Chapter Text
there is another world;
there is a better world.
there must be
well, there must be.
- asleep, the smiths
As Jimin stumbles through the empty alleyway, he reassures himself with the fact that he looks suitably distraught.
The rain plasters his hair to his forehead. Five miles in it - the distance from Hyeon’s house to the club - means his clothes are soaked, clinging to his skin, and his limp is genuine. He isn't used to running for so long. His jacket's ripping at the shoulder, revealing a strip of scratched skin, but that was an accident. On the way out of Hyeon’s house, he'd heard someone coming down the hallway. In his haste to slip out of sight, his shirt had caught on the corner of a table and torn. He hadn't had enough time to get rid of the scrap of cloth left there, but he supposes it doesn't matter. Soon they'll all know exactly where he's gone.
The kicker is that he's sick, and he's bruised. The latter hadn't been hard; the former had involved quite a bit of patience. Jimin gets sick every year when the Sweating Sickness spreads through the city again. He's one of the few people left who are still susceptible to an extreme form of it, but Hyeon always has the best medicines money can buy, so he survives it each year. Still, it's a terrible, miserable thing, and he had waited for it with bated breath this time. The day he fell ill would be the day he ran.
He'd woken that morning shaking so hard he'd bit his tongue, blood filling his mouth. With weak, cold fingers, Jimin had slipped the keycard from under his pillow and into his pocket. Then he waited for Hyeon to come looking for him, ready for a quick fuck before he left for the company. It had been easy enough to get the bruise. Jimin only had to turn away and ignore him until Hyeon snapped and backhanded him. He'd gone easy on him, though, decided he didn't want to fuck him when he was sick and left him there.
By night, the redness of his cheek had bloomed into a pretty bruise.
That was when he implemented the hardest part of his plan: he took a knife to his shoulder and carved out the tracker. It had hurt like a bitch. He’d bitten on a belt to keep from crying out. The tracker had been deeper than he expected, and then it had gotten embedded in his flesh. The memory of tearing it out makes him wince even now. He’d bound the wound in a strip of cloth to keep from leaving a trail of blood when he ran, but it’s been too long, and he can feel the blood leaking down his arm now.
Drenched in rain and blood, limping, trembling from fever, with torn clothes and a purpling bruise on his cheek, Jimin knows he looks like a sight.
That's what he had been hoping for.
A couple bursts out from the back door of the club, giggling as they step into the alleyway. They shoot him a cursory glance, their laughter fading, before they exchange glances and walk off the other way. Jimin lowers himself carefully to the ground by the door, leaning against the stone wall. He rests his head back, still breathing hard from his run, and readies himself to wait some more.
The worst part of the sickness is the hallucinations. They haven't hit him yet, but he can feel them coming in the haziness of his vision, in the throb of his temple. If he blinks too hard, his vision grows spotty. Sometimes he feels like he's staring into a light. The sickness is so distracting he barely even feels his shoulder. He shivers, rain dripping onto his lips, and considers that if he doesn't get medicine soon, he'll probably die. If his plan fails, that might be the only suitable alternative. He’d sent Chan weeks of extra money for Woohyun just in case this plan went to shit, weeks’ worth of pawning off Hyeon’s gifts and hiding the credits. But the money will run out eventually. Jimin can’t afford to die.
The club door opens. Jimin doesn't look up, staring at the wet pavement instead until he sees a pair of scaly boots.
"Ah fuck," a rough voice says. "Rain."
Jimin's heartbeat picks up, thudding hard against the walls of its cage. The owner of the boots crouches, filling Jimin's vision: tight pants, a flowery shirt with an open neck to show off the tiger, gold chain and yellow-tinted sunglasses. No umbrella. His hair's beginning to stick to his face - a dirty blond.
Min Yoongi reaches out and takes Jimin's chin between his long fingers, turning his head to inspect the bruise.
"What's Hyeon’s little toy doing out here, looking like this?" he asks, voice low and gravelly.
Jimin swallows, head lolling in his grip, He raises a weak hand to push his away; it doesn't make a difference. "Go away," he slurs.
Yoongi stares at him, his gaze unreadable. Then he fists a hand in his hair, yanking his head close until they're nose-to-nose and Jimin can see the threat in his eyes. His heart's beating so hard it hurts. "Don't play with me. What does he want? Why did he send you?"
"Didn't - didn't send me," Jimin rasps. He pushes limply at Yoongi's chest, and Yoongi lets him go. His head knocks against the wall and Jimin sees stars. The fit of coughing that seizes him is very real. When he pulls his hand away from his mouth, there's blood on his palm.
