Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The day began like any other.

Min Yoongi woke around 9 pm to the sound of rain whispering against the window, that soft gray drizzle that made everything seem blurred and temporary. For a while, he just stared at the ceiling, counting the seconds until the ache in his chest caught up with him.

“It’s a good night for a last night” he murmured.

He said it like a joke, though nothing in his tone resembled humor.

He rolled out of bed, dragging his feet across the floor, the boards cold under his bare skin. The coffee pot hissed and sputtered to life, filling the small kitchen with the scent of bitter instant grounds. He poured himself a cup, sat at the table, and let the steam fog his glasses.

He thought about the notes he didn’t write. The people who might notice his absence tomorrow—or the day after, when it was too late to matter. He thought about how easy it was to disappear when you’d already spent years fading out of sight.

He finished the coffee in silence.

The clothes he chose were ordinary: a gray hoodie, worn sneakers. He left his phone behind. He didn’t need it anymore.

Outside, the world felt muted. Rain tapped gently at his hood as he walked. The city breathed around him—shop doors closing, traffic thinning, someone laughing too loudly across the street. He smiled at the familiar faces he passed: Mr. Han sweeping the sidewalk, the young barista waving from behind the foggy window of the café.

He smiled for them all. He was good at that.

But every step toward the river made the world feel heavier, quieter. His chest tightened with the weight of invisible things—memories that still stung when touched, words that had dug trenches inside him years ago. He’d learned to hide the damage, to keep his voice soft and his eyes polite. It made people comfortable. It made him vanish.

By the time the bridge came into view, he knew exactly where to stand. The middle section, where the railing bent slightly outward. Where the river ran deepest.

Yoongi rested his palms on the cold metal and looked down. The water below was black and smooth, rippling just enough to distort the reflection of the city lights. It almost looked peaceful.

He wondered what it would feel like to stop being a burden. To stop pretending that his absence wouldn’t make life easier for the people he loved. He imagined them sighing, maybe crying at first—but then healing, lighter somehow. Freed of him.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes before he realized it. They slid down his cheeks, warm against the chill wind. His throat clenched.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, to no one in particular. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be better.”

He lifted one leg over the railing. The metal was slick beneath his hand.

“Rough night?”

The voice cut through the rain—casual, warm, and terribly out of place. Yoongi startled, spinning toward it. A man stood a few feet away, hands in his coat pockets, smiling as if they were just meeting on a quiet morning walk. His hair was damp and dark, his eyes too bright.

Yoongi’s heart lurched. Panic hit like a physical thing. Without thinking, he moved to pull himself over the edge before the stranger could interfere—

—but the man was faster.

Strong hands caught his arm, dragging him backward with a sharp yank. The force spun Yoongi into the stranger’s chest. For a second, all he could hear was his own ragged breathing and the steady rhythm of another heartbeat against his ear.

“Easy,” the man said softly. “It’s alright. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Yoongi’s body trembled, the shock breaking through the numbness. He wanted to shove the man away, to yell, to disappear—but the words crumbled as the sobs came. He buried his face against the stranger’s shoulder, tears spilling freely.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped between breaths. “I didn’t mean— I just—”

“Shh,” the man murmured. “You don’t have to explain.”

They stood there in the rain, two silhouettes clinging to each other on the edge of a decision.

When Yoongi finally quieted, the man loosened his grip just enough to look him in the eye. His smile was faint now, but still there—steady and knowing.

“You want a drink?” he asked gently, as if this were the most normal question in the world.

Yoongi blinked, dazed. “A drink?”

“Yeah. Somewhere warm. Somewhere we can both breathe.”

Yoongi hesitated, shame flooding him. He’d done it again—made someone worry, made someone look. He hated himself for it. Still, his voice came out as a small, broken “...Okay.”

The man nodded, his smile returning with unsettling ease. “Good. I’m Hoseok.”

“Yoongi,” he whispered.

“Well, Yoongi,” Hoseok said, stepping back but keeping one hand lightly on his arm. “Let’s get out of the rain.”

Yoongi nodded numbly. His mind scolded him for crying in front of a stranger, for being so weak, for causing trouble. But Hoseok just stayed beside him, walking in silence as if the moment on the bridge hadn’t happened.

Behind them, the water rippled, swallowing the reflection of two figures who would never again be the same.

Chapter Text

The bar was small, half-empty, and smelled faintly of coffee and whiskey. Warm light spilled from the hanging bulbs, painting the wooden tables in gold. Hoseok chose a booth near the back, away from the few patrons murmuring over their drinks.

Yoongi sat across from him, his hoodie damp from the rain. He kept rubbing at his sleeve as if trying to erase the trembling that lingered in his hands.

Hoseok didn’t mention the bridge. Not once. He just smiled softly when their eyes met and asked, “Beer or coffee?”

Yoongi hesitated. “Coffee.”

“Good choice,” Hoseok said, signaling to the bartender. “Beer this early just makes people sad.”

Yoongi almost laughed at that. Almost.

When their drinks arrived, Hoseok leaned back, fingers laced around his cup, his smile bright and effortless. “So, Yoongi… what’s your story?”

Yoongi looked down at the swirl of cream in his coffee. “Not much of one. Born here. Never left. Kind of just… stuck, I guess.”

“Stuck,” Hoseok repeated thoughtfully. “That’s a heavy word.”

Yoongi shrugged. “Familiar’s easier than free.”

Hoseok tilted his head, studying him. “Easier, sure. But not always better.”

Something about the way he said it made Yoongi look up. Hoseok’s smile was pleasant but his eyes were sharp—like he saw more than he should. Yoongi felt exposed under that gaze and quickly changed the subject. “What about you? You don’t sound like you’re from here.”

“I’m not,” Hoseok said. “I travel a lot. No real roots, just… different towns, different faces. Passing through, you could say.”

Yoongi nodded slowly. “That sounds kind of nice.”

“It can be,” Hoseok admitted. “Until it’s not.”

Yoongi studied him for a moment. Hoseok was dressed neatly—dark coat, crisp collar, even a silver watch that caught the light when he moved. He looked put-together in a way Yoongi never felt. His smile was warm but too perfect, like something practiced. Still, there was something magnetic about him. Something that made Yoongi forget how heavy his body felt.

He took a small sip of coffee. “You seem like you’ve seen a lot of places.”

“Enough to know most of them are the same,” Hoseok replied. “People change the scenery, not the story.”

Yoongi’s mouth twitched, somewhere between a smile and a sigh. “That’s kind of depressing.”

Hoseok laughed quietly. “Depends how you look at it. Some stories are worth repeating.”

The conversation drifted easily after that—music, books, old movies, and a little talk of favorite foods. Yoongi found himself smiling for real, a small flicker of warmth returning to his chest. Hoseok didn’t press too hard, didn’t ask for more than Yoongi could give.

