shakes his head again and sits up. "Hurts," he manages, patting his throat, and then he switches to the language Yoongi taught all of them after finding a book about it, tossed in a dumpster. You speak with your hands, and it's become a vital asset in their world - where you never know when someone might be listening in.

I'm okay, he signs. Just recovering.

Yoongi relaxes a fraction, sitting up, too. Was your throat damaged? he signs back.

Yes, but not ... Jungkook pauses. It was easier. Not talking. So I didn't. Even after my throat healed. Seokjin didn't force me.

Understanding dawns in Yoongi's gaze and he presses a soft kiss to the back of Jungkook's head. "It's okay. My last master, before Namjoon, he didn't like it when I talked. Said objects should be seen and not heard."

Yeah. Jungkook's heard that one before. He closes his eyes and relaxes into Yoongi's hold, trying to decide if he should ask about the things he wants to: the fresh wounds on Yoongi's wrists and the bruises around Yoongi's throat, clearly from a collar. If Namjoon isn't hurting him, who is? Is Namjoon still taking him to parties? Bartering him around in exchange for ... whatever it is that elite trade amongst each other. Power, secrets, favors - Jungkook's never paid much attention to it. The cost of it all is still taken out of his body, so what does he care about the reasons?

"I can hear you thinking, Jungkook-ah," Yoongi says, and Jungkook winces. Gently picks up one of Yoongi's wrists and shifts so Yoongi can see the question on his face.

"Ah," Yoongi murmurs and pulls his hand away. There is shame in the bite of his teeth into his lower lip, in the hunched curve of his shoulders, and Jungkook aches. "I ..."

Tell me, Jungkook begs. Hyung.

"This was my choice." Yoongi sighs and blinks down at his wrist. "Namjoon ... has a plan. That could save all of us, if we can pull it off. And for it to work, we need certain people on our side. Information, too."

So he's paying with you? Jungkook asks, fury rising. He doesn't care that Namjoon is Seokjin's cousin, if he's using Yoongi like this, Jungkook will find a way to put a stop to it. To run and get out of the city, even if his heart rebels against the thought of leaving Jimin, Hoseok, and Taehyung behind. He has to believe that they'll be safe, that they'll stick together. (They might not want him back, anyway, after he's been so ruined. Especially Taehyung...)

"I offered," Yoongi says. Shudders. "I offered. It's okay."

O-offered? Offered? What plan could possibly be enough for Yoongi to willingly submit himself to this? His thoughts must be showing too much, because Yoongi cups his cheeks and whispers, "it's better if you don't know too much yet, Kook-ah. Not yet. But ... please trust hyung, okay? I know what I'm doing."

"But..." Jungkook rasps and Yoongi shushes him. He bats Yoongi's soothing hands away so he can sign. It's hurting you.

"It's nothing I haven't been through," Yoongi counters grimly. "Nothing that hasn't already been done to me."

Jungkook wants to say that doesn't matter, but he doesn't think it will help. Yoongi is as immovable as a mountain when he's set his mind to something, and this is probably no different.

"And..." Yoongi hesitates here, folding his knees against his chest so he's curled into a tiny ball. "He isn't ... no one is actually fucking me, so that helps."

Oh. That would probably help. Jungkook hates when someone uses his mouth, especially men who are rough and shove all the way down his throat so harshly that he thinks he's going to tear or vomit. Who don't let him breathe and like the sounds of him choking around them, like it when he shakes and cries - reflexive, messy tears streaming down his cheeks as he struggles not to pass out. But nothing is more terrible than the pain of having someone inside. It's such an ... intimate violation. The second owner, the worst, CHY on his arm - she used to tell him after parties, did you know, baby, that fifteen people fucked you tonight? Such a little slut, aren't you? And he would feel sick and shameful and small, presented with that staggering number. With the knowledge that even the most private places of his body belonged to someone else. In the showers, cleaning himself up after, he'd touch where he was sore and aching and try not to weep. She always wanted to have him, at the end of the night, summoning him to her bed as soon as he was finished in the shower. There, she would make sure to slip her fingers inside him and rub harshly, making him whine and jerk his hips to get away while she laughed. While she slapped him across the face and told him to be good for her, guiding his mouth between her legs with a rough hand in his hair.

