#& namgi

[magicshop]

yoongi GET UP

[namchyoon]

day 387/547 until joon returns cr. dwellingsouls

[kimtaegis]

these three words are undeniably connected. for @outroindigo ♡

cr. doolsetbangtan, namuspromised notes

[kuuipobangtan]

[kithtaehyung]

namgi babes how much water do u need

[bisexualrapline]

for @summerwave​ ♡

+ 🥰

[majablanque]

a little crossover au with his doomboy partner in crime of 13 years 🍊🚲💨

[pocketnamm]

14 years of Namgi 💜

[taechnological]

wait i just remembered

it's namgi day !!!

[chimcess]

→ Chapter Eleven: Following Rivers Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Werewolf!Jimin, Witch!Reader, Shifter!Reader, Shifter!Jimin, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha!Jimin Genre: Supernatural!AU, Werewolf!AU, Angst, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Smut, Word Count: 16.1k+ Synopsis: Within the four realms of Lustra lay the Bangtan forest home to the Foxglove pack of the south and known as the “land of magic.” It is also home to the Bridd, a powerful witch from a cursed bloodline who is one of the sacred guardians of the forest. Y/N is the newest Bridd, a young girl who was given her position too early. Now a woman, Y/N is revered amongst the wolves as the most powerful witch they have ever known, but hiding under the surface is a woman who has to battle between her duty and her heart. Warnings: ANGST, strong language, PTSD, flashbacks, self-hate, self-depreciation, talks of death, everyone is going through it, getting to know some more characters, love-triangle, Jin is being kind of a dick, I promise we'll start seeing more Jimin as this goes on but he's just really depressed right now, Sam is a HUGE flirt, Kook is a vibe and I love him, Secrets to be reveled later, disabilities are going to be a huge part of Yoongi's life now and his arc so bear with a lot of that being in his povs, he's my favorite person in this series (so far, later you'll meet by baby for life), possibly wrong medical terminology, sexism and misogyny will be hinted at, everyone is going through it, lots of grief and heartache, Babyboy just wants his best friend back, mourning her life she's dead, let me know if I missed anything... A/N: Thanks for reading <3

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Yoongi's POV

The night was too loud—everything was loud—like the world had turned up the volume just to drown me out. Crickets chirped incessantly, their sharp songs digging under my skin. Somewhere in the darkness, the witches chanted, their voices twisting together like secrets I wasn't supposed to hear. I sat on the porch, my fingers tracing the worn grooves in the wood. It used to calm me when I was a kid. Now it just felt... empty. Everything did.

The stars above were a blur, smudges in a sky that once looked like magic. Now it was just a cruel haze—a kind of blindness that let me glimpse shapes and light but never enough to truly see. The battle with the elves had left me like this. Half-blind, half-alive. And I didn't know which half was worse.

My porch used to be our refuge. I could almost hear Y/N beside me—her laughter mingling with the fireflies dancing around us in Moland. But I couldn't picture her smile anymore, and that hurt more than anything else. Her memory was slipping away along with my vision, leaving only empty outlines where something bright used to be.

There was a party going on somewhere in the yard. The witches were celebrating Wendy's new role as head witch and our recent win against the elves. We would've done it sooner, but after Cordelia's death, any idea of joy felt wrong. I thought it was still too soon for something like this, but Wendy seemed up for it, and Jin went into full planning mode the moment she smiled. Their laughter and shouts made my head hurt. Some of them had offered to hang out with me back here, but I didn't want the company.

Pretending to be happy with near strangers wasn't something I could do.

I heard footsteps approaching—slow, hesitant. It was my mother. She didn't say anything at first, but I felt her warmth beside me. I avoided looking at her; everything looked like an old black-and-white film from Northorn, and it broke my heart every time I saw her without color. "Yoongi," she said softly, her hand resting lightly on my shoulder. So light it was almost not there. But it was. Everything felt heavy now. "How are you holding up?"

I exhaled, the sound shaky. "I'm not," I finally said, the words coming out more bitter and broken than I intended. "I don't even know why I should try to hold on anymore."

Her hand tightened on my shoulder. "We've been through so much," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "But we're still here, Yoongi. That means something."

Does it? I thought. I didn't say it, but the weight in my chest felt suffocating. Carrying it another day seemed impossible, and the thought made me want to scream. "I miss her," I whispered instead, your name lodged in my throat. "She always knew what to do."

My mother sighed, her fingers brushing my arm. "She did," she agreed quietly. "But she wouldn't want you to carry this alone. You've still got people who care about you. Jin—"

I flinched at his name, cutting her off. "He doesn't need me. Not when he has Wendy to think about."

"That's not true," she said firmly. "You don't have to do this alone, Yoongi. Let him help you."

"Wen's mom died," I reminded her.

"I understand that. Dee meant a lot to me. I've known her my entire life. But you're hurting, too," she replied thickly. "You've been doing your best to make him happy through all of this. He's just lost right now. Bring him back."

I stayed silent. The idea of reaching out felt impossible—a weight I wasn't ready to lift. The silence stretched between us, her hand on my shoulder more burden than comfort. "I'm tired," I muttered, leaning forward and resting my face in my hands. "I don't know if I can do this right now. Or ever."

I groaned, rubbing my eyes. The blur gave me migraines. "I don't think I can do anything anymore."

"You can," she insisted, her voice steady. "You're stronger than you think, and it's okay to let others be strong for you."

I didn't argue, but her words felt hollow. Letting people help me wouldn't prepare anyone for the war. Wouldn't fix the shining. I wanted to tell her how empty it all felt, how each day was a battle to find a reason to keep going. But what would that change? She couldn't fix this. No one could.

And the last thing I wanted was to worry my mother more than she already was.

Footsteps again—lighter this time. Wendy. Mom kissed my cheek, patted my shoulder, and headed back inside Mi-Jeong's house. If there was one good thing about staying here, it was how close Mom and Hoji had gotten with Jimin's mother. Even I had to admit I liked her. She made me laugh and went out of her way to make the house easier for me to navigate while we figured out a way to fix my eyes.

Once Ji-Hyun left to stay with Callisto's family just outside the gates, things got a bit quieter. Jin and I hadn't spoken much since everything settled; he was too busy helping Wendy take over as the head witch of her coven. Before Ji-Hyun left, we'd teamed up against the wolf a few times. His wife was the only reason we didn't confront him more.

Callisto was sweet and gentle, fiercely loyal to her husband and his whims. Ji-Hyun held a grudge against Y/N for reasons he wouldn't share. His wife, despite his silence, didn't let him off the hook if he even thought about saying something rude about her. He'd calmed down considerably before they moved out, but I had a feeling it was more for his mother's sake than any real remorse.

"Yoongi?" Wendy's voice cut through the thick silence, cautious. She stopped a few feet away, her figure a blur of gray against the darker gray of the night. "Are you okay?"

I almost laughed—a bitter, hollow sound. "No," I said flatly. "But I guess that's just how it is now."

She moved closer, her presence warm but almost suffocating. Everything was shades of gray, like the world had been drained of color. My eyes were still healing, leaving everything hazy and indistinct. "We're here for you if you need anything," she said, echoing my mother's words. "Jin and I—"

"Don't," I interrupted, my voice low and rough. "You know just as well as I do that Jin isn't here for me as long as you're around. So spare me the speech."

Her silence hurt more than any response could have. She sat beside me, her shoulder just brushing mine. I kept my gaze down; the porch beneath us was a washed-out gray, the wood grain barely visible through the blur. "He cares about you a lot, Yoongi," she said softly. "Even if it doesn't feel that way. Even when he's being... difficult."

I wanted to believe her. I wanted to feel something—anything. But all I felt was the same hollow ache that had settled in since that night. I nodded slightly, enough to make her think I was listening, but my eyes remained fixed on the indistinct, grey shapes at my feet.

Laughter drifted over from next door—too bright, too alive. It sounded out of place in this monochrome world. All I could do was sit there. It was so pathetic I wanted to cry.

"You know," Wendy said gently, her voice tinged with hope, "I've been trying to get him to talk to you more. Maybe if you put in a little effort, it could help. I know he misses you."

"Doesn't matter how much he loves and misses me," I muttered. "You're his top priority now, Wendy."

"But you should be, too," she insisted, her fingers lightly touching my arm. Her hand was a pale shade against the darker fabric of my sleeve. "Promise me you'll at least try?"

I nodded again, a mechanical gesture more for her benefit than mine. "Okay," I murmured, the word scraping out of my throat. "I'll... try." It was a lie, one I didn't even believe.

Wendy's hand rested on mine, warm against the cold that had settled into my bones. It should have been comforting, but now it was just... there. The lack of color made everything feel distant, unreal. Wendy had been a great comfort to me when we were younger, but now, after everything that happened, it just felt wrong. She shouldn't be here with me. If there was any hope that Jin and I could remain friends, she needed to stay as far away from me as possible.

But Wendy either didn't know or didn't care. When I talked to Jungkook about it, he said she was just naïve. Sam called her selfish. That made me laugh. It was something Y/N always said about her, too. I think everyone had at one point or another. Even Cordelia.

The name sent a shiver down my spine. It was ironic that I was calling Wendy selfish when her mother had died just weeks ago, and she was here comforting me. Jin was right. I was a bad friend who only thought about himself.

"You're not alone," she repeated, her voice steady.

I swallowed hard, my throat aching. Alone? I'd never felt more alone. Even with her beside me, it didn't change the hollow ache inside. The world around us was a blur of grays, shadows without definition. "I feel like I am," I admitted, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

"Don't say that," she said firmly. "You're still part of the family. You're still you."

Still me. What did that even mean anymore? The person I was before felt like a stranger. My fists clenched, the grainy image of my hands tightening in my lap. Frustration bubbled up. "Wendy," I began, my voice rough. "What if this is it? What if we never find a cure? What if I'm stuck like this forever? Then what?"

"Then we'd figure it out," she said softly.

"There is no 'we,'" I snapped, taking a deep breath to steady myself. The motion made the hazy edges of my vision swim. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice my outburst. "Mom would have to move back to Bangtan, and while everyone else is playing house, I'd be stuck as the blind cripple who needs his mommy."

"Don't talk about yourself like that," Wendy said sharply. "Even if it doesn't feel like it, you matter to us. You're still the most valued person here. What do you think everyone is celebrating right now?"

I stayed quiet. Her words didn't reach the part of me that felt like it had crumbled to dust. The grayscale world around me felt empty, lifeless. It was easier to retreat into the numbness, to hold onto the pain because at least it was familiar.

"You, Yoongi," Wendy's grip on my arm tightened. Her face was a pale blur, but I could sense the intensity in her gaze. "You single-handedly took down more elves than anyone here. You sacrificed your body for us. Why do you think Jin's being a jerk? He feels insecure and inadequate next to you. You've never known how incredible you are, have you?"

I wanted to tell her I hadn't, but I kept my mouth shut. We were treading dangerous ground, and I prayed no one else heard what she said. The sea coven was full of gossipers, and I worried Jin would hear about it. I didn't want to fight with him.

"Thank you," I whispered eventually, the words thin and weak. The night pressed down, the grayness seeping into everything. My thoughts drifted to Y/N—her laughter, her vibrant presence that seemed to bring color to everything. Without her, everything felt impossible. Without her, I felt... nothing.

I knew if she were here, I'd be doing a lot better right now. Y/N and I had a bond deeper than any other I'd ever had. Samanya was becoming a close second, but we had a few cultural differences that made it hard to get as close. She was also one of the most beautiful beings I'd ever seen, her image in my mind a vivid contrast to the muted world before me.

There were only two others who'd ever made me feel the same way: Delta and a man here I refused to acknowledge existed half the time. The impossibility of that relationship made it easier to pretend that just the sight of him didn't make my heart race. Like I didn't watch him like a stray dog hoping for scraps. He never noticed. Of course he didn't.

Wolves didn't practice homosexuality. When I asked Jungkook about it, he said it was viewed as a mental illness. Mates were for breeding, and a wolf who didn't want to continue the bloodline was so out of the ordinary they didn't think it could be natural. Y/N had explained something similar before, but she didn't know all the ins and outs like the young omega did.

"I miss her," I muttered, my chest aching. "She made it all easier."

Wendy's voice softened, her grief barely hidden. "We all miss her. But she wouldn't want us to stop living. She'd want us to keep going."

"Going where?" I asked, my voice cracking. "What's the point if everything just ends?"

"The point is we're still here," she said gently.

I didn't answer. The world around me was a sea of gray shadows, the party sounds muffled and distant.

"Yoongi," she said after a moment. "I know it's hard. I know you feel like you've lost everything. But you haven't. You're just... hurting right now."

I wanted to argue, but the fight was gone. I just sat there, staring into the hazy blur of a world I couldn't fully see, feeling like a stranger to myself.

The night stretched on, Wendy beside me—a flicker of warmth in the endless gray. I didn't know if I believed her, but for now, I'd let her stay. For now, I'd let myself breathe. It was all I could do.

Eventually, Wendy stood up, leaving me alone. The party was still in full swing, a large bonfire crackling, casting shifting shadows in shades of gray. A group of women gathered around it, their figures indistinct. I watched Wendy find Jin, saw the way she fit under his arm—their forms blending into one another in my blurred vision. Either he hadn't seen us or was choosing to ignore it.

I hoped it was the latter.

I leaned back against the rough wood of the porch, every nerve weighted down by a relentless exhaustion. It wasn't just my body that felt broken—it was everything. The world, my place in it, me.

I'd lost count of the nights spent like this—stranded in the dark, drowning in thoughts I couldn't escape. For the first time, I felt like I understood Y/N's nightmares. When they were at their worst, I'd sleep in her bed to wake her up, and she'd spend hours telling me how horrible and guilty she felt for being so angry and upset all the time. She never called herself a burden, but now that I was in her shoes, I knew that's what she meant.

I knew she was fine and alive out in Lustra somewhere, but it didn't stop my mind from mourning her as harshly as I'd mourned Cordelia at her memorial service on the shores of Syrena. Maybe even more. I loved Wendy's adoptive mother, but I didn't know her as well as I should have. Y/N was my best friend, and her absence was gnawing away at whatever sanity I had left.

Minutes—maybe hours—dragged by, each one heavier than the last, until the soft sound of footsteps cut through the quiet. They were barely there, and if my ears weren't so tuned in to what was happening around me, I wouldn't have heard them at all. Then I caught the faint scent of mist and wet grass. I knew who it was before she spoke.

Minutes—maybe hours—dragged by, each one heavier than the last, until the sharp sound of footsteps pulled me from my thoughts. They were barely audible, but I'd become attuned to every little noise. Then I caught the faint scent of mist and wet grass. I knew who it was before she spoke.