When the rain finally stopped, Hoseok glanced toward the window. “It’s getting late,” he said softly. “You need help getting home?”

Yoongi’s first instinct was to refuse. He didn’t want to seem like more trouble. But then the silence in his apartment flashed through his mind, and the idea of walking there alone made his stomach tighten.

He nodded once. “Okay. Yeah.”

They walked side by side down the damp streets, the air cool and smelling faintly of wet concrete. Hoseok listened quietly as Yoongi gave directions, occasionally making light comments that drew faint smiles from him. Every so often, their hands brushed when they turned corners, and Yoongi felt his pulse skip.

When they reached his building, Yoongi paused at the entrance. The thought of saying goodbye felt strange—too final after what they’d shared. “Do you… want to come in for a drink? Something warm?”

Hoseok smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “If you’re sure.”

Inside, the apartment was small but neat. Yoongi poured them both tea this time, trying not to notice how easily Hoseok filled the room—leaning against the counter, his smile still that soft, unreadable curve.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Hoseok said as Yoongi set his cup down. “I didn’t do anything special.”

“You kind of did,” Yoongi replied quietly.

Their eyes met, and the silence stretched—comfortable, almost charged. Hoseok looked at him the way someone looks at fragile glass: with admiration and care. He noticed the redness around Yoongi’s eyes but didn’t mention it, only said, “You should get some rest soon.”

“I will,” Yoongi said, though he didn’t want the moment to end.

Hoseok slipped a small card from his coat pocket and held it out. “Here. My number. If you ever need anything—talking, coffee, someone to sit in silence with—call me. I’ll be there.”

Yoongi stared at the card for a second before taking it. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“Will I… see you again soon?” Yoongi asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Hoseok’s smile widened, almost glowing. “Yeah. You will.”

He turned toward the door, his steps quiet, graceful. Before leaving, he looked back once—his eyes soft but shadowed, the kind of gaze that lingered long after he was gone.

Yoongi stood there holding the card, heart pounding for reasons he didn’t fully understand. He should have felt embarrassed, exposed, maybe even ashamed—but instead, there was a strange calm.

Somewhere deep down, he felt that this meeting meant something.
Something he couldn’t yet name.

Chapter Text

The streets were quiet when Hoseok left Yoongi’s apartment. The rain had stopped, leaving the air cool and slick with the scent of asphalt and earth. His reflection wavered in every puddle he passed, fragments of a face too calm for what it was about to do.

He didn’t look back.

By the time he reached the hotel, the clock on his phone read 11:17 p.m. The glow from the lobby lights bled into the mist. His phone buzzed in his pocket just as he stepped under the awning.

He answered without checking the caller ID. “Go ahead.”

A low, gruff voice replied, “Target checked in. Room 403. Staying alone. We’ll need to move fast—management’s got new security after that incident last month.”

“I’m not worried,” Hoseok said. His tone was polite, even cheerful. “Midnight. While the floor’s asleep.”

“Copy that. Front desk opens at six, we’ll be out before housekeeping starts their rounds.”

“Good,” Hoseok murmured, glancing up at the building. His reflection shimmered faintly in the glass doors. “We’ll make it clean.”

He hung up and slipped the phone into his pocket. A faint smile curled on his lips—the same soft curve Yoongi had seen earlier that night. But now, beneath it, there was something else. Anticipation. Hunger.

He walked through the lobby like any other guest, the clerk barely lifting her eyes as he passed. Room 403 was on the fourth floor. The carpet muffled his footsteps, the hallway silent but for the hum of the vending machine at the end.

He paused at the door, listening. Nothing but the faint buzz of a television inside. He slipped on a pair of gloves, checked the small knife tucked into his sleeve, and smiled again—pleasant, almost tender.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, though there was no one to hear.

When the door clicked open, the light from the hall spilled over the sleeping man inside. Hoseok stepped through the darkness, quiet as a sigh.

Midnight came and went.

And then the city was still again.

---

The Next Morning

Yoongi cracked an egg into a pan and watched the yolk spread like sunlight. The smell of breakfast filled his small apartment—warm, familiar. The TV murmured in the background, tuned to the morning news. He wasn’t really listening.

His thoughts drifted instead—to Hoseok.

The man’s easy smile. The steady tone that had pulled him back from the edge. The way his voice lingered in his head, softer than the quiet around him. It was strange how much space Hoseok had taken up in a single night.

Yoongi wanted to believe that maybe he’d been saved for a reason. But already, the dark thoughts were slipping back in, curling like smoke through the cracks of his resolve. The same questions returned, the same ache in his chest.

He plated his breakfast—an egg muffin, still steaming—and sank onto the couch. The news anchor’s voice sharpened suddenly, pulling his attention back.

“Police are investigating a homicide discovered early this morning at the Downtown Hotel 8,” the woman on the screen said. “Authorities confirm the victim, a local man in his thirties, was found deceased in his room around six a.m. No suspects have been identified.”

Yoongi blinked, a fork halfway to his mouth. The image flashed across the screen—a photo of the victim.

He froze. He knew that face.

The muffin slipped from his hand.

It was one of them.
A friend of his ex-boyfriend. Lee Joomim, Someone who had known what happened—what his ex, Su Taemin, had done—and had done nothing. Someone who’d laughed, even, when Yoongi had cried for help. Someone who had hurt others, too.

His breath caught in his throat. For a long moment, he couldn’t move. The words from the television blurred into static.

Then, unexpectedly, tears welled in his eyes. They fell fast, catching him off guard. He didn’t know why he was crying—was it shock? Guilt? Relief?

He pressed his sleeve to his face, trying to muffle the sound.

Maybe, he thought weakly, maybe the world wasn’t so merciless after all. Maybe someone out there cared enough to make things right.

He didn’t know that somewhere, not too far away, a man named Hoseok was washing blood from his hands, smiling softly into the hotel mirror.

Chapter Text

Two days passed before Yoongi finally found the courage to press “call.”
He had been staring at Hoseok’s number on his phone for at least half an hour, thumb hovering, second-guessing everything. Maybe Hoseok had already forgotten him. Maybe he’d only stayed that night out of pity. But the quiet of his apartment felt too heavy—like the air itself had given up trying to move. So, he called.

“Hey,” came Hoseok’s voice—light, melodic, the same voice that had pulled him away from the edge.

“Hey,” Yoongi answered, trying not to sound like his heart was in his throat. “Um… I was wondering if you’d want to come over for dinner. Nothing fancy, just… something I cook.”

There was a pause—Yoongi imagined Hoseok biting his lip, considering. Then:
“Dinner sounds great. I’ll bring drinks.”

When Hoseok arrived, the late afternoon light painted gold on his skin. He looked effortless, like someone who didn’t know what it meant to be weighed down. Yoongi, in contrast, still had the faint hollowness under his eyes, though he’d made an effort—hair combed, shirt clean, the smell of soy sauce and garlic filling the air.