"Good," he whispers to Yoongi now, scooting closer to hug him tight. He has scars on the insides of his thighs, from where nails have scratched and whips have stung, and he wonders if Yoongi does, too.

Both of them are just battered messes, barely taped together.

I love you, he traces against Yoongi's back and feels Yoongi's breath hitch.

"I love you, too," Yoongi says softly. "You stay safe with Seokjin for now, Kook-ah ... please?"

I want to help, Jungkook insists.

"Not like this," Yoongi says and it's more of a plea than a demand. "We'll ... we'll figure out other ways you can, but not like this."

Jungkook wants to argue, but they're so tired and emotionally raw and that's enough for him to bite his tongue. They're finally together, and they'll have time to discuss this later. For now, it looks like the sky is lightening beyond the curtains and soon he'll need to go back to Seokjin's apartment with him.

Be safe, too, hyung, he signs.

"I'll try," Yoongi says, which isn't enough of a promise, but Jungkook accepts it as all he's going to be given.

Yoongi is here, that's all that matters. The rest will come.

_ _

Seokjin lingers in the hallway to Namjoon's front door, eyes darting back and forth between Yoongi and Namjoon. "We'll be in touch," he says, his hand on Jungkook's back. "I can invite you over to my place soon, so we don't attract too much suspicion."

Namjoon nods. He sees Seokjin fairly often, but not several times a week, and while their family has been fairly content to ignore their private comings and goings, he doesn't want to take any chances. "Sounds good," he says, glancing at Jungkook.

God, he looks so young. Eyes big and almost innocent in his face, teeth protruding just a little. He can see why Jin called him Tokki. Can see why both of them love him - he seems easy to love. There is steel in him, too, though. Namjoon can see it lurking beneath the surface - sharp edges that remind him of Yoongi, probably honed by years of scraping and clawing a living out of the rubble of the outer sectors. Jungkook is young, but he's a fighter, and Namjoon is glad for that.

"Hold on," he says now. "Before you go, can I talk to Jungkook for a minute?"

Yoongi's gaze snaps to him, suspicious and questioning, and Namjoon smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring way.

"Okay," he agrees and Seokjin nods.

Namjoon leads Jungkook back into the guest bedroom, shutting the door behind them. He half expects Jungkook to flinch or fidget, but he just straightens his shoulders and stares at Namjoon head on, one eyebrow arched in a silent question.

So much like Yoongi.

"You ... seem like you know how to take care of yourself," Namjoon begins awkwardly. "So will you look after Seokjin for me?"

Jungkook blinks, his confidence melting into confusing.

Namjoon scratches his cheek, feeling awkward and uncertain. "Just ... he works really hard and he struggles with a lot, up here." He taps his temple. "He'll never show it to anyone, not even me, but I think you being there helps. Just make sure he eats and gets enough sleep and doesn't run himself into the ground. Could you do that for me?"

Jungkook hesitates for a long moment, still looking taken aback, but eventually, slowly, he nods.

"Thank you," Namjoon says, fighting the urge to reach out and squeeze his shoulder. He's gotten used to touching Yoongi, and he has to remind himself that he doesn't have the same permissions with Jungkook.

Jungkook takes a deep breath, rocking back and forth on his heels like he's gathering strength. Then he says in his raspy, croaking whisper, "please ... take care of ... Yoongi, too."

"I will," Namjoon promises him. "I swear I will."

He doubts Jungkook trusts him fully, but he gets another nod and that will have to be enough for now. He leads Jungkook back out in the main room, continuing to ignore Yoongi's stare, and smiles at Seokjin.

"I'll see you soon."

Seokjin nods. His eyes flick to Yoongi again. "Get some rest," he says, voice gentle, and Yoongi starts slightly.