"Mind if I sit?" Sam's voice was brisk. When I looked up, her face was a pale oval against the darker grays of the night. I wished I knew what color her eyes were. They were the only thing I wasn’t confident in my guesses about. They were light, but I could not tell you what shade they really were. She'd always been beautiful, but tonight there was something different—something that made me appreciate her even more.

Her eyes were a soft gray, her hair a dark shadow framing her face. I knew that if I ever got my full sight back, she'd be even more striking. But for now, it was nice to be around someone when appearances didn't really matter. She didn't seem to mind helping me navigate or putting up with my bad moods, either.

Sam was nearly perfect. It was just too bad I had someone else in mind when we weren't together.

Those dimples were so deep I could make them out from the porch anytime he walked by...

"Go ahead," I muttered, nodding toward the spot Wendy had left.

She settled beside me with an ease that felt out of place next to my stillness, her energy humming softly between us. "You look like hell," she said bluntly. "What's got you in pieces this time, Yoongi?"

I let out a hollow laugh, the sound harsh even to my own ears. "This time?" I echoed, shaking my head. "It's always the same stuff." I gestured vaguely at the night—at nothing and everything. "Take your pick."

Her smirk faded slightly, and for a moment, I thought she might soften—but Sam wasn't the soft type. She never sugarcoated things, never pretended it would all be okay. Part of why I didn't push her away like I did the others. Yet, anyway. I'd already drawn the line about romance with her in my head, but I knew I was weak, and she made me feel comfortable. She reminded me so much of Delta...

No, I couldn't go there.

"Yeah, it's bad," she agreed, her voice steady. "But sitting here feeling sorry for yourself isn't going to change anything." She leaned closer, her breath warm against my cheek. "Staring at them will make Seokjin angry, you know."

I snapped my eyes away from the fire. I hadn't been looking at Jin or Wendy, but it wouldn't surprise me if Jin thought I was. He'd become more paranoid and distant these days.

I turned to her, bitterness bubbling up, unable to hold it back. "What do you want from me, Sam?" I didn't care if it made her uncomfortable—she'd chosen to sit here.

Then I felt bad again. That wasn't fair.

Sam didn't flinch. If anything, her gaze sharpened, unwavering and direct. "You think you're the only one feeling this?" she asked, her voice low. "You're not. We're all carrying it, Yoongi. The war, the losses, the uncertainty—it's wearing us all down."

"Then why don't you look like it?" I snapped, my fists clenching. "Why do you still act like there's something worth fighting for?"

"Because the alternative is giving up," she said simply. "And I've seen what that looks like. It's worse than this."

I scoffed, shaking my head. "Doesn't sound so bad right now."

She was silent for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice held a rare gentleness. "You're not the first to feel that way. And you won't be the last. But giving up? It doesn't end the pain, Yoongi. It just spreads it. You think Wendy's okay? Or Namjoon? Or the rest of us?" She paused. "We're barely holding it together. But we're still here. And so are you."

The mention of his name made my pulse quicken, and Sam knew it. She only brought him up to get a rise out of me. Her spending time with him didn't help. The thought of both of them together—breathless, naked, sighing—was the first thing that had truly distracted me all day.

He was so... captivating.

I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes—not that it mattered. Everything was just as hazy and muted as before. It was better at night. I could see things a little clearer. The sun made my eyes burn and itch, and I couldn't leave the house without shades. Taejin was kind enough to give me a few pairs.

"I'm not here, Sam," I whispered. "Not really. Without my sight, I'm a terrible fighter, and without that, what's left of me? I don't serve much use here."

She sighed softly. "You're still you, Yoongi. Maybe some things are different, maybe you're feeling lost. But you're still here. And as long as you are, you've got a chance to figure out who you'll be now. Life doesn't stop just because you want it to."

I wanted to argue, to push her away, but there was a stubborn truth in what she said.

"What do you want me to say, Sam?" I asked, the question slipping out more like a plea than I'd intended. "That I'm so messed up I can't even use magic? I keep trying, and nothing happens."

"You don't have to say anything," she said quietly. "I don't want anything from you. But maybe you should want something for yourself. You've lost a lot, but you haven't lost everything. You still have your mother. That's more than many here can say."

Guilt gnawed at me for snapping at Wendy earlier. It wasn't just Wendy, either. Jin had almost lost his father. Enver had nearly been killed multiple times in that fight. Sol, as much as I hated to admit it, had lost the only person she ever knew as family, and no one seemed to care. Taehyung, maybe, but I knew they weren't talking much. Countless others had fallen as well. Sam wasn't wrong—I was lucky to have my mother.

It didn't erase the fact that my life felt irreversibly damaged. I was the only witch with a permanent disability, the only one no one could heal. Maybe I had the right to feel a little bitter.

"I don't know how to do that," I murmured, barely audible. "How to want anything anymore."

She nodded, her expression unreadable in the grayscale blur of my vision. "Then start small. Want to survive. Want to see tomorrow. Want to believe things can get better. And if you can't want it for yourself, then want it for the people who still care about you."

I couldn't respond. Couldn't argue. After a while, Sam shifted closer, her movements deliberate but careful, like she was approaching a wounded animal. I didn't turn my head, didn't acknowledge her beyond the faint scuff of her boots against the porch. I didn't have the energy.

"You know, Yoongi," Sam said, her voice lighter than it had any right to be on a night like this, "I've always thought you were handsome."

"I know," I mumbled, barely more than a whisper, my voice worn thin. "You know how I feel about you already, just like every other person you’ve sunk your teeth into."

"You're my favorite," she chuckled softly. "You haven't even let me get that far yet. And your skin, those eyes..."

I rolled my eyes. No one ever liked me for my face, and I knew Sam would say anything if she thought I'd give in just a little. My body buzzed with anticipation that I forced down. I didn't know if I could handle something like that right now, even if it might feel good.

Sam's laugh faded, and her tone shifted. "I'm serious, Yoongi. You've got this whole mysterious, brooding thing going on. People like that."

I let out a bitter breath. "What people?" I muttered, shaking my head. Then, a faint smirk tugged at my lips. "I'm a blind guy who can't do magic. Who's lining up for that?"

"You'd be surprised."

I turned slightly toward her, a sigh escaping my lips. "You're relentless, you know that?"

"It's part of my charm," she said, and before I could respond, I felt her shift closer. Her breath was warm against my cheek, and then her lips brushed mine—soft, tentative, giving me a chance to pull away.

But I didn't.

Instead, I leaned into her, my fingers brushing against her arm as I kissed her back. It was brief, just a moment, but it felt like a small light flickering in the darkness. When she pulled away, I could still feel the warmth lingering, and it made me feel... something. Something other than emptiness.

"Thanks," she whispered, barely audible. "For letting that happen."

I swallowed, my throat tight, and nodded. "Thank you," I said softly. "For wanting it to happen."

She smiled—a gentle curve I could almost see in the hazy grayscale of my vision.

Silence settled between us, comfortable for once. I watched the party slowly disperse. Jin and Wendy passed by on their way back inside. Jin glanced down and grinned at me. He was probably happy to see Sam's head leaning on my shoulder. I didn't look to see Wendy's reaction. It didn't matter.

The ache in my chest didn't go away, but I did feel a little better than I had earlier.

Eventually, the last of the witches were gone, and the fire began to burn low. Sam was unusually quiet, but I think she knew I needed time to think. Watching the smoke curl up into the night sky, I tried to keep my mind off the sadder thoughts that seemed to be on repeat lately. Sam deserved better, and I was exhausted from it all. I needed a break.

The sharp creak of the front door pulled me from my thoughts, and Jungkook's familiar voice broke the quiet—loud and bright, just like always. I couldn't help the smile that tugged at my lips. He was exactly what I needed, even if I wasn't sure I could match his energy tonight.

"Guess who!" Jungkook called, bounding onto the porch, his grin as wide as ever. "Hope you two haven't died of boredom without me!"

Sam smirked, standing up and leaning against the railing, arms crossed. "Not yet," she shot back. "But the quiet was nice while it lasted."

I chuckled softly but stayed quiet otherwise. The silence had been nice, and I wasn't quite ready to let it go. Jungkook's energy filled the space, bright and insistent, but I could already feel how drained I was from earlier.

"Perfect!" Jungkook plopped a couple of bottles on the table with a clink. "That's why I brought reinforcements. Drinks to celebrate surviving another day in this lovely mess we call life."

"Getting drunk sounds nice," I muttered under my breath, the words tasting bitter. I didn't feel like we were surviving all that well—maybe it was just me. But alcohol? Alcohol I could manage.

Sam glanced at me, her expression unreadable, then turned back to Jungkook. "And you think drinks are going to solve everything?"

"No," Jungkook shrugged, undeterred. "But they won't make it worse, right? And besides, who says no to a little fun?"

I let out a hollow laugh, the sound cracking in the still air. "Fun," I said, shaking my head. "Don't know if I'll be much help with that."

Jungkook's grin faltered, his eyes flicking toward me, then away. "Hey, come on," he said, his voice softer now. "You're still here, Yoongi. That's gotta count for something."

The words landed like stones in my chest. I gripped the bottle he handed me, the cold glass calming me for a moment. "I guess so," I said, barely above a whisper.

Sam straightened, her teasing demeanor fading. "Yoongi..." she started, but I shook my head.

"I'm fine, Sam," I said, my voice sharper than I intended. "Just a rough day. Can we just crack open whatever the kid brought and have a good time?"

Jungkook shifted uncomfortably, his bottle clinking as he set it down. "We all have bad days," he said steadily. "You’ve been having a tough time lately, and I don't think it's fair for anyone to make you feel bad about it. I can leave if that's easier. You two seemed fine before I got here."

"It's fine, Kook," I chuckled, touched by his thoughtfulness. "It's not your fault I'm so..." I trailed off, unsure how to finish.

Jungkook's expression softened, and he reached over, giving my shoulder a gentle nudge. "Hey. We're all in this mess together, right?"

Sam sighed, stepping closer. "You're too busy shutting us out to let us help," she said quietly. "But we're not going anywhere, Yoongi. We're here."

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. Their words didn't fix anything. They didn't make the weight on my chest any lighter or the darkness any less suffocating. But for the first time in a long time, they made me feel less alone.

"Now, come on," Sam teased, nudging my shoulder just enough to pull me out of my spiraling thoughts. "You're being so depressing you've got Kook acting serious. That's a first."

"Hey, I can be serious," Jungkook protested, though his usual smile was back, not quite reaching his eyes. "But right now? I'd rather laugh with my friends than sit around dwelling on things I can't change."

I raised my bottle in a half-hearted toast. "Sometimes, laughter is all we've got."

Jungkook lifted his own bottle, grinning. "To laughter, and to the best friends a guy could ask for."

Sam rolled her eyes, but her smile was genuine. "Yeah, yeah. Don't get all mushy on us now."

We clinked our bottles together, the sound echoing softly into the night. The weight on my chest didn't disappear, but it felt a little lighter.

"I'll kick Chief Kim's ass for you in a heartbeat," Sam joked after taking a sip.

"And I'll turn Bo into a goat," I added, trying to keep the mood light.

Sam giggled. "We'd actually get some use out of her then."

"You two are so mean," Jungkook laughed, shaking his head.

"It's part of the charm," Sam shot back, her grin widening.

We finished our first drinks quickly, and Jungkook was more than happy to crack open a few more. The night was young, and the smell of the bonfire still lingered in Mi-Jeong's backyard. I used to love that smell, but now it brought back memories I didn't want—the kind that made me squeeze my eyes shut and remind myself that I was safe. That nothing bad was going to happen.

"So," Jungkook said, leaning forward, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "what's next? More drinks? Truth or dare? I want to make things interesting."

"Let's not get too wild," Sam warned, though the curiosity in her smirk betrayed her. "We've got enough chaos in our lives. Don't think we need any more drama."

"True," Jungkook agreed, his grin softening. "But hey, we might as well have fun while we can. Those bastards will be back eventually."

Sam's expression shifted, a playful glint in her eyes. "How about a round of 'Devil's Lie'? Ever played, Yoongi?"

I raised an eyebrow, the corner of my mouth twitching despite myself. "Who hasn't? Are you sure you're ready to lose?"

Sam laughed, leaning in so close I could feel her breath. "Try me," she challenged.

Jungkook let out a playful hoot. He'd always said he wanted Sam and me to end up together, something about "eternal happiness" for his only friends. Sam and I just laughed it off. She didn't do the whole marriage and kids thing, and I was perfectly happy without any strings attached.

Jungkook tilted his head toward the house. "Hang on. I'll go see if Momma Park has a deck lying around." He disappeared inside, leaving Sam and me in the warm night air.

A moment later, Jungkook returned, holding a slightly battered deck of cards in one hand, a triumphant grin on his face.

Sam helped me over to the small table on the porch. I could see it was a shade of a mid-tone grey, but the design—a dark shape curled up on itself—was still a bit blurry. I settled into a chair, trying not to cringe as Sam's chair dragged loudly against the wood.

"Alright, game refresher," Jungkook announced, setting the cards on the table. "The rules are simple: play a card face down and say what it is. If no one calls your bluff, the game moves on. If someone thinks you're lying and they're right, you drink. If you're telling the truth and they call you out, they drink. First to lose all their cards wins."

Sam's eyes lit up as she grabbed her drink. "Finally, a game I was born to win."

I smirked, picking up my bottle. "We'll see about that."

Jungkook shuffled the cards with surprising dexterity, then dealt them out. "Let's make it interesting," he added, grinning. "Every round starts with 'I bet the Devil,' because why not?"

Sam leaned forward, her grin mischievous. "Oh, this is going to get ugly."

Jungkook went first, laying down a card. "I bet the Devil... this is a seven of spades. Also, I had a crush on a teacher once."

Sam groaned. "Seriously? That's your big confession?"

"I think he's lying about the card," I interjected, squinting at him.

Jungkook turned it over with a flourish—it was a seven of spades. "Drink up, Yoongi."

I groaned as Sam burst out laughing. "I'm going to be so bad at this. I can't see your faces that well without the moonlight."

"I can get a lantern," Jungkook offered, but I shook my head.

Fire wasn’t as bad as direct sunlight, but my eyes were sensitive enough right now that it added some strain.

"I'll manage."

"My turn," Sam said, sliding a card down with theatrical flair. "I bet the Devil... this is a king of hearts. I've never been with a woman before."

I squinted at her, trying to gauge the truth. "The card's a lie," I said confidently. "And that story is complete bullshit, too."

She flipped it over—it was a king of hearts. "Nice try, Yoongi. Bottoms up!"

"What about the story?" Jungkook asked.

"Oh, a complete lie," Sam replied, already reaching for her drink.