For the first time that night, he feels a hint of real fear. Blood on the first day isn't a good sign.
Yoongi examines him more critically this time. "Sweating Sickness," he says, and Jimin glares at him with what strength he has left. "You're going to die."
"Very observant," Jimin bites.
"Why did he let you go out like this?" Yoongi tilts his head, considering. "Has he finally had enough of you? Won't give you your meds, so you've come to me? It’s not the first time."
Jimin winces, letting his head fall to the side so he doesn't have to look at him, like he's embarrassed. The first time had been the very beginning of the plan. He'd gone to Yoongi’s favorite club and did what he did best - stood there looking pretty until Yoongi took it upon himself to find out why Hyeon’s favorite was on his territory, all alone. One thing had turned into another and they'd fucked in Yoongi's car. Jimin had ended up enjoying it, even if he'd only done it for the plan. Yoongi had taken his time to make sure Jimin felt good, too. Hyeon usually didn't do that.
Yoongi, of course, had just thought Jimin was being an unfaithful little minx. He'd enjoyed fucking him, too, knowing he belonged to Hyeon. And Jimin had set his plan in motion. It had worked out for both of them in the end.
"Don't w-want anything from you." It's getting harder to talk. His throat feels like it's on fire and the tremors are beginning again. Everything hurts, from his head to his toes.
"I sincerely doubt that, sweetheart."
Jimin’s lips twist. "Let me die, then."
Yoongi stares at him, and Jimin stares back.
Then Yoongi stands, gesturing to his lackeys. "Bring him."
Suddenly Jimin's being lifted by the armpits until he's standing on his own two feet. The movement reminds him of the pain in his shoulder and he cries out, though it’s weak. He stumbles, the leg he'd strained while running throbbing with pain, and Yoongi's mouth twitches.
"He really did a number on you, didn't he?"
He turns away, and the two lackeys bring Jimin along behind him. He gives up on putting one foot in front of the other and lets them drag him along, his boots scraping against the pavement. There's a big black SUV waiting in front of the club - one of those armored ones. Hyeon has several. Jimin swallows and winces from the pain of it. His body's giving up on him.
But he's succeeded. They're putting him in Yoongi's car, and that's what he wanted.
He gives in to the weakness and slips into unconsciousness.
❧
Jimin wakes up feeling warm and, more importantly, dry.
He blinks into dim light and takes stock of his body - there's smooth satin against his skin, warmth in the air, and he isn't shaking or coughing or sweating. They must have injected him in his sleep, or else he'd be deep into the hallucinations by now. His shoulder has been bandaged properly, and it no longer stings. Blinking tiredly, Jimin pushes himself onto his elbows to look around. He's dressed in a pair of satin pajamas and he's in a guest room, a nice one, with a little space heater by the bed. There’s even a bathroom, the door cracked. Jimin's used to nice - he lives with Hyeon, after all - but this room is far nicer than most of the city could dream of. Although compared to Hyeon’s, it's still humble.
He sits up, head spinning at the sudden movement, and swings his legs over the side of the bed. A shiver runs up his spine when his bare feet touch the cold wood floor. He stands, and it happens all at once - he hears the door open, takes a step forward, and then his legs give up on him, wobbly like jelly. Instead of hitting the floor, he slumps into a hard chest, arms winding around his waist.
"Running away already?" Yoongi asks.
Jimin pushes him away on instinct, but Yoongi's grip is firm. He drops him back onto the bed and stands over him, looking proud and annoyed. Today he's in an oversized blazer and a popped collar, the famous tiger tattoo emerging from his low-necked shirt again, its claws winding their way up his throat.
"What do you want?" Jimin huffs.
"You tell me. You're the one in my house."
"You brought me here."
"You sat your pretty ass outside my club, waited for me looking like a wreck, and you're going to ask me what I want? You tell me why you wanted me to rescue you, princess."
"I didn't need rescuing," Jimin hisses, irritation bubbling up, but he has to play his cards right, so he shoves it down. He closes his fingers around the wrist of his shirt and tugs subtly, disguising it with a shift of his body, so that it seems like the shirt slipped down his shoulder on accident only. "I wasn't looking for you. You found me."
Predictably, Yoongi's eyes track the exposed skin.
"Of course I did. That was my club." He grabs a chair from by the window and yanks it to the bed, sitting down across from Jimin and lighting a cigarette. The smoke starts the itch in Jimin's throat all over again. "He's looking for you."