They sat at the small kitchen table, bowls of steaming food between them.
“This is amazing,” Hoseok said, mouth full.
Yoongi huffed a quiet laugh. “You haven’t even swallowed yet.”
“That’s how you know it’s good,” Hoseok grinned.

Conversation flowed easily after that. They talked about music—Yoongi’s love of slow piano pieces, Hoseok’s obsession with anything with a beat you could dance to. They talked about favorite foods, the weather, even ridiculous small-town gossip. Hoseok’s laugh came often, bright and genuine, and Yoongi found himself smiling without realizing it.

As the sun set, something inside Yoongi began to loosen, like an old knot finally giving way. They were sitting on the couch now, cups of tea in their hands, when the silence between them stretched just long enough to become honest.

“I should probably tell you something,” Yoongi said, voice barely above a whisper.

Hoseok turned to him, expression soft but serious. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

Yoongi set his cup down and stared at his hands. “That day on the bridge… I wasn’t just tired. I wanted to die.” He swallowed hard. “A few years ago, my ex—he… he hurt me. In ways I didn’t think I could say out loud. I went to the cops, but they said it was too late. Not enough evidence.”

His throat burned as he spoke. “I didn’t go to the hospital. I was too scared. He told me he’d kill me if I ever told anyone. And now he’s still out there. Still walking around like nothing happened. I keep thinking he’ll come back. Every knock at my door makes me jump.”

Tears slid down his cheeks. “I hate that I’m still afraid. I hate that I’m still here sometimes.”

Hoseok didn’t speak right away. He looked like he was fighting something inside himself—a storm behind his calm eyes. The urge to protect. The hunger for justice. The deep, simmering rage that anyone could do this to someone like Yoongi.

But instead of letting the fury show, he reached out, brushing a tear from Yoongi’s cheek with his thumb.
“I believe you,” Hoseok said quietly. “And I swear to you, no one’s ever going to touch you again. Not while I’m around.”

Yoongi looked at him—really looked—and saw something solid there. Something dangerous, maybe, but steady. Without thinking, he leaned forward and kissed him. It was clumsy and wet with tears, but Hoseok didn’t pull away. He kissed back—slowly, gently—like he was afraid Yoongi might break.

When they finally parted, Yoongi pressed his forehead against Hoseok’s chest, breathing in the faint scent of cologne and warmth.
“I’m sorry,” Yoongi whispered. “I just… I didn’t mean to—”

Hoseok silenced him with a hand in his hair. “Don’t apologize for feeling something.”

Later, in the dim quiet of Yoongi’s bedroom, they lay together under the thin blanket. Yoongi curled against Hoseok’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. For the first time in months, maybe years, the sound felt like safety.

And as Hoseok stared at the ceiling, his arm around Yoongi’s waist, his jaw tightened. He would make sure Yoongi’s monster never came near him again. Whatever it took.

Chapter Text

The days began to blend together in the soft way that comfort does—gentle, unhurried, deceptively ordinary. Hoseok spent most of his time at Yoongi’s apartment now, their routines gradually merging like ink in water. Mornings meant Yoongi grumbling into his coffee while Hoseok hummed tunelessly in the kitchen. Afternoons were filled with half-finished conversations and the steady click of Yoongi’s lighter, flicked open and shut as if it kept time with his thoughts.

They never talked about the kiss. Both of them seemed to silently agree that it existed in a different moment—one best left unexamined. Yoongi wasn’t ready to call it anything, and Hoseok didn’t push. Instead, he learned Yoongi’s rhythms. How his mood could shift like the weather, how his silences said more than most people’s words.

Yoongi had started sleeping through most nights now. Hoseok took the couch at first, but it wasn’t long before he found himself staying in Yoongi’s bed instead—nothing more than quiet closeness. They fit together naturally, like two people who’d known each other much longer than they had any right to.

Yoongi, for his part, seemed to be thawing. He’d even picked up the phone one afternoon and called Jungkook, a friend Hoseok hadn’t heard him mention before.
“Just wanted to let you know I’m alive,” Yoongi had said with a shaky laugh. “Didn’t mean to ghost you so long.”
After he hung up, his cheeks were slightly pink, pride and embarrassment warring across his face. “We’re gonna get dinner this weekend. Him and his husband.”
Hoseok had smiled. “That’s good. You should.”

But Hoseok wasn’t only basking in domestic warmth. He was also taking notes.
Names. Places. Faces.

Every night, while Yoongi slept beside him, Hoseok’s mind replayed the list Yoongi had whispered one evening, voice trembling but steady. His ex’s name. The names of the friends who had laughed, threatened, helped cover things up. One of those names made Hoseok’s lips twitch upward in grim satisfaction—he’d already handled that one. The man from Hotel 8.

Yoongi would never know. Hoseok preferred it that way.

He told himself it wasn’t revenge. It was balance.

A few nights later, while Yoongi slept, Hoseok slipped quietly from the apartment. His steps were soft, his face calm. He moved like a shadow, precise and unhurried. By dawn, one more of those names was nothing but a corpse in a silent apartment across town.

He returned just before sunrise. His clothes carried the faintest trace of smoke, his knuckles red and raw. He washed up in the sink, the water running pink, and then padded back toward the bedroom—only to stop when he saw Yoongi sitting in the living room, eyes swollen, hugging his knees to his chest.

Yoongi startled when he saw him. “You’re back,” he whispered. “I thought you left. You didn’t even—” His voice cracked. “I thought maybe you’d decided it wasn’t worth it. Me.”

The sight made something twist in Hoseok’s chest. He crossed the room in a few long strides and knelt in front of him. “Hey, no. No, I just… I couldn’t sleep. Went out for a walk. I get insomnia sometimes.”

Yoongi blinked at him, tears trembling on his lashes. “You could’ve told me.”

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Hoseok said softly. “You looked peaceful.”

It was a lie, but it slid from his lips like truth. Yoongi nodded weakly, rubbing at his face. “Sorry. I just—I woke up and you weren’t there, and I panicked.”

Hoseok smiled faintly, brushing his thumb along Yoongi’s cheekbone. “You don’t have to apologize for missing me.”

That earned him the smallest ghost of a smile.

“Come on,” Hoseok murmured, pulling him gently to his feet. “Let’s get back to bed.”

They lay together in the dark, Yoongi’s breathing gradually evening out against Hoseok’s chest. The older man’s hand rested lightly on his hair, and Hoseok watched him with something fierce and fragile twisting in his gut.

He bent down and pressed a kiss to Yoongi’s forehead.
“Sleep,” he whispered. “You’re safe.”

Yoongi murmured something incoherent, half-dreaming already.

Hoseok’s eyes remained open. In the silence, his mind was already working through his next plan—another name, another address, another night.