"Okay, Seokjin-ssi," he says and a smile takes over Seokjin's face - the one Namjoon knows he reserves for private interactions, for people he trusts.

"One of these days, you're going to call me hyung, Yoongi-yah," he says and laughs when Yoongi's lips part in shock.

Jungkook snorts quietly, clearly amused, and Seokjin leads him out of the apartment by the hand - the door clicking loud behind them.

"Hyung," Yoongi mutters, sounding almost offended. "I've never fucking called anyone 'hyung.'"

"He'll win you over eventually," Namjoon says. "He always does."

Yoongi huffs. He looks tired, Namjoon notices. Dark circles bruised under his eyes and hair messy and eyes still a little puffy from all the crying he did yesterday.

"What can I do?" Namjoon asks him, still feeling a little rattled himself. He didn't know that Yoongi was capable of crying like that. Didn't know that Yoongi has that much love in him - that much desperation and fear. The image of Yoongi on his knees, clutching Jungkook like he was afraid Jungkook was going to disappear, loops over and over again in Namjoon's brain, unsettling him. "What do you need, hyung?"

Yoongi hesitates, looking torn in the same way he always does when he wants to ask Namjoon for something but isn't sure if he should. He doesn't speak this time, just shuffles forward and hesitantly wraps his arms around Namjoon's waist.

Namjoon's breath hitches but he immediately folds protectively around Yoongi, resting his chin on the top of Yoongi's bent head, feeling Yoongi trembling against him.

"He's safe," he promises, rubbing a soothing circle across Yoongi's back. "Seokjin is going to keep him safe, I swear."

Yoongi makes a wordless noise of agreement and doesn't move.

So Namjoon holds him and tries not to examine the feeling that's blooming in his chest - the ache and wrench that he thinks might be love. It can't be, though. Not in this world: where his initials mar Yoongi's arm in black ink, where parties are waiting, where they are planning to drench their hands in blood. For a moment, Namjoon allows himself to imagine a different world, a kinder one. Where they were born as equals. Where there are no kings and no Marked and no tattoos or seals or auction houses.

The Old World, maybe, where the legends say that people used to elect their leaders and no one went hungry and owning people for pleasure was illegal. He could have loved Yoongi in that one.

Here, now, he takes the bloom and he crushes it beneath his heel, determined not to examine it again.

_ _

Jimin can hear the clock ticking in the back of his head, louder and louder with each hour that rushes by. It's been nearly two days since he left Taehyung, and he's acutely aware of the fact that Hoseok is running out of time. Which why he's going forward with this half-baked plan he's connected in the past twenty-four hours of watching Namjoon's building. It's one that Yoongi, if he knew about it, would scold him for, but ...

Yoongi isn't here.

And Jimin is desperate.

You're going to get yourself killed, Jimin-ah, the ghost of Yoongi still whispers in his head. Jimin stubbornly ignores him.

The plan is simple, perhaps too straightforward, and gambles a lot, but he's learned that his greatest leverage is going to be the fact that people in Sector 1 are soft. They're used to their safe and comfortable existence, their quiet jobs, and a world without danger. They know nothing of the violence Jimin grew up with, or death lurking around what felt like every corner. They haven't had to lie to save their own lives, or run from police through darkened streets, or steal just to survive.

Which gives Jimin an advantage: they'll never see him coming.

Specifically, the night guard who arrives for his shift at eight p.m. and parks his little moped up the street, clearly preferring that to the hassle of the secure parking garage. Last night, he ambled up to the front door and punched in a code on the keypad: 6781. He greeted the day shift guard with a wave and small talk, then took his badge and his gun, and proceeded to sit at the front desk for the next eight hours - almost without moving and looking constantly like he was trying not to dose off.

