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park-jimin-isnt-real · 2 years

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“edge of tonight” ~ part nine, the decade

pairing: namjoon x reader (lots of platonic ot7 x reader) rating: T 16+ genre: mafia au, angst this part: Ten years is a long time to go without seeing the one you love. MEGA TW: ***heavily implied/referenced underage rape/non-con, implied child abuse, implied sexual assault, implied murder, use of the word “whore” several times and “cumdump” once*** Nothing is described in explicit detail, but the topics and themes discussed and mentioned a lot general tw: mafia!au, angst, violence, depression, swearing, guns, high heels used as a weapon, guys this chapter is so sad i'm so sorry, time jumps & pov switching, the use of sex as an unhealthy coping mechanism - again, nothing explicit word count: ~18.8k track #12: Drift ~ Emily Osment: "I am well-suited for erasing, faded into hazy, and sinking strong." the edge of tonight masterlist an: this chapter covers 10 years, so there are a lot of time jumps. pov switches back and forth between m/c and Namjoon. all the listed time jumps are that amount of time from "that night" (the night she was taken), so "Three Months..." from that night; "Six Months..." from that night, and so on.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈ "And I'm alone now, me and all I stood for." ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟

That night...

Jin drove to Namjoon's faster than he ever had before and cut at least five minutes off the normal drive. The younger called him until Jin finally picked up, about to go off on why he was answering his phone at 3 in the goddamn morning—

"She's gone! Hyung, she's gone! They took her and—and I couldn't—I tried so hard but—Hyung she's gone!"

In all his time knowing Namjoon, Jin had never heard him panic. Namjoon was always calm, always controlled, and even more so when it came to you. Listening to his friend breakdown on the other end of the line was heartbreaking and terrifying.

Jin drove him back to his apartment, ushering the boy into the back room where all his medical supplies were. Thank God his father wanted him to be a doctor. If Jin pursued acting like he wanted to, who knows what would've become of his small group of friends.

"Cry, Namjoon," the eldest told him as he cleaned and bandaged the younger's wounds. "Get it all out now, because as soon as Yoongi and Hobi walk through that door, we need to get down to business and you need to focus." And as soon as the last piece of gauze was taped in place, that was precisely what Namjoon did.

Jin held the sobbing boy against his own shoulder, wrapping his arms around him as tightly as he could without causing any more pain. Namjoon went through a hell of a beating trying to keep you – Jin was honestly surprised he wasn't closer to death. It would take weeks for his body to fully heal, which would add time to getting you back, time they couldn't afford.

There were plenty of other things that would add time as well, things they would go over once they were all together. They had never truly seen ruthless Namjoon before but seeing how high being with you had made him, they could only imagine how low he could get.

Namjoon jumped when the apartment door opened. "Joon!" Hobi's voice called as two sets of footsteps echoed through the home. Hobi appeared in the back room first, Yoongi right behind him. "Is she…" Hobi's question died on his lips, one glance at the younger boy gave him the answer he didn't want.

"You look like shit," Yoongi said, never one to beat around the bush.

"Tact, Yoongi," Jin scolded. "Learn some."

"We don't have time, Jin." Yoongi leaned against the wall and returned his attention to Namjoon. "What happened?"

Namjoon took a deep breath, wiping his face. He would have time to be sad later. Right now, you needed him to think, to be stable.

Right now, you needed him to be the leader he was raised to be.

⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟

The desk lamp was on and was the only light in the room. Your father always preferred to work in the dark. You stood in your father's study, angry and ashamed. He always made you feel so small. He sat at his desk, leaning back in his chair, eyes lazily roaming up and down your body. Fear started creeping its way back into you. The last time you had been in this room you were being informed of your official sale. You could see the disapproval in his eyes and could only imagine which part of this whole thing angered him the most.

You knew you looked terrible. You had stopped crying a while ago—it wasn't going to do you any good—but your face was still a little puffy, eyes still a little red. Your hair was a mess; from sex, from sleeping, from running. You were only in Namjoon's shirt and your underwear, and thankfully the former was big enough on you it went down to your mid-thigh, keeping you somewhat covered. You weren't wearing shoes or any foot covering for that matter. You had clearly gained some weight back (Jin had made sure of that).

You kept your tongue plastered to the roof of your mouth, if you were to actually bite it, you'd bite through it. You had to wait for him to start the conversation, if you could even call it that. He had to speak first, always, and he got the last word, always.

Whatever happened between that would determine your punishment.

"You're a clever girl, Y/N," he finally said. He was using his dinner voice, the eerily calm one he used when he didn't want to make a scene. "Almost too clever. Perhaps I trained you too well."

Appeal to his ego. Don't make it worse.

Your voice was quiet, it always was when speaking to him. "So well I came up with an escape plan in an hour and then evaded you for four and a half months."

Yoongi would be proud. Would've gotten a smirk from him.

You're making it worse.

"Even framed five of my associates," he continued, "made me think you'd been kidnapped. It was the second one I interrogated—" tortured "—that suggested maybe you had run away instead. That you had found a way to slip between my fingers." He paused and sighed. "I didn't take the suggestion seriously until the fourth. I kept telling myself, no, not my Y/n, not my darling. She's a good girl, she listens and does as she's told."

Before you left, you were the picture-perfect image of a right and proper daughter. Never speaking too loudly, never talking back, head bowed in submission to whatever he wanted no matter what you thought or felt. You followed him like a lamb on a leash, as he coated your skin in red.

Appeal to his ego. Don't make it worse.

"You underestimated me." Jin would be proud too. He always wanted you to speak your mind.

You're making it worse.

"I did." Your eyes widened, shock evident across your face. Your father never admitted to doing something wrong. "But perhaps you overestimated yourself as well. If you really didn't want to be found, you would've left the country."

Appeal to his ego. Don't make it worse.

"Think I did pretty good for a sixteen-year-old who left with only the clothes on her back." Hobi would've laughed. You would've joined in.

Stop making it worse.

"And now you've returned wearing someone else's clothes," he mused, then sighed again. "I'm not surprised this is what you turned to in order to survive on those streets, but I am disappointed Darling. If you wanted to be a whore that badly, all you had to do was ask."

Namjoon would be furious. How dare someone speak to you that way.

Stop. Making. It. Worse.

"And if I had asked you not to sell me to some stranger twice my age, would you have listened?"

You didn't mean for your voice to get louder, for it to have that edge you picked up while you were with the guys; you meant to keep it quiet, almost docile, the way it had always been.

Your father smiled, and it was the scariest thing you'd seen that night. "He actually isn't that much older than you, just a few years. A charming young man, you would've liked him if you had bothered to give him a chance." You weren't so sure of that. "You're lucky he still wants you."

Your stomach dropped. Part of you had hoped that if your father did manage to find you and drag you back into his world, the deal would've been called off, on account of you being gone. Whoever bought you must've really wanted you, and that sent a small shiver down your spine. You'd rather stay locked up in your father's estate than go with them.

Better the devil you know.

"So, what happens next?" you dared to ask. "I get locked in my room, never to see the light of day again, until they come to collect?" If he locked you up here, you knew you could get out again. After all, you did it once. Getting back to Namjoon would be difficult, but you would manage.

All you really wanted was to be back with Namjoon.

Was he even still alive?

Would you stop—

"Something like that." His voice cut through your thoughts, and your full attention drew back to him as he stood. He gestured to the men standing behind you—the ones who had chased you, hurt Joon, and brought you back here—motioning them forward. You felt hands clamp down on your shoulders and the tops of your arms.

"I can go to my room without an escort," you told him, but you didn't fight against the hold on you.

"You aren't going to your room." His voice finally changed. Gone was the eerie calm, this tone was firm and dark. There was no arguing with this tone of voice, no telling it that it was wrong or mistaken. "She's yours, gentlemen. Do with her what you like. Keep her alive, don't get her pregnant. Everything else is fair game."

You let his words sink in, as the energy in the room changed. It was tense, it had been the entire time you talked, but now there was a sinister edge to it. The hands on you felt dirtier, and the snickers you heard made your blood run cold. Do with her what you like, everything is fair game.

"You don't mean that." He couldn't. "Not even you are that cruel."

He hummed before responding again. "What is it that I always say, Y/N, do you remember?" He paused, and gave you a chance to answer, but you weren't sure exactly what he was referring to. "The punishment should always match the crime."

Your eyes widened. "What fucking crime did I commit?" you nearly yelled. He couldn't be serious. You were starting to lose it; your heart rate and breathing were picking up. "All I did was run away!"

"I told you Darling, if you wanted to be a whore that badly, all you had to do was ask. There was no need to run off and sell yourself on the street." He smiled again. "I'll see you in a few years." He let out a breath, like he was the one who struggled during this. "Thank you for your work," he said to the men again. "The payment will be at the drop spot by dawn. Good evening, gentlemen."

You were being pulled backward, too many hands on you, touching you. You tried pushing forward, tried to break out of their grasp. Despite being the one who sealed your fate, you reached for your father, begging him to stop this, to change his mind, anything, please, please don't do this.

Better the devil you know.

He paid you no mind, sitting back down and carrying on whatever work he was doing beforehand as if the whole conversation never happened. As if you really meant that little to him. After all, he got the last word, always.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈ "I don't think I know how to rest mellow and slow." ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟

Three months...

Some days Namjoon could do things. Some days he could get up, get dressed, eat a decent meal. Some days he could work on a plan on how to find you and get you back. Some days.

Other days, Namjoon's mind couldn't stop replaying that night. It wouldn't even try to come up with different ways things could've happened. It was just an endless repetition of him trying to protect you and failing. An endless stream of your screams and cries ringing in his ears. The echoes of you calling his name were stuck in his head like a scratched CD, constantly skipping back to that moment.

On most days Namjoon was a normal functioning human being with a resolve that would change the world if everyone had one like his. Other days he thought he was losing his mind. He kept seeing you just around the bend or in the corner of his eye. He kept hearing the echo of your laugh or the whisper of his name on your lips. You had become a ghost, taunting him with being just real enough to remind him that you had been there once, but now you were gone.

That's why he worked so hard on the days he could. If his mind was occupied with trying to get you back, then it wouldn't drown in the memories you had left behind. He wouldn't torture himself.

He stood motionless beneath the stream of hot water, one hand against the tile to keep himself steady. He worked his mind in overdrive, trying to find the detail he was missing, the last piece in the puzzle, the final move before checkmate.

Namjoon was ninety-eight percent sure that it was your father who orchestrated the attack. It had to be. No one else in the Seoul scene would've sent a group to take you like that. That last two percent was the possibility it was whoever "bought" you; that still connected it to your father though.

His main problem was he knew the four of them couldn't go up against your father alone, not right off the bat. They would need more time, more resources, more people. Things they just didn't have. The next thing was figuring out how the hell your father found you. They had all been so careful, hadn't they? Where did they go wrong?