And Yoongi, warm and oblivious in his arms, would finally sleep without nightmares.

Chapter Text

​

Light was spilling slowly across the room, painting Yoongi’s walls in gold and soft blue. The air was quiet except for the low hum of the city beyond the window and the faint rhythm of breathing—steady, calm, familiar.

​

Hoseok had been awake for a while, just watching. Yoongi’s face in sleep was different from the one he wore in waking life. Softer. The lines of pain and worry seemed to melt away. His lips were slightly parted, his lashes trembling now and then as if caught in some fragile dream. Hoseok could have watched him forever.

​

He didn’t know what that meant—didn’t try to name it. Words only complicated things.

​

Yoongi stirred, shifting against him with a soft murmur before blinking his eyes open. For a moment, confusion flickered there. Then he saw Hoseok, and that sleepy bewilderment eased into something else. Something warm.

​

“Morning,” Hoseok said, voice low and husky from sleep. His smile was small but real.

​

Yoongi just stared for a second, his heart kicking unevenly. The sunlight caught in Hoseok’s hair, turning the dark strands a deep bronze, and something inside Yoongi simply broke open.

​

He didn’t reply. He leaned in and kissed him.

​

It was different from the first time—less desperate, more deliberate. Hoseok froze for half a heartbeat, then melted into it, his hand coming up to cup the back of Yoongi’s neck. The kiss deepened quickly, the air between them charged and alive. Yoongi’s fingers curled in Hoseok’s shirt, pulling him closer until there was no space left to close.

​

Hoseok tasted faintly of coffee and something sharp—mint, maybe, or the edge of danger Yoongi couldn’t name. He didn’t care. The world outside the window fell away, leaving only warmth, breath, and the quiet sound of mouths meeting.

​

When they finally parted, both were breathing hard, faces still inches apart. Hoseok’s smile was lazy, almost boyish. Yoongi’s cheeks were flushed, his lips red and trembling slightly.

​

For a long beat, neither spoke. Then Yoongi let out a shaky laugh, the sound bubbling up before he could stop it.

​

“Good morning to you too,” he said.

​

Hoseok laughed quietly, the sound rumbling in his chest. “That’s one way to say hello.”

​

“Worked, didn’t it?”

​

“It worked,” Hoseok agreed, brushing a strand of hair from Yoongi’s eyes. The gesture was so gentle it nearly undid him.

​

Hoseok’s hand was still tangled in Yoongi’s hair, thumb tracing slow circles against the back of his neck. The world seemed to hold its breath around them. Yoongi’s pulse thrummed in his throat—loud, steady, alive.

​

For the first time in years, he didn’t feel broken. Just wanted.

​

He leaned in again, another kiss—slower, deeper. Hoseok met him halfway, fingers sliding down to his jaw, guiding him gently but firmly. The space between them dissolved. Every movement felt like something inevitable.

​

Yoongi shifted closer until his body fit perfectly against Hoseok’s. The contact sent a tremor through both of them. Hoseok’s breath hitched, and for a heartbeat, his usual composure slipped—his smile faltered, replaced by something unguarded.

​

It was a look that made Yoongi’s chest ache.

​

“You’re sure?” Hoseok asked quietly, his voice roughened at the edges.

​

Yoongi nodded, eyes wide and certain. “I don’t want to think anymore,” he whispered. “Not today.”

​

That was enough.

​

Hoseok’s hands moved slowly, reverently, as though afraid Yoongi might disappear if he touched him too quickly. Every gesture was careful, wordless reassurance. Yoongi responded with small, unsteady sounds—half sighs, half laughter—his fingers tracing the lines of Hoseok’s shoulders, his heartbeat steadying under his palms.

​

Hoseok’s hands found every dip and curve of Yoongi's body. He removed Yoongi's clothing gently and methodically, his breath held in case Yoongi changed his mind. But when Hoseok caught his eyes with his own, he saw nothing but trust looking back at him. Trust, and heat.

​

Yoongi moaned as Hoseok kissed at his neck and took small nibbles down his collarbone before coming back up to catch his lips again. They groaned together as their hips pressed against each other, grinding, chasing the wave of pleasure they both knew was undeniable.

​

“Hobi...” Yoongi moaned and sighed into his kiss, his body shuddered as Hoseok's hand found the hem of Yoongi’s pajama pants and slipped beneath them. Yoongi's hips jerked upward and his head fell back, giving Hoseok access to more of his neck, where he happily left small bruises and nips.

​

Hoseok stroked Yoongi and continued to kiss down his chest before finding a small pink nipple and sucking it into his mouth. Yoongi shuddered and grabbed handfuls of Hoseok's hair, holding on to what he could as electric zips of pleasure burned through him. Hoseok looked up at him, a genuine, cocky grin on his face, and he loosened his grip on Yoongi's shaft and slid his finger down further to find his hole.

​

Yoongi gasped and went rigid for a moment, his eyes opened, and he looked down at Hoseok who had paused, seeking permission before going any further. Yoongi bit at his lips before spreading his legs further, making it easier for Hoseok to continue.

​

“Please Hobi... I need you,” Yoongi begged and ground his hips up. His eyes filled with unshed tears. Whether it was from the pleasure, or a wall that had been built a long time ago, finally crumbling, Hoseok didn’t know. All that mattered was Yoongi. He lifted up to kiss Yoongi again, tasting his salty tears on his lips, as he used the precum to circle around Yoongi's hole before inserting one finger.

​

Yoongi gasped and held on to Hoseok’s hair tighter, getting lost in his kisses and his touch, not caring anymore about anyone or anything other than Hoseok—this stranger who had saved him in more ways than one, in more ways than Hoseok would ever really know.

​

“I... I love you Hoseok,” Yoongi cried suddenly, lost in the overwhelming act of intimacy—the first he had had in so long, the only time it had ever been freely given. He wasn't expecting his admission to be returned, but he wanted Hoseok to know. He needed him to. Despite them not knowing each other for that long, there was no doubt in Yoongi's heart that this was love.

​

Hoseok froze for all of a moment before deepening their kiss and adding a second finger. Panic grew in his heart, but so did his fondness for this small, broken, and wonderful man. He didn't know what their future would be, but he knew one thing: “I love you too Yoongi. And I'm never going to let you go.”

​

Yoongi gasped and met Hoseok's eyes. They were full of everything Yoongi never thought he would ever get to experience. Love, acceptance, trust... he believed Hoseok. With every atom of his body, he truly trusted him. He wouldn't leave Yoongi alone, because he loved him, and Yoongi loved him as well.

​

“More Hobi, I want all of you. I need you. Please, I'm ready,” Yoongi begged and ground his hips up, his body begging for everything Hoseok had to offer, and Hoseok gave it to him. He quickly pulled Yoongi's pants off, followed by his own clothing, until they were naked against each other. Hoseok found lube in the side table drawer and covered himself before gently pressing into Yoongi. They moaned collectively at the feeling, not worried about how loud they were or if neighbors could hear them. It didn't matter, nothing did other than each other.