Jimin swallows. Glances away.
"If he finds out you're here, it'll start a war. Is that what you want?"
"I don't want anything."
"Don't lie to me. Everyone wants something."
Jimin lies down his side like he's too tired to keep the conversation going. He knows just how to position himself so that the long line of his body is on display. He gazes at Yoongi through his lashes. "I'm sick. I miscalculated."
"You forgot where your own damn territory line ends?" Yoongi scoffs. "I said, don't lie to me."
"I'm not lying," Jimin murmurs. He closes his eyes, at his mercy. "But if I am, what are you gonna do about it?"
He hears the chair creak and feels the bed dip. Yoongi's hand wraps around his throat and Jimin's eyes fly open, fingers flexing, itching to fight back, but he waits. The pressure from his fingers is light, and there's no real threat in Yoongi's gaze.
"Do I need to remind you that you're on my territory?"
His grip tightens, fingers pressing into Jimin's throat. Not enough to hurt, but enough for discomfort. Enough so that Jimin's voice comes out raspy -
"Kill me."
Yoongi lets him go like he's been burned.
Jimin's head falls to the side, limp, as his body is wracked with coughs. The relief he'd felt upon waking is fading as the sickness takes hold of him again. He coughs for a long, painful moment, and Yoongi watches him - waiting. When it passes, Jimin's exhausted, his lips trembling as he draws in a breath. His eyes drift shut, and he can feel tears suspended on his lashes.
Yoongi's fingers brush his cheekbone, right over the bruise. It's a light touch, but Jimin tenses, waiting for him to press down. To make it hurt. He doesn't, of course. Yoongi isn't that kind of man. That's why Jimin's here.
"I can't tell if you're the stupid one, or if it's me."
The weight on the bed lifts, and Jimin opens his eyes to watch Yoongi leave the room. The woman who enters a few moments later must be a doctor; she's holding a basket and wearing gloves. She doesn't have much bedside manner, looking at him dubiously as she takes a seat on the edge of the bed.
"Which arm?" she asks curtly, pulling a syringe from the basket and popping the vial in.
Jimin sits up and unbuttons his shirt, slipping his uninjured arm out of its sleeve so she can stick him. She does it quickly and efficiently, wiping away the drop of blood that blooms on his skin, and leaves without another word. Jimin lies back down, sinking deep into the covers. He wonders how long it will take for Hyeon to think to look here. A few days, maybe. He'll start in his own territory first. But after that, he'll look here. He and Yoongi have a rivalry for the ages. It would only make sense.
The medicine begins to kick in, and Jimin sinks into the warm depths of sleep.
❧
The next time he wakes up, it's to a commotion outside the door. He can hear arguing and recognizes one voice as Yoongi's. Before he can do much more than rub his tired face, the door flies open, and a man with a gun bursts inside. Jimin recognizes him easily enough. Jeon Jungkook, Yoongi's right hand man. Jimin's in the process of sitting up as Jungkook beelines for him and doesn't quite make it before Jungkook fists a hand in his shirt and drags him up himself, pressing the barrel of his gun to Jimin's temple.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't blow your brains out right here."
"Didn't know you wanted to start a war," Jimin bites back, and Jungkook bares his teeth at him.
"Too damn late for that," Jungkook spits. "He's tearing half the city apart looking for you. I'm sure that's exactly what you wanted."
Jimin's chest seizes up, and for a moment, he can't breathe. He thinks about the people who are going to die because of him. Thinks it probably would be best if Jungkook pulled the trigger. Then he pushes the thoughts away; he can't grow weak now, not after everything he's risked to come here. Not after months of planning.
"Send him my body in a box," Jimin goads, and Jungkook's grip tightens, the gun pressing into Jimin's skin hard enough that it'll leave marks.
"Enough," Yoongi says from the doorway. His voice is quiet, but it carries.
Jungkook lets Jimin go, and he collapses onto the bed, holding himself up with shaking hands.
Yoongi steps inside, stopping a few feet from the bed. His hands are in his pockets, stance casual, but Jimin isn't fooled. He's on edge. They both are, which means Hyeon must have done something. "I've been kind. Saved your life. Gave you doses of precious medicine. Anyone else might have left you there to die or taken you for themselves."
Yoongi waits, letting his words sink in. As if Jimin didn't know all that already.
"But I didn't, and I think you knew that. I think that's exactly why you came to me." He takes another step, knees nearly touching the bed. "Tell me what you want, Park Jimin. My kindness will only stretch so far."