Namjoon could try going back to his family, but even that was only a temporary solution. It would grant them access to more information, perhaps, but that was it. Whatever falling out his father and yours had all those years ago still ran deep, not to mention his father wouldn't take Namjoon back.

And this was all assuming you were at your father's estate. It was about fifty-fifty, you being there or your father keeping you somewhere else, somewhere with higher security that would leave you with even fewer chances to get yourself out. You only had one chance to get yourself out before. Your father wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

So, forty-sixty, you were somewhere else. That didn't make searching for you any easier.

It took a while, but Hobi managed to get the street camera footage from that night. The two spent hours on end staring at the computer screen until they could stitch together the parts that tracked the van. He was right. Namjoon recognized the path the van was taking; it did lead to your father's estate. So, what next?

Maybe he could get Hobi to hack into your father's security system. It would be hard and risky, but that was the easiest way to know if you were there or not. Or maybe he could ask Hobi to check that camera footage again, see if the van reappeared later. Maybe they could keep following it, see where it went once it left the estate. They wouldn't be able to tell if you were in it, but maybe tracking it after would give them something to build on.

Namjoon shut the water off and stepped out of the shower. He couldn't spend forever just speculating, there was work to do if he was going to find you.

And he was going to find you.

⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟

You curled up as much as you could. The mattress was warm beneath you, but you couldn't stop shivering. How long had you been here? The room they kept you in was dark, the small light only switched on when someone was in there with you. There were no windows, no carpet, and no other furniture besides the bed you were on.

They liked it when you fought back. You had tried to be pliant at the start, to let them do what they wanted to you in the hopes that they would get bored and leave you alone. They caught on quickly and decided that if you were just going to lay there like a doll, then you didn't need to be conscious for what they were doing. When you finally came to, you were covered in dried blood and—ick—and a stabbing pain in your side in addition to the horrible ache between your legs and pounding in your head.

It took you a few minutes to maneuver yourself in a way to see what happened without hurting yourself too much, and when you saw it, you nearly burst into tears. Carved into your skin, trails of blood still slowly leaking out from the cuts, the word stared up at you, mocked you as it rang in your mind. If you wanted to be a whore that badly...

The only woman you had seen—the only other person you saw besides the horrible people who used you—was well into her forties, maybe even fifties. You begged her the first time you saw her to help you get out of here before anything else happened to you.

"If I can't get myself out, what makes you think I can help you?"

Her words chilled you to the bone. She said nothing else to you about how long she had been here or what could have happened to her but based on what was happening to you it wasn't a stretch of your imagination. If she had never gotten out, then what chances did you have?

She was the one who cleaned you up after they left you, wiped the white liquid off your skin, cleaned up any small wounds. She brought you food and water and often forced them down your throat. She never tried to make conversation after that initial declaration of helplessness. The few times your eyes met hers, you saw the remains of a broken spirit, of a life without life.

It only added to your fear.

The first time she gathered up your sheets for cleaning, she also handed you a new shirt, white and much larger than your usual size. "Take off that one," she ordered, turning back to the bed. You only shifted on your feet.

"You'll bring it back, right?" you asked her quietly, too scared of the answer.

"Of course not!" She fought to get the last sheet corner onto the mattress. "It's covered in too many stains to be worth the hassle."

That alone caused you more panic than anything else. "No! No no no, please, let me keep it, please!" You dropped the new shirt to cling to the one you were still wearing. "Please, it's all I have left!" It was the only reminder you had of a world outside this room, that there were people who did love and care about you. "Please."

For the first time since you'd met her, you saw a flash of empathy in her eyes. She huffed, but there was less malice behind it than usual. "Fine," she rolled her eyes, "I'll bring it back after it's washed." That calmed you down a little bit, and you loosened your grip slightly but otherwise didn't move. "Take it off," she told you again, "I can't take you with me."

You bit your lip. "You'll bring it back?" you asked again, eyeing her cautiously. She hadn't directly hurt you, but you didn't fully trust her either. She let out a sigh, then turned to look at you fully.

"I'll bring it back." Her voice was softer than you had ever heard it before. You nodded, then finally slid the shirt over your head and gently handed it to her. She placed it in the basket with the other dirty sheets while you picked up the white shirt and put it on. "I don't understand why you want it so badly," she said on her way out, her voice back to its harsh detached tone. "It's just a shirt."

You heard the familiar sound of the door locking, and then the light turned off and you were left in the darkness again. You sat down on the bed, relishing the feel of clean linens on your skin while you still could.

It wasn't just a shirt. It wasn't even your shirt, it was Namjoon's. It was the only thing you had of his, and part of you felt that if it was gone, then so was he. Maybe it was a bit silly, but it made you feel just a little bit better. It helped you believe that they were coming for you.

Namjoon was coming for you.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈ "Scream. My words are failing me, when did we become so numb?" ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟

Six months…

"Can't you hurry?" Namjoon whispered. He was playing lookout while Hobi worked on the code for the door. You were behind it, you had to be, and Namjoon was getting impatient. It had been six long, horrible months, and all he wanted was you back – back in his home, in his arms, in his bed.

"If I get it wrong the alarms go off," Hobi responded, just as tense as Namjoon. He was crouching on the ground, doing whatever hackers do, trying to crack or override the code lock on the door. "And then everyone knows we're here, and this whole operation becomes a million times more dangerous." He had a habit of exaggerating when he was stressed, but he wasn't wrong.

Namjoon bit his tongue, and forced himself to take a deep breath. He couldn't afford to lose it, not now, not when you were so close.

The alarms started going off, loud and blaring in their ears, red lights flashing all through the warehouse. Namjoon glared down at his friend. "What the fuck?!"

"I didn't do anything!" Hobi didn't look up, keeping all his concentration on his task. "Something else must've happened or tipped them off!"

"Can you hurry now?" Namjoon's heartbeat thundered in his ears, louder than the echoing of footsteps on concrete and metal and voices shouting out orders. Hobi only responded with an angry sigh, dropping his phone on the ground. He quickly started punching in codes, every few buttons pushed lighting the keypad up in red.

The alarms were already going off, so it didn't matter if he got the code wrong. Trial and error was the fastest way to get this done now. He had managed to narrow it down to six possible combinations, and on his fourth try, he finally got it. The door unlocked itself. Namjoon turned the handle and pushed it open without a second thought.

"Y/N!" He shouted into the darkened room, eyes darting around, looking for you. But the room was empty, save for a small bed off in the corner. His brows pulled together, beyond confused. You were supposed to be here. All the information they had gathered, the recon they'd done, everything—it all pointed to you being here.

Where were you?

"Y/N?" He asked this time, as if the walls could answer him. How could you not be here?

"Fuck, Namjoon, they found us!" Yoongi's voice came through the earpiece. "Tell me you got her, we gotta go!"

"She's..." Namjoon started to say, but it was hard speaking around the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. "She's not..." He didn't want to say it. If he said it, then it would be real. He didn't want it to be real. "She's not here."

He guessed Jin or Yoongi started to say something in response, but he couldn't hear them. Between the alarms, the sudden gunshots echoing, and his own heart breaking, Namjoon couldn't hear anything.

"Joon, Yoongi just got shot!" Hobi's voice finally broke through his reverie with more bad news. "If she's not here then she's not here. We can look again for her later but right now we have to go!"

Namjoon stepped back, hand resting on the doorknob. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force his pain back down. Part of him couldn't help but feel like if he left now, he'd be leaving you, and he couldn't... he couldn't...

But he had to.

With a final shake of his head, Namjoon closed the door to the empty room.

⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟

Everything hurt. Everything always hurt, but today was worse. You weren't sure what had happened, but they sure took it out on you. You were in your usual ball on the floor, hiding between the bed and the wall. You didn't have the strength or energy to crawl under the bed, and you knew it wouldn't really do much in the end. You just didn't want to be on it any more than necessary.

Despite how numb you were feeling inside, your heart still stopped when you heard people outside the door. You squeezed your eyes shut, curling up impossibly tighter. They had just left you, hadn't they? It was too soon for them to come back. There was no way you could go through anything in your current state.

Not that you mattered to them. You were just a plaything, something for them to get their frustrations out on. Maybe some had just left you, but others wanted their turn now.

You could hear the alarms going off outside the room, albeit muffled by the walls you were trapped behind. They only sounded when something was wrong, and after that was usually when things got worse for you. That was probably why there were more people coming for you. Maybe today they would have mercy, maybe they would knock you out so you wouldn't have to feel whatever they did. You could deal with the pain later when you woke up.

They were taking their sweet time coming in for you. Was this a new tactic they were trying? A new way to mess with you? Would they make you sit here and wait, wondering if they would come in or not? It wasn't working. Whether they came in now or they came in later, they would come in. There was no point in hoping that they would leave you alone for good.

The door finally opened, allowing in the loud blaring of the alarms. You held your breath, waiting for the standard "little girl".

"Y/N!"

Slowly, carefully, you opened your eyes. You were still facing the wall, a little blinded by the sudden light coming from the open door. Were you dreaming? Were you hallucinating? You knew that was a common side effect of your nightmares and panic attacks. Maybe you had been so cruelly used earlier that you did pass out, and this was what your trauma-ridden brain produced.

"Y/N?" He sounded more unsure now, confused. Was it actually him? Did you dare to believe it?

"Joon?" The word came out as a breath, small and shaky and impossible to hear over the noise. Your throat was raw from all the screaming and crying you'd done, there was no way you would be heard. You wanted to roll over, to sit up, something to get your line of sight away from the wall and towards the voice you weren't sure was real.

Your body protested, too stiff and too sore to move quickly or more than a few millimeters at a time. Your head pounded from dehydration, and twisting it however slowly still caused stars to dance across your vision.

"She's... she's not..." The desperation in his voice hurt your already broken heart. "She's not here." This had to be a nightmare, a new creation to torment you even in your sleep. There was no way—if he were here, if he had finally come to save you—there was no way he couldn't see you right now.

But you weren't in plain sight, you remembered. You were hiding. You couldn't be seen from the door; he would have to walk over to the space between the bed and the wall.

You had never hated your little hiding spot more.

"Joon," you tried again, but it didn't come out any louder than before. You fought the best you could against the pain, but the rush of adrenaline only made your head hurt more, making it harder to see and coordinate your useless limbs. You pushed against the floor, the ground cold beneath your hand, trying to get yourself up. It was slow, god it was so slow, and your muscles screamed, but you managed to get your head just barely above the bed.

He was there. He was standing in the doorway, hand on the doorknob, turned so you could only see the shadow of his profile. "Joon!" But he didn't hear you. He couldn't hear you. You watched as he shook his head, looking down, and closed the door.