​

Yoongi held on to Hoseok. His nails making small indents on his back as Hoseok rocked into him slowly, causing Yoongi's toes to curl as shocks of pleasure raced through his stomach and spine. His head clouded slightly as Hoseok connected their lips again, not giving him much a chance to breathe, but that was OK. Everything was OK now.

​

“Yoongi...” Hoseok sighed against his lips before kissing him again. “I love you,” he said again, just because he wanted Yoongi to hear it again. Because he enjoyed saying it... “I love you,” once more before he sped up his actions, not giving Yoongi time to say a word before his moans turned into yells and mumbling.

​

Pleasure coiled in Yoongi's body. From his core it built and built, creeping up on him fast and hard. Hoseok wrapped one hand back around Yoongi's shaft and stroked in tandem with his thrust, causing Yoongi to arch his back dramatically and let out a long, drawn out moan that almost resembled Hoseok's name. Small pleas of "Yes," "faster," and "harder" trembled from his lips as he was mostly incoherent.

​

Hoseok’s was release was also fast approaching. But he needed to see Yoongi let go first, and with a determined smile, he bent his head down to suck a nipple into his mouth, knowing Yoongi was close from how he was squeezing around him. The results were instant. Yoongi arched further off the bed and froze in pleasure. His eyes squeezed shut and his nails dug into Hoseok’s back like a life line. Hoseok's movements became almost sloppy as he quickened his pace and chased his own high before Yoongi could come down from his.

​

The feeling was overwhelming. Yoongi couldn't catch his breath, and every stroke was like a lightning shot of power through him. He felt tears leak down his face, and he was frozen in pleasure. Hoseok pistoned in and out of him with vigor, not stopping despite Yoongi's release, and Yoongi could feel his pleasure start to be too much, but he wanted it. Wanted more. Wanted Hoseok to give him everything he had. This is all he wanted to feel.

​

Hoseok exploded in a wave of pleasure, buried deep inside of Yoongi. His breath came out in short, sharp, pants as he fell forward, unable to hold himself up anymore. He landed with a soft, slick plop on top of Yoongi, who also seemed to be struggling to catch his breath and still letting out small moans as Hoseok shifted, still inside of him. They lay like that for almost half an hour before Hoseok finally tried to stand, to grab something to clean them off, but Yoongi grabs his wrist and pulls him back.

​

“Five more minutes please... Just five,” Yoongi pleaded, and Hoseok immediately lay back down with him, not worried about the drying cum on them both or how sweaty they were. They could get cleaned later. Hoseok tucked Yoongi up against him, cradling his body against his own, and ran his fingers through Yoongi's sweat-slicked hair.

​

“I love you,” Yoongi whispered against Hoseok's chest.

​

“I love you too,” Hoseok replied, and kissed the top of his head.

​

The light outside shifted from gold to pale gray as time slipped past unnoticed. The air was thick with warmth and breath and the quiet rhythm of closeness.

​

When they finally stilled, the room was quiet again—soft and humming with something tender and new.

​

Yoongi lay with his head on Hoseok’s chest, listening to the slow, even beat of his heart. He felt safe, grounded in a way that felt almost foreign. Hoseok’s arm curled around him, protective and sure.

​

For once, neither of them was pretending.

​

“Still a good morning?” Hoseok murmured.

​

Yoongi smiled sleepily. “The best one.”

​

And as he drifted off in the warmth of Hoseok’s arms, Hoseok pressed a kiss to his hair again, and let the thought settle, heavy and certain in his mind—He would never let anyone hurt Yoongi again.

Chapter Text

Light was still clinging to the evening sky as Yoongi and Hoseok finally returned to Yoongi's house. They moved with a languid, contented slowness, their day a soft montage of simple, shared moments: laughter over a badly chopped vegetable while cooking lunch, the quiet brush of hands during a walk in the park, the easy presence of two people who had just realized they belonged.

But as Yoongi fumbled with the key, Hoseok’s internal peace was fracturing. He watched Yoongi’s gentle, trusting smile and felt the suffocating weight of his hidden life—the lies, the blood, the fact that he was not just a loving partner, but a relentless, shadowy executioner.

He had promised Yoongi love and safety, and that safety was built on a foundation of lethal deceit.

Two of them are already gone, Hoseok thought, the memory of his past targets cold and precise in his mind

They stepped inside, dropping grocery bags onto the small kitchen table. The silence of the house was immediately broken by the muffled, somber voice of the television news anchor spilling from the living room.

Yoongi froze, his eyes flicking towards the sound. He put his bag down with a surprising speed, abandoning the dinner plans. "Wait, i need to turn this up," he said, moving to the television and hitting the volume button.

A mugshot filled the screen: a middle-aged man with a slicked-back hairline and dull, cruel eyes. The anchor spoke in hushed tones about a "shocking act of violence" that had claimed the man’s life overnight.

Yoongi stood motionless, watching the broadcast. Hoseoks muscles were tight, how would Yoongi react? Would Yoongi be disgusted that someone could murder someone like that?

Instead, Yoongi turned, his eyes shining with unshed tears, but his face was not twisted with grief or shock. It was etched with a profound, aching relief.

"That's another one," Yoongi whispered, his voice catching on a sob. "That man... he hurt a lot of people. He hurt me.. he'sone of them." A tear finally tracked a path down his cheek, but a small, fierce smile broke through. "I keep seeing their faces on the news. People who made life a nightmare for others, who walked free... and now they’re just gone."

He met Hoseok's gaze, the desperation of his past pain warring with the sheer gratitude of the present. "I know it's probably wrong to say this, Hobi, but I'm so glad they're dying. Every time I see this, I feel safer. It means the evil is finally running out."

Hoseok felt the world tilt. He had prepared for outrage, for fear, for Yoongi to recoil from the violence, but Yoongi was grateful for it. His tears were tears of closure, not condemnation.

This was his dark secret, but it was also, inadvertently, the source of Yoongi's peace.

Throughout the rest of the evening—as they cleaned up, ate a quiet dinner, and curled up on the couch—Yoongi’s words echoed in Hoseok's mind. I’m glad they’re gone... I feel safer.

He desperately wanted to confess, to lay his burdened soul bare and offer his existence as proof of his protection. But the fear of losing this new, fragile love was too great. If he confessed, he risked everything—Yoongi's safety, Yoongi's trust, and Yoongi himself. He couldn't risk the warmth that had just filled the cold gaps of his life.

Later, as the clock edged past midnight, Hoseok gently disentangled himself from Yoongi.

"I need to check on something across town," Hoseok murmured, kissing the sleep-soft curve of Yoongi's temple. "Just a quick visit to an old friend."