Jimin's gaze flickers between them - Jungkook, furious, and Yoongi, calm. He swallows harshly.
"I'm defecting."
Yoongi and Jungkook exchange a glance. Yoongi doesn't look surprised; Jungkook does. But Yoongi's good at hiding how he feels.
"Defecting," Yoongi repeats dryly. "Are you, now."
"I know everything about him," Jimin confesses. "Everything about Inferry. I can tell you anything you want."
"We can get whatever information out of you that we want," Jungkook scoffs. "I'm good at breaking fingers."
"You can try," Jimin says easily. "I'll lie, and then I’ll find a way to kill myself. Wouldn't it be easier if I just told you willingly?"
Yoongi says, "That depends on what you want in return."
"Safety. I want to be a part of Caelum."
Jungkook looks even more disbelieving than before. "You're joking, right? That'll start a war, no question. Is that what you want?"
"It won't. All you have to do is cut a deal. I can tell you exactly how to do it. He doesn't care about me as much as you think. You're overestimating him."
"You're underestimating yourself," Yoongi interjects. "You haven't seen what he's doing out there."
"It won't start a war," Jimin insists, even though it’s a lie. Jimin’s only here because he wants a war. Because Yoongi’s the only one who can wage it. "And even if it does, I can tell you exactly how to take him down. Isn’t that what Caelum wants, anyway?"
They exchange another glance. He can't tell if they look convinced or not. Jimin swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands. Like this, he's only a few inches from Yoongi, who looks like he wants to take a step back.
"Please." Jimin whispers. "I'll do anything."
He puts weight behind the words, so that Yoongi can't take them to mean anything but what they are.
"How do I know he didn't send you himself? How do I know he didn’t put a tracker on you?" Suddenly, Yoongi looks angrier than before, as if Jimin’s suggestion has upset him. He closes the distance between them and grips Jimin's face tightly in his hand, eyes flashing. "How do I know you won't be reporting back to him, his own little spy?"
Jimin points at his bandaged shoulder. “I dug it out. The tracker. You can have someone scan me if you’re so worried.”
Yoongi lets him go abruptly, his expression darkening. “He really put a tracker on you?”
“He puts them on all of us.”
Yoongi stares at him. Then he spins on his heel, storming from the room, and Jungkook follows with a last, loathing glance toward Jimin. The door slams and locks behind them. Jimin crawls back into bed, and his body begins to shake. The fever's coming back.
Before he can manage to fall asleep, the door's opening again, and Yoongi's dragging in a body. Jimin sits up, clutching the blanket tightly in his hands as he realizes what's happening. Siwoo is bound by the wrists, beaten bloody already. He's one of Hyeon’s men. They must have caught him on their territory looking for Jimin. The realization has Jimin's heartbeat racing. Hyeon has already started looking here. He doesn't have a few days, after all.
"Prove yourself," Yoongi says, and tosses his gun onto the bed.
Jimin's eyes widen. He looks at the gun in the blankets, at the man on his knees before him, and at Yoongi, standing behind him like a king. Siwoo has never been kind to him. Hyeon used to let him have a go with Jimin sometimes when he was in the mood to watch rather than touch. Jimin picks up the gun, gauging its weight in his hands. It would be easy to turn the gun on Yoongi; he has taken a calculated risk by giving it to Jimin.
He must already believe him. This is an unnecessary test; maybe it's meant to be a cruel one.
But as Jimin raises the gun to point at Siwoo’s head, he feels no hesitation. Only a sick sort of satisfaction.
"No," Siwoo says, drooling in his fear. "Don't, Jimin, please - "
Jimin had begged him, once, in a whisper quiet enough that Hyeon wouldn't hear. Be gentle, please.
Jimin pulls the trigger, shoots Siwoo between his eyes, and doesn't feel a thing.
❧
Jimin stares out the window of the room where they're keeping him. It's a nice view of the city, all glittering lights against the nighttime sky. If it's true, what they say, and Hyeon really is tearing the city apart to find him, maybe he needs to reconsider his offer. Yoongi won’t want him around if he proves to be too much trouble. He has to make himself indispensable.
He finds the door unlocked and slips out quietly. There's no guard in the hall, either. Yoongi must not consider him a threat at all, or maybe there are so many guards in other places that it doesn't matter whether he leaves his room or not. He strolls down the hallway, the marble floor cold on his bare feet, examining his surroundings. The house isn’t as posh as Hyeon’s, but that's to be expected. There's a reason Hyeon always calls Caelum gutter trash.