Your arms gave out, and you crashed back onto the concrete beneath you. Your eyes stung, wanting to cry tears your body wasn't able to produce. You tried to convince yourself it was just another nightmare, a hallucination, anything that would hurt less. Anything that meant he wasn't here, he had never been here, he hadn't just left you here.

Because he wouldn't. Namjoon wouldn't, not ever. Namjoon would never leave you.

But he just did.

You were alone, enveloped in darkness once again.

⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟

They made it out almost too easily. Despite Yoongi slowly bleeding in the backseat, Namjoon had Hobi drive around for a while just to make sure they weren't followed, before finally telling him to get Yoongi to Jin's.

No one brought up the elephant in the room.

Jin helped Yoongi to the back room, muttered something about how many bullet wounds have I sewn up for you now? This would be the fourth, but his comments were only met with silence. Hobi sat on the couch, staring ahead at nothing. Namjoon joined him, solely because he didn't think it would be good for either of them to be alone right now.

The silence dragged on. Namjoon leaned against the arm, propping his head up with his hand. There was a palpable tension between the two, and it was all too easy for him to pinpoint the cause. "It's not your fault, hyung."

"How?" There was more venom in Hobi's voice than Namjoon was expecting, but the younger was scarily good at remaining calm these days, at taking whatever was thrown his way and staying neutral. "How can you—how is it not—I'm the one who—who—" He cut off with a sharp breath, on the verge of hyperventilating.

On the verge of breaking.

"Breathe, Hobi," Namjoon reminded him gently, the way he used to remind you when your panic attacks got bad. "Just breathe."

The elder shook his head, squeezed his eyes and fists shut, tried to do anything to stay stable. "We—we failed," he said, his voice quiet, but in the empty room he felt like he was screaming. "I failed." Tears started seeping through the closed lids, trailing down his cheeks, his chest heaving as he tried to keep the sobs at bay.

Namjoon bit his lip – a small habit he picked up from you, another reminder of what he had lost. He could feel the weight of the night pressing down on him, on Hobi, on Jin and Yoongi too. Tears pricked behind his eyes, the sensation foreign to him. He hadn't cried since the night you were taken away from him.

But maybe he could let himself cry tonight. Maybe he could let himself mourn this failure, mourn the loss of you all over again. Maybe this time he wouldn't do it alone.

"You love her too, don't you?" Namjoon whispered.

Hobi snorted, taking a deep breath that really didn't help him much. "Of course I do," he answered, his voice still thick with emotion. "We all do." That was his standard response, something safe and easy, something that grouped him with the others and the more appropriate feelings he should be feeling.

Namjoon gave a sad smile. "Hyung." Hobi finally looked up and met Namjoon's eyes. He couldn't hide it anymore, not with the way Namjoon was looking at him. He always thought that if Namjoon found out their friendship would be over. After all, who falls in love with their best friend's girl?

But there wasn't any anger or hatred in Namjoon's eyes. There was just acceptance and understanding and god so much pain. Hobi found himself nodding before he realized what he was doing. "Yeah," he said, his voice strained and barely above a whisper, "yeah, I do." A new wave of tears started flowing down his cheeks, but he didn't fight it this time.

Namjoon wrapped his arms around his friend, holding onto him tightly. Hobi was surprised at the action – Namjoon hadn't acted on any emotion other than anger and pure determination in months. Still, he returned the hug, allowing his head to rest on the younger's shoulder.

"Cry, Hobi," Namjoon said, repeating the same words Jin had told him that night, "get it all out now, because when morning comes, we get back to work."

It would never be brought up again, but for a moment Hobi felt relief from finally letting it out. And Namjoon was comforted knowing that he wasn't the only one who hurt as bad as he did.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈ "No darkness, no season can last forever." ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟

One year...

"He's not gonna come out, hyung," Yoongi said from the couch. Jin was frantically hustling around Namjoon's kitchen, throwing together something that resembled a meal for their youngest. Namjoon had practically locked himself in his room for the last month. If he did leave, he went undetected by the rest of them.

"I'm not trying to get him to leave, I'm trying to get him to eat." The eldest let out a strained breath, pushing his hand through his hair. He had had a hunch this would be a hard time of year for the youngest, but he didn't picture it to be as bad as it was.

Without much fanfare, he picked up the plate of food and walked to the locked bedroom door down the hall. "Namjoon-ah?" Jin knocked a couple of times. "I have food!"

He wasn't surprised to be met with silence, but it still bothered him. He knocked on the door a few more times with more force than necessary. "Namjoon, if you don't open the door I will have Hoseok pick the lock," he huffed.

"Why are you roping me into things?" Hoseok spoke up from where he was lying on the floor in the living room. Yoongi was, quite unceremoniously, using his ass as a footrest. Hoseok couldn't bring himself to care, endlessly scrolling through a number of websites on his laptop.

There was a pause, as the three eldest held their breath, but after a moment with still no answer from the bedroom, Jin walked back down the hall, giving Hoseok a pointed look. The man sighed – he didn't really want to do anything either, other than wallow in his own misery. Yoongi let his feet slide off as Hoseok stood up.

One slightly bent credit card later, Hoseok pushed Namjoon's bedroom door open.

"Namjoon!" Jin called, stepping in, expecting Namjoon to be at the desk working, but he wasn't there. Jin looked carefully around the empty room. "Namjoon?" A soft breeze blew through the space, and Jin looked towards the open window. Namjoon never left the window open. He let his head fall back in defeat. "If he jumped out the fucking window..."

Namjoon walked down the street, hood up, hands deep in his pockets. He was suffocating, staying locked up in his room, drowning in his mind. He had to get out before he did something stupid. Well, stupider. He should've told one of his hyungs, but he couldn't bring himself to actually open the door. He still wanted to be alone, he just wanted to be alone in a larger, more open space.

The afternoon was overcast and held the promise of rain later; what a perfect environment to be so completely depressed. One year, almost to the day. It's been one year without you. Somehow it was worse than the ten years he spent without you. Of course, he was a child for most of that time, and he knew where you were then.

He didn't have that luxury now.

He wasn't paying attention to where he was going, just letting his feet carry him wherever. When he looked up to get his bearings, he found himself at the gym he often frequented, times when his mind was too fried to work properly but his body was too wired to stay still. Namjoon supposed his current mood fit the bill.

Fifteen minutes later he was letting his frustrations out on a sandbag that didn't deserve his anger but was made specifically for this purpose. He had just managed to zone out, to get his mind to shut up, when he heard soft footsteps approaching.

"You're doing it wrong."

Namjoon didn't jump at the young voice behind him, but he did pause and spare a glance. He almost wondered how the kid could see anything, with the black fringe hanging over his eyes. "Not really worried about doing it right," he replied, turning back to the sandbag in hopes he would be left alone, "just trying to blow off some steam."

"Yeah, I get that," the kid said, and Namjoon tensed as he heard him come closer, "but if you keep doing it wrong, you'll end up hurting yourself, and then you'll be angrier." The kid leaned against the stand the bag hung from and crossed his arm, looking Namjoon over. His eyebrows furrowed. "I see you here a lot, how come you're so upset?"

Namjoon sighed. He didn't owe this kid any answers. He opened his mouth to tell him so but was cut off by the younger. "Why don't you want to talk about it?" His eyes widened at the question. How did he— "Was whatever happened really that bad?"

His mouth was stuck open as he tried to figure out how to respond. His brain finally settled on honesty since the kid would probably be able to tell if he was lying. "Yeah," he breathed out, "yeah, it was." The kid offered a small, sad smile.

"I'm Jungkook," he said. "Can I know your name?"

"I'm not really in the mood to make new friends, kid."

"You know," Jungkook continued anyway, "talking about things usually helps more than endlessly punching something that didn't do anything to you. Especially when you're punching it wrong." Namjoon pursed his lips.

"We've already established that I don't want to talk about it." He wanted to go back to mindlessly hitting the sandbag but felt weird with this kid watching him so intently. And somehow peering into his soul. He wasn't used to being on the receiving end of that.

Jungkook only shrugged. "I can show you how to do it right," he offered, "so you can keep avoiding your prob—"

"Jeon!" The poor kid jumped, eyes going wide in fear as he shuffled back a few steps from the approaching man. He looked like the gym owner maybe, or one of the managers, someone who held himself with an arrogant over-importance. Something about the whole thing made Namjoon's jaw tick. Whoever this guy was, he was bad news; and Jungkook looked too small and innocent and afraid.

He looked too much like you for Namjoon to just stand there.

As he got closer Namjoon could see a nametag that said Trainer but lacked an actual name. "Is there a problem, sir?" Namjoon asked, catching him off-guard. He looked Namjoon up and down once, then plastered a fake smile onto his face.

"My apologies if he's been bothering you," he said, latching onto Jungkook's wrist. The younger didn't protest or fight back, but Namjoon could see he wanted to, the discomfort blatant in his eyes. "He knows where he's supposed to stay."

Namjoon lifted a single eyebrow at that, and the trainer faltered only slightly. "I was enjoying his company, actually, until you came and ruined it." He tongued his cheek before asking his next question, cutting the trainer off again. "Where exactly is he supposed to stay?"

Jungkook looked back and forth between Namjoon and the man holding him. He was quiet when he spoke, "Listen, you don't—"

"Hush, boy!" Jungkook’s mouth snapped shut as he looked down. Something in Namjoon's heart hurt at the implication of what the end of that sentence was. You don't have to help me.

"Maybe not, Kook," Namjoon replied anyway, "but I want to."

Jungkook met his eyes again, and this time there was the smallest glimmer of hope shining in them. At that moment Namjoon understood nearly everything about the kid. It had been a long, long time since anyone had stood up for him, had shown that they wanted to care for him.

"That's enough!" Namjoon looked back to the trainer, who was beyond angry. He offered a cruel smile to Namjoon. "Enjoy the rest of your visit." He turned away, beginning to drag Jungkook with him. The kid met Namjoon's eyes one more time, this time looking determined. Before he fully realized what was going to happen, it was already happening.

It took two hits for Jungkook to be let go from the trainer's hold, and two more for Jungkook to grab Namjoon's wrist. "Run!" The two took off like lightning, bursting out the front door while the trainer stumbled after, yelling and swearing at them.

"This way!" Namjoon pulled the younger along, knowing these streets well with how often he had aimlessly wandered them. They didn't stop running until the elder was sure they were safe. He released Jungkook's hand as they fell to the floor, leaning against a brick wall, catching their breath.

"Hyung?" Jungkook finally rasped out, looking up at Namjoon. The elder didn't like the look in his eyes, the way he could see through him. "I remind you of someone, don't I?" He asked between breaths. "Someone important to you, someone you lost."

Namjoon couldn't breathe again, nor could he look away from the inquisitive doe eyes staring him down. All he could do was nod.

"Is that why you're so sad?" Another nod, this time accompanied by a small clench in his jaw. He let out the air he didn't realize he was holding.