Jungkook leaned back, watching us with a grin as I took a reluctant sip. "This is going better than I expected," he admitted, placing his next card. "I bet the Devil... this is an ace of clubs. And I never snuck out at night."

Sam snorted. "You're full of it. No one makes it to your age without sneaking out."

“Card?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Bullshit,” I said.

“Think he’s being honest about the card,” Sam waved me off.

Jungkook flipped the card over—it wasn't an ace. Sam cursed under her breath and took a long sip while Jungkook gave us a smug look. "Told you I've got a good poker face."

"Good boy," I teased, sticking my tongue out at him.

"Mom's favorite," he shot back with a grin.

Jungkook had some of the brightest smiles I'd ever seen. The only flaw was his slightly too-long front teeth, but even that suited him. Namjoon's were a close second, but I didn't see him smile enough to compare.

I wished I could see him smile more. He was always so... compelling.

The night carried on like that—the game quickly evolving from simple bluffs to playful confessions and outright ridiculous lies. By the end, we were leaning into each other, laughing so hard that tears pricked at the corners of our eyes. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough for now.

The dim light filtering through the tavern's grimy windows felt like tiny knives stabbing at my eyes, even from where I was tucked away in the corner. Without sunglasses, stepping into full daylight wasn't even an option—the pain just wasn't worth it. I hunched over my excuse for breakfast: rubbery eggs and toast so dry it could double as a coaster. Hunger insisted I try, but every bite tasted like last night—greasy, regretful, and tinged with the bitterness of too much ale and too little honesty.

I pushed the plate aside with a metallic scrape, wincing at how sharp the sound was. The murmur of voices around me tangled together, a blur of lives I wasn't part of, just out of reach. Conversations mixed into a static hum, like I was behind some invisible barrier, listening to a life that wasn't mine anymore.

The creak of the tavern door broke the monotony, a cool draft brushing past as it opened. Two voices followed—one light and easy, as familiar as home. Hoseok's laughter rang out, warm and effortless, undercut by Hyuna's softer chuckle. Their voices cut through the haze like sunlight piercing storm clouds.

"Mind if we join you?" Hoseok asked, his tone as laid-back as ever, though I could hear the weariness beneath it.

I gestured to the empty seats, managing a small smile. "Go ahead. Just a heads-up—the food's as bad as it looks."

"If Yala cooked it, I can imagine it's bad," Hyuna said, eyeing my plate with a smirk. "Greasy, stale, and questionable at best?"

"Pretty much," I muttered, pushing the plate farther away.

Hoseok chuckled, but the sound lacked its usual spark. "Hey, at least it's not rations out of a tin like the copiae are getting in the field. I'd take overcooked eggs any day."

We shared a weak laugh, but the moment was fleeting. The weight of everything we'd been through, the constant worry, crept back in—thick and heavy. Hoseok leaned back, his eyes drifting somewhere far away. "Bridd saved my life in that last battle," he said quietly. "I don't even know how, but she did. I keep thinking... it should be me out there instead of her, alone."

Silence settled over us, broken only by the clinking of glasses and low murmurs from across the room. A pang shot through my chest, the reminder of Bridd's absence cutting deep. She'd been our anchor, the one who kept us steady. Without her, it felt like we were all just... floating.

"You miss her," I said softly, voicing what we all felt.

Hoseok nodded, his face tight with worry. "We all do. But Jimin's taking it the hardest. He's been beating himself up since that argument they had before she left. This war... it's tearing us apart."

Hyuna's expression softened, her eyes distant. "I keep thinking I should've said something to her, thanked her for everything. But I didn't. None of us did, really."

"We didn't either. Barely saw her after she woke up," I swallowed, my voice rough. "She's the heart of our families, and I don't think she ever realized how much she held us together."

Hoseok's hand rested on the table, his fingers tapping lightly. "I can't even imagine what it'd be like if she doesn't come back. Jimin's trying to act strong, but he's falling apart."

"He's been so distant lately," I murmured. "He doesn't know who he is without her anymore."

"Namjoon's been keeping him company," Hyuna nodded, her voice quiet. "He's hardly around here anymore. Only talks to people when he has to."

"I've been trying to keep an eye on him," Hoseok muttered. "He's easy to find—training, Bridd's place, or scouting. He's here all day, then slips away when things get quiet to spend time at her house. He's been fixing it up."

That brought a small grin to my face. It was nice to think it'd be ready for her when she got back. Unless, of course, something happened to it again. I doubted the elves would bother returning to the clearing. The witches who'd gone to Clarcton to find family said everyone thought Y/N was dead when they found her cottage destroyed and 'the Bird' gone.

We didn't correct them until they were back in Foxglove. Y/N's whereabouts were classified now.

"I'm worried he might hurt himself if something happens to her," Hyuna whispered.

"He might, even if he doesn't know," Hoseok replied. "We're not meant to be apart from our mates for this long. He must be going insane."

Their words echoed the fears I'd been trying to bury. I clenched my fists under the table, feeling the rough wood grain beneath my fingers, focusing on the tavern's hum of voices and clinking glasses. Out there, life went on, uninterrupted. But here, in our little corner, everything felt like it was standing still.

Whether we liked it or not, the three of us would be on the front lines.

And everyone knew I might not make it.

No one wanted to admit it.

Hoseok broke the silence with a sigh. "Yoongi," he said quietly, "have you thought about what happens after all this? After the war?"

The question hit me harder than I expected. Survival had become everything—the only thing. Thinking beyond it felt strange. I wasn't sure I'd see the end of it. With my eyesight the way it was, I felt weak, at a major disadvantage. Magic was helpful, but without the confidence to use it, it was useless.

Most of my spells fizzled out lately, and I was too frustrated and upset to keep trying.

"I know with your eyes, fighting might be tough," Hoseok continued, not noticing how still I'd become. "I'd understand if you wanted to stay back, maybe help out at the palace with Sol. She's a bit immature at times, but she's a sweet girl. You'd be good for her."

I stopped listening.

I couldn't be stuck on the sidelines. I wasn't meant to be there. I was a strong fighter—the best at night by a long shot. Jin might have more brute strength, his energy electric and full of fire, but I was just as deadly.

I could make the ground split in two. I could turn blades of grass into vines strong enough to break steel. I could summon a hurricane with a whisper. I could do so many things if they'd let me.

If I could let myself.

Then the sound of screaming rushed in my ears, and a cold sweat broke out across my skin.

I needed air.

I managed to get outside, bumping into a few chairs and tables on the way. The cool breeze hit my face, and I leaned back against the weathered wall, letting the cold ground me. It cut through the fog in my head, the chilly morning a relief from the tavern's stuffiness.

The smell of blood and ash had filled the air, screams and the clash of steel blurring together. I remembered the weight of their stares, how hard it was to breathe, the sharpness of their blades. The elves had charged us swiftly, mercilessly. I'd fought, felt the sting of cuts I barely noticed through the adrenaline. I could still see the glow of that elf's purple eyes as he reached out and covered my face. And then, in one blinding moment, all I felt was searing, burning pain.

I had bested him in the end, but fighting after that had been nearly impossible. The only reason I'd been able to call out to Y/N was because things hadn't gotten as bad as they eventually would. While I was in the palace with Enver and Namjoon, everything went black. The small bit of vision I'd recovered was thanks to the countless healing spells everyone had tried on me.

I met Sam during that time—when everything was blurry and upside down. She told everyone the "shining" had its advantages, but that my body needed to heal on its own. Not many survive the initial burning, she'd said, and we'd have to wait and see what became of me. It took months for the full effects to settle in, but she could already tell my vision was adjusting to the dark. Each day, my eyes became more metallic, turning silver as they healed. She said the grayscale was a good thing.

I didn't believe her. Not at all.

Sam befriended me out of some morbid curiosity about what would happen to the little witch who survived elf magic. Now, she wanted to sleep with me. Quietus were strange creatures, but I'd come to adore Sam and all her odd quirks.

"Yoongi?"

I turned, steadying myself against the rough wall. Hoseok's footsteps were careful, like he didn't want to startle me. I hadn't even heard him come outside.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, concern threading through his words.

"I just... needed a minute." I tried to keep my voice steady. "I'm easily overwhelmed lately. Apologize to Hyuna for me. That was really rude."

Hoseok was silent for a moment, then I felt his hand on my shoulder—warm and grounding. "We're all carrying more than we should," he said gently. "You can talk to me. Maybe it'll help. What does it feel like?"

A bitter laugh slipped out before I could stop it. "What are you referring to? My eyes or the nightmares?"

"The nightmares." His voice softened. "I know enough about your condition. I just want to know about you right now."

I shook my head, pushing my glasses further up my nose. The sun was bothering my eyes even more out here, but I barely noticed. Everything was too bright, too sharp.

"It feels like they never stop," I admitted. "Even when my eyes are open, they keep happening. Sometimes I don't know what's real anymore. It's... frightening."

Hoseok took a deep breath beside me. "Hyuna's been having the same issue," he said, leaning against the wall next to me. "Waking up screaming my name. When we got separated, she barely noticed, but seeing me hurt like that was horrible for her. Her friends died. Both of my parents died. It's been really hard."

I hadn't realized he'd lost his family. I knew his older sister was still around the village. The Jungs were good at covering their pain, it seemed. I reached out, my hands fumbling until they found his shoulder—maybe a bit too close to his neck, but he didn't pull away.

"I'm sorry," I said, feeling his fingers brush against my hand before enveloping it. His hands were large and warm—scorching, almost. I didn't know how Y/N dealt with it; it felt like I might melt. "I didn't realize. I would have gone to the funeral."

He shook his head. "We couldn't have proper funerals for anyone. Too many bodies. They burned them and gave the ashes to Ji-woo. We're too afraid to display them right now. They could get destroyed in another fight."

"I can charm them," I blurted out. "Make the porcelain sturdier. I can't make it unbreakable—charming isn't really my specialty; that's Y/N's thing. But I'm good enough to give you some peace of mind."

"We'd appreciate that," Hoseok said, squeezing my hand. "Thank you."

Bridd's absence gnawed at me. If she were here, she'd promise Hoseok and anyone else with a vase of ashes that they'd never break again as soon as she got her hands on them. Funny—we used to tease her and Wendy for struggling with defensive magic. Wendy said she didn't believe in violence but knew enough to defend herself if needed. Y/N was even less into it, but she was so resourceful she scared even the best fighters among us.

I'd never seen someone make fire so quickly and easily before. A natural talent, my mother had said. It was her only truly offensive attack, but even I could admit her protective spells were where she truly shined. Healing, shields, and all the strange and whimsical spells she made up to escape quickly and quietly—they were fascinating.

My heart felt heavier.

"What happened between Bridd and Jimin?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. It was a question that had haunted me since she left.

We all knew the gist: an argument that got out of hand, and Y/N had a really bad day. She left in a flurry of emotions and disappeared. Many of us were quick to blame Jimin for her leaving, but when details about Sol being the catalyst emerged, that blame shifted.

I felt bad for the girl. She didn't think Y/N would run off and hurt herself. I understood she was trying, in some ways, to get her to stay by making sure the one person who could convince her not to go was extremely against the whole idea. Unfortunately, she didn't know my friend all that well and ended up sending her packing even sooner than planned.

Sol was a child. Eighteen was barely an adult, and she'd been pampered and treated like a princess her entire life. What did anyone expect? For her to be mature and handle things like a seasoned warrior? Not likely. Especially not when she had such a sweet and bubbly husband like Taehyung, who just wanted to please her.

They still were hardly speaking.

Hoseok sighed heavily. "It's complicated," he said. "They argued about Sol, about her leaving. Bridd was trying to protect him, and Jimin pushed for answers. Things got heated, and they both said things they regretted. But Jimin..." He paused, his voice dropping. "He's a mess without her. Regret doesn't even cover it."

"I know. I guess I'm just trying to figure out what everyone is doing about the elves. Thelma hasn't been very helpful."

"The council meets daily, but we can't get on the same page. Namjoon, Jungkook, and I are doing most of the talking. Jimin's making hundreds of war plans for every scenario you could think of. There are so many maps in that room. Bo and Kim are trying to ease the minds of the older folks. Taehyung is shockingly level-headed, working with Jimin to iron out details."

"And Sol? Is she just hiding while we pick up the pieces?" I couldn't help the sharpness in my voice.

No one had seen the Luna since her wedding. It wasn't a good look, and when we heard about Jungkook being her personal guard through all this, we nearly stormed the palace to demand why she thought she deserved special treatment. Heji had calmed us down, but dissent for Sol spread through the village like wildfire.

Hoseok's grip tightened on my hand. "It's not that simple, Yoongi. They're keeping a close eye on her in the palace. She's trying to keep her family safe and deal with everything she's set in motion."

"That doesn't excuse her," I snapped, anger spilling over. "It doesn't excuse any of this. We're out here fighting while she sits behind walls. And Y/N..." My voice cracked, the ache in my chest almost too much to bear.

"Yoongi." Hoseok's voice was firm, cutting through my anger. "We're all in this mess, every one of us. The girl is having a mental breakdown in there. She can't even get out of bed anymore. Taehyung won't speak to her, and she's miserable. She tried... harming herself a few days ago, and now they have guards watching her around the clock. Blaming Sol won't bring Bridd back or make this any easier."

"I know." The anger faded, leaving only emptiness behind. "But it feels like everything's falling apart, and I'm completely useless. You know no one expects me to survive the next fight."

Hoseok let go of my hand, and I dropped mine from his shoulder. I could see his silhouette leaning back against the wall beside me. The light made everything an overwhelming flood of white and gold, edges blurring and details lost in the glare. I hoped I would find something better than these stupid human inventions with time.

The edges allowed sunlight in depending on which way my head turned and the coating on them wasn’t as dark and thick as I would have liked. Yet another thing Y/N would have figured out how to fix. She had the most creative spell ideas out of everyone I had ever met.

She might have even been able to find a way to get my eyes back to normal given enough time.

"You're stronger than you think," Hoseok said gently. "You made it through that battle. You're still here, and that means something, even if it doesn't feel like it right now."

“I’m here for now,” I rebuttal, unhappily.

“You heard Samanya, sooner or later your eyes will be better than any of ours at night. Then, you’ll be the most useful person in the entire village.”

“Sure.”

The street around us was still, the morning quiet making me far more unnerved. Birds did not chirp anymore. Most of the deer were in hiding. Insects and the occasional frog were the only sounds. At that moment, it felt like we were in a bubble, the noise and weight of the war held at bay just for a second.

“Is Sol alright?” I asked.

“Doing better,” Hoseok huffed. “She’s not really sure what she’s supposed to be doing, and no one is willing to let her help with anything now. Bo isn’t letting her in on any of the war meetings, Namjoon’s father thinks she’s too stupid and frail to be any help, and I think Tae’s just too overwhelmed and overloaded to step in between them.”