Tonight, Jimin intercepts him as soon as he climbs off the moped, grabbing him by the back of the shirt and yanking him into the nearby alley with a hand clamped over his mouth to muffle his shocked protests. Fortunately, this is also a quiet street, designed for privacy. There is no one nearby to hear as Jimin gets the guard in a chokehold and begins tightening his grip. He thinks, briefly, about killing the man. It would be cleaner and safer, but there is a prick at his conscience that feels a lot like Taehyung and Jungkook. They wouldn't approve of him murdering a man who is just here to do his job and probably has a family waiting for him at home. So Jimin holds on until he feels the man fall unconscious and then lays his body carefully on the pavement.

He strips him of his uniform, then heaves him into the nearby dumpster. He should be unconscious for a few hours and that will hopefully keep him from being discovered long enough for Jimin to do what he needs to. His fancy clothes go in the dumpster, as well - encased in a plastic bag and tucked into the back corner, in case he needs to retrieve them later. Fortunately, the man wasn't that much bigger than him and so the uniform fits well enough. He has to cinch the belt to the tightest notch and the pants are just a few centimeters too long, but he has a story in mind if someone points it out. He checks to make sure his tattoo is still adequately covered and adjusts the cap on his head so the cameras will only see the lower half of his face.

He can do this.

For Hoseok, he'll do anything.

He runs in place for a minute, trying to work up a bit of a sweat, get himself out of breath. Then he jogs up to the front door of the building and punches in 6781. A loud beep and the door gives beneath his hand, swinging open to let him half walk, half tumble into the gleaming front lobby.

"Oh my god," he says as the day shift guard looks up. "I'm so sorry I'm late!"

The guard frowns, a tight furrow between his bushy eyebrows. It accents the crow's feet etched into the corners of his eyes and the wrinkles curved around the edges of his mouth. "Who are you?"

Jimin straightens, adopting a puzzled expression. "Sorry, I'm Lee Dongwun-ssi's substitute. He had a family emergency. The agency didn't tell you?"

The guard, whose name tag labels him as Koh Jinsun, snorts. "The agency never tells me anything."

Jimin blinks, trying to make his eyes as wide and innocent as possible. "Oh! I'm sorry Jinsun-nim, do you want me to call them?"

"Don't bother," Jinsun says with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'm late enough home as it is. You know what to do? You've been in other buildings before?"

"I-" Jimin stutters fidgeting. "Well, this is only my second week, but I'm sure I can figure everything out."

Jinsun sighs, like Jimin is the greatest inconvenience he's ever encountered. There might even be a mutter of "stupid kids" under his breath that Jimin chooses to ignore. "Okay, listen up." He holds up a white card. "Badge for the whole building. It will get you in the main elevators and the service elevator, as well as the security booth and all the entrances and exits. Minchul is already in the security booth on the second floor and he'll watch the cameras. You stay here, at this desk, unless it's an emergency. Residents may sometimes call on this phone." He waves Jimin closer and points to a black phone situated on the desk. "Always answer promptly and be polite. Any arriving guests must be buzzed through the front doors and sign in. All companions must have their seals scanned, then scanned again before they leave." He hands Jimin his holstered handgun. "I'm assuming you've all the firearms training."

"Yes," Jimin says, taking the holster and cinching it around his waist and leg. "Is there anything else, Jinsun-ssi?"

"That should be it," Jinsun says. "Call Minchul if you need anything. I'm off tomorrow but Taewon will be here at eight a.m. to relieve you."

"Thank you," Jimin says with a brief bow. "Have a good night."

"You, too," Jinsun huffs and leaves without a backward glance.

Jimin sinks into his seat behind the desk, well aware that Minchul can see him through the cameras positioned in the corners of the room. Therefore, he keeps his expression politely bored and pretends to check messages on his phone. Half an hour ticks by with no calls from phone at Jimin's elbow and no one coming or going. He spends that time looking at files on the computer (the password to log in was written on a post-it stuck to the monitor, he almost can't believe the complacency), including a registry of all the tenants in the building. Kim Namjoon is in apartment 21902 on the 36th floor.

Jimin figures that half an hour is long enough. There isn't a camera behind the desk, so Jimin feigns like he's reaching for a pencil and subtly presses a button on the phone to get it to ring. He jolts in surprise as the shrill tone echoes through the lobby and fumbles for the receiver.