He finds Yoongi in a sitting area at the end of the hall. He's seated on a couch, smoking a cigarette, and he doesn't look surprised to see him.
"Getting restless?" he asks, and Jimin wanders in, gaze flickering around the alcove. It’s a nice space, a couch and an armchair facing the large windows, a coffee table and a fake fireplace to add to the atmosphere.
Jimin takes him in, careful not to be too obvious about it. He trails his fingers along the wall, only casting a careless glance or two his way. He’s dressed down, torn pair of pants and a loose shirt, so he must not have gone anywhere important yet. He might not have even left the house. He’s wearing the same necklace he always wears - it’s a ring around a chain, and Jimin has picked up from rumors that it might belong to Caelum’s previous leader - the one Hyeon killed when he decimated Caelum, only for Yoongi to rise from its ashes with a vengeance three years later.
More importantly, he doesn’t look as angry as he looked the last time they met. He looks calm. Uninterested. Jimin can work with that.
“Have you considered my offer?” He stops at the coffee table to pick up a small painted tiger, turning it over in his hands like he’s interested. He’s delaying. He knows what he has to do, but it’s making him nervous.
“The only thing I’ve considered is whether to drop you off at his front door tonight or wait until morning.”
“The opportunity of a lifetime just dropped in your lap and you’re going to give it up, just like that?”
“I’m not convinced.”
Jimin sits on the couch, closer than he needs to be but not too close. Yoongi looks at him out of the corner of his eye before glancing away and taking a drag of his cigarette. “I’ve been the closest person to him for eight years. I can tell you anything you want to know.”
Yoongi scoffs lightly. “You’re a kept boy. What could you possibly know?”
“I know everything.” Jimin says it simply, without pretense, without arrogance. “I know more than he knows, because he doesn’t pay attention.”
“And you’re just going to give this information to me, for what? For a chance to join Caelum? You really want me to believe you’d pick us over him?”
Jimin blinks at him. For all the reasons not to believe Jimin, that’s a silly one. “Being his kept boy isn’t exactly a walk in the park,” he says quietly.
A nerve in Yoongi’s cheek twitches. It makes him uncomfortable, Jimin has noticed: Hyeon’s depravity. He makes comments about it like it doesn’t bother him, but when Jimin alludes to it, the discomfort is visible. He’s usually harder to read.
“How can I ever trust your loyalty if you join us by betraying him?”
“I’ll be loyal until death to anyone who can free me from him.” He doesn’t manage to keep the vehemence from his tone. Yoongi glances at him, and this time his gaze lingers.
“That’s the first thing you’ve said that I believe.”
“Then trust me,” Jimin insists, scooting just a little closer, leaning in with the appropriate amount of earnestness. “I can help you. Whatever you need. I know where he keeps his supply. I know who runs his drugs. I know which ships he uses to traffic. And if that’s not enough, you can use me as bait.”
“Bait.”
“You said so yourself. He’s looking for me. You can use me to set a trap.”
"What if I like the balance we have?" Yoongi objects. "Who says I want to ruin him?"
“Don’t lie. You want it more than anything.”
Yoongi stares at him, head tilted. He’s forgotten to smoke it for a few minutes now, which means Jimin has him. His cigarette is dwindling to ash between his fingers. “How do you know what I want?”
“I know,” Jimin murmurs. He leans in, eyes lidded, and takes the cigarette from his fingers. He puts it between his lips and takes a drag. Then he places it back between Yoongi’s lips and slides to the floor. It was always easy to get Hyeon by sitting on his lap - he would lose his train of thought when Jimin did that. But Jimin isn’t sure Yoongi will take kindly to that yet.
So he fits himself between his knees instead, peering at up him through his lashes. “I know what you want.”
“Funny,” Yoongi says, voice low, “how you went from the brink of death to making deals.”
Jimin leans in toward his crotch, but just before he can get his mouth on him, Yoongi fists a hand in his hair and yanks his head roughly back.
“You’re half-dead still. He might like you like that, but I don’t.”
Jimin stares at him through his lashes like it doesn’t bother him, but he feels the telltale rush of heat to his face. Humiliation.
“Go eat something. Kitchen’s downstairs. I told them to expect you.”
Jimin sits back on his haunches. He wants to press the matter but he can tell from Yoongi’s tone that there’s no point - not yet. He blows a strand of hair out of his eyes and regains his dignity by staring back at him with disdain.