“Still not talking?” I asked.

Hoseok shook his head. “He talked to her last night, and he’s been trying to spend more time with her, but Sol’s not being very receptive to him right now. Koda has been with her mostly, and she said Sol hasn’t eaten or spoken for days. Weeks if you want to count her just sipping on water and force feeding herself crackers and bread. She looks horrible.”

“And Taehyung?”

“Worried,” Hoseok cleared his throat. “Sorry, I have a cough. He’s just spread too thin right now, and no one is being very helpful. Jimin, maybe, but he’s too distracted to really give much advice. It’s why I think you going and being around Sol might help.”

I laughed, “And why would I be the ultimate solution to all of their problems?”

“Because you’re nice, and Sol needs a friend.”

I shook my head. The thought of spending time with the girl who was the reason my best friend left was not appealing to me, but I did understand where Hoseok was coming from. Even if I did not particularly care for her, it wasn’t nice to hear that she had attempted to take her own life. No one should feel like that is their only option.

Maybe I will stop by one of these days. See if I could get the girl a decent meal. Gods knows she was already skinny enough before. Has to be practically wasting away now.

I heard the tavern door open and slam shut. Heavy footsteps fell and were coming for the two of us. A good guess was that it was Hyuna. Peeking over Hoseok’s shoulder, I saw his wife.

She was tall and slim, just as skin and bones as her husband, with long hair. I remember meeting her once or twice before, but couldn’t remember the color of her hair. It was brown, not too light or dark, but that was all. Her skin was dark, the color reminded me of a bronze-gold Viola. She was pretty. I remember thinking she was pretty.

Right now, she just looked like a stick figure drawn in ink that was smudged with the side of a hand.

Hyuna’s voice broke the silence as she joined us, her tone steady and sure. “Are you alright?” Her hand found mine, warm and solid. “You looked shaken up.”

I swallowed hard, nodding as some of the tightness in my chest eased. “I’m alright, Hyuna,” I said, my voice thick. “Just a few things I’d rather not think about.”

“I have those, too,” she replied, her eyes kind.

The morning air was crisp and biting, but with my friends beside me, I felt a spark of warmth, a small flicker of hope breaking through the shadows. We’d lost so much, and there was still more to face, but standing there, I felt like maybe we had enough to hold on to.

“Come here, baby,” Hoseok muttered, grabbing hold of his wife. Hyuna melted into his side. He looked back at me. “We need to get back to the palace. Hyuna’s scheduled to watch Sol in an hour and I need to get back to the council room before Jimin rips Bo’s head off.”

“No problem, man.”

“Will you be alright?” Hyuna asked.

“Always am,” I replied.

They each gave me a small hug before heading off towards the palace.

I leaned against the cold, rough wall of the building, trying to catch my breath as my mind spiraled through everything weighing on us—the war, the losses, the unknowns stretching out like an endless road. I closed my eyes, hoping for a moment of peace, but the darkness clung to me, seeping into every corner of my mind.

The sound of footsteps pulled me back to reality. I turned toward them, and a flicker of relief went through me when I saw Sam and Jungkook. I couldn't see if they looked as rough as I did, but it didn’t really matter to me. We had fun last night and I felt bad for possibly ruining that light atmosphere we’d been able to hold onto for a few hours. Hoseok and Hyuna had most likely run into them on their way out. It was the only way either of them would have known I was here.

“Hey,” Sam said, her voice soft. “You okay?”

I forced a small smile, though it felt like it could break at any second. “Just needed some air,” I replied, my voice sounding as worn out as I felt. “How about you two? Holding up?”

Jungkook shrugged, his jaw tight, his usual spark dimmed. “Same as everyone else, I guess. Just… trying to make sense of it. Hangovers don't mix well with war meetings. Happy Jung is relieving me. I hate seeing my cousin like that.”

Sam took a small step closer. “Hyuna told us you were here,” she said gently, her voice carrying the same sadness that weighed on all of us. “She told me what happened. Are you sure you’re alright? She made it seem like you freaked out.”

I swallowed, the ache in my chest tightening. “Yeah,” I managed, barely above a whisper. “I’m just… everyone keeps talking about Bridd, and it brings back a lot of memories. I hate that she’s not here right now. The witches aren’t united and nothing is getting done. I’m pissed off and sad.”

The three of us stood there, caught in a silence heavy with grief. Y/N had been more than just a friend to me—she’d been my anchor, hope, and strength when I needed it most. And now, that strength was gone. She had made me feel like I was worth something. Like I could be something more than a conquest. She was the only person that we grew up with who made me feel like I was more than just a piece of meat. Nixie and Delta had been helpful as well, but the romance always left room for doubt in my mind. With Y/N I knew she just really loved and cared about me with or without strings attached.

She was like that with all of us. The most well-respected and adored little witch as far as the eye could see. And we all knew it. Jin, Wendy, our families, and the little witches—big and small—were all aware of the gaping hole we kept avoiding talking about. We needed her here right now, and nothing Thelma or anyone else did could change that fact.

The fact that Enver and Thelma might have known she would leave prior to any of this happening made my stomach churn uncomfortably.

“Have I ever told you I talked to Jin before?” Sam finally broke the silence.

“No,” My face scrunched up. “Why would you do that?”

“It was back when your vision was at its worst. Before Bridd even woke up.”

“Oh,” I said back, dumbly. Jin never acted like he even knew Sam existed half the time. The fact that he’d spoken with her at all was news to me. Wendy couldn’t have known about it. She would have told me. She wouldn’t have been able to help herself.

Wendy was bad with secrets. Jin, too.

Huh. Maybe I didn’t know him as well as I thought I had.

“What’d he say?” I asked.

“I told him I was worried about what would happen to everyone if she never woke up,” Sam’s voice was like butter. “That hope within your people would die out as quickly as it went in. He told me that Bridd used to say hope was like a stubborn weed. You could try to pull it out as many times as you wanted, but it would always come back, even stronger.” She let out a soft laugh, more sad than happy. “She woke up, of course. The whole conversation didn’t really mean much of anything afterwards, but I can’t help but think about that sometimes. Because she was right. You could see how defeated she was—her eyes couldn’t lie, but she still clung to the hope of finding something better and bringing it back. An impossible task and she looked at it with nothing but mild annoyance and disdain.”

Sam laughed in disbelief. “And then she went off on her own like a fucking lunatic. She left this place thinking that her fiancé hated her, her friends betrayed her, and that she would die out there one way or another—and she still went. She wanted all of us to live even if she died. She had hope that she’d make it far enough to find Naida and whatever happened after didn’t matter.”

“She believed in that hope, even when we couldn’t,” Jungkook added, his voice raw. “She made us believe, too.”

I nodded, the sharp ache of missing her settling deep. “She wouldn’t want us to give up,” I said, feeling the truth of it in my bones. “She fought for this—for us. I can’t let her down.”

Sam reached out, her hand resting on my shoulder, grounding me. “Your friend is as crazy as Queen Terra was, and that woman stood tall against the elves. A mass genocide and she was still screaming. That’s what your girl is doing, and we will be doing the same.”

Jungkook moved closer, placing his hand on my other shoulder, his grip strong. “For Bridd,” he said, his voice filled with quiet determination, “and for everyone we’ve lost.”

Bridd had given everything she had to protect us, to stand for something bigger than herself. And even though she was gone, her spirit lived on in us, in the bonds we shared, in the strength that kept us going. The road ahead was dark, full of uncertainty, but we’d walk it together.

As the sun slowly rose, casting light across the worn cobblestones, I felt a hint of warmth—a reminder that dawn always comes after the darkest nights. We couldn’t change the past or erase what we’d lost, but we could honor Bridd’s memory by holding onto hope and fighting on. She’d left us with that much: a spark of resilience even in the deepest dark.

“For Bridd,” I murmured.

And for once, the light didn’t bother me so much.

I stood by the river, watching as the last of the sunlight hit the water. The river sparkled, flowing east where it would inevitably end up in the Talay Ocean. Around me, the sky was deepening. I had never realized how much I had taken sunsets for granted until I could no longer watch the colors swirl together. It was twilight now, and the sky would be streaked with crimson and plum. Sunsets this close to the water were always the most beautiful.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to reach for my magic. It used to come so easily, just a flick of my wrist, a thought. But now, it felt like pulling teeth. The light that once danced at my fingertips was nothing more than a weak spark, flickering out before it even formed. Frustration twisted in my chest, sharp and tight.

Nothing really was the same anymore.

Clashing metal, the roar of flames, blood, wolves at my feet, swirling smoke clouding my vision, white hair, violet eyes, burning, and then the screaming.

Always the screaming.

I tried to shake off the memory, forcing myself to focus on the gentle sounds of the river. It was a futile distraction at best. Bridd’s face surfaced in my mind, and I felt the sting of her absence all over again. I could almost hear Jin’s laughter, taunting me with each failure, each flicker of magic that sputtered out.

“Not so hot now, Min,” his voice was distorted and dripping with more malice than my friend was capable of.

I clenched my fists, trying to channel the frustration into something useful—anything that might remind me I hadn’t lost myself entirely. I flicked my wrist. Nothing came.

“Come on,” I muttered under my breath. “You can do this.” But all I got were a few faint sparks that faded into nothing. Every failure widened the hollow ache inside, gnawing at my resolve.

The riverbank was too quiet. I wondered if it was as lonely as I was. I groaned, kicking my feet and connecting with a few stray rocks. The sun had finally set, and I ripped the stupid glasses off my face. With each passing day, things became clearer. Tonight, the lines were sharper, and the details between the trees a bit more noticeable. Of course, still no color had come back. Cadoc said it most likely never would.

Tears welled up in my eyes. My entire chest tightened with all the frustration, anger, and hopelessness I felt deep within me. I was a failure. I was nothing. I was...

I wished someone was there to break me out of my own head for a while.

A rustling in the bushes made me jump, my body tensing instinctively. But it was only a bird, flapping away, leaving me alone again. I sighed, looking up at the sky. At least I could make out the stars again. I looked around, hoping to find Scorpius.

I found it tucked away, forming a ‘J.’ I smiled. Antares was the easiest to spot, a faintly red and brightly lit star. The only thing that could rival the other star called Mars. I was not sure how they got their names, or when, but it was interesting to look at them all. This, at least, I could still do.

“Today is a new day,” I mumbled, tearing my eyes away from the sky.

I tried the spell again, but again, nothing happened. Again. A faint spark. All I wanted to do was a very simple, very basic electricity spell. Each failed attempt felt like a punch to the gut. I hated being reduced to this weak and pathetic state where the very thing I was born to do felt impossible.

I flicked my wrist. “Leohtfæt.”

A white-hot bolt shot out, but instead of flicking out like it should have, it exploded in a small burst just after leaving the tip of my index finger. I shouted, pain shooting through my arm. A murder of crows flew up from the surrounding trees in a flurry. None of them made a sound.

I couldn’t hold it in anymore, and I let out a shout—raw and loud, breaking the quiet. I kicked at the dirt, wishing I could do something—anything—to shake this feeling. I was in a cage, a small songbird, and I couldn’t figure out why I wanted to sing anymore. Beside me, the river kept flowing, steady and indifferent. I stood beside it, stuck.

“Get it together,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “You’re stronger than this.”

I didn’t believe myself.

I took a few steps back from the river’s edge until I felt the solid ground under my feet. It felt more reassuring than the wet mud had. My magic was still somewhere inside of me; I just needed to shake off the fear and regroup. I was able to make a bolt.

It blew up in my face, but it was more than I’d been able to do in a few weeks.

The river glowed underneath the moonlight, the world around me softening, muted. I leaned against a twisted tree, still caught up in the mess of my own frustration, when I heard her voice.

“Yoongi?” Sam called out.

It was soft, like she wasn’t sure if she should interrupt. I turned toward the sound and was struck by how much clearer she looked tonight. Her hair cascaded down her back, dark and perfectly straight, and she was wearing some kind of loose-fitting dress. I had never been able to see her features so clearly before. Bathed in a gentle, dream-like glow, she stood out against the trees like some sort of goddess.

Humans might even mistake her for one of their angels.

“I thought I might find you here.”

I tried to smile, though it probably looked tired. “Hey,” I said, my voice as worn as I felt. “Didn’t realize I’d been out here that long.”

Her footsteps were soft as she came closer. She was taking great care not to startle me. Footsteps and loud noises sometimes brought me back, and I’d be unable to speak for a few minutes. Her lips were pulled down into a half-frown. They were plump and full, and I rejoiced in being able to know that about her.

Such a far cry from a few days before on Mi-Jeong’s back porch.

“I just came from Jimin’s. He’s... well, he’s managing. Sort of,” she said quietly. “Namjoon and I kept him company for a while, but he ended up slipping out a few minutes ago.”

I swallowed, guilt biting deeper. “Is he alright?”

She hesitated, and I saw her shifting uncomfortably, searching for the right thing to say. I had never been able to see her squirm before. “Not really,” she admitted. “But he’s trying.” She found a rather large rock near the river’s edge and sat down. “Doesn’t sound like the magic training is going very well.”

I nodded, going over to sit beside her. She made room for me before leaning her head against my shoulder. Her small touches of affection were growing more common between us, but they did not bother me. In fact, I welcomed them. Even if I knew she had just been with Namjoon—I flushed as I thought of him—it never made me feel uncomfortable. If anything, it only made me want her beside me more.

It was almost like touching him.

“Nothing?” she asked, so gently that I almost wanted to cry.

“Yeah,” I said, lifting my hands. “I got a few sparks here and there, but it’s hit or miss. I need to start testing a few of the other simple spells and see if it’s just my defensive magic that’s clogged up.”

She didn’t speak right away. Her head stayed on my shoulder, and her hand came to claim one of my own. She pulled it down to rest in her lap. Her legs felt cold against my skin. Her thumb gently traced my knuckles.

“That’s better than before,” she said finally. “I think your body is still a bit afraid after what happened. Might be trying to keep you safe.”

Frustration spiked again, making my voice come out sharper than I intended. “It’s not that simple, Sam. Bodies don’t do that.”

She didn’t pull away, didn’t flinch. Instead, she squeezed my hand a little tighter. “No, it’s not simple. None of this is, but your body is far more complex than you think it is.”

I felt her lips against my neck. They were cold and wet. I shivered.

“It happened to me just after the Sarkan invasion,” she whispered in my ear. “I was a young girl, but I remember how afraid I was. I couldn’t do anything for years afterward. I felt just as human as the people who stole our land. So many of us were deeply affected.”