"She wasn't lost," Namjoon managed to get out. "She was taken. And I can't– I don't– we haven't—"

"Found her yet," Jungkook finished for him. He let out another breath. "Is there a way I can help?" Namjoon smiled wryly at the offer, but he continued. "I've got ties with some of the sketchier underground places here, I could ask around for you or—"

"Whoa whoa whoa," Namjoon interrupted, "slow down. What do you mean sketchier underground places? Why would a kid like you—"

"I'm not a kid! I'm sixteen this year!" Jungkook was only met with Namjoon's icy stare. He looked down. "I'm from Busan," he said quietly, "and I was part of an underground boxing ring there. Then I got sold to this organization here in Seoul last year, and I've been with them ever since."

It didn't take long for Namjoon to piece the rest together. "The gym is just a cover-up." Jungkook nodded. "And the guy, the trainer we were running from?"

"He technically does work as a trainer, but it's supposed to be for us fighters... We aren't supposed to leave the basement during working hours."

They lapsed into silence, Namjoon's mind running too fast at the moment for him to speak, and Jungkook too nervous to keep going. He finally met the elder's eyes. "Are you... are you gonna take me back?"

"No." There was no pause, no hesitation in the answer. Namjoon had gotten himself too attached too quickly. "We're gonna figure something out."

He pulled his phone from his front pocket to check the time and to see how many missed calls and messages he had from Jin. Jungkook moved over to sit next to Namjoon, too curious for his own good. "Is that her?" he asked, pointing to Namjoon's wallpaper.

"Yeah," Namjoon responded quietly. He knew he shouldn't have you as his phone background, but he needed it. He needed the reminder that he was still fighting for something, for someone, for you.

It was the picture Hoseok had taken at the fair that day. He told Namjoon about it after that night and sent it to him so Namjoon could still have something to keep your memory alive. You looked so happy, so carefree. Namjoon would kill to see that look on your face again, to see you again.

"She's really pretty... will you tell me about her?" The elder looked away from your eyes and at Jungkook's instead. They were round and wide with so much innocence and wonder, despite the things he had gone through at such a young age and for so long, things probably much worse than what Namjoon had been through.

"How are you so happy?" The words fell from his mouth before he realized he was saying anything. Jungkook only smiled and shrugged.

"Jinagada*," he said simply. "It's what we told ourselves in Busan, me and some of the other kids I fought with. Everything goes. Every fight in the ring ends, winter turns into spring, night always becomes morning." Jungkook pushed himself up, stretching his legs out. "Just have to hold out until it does." He held his hand out for Namjoon. "We'll find her."

"We?" Namjoon asked as he grabbed the outstretched hand and pulled himself up.

"Of course, hyung! You really think I'm gonna let you keep doing this by yourself?" The kid practically vibrated with excitement. Namjoon wrapped his arm around Jungkook's shoulders to try and keep him still. It brought a small, small smile to Namjoon's face.

"Alright, alright, calm down, kid." He started walking again, slowly leading them back towards the apartment where he was sure his hyungs would rain hell down on him. "My name is Namjoon, by the way."

Jungkook looked up at him and smiled so wide he looked like a bunny. "Can I still call you hyung?" Namjoon couldn't help but smile back, albeit a small and sad one, and nodded.

"Sure, Kookie."

"And will you still tell me about her?" He asked again. Namjoon looked ahead and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

"We were childhood friends," he started, "and good god, did she like worrying the shit out of me. There was this one time…"

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈ "But survival is a must, so will you stand with us?" ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟

Two years...

They kept the private club room dim on purpose. Neither party wanted the other to get too close a look. Jin and Yoongi sat at the table across from their guests; Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jungkook sat further back, hiding and observing. Jungkook wasn't actually supposed to be there, but they had a hard time telling the kid no. They wanted to keep him further away from their planning and scheming, but Jungkook was hellbent on being involved and helping in any way he could.

"Let me make sure we have this right," the one on the left said. He was leaning back in his chair, hands in his pockets. He was shorter than his partner, and they both looked far too relaxed for the tense atmosphere in the room, like they were above it all. They also didn't look much older than Jungkook was, and he knew that gave Namjoon further pause on hiring them. "All you want from us is to gather information on these two mob bosses, so that you can swing in a few years later and kill them?"

"Why wait?" The other asked, lightly brushing his bangs from his eyes. He was resting his chin in his palm, leaning against the table that separated them from Jin and Yoongi. "Why not take them out now?"

"Going in now, as we are, is suicide," Yoongi answered. "They're powerful and dangerous, and if we want an actual fighting chance of taking them down, we need everything we can get beforehand."

"You won't be working alone," Jin added, "Suga and J-Hope will also be working to gather whatever we can."

"Uh-huh," the shorter one nodded, though Jungkook knew he wasn't quite convinced. He narrowed his eyes. "This is about a girl, isn't it?"

"It's always about a girl," his partner said, glancing behind Jin and Yoongi to look at the three sitting in the back.

"This is some Romeo and Juliet thing—you're both part of rival gangs or whatever but you're in love and instead of simply running away you're bringing death into the equation." He ran a hand through his hair. "Sorry, but we're not interested in being your Mercutio."

"We aren't interested in casualties either," Jin said, "on either side. There are a lot of innocent people that could get caught up in this and we want to take the extra time to make sure none of them will get hurt."

That got the two of them to think for a moment. They turned and looked at each other; to Jungkook it looked like they were having an entire conversation between just the two of them.

The one on the right began speaking but kept looking at his partner. "Alright, we'll work for you—"

"—if you can answer this question," the other finished, turning to look at the rest.

Yoongi shook his head. "We don't have time for games."

"But you can wait a year?" the right one scoffed. "Sure."

"RM?" Jin turned to look back at Namjoon. He ultimately had the final say in things.

Jungkook could hear the gears turning in his hyung's head. These two were some of the best and most sought-after informants in Seoul, but they refused to join one gang or family. They only gathered information and then sold it to the highest bidder. They didn't work for anyone, despite the endless promises of money and power and protection from the endless death threats, no doubt. The youngest wondered if this 'question' had something to do with that.

Namjoon sighed next to him. He must've come to the same conclusion that Jungkook did—or maybe Jungkook came to the same conclusion that Namjoon did. He wasn't quite as fast a thinker as his hyung, yet. "What's the question?"

The shorter smirked, taking time to look at each person as he spoke. "One of us always tells the truth—"

"—and one of us always lies." The other's eyes met with Jungkook's, and something in the youngest's mind ticked. "You figure out which is which—"

"—and we're yours." He reached into his pocket, and Yoongi tensed for a moment before he saw it was just his phone. "And you can't just guess, there needs to be reasoning behind your answer."

"There's five of you," the other said, grabbing his partner's phone and unlocking it, "so we'll let you ask us five questions."

"You have five minutes." The phone was placed on the table, face-up. "Go."

Jin and Yoongi immediately stood up, as did the three in the back, and they all gathered in a small circle. Well, the four oldest gathered in a small circle. Jungkook stood just outside of it, still able to hear the conversation but keeping most of his focus on the two at the table.

"You've got to be kidding me, Namjoon," Yoongi whispered angrily.

"We need them, you know that."

"Other people have the same information—" Jin started, but Hoseok interrupted him

"But not the same skills that they do. There's a reason no one has staked a claim on them yet, and why they're still alive."

"What's two plus two?" Jungkook asked the pair, startling the others and catching everyone's attention.

"Four," they answered in sync. The one on the right was looking up at the ceiling, while the one on the left was smiling wide.

"Which is the number of questions you have left," he added.

"Kid—" Yoongi started to scold him but Namjoon beat him to it.

"Kook, I know you want to help, but you need to let us handle this." He placed a hand on Jungkook's shoulder and gently pulled him backward.

"Right, right," Jungkook nodded, relenting. "I'm sorry, hyung." He waited just a moment, before— "Just really fast though – what's two plus two?" he asked again, this time surging forward to the table. Several people reacted this time, but Jungkook only paid attention to the two in from of him.

"Four."

"Still four."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"RM!"

"Kook!"

"This is hilarious," the one on the left giggled. The right one finally looked away from the ceiling and fixed his eyes on the youngest, a smile on his face as well.

"Why didn't you look at me until just now?" Jungkook asked him.

"Because you're not all that interesting," came the answer, brown eyes staring right into Jungkook's.

"I’m just saying," Jungkook shrugged, "it's a bit rude to not look at someone when you're asked a question. Or, when you're speaking to them at all. And I'm not buying that you think I'm not interesting—not when every eye in the room is on me right now."

He shrugged, mirroring Jungkook's posture. "Think what you want." The room slid into silence again. There was some shuffling behind him—it was probably Yoongi, trying to pull Jungkook away before he could do anything more, but someone stopped him.

"Hold up," Namjoon said quietly. "Give him a minute." The corner of his mouth turned up at Namjoon's permission to keep going.

"He's the one that tells the truth, isn't he?" Jungkook gestured to the one on the left. Suddenly the light mood his questions created vanished.

"What's your reasoning?"

"Two plus two is four," he said simply. "If one of you always lies then one of you wouldn't have answered four."

"That isn't a valid explanation."

Jungkook shook his head in disagreement. "You lied," he pointed at each of them directly as he continued. "He said one of you always tells the truth, which he does. You said one of you always lies, but you don't." Jungkook smirked. "You only lie when you look at someone, and you happened to look right at me when you said that. You tell the truth when you look away, but you look someone right in the eye and lie to their face."

The man shook his head, making his hair bounce slightly from the movement. Jungkook knew he was right, he could tell the man was grasping at straws, trying to find something to get them out of this. "You don't have—"

"Two plus two is four," he reiterated, "and you didn't look at anyone."

"Holy shit," the left one said, looking between Jungkook and his partner.

But Jungkook wasn't done. "I'm even willing to bet that's how you've gotten most of your information," he continued, now giving equal attention to the pair. "You're honest with people right off the bat and it makes them trust you even as you're telling them you're going to screw them over. And you go back and forth between telling the truth and lying, but since you two work together they assume you're being just as straightforward as he is. It's a brilliant con: you just talk to people, and they don't even know what information they're giving up until you already have it."

The room was silent, and Jungkook tried hard to not be smug, but he was failing. "So, final question: Jimin-ssi," he looked left, "Taehyung-ssi," he looked right, "did I miss anything?"

The timer on the phone went off, signaling the end of the five allotted minutes.

"I am so fucking glad we kept him."

"You were ready to kill him three minutes ago."

Taehyung moved to turn it off, then leaned back in his chair with a boxy smile on his face, eyes still on Jungkook. "I told you."

"No, you fucking didn't," Jimin turned towards his friend. "You didn't even wanna show up and hear them out—bitch, I told you!"