“Do you give everyone you don’t trust open access to your home?”
“Don’t make me change my mind.”
Jimin stares at him, then he stands up and leaves before he really does change his mind. He is hungry. Hyeon had never given him open access to his house. Jimin’s never been able to just walk down to the kitchen and find something to eat.
He goes downstairs, taking stock of windows, doors, and things of interest as he walks. The house is sparse and clinical with very little that feels like Yoongi’s personality attached to it. Not that Jimin has been able to figure out what Yoongi’s personality really is yet. Hyeon’s house, on the other hand, had been full of his ostentatious flavor.
He realizes on the way to the kitchen that his legs are shaking. He’d barely noticed. No wonder Yoongi called him half-dead.
The kitchen is manned by a woman who must be Yoongi’s housekeeper. Jungkook is leaning against the counter, watching as she cooks a pot of soup over the stove. He gives Jimin a onceover full of disdain when he enters.
“He hasn’t kicked you out yet, I see.”
“It’ll be your loss.”
The housekeeper eyes him then ladles a bowl of soup and slides it over in his direction. He bows in thanks and settles onto a stool at the counter. The first spoonful tastes like heaven. That’s how he knows he’s recovered. During a flare up of the Sweating Sickness, he can’t even keep water down.
“Not sure what you think you have to offer,” Jungkook says coolly. “What else did you do for Hyeon besides suck his dick, anyway?”
“You sound jealous. I’ll suck your dick for a price, if you’d like.”
Jungkook’s lip curls in disgust. “Ridiculous,” he mutters. He moves to leave, as if he can’t stand to be in Jimin’s presence for another moment. But before turning the corner, he doubles back with a frustrated huff of breath.
“You know how many people have died because of your little stunt?” he snaps. “He burned Woosik’s home down last night with his family in it. Two kids and a wife, because he was convinced he knew where you were and wouldn’t tell him.”
Woosik, one of Hyeon’s top men. His girls are young. Four and six, if Jimin’s remembering correctly. Jimin had helped them build a dollhouse last time they’d gone over to his house. Hyeon liked to throw parties sometimes, full of aphrodisiacs and sex toys and the occasional costume. The first and last time he’d drugged Jimin had been at one of those parties, before he decided he liked him better when he could focus. He still remembers his head swimming from the high as Hyeon fucked him, and all he could manage to pay attention to was the wall behind Woosik’s head as he stood by and watched with a glass of champagne.
Jimin keeps his expression carefully cold. “The longer you take to make a decision, the more people will die.”
“You’re a sick piece of shit,” Jungkook spits. “You’re as sick as he is.”
He leaves. Jimin lets the spoon fall into the bowl with a clatter. He stands on shaky legs and murmurs a thank you to the woman at the stove. Then he leaves, using the wall for support as he climbs the stairs back to his room. He stumbles into the bathroom and throws up into the toilet. Nothing comes up but acid and a spoonful of red soup.
Two little girls. His fault.
He has to convince Yoongi. He has to make him want him. He’s not doing nearly enough. He has to win him over, or none of this will be worth anything at all.
❧
When Yoongi comes to see him the next day, he’s ready.
He lies listlessly on his bed, borrowed satin pajamas slipping off his shoulder, lips bitten red. When Yoongi enters, Jimin doesn’t look at him. He hears the clatter of a bowl being set on the side table, but he stares into space, lashes fluttering in lieu of a proper blink.
“You’re not eating.”
Jimin lets his eyes drift tiredly shut. It’s not entirely an act. The aftermath of recovery coupled with not eating is destroying his body. He can barely lift his head.
He feels the bed shake; Yoongi kicking the leg. “Answer me.”
“You’re going to give me back to him.” Jimin’s voice is so low Yoongi has to come closer to listen. “I’ll die instead.”
“If being with him is so bad you’d rather die, why haven’t you killed yourself already?”
Jimin’s eyes flash open.
“It’s a fair question. How long has it been? Seven, eight years? You’ve lasted quite a while.”
Jimin feels sick with bitterness. His interactions with Yoongi never go the way he expects them to. He thought he was impervious to words by now, but somehow Yoongi knows exactly where to hurt. “Who says I never tried?”
“Can’t even kill yourself right, and you think you’ll be of use to me?”
He rolls onto his side, turning his back to Yoongi.
“Eat.”
“No.”
He feels the bed shift, then Yoongi’s pulling him around. “Eat, you stubborn bastard.”