She sighed, shifting back to rest against my shoulder again. “I don’t think you’re all that different. King Castor, who wasn’t a king at the time, told us that our minds like to play tricks on us to protect themselves. Fear is the most powerful weapon in the universe. Have I ever told you about my time with the dragons?”

“No.”

She chuckled. “A story for another time, I suppose. They’re strong and brave people, but they understand much about the body that the rest of us don’t. His wife, Queen Affra, said she knew why iron hurt the fae people but no one ever believed her. It’s too long ago now to remember it, but I wish we’d taken them at their word sooner. It’s the only reason their numbers were able to recover so quickly after the end of the war.”

“I was always told it was because they fucked like rabbits.”

“Well, there’s that, too.”

We both shared a quiet laugh.

She slid her hand up my arm, her fingers tickling my skin, before she took hold of my bicep. “Being strong doesn’t mean you’re not scared,” she said. “It just means you keep going anyway.”

“Are you scared?” I asked, looking down at her face.

It was even easier to see it now. Her eyes were hooded, her nose too pointy and thin, and her face a perfect oval. She reminded me of a very beautiful fish. I leaned down and kissed her between her eyes. She hummed in contentment.

“More than I’ve ever been before.”

I swallowed, her honesty touching something deep inside me, a part of me I hadn’t let anyone near. “I don’t want to drag everyone down,” I said, my voice breaking.

“You’re not dragging anyone down,” she said, her voice fierce, eyes blazing. “Not me, at least. You matter, Yoongi. More than you even realize.”

Something warm flickered in my chest. “I just… I don’t want you to feel like you have to carry me.”

She kissed my cheek this time. “I care about you, Yoongi,” she said. It sounded like a promise. “And that’s not something you get to decide for me. I’m not going anywhere.”

I let out a shaky breath.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

She smiled, and I wished that I knew what color her lips were. Were they like strawberries or the dusty roses in my mother’s garden in Clarcton? “You don’t need to thank me,” she said softly. “Just let me be here, okay?”

I nodded, and we let the silence settle around us. The river murmured, the leaves rustled above, and as night crept in, I felt the gentle hum of life moving forward. Faintly, the crickets were beginning to chirp.

The darkness wasn’t gone—it never really was. It still hovered there, the screams clinging to my mind. But with Sam’s hand in mine, something shifted, and I could vaguely see through the cracks in the trees. They weren't very big, but they were just enough to let a little light in. I took a deep breath, letting the cool night air settle me, and felt more sure of things than I had in a long time.

“You’re right,” I said quietly, my voice a little stronger. “I’m fucking terrified and I don’t know what to do with all of these feelings. I’m so lost and scared, Sam.”

“One step at a time, okay? You’ll figure it out eventually.”

I nodded, feeling gratitude I couldn’t put into words.

After a moment, Sam’s tone shifted, her voice taking on that playful edge I’d come to know and love. Did I love Sam? I couldn’t be in love with her, but I guess I did feel something akin to love. “So, I’ve got some gossip for you,” she said.

My curiosity sparked, tugging me out of the heavy thoughts weighing me down. Shifting, I bent over. Sam giggled childishly. I dipped my fingers into the river, feeling the cool water wash over them, and the residual ache from the spell was gone. I heard her shuffling around until she leaned in beside me, her warmth pushing back against the chill of the night.

Sam wasn’t as warm as me, and nowhere near as warm as the wolves, but I expected an air elemental to be freezing. She said when she “merged.” That’s what they called it when they became more air than solid. Merging with the atmosphere, or whatever Cadoc had said.

I rarely spoke with him, and when I did, I didn’t pay attention. He was nice enough, but boring to converse with. Sam said he wasn’t around much anymore since he was the official diplomat between Queen Nerezza and the Elder Council. Lorcan was their link with General Drystan, and Sam was Jarisa’s, the King’s Consort’s, closest friend. A few other quietus had joined us here in Foxglove, but they were the least experienced warriors they had. From what Sam told me, her king and queen were still wary of working closely with the wolves. Y/N fleeing only added to their suspicion. If she were able to come back with Naida or Khione with her, the rest of the quietus would come as well.

Where Naida went, it was far more likely for the fire dragons to come as well, though no one seemed particularly confident that would be the case. Fire elementals enjoyed keeping to themselves.

“What’s the tea?” I asked, my tone lighter.

“Turns out Ji-Hyun was the one who tipped Sol off about Bridd,” she said in a low, conspiratorial voice. “Taehyung only confirmed it when she backed him into a corner. She didn’t really believe him until then, but whatever he told her is what she must have told Jimin. I’ve met with Taehyung a few times and he seems too sweet to make up lies.”

“Why would he do that?” I muttered, not really expecting an answer that would make any of this better. “I’ve never understood his disdain for Y/N. No one she’s ever met has disliked her so quickly, and even if they did, they’d get over it once they talked to her. She’s quite likable once you get past the quick temper and awkwardness.”

Sam leaned in closer, her breath warm against the cool air. “Lorcan overheard Ji-Hyun arguing with his wife,” she whispered. “Ji-Hyun’s best friend died in the siege, and he blames your little bird for not warning them. He just assumed the worst from the beginning, and he’s too stubborn to squash the beef. He’s angry, Yoongi, and telling Sol was his way of lashing out.”

I clenched my jaw, feeling bitterness rise. Ji-Hyun’s grudge was like poison, and his need for revenge was threatening to tear apart everything we’d fought so hard to hold together. “Great,” I muttered sarcastically. “Just what we need. Another reason for everyone to turn on each other.”

Sam sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Exactly. Everyone’s already on edge, and Lorcan thinks Jimin doesn’t know yet. He’s been around his brother too often for him to think he went behind his back in that way.”

I stared out at the river, watching the water flow. I could picture Jimin’s face once he learned the whole truth of things—the anger that would rise up in him, fierce and unchecked. “If Jimin finds out,” I whispered, the weight of it settling on my chest, “it wouldn’t surprise me if he killed Ji-Hyun. And that would be the end of whatever stability we have left.”

“That’s why we can’t let it get to that point,” Sam said, her voice sharper now. “We have to handle this carefully. One wrong move, and everything could fall apart.”

I let out a long breath. “But what can we really do, Sam? The Parks aren’t exactly known for subtlety, and Ji-Hyun just has to say the wrong thing at the wrong time, and he’ll have to deal with Jimin and whoever else feels some type of way about Y/N leaving.”

“Maybe,” she admitted, her tone softening. “But we can watch, we can listen, and we can wait. If the opportunity presents itself, we’ll talk to him. Unfortunately, this is the smallest little village I’ve ever been to, and I doubt anyone can keep their mouths shut for that long. Wouldn’t surprise me if he already knew and was just saving face.”

I turned toward her. “It would explain why he’s staying away from his mom’s house.”

She nudged my shoulder, a smile clear in her voice. “Look at you being smart.”

A real smile crept onto my face. “No one’s ever liked me for my rugged good looks.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing you have both, Mr. Min.”

After a beat, I snapped out of the lovestruck, dumb, idiot stare I was in. Was I in love with Sam? No, Yoongi, you’re just infatuated with a girl who’s being nice to you. Not rocket science.

“So he’s punishing Y/N for something she couldn’t control?” I shook my head. “If you haven’t noticed, my jaw is still firmly in place.”

Sam nodded, her expression hardening. “Yeah, but he’s misjudged how this will play out. Callisto isn’t taking it lightly either. If she finds out about Ji-Hyun’s involvement, things could get… ugly.”

That made me laugh. “If there’s anything that girl can do, it’s shit-talk with the best of them. I miss having her at the house.”

“One of the more entertaining people I’ve met here,” Sam agreed. “The other morning she called Namjoon an ‘absolute walnut.’ And then when Ji-Hyun laughed, she made the funniest faux-surprised face I have ever seen and shouted, ‘Oh my God! It Speaks!’ Lorcan and I were cracking up.”

“Damn spitfire,” I chuckled.

“You’d think she was a dragon the way she talks to these wolves.”

“Brave little human.”

“Brave, indeed.”

The evening deepened, stars twinkling brightly above us. It was quieter than usual. The crickets were a small hum in the background, and the frogs were giving us some space. The birds were in the trees, sitting silently and watching. I wondered if Jin and his family had spoken with them. We’d know when something was nearby that way. It would be smart strategizing. I’d talk to my mother about that and see what she knew.

Maybe I could go with Thelma and see what I could do to help. Being Sol’s babysitter popped up in my head, but it didn’t feel like it would be much help. I glanced at Sam and felt my heart melting.

She really was the most important thing in my life right now.

“Thanks, Sam,” I murmured, my voice catching as I looked away. It didn’t feel like enough, but I meant it. “For sticking with me through all of this.”

She gave the back of my head a gentle peck. “No need to thank me, baby,” she said, her voice as steady as ever. “We’re in this together. Besides,” she added, a little smile creeping into her tone, “you’re the only thing that makes me want to come back to this shitty little village anymore. Honestly, I would have only come to see Joon and leave. Leave Cadoc to do all of the bureaucratic bullshit.”

A laugh escaped me, breaking through the quiet. “So we balance each other out, huh? Fire and ice?”

“Fire and ice,” she echoed, her eyes gleaming with that familiar spark of mischief. “But honestly, I think you’re more earth, and I’m made from… you know, air.”

“Smart ass.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

And I did.

I stared into my drink, the amber liquid swirling in slow circles, like it was trying to keep up with the chaos in my mind. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was still there, still in that battle, still surrounded by everyone I loved. But it wasn’t real, it never had been. It was just a nightmare.

In my dream, I was the last one standing. Everyone else had fallen—one by one—until it was just me, surrounded by their bodies, faces twisted in pain, fading into the smoke and ash. I’d thought I could protect them, thought I could stop the inevitable. But then the elves charged, all of them, eyes cold and faces unforgiving. I fought, I fought until my muscles gave out, but it was no use. Alone, I couldn’t stop them. And I couldn’t save the people who mattered most.

I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to remember how I felt, standing there with my sword in my hand, a useless piece of steel against the weight of the world. But it kept creeping back into my mind, dragging me back into the nightmare, every little detail too vivid, too real. I didn’t know how long I’d been walking, but somehow, my feet had carried me to the tavern in the middle of the night. The place was dark, almost empty, just the kind of place I could lose myself in.

I ordered a drink. And then another. And another. The whiskey burned going down, but it didn’t burn enough to erase the feeling of emptiness in my chest. The same emptiness that had been there in the dream, the same cold weight of knowing I was the only one left.

The tavern was its usual self—a loud, dim blur of voices and clinking glasses, the smell of stale beer hanging in the air. But none of it mattered. I could barely hear it over the pounding in my head. The world outside seemed far away, like I was in a different place entirely, a place where none of it had ever happened, where I hadn’t failed them all.

I watched the glass in my hand, the whiskey still swirling in lazy circles. No matter how much I drank, it wouldn’t stop the dream from coming back. It wouldn’t bring them back. It wouldn’t fix what was broken inside me.

Then the door swung open, and a familiar laugh sliced through the noise, grating and sharp. I glanced up to see Ji-Hyun stepping into the dim light, his mouth twisted into that smug, careless grin he always wore. He spotted me right away, and instead of looking the other way, like any decent person would, he headed straight for me. My chest tightened, and I could already feel my hand curling into a fist around my glass.

“Well, well, look who’s here,” he said, sliding onto the stool beside me without an invitation. “Didn’t expect to find you out, Yoongi.”

I forced the anger down, keeping my eyes on my drink. “I don’t expect to find you anywhere.”

Ji-Hyun laughed. “Cali keeps me on a tight leash, I’ll admit it. Got lucky tonight, though. She’s helping her momma knit some new clothes for the copiae, and I was able to sneak out.”

“Poor me.”

“I’m not that bad, hyung.”

The honorific was a surprise to me. As long as I had known the kid, he had been a walking dichotomy. Arrogant and condescending, but respectful and always keeping his manners. Still, he had never been quite as kind to the witches. I think our loyalty to Y/N didn’t make his life much easier, especially when his camp of dissenters quickly grew scarce and then disappeared altogether. He was the only person in town besides Bo who didn’t like Y/N, and even he sometimes was quick to criticize Bo’s more “ridiculous” reasoning for being so anti-Y/N.

Jealousy over someone else was petty. The death of a friend and three dozen village members was more than enough for Ji-Hyun’s open disgust at people like us who still loved her.

He was a very black-and-white thinker, and yet there was some space for nuance.

For example, he had never called me “Hyung” before, despite the fact that I’m three years older than him.

“No,” I took a sip of my drink. “You’re pretty fucking terrible.”

That only made him laugh harder. Had to admit, he looked a lot like his older brother when he did that.

“Only because you’re blinded by loyalty and I’m not,” he flagged down the bartender. “Not to Y/N at least. I am to my people, and I have a different opinion than everyone else.”

“Because you’re wrong.”

“No,” he stopped talking and gave Yala his order before turning back to me. “Think about it from my perspective. She saw the future, knew something bad was going to happen, and didn’t tell anyone but her loyalists. One of them being you. Don’t you see how that could piss off a guy?”

I had tried having this conversation with him before, but it had never gone this well. It was weird to think I’d thought this was going to be a fight. Maybe he was more like Jimin than I gave him credit for.

“She didn’t see the future,” I sighed, finishing off my glass. “Y/N can’t see the future. She was getting possessed by spirits who weren’t able to show her very much. It was vague, and she only told me because Thelma—the woman raising the real future-seer—came by and said something bad was coming. We should all be mad at Thelma if we’re using your metrics.”

“But she owed my brother that loyalty and respect, and she didn’t give it to him.”

Oh, that was fucking rich.

“You are such a fucking hypocrite,” I muttered, my voice low. I hoped he’d take the hint and leave, but he just laughed. “You don’t get to say shit like that and expect me to take you seriously.”

“Oh, I don’t?” He leaned in closer, his breath reeking of arrogance. “Last time I checked, I was free to say whatever I wanted. She wasn’t exactly the saint you all like to pretend she was.”

That was it. I couldn’t keep it in anymore. I straightened up, turning to face him, letting all the anger I’d been holding back show. “You’re one to talk. You want to talk about loyalty and respect to your brother? It’s your fault this entire shitshow went to hell in the first place.”

He rolled his eyes, leaning back, completely unfazed. “Oh, please, don’t put that on me. What did I do, exactly?”

I clenched my jaw, struggling to keep calm. “You told Sol about Y/N’s plan after you snuck around like the dirty rat you are. You went behind your brother’s back and fed lies to the most immature and naive person in this entire village to lie about his fiancé. It’s your fault the story was twisted, your fault she ran to your brother, and you sat back like a coward and let it happen. If you were so fucking loyal to your brother, you would have understood that he loved that girl and you would have been there with him.”