Taehyung rolled his eyes, finally looking away from the boy in front of him. "Chim, I am not the bitch in this relationship, you and I both know that." Jimin lightly smacked his shoulder, then moved his gaze over Jungkook's head to address the men still standing in awe behind him.

"So when do we start, Romeo?"

⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟

The light switched on as the door opened, blinding you to whoever was coming in this time. You shielded your eyes, squinting to see who your visitors were. There were only two figures you could make out as your eyes adjusted, but you didn't need to see to know who one of them was.

"Rise and shine, little girl!" You hated him most of all. He was there that night, he shoved you into the back of the van there and after leaving your father's; he was the first to use you, to take you in this room, on this bed. He was a constant, just as the doctor and the other woman were. If he was here now, then you were going to be in for it.

"I've got someone special for you to meet," he continued. "Get up!" You didn't want to move, you never wanted to listen, but you also wanted to minimize whatever was going to happen to you. You slowly pushed yourself up into a sitting position. Your eyes had fully adjusted by now, but you kept your gaze down.

He grabbed your hair and pulled it back, forcing your head up. You hissed in pain but didn't fight it. "Aren't you gonna say hi?" he whispered in your ear.

You finally looked at the newcomer, expecting another man far older than you to be leering at you. It wasn't uncommon for new workers to be introduced to you, the free-use prisoner. But he didn't look much older than you did. He was smiling, but it wasn't the same one you were used to seeing. He almost looked kind.

You refused to believe it.

"This is Jackson," the man said, letting you go and walking back towards the door. "She's all yours," he snickered, then knocked on the door to be let out. You and Jackson only looked at each other. You were waiting for him to come over and do whatever he wanted, but he wasn't coming any closer.

"Hi," he said, giving you a small wave. "I'm Jackson, like he said." Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. No one ever tried making conversation with you. You were there to be used. "What's your name?" You didn't answer. You only stared at him, waiting. After a few moments, he nodded awkwardly. "Okay, I mean, I already know it, but I was hoping we could talk … Can I come closer?"

You stayed silent. You didn't understand what game he was playing, but you definitely didn't want to be a player. You just wanted this to get over with.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, Y/N," he told you, "I won't even touch you. That's not why I'm here." It was strange hearing your name. No one here used it; you had been reduced to little girl or baby, or some variant or combination of those. He took a few steps towards you, then sat down on the floor in front of the bed. "I know that's what you're expecting, if what the other guys told me is true?"

He almost sounded like he didn't want it to be true, that you weren't being kept here against your will and constantly degraded and defiled. You watched him watch you for another minute, then you gave him a small, slow nod, crossing your legs on the bed.

Jackson sighed. "Yeah, I'm not gonna do that. And I'm sorry that it's been happening to you." He looked sorry. He looked like he wanted to do something about it. You didn't want to get your hopes up but… maybe, maybe he wouldn't hurt you? Maybe he would be the first person here you didn't immediately despise.

You bit your lip, then whispered, "How long have I been here?" Jackson was surprised at your sudden willingness to speak to him, then he cringed.

"Um, I'm not really sure," he answered. "You've been here longer than me, that's for sure. I've only been here a week."

"What day is it?" you asked, determined to get at least one answer out of him. "What month?"

He leaned back a bit so he could pull his phone from his front pocket. He didn't unlock it but did turn the screen on and reached over to hand it to you. You didn't take it, too scared of any possible repercussions, but you did look around until you found today's date. A small breath escaped you as the screen went black again.

Nearly two years had gone by since that night. Two years since you had been with him, since you had heard their jokes and laughter and light-hearted insults. Your eyes stung from unshed tears. "I turned eighteen about two months ago," you whispered again.

"Oh, uh, congrats?" Jackson replied, sliding his phone back into his pocket. "Is that how long you've been here then?" You only shook your head; you couldn't speak around the lump forming in your throat. You never thought that much time had passed, you just existed in your timeless little bubble outside of the world.

You were wrong. Knowing how much time had passed was so much worse than remaining in ignorance. Two years. Eight seasons. Twenty-four months. If you wanted you could calculate how many days that was, how many hours or minutes. So many things could have changed, and probably did.

How long had you been here when he almost rescued you? How long has it been since then?

Does he even still remember you?

"So, how long have you been here?" Jackson asked, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts. You swallowed hard before speaking.

"Just under two years."

"Two years?" he repeated in shock. "And they've been treating you like this the entire time?" You nodded, and he let out a breath. "Okay, look, um… My, uh, my sister was taken a few months back, and I've been trying to find her, that's why I'm here. It took me a solid month to get in, and I've only been here for a week, but… but I don't think she's here."

So that's why he was acting the way he was. Jackson really wasn't one of them. He really didn't want to hurt you. Maybe you really could trust him, a little bit, at least.

"If I'm being honest with myself, she's probably long gone by now, one way or another." He sounded so defeated, and when his eyes met yours, you could see sadness there, mixed with something else you couldn't quite place. "So, maybe I can help you instead."

"What do you mean?" you tentatively asked. There was only one way he could help you. Was he really talking about—

"I'll get you out." Your eyes widened at the words. "I can't do it immediately, or even soon. There are a lot of things to figure out and track and plan, it's gonna take a while. But I'll do it. I will get you out, I promise."

Promises didn't mean much of anything to you, not anymore, but you couldn't help the part of you that wanted to believe him, to believe that maybe there was finally a way out of this hell. You held eye contact with him, waiting for the mask to crack, for the hammer to drop and kill this hope in you before it got a chance to fully bloom.

"I mean it," Jackson insisted. "I know you don't believe me right now; I haven't given you much of a reason to, but hopefully you can decide to trust me." He stood up, brushing his pants off. "I'll come to see you when I can, and I'll give you updates on things, and… give you company of the non-malicious kind?"

You didn't respond, you weren't sure how to. You uncrossed your legs and pulled your knees towards your chest, wrapping your arms around them and resting your head there. Jackson watched, then gave you a nod and a smile. "I'll be back soon, okay?" He turned and made his way to the door.

"Jackson," you called right before he knocked on the door. He turned around and took a step back to you. You took a deep breath before continuing, "You really won't touch me?" Of all the things he'd told you, this was the one you needed reassurance of. Too many people here touched you, sexually and otherwise, and if he was going to come back you wanted this one thing he said to hold true.

He shook his head with the sweetest smile on his face. "No, not until you want me to." He knocked on the door, and it was pushed open for him. "I'll see you later, uh, babe." He cringed a bit at the word like he didn't want to use it, but he had a part to play when he wasn't alone with you. That didn't mean the word didn't make your skin crawl.

Jackson disappeared, the door closed, and the light was turned off. You fell sideways onto the bed, staring ahead in the darkness. Talking with him made your mind race in ways it hadn't in, well, years, you knew now; all the extra thinking was starting to give you a headache, and you just wanted to get some sleep. Your eyes closed, and as sleep began taking over you whispered a response to his departing words.

"I'm not your babe."

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈ "Save me, oh, come save me, cause everybody's got a big debt to pay." ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟

Four years...

Namjoon sat in his father's office, continuing to go through the paperwork of his operations. It had been a month since Yoongi put a bullet in his head, and nearly three since he'd done the same to your father. Getting the Kim family information wasn't awfully hard, Namjoon still had a lot of ties with his family's workers and a number of members were willing to switch at the knowledge of Namjoon coming to take over.

Finding information on your family was the hard part and had taken so long. Your father kept a tighter lid on everything he did than Namjoon expected, and the members of his gang were far more loyal if only out of fear. Rome wasn't built in a day, but it did burn down in a night, and even titans can fall. With the combined men, resources, and assets of the two families, Bangtan was officially able to form.

Originally, Namjoon was going to let the youngest three go. He had only hired Jimin and Taehyung to work for them until they could take down his father and yours, and now that that was done, they could go back to whatever they were doing before. And Namjoon still didn't want Jungkook anywhere near this life, despite his eagerness to contribute. Jungkook still reminded him a little too much of you, and he was worried that if the maknae got involved too much, something might happen to him. Namjoon couldn't live through that twice.

Jimin and Tae, however, adamantly told him they didn't want to go, and truth be told Namjoon didn't want to let them go. They were incredible and watching the way the two worked never failed to thrill Namjoon's over-analyzing mind. Jimin told him they had found a home and family with the five of them, and if they didn't have to leave then they weren't going to.

Jungkook naturally forced his way into things, taking full advantage of his hyungs' fondness for him. Namjoon relented all too easily in letting him officially join—on the condition that the maknae at least work with someone else in the group. Didn't matter who, he just couldn't be alone.

Over the years it had irritated all of them at his ability to pick up anything quickly and easily and to be a near expert at it almost right off the bat. Namjoon saw the usefulness of that specific skill (and would never admit that he was a little jealous of it himself).

Very few people were killed in the takeovers, too; Yoongi took care of the ones that needed to go. Jin and Hoseok vetted those who wanted to stay and work for them now, and those who wanted out—which was most of your father's people, truth be told—were let go without any repercussions.

So, with seven people running a gang, each taking their part to keep it up and running, and with the workforce and resources they've been needing for so long, Namjoon could finally, finally work on finding you.

Something your father said before his head exploded had stuck with Namjoon in all the wrong ways. He seemed to have accepted his demise—Namjoon supposed he had seen the end coming one way or another. It wasn't until Namjoon mentioned you that the bastard played the last piece he could.

"You'll never find her. I don’t even know why you'd want to. She should have two and a half kids by now, or maybe she's still just a cumdump trying to whore herself out—"

The gunshot didn't startle Namjoon, but he was a bit upset by its suddenness. Yoongi stepped out from the shadow of the bookshelf and slid the weapon back into his jacket pocket. "He had information we needed, hyung."

"Were you really going to sit there and let him talk about her like that?" Yoongi asked, stepping towards the body. "Cause I sure as fuck wasn't. Besides," he kicked at it until your father was rolled over face up, "he wasn't going to tell us anything. You and I both know that." Namjoon didn't like it when Yoongi was right.

She should have two and a half kids by now. That meant that you were still alive, somehow, somewhere, you had to be. Or, at least, your father still expected you to be alive. If he knew you were dead, he would've come out and said it. Right? Or would he still have alluded to you being alive and leading Namjoon on a wild goose chase? Namjoon's father would do something like that. Was yours any different?

Namjoon let out a sigh and put the paperwork down. The words were starting to blur together anyway. His father had taught him how to run the Kim gang, he was going to be the successor after all. But that was before he was kicked out and it had been quite a while since he'd really had to do this.

He stood up, deciding he needed a good stretch and a walk to clear his head. His mother had kept the gardens pristine, and he could use the fresh air. He glanced at the bookshelf and nearly passed it on his way out but backtracked for a moment.