Yoongi blinked sleepily and gave Hoseok a soft kiss to his lips. "Be safe, Hobi. I need more cuddles"

"I'll be quick. I promise."

Hoseok left the warm, quiet house and immediately called his informant. His tone was professional, distant—the voice of the shadow he was outside of Yoongi's presence.

"Do we have a name for tonight?"

The informant's voice was a low, static rasp. “Abandoned storage unit near the rail yard. Building C, bay 14. Homeless. Drug pusher. Been targeting young runaways.”

Hoseok drove quickly to the edge of the industrial park. The stench of stagnant water and garbage was heavy in the night air. He found Building C, then Bay 14, where the door was ajar.

Inside, a man lay slumped on a busted-up couch, surrounded by needles and trash, snoring lightly. The target was exactly as described.

Hoseok did not hesitate. The movement was practiced, silent, and efficient. He crossed the room, pulled the necessary tool, and without even waking the man, he finished the job. It was quick, clean, and entirely devoid of emotion.

He stood up, wiping the blade on a discarded rag, the adrenaline already fading, when his phone began to vibrate in his hand.

The screen showed Yoongi.

Hoseok answered instantly, the metallic tang of the scene still sharp in his nose. "Yoongi? What is it?"

Yoongi's voice on the other end was a ragged, desperate sound, completely different from the comfortable tone they had shared just an hour ago.

"Hobi! Please, come home! I think... someone is trying to break in!"

Chapter Text

Yoongi wasn't sure what had made him wake up, but he sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He looked beside him to see Hoseok still wasn't back and reached for his phone to see if he had any missed calls or messages.

The air in Yoongi’s apartment was heavy, still holding the faint scent of coffee and detergent when the first sound came—a faint rattle. Yoongi froze, At first, he thought it was nothing. The wind. The old frame. But then came the unmistakable scrape of metal against the lock and Yoongi jumped, standing from the bed and freezing to try and hear.

Every instinct screamed at him to move, but his body wouldn’t obey. His heart thudded painfully in his chest as the door finally gave way with a creak.

Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.

He slipped into the bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind him, his hands shaking as he fumbled for his phone. The first person he thought to call was Hoseok. His fingers trembled so badly he nearly dropped it before pressing the call button.

When Hoseok’s voice answered, steady and warm, it cracked the terror in Yoongi’s throat.
“Hobi! Please, come home! I think… someone is trying to break in!”

There was no hesitation on the other end. “Yoongi—listen to me. Lock yourself somewhere safe. Don’t make a sound. I’m coming." The line went dead before Yoongi could say anything else, and he realized Hoseok hung up so that Yoongi wouldn't be tempted to talk.

Yoongi ducked into the closet, wedging himself behind hanging coats, the smell of fabric softener doing nothing to hide the rising panic. His breaths came short and sharp, tears slipping silently down his cheeks as he pressed the phone against his chest.

The door to his bedroom creaked open.

A voice followed—smooth, familiar, and cruel.
“Yoongi… you home?”

Yoongi’s blood turned to ice. That voice had haunted his nightmares for years.

Taemin..

Taemin’s tone grew mocking. “You think you can hide from me? You think I wouldn’t find out about your little boyfriend?” His footsteps were slow, circling. “You really think someone could love you after what you are? You’re broken, Yoongi. I broke you. No one’s going to fix that. Only I can love you.”

Yoongi pressed both hands over his mouth to stifle the sobs threatening to shake through him.

The man kept talking, voice lowering into something poisonous. “You remember, don’t you? All the things you begged me to stop. You said you wanted it, remember? You said you liked it. Where are you Yoongi..” a loud sudden crash made Yoongi jump and yelp as Taemin threw something to the ground.

Yoongi couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. His entire body trembled, the old terror clawing back up from the pit he’d buried it in.

A floorboard creaked right outside the closet.

The door swung open.

“There you are.”

Taemin's grin widened when he saw Yoongi cowering there. He grabbed him by the wrist, dragging him out. Yoongi fought back—clawed, kicked, anything—but he was smaller, weaker, and the man only laughed.

He shoved Yoongi to the floor and loomed over him, smiling like a predator.
“You never learn. You always make me hurt you Yoongi.”

Yoongi’s heart pounded so hard it drowned out every other sound.

Then Taemin's tone shifted, oily and false. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean it. I just—love you too much, that’s all. You make me crazy.” Taemin stroked Yoongi's cheek as though he were trying to comfort him and it makes Yoongi's stomach dropped.

Something inside of Yoongi snapped.

He looked up through the tears, voice shaking but firm. “You don’t love me. You never did. You're just a sick bastard”

Taemin blinked, thrown off.

“I’m not scared of you anymore,” Yoongi said—and spat at him.

The slap came hard and fast, his head whipping to the side. Taemin snarled, grabbing a fistful of Yoongi’s hair and slamming him against the dresser. Pain exploded across his temple.

But Yoongi’s hand caught on something—a small metal lamp knocked from the dresser.

Without thinking, he swung.

The lamp cracked against Taemin's shoulder, then his jaw. He staggered back, cursing. Yoongi swung again, harder, until the man fell. He didn’t stop. He kept hitting until his arms trembled, until the man went still on the floor.

Then everything went quiet.

Yoongi dropped the lamp. His breath hitched in short, broken gasps as he backed into the corner of the room, shaking so violently he thought he might be sick.

That was how Hoseok found him.

The front door splintered under Hoseok’s kick, and he sprinted through the apartment, following the sound of Yoongi’s sobs. He burst into the bedroom and stopped short—taking in the overturned furniture, the blood-smeared floor, and Yoongi, curled up on the carpet beside the unconscious intruder.

“Yoongi,” Hoseok breathed, rushing to his side.

Yoongi looked up, eyes wide and unfocused. The moment he recognized Hoseok, he collapsed into him, clinging with all his strength. Hoseok held him tight, one hand cradling the back of his head as Yoongi shook and sobbed into his chest.

“It’s over,” Hoseok whispered. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”

Yoongi’s words came out in broken gasps. “I—I thought he’d kill me.”

Hoseok’s voice was steady, though his pulse roared in his ears. “He won’t. I promise.”

The wail of sirens outside signaled the end of the nightmare. Within minutes, officers and paramedics filled the space, taking statements, snapping photos, loading the unconscious man onto a gurney. Yoongi sat numbly on the bed, a blanket draped over his shoulders, barely responding to their questions.

Hoseok hovered near the doorway, silent, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened.

He watched as the gurney was wheeled out through the front door. The man was still breathing. Alive. For now.

A flicker of disappointment burned in Hoseok’s gut—hot, bitter, and ugly. He could have ended it cleanly. Permanently. But Yoongi needed him here, not behind a mask and a weapon.