He has no idea if the cameras have sound, so he talks like he's taking a call. "Yes, Namjoon-nim?" A pause for effect. "Of course, I'll be right up."

He "hangs up," then picks up the receiver once more and dials the security booth. "Minchul-ssi?"

"New kid," Minchul replies, deadpan.

"I got a call from Kim Namjoon in 21902 and I'm going up to talk to him quick. Can you watch the desk?"

"Sure," Minchul says, still sounding half-asleep. "Whatever."

(Oh this is almost too easy.)

Jimin grabs the badge from the desk and puts up a placard he finds that states he'll be back in a few minutes and asking guest to please sign in. Then, he makes his way to the elevator - keeping his pace hurried, but not a suspicious degree. He waves the badge over the sensor inside what has to be the fanciest elevator he's ever seen - that's fucking gold trim lining the back wall - and gets an answering beep. Sucking in a fortifying breath, he presses the button for the 36th floor and watches a little halo of light ring the number. The elevator makes a smooth and swift ascent, fortunately free of any obnoxious music, and in what feels like a blink, the doors are opening again, revealing a silent hallway that ends in a floor-to-ceiling window and the stunning vista of a neon-lit Seoul spread out beyond.

Apartment 21902 is the one closest to that window. Jimin starts at the nondescript door for a long moment. Do the building staff know that Kim Namjoon tortures companions to death here? Probably, and they don't care. Better to look away, keep your head down, especially over objects meant to die, anyway.

God, his blood is boiling. But he keeps his expression pleasant as he raps on the door and says, "security."

The door swings open after his third knock, revealing a tall, willowy man with a small face and silver hair. He's handsome, Jimin supposes. A nice veneer for a monster.

"Is everything alright?" he asks. His voice is deep and almost mellow.

"Good evening, Namjoon-nim," Jimin says with a polite smile. "Can I come in?"

_ _

Namjoon makes a point of knowing the face of everyone who works in the building - from the regular security guards, to the cleaning staff, to the maintenance crew. When you participate in so many illegal activities, it's important to pay attention to the people best positioned to watch you. The man in front of him isn't someone Namjoon's ever seen before, even though he's wearing a familiar uniform. He's young, with pretty features, and his smile is bright and professional. His small stature is reminiscent of Yoongi, but he has muscle definition in his arms that Yoongi lacks. There isn't a name tag pinned to the front of his dress shirt and his uniform looks a little too big - maybe he's a substitute guard?

Wary, but seeing no reason to cause a scene, Namjoon steps back and gestures for him to enter the apartment. "Is there a problem?" he asks, as the guard stops a few steps into the foyer. The door clicks shut behind them both, and something about it feels ominous.

He's only had security in his apartment once before, after his neighbor called insisting that his companion was causing a disturbance. It had been a very young, and very frightened woman, who screamed when Namjoon tried to show her into the guest bedroom, and the guard who showed up had been dismissive of the problem - merely suggested that Namjoon needed to train his companion to be more obedient.

This is different. This man carries himself differently, with an air of danger.

Idiot, he thinks, why did you let him in?

The guard's eyes flick around the apartment, as though checking for something. Cameras, maybe? Namjoon doesn't have any installed, but he regrets that choice when the guard suddenly spins to face him and reaches for his gun. Before Namjoon can move to retaliate, his has a pistol pointed directly at the middle of his forehead.

"Only going to be a problem if you make one," the guard says, his pleasant tone and soft voice contrasting the threat of his words.

Shit. Namjoon forces himself to stay still, not do anything stupid, but his eyes flick unconsciously towards the guest bedroom where Yoongi is asleep, and the guard notices.

"Do you have a companion here?" he asks. "Or is it just you?"

"It's just me," Namjoon insists. "I'm in between companions at the moment."

"I don't believe you." The guard glances at the closed door and then back at Namjoon. "Show me that room."

Stay calm. Stay calm.