The Complete Tales & Poems of Edgar Allen Poe stared back at him on the shelf. It was the only thing he took from your father's estate. He had indulged himself for only a moment and searched through the rooms until he found yours. Namjoon wasn't expecting to find anything, he just wanted a moment to feel close to you again.

Your childhood room wasn't anything special. Large and filled with all sorts of rich things that parents buy their children to make up for their neglect. The book was sitting on your nightstand like this was your chosen material to read before bed each night. To this day, he had no idea why you had had it. You never seemed like the type of person to be into the dark and macabre.

He had sat down on the edge of the pristinely made bed, not wanting to disturb anything too much, and gently picked the book up. You'd had a spot bookmarked with a red ribbon, and Namjoon let his curiosity get the best of him. Carefully he opened it and began reading:

It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know

By the name of Annabel Lee;

And this maiden she lived with no other thought

Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea,

But we loved with a love that was more than a love—

I and my Annabel Lee—

With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven

Coveted her and me.

Namjoon's brain had easily found the parallels between the poem and the two of you. But he hoped that your ending would be better than poor Annabel's. The book was the only thing he took from your bedroom.

In his father's office, Namjoon had placed it on the main bookshelf, and in a strange way, it fit right in with all the other books and binders his father had already filled the shelves with. Namjoon looked at the faded lettering on the spine for a moment, then continued his way out of the office to the gardens.

He made it about halfway down the staircase when his phone began ringing. Pulling it out of his pocket, he glanced at the caller ID and answered at the sight of Jimin's name. "Jimin? What's going on?"

The youngest three had gone out tonight. There was a high-end party being held in the southern districts of Seoul where a few rival gang members were meeting up, and it would be a perfect opportunity to start hunting for information on you.

Jimin was panting on the other side of the line. "Hyung, hyung—fuck—hyung, he's gone!"

Namjoon's heart stopped. His mind started playing back those same words but in his own voice. It couldn't be happening, not again. "What do you mean, he's gone?"

"We can't find Jungkook anywhere!" Jimin answered. "Tae's been calling him for the past half hour but it keeps going straight to voicemail and—"

"Chim!" Tae's voice came through faintly. "I found his phone smashed in the back alley. Jungkook's not just gone—"

"He was taken, shit!" Jimin took a deep breath. "Hyung, I'm sorry, god, I am so sorry."

But Namjoon wasn't listening anymore. He couldn't think, he could barely breathe. The only thing going through his head was not again.

Jungkook's gone.

Not again.

She's gone! Hyung, she's gone!

Not again.

Jungkook's gone.

⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟

Tomorrow.

That's what he told you, a secret whispered to you as close as you let him get to you. Tomorrow, he would get you out. However much longer that was you didn't know; you still had no way to tell time in your room. So you had to wait on him still, you had to trust in him, in the hope he was offering you.

You weren't sure which you were more frightened of: trusting Jackson or staying here any longer.

You slowly rocked back and forth on the bed, resisting the urge to think about what you would do once you were out. You weren't out yet and getting out still wasn't guaranteed. You didn't need your freedom to be dangled in front of you, just to be snatched away again.

So instead, you thought about all the things that could possibly go wrong in your little escape attempt (that you knew next to nothing of anyway) and what you might do in each scenario; and oh, were there so many different scenarios, different ways things could happen and you could react.

You played it out like a chess game in your head, something you hadn't done in years. Your move, their move, your reaction, their response. A small part of you would admit that you missed this, this kind of planning, of thinking ahead. You hadn't needed to do it in so long and giving your brain something to do besides go numb was a welcome change.

Even if there was a chance you wouldn't be able to do it for much longer.

Most of your endings involved both of your deaths – which would be a mercy for you at this point. Very few ended with you and Jackson actually making it out. Some ended with only one of you getting out. There were a lot of variables, a lot of things that could go wrong. It didn't help that Jackson didn't tell you anything.

You didn't get any sleep – not that you ever really did – you were too keyed up, too worried, and maybe even just a little too excited, even though you didn't want to be.

There was a soft knock on your door, just the faintest of rapping on the steel but it still echoed around the empty space. Your breath caught in your throat, eyes wide, as you watched it open slightly. Jackson's head poked through the opening.

Your heart rate picked up. "Here," he whispered, throwing a bag across the room at you. You reached out to catch it as he continued. "Get changed, then knock on the door when you're done. Hurry." He ducked back out, closing the door and flipping the light on for you. You shielded your eyes, waiting a bit for them to get used to the light before dumping the contents of the bag out.

You flushed at the sight of the new panties and bra that were at the top of the pile of clothes. At least he had the courtesy to make them as plain as possible. Underneath those were a simple white t-shirt, a pair of dark jeans, socks, and black sneakers with white laces – all of which were probably a bit too big for you but that didn't matter right now.

You pulled off your shirt and threw it on the bed, then dressed as quickly as you could. Putting the new clothes on, especially the underwear, filled you with a rush of relief and comfort. For the first time in years you were covered, and that's when it started hitting you.

You were getting out.

You tied the shoes, then glanced at the last few items on the bed: a large green jacket, a red baseball cap, and the shirt you just discarded. You set the cap on your head and put the jacket on but paused at your shirt. Well, not your shirt. His. You had managed to keep it in decent shape after all these years. You had managed to wait after all these years. You promised him you would wait.

He promised you he'd come back.

You couldn't wait any longer. But that didn't mean you could abandon him altogether. Taking a deep breath, you shoved the shirt into the bag Jackson gave you, then ran to the door, knocking on it just as lightly as Jackson had.

The light turned off, leaving you in darkness for only a second as the door opened. You moved out of the way, clutching the bag to your chest. Jackson waved you forward, and you took your first steps out of the room.

Jackson didn't give you a chance to look around though, grabbing your hand and pulling you away. "C'mon," he whispered, "I've got a car waiting but we have to go." He closed the door, locking it, and started racing down the corridor. You held onto him as tightly as he held onto you, the two of you sticking close to the walls and keeping your steps as quiet as possible.

You didn't bother keeping track of the turns he was making or the stairs you descended. You weren't going to need a mental map of this place again, not if you were successful. And if you weren't, there was little chance you'd be able to get out of the room again, never mind on your own. Surprisingly, there wasn't anyone on guard, or at least, there weren't any guards around where you were running. You wanted to ask how Jackson had pulled something like this off, but now was not the time for talking.

After a few minutes, he pulled you through a door, and you were hit by a blast of cool air. Fresh air. Your eyes widened as you looked up at the night sky. You couldn't see the stars, but the moon shone full and bright.

It had been so long.

Jackson kept pulling you along, urging you to keep going. You were outside, sure, but you weren't in the clear yet. There was a sleek black car waiting, running with its lights off. You pulled your hand out of Jackson's grasp and ran to the passenger side. The car was warm inside, and Jackson didn't waste any time putting it into gear and driving off.

"You thought of a name, right?" You nodded in response. He told you to come up with a fake name, something to use just in case someone was still looking for L/N Y/N. It hadn't taken you long to decide on one.

"Anna," you said, "Lee Anna." Jackson nodded his approval, then went quiet, focusing on the road. You turned to look out the window, eyes wide at the sights you had been denied for so long. A slow smile grew on your face the further and further away you got. You waited until you couldn't see the building anymore, and then you waited a few minutes more, before asking, "Where are we going?"

"Busan," came the answer. Your head snapped towards Jackson in shock. You were going South? Didn’t he know how dangerous that was? He glanced at you with a heavy, apologetic look. "We've got a lot of work to do."

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈ "Now that I gave you what you want, all I want is to forget." ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟

Eight years...

You ripped a part of the dead man's shirt off, using it to try and wipe his blood off you. You couldn't care less about the off-white cocktail dress you were in, now splattered with red, or that one of your silver heels was broken off the shoe and currently sticking out of his neck.

Tonight was supposed to be easy – your earlier kill (and actual target) had gone off without a hitch – but while waiting for the cab to take you back to the apartment, this drunk asshole just had to get too handsy with you. Not only did you ruin the dress (again, not that you cared, but Jackson would), but you also missed your cab, and Jackson was probably still pissed at you from earlier, so he wouldn't call another one for you.

Out of all the dangerous and stupid things you've done, walking home barefoot in a dress through downtown Busan in the middle of the night was probably near the top of that list.

You grabbed your jacket and hat off the ground, shook any dirt off them, and checked for any bloodstains. You had just cleaned the jacket and didn't want to spend the extra money at the dry cleaners again. Jackson would be annoyed if you told him it needed to get cleaned again so soon. It was fine though, so you quickly put it on and zipped it up, then fit the cap snuggly on your head.

You knew Busan like the back of your hand after all these years. Getting home would take a while, but it would be an easy trip so long as there weren't any more complications. Unfortunately, that also gave you time to think. You didn't like thinking. Your mind turned against itself when it wasn't occupied.

The ground was cold beneath your bare feet, and you focused on that. Kept your head down, watched where you were walking, avoided stepping on pebbles or the occasional shard of glass. Your mind kept wanting to go back to another night when you were barefoot on a sidewalk. It was the middle of the night then too.

Your hand clenched around the flip phone in your pocket. Maybe you should just call Jackson, tell him what happened, ask for another ride. Had you gotten into the cab, you probably would've been getting back around now. He would get even angrier if you were late and he hadn't heard from you.

Except you really weren't in the mood to be yelled at again. He yelled at you earlier, before you left, something about always dressing like you're going to fuck instead of kill. Well yeah, you told him, he's taking me out first, I can't show up in my ripped jeans and graphic tee, then he'll know something is up.

Busan and Seoul were entirely different scenes, but some things never changed: if the person you were hired to kill asked you out for dinner, you sure as fuck played into that. You'd get a free meal, and if you fluttered your lashes and smiled coyly enough, they'd take you back to their place, no doubt. The only thing different was in Seoul you didn't kill them until you were done fucking; in Busan, you pulled the trigger during foreplay. Maybe it was a bit brutal, but that's what Busan was. That was how you survived in the southern cities.

The Northern mafia scene was glitz and glam, knives hidden beneath lingerie, balls and galas, an unspoken set of rules and code of honor everyone followed. It was an elegant and deadly game of chess, where the pieces were real lives and you were playing several games at once, where making a move on one board changed things on ten others.

Things were darker in the south. Dirtier, more violent. The Southern scene was brass knuckles and spiked baseball bats and hitting below the belt. There were no rules; it was every gang for themselves, and problems were solved by gunfights in broad daylight. There was no class, no finesse—just kill or be killed, learn fast or die trying. You were lucky you were such a fast learner.

Crossover didn't happen often. You remembered your father explaining it to you, years ago: Southerners were too crass in their ways, immature in most cases. Cheaters and swindlers and conmen. People who never held up their end of the deal. Why bother with them when you could trade internationally, places like Japan and China, which were far more sophisticated than the toddlers who threw deadly tantrums when they didn't get exactly what they want.