When the paramedics were gone, Hoseok crossed the room and knelt in front of Yoongi. “You’re safe now,” he murmured again, gently brushing the hair from Yoongi’s face.

Yoongi looked up at him, eyes swollen, cheeks streaked with tears. “Thank you Hobi, please don't leave me..”

“You’ll never lose me.”

He reached for Hoseok’s hand. The blood on his own fingers smeared faintly against Hoseok’s sleeve. When he noticed the darker stains already there, he blinked at them but said nothing.

Yoongi leaned against him, finally letting the exhaustion pull him down. Hoseok wrapped an arm around his shoulders and held him close, eyes still locked on the door.

Outside, the flashing red lights faded into the distance. The street fell silent again.

But Hoseok’s rage simmered, cold and quiet, beneath his calm exterior.

The man was alive.

But not for long.

Because no one hurt Min Yoongi and walked away.

Not anymore.

Chapter Text

The sunlight was soft that morning, hazy through the curtains and warm against the couch. Yoongi sat curled in Hoseok’s lap, a blanket draped loosely around his shoulders, his head resting on Hoseok’s chest. The faint sound of the television hummed in the background, something lighthearted and ordinary — a cooking show, maybe — but neither of them was really watching.

Hoseok’s fingers traced idle circles against Yoongi’s arm, careful to avoid the white bandage peeking out from under his sleeve. The small cut wasn’t deep, but the sight of it made Hoseok’s stomach twist. He had been across town — killing a man — while Yoongi was fighting for his life. The guilt pressed down on him like a physical weight.

Yoongi stirred a little, murmuring something soft, and Hoseok glanced down. His chest ached.

“Hey,” he whispered. “You doing okay?”

Yoongi blinked, half-awake, his lips curving faintly. “Mmh… tired. You’re comfy though.”

Hoseok smiled weakly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “That’s the goal, huh? Be your human pillow.”

Yoongi made a small noise that could’ve been a laugh, then snuggled closer, his hand resting against Hoseok’s chest. For a few long seconds, the world felt almost normal.

But inside Hoseok’s mind, the thoughts were anything but calm. You shouldn’t be here, he told himself. You don’t deserve this peace. You don’t deserve him.

He pressed his lips to Yoongi’s forehead, barely a whisper of touch. “I love you,” he breathed, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Yoongi’s voice came muffled against his shirt, thick with drowsiness. “Love you too… so much, Hobi.”

Hoseok closed his eyes. It hurt, how easily Yoongi said it — how much he meant it.

The sound of the television changed. The soft chatter of the cooking show gave way to the somber tone of a news report. Hoseok’s eyes flicked to the screen just in time to see a grainy photo appear — the man from the previous night.

The anchor’s voice was measured, factual. “Authorities discovered the body of an unidentified man near the rail yard in an abandoned factory early this morning. Police believe foul play was involved…”

Yoongi stirred again, blinking up at the screen. Then, to Hoseok’s surprise, he started to laugh. A quiet, sleepy laugh that shook against Hoseok’s chest.

“Serves them right,” he mumbled.

Hoseok froze. “…What?”

Yoongi looked up at him, eyes still heavy-lidded. “Whoever’s doing this… killing those bastards. I hope they don’t stop.”

Hoseok’s throat felt tight. “Yoongi… what if it was someone you knew? Someone close to you?”

Yoongi tilted his head, considering. Then he smiled — small, but sure. “If it were someone I knew, I’d thank them. Because they’re not just protecting me. They’re protecting anyone else those monsters might’ve hurt.”

Hoseok swallowed hard. “You… you wouldn’t think it was wrong?”

Yoongi sighed and rested his head against Hoseok’s chest again. “Maybe it’s wrong in the eyes of the law. But the law didn’t save me. It didn’t save any of us. If the system lets them walk free, then maybe this is justice’s way of catching up.” His voice grew quieter. “They’re bad men, Hobi. Honestly, they deserve worse.”

Hoseok couldn’t breathe. His eyes burned suddenly, tears spilling before he could hold them back.

Yoongi immediately pushed up, startled. “Hobi? What’s wrong? Did I—did I say something?”

Hoseok shook his head and stood abruptly, wiping his face. “No, it’s not you. I just—” He broke off and started for the door.

Yoongi scrambled up after him, his bare feet padding across the floor. “Hoseok, wait! I’m sorry if I said something wrong, I didn’t mean—”

Hoseok turned, his expression unreadable. “Get in the car, Yoongi.”

Yoongi blinked, confused. “What? Where are we going?”

“Please,” Hoseok said, his voice tight. “Just come with me.”

Yoongi hesitated, but the raw emotion in Hoseok’s face made him nod. He grabbed his hoodie and followed him out to the car. The drive was silent for several minutes, the city lights slipping by in a blur.

Finally, Hoseok spoke. “I’m not upset with you, Yoongi.”

Yoongi turned to him, confused. “You’re not?”

“No.” Hoseok’s grip on the wheel tightened. “I’m… relieved. I.. want to tell you something.. but I've been worried”

Yoongi stayed quiet, his eyes fixed on Hoseok as he began to speak.

“I’ve been doing this for five years,” Hoseok said, voice low, steady. “Killing men like that one on the news. It started after my daughter died. She was.. she was three years old. Bright, kind… full of love and laughter. Her life had barely even begun... And one night, some man decided she looked easy to hurt. He took her from the playground.. My back wasn't even turned for more then two minutes. I was just getting her ice cream.. no one saw him” His jaw flexed. “He.. raped her.. killed her.. dumped her body after a week at the same play ground he took her from. Despite witnesses saying they saw him leave her there, he got away with it. Lack of evidence, they said.”

Yoongi’s breath hitched softly.

“I found him myself,” Hoseok continued. “And when I did… I found the others. The children he’d taken. Bodies in his basement. Small children. Little boys and girls who had been missing for a while.. none of them made it.” His eyes glistened, but he didn’t blink. “I sliced his throat in his own bed.. and stayed to watch as he bled out. After that, I couldn’t stop. I found people like him — men and women who escaped justice — and I made sure they couldn’t hurt anyone again. Taehyung helped me. His sister was one of the man’s victims. He found me, tracked me down after I'd finished maybe four jobs on my own. He wanted to help. He tracked them, and I… finished it.”

Yoongi sat still, staring ahead. Hoseok risked a glance at him, expecting horror, revulsion — something. But Yoongi’s expression was unreadable.

“When I met you,” Hoseok said softly, “I was on my way to another kill. You were standing on that bridge, and I couldn’t just drive past. You were hurting, and I thought maybe I could save at least one person the right way this time. But I wasn’t expecting…” His voice cracked. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

The car rolled to a stop near an abandoned building. Hoseok turned off the engine and faced Yoongi, his hands shaking. “Now you know. If you want to leave… or turn me in… I’ll understand.”