"Okay," Namjoon says, pitching his voice just a little louder in the hopes that Yoongi hears. "But if you're here to rob me or something, that's just a guest room. I can give you the code to my safe-"

"The guest room. Now." He gives Namjoon a shove to get him moving and Namjoon stumbles a step before regaining his balance. His mind is spinning, trying to come up with some kind of plan, any plan, to gain back the upper hand in this situation. He needs to separate the guard from the gun and he has no idea how to accomplish that.

Play along for now, he decides. Wait for an opening of some kind.

He turns the knob of the guest room, glad that Yoongi's stopped locking it in the last week or so, and throws the door open. The bed is ... empty.

"See?" he says, stepping fully in the room so that the guard can enter and have a look for himself. "Just me here."

The guard's head turns, examining the bed and the wardrobe, and in Namjoon's periphery a dark blur darts out from behind the door.

"Drop the gun," Yoongi says, pressing Namjoon's kitchen knife against the fragile skin of the guard's neck. "Now."

Namjoon expects several potential things to happen next: the guard to shoot him, to elbow Yoongi or try to get him to drop the knife, to maybe even surrender. What he wasn't anticipating is the man tilting his head and whispering "Yoongi?" like he's just encountered a ghost. Or for Yoongi's eyes to widen and him to answer "Jimin?" in the same tone.

"Oh my god," Jimin says, "oh my god you're still alive."

He still hasn't dropped the gun, but Yoongi lowers the knife now. "You can stop pointing that at him," he says. Namjoon keeps himself very still as Jimin shakes his head.

"No, no, I-"

Yoongi curls a hand around Jimin's shoulder and for the first time, Jimin looks very young and very lost in his baggy guard's uniform. "It's okay. He won't hurt us. Put the gun down, Jimin-ah, and tell me what the hell you're doing here."

Jimin eyes Namjoon warily, then looks at Yoongi still holding the knife, gaze searching. Namjoon thinks he might be checking for wounds, for any hint of deception. He lingers on Yoongi's bandaged wrists and the faint bruising around his neck, but slowly, slowly, he lowers his arm, and Namjoon lets out a shaky exhale when Jimin finally holsters the pistol.

"There we go," Yoongi says and then reaches out to pull Jimin into a tight hug. Jimin clings to him, shock still written all over his face.

"Hyung," he says, fisting both hands in the back of Yoongi's sleep shirt. The words crack as his voice pitches towards a sob before recovering. "Hyung, I thought you were dead."

"I'm okay." Yoongi presses a kiss to Jimin's temple, affectionate in the same way he was with Jungkook. "I'm okay, Jimin-ah, I promise. And it's a long story, but Namjoon's on our side."

Jimin pulls back from the hug, frowning. "Our side?"

"Jimin, meet RM," Yoongi says, nodding his head towards Namjoon. "RM, meet Park Jimin. He ran the smuggling network with me."

Pieces rapidly click into place. This must be one of the family Yoongi mentioned - who he was hoping would stay far away. So much for that, it seems.

" You're RM?" Jimin asks in disbelief.

"I am," Namjoon says.

"And you fucking bought Yoongi?" Jimin continues, his voice starting to ice over again. Namjoon stiffens, half-expecting the gun to make a reappearance.

"And saved my life," Yoongi cuts in before tensions can escalate further. "But none of that's important right now. What the fuck are you doing here, Jimin-ah? How did you even get here? Why are you dressed as a security guard? Where the hell are Taehyung and-"

"Hoseok," Jimin says. "It's Hoseok."

Terror unlike any Namjoon's ever seen before seizes Yoongi's face. "What? What about Hoseok? What happened?"

"The king put out a search warrant," Jimin says, small hands curling into fists at his sides. "They've been tearing apart the outer sectors and we've ... we were okay until we ran into a patrol. He got shot."

Yoongi makes a sound like he's been punched in the gut.