Ji-Hyun snorted, a bitter laugh escaping him. “Oh, so now I’m responsible for her choices? Bridd wanted to play hero. She got what she deserved.”

“What about when everyone said that about Callisto?” Ji-Hyun looked surprised. “Yeah, I heard all about your girl getting beat up by a few of the wolves in town after you mated with her. And you know who helped you out? Jimin. You are no better than a bully, and you ganged up on a girl who gave up her entire life and future to help your people, and then because you’re so fucking entitled, and it wasn’t good enough for you, you decided to ruin your brother’s life just to get back at her? You think we didn’t lose people? Cordelia was like a second mother to Y/N when she was younger, and she had to find her dead body. She saved Hoseok’s life!”

“And none of that would have happened if she had said something.”

And then I snapped.

My fist connected with his jaw, and for a split second, everything felt right again. Like I was myself. Ji-Hyun stumbled back, eyes wide with surprise, but it didn't last. His face twisted with anger, and before I knew it, he grabbed my collar, his grip like iron. Then his fist met my cheek, and the world tilted. Pain exploded, but weirdly, it felt good to feel something.

The tavern erupted around us—shouts, scraping chairs, breaking glass—but it all faded into the background. All I could see was Ji-Hyun, and the anger that mirrored my own. The satisfaction of hitting him still buzzed under my skin. I wanted to swing again, to make him hurt like I was hurting.

Then someone yanked me back. Strong hands pulled me away, and I spun around, fists still clenched. It was Jimin. His eyes were hard, jaw set in that way that meant he was beyond mad. "That's enough," he said, his voice cutting through the noise. It wasn't loud, but it didn't need to be.

He held my gaze, and I felt something inside me crumble. Disappointment. That's what I saw in his eyes, and it stung more than Ji-Hyun's punch.

Ji-Hyun wiped blood from his lip, smirking. "Keep your little witch on a leash," he spat before turning and storming out. His words hung in the air, heavy and poisonous.

Jimin's grip on my arm loosened but didn't let go. "What are you doing?" he asked quietly. I didn't have an answer. Couldn't find words that made any sense.

I pulled away, my cheek throbbing, and headed back to the bar. The room spun a little, or maybe that was just me. I sank onto the stool, ignoring the bartender's wary glance. My drink was still there, so I took a long sip, letting the burn distract me.

The whispers started then. People pretending not to stare while definitely staring. Great. Just what I needed.

Ji-Hyun's words replayed in my head. He'd called me pathetic. Said she didn't care about me. No matter how much I tried to drown it out, it clung to me like smoke.

Bridd would've smacked me upside the head for that stunt. Told me to stop acting like an idiot. She always knew how to pull me back when I was spiraling. But she wasn't here.

I felt the weight of Jimin's gaze before I saw him. He stood a few feet away, hands shoved in his pockets, expression unreadable. Part of me wanted him to say something—to yell at me, to tell me I'd screwed up. But he just sighed and walked away, leaving me with my tangled thoughts.

I stared into my glass, the amber liquid swirling like a tiny storm. Maybe Ji-Hyun was right. Maybe I was pathetic. A witch without magic is just... nothing.

The noise of the tavern pressed in—laughter, clinking glasses, snippets of conversations. It was too much. I needed air.

I slipped off the stool, the floor tilting a bit under my feet. Ignoring the curious looks, I headed for the door and stepped out into the night.

The cool air hit me, and I sucked in a deep breath. The sky stretched out above, stars scattered like thrown confetti. I walked until the sounds from the tavern faded, finding a quiet spot near an old oak tree.

I sat down on the grass, leaning back against the rough bark. The ground was damp and cool, seeping through my clothes, but I didn't care. Tilting my head back, I gazed up at the stars. They were blurry around the edges, but constant. Unchanging.

I closed my eyes, the fatigue washing over me like a wave. The fight, the anger, the emptiness—it all felt distant now. Out here, under the vast sky, I could almost pretend that things were okay.

Sleep tugged at me, and for once, I didn't fight it. I let the darkness wrap around me, pulling me under. Just for a little while, I could escape.

Taglist: @greezenini @adventures-in-bookland @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @zae007live @jimin-neverout @nikkiordonez12 @canarystwin @yamekomz @chimthicc @michiiedreamer @amorieus @mima795 @yunki-yunki-yunki

© chimcess, 2024. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[magicshop]

this namgi ♡

[namchyoon]

day 244/547 until joon returns cr. namuspromised

[comfortisbts]

Literally cackling over this for hours now because of how accurate this is 😭😭

Yoongi : ya why is there so much smoke in the kitchen, who burnt it down?!

Namjoon : hyungnim! *scratches neck in nervousness* ahahhah i was trying to cook you something

Yoongi : ":] namjoon-ah aish"

[theharrowing]

Collateral 🗡️: Yoongi POV

Yoongi is spiraling. He has has a bigger mess on his hands than he could have anticipated, and you have slipped between his fingers.

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

❗ THIS IS A CHARACTER POV CHAPTER!!!

even if you have not been reading the POV chapters, i highly recommend reading this one to get a sense of what has been going on inside Yoongi's head since this story began, and where he is now.

🗡️Yoongi x Namjoon, Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon, Jungkook x Reader

🗡️ word count: 8.1k

🗡️ mafia au, established relationship, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit, 21+

🗡️ warnings: semi-explicit smut between Yoongi & Namjoon (anal sex; mostly Yoongi experiencing subspace and not being present; non-explicit oral sex); mention of the disposal of dead bodies; blood on Yoongi's hands; mention of weapons (guns and knives); mental health stuff (anxiety; dissociation); chess talk...(is that a warning? lmk if the analogy is confusing lol); brief mention of homophobia (as a concept/worry, not as a direct experience); thoughts of taking heroin and overdosing (does not actually use); Yoongi is in a dark place and not necessarily suicidal, but definitely at a breaking point.

🗡️ notes: mc is referred to in 3rd person (she/her) pronouns for this chapter! there is also a hefty amount of foreshadowing for remaining chapters, and a surprise at the end.

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin 

🗡️ posted june 2024 | read on ao3

"She's gone," Namjoon says, smile evident in his tone. Yoongi continues to watch as Jeongguk drags her away by the hand along the path toward his home. She stumbles behind him, arm outstretched as his strides are longer than hers. Namjoon continues, "I have you all to myself."

Once she disappears along the path, Yoongi rips his gaze from the trees and turns to Namjoon, lifting an eyebrow to appear nonchalant. The crease of dimples on Namjoon's cheeks, paired with his lidded gaze, turns Yoongi's heart into a caged, rabid beast. 

"Oh?" he asks. 

Namjoon's dimples deepen. "It's been a while since it has just been us two," he groans, stepping so close that Yoongi has to angle his head to gaze at him. "I miss you."

This makes Yoongi chuckle. He knows what Namjoon's I miss you entails—how it has nothing to do with the simple physical nearness that the phrase may imply on a surface level.

"You have me," Yoongi responds, wrapping his arms lazily around Namjoon's waist.

"Are any staff members here?" Namjoon asks as he leans close and rubs the tips of their noses together. His cologne is familiar and bright, causing tension to release from Yoongi's shoulders.

"Just the chef," Yoongi responds through a long exhale of air.

He opens his mouth to ask why Namjoon is curious—knowing full well that sex is on his mind—but Namjoon captures his bottom lip in his teeth and sucks until Yoongi's eyes roll back. Yoongi feels dizzy from desire and goes limp in Namjoon's arms. His eyes flutter closed momentarily, and he lets out a deep, pleased groan.

"Send him home," Namjoon mutters, lip still captive in his mouth. He releases, then more clearly says, "I want you on the couch."

Yoongi shakes his head, unable to hold back a smile. He sounds petulant as he says, "Not my mother's couch," making Namjoon chuckle. The thought alone of cleaning a stain out of that ancient blue velvet sends a shiver along his spine. 

Namjoon laughs harder and nods—when it comes to Yoongi's mother, Namjoon always concedes. Even from the grave, he would never do anything to displease her. 

"Alright," Namjoon says, giving Yoongi a tug toward the slightly ajar front door. "The couch upstairs, then."

Yoongi smiles, and that is all Namjoon needs to take the lead, kicking out of his shoes while he tugs on Yoongi's hand. Yoongi steps out of a pair of leather loafers and is led through his home to his bedroom, smiling wider with each step, doing his best not to trip on his way up the stairs.

Yoongi loves his darling. He really does. 

But there is something so serene and comforting about having Namjoon all to himself, and he allows his mind to wander along this path, knowing it is not a disservice to her. He imagines she also enjoys moments when it is just herself and one of them. 

Or herself and Jeongguk.

"What do you suppose they are getting up to at Jeongguk's place?" Yoongi asks as they approach the large blue couch in his bedroom. 

Namjoon sinks to the cushions, leaving Yoongi to stand before him. He knows that unless Namjoon gives him verbal instruction, his assumed instruction is to not do anything, and so he keeps his arms hung to his sides while Namjoon begins undoing the fly of his slacks. 

"Fucking," Namjoon responds, glancing up at him, dimples prominent. His dark hair is beginning to grow out a bit, and hangs parted over his forehead.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, chuckling as his slacks and briefs are shoved to his knees and his legs are hit by cool air. He gently lifts one foot after another, hovering each one long enough to have his socks removed, and he says, "Touché."

"He bought her a dildo, for fuck's sake," Namjoon says, standing before Yoongi and grabbing at the bottom hem of his black sweater. 

Yoongi regrets bringing it up, sensing Namjoon is in the mood to tease. He grumbles, "I'm aware."

"Modeled after his own cock," Namjoon adds, sounding ever incredulous.

Yoongi feels exasperated and mutters, "Forget I asked," under his breath.

"No, tell me," Namjoon continues, lifting Yoongi's sweater and tee in the same motion, forcing Yoongi's arms upward. The garments are removed and tossed aside, and Namjoon grips Yoongi's chin, tugging him forcefully to bring their lips close before Yoongi has a chance to lower his arms to his sides again. "What else would they be doing?"

Namjoon steals the air from Yoongi's lungs, leaving him standing nude, cold, and utterly speechless. He stares into Namjoon's dark, sharp eyes, finding all he can do is catch his breath.

"Bend over," Namjoon instructs.

Yoongi nods in quick, shallow movements and swallows thickly. "Yes, daddy," he utters softly, sound caught in his throat. 

Namjoon takes his time stretching Yoongi with his fingers and tongue. He is delirious by the time he is instructed to lay on his back, barely cognizant of the soft fabric as it shifts below his knees and settles below his back. 

The room dissipates into a thin fog as Namjoon enters him, and his body is electric with sensation, feeling only where he is used and touched—where beads of sweat drip from Namjoon's forehead onto his heated skin. 

Yoongi revels in these moments when he can slip into subspace and shut off, becoming nothing but a doll for his lover. He tries to think about his darling but the synapses do not fire. All he knows in this moment is immediate, insurmountable pleasure. 

As Namjoon fucks Yoongi with his legs lifted high in the air, the rocking of his body mixed with the pleasure-pain of how hard Namjoon's thrusts are caused him to drift. He is lost at sea with nothing but the roaring, whooshing sound of his heartbeat in his ears.

Yoongi returns to his body as Namjoon uses a warm, damp rag to clean him off. It takes several heavy blinks to realize he has been carried into the bathroom and is bending over the cold marble sink with his feet spread on a soft rug. The hard surface feels good against his heated skin, but he begins to shiver the more aware of it he becomes. 

"I completely lost you for a while, there," Namjoon says once he is finished. He places a kiss between Yoongi's shoulder blades, and Yoongi hums happily as his eyelids flutter closed and a shiver works down his spine. 

The two of them have an agreement that unless Yoongi becomes so out of it that he starts to panic, Namjoon is not to stop. He is allowed to use Yoongi all he needs to, and he is always gracious in the way he cares for Yoongi after. 

Yoongi has never had a panic moment during subspace, but they have read that it is something that can happen. He and Namjoon have become so close over the years that Yoongi is not concerned. They can cross that bridge if they ever come to it. 

It is only when the sex ends and Yoongi is a full person again that he sometimes loses his grasp on reality, but he figures that is a different matter entirely.

"Did I cum?" Yoongi asks although he knows the answer is no. His cock is soft but he can feel the pent-up need for release that has him practically begging Namjoon for another round.

"Nah," Namjoon responds, tugging Yoongi by the shoulders to stand up straight. As Yoongi pushes away from the counter with his elbows and then his palms, Namjoon—who is shirtless but wearing briefs—wraps his arms around Yoongi's arms, pinning them to his sides. "I tried twice to make you cum but you kept seeming too overwhelmed. Didn't want to push you."

"Sorry," Yoongi mutters, although he is not in the least bit sorry. Still, he finds it is the only thing that makes sense for him to say, right now. It is common for him to get so lost that he does not cum, but he always feels a tinge of guilt for some reason, as if ejaculation is the only way to express to someone that they have made you feel good. Of course, it is not.

"Want to discuss it?" Namjoon asks, and Yoongi shrugs, ready to brush it off as nothing because he is concerned that he may actually begin to spiral if he voices what has been on his mind. 

It certainly is not nothing. Yoongi slips away the easiest when his mind is so clouded with anxiety that he becomes desperate to let go. And, of course, Namjoon knows this better than anyone else. 

"Sure," Yoongi admits. Perhaps it would be nice to voice his feelings out loud. "Once we are dressed and I have a fair amount of marijuana in my system, I will gladly discuss it."

With new socks and underwear, Yoongi returns to the outfit he had been wearing before, shaking the garments as he lifts them from their pile on the floor in order to free them of the socks and briefs that belong in the hamper. 

Namjoon kisses Yoongi on the cheek and leaves the bedroom first, undoubtedly to make his way down to the living room to where he keeps his joints stashed in his mother's favorite antique table. 

Yoongi thinks of his mother as he runs a hand through his hair and slowly follows along. The mansion is full of memories of her, and he wishes he could confide in her the way he did when he was younger. More than anything, he wishes he could be in her presence again.

He pauses at the top of the stairs to peer at a closed door on the far end of the mezzanine that has not been opened in years, and he imagines his mother donned in all black with her long hair twisted out of her face into a neat bun in the back. She always sat on her favorite velvet sofa—the one that is now down in the main hall—drinking a glass of Shiraz while reading the newspaper, ready to set both aside to advise her son in a moment's notice. 

Yoongi has walked in on a similar scene so many times before, and as he imagines the warmth of her embrace, memories flood back to him, as they always do.

I love him, his younger self whined, collapsing to the cushion as two warm arms wrapped around his shoulders and engulfed his head in Chanel-scented darkness. He loved Ryujin, too, but in the way one loves someone they have known all their life. Not in the way he loved Namjoon. 