Yoongi’s eyes shimmered, tears slipping quietly down his cheeks. For a long moment, the only sound was their breathing. Then Yoongi started laughing — small at first, then louder, until it filled the car.

Hoseok stared at him, bewildered. “Yoongi—?”

Yoongi turned to him, his eyes bright through the tears. “I used to think you only looked like an angel,” he said softly. “Now I realize you just… are one. An angel with dark wings.. I'm so sorry about your daughter Hobi.. you have every right to do what you're doing.."

Hoseok blinked. “Yoongi, I—”

But Yoongi was already crawling across the seat, pulling him into a kiss that was trembling and fierce and full of relief. Hoseok’s tears mixed with his, the heaviness that had been pressing down for years finally beginning to lift.

When they finally pulled apart, Hoseok brushed his thumb across Yoongi’s cheek. “Are you sure?” he whispered. “Are you really okay with this?”

Yoongi nodded. “You saved me, Hobi. You’ve been saving people this whole time. How could I ever see that as wrong?”

Hoseok’s smile broke — soft, disbelieving. He pressed their foreheads together, breathing him in.

After a long moment, he turned toward the building ahead, the windows blacked out, the air around it still. “Taehyung said the next one’s here. The last one, other than Taemin. Hes hiding.. he knows someone is after him. I haven't made things very subtle"

Yoongi hesitated. His pulse quickened — not from fear, but anticipation. “You’re going in?”

Hoseok nodded. “I am. But I wanted you to have a choice. Do you want to come with me? It could end up dangerous. Hes on high alert, probably has a weapon.. ”

Yoongi met his eyes — steady, unwavering. Then, slowly, he reached for Hoseok’s hand.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do. I want to face my demons from on. I want to fight for my happiness and the safety of others.. like you do”

Hoseok smiled and bent down to kiss Yoongi gently on the lips. "This isn't an easy life Yoongi.. we will have to move a lot, never putting down roots anywhere.. you'll have to leave your friends behind.. can you do that?"

Yoongi smiled and kissed Hoseok again. "As long as I have you, I'm happy"

Hoseok nodded in understanding, and together, they stepped out of the car and walked toward the building, their hands clasped — not as killer and victim, not as savior and saved, but as something entirely new.

Chapter Text

Six months into their fugitive domesticity, the minivan, affectionately dubbed The Shadow Box by Taehyung, was a living contradiction. The interior was packed tight, a chaotic monument to a hasty departure—Yoongi’s recording gear shoved next to Taehyung’s collection of ceremonial knives, and three duffel bags that held their entire life. The air was a peculiar blend of old coffee, clean wool, and the faint, metallic scent of recent action.

Hoseok piloted the vehicle, one-handed (his other hand occupied by Yoongi in the passenger seat) and the long, sun-drenched coastal highway unspooling beneath the tires. In the back, Taehyung was draped across the bench seat, fast asleep, his head cushioned by his arm. A low, desperate thump-thump came from the sealed cargo space—their current captive, currently trapped.

Yoongi sat with his hand laced securely with Hoseok’s across the center console. He leaned his head against the window, watching the vast, turbulent blue of the sea. There was a gentle, untroubled smile on his face, a look that had replaced the anxious frown he’d worn for years. The man who had once been broken and afraid was now quietly, fiercely content in his dark contentment.

Hoseok glanced over, his own wry grin mirroring Yoongi’s, and leaned over to give him a quick, soft kiss before easing the minivan to a stop near a cliff edge overlooking the churning Pacific. The air smelled of salt, drying sage, and absolute freedom. They both got out and walked around the vehicle, standing hip-to-hip, watching the sun begin its slow, orange collapse into the blue horizon.

“Perfect timing,” Hoseok murmured, his arm circling Yoongi’s waist, pulling him close. “We earned a minute of this before the necessary chore.”

The quiet was shattered by a loud, desperate thump from the trunk, followed by a muffled, incoherent curse.

Yoongi sighed, rolling his head back onto Hoseok’s shoulder in mild exasperation. “I suppose the serenity is officially over.” He turned toward the back of the car, his mood shifting from cozy to clinical.

Hoseok shrugged, his expression utterly detached. “At least he wasn't efficient. We caught him five minutes after he grabbed the girl. The mother hadn’t even realized she was missing yet.”

Yoongi adjusted the latch. “These predators are becoming genuinely lazy. Kidnapping a child in broad daylight? As if. Are you ready? He’s fully awake and might come out swinging. We absolutely do not need a repeat of Daegu; my chin was tender for days.”

Hoseok’s eyes crinkled with warm amusement. “A tiny contusion for a righteous cause. Besides, I bought you that ice pack shaped like a T-Rex. And I kissed it better, every single day.”

Yoongi’s mouth curved into a satisfied smile at the memory of Hoseok’s diligent care. He didn't use a verbal count this time; the moment he found the latch, the stillness broke. He threw the trunk open. The man—a blur of desperation and soiled clothing—exploded upward, swinging a right hook that whistled inches from Yoongi’s head as he instinctively ducked low. Before the attacker could pivot, Hoseok’s forearm snapped out, smacking the man with a calculated, sickening impact. He collapsed instantly, face first into the dusty dirt.

The heavy breathing of the two men was the only sound, until a third voice broke the silence with a dramatic yawn.

“Damn, you went straight to the finisher without me? That’s rude,” Taehyung said, letting out an appreciative whistle as he stretched out of the back seat.

Hoseok and Yoongi looked over at him with identical, exasperated expressions. Yoongi said, “That’s fine, you can help us with the fun part. We gotta carry him to the cliff. You and Hoseok grab his arms, I’ll take his feet. We need to hurry before a car passes.”

The three of them hauled the man up, a trio of synchronized shadow workers, and shuffled him quickly toward the cliff edge. They were almost there when the man started to stir, his eyes flickering open. He began to thrash just as they reached the precipice. With a final, decisive heave, they launched him over. His yell was dramatic and quickly swallowed by the wind as the three walked calmly away from the edge.

Taehyung opened the driver’s side door. “Another one down, and another million or so to go. A satisfactory close to the workday. My turn to drive”

Hoseok and Yoongi tumbled into the back together and collapsed against the soft seat cushions, resting from the long drive and the quick labor. Yoongi sighed contentedly into Hoseok’s shoulder. “I'm hungry, We should stop at a gas station soon.”

Hoseok laughed softly, tightening his embrace. “You’re always hungry after a job. You’re so weird.”

Yoongi tilted his head back, his eyes full of affection. “Yeah, but you love me.”

Hoseok pressed a warm kiss to the top of his head, agreeing without a word before asking Taehyung to turn the music up. They sped off to their next destination, the minivan carrying the sound of loud, reckless music, never looking back again, and living in chaotic happiness together.

Who knew what the future held? It didn't really matter as far as Yoongi and Hoseok were concerned. As long as they had each other.