"He's dying," Jimin continues. "He's dying and I - we can't get him out of the city, it's too dangerous. I thought I could force an elite to help. To get him medical care and then I'd figure the nexts steps out but-" he laughs, a shattered sound. "I didn't really have a plan. I was desperate."

Another wounded noise escapes Yoong's throat and he sways, looking ill. But it's only for a moment. Then the armor comes up and the steel clicks into place and the fighter Namjoon knows is back.

"Where is he?" he asks.

"Sector 5," Jimin answers. "Tae is with him."

The crackle of Jimin's radio interrupts whatever Yoongi was going to say next and a voice Namjoon vaguely recognizes as belonging to another of the security guards says, "hey, kid, you get lost or something?"

"Shit," Jimin curses. "I faked a call to get up here. He's going to get suspicious if I'm gone for much longer."

"What did you do with the owner of this uniform?" Yoongi asks, gesturing to Jimin's clothes.

"He's unconscious in a dumpster a few streets over," Jimin says. "He didn't see my face."

"But other guards in this building have," Yoongi points out and swears under his breath, raking an agitated hand through his hair.

Here, though, Namjoon knows he can be useful. "I'll make sure they stay quiet," he says. "And the guard who got assaulted. For now, you should find a way to get out of here and go to this address." He rattles off Seokjin's apartment number and the street, figuring that Jimin will be able to memorize it. Retaining information definitely seems like a skill in his arsenal.

"What's at that address?" Jimin asks, suspicious.

"More help," Namjoon says. He retrieves his wallet from its usual place near the front door and pulls out handful of won to give to Jimin, who accepts it with a questioning frown. "Take a cab. We'll meet you there."

Jimin nods, tension flickering briefly along his jaw. He doesn't look like he wants to leave Yoongi, which Namjoon can understand, but the clock is ticking.

"How bad is it?" Yoongi asks Jimin.

"Bad," Jimin murmurs. "He ... we haven't got long."

Yoongi closes eyes, absorbing that like another blow. "Go, then. Be safe. We'll see you soon."

Jimin gives Yoongi one last hug and then heads for the door, flicking on his radio to apologize to the other guard and assure him that he's on his way back to the desk.

"Fuck," Yoongi says after the door closes behind Jimin. " Fuck."

There is so much grief and fear on his face - like someone has stripped every scrap of armor away and left him raw and bloody and exposed, and there is only one thing strong enough to do that. Namjoon has never heard Hoseok's name before, but he knows. This is the partner Yoongi talked about in the quiet hours of the night. The one that he admitted to loving.

And now he's slipping through Yoongi's fingers.

"I'll get dressed," Yoongi says, clearly trying to reassemble himself and put all that iron and steel back into place. "You should call Seokjin. Tell him Jimin's coming and to get his medical kit ready. We'll need a plan to get Seok back here - we can't take him to a hospital, no one would treat a Marked who's had a run-in with city police-"

"Yoongi," Namjoon says, stepping forward to take Yoongi's trembling hand in his own. "We'll save him."

"Don't make promises you can't fucking keep," Yoongi snaps at him. "You think death cares about your fucking promises?"

But Namjoon is going to keep this one, even if he has to move heaven and earth to do it. Yoongi's given him so much, given up so much, and here is one thing that Namjoon can give back to him. All this wealth and power and influence has to be good for something, right?"

"We'll save him," he repeats, squeezing Yoongi's hand. "We'll save him."

Yoongi doesn't believe him, he can see that, but Yoongi is a fighter above everything else, and Yoongi doesn't just give up, no matter how terrible the odds are, or how impossible the outcome seems. Namjoon has admired that in him from the beginning, even when it resulted in a knife in his shoulder, and he admires the fire burning in Yoongi's eyes now, hotter than the sun.

"Call Seokjin," he says and steps back to tug his sleep shirt over his head. His back is a mess of scars - lashes from various whips, burns, scratches, a few cuts that probably predate his companion days - but his shoulders are strong and rigid.

Namjoon goes to call Seokjin, heart hammering in his chest as adrenaline begins to flood his veins.

They have one more Marked to save.