Having lived in Busan for so long now, you knew what was said about the North. Uptight. Arrogant. Vain. More concerned with how they looked in the eyes of their peers. Thought they were better than everyone else just because their wealth and power were inherited, instead of working for it. Thought they were boring, too, whatever that meant.

Pride was all it really boiled down to. A bunch of old men too prideful to change their ways and a bunch of young men too prideful to shut up and listen. The real winners were the ones who managed to get the best of both worlds, but they were few and far between. If someone were to actually take over both the North and the South undergrounds, they'd have the entire country in their hands.

You had the feeling that Jackson wanted you two to be those lucky few, to do the impossible. If you cared more, if you weren't so tired, maybe you could. After all, he'd kept you alive and well this long. Surely, he had some other tricks up his sleeve.

A car pulled up next to you, and your frustration spiked again. You didn't expect anything less from the dark streets of Busan, but goddamn did you wish for just one peaceful night. You kept your pace even, ignoring the sound of a window rolling down.

"Hey baby!" The term made your skin crawl, brought back echoes of baby and babygirl and the phantom touches of hands that were far too rough on you. "Your boyfriend paid extra for me to come back and get you!" That got you to stop in your tracks and turn around. The cab driver had his head sticking out of the car and didn't even try to be sneaky about checking you out.

You arched your brow. "A lot of people claim to be my boyfriend, I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific than that." It was almost laughable how he thought you would fall for that. Then again, he said he had come back for you, and Jackson had an eerie way of knowing where you always were.

The driver smirked. "If you don't wanna go back to him, baby, I'll take you home with me. We could have more fun, I bet." You rolled your eyes so hard you were sure you got a glance at the inside of your skull. As if being with Jackson all the time was fun. Jackson kept you safe and got you jobs, and sometimes got you out of your own head, and that was it.

"What's the name of the guy who paid you?" You asked, not even remotely amused at his poor attempts at charming you. He checked you out again before answering.

"Jack-something?" You let out a sigh and opened the door to the backseat. Close enough. He still wasn't subtle as he drove, but at least he didn't try talking to you. You could enjoy the trip through the dark streets, grateful to watch the streetlights rush past you rather than walking beneath them.

The cab pulled up to the entrance of your apartment building, and you ignored the driver's last lewd comments of you sure you don't wanna come with me? You climbed out, shoes in hand, and made your way into the building.

This apartment had been a gift to you, a by-product of a job you'd done the previous year. For nearly eight months you had been undercover as a sugar baby for this CEO that a bunch of people wanted dead. The apartment came sometime around month five when he asked to go home with you for a change, and you showed him that small place you and Jackson had lived in since you'd first arrived in Busan.

On the next date, he brought you to this apartment building and handed you the key. Three months later when he was dead, Jackson finally moved back in with you, and the money you'd made from killing the guy more than covered rent for the next year. Jackson kept sending you on jobs, never wanting the money to run out, although he did give you a break after that one.

You pushed the elevator button, grateful that the door opened immediately. You hit the button for your floor and allowed yourself to rest against the wall. You had to mentally prepare yourself for whatever Jackson was gonna say or do once you got home and you weren't thrilled. You hoped that for once he would just let you shower and crash on the couch.

The elevator dinged as it reached your floor. The door opened and you pushed yourself off the wall. If you weren't so tired, if you cared more, maybe your heart would've dropped at the sight of Jackson waiting for you outside your apartment. But it wasn't really that surprising.

You unzipped your jacket and took your hat off, shaking your hair out. You felt rather than saw Jackson's eyes look over you as you walked down the hall.

"You've looked better," he said once you were within hearing distance. He pointed to your broken shoe. "Where's your heel?"

"In someone's jugular," you answered dryly, moving around him to get inside.

"So that's why you're late." He followed behind you, closing and locking the door. You went to the kitchen, threw your shoes in the trash, then tossed your hat and jacket onto the counter.

"What, did you think I finally got tired of your shit and left?"

"You couldn't survive without me," Jackson said, voice taking on that edge he had gained since coming to Busan four years ago. It was something you had become too familiar with, his harsh words in his dark voice. You couldn't remember exactly what caused it, you simply knew the Jackson you were dealing with now was not the Jackson you had first met.

You let out a sigh, giving up before the battle even started. "Goodnight Jackson." You side-stepped him again, aiming for the bathroom so you could finally try to relax. Jackson had other ideas, continuing to follow you.

"Babe—"

"I'm not your babe."

"You aren't still upset about earlier, are you?" He asked. "You know I say stupid shit when I get worried, it doesn't mean anything."

"And you know I don't like that word," you retorted.

"Babe?"

"'Whore'."

You turned the bathroom light on, not even bothering to try and shove him out. Jackson would give you space when he decided to give you space, not when you wanted it.

You hid a cringe at your appearance in the mirror. He was right, you really had looked better. Jackson leaned against the doorway.

"It didn't mean anything," he insisted again. "I was just worried, and upset because you weren't listening to me, again." He sighed and ran a hand over his face like he was the one who was tired of your shit. "You're making this a bigger deal than it is."

It's not a big deal. It doesn't mean anything. You aren't seeing things right. You've heard it all before. They were things he said after every argument you had with him, every fight you started. You had lost track of how many things were your fault over the years.

You pulled your hair up into a loose ponytail, just to keep it out of the way as you began washing your face. You just wanted to get the makeup and blood off your skin, get out of the dress, and crash on your couch. You heard Jackson move behind you, coming closer, as you dried your face and arms.

"You're thinking too much," he said quietly, almost gently in your ear. He slowly started trailing his fingers up and down your sides. "Again," he added.

"No, Jackson," you told him, but you didn't try to move or push him away. You knew this game well enough: you could say no and push him away all you wanted – Jackson pushed back just as much until you said yes. "Enough people have tried touching me tonight."

"Yeah, but they did it wrong," he replied, not stopping his ministrations. "They were probably too rough with you, too dirty." He moved to the other side of your head, voice dropping down. "They don't know you the way I do."

You hated this.

"I'm tired, Jackson."

You. Hated. This.

"You know you sleep better after."

You hated that he was always right.

"You're thinking too much," Jackson repeated. His hands were firmer now, pressing you against him. "Let me help you stop."

You hated that it always worked.

You turned around in his hold – not because you wanted to give in, but because you couldn't bear to see that empty look in your eyes reflected back at you any longer.

You were thinking too much.

You removed one of his hands but intertwined your fingers.

You were so tired.

You moved away from him but pulled him along down the hall.

You wanted to stop.

You walked into your dark bedroom and led him to the couch you didn't sleep on.

Jackson smirked. He won again.

You hated yourself.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈ "Like a heartbeat drives you mad in the stillness of remembering what you had and what you lost." ⋞ ⟨ ⏣ ⟩ ⋟

Ten years...

You dug your nails into your palm as you stepped off the train. It had been six years since you set foot in Seoul, ten since you last walked around freely. If you were being honest with yourself, well, you couldn't be honest with yourself. You had no idea if you wanted to be back in the city, or if you never wanted to see it again. Part of you wanted to jump onto the train going back to Busan, part of you wanted to make your way to the airport and get out of this country entirely, and part of you wanted to see if you could find that small basement apartment hidden behind a maze of alleyways.

Part of you wanted to throw yourself onto the train tracks and just end this now.

You kept your head down as you made your way out of the train station. Seoul wasn't Busan, but you'd spent enough time there that trying to seem inconspicuous was ingrained into your very being. You were so focused on keeping your head down, on trying to stay hidden, you stopped paying attention to your surroundings – and where other people were.

You bumped into another person, someone hurrying to catch their train no doubt. You glanced up quickly, then looked away before he could get a good look at you, mumbled out a fast "sorry" and moved around him and the woman he was with, going on your way. You didn't notice that he looked back at your retreating figure—

—wondering if he'd seen you before.

"Anyway," Jimin said, turning his attention back to the woman with a smile. "Heeseung will be with you on the train from here to Incheon Airport, then he'll pass you off to Jay, who will help you get on your flight. He'll also have the documents for you to start over in Germany."

"Thank you so much," she said, tears starting to well up in her eyes. "You have no idea—this means so much to me. Thank you."

Jimin smiled gently and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. "This is what we do. You'll be safe from now on. Just make sure to text me when you land in Frankfurt." She nodded furiously, swiping at the few tears that managed to escape. From the corner of his eye, he saw Heeseung approaching them, and without much fanfare handed her off to the man. They exchanged a nod, then Jimin turned and started heading back to the parking lot. He pulled his phone out—

—as it buzzed with a message, and you tentatively opened it to see who it was from. Jackson probably knew by now that you had left him, and you were dreading the endless calls you would no doubt be getting from him soon. Instead, thankfully, it was a message from the unsaved number you had been communicating with.

Tonight. 8pm. Money's waiting for you.

That gave you an hour and a half. The next message to come in contained the address for the meeting place. You flipped your phone closed and shoved it back into your jacket pocket, perhaps a bit harsher than needed. An hour and a half wouldn't be too bad, but you were still worried.

You knew coming back to Seoul would bring back those memories. You didn't know if you would be able to handle it. But this job – sketchy as it sounded when you were approached about it a few days ago – was too good to pass up. Even if it meant ditching Jackson in Busan. Even if it ended up being a scam. Even if you had to deal with the source of your traumas.

You only had to wait a few minutes before you caught a cab, grateful that the driver wouldn't try hitting on you for once. You gave him the address you were sent and closed—

—the door. "How'd it go with Chim?" Hoseok asked. He didn't look up from his laptop, continuing to clack away as Jin quickly settled into his seat.

The eldest adjusted his suit as the car started forward. "Just got off the phone with him. She's been passed off to our Enhypen unit and so far, things are going smoothly."

"I'll keep close in touch with Jungwon and Sunghoon then," the hacker replied, "and the intel?"

"Tonight, 7:30, at that new French place." He took a deep breath before his next sentence. "It's Kookie's turn." That got Hoseok to stop typing and meet his gaze. Jin imagined they had the same cautious look in their eyes.

"This time of year?" Hoseok whispered, even though the driver couldn't hear through the window separating the front from the back. "Are you sure?" Jin reluctantly nodded.

"V went last time, and Chim can't go, he's already been tagged." He let out a sigh. Getting Namjoon to agree was going to be nigh impossible. For as serious as the mafia boss was, his emotions always spiked around August and September, and Jungkook was his unspoken favorite for reasons no one brought up.

Hoseok huffed out a breath of his own, going back to whatever he was doing on his computer. "I'm not telling him." Jin didn't bother hiding his eye roll.

"Of course you're not," he said, practically scoffing. "Suga and I are the only ones who have the balls to tell him Kook is going out—"

"—for dinner around here?" You asked the driver as you were dropped off a few blocks away from your destination. "It's been a while since I've been in Seoul, and things have definitely changed." He directed you to a tteok-bokki stand close by that was just about to close for the night.