Jimin tries to fight him off, but there’s no use. His hands don’t even have the energy to push. Yoongi holds his head up by the neck and feeds him a spoonful of soup.
“You don’t care about me. Why are you doing this?”
“Can’t give him your dead body, can I?”
Jimin doesn’t believe him. If he was going to give him back, he would have done it already. He’s waiting for something. Waiting to be convinced.
He lets Yoongi feed him the rest of the soup without protest. It does help. He can feel his vision clearing up, his limbs regaining their strength. With Yoongi’s hand on his arm, he’s able to sit up and drink the glass of water he hands him.
“Two years ago,” Jimin says, setting the glass down, “he poached one of your suppliers. Someone betrayed you.”
“Hoseok,” Yoongi says bitterly. “Hoseok betrayed me.”
“He framed him. He never liked Hoseok. Said he was too smart, that he was a threat. So he wanted to break up your partnership.”
Yoongi stares at him with an unreadable gaze, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“He had Siwoo plant the evidence - the man you had me kill. Then he sat back and watched it unfold. Word spread that Hoseok had come to explain himself, and you’d thrown him out. He threw a party that night. He’d really been hoping you would kill him, though, so he was a little disappointed.”
“Who was it?” Yoongi asks, his voice carefully controlled. “Who betrayed me?”
“Choi Hana.”
Yoongi stands up and leaves. As soon as he’s out of the room, Jimin chugs the rest of the water, his body trembling. That’s part one.
The second part of his plan is riskier.
He has been paying close attention to the movement patterns of everyone in the house. Jungkook doesn’t seem to live there, but he’s always around, and sometimes he sleeps in one of the guest rooms. He likes to do rounds when he arrives, roaming around the house and checking if everything’s in order - maybe searching for something suspicious. He always starts with the first floor before going down to the basement and then coming upstairs.
The phone he snags from a woman who comes to clean in the mornings. She usually changes Jimin’s sheets and empties his trash can, even though he hardly ever has anything to throw in it. He would feel bad, but she’ll be getting the phone back in the end.
He picks the most secluded window he can find on the first floor, tucked in the back of a hallway near a coat closet. Then he waits until he hears Jungkook’s footsteps. He dials the number he has memorized by heart, holding the phone by the window and frowning, pretending he’s looking for signal.
It’s not long before the steps come too close to ignore. His head snaps in their direction, and sure enough, Jungkook’s turning the end of the hall. Jimin lets him have a good look at the phone before he fumbles to hide it, shooting to his feet.
“What the hell are you doing?” Jungkook demands, coming down the hallway toward him. Jimin looks for an escape route, but there isn’t one he can get to before Jungkook reaches him, so he resigns himself to his fate.
He doesn’t bother trying to deny it. He presses his back to the wall and stares at Jungkook defiantly. He may have invited this, but that doesn’t mean he’ll take it lying down.
“Give it to me.” Jungkook’s in front of him, holding a hand out. Jimin glares at him. Jungkook fists a hand in his collar and digs it out of his pocket himself, swiping quickly to the call log. He dials the number back on speaker and waits while it rings. Jimin stares at him with as much loathing as he can muster. It’s hardly forced.
“This is the Sector 6 orphanage, how may I help you?”
Jungkook stares at Jimin, his gaze hard, for a long, uncomfortable moment.
“Hello?” the man down the line presses.
Jungkook hangs up. Jimin turns his face stubbornly away, jaw set tight.
“Who were you calling?”
Jimin purses his lips. Jungkook shakes him, and his head hits the wall uncomfortably. It’s not hard, but he’s weak, so for a second, he sees stars. He squeezes his eyes shut.
“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. Tell me. You want our trust? Start with this.”
“My brother,” Jimin snaps. “Good enough? Now let me go.”
“Not fucking good enough.”
Jimin wriggles out of his grip, and Jungkook lets him go. “He has nothing to do with you or Inferry or anyone. It’s just my kid brother. So fuck off.”
“I find that hard to believe. You’re telling me Hyeon doesn’t know about your brother?”
“You think I’d let him anywhere near my family?” Jimin turns away, heading down the hallway. His shoulders are tense, prepared for Jungkook to stop him. “Believe what you want. Leave my brother out of it.”
Jungkook lets him go.
❧
For all his potential flaws, dallying is not one of them.
Yoongi is at his door that same evening, leaning in the jamb with his arms crossed.