He had always thought he could have, though. He was willing to try to feel the way he pretended to. All he needed was a little time, he would tell himself.

I know you do, her voice said, strong yet soft, unwavering. Hold him dearly, and do not let him go. The others will come to understand.

Yoongi remembers asking his mother what to do if the others did not come to understand, voice trembling as he sniffled against her neck. Specifically, he was talking about his father, though he was not brave enough to say so. He was never brave enough to say so.

Then be rid of them, is all she would say in response. She made it sound so easy.

Yoongi's heart feels heavy, and he closes his eyes, descending the steps while wishing she were still here. He is no fool—he knows he does not always make the best choices. But he does the best he can with what he has been given, and he hopes that she would still be proud of him. At the very least, he thinks she could talk some sense into him.

In a blink, Yoongi is outside, standing on his front stoop, lighting the joint that is nestled between his lips. He glances down at his feet to make sure he is wearing shoes and is pleased to find that they match. 

Yoongi does this lately—loses track of himself. One moment, he is standing at the top of the staircase, and the next, he is outside. He knows that his brain still pilots his body in the in-between moments, but it always gives him pause to return to himself, realizing he has been somewhere else. 

Christopher says it is a form of dissociation and points out that it occurs when Yoongi tends to be experiencing high levels of stress. The problem is, Yoongi is almost always experiencing high levels of stress. 

Yoongi inhales sharply, feeling the smoke fill his lungs. He hands the joint to Namjoon, holding his breath a few seconds more, then lets it out in a deep exhale.

"Craving sushi," Yoongi mutters, mostly to himself.

Namjoon chuckles as he lets out a plume of smoke and hands the joint back. "Sushi is doable, and agreeable. Wanna call our darling?"

Yoongi brings the joint to his lips and shakes his head. He wants to give her a little more time and space. He wants her to feel like she has freedom. 

"Not yet," he says as best as he can while trying to keep the smoke from escaping his lungs. Then he sighs, letting the air push out, passing the joint back to Namjoon. "I feel like I have been crowding her, and I—" Yoongi swallows, finds his mouth is terribly dry, and shoves his hands into his pockets. 

Namjoon inhales sharply and coughs. Yoongi considers going into the kitchen to fetch them some water, but he feels glued in place, unable to move. 

"Ah, right," Namjoon says, voice somewhat strained from coughing. "Is this what has you stuck inside your head today?"

Yoongi nods, staring at the tree line that separates his property from Seokjin's and Jeongguk's. Greens and browns fade in and out of focus, making him dizzy, but he finds he cannot look away.

"She had a fucking panic attack," Yoongi says under his breath, finding his tone is sharper and much angrier than he intends. He swallows, nibbles the inside of his cheek, and then tries again in a much more even tone. "I feel like I have grossly misjudged the situation, and it is not as if I can simply take the proposal back."

"We have been putting a lot of pressure on her," Namjoon agrees, stepping close. 

Yoongi does not want more of the weed, and he shakes his head when it is offered. He rips his gaze from the trees and turns to Namjoon, watching as his expression falls to match his solemn one, lips downturned in a frown. Yoongi knows that Namjoon already knows what he is thinking before he says it. He always does. 

"I am at a loss for what to do," Yoongi mutters. 

Namjoon turns his head to the side to blow out a mouthful of smoke, eyes staying on Yoongi. "I suppose we give her space whenever possible," he suggests, to which Yoongi nods. "And we find a good time to sit her down and talk to her. We can assure her that we are not trying to rush or pressure her."

As always, Namjoon is right. A conversation goes a long way, and it is something the three of them have not made enough time for. A lot of bullshit has happened over the last couple of months, and Yoongi imagines all three of them must have a lot on their minds.

And there are some things that Yoongi needs to clear up before their relationship becomes even more serious. Things he has not been forthcoming about because he never expected to care enough about her to want to openly discuss them. 

He still cannot believe he has allowed himself to fall in love again.

Yoongi opens his mouth to respond, but his phone begins to buzz. The vibration is a pattern that is only programmed for one phone number, and he smiles as he reaches into his pocket, eager to hear from her, albeit a little worried. Perhaps they can have the dreaded but much needed conversation over dinner. 

* * *

It is just after 2 in the morning when Yoongi's phone finally rings. He is drenched in sweat and blood, and he drags the back of his hand over his brow as he wipes his other hand against the leg of his pants and reaches into his pocket, palming his device. Seokjin's name shines at him in big white letters, and he breathes deeply and slowly before accepting the call. 

Around him, bodies of men are dragged further onto the compound from the security gate, and Taehyung loads them into the back of a sleek black pickup truck for identification and disposal while Jeongguk prowls the length of the driveway like a territorial beast, clenching bloody knives in both hands. 

"Seokjin," Yoongi pants, exhausted. 

"Boss," Seokjin responds chipperly, "Your wolf is on a flight to Taiwan. A liaison will meet her and either take her to Hong Kong to stay with The Tigers, or to Busan."

"Busan," Yoongi bites back, feeling his stomach churn with discomfort. "It would be nice to have her on the same peninsula, but…at what cost."

Seokjin asks, "Still distrust the ladies?"

Yoongi sighs. "Yes and no. Ryujin is not stupid enough to harm her, but I am not sure I can speak for Hyungseo."

"I have employed Hyejin to take the place of our informant, and I seem to recall she and your darling getting along fairly well."

Yoongi hums. Something about Hyejin's actions have always felt like a performance. That, or it has been too long since Yoongi has ever met someone who is genuinely as kind as she seems. 

"Busan is fine, so long as one of us can make house calls."

There is a pause before both men say, "Jeonggukah."

Of all the family men, Jeongguk was closest with Ryujin before her family's betrayal. If there is anyone who she would allow on her compound, it is likely him. 

"Once they have settled, I will be in touch," Seokjin says. "They are going to stay in Taiwan for a couple of days to allow things here to calm down, or culminate—whichever comes first."

"Alright," Yoongi says, willing to accept this plan for now. 

The less time she spends in Busan with his enemy, the better. But, Yoongi supposes, it may pull Barom off her scent, that sneaky piece of—

"How are things there?" Seokjin asks. 

Yoongi scoffs. He stretches his neck and glances around, watching as Taehyung and Namjoon load the last of the bodies onto the truck. Jeongguk continues to pace back and forth near the gate while Hoseok gleefully packs up all the various weapons taken from the dead men. 

"It was a clusterfuck, to say the least." Yoongi sighs. "Barom slipped away with one of his men. We managed to kill the rest. Taehyungah is taking the bodies to ID and incinerate, and Hoseokah is piling up a wealth of new toys."

"Ooh, toys! Anything good?" 

Yoongi shrugs to nobody. "Mostly knives and handguns. I have a feeling these are not his strongest, nor most organized men. Have you any idea who this guy could be working for?"

"I did a cursory check on social media—just what he shares with the public—and it seems people call him Mister Insanity. But, as you can imagine, that provides us with absolutely nothing."

Yoongi chuckles. How ridiculous.

Seokjin continues. "I have asked the Busan girls, as well as the Songs in the south. Neither seem to know anything, but they said they would report back should anything come up."

Reluctantly, Yoongi asks, "And Sunmi-noona?"

Seokjin sighs. Lee Sunmi, who remains a neutral party with regard to mafia family goings-on, is often at the center of everything, as well as a ghost. She operates many of the businesses owned by the Min and Shin families from Seoul to Busan, with a spattering of buildings in Daegu. 

With simultaneously the cleanest and dirtiest hands in the city, Sunmi tends to know everything that happens behind the scenes, though Yoongi suspects Seokjin knows even more. Sunmi and Seokjin were in cahoots for a while until Hoseok stole Seokjin's attention away for good, and they developed the same chains of information gathering. 

Yoongi has not seen Sunmi in quite some time. In fact, he has been dodging her calls and being dismissive over text since the day he brought his darling home. They, too, were tangled in a messy little web for a while, and Yoongi was not the most chivalrous in the way he stepped away. Becoming close with Sunmi was a strategic move, and nothing more. Getting information from her now might prove to be a challenge. 

"That one is on you," Seokjin responds through a chuckle. "You know damn well she will not meet with me."

Yoongi sighs and rubs his thumb and middle finger over his temples. "Alright," he concedes.

Namjoon sends Yoongi a nod to let him know he and Taehyung are finished with their task. Yoongi lets out a sigh and feels his shoulders relax. 

"I need a fucking shower and to get some sleep. I am postponing our meeting until ten."

"Sounds good, boss," Seokjin replies. 

His tone is too calm for the present situation, and it makes Yoongi uneasy, but he is exhausted and he pushes the thought aside. He can dwell on it once he has slept. 

Yoongi seems to slip out of himself once more, losing the time spent walking from the driveway up to the ensuite and undressing. He returns to himself as hot water hits his bare shoulders and he gasps while looking around, finding Namjoon adjusting the shower knobs to his left. 

"Too hot?" Namjoon asks.

Steam fills the room, and it is definitely too hot, but it also feels good. Yoongi likes it when the water is near-scalding. How else will it wash away his sins?

With a sigh, Yoongi closes his eyes and tilts his head back. He lets out a grunting sound that is hardly a response, and Namjoon continues to fiddle with the knobs until the water is a more agreeable warm-hot. 

"We should pack her a suitcase," Yoongi mutters to himself as a sudsy loofa passes over his collarbone.

Yoongi allows Namjoon to wash him, standing with his eyes closed and his body as still as he can keep it. He wonders whether he should allow himself to feel relieved that she will be on her way to Busan in a matter of days. He thinks the girls will take good care of her so long as their lives are on the line. 

In the morning, he thinks, he can pack a bag to give to Jeongguk. He and Namjoon can also assist Taehyung with cleaning the mess. Yoongi just needs to get a little sleep first. 

As Namjoon washes him for the second time today, Yoongi begins to somewhat drift. He often wishes the two of them could have had a simple, normal life.

"The last conversation I had with my mother," Yoongi mutters, eyes closed, imagining her smile that so closely resembled his own, "was to tell her that I wished I could marry you instead."

Namjoon's hand stills where it scrubs circles against Yoongi's shoulder blades. Then his hand continues to scrub, and he mutters, "I know."

Of course, Namjoon knows. Yoongi has told him time and time again.

Perhaps it is unfair to his darling—all the secrets he has kept, the life he wishes he could lead instead of this one. He has often wondered whether he will ever have the courage to tell her the entire truth. 

What he has done…the long con that he has facilitated behind the scenes, the presence he has had in her life for years before she finally came into his home… Once she discovers how many strings Yoongi had been pulling behind the scenes—a maestro of death, destruction, and coercion—he worries her grasp on reality would shatter.

But, he reminds himself, the two of them were never meant to fall in love. Not really. And, he thinks, perhaps that is why he is so comfortable with allowing her to fall into the arms of other men. 

Despite how close they have become, Yoongi has always known that she would not be comfortable with this lifestyle. We will condition her, he used to insist. We will break her down and build her back up again. We will make her into something magnificent.

After all, she was only meant to be a rook in the greater scheme of this game they have found themselves playing. A major piece, but an exchange piece, no less. Her purpose was always to be the beautiful façade that hid his relationship with Namjoon from the politicians and the thugs who might weaponize his sexuality and use it against him. He should have known from the start that the rook was a queen in disguise and that she would not so easily put up with his bullshit.

Yoongi knows he has taken her for granted and that she deserves to know everything. He has dwelled on it for far too long—has let the guilt nearly tear them apart several times, already. 

More importantly, he needs to be the one to tell her the truth. He needs to make damn sure Barom does not find a way to her first. Yoongi was certain that his threat back at the Han River when all of this began would be enough to keep Barom away; his return changes everything. 

"Baby," Namjoon says, pulling Yoongi from his thoughts. The word is spoken low and close, right into his ear. 

Yoongi hums and opens his eyes. 

"Wash your hair. Let's get to bed."

Yoongi nods. He turns to the black tile shelves set into the shower wall and squirts shampoo into his hand from a bottle. It is a newer one Namjoon has bought that has a woodsy scent to it, mingling with a citrus scent that Yoongi tends to default to. It cloys his senses as he rubs it into his hair, slowly working it into a lather. 

Two strong hands take over, nails scratching against his scalp, and Yoongi lets out a heavy sigh and drops his hands to his sides. He must have been spacing out again, and he opens his eyes to find Namjoon's tattooed chest and neck covering his field of vision. 

"Sure you don't want to make an appointment with Christopher?" Namjoon asks.

"Just need to sleep," Yoongi responds somewhat robotically, voice monotone. 

Namjoon chuckles. "No amount of sleep is going to fix whatever is going on up here, baby," he gives Yoongi's soapy hair a playful tug. It feels nice. "But I suppose that is a good place to start. Rinse."

Yoongi takes one step forward to be fully under one of the showerheads, and he stands in place as his hair falls around his face to his shoulders in a wet curtain. Namjoon continues to scratch his nails over his scalp, and Yoongi opens his mouth to sigh, tasting the sharp flavor of shampoo enter his mouth. 

Once the shower is turned off, Yoongi shivers as he walks out onto the mat and reaches for a towel. He feels cold all the way to the bone marrow and has to force himself not to tremble so hard his teeth clatter. Namjoon walks to the sink to retrieve a bottle of leave-in conditioner that he begins to work into Yoongi's hair, and then he leaves the room entirely.

Namjoon does not shiver the way Yoongi does. He appears perfectly content with just a towel wrapped around his hips, walking around as if he truly has no care in the world. Yoongi envies him.

With his shoulders pulled up to his ears, Yoongi meanders to the sink and begins to brush his teeth. He spits bloody foam into the basin and rinses with warm water, tonguing a spot on the right side of his mouth where his tooth and gum had been struck with the butt of a gun the same night Jimin was shot. 

Yoongi needs to see the dentist to have his teeth looked at, but it is another thing on the ever-growing list of things Yoongi has no energy for. There are always so many fucking things. 

Namjoon returns with a stack of folded black fabric that Yoongi recognizes as a shirt and sweatpants. He gets dressed slowly, knees and shoulders feeling stiff with age and exhaustion. Namjoon uses a towel to squeeze some of the dampness from Yoongi's hair, then tosses the towel aside. Yoongi follows him to bed. 

As soon as he lays down and is engulfed in the cold comforter, Yoongi shivers and turns instinctively to Namjoon, whose naked limbs are wrapping around him and tugging him close.

"Need a little help falling asleep, baby?" Namjoon asks as a warm hand cups Yoongi's flaccid cock and balls over his sweatpants. 

Yoongi stretches his legs out and rolls onto his back, smiling as he mutters, "Hmm…maybe."