"It's a bit pricy but definitely worth it!" You gave him a friendly smile in thanks – at least you hoped it was friendly – and paid him before climbing out. Someone pushed you out of their way, making you stumble forward, as they took your place in the cab. He drove off quickly, barely giving you a chance to glare at whatever hurried person you were unfortunate enough to encounter.

You shook it off though, things were still far better here than in Busan, so you adjusted your hat and tucked your hands into your pockets as you started towards the food stand. You hadn't eaten since you left yours and Jackson's apartment, and you'd rather not have your stomach rumbling in the middle of your meeting.

The wait for the food wasn't bad, the various scents around making your stomach clench in anticipation. Jackson rarely let you eat out unless you could con it out of a job, but neither of you were the best cooks either, so food was simplified down to whatever could be microwaved or eaten straight out of the fridge.

The hot nearly homemade food in your hands and the cooler evening air took you back, back farther than your memories usually went. Pleasant laughter echoed through your mind, words and conversations long forgotten playing back like static. You couldn't recall whose voice belonged to whom, you could hardly picture their smiling faces, but you remembered warm meals every week and endless teasing and being yelled at about sitting on the counter. You remembered feeling safe and happy and loved.

Your appetite shrunk as your heart dropped, and you looked at the tteok-bokki with a pang of sadness and resentment the simple rice dish didn't deserve. You forced yourself to—

—take a few bites, trying to ignore how Taehyung was watching him like a hawk. Namjoon knew why Jin had given the task to the younger, he could be scarily persuasive when he needed to be, but it didn't mean it didn't bother the leader to no end. He knew he got 'bad' around this time of year, he knew he closed himself off more than usual, but having at least one member keep an eye on him at all times could be classified as overkill.

"You're doing so good, hyung," Tae said with a flat voice, looking up from the fashion magazine laying on the counter. It took everything in Namjoon to not throw his fork at him.

"Don't patronize me, Taehyung." The leader's voice was low and would have been terrifying in any other context, but Jin had threatened his wrath to fall upon Tae should Namjoon not eat today, and there were things in the world that were scarier than Namjoon (albeit very few of them).

Tae returned his attention to the magazine. "Jin-hyung said, come hell or high water, you need to eat a real meal today. And since I was the only one who wasn't doing anything today, I get to make sure you do." He gave the leader a pointed look as he turned the page.

Namjoon simply groaned, dropping his head into his empty hand as he stabbed a few more noodles onto his fork. "I am a grown-ass man. I can take care of myself."

"We're all grown-ass men, and we all take care of each other, whether we like it or not." Another page turned as Namjoon took another bite. "Oh, honey, that clutch in that color? Ew." Tae turned the page a little too aggressively to get away from the offensive sight. "Besides, Jin-hyung said he had not-great news and you're less cranky after you've eaten."

Namjoon knew the younger could feel his glare. If looks could kill, Namjoon was sure between him and Yoongi half the country would be six feet under by now. Taehyung wasn't fazed though; he never was in casual settings. "What kind of 'not-great news'?" The only answer he got was a nonchalant shrug as the younger picked up the magazine and walked—

—around aimlessly, trying to keep yourself from getting too lost. You still had quite a bit of time to kill, so you spent it trying to refamiliarize yourself with the city you had long left behind.

The thing about walking through Seoul was this: everything was the same, and everything was different. Everything was bright and shiny and new, and yet it felt like things had never changed. You felt like you were simultaneously blending in and sticking out. You had never walked down these exact streets, but you had walked down so many others so long ago that it still felt like you were walking through the past.

Ten years had passed, yet you still felt like that same 16-year-old who had run away from her life to find another, better one. Then again, ten years later you were a 26-year-old running away from her life to find another, better one. So maybe you hadn't changed that much at all.

Tired of walking, tired of remembering, tired of feeling so goddamned tired, you leaned against one of the shop buildings, deciding to take a break and maybe just wait it out here until you needed to get to your meeting. If you were going to get lost in your head anyway, you might as well keep yourself stationary.

You wished you would lose track of time, but you kept checking your phone every few minutes, scared to get too caught up and end up being late. You should've been paying a bit more attention to what was around you, something you realized when you were harshly pulled backward, and a hand tightened—

—his tie, straightening it out and brushing his hair away from his forehead. Namjoon's only condition for Jungkook going on the job was that one of them dropped him off and picked him up. So, Yoongi was driving him to the restaurant, and Jin and Namjoon would be standing by to pick him up afterward. Jimin and Tae were close by as well, ready to intervene if necessary, and Hoseok had everyone hooked up with earpieces on a secure line.

"You look just fine, Kook-ah," Yoongi said quietly. "It's not like this is a date."

"The guy thinks it's a date though," Jungkook responded cheekily. "I don't want him to be entirely disappointed when I show up instead."

"You've been hanging out with Jimin-ah too much," Hoseok's voice came over the earpiece, and Jungkook could hear his smile.

"Hey!"

The maknae snickered, and he caught the smallest hint of a smirk on his hyung's face as he drove. He lived for moments like that, where Jungkook could see the smallest hint of happiness on any of his hyungs faces, especially right now. It was a little over ten years ago that you were taken, and it always hit the four oldest hard. The youngest did what he could, but he never felt like it was enough.

He dreamed about what it would be like to find you. To tell you that Namjoon was still waiting for you, to tell Namjoon that you were finally coming back. To see the two of you throw yourselves into each other. To see Namjoon be genuinely happy again.

That was all Jungkook really wanted.

So he looked for you everywhere, even when he wasn't really supposed to. He watched out the windows as they drove throughout the city, as he walked through the streets and alleyways, he even searched during his downtime. He had become almost as obsessed with you as Namjoon was himself. He'd had a lot of wrong calls in his years of knowing about you, but it never got him down. If anything, it made him more eager to find you.

"Alright Kook," Jin spoke up, "one more time." The youngest repeated everything he had been told in the briefing, by both Jin and Jimin. It was supposed to be an easy in and out: show up, strike the deal, get away.

The client was expecting the woman Jimin had so carefully sent away earlier – she was probably a part of the deal as well. He would probably be upset when he saw Jungkook instead of her, but they were confident they could get him to make the deal with Bangtan. Song didn't need any more assistance in the North.

Yoongi pulled over just a couple of blocks away from the restaurant. "Keep your earpiece on this time," he admonished the maknae before Jungkook climbed out. He nodded shyly, then closed the door and cracked his—

—neck, letting the now-lifeless body drop. You weren't surprised that something like that happened, but you were a little disappointed. Seoul was supposedly better than Busan, the North was supposedly better than the South; but dark alleys were still dark alleys, and dark men still had a thing for young, pretty, innocent girls.

It was a shame you weren't so innocent anymore.

You dragged him deeper into the alleyway, closer to the dumpster that was there. A few strategically placed empty beer bottles later, and suddenly the murder was a drunken accident. A humorless chuckle left you – you had been in Seoul for how long? And someone was already dead.

You quickly left the alley and began making your way towards the meeting place. The evening had nearly shifted fully into night now, the street lights turning on as people still shuffled about, racing to dinner reservations and shopping sales. The darkening daylight meant you needed to look up now to see where you were going instead of keeping your head down. The risk this brought about was accidentally making eye contact with someone, or rather, accidentally making eye contact with the wrong person.

Today just wasn't your day, it seemed, as a few minutes into your trek you glanced to your left, right as a man in a three-piece suit glanced to his right. Your eyes widened as they met innocent-looking doe ones, which widened of their own accord as they looked at you. You quickly averted your gaze and picked up your pace. You knew him.

Well, not really, but you knew of him. Bunny Boy, they called him, The Golden Maknae. The youngest underground boxer the South had ever seen, who just up and disappeared one day. How many people in Busan had tried hiring you to find him, dead or alive? Sure, the pictures they had shown you were outdated, showing you a much younger version, but if they were aged up there was no doubt about it. You weaved your way through the crowd, hoping to lose him.

What was he doing here? If he had been in Seoul since he disappeared from Busan all those years ago, it would explain why no one could ever find him. You knew a thing or two about that. How did he even make it up here? Did he recognize you? Was he after you too, the way you had been after him in Busan? You risked a small glance over your shoulder and caught him trying to follow you.

You finally ducked into yet another alleyway, pressing yourself up to the wall as much as you could. You let out a sigh before steeling your nerves. He was here for you, you just knew it, and you wanted to know why. You waited for your moment to strike—

Jungkook did a double-take.

Jinagada/지나가다: “it passes” holy fucking shit, has it been a while. i don’t even know what to say anymore. thank you so much for sticking around and holding out for this one, and if you’re new here, welcome! Thank you so much for your patience with me!!! this chapter was a labor of love (and of hate), so thank you thank you thank you for sticking around and reading it. please please please let me know what you think - i thrive off of your reactions and what you loved and hated and felt so please don't be scared to share!! i love you guys so so so much. AND since this chapter was basically the length of a fic, i have created a playlist specifically for this chapter, you can find it here on spotify and youtube, and i’ve listed the songs below as well. the next chapter should be coming soon!! thank you again lovlies!! Super special thank you to my (not so tiny anymore) taglist! Let me know if you want to be added and subsequently become a Cool Kid™️ @illnevertrustmyselfagain @misschino @youlook-likehell @dany-but-not-targaryen @nyx-goddess-of-choas @fangirl125reader @wordsaremyswords @clowdyblue @tutnotmytea @scentedsope @hope122598 @veronawrites @ayoongiverse @myooniverse @jiminrings @milady-mira @cafemyg @lolalee24 @elyte @hyungieyoongi @singukieee @hello-neema @thebadassmotherofmyshotas @kawaii-bear @fangirl-and-stuff@notsooperfect @mintyoonjisworld @glams00 @thisisnotangel @dprssdgal @irony-of-living @jayhopely @remmykinsff @gukieater @cherrie11113 @lovra974 @girlwithluv0613 @whatsakilo @yoursoontobestepmom @juju-227592 @zahraaelamira @xyahrinx @belladaises @jaiuneamesolitaiire @lookhere-2seok @imnotokayfuckup @rjsmochii "the decade" playlist: that night: "your star" ~ evanescence three months: "when the dark falls" ~ the never ending six months: "i was so sure" ~ mnthl one year: "spring day" ~ bts two years: "courtesy call" ~ thousand foot krutch four years: "big bad wolf" ~ roses & revolutions eight years: "give you what you like" ~ avril lavigne ten years: "dreams" ~ gabrielle aplin & bastille (original by fleetwood mac)

#bts #bts mafia #bta mafia au #bts fic #bts writing #bts angst #namjoon x reader #ot7 x reader #namjoon fic #ot7 fic #part nine #edge of tonight

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