“Woohyun. Eight years old. Been in Sector 6’s orphanage nearly his entire life.” He takes a step inside, eyes fixed on Jimin, who’s sitting under the window, back against the wall. The bed has grown tiring. “Must have been an infant when you joined Inferry.”
“Congratulations,” Jimin says dryly. “You’ve done your detective work.”
“Somehow I find it hard to believe.”
“What? That I have a brother?”
“That you revealed him to us by accident.” He takes another step, rounding the bed. “You claim Hyeon didn’t know, and yet you accidentally reveal him to us within a week of being here.”
“Believe what you want,” Jimin says bitterly. “I wouldn’t use my brother as a bargaining chip.”
That’s exactly what he’s doing, even though it makes him feel sick with regret. But he knows what kind of man Yoongi is. If anything will convince him, it’s something like this: knowing Jimin has a little brother he’s hiding, knowing he has a reason to run from Hyeon, and a reason he can’t run far. Yoongi won’t respect him for betraying Hyeon, but he’ll respect him for doing it for the sake of his brother.
“It would certainly be a risky move. What’s stopping me from giving you back and letting Hyeon know about Woohyun in the same breath?”
Jimin’s eyes flash to him in real fear. “Don’t.”
“First Choi Hana, and now little Woohyun. You’re playing a clever game.”
“I’m not playing any games. You need a reason to trust me. I’m giving you information, just like you wanted. Where exactly is the problem?”
“The problem,” Yoongi says, taking a step inside, “is that two months after I fuck you in my car, you show up on my territory, sick and helpless even though Inferry has everything you need to treat your illness. The problem is that after nearly a decade with him, you tell me you’re turning on him like it’s nothing, and you drop tidbits of information like they’re nuggets of gold. The problem is that everything you do is calculated - the call to the orphanage where Jungkook could find you. Not eating to make yourself look weak. The way you look at me.”
Jimin stands up, winding his arms around himself. He swallows past a dry throat. “Is it really so hard to believe, that I would leave him? That I would want revenge?”
“Is that what this is? Revenge?”
Jimin shrugs a careless shoulder. “It could be, for you. I don’t have enough left in me to care.”
“Then why help me? Why not disappear, run halfway across the country, change your name?”
“Because I can’t run halfway across the country with an eight-year-old,” Jimin says quietly. “Because he’ll find me wherever I go. Anywhere I go.”
“So you came to me instead and started a war. All to save yourself.”
“I’m giving you an opportunity. I know you hate him. I know you want to take him down. I can’t hide from him - why should I try?”
“You’ve been with him for years. Why now?”
“It’s not the first time I’ve tried, if that’s what you think.” His voice comes out more bitter than he intends it to. He turns partially away from him, fingers digging into his sides. Hyeon had broken his ankles the first time. The second - “It isn’t easy, you know, running away from a man like Hyeon. You say I’m calculated? Well, I am. I have to be. I’d be dead if I wasn’t. You’d kill me if I wasn’t.”
Yoongi frowns.
“Don’t look at me like that. You know it’s true.” Jimin turns back to face him, letting his arms drop to his sides, where he clenches his hands into two tight fists. “I am calculated, and I’ll continue to be, but only for the purpose of my own freedom and my little brother’s life.”
“And you really want me to believe that’s your only motive?”
“It doesn’t matter what you believe. That’s all I want. Freedom and safety, so I can take care of my kid brother with dignity. And in return, I’m offering you everything you could ever want. You help me, and you’ll never have any reason to mistrust me.”
Yoongi scoffs. “How can I trust you when you’ve come here to betray him?”
“It’s not the same, and you know it.”
“Do I?”
“You’re not him,” he says simply. Yoongi stares at him, floored, and in that moment, Jimin knows he has him.
“What’s your plan then?” Yoongi finally asks. “You must have a plan.”
“I don’t. My plan is to give you whatever information you want, and in exchange, you let me stay. You offer me safety so that I can keep on supporting my brother. What you do with the information I give you is up to you.”
“You want money for the orphanage?”
Jimin shakes his head. “I’m not asking for money. I can find a job if you let me stay on your territory. I’ve bartended before. I can dance.”
“You make it sound like you’re not asking for much,” he says quietly, “but you’re asking for a lot.”
“I know. But I can give you a lot, too.” He pauses. “Anything you want.”
Yoongi gives him a long, searching look. Then he turns away. “I’ll think about it,” he says, but Jimin has him. He knows he has him.
When he leaves, Jimin slumps against the wall, breathing hard. He squeezes his eyes shut and dares, for the first time in weeks, to smile.