Without another word, his pants are shoved down, and Yoongi feels hot breath ghosting against his thighs. He spreads his legs wide, digging his heels into the mattress as Namjoon settles between them. Namjoon's mouth is as talented as it is greedy, and he has Yoongi cuming down his throat and falling asleep in no time. 

When Yoongi awakens, the hints of sun that come past the dark blue curtains are still too faint to light more than soft slivers of the room. Yoongi stretches his limbs, causing the sweaty mass of snoring man beside him to stir and shift. 

Yoongi takes his time rolling out of bed, feeling rested enough. He knows that a little more sleep would do him some good, but once he is awake, he is awake. 

He wants to pack a suitcase that he can send with Jeongguk the moment their meeting concludes. Even though the girls will likely be in Taiwan for another day or two, he wants everything to be prepared. He does not want to waste a moment of time.

As Yoongi steps out into the cold, empty mansion, his gaze drifts once more to the door at the far end of the mezzanine, past the two bedrooms that are infrequently occupied. One of these days, he thinks, he would like to pull away the plastic furniture coverings and sit on the chairs. He should dust his mother's shelves of books and open the curtains to let in some light.

Yoongi pads over to the first bedroom and twists the knob. When he shoves the door open, the air in his lungs gets trapped. Something about the way this room was left unsettles him, and it takes a moment for him to notice all the signs.

The makeup and hair care items that had lived atop the vanity near the door are all gone, the bed is made, and sitting on the bedside table, where it always is, is the Tiffany blue engagement ring box. 

Beside the large, fake engagement ring box is the second, smaller one. The real one. 

Yoongi swallows the urge to vomit. He steps into the room, leaving the door hanging ajar, walks over to the walk-in closet, turns on the light, and nearly collapses. 

It is clear from a cursory glance that his darling has cleaned this place out. All that remains are designer clothing and shoes that he and Namjoon procured; everything that seemed to have personal value to her is gone. 

Yoongi walks in on the right side and lifts a hand, brushing his fingertips over dress after dress, feeling the fabrics—one after another after another, some soft, some rough, all delicate. At the very back is the off-white halter dress that she wore to her birthday party, and he freezes, hand hovering in the air before it. 

Tears pool in Yoongi's eyes, and he swallows his urge to panic. He needs to think. None of this makes sense and he needs to think. 

In the left back corner of the room, where a large black suitcase once stood, there is nothing. It is clear that she had packed her belongings, but when? Between Barom and his men arriving, and Seokjin escorting her out, there was no time to pack this much.

Realization hits and settles uncomfortably in Yoongi's belly. She planned on leaving before Barom arrived with his fireworks and guns. She was planning on leaving all along.

He wants to rip every last shred of fabric from these hangers and scream until his throat is raw. Instead, he turns to the center island, bends with his elbows against the cold marble, and sobs. 

Anguish fills his chest and throat, constricting his ability to breathe. Tears fall in hot streaks, tickling his nose and lips as he leans with his head against his forearms and cries until his throat burns, failing to keep from making too much noise. Although he is far enough that the sounds likely will not travel to Namjoon, sound does carry surprisingly far through large, empty spaces. 

He does not wish to alarm Namjoon. Not until he can gather himself.

Yoongi cries until he is out of breath. He attempts to stand and get his bearings, but he is dizzy and bleary. He is angry. He is confused. 

He opens a drawer on the left side of the island and peers inside to find that all of the jewelry Namjoon bought for her birthday is still tucked inside. She has taken none of their many gifts. But why?

As he sighs through his misery, taking in deep, shaking breaths, Yoongi blinks the small room into focus and notices a piece of paper sitting atop the marble island, folded neatly into a rectangle. His hands shake as he reaches for it, delicately unfolds it, and reads. 

My Yoongi,

Your blood is on my hands in my dreams and in the waking world. I know you do not blame me, but the thought of it makes me sick to my stomach. I hope one day I will be able to look you in the eye and not feel so ashamed. 

In your arms, I feel like a queen. I feel like I am on top of the entire world. Nobody has ever given that to me before, and nobody could ever come close. 

It is not the height that I fear so badly but the fall back to earth.

Yoongi's hands tremble, and anger rises. He squeezes the paper, crumpling it in his palm as the burning fire of rage courses through his blood. 

Her absence holds emptiness like a hole in the world, and Yoongi feels as if he might go supernova and collapse on himself, only to explode.

He does not understand. Has Seokjin put her up to something more nefarious than he realizes? Could she have been planning on running away with Barom? Did seeing him at the restaurant cause something in her to want to flee, whether toward Barom or away from him? How does all of this connect?

Yoongi remembers the way she excused herself to bed early yesterday. He remembers the way Namjoon muttered, "I can't put my finger on it, but something feels off," as the two of them watched her walk up the stairs. 

How could he have missed something so big happening under his own roof? How could she join them in bed after packing her suitcase devoid of all their gifts as if nothing were amiss, at all?

Yoongi stands at the foot of his own bed, seething with anger and despair. He has no memory of walking there, but he is there now, watching as Namjoon sits up, first with a smile on his face, then with a look of worry.

"What is it?" Namjoon asks, shoulder and chest muscles flexing and relaxing with each movement.

Yoongi rounds the bed, tosses the crumpled note Namjoon's way, then grabs his phone. His hands shake fiercely, and he clenches his teeth as if that might help.

Call after call is rejected, met with an apologetic voice that informs him that the number he has dialed is no longer in service. How could the phone he has given her no longer work? He finds it unlikely that Seokjin would allow her to move continents without making sure she is able to communicate with him. 

Yoongi ignores the urge to throw his phone against the wall and he dials Seokjin. 

On the third ring, Seokjin answers, "Boss."

Yoongi hardly recognizes his own voice. "Seokjin," he growls. "We need to talk."

* * *

By eight fifteen, Seokjin is on the blue couch sitting beside a furious, confused Namjoon. Yoongi stands across from him, arms crossed tightly over his chest with the table between them. The letter is on the table, and although Seokjin has done his best to smooth it out, it is destroyed from Yoongi's grasp. 

To the left, beside the couch, is an equally confused Hoseok, standing with his arms crossed over his chest. Seokjin and Hoseok are well put together in button-ups and slacks. Namjoon and Yoongi are disheveled in pajamas. The clothing Namjoon wears belongs to Yoongi and is ill-fitting, rising at his ankles and abdominals and showing swaths of skin. 

Seokjin's demeanor is far too calm as he sits straight, addressing Yoongi. "As you originally instructed, I had kept Barom in one of the lower ranking teams—Jeongguk's drug operation. It was the same team he had been on before we took your wolf as collateral, only we had taken him off the streets. You will remember the group Jeongguk extinguished after he found out those guys had been stealing product."

"Jae," Yoongi says.

"Yes," Seokjin says. "Barom was the only member of that team who wasn't being a complete fuck up. After Jeongguk fish-fileted the lot of them, I moved Barom into hospitality where he was more or less a nobody working in various hotels. He blended in, didn't give anyone any trouble, and skirted under the radar, taking my many threats to keep his nose out of trouble seriously. Or so it seemed...until last night."

All of this checks out. When Yoongi gave Seokjin the instruction to keep Barom close and monitor him, he did not want to be told where the man would work and how much responsibility he would have. Yoongi did not want to run the risk of running into him, and he would likely have hunted him down had he known where to look.

Barom has always been a hard worker, but he has also been a bit of a coward. Yoongi did not think Barom would turn around and work for another family—to enact revenge or otherwise—but he has not been eager to give the man a chance. Keep your enemies close, and all that.

"And last night?" Yoongi grits between his teeth.

Seokjin sighs, but his expression does not break. "Last night was a strange series of coincidences."

"Why did she go to your house after dinner?"

With a light chuckle that is devoid of humor, Seokjin says, "She came by demanding that I help her set up a vacation. Seeing Barom at the restaurant rattled her, and she wanted to flee, so I told her to pack a bag, and that in the meantime, I would try to set something up. My plan was to discuss the matter with the two of you," Seokjin glances at Namjoon but keeps his attention on Yoongi, "and then pull her out in the next few days. Barom showing up in the middle of the night propelled matters."

All of this might make sense, except for one thing. "Then why did she leave that note? Why does it seem like she was planning on running away without saying goodbye to us?"

Seokjin sighs again, this time allowing his posture to relax. "As far as I can tell, she was planning on leaving without saying goodbye."

Yoongi drops his arms to his sides, fists clenched. "And you were going to—"

"Yes," Seokjin says simply, unwavering. "Either I was going to inform you and ask you to keep it a secret from her, so as to allow her to slip away without worry, or I was going to abide by her wishes and take the heat for it afterwards. You and I both know I would never put her in any sort of danger. She was not sure she could leave you two if she had to say goodbye to your faces, and she seemed quite desperate."

"No sort of danger?" Yoongi asks, shifting his weight to his right side. "Just as Hyunjin was in no danger? And his wife, and his daughter."

Before Seokjin can respond, Yoongi catches a slip in his façade. It is a minuscule twitch of his mouth—so small that someone who is not keenly aware of every one of Seokjin's microexpressions may not catch it. But Yoongi does, and he is furious. 

He steps forward, knocking his shin against the table as he roars, "You son of a bitch!"

From his left, Hoseok is advancing, hands open wide at his sides. He appears worried but confused, as if Seokjin has kept this secret from him, as well. 

Seokjin lifts his palms, and Yoongi imagines them dripping with blood. "You and I both know I had to spread the news that he was dead," he says quickly. "I was intending on telling you the truth once they were settled in with their new identities, but then you—"

Then he went off the rails and shot heroin into his veins. Yoongi squeezes his eyes closed. How has everything become so out of his control over the past year? He feels as if his sanity is slipping through his fingers like sand.

He wants to reach over the table and choke the air from Seokjin's lungs, but he knows that all Seokjin has done is follow protocol. Had Yoongi not been so wrapped up in everything else, he likely would have seen it for what it was—a ruse to throw anyone on the outside off of Hyunjin's scent. 

Forcing everyone, including those close to him, to think he is dead is a strategic move that Yoongi's father has used many times in the past. The old man even faked his own death once before he was gone for good, giving Yoongi a chance to slide into his role while standing over him like the menacing shadow he was. What a relief it was when the old man actually died shortly thereafter.

"Fine," Yoongi says, allowing his tensed muscles to relax. His shoulders feel tight, and he rolls them back as he takes a step away from the table and lets out a deep exhale. "It is a relief to know they are safe. I trust that they have money? A home?"

Seokjin hums in agreement. "They have been set up with fine lives."

"And you would have done the same for her?"

There is another pause before Seokjin says, "I would have set her up with The Tigers for the time being, to get her off the peninsula. Then I would have offered her any major city we have ties to. I would have sent a translator who doubles as an informant to live in the next room over from wherever she was staying...or whatever the two of you would have advised."

This is acceptable, and what Yoongi had expected might happen when she began to talk about needing a vacation. He supposes that it all makes sense. She must have written the letter with the intention of him seeing it eventually, knowing she may not have had the courage to say goodbye to him to his face. Perhaps, he thinks, she did not mean to leave it behind when she left this morning.

Still, it hurts, just as it would have hurt had things gone the way she planned. But he finds he cannot be angry with her. 

Yoongi runs a hand through his unbrushed hair. His fingers yank knots apart. "Where is Barom now?"

Seokjin blinks owlishly. "I don't know."

Yoongi lifts an eyebrow, tamping down the urge to scream. His words come out sharp and slow. "What…do you mean…you don't—"

"He has gone off the radar since this morning," Seokjin cuts in, his words coming out quickly. "I have informants keeping their eyes open, including some in Busan. The moment anyone catches wind of him, we will know."

Yoongi wants to explode. He wants to claw everything in his path and rip it to shreds. He wants to smash the entire world under his boots, creating a mass of rubble and destruction that matches how he feels. 

"Alright," Yoongi says, exhausted. Spent.

It feels as if ants are crawling through his bloodstream and all he wants is to forget. He would love to shoot up and completely lose sight of himself, but he knows he cannot do that again. The temptation to push himself too far is too great. He cannot do that to Namjoon. Marijuana will have to suffice.

He walks to his mother's favorite antique table between the couch and his blue velvet chair, pulls out the small drawer on its front, and retrieves Namjoon's metal cigarette case which holds his stash of joints. Yoongi presses a little button on the side of the case, causing it to spring open, then he pulls out the last joint along with a box of matches. 

Without saying a word, Yoongi tosses the empty cigarette case onto the chair in a clatter of metal and begins to walk toward the door. He steps outside in socked feet and cradles the joint between his lips as his trembling hands work to light a match. 

Yoongi's phone dings in his pocket. It is the singular ding that signals an incoming text message, and he lights the tip of the joint with the flaming match, pulling in a deep breath as the end cherries red and turns to ash. His mouth and throat fill with smoke, and he holds it in until he begins to feel dizzy. 

With a sigh, smoke billows from Yoongi's nostrils, and he tosses the match to the ground, watching as the wooden stick darkens until it is a burnt husk blowing in the light breeze. Yoongi reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, spotting an unknown number and an image file. 

He thumbs through various screens until he finds Barom's clown-painted smiling face. The man is standing in front of a sign that Yoongi has to squint to read. He is unmistakably at an airport in Taiwan, but which one, Yoongi cannot tell.

"Seokjin!" Yoongi growls, feeling his pulse rise and his hands begin to shake. He knows that if he calls this number, it will come back empty. There is no way Barom sent that image without promptly removing the sim card.

Before Seokjin can respond, Yoongi's phone begins to ring, and he blinks the screen into focus, glancing at Taehyung's name as he pulls the device to his ear.

"Yes?" he asks, closing his eyes. He is not sure he can take any more news, and the day has hardly begun.

"Boss," Taehyung says. "It's Jimin."

Jimin. Yoongi's eyes fly open, sore against the bright morning sun. His vision is blotted momentarily with bright white, and as he blinks, it becomes clouded instead by tears. Yoongi finds it hard to imagine he has any more tears left to shed. 

"What is it?" Yoongi asks, voice shaking as badly as his hands. His knees weaken, and he considers sitting down on the hard concrete. 

Yoongi braces himself for the worst, and holds his breath while the joint between his fingers burns uselessly. Behind him, at least one other man has come to the door, but he is too focused on awaiting Taehyung's response to see who.

Hands grip his arms as if their owner senses his uneasiness, and Yoongi does his best to ignore the sensation as he tries his hardest not to drift away. He listens intently. 

And then Taehyung says two little words that change absolutely everything. 

"He's awake."

* * *

We are living in the war How far were we lying? We are living in the war Who'll listen to your prayers? We are living in the war

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[incorrectnamgi]

Yoongi: I want to wake up with you every day for the rest of our lives

Namjoon: I wake up at 4:30 AM

Yoongi:

Yoongi: I want to see you at some point every day for the rest of our lives