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Chapter Text

Sitting heavily in a deep, plastic chair and blowing on a hot cup of black coffee (dash of cream, two sugars) was always an adequate break to the hectic world that was the Korean National Police force. He was usually incredibly grateful for the hour-long lunch break he had in his daily shift. There’s also the matter of his friends making the constant go-go-go and work-work-work abundantly better.

Namjoon likes his job, he really does. But the numerous stalemates he’s come to along this case has been, well, bullshit in the way there should be an answer, it should be simple. But nothing seems to be going his way.

And not only is this case messing with his head, with it’s twists and turns and missing bits of evidence and somehow zero witnesses in the most public of incidents! Not only that, but his friends that usually make the constant “go-go-go and work-work-work abundantly better” seem to be pulling away from him. All of them, at the same time.

Namjoon may have cried in the shower last night when it all hit, weighing down in a way he couldn’t brush off like he usually does. Though, any of those depressed remnants were wiped off the next morning with a charming, dimpled smile, an endearing clumsiness, and an outright caring personality. (He’d rather take his grievances out on himself and his work than any innocent soul who happened to unintentionally piss him off.)

Yeah, it’s been a hellofa’ crappy week.

The fact he was the only one sitting in the break room, leftover beef stir fry gone cold and vegetables gone soggy, was just another egg in the basket that was close to toppling. He could imagine Hobi’s bright laugh and Taehyung’s sarcastic humor filling up the room in the light-heartedness of it all. But all Namjoon had was another bite of unpleasant stir fry and a swig of cold coffee (his third one today.) 

He could’ve sworn this plastic chair was more plastic-y today, digging into his back and behind in a way that was just looking to be kicked.

Huffing under his breath, Namjoon got up, dumped the three quarters of food left into the trash, and walked out the door.

He wasn’t sure if the budding tears were from the built up frustration or loneliness. (Presumably both.) Though, he tried not to dwell in it and sat, hunched, in his desk chair and powered up his computer.

Three months of near-silence, broken plans, awkward greetings, unread texts, and respectfully polite passing smiles.

Who needed friends anyway. They’re all jerks. Who cares about them anyway?

(He did.)

“Namjoon-nim!”

“Cho-nim?”

A women, seemingly frazzled with her eyebrows furrowed and eyes tight, stopped at his desk with a slight bow to her head.

“There’s a holdup at the Hye Min household. They’re calling for backup and they need us, especially you, as soon as possible.”

“The Hye Min.”

“Yes,” her voice was rushed, one hand clenching at Cho’s side, “we’re not sure how many people are holding the family hostage. They’re trying to discuss demands, but there hasn’t been any made yet, from what I know. There aren’t enough units out today ‘cause of how many guys are out sick or using vacation days.”

“Tch. Okay, thank you. Let’s go.”

Namjoon grabbed his hat and keys, then patted around his pockets to make sure he had everything, before they rushed out to the garage. They slid into the car and they sped off, lights flashing and alarm blaring.

“Could you update me on the Min case?” Cho asked, hand clasping the handle in front of her.

“Min’s has seemingly, continuously been involved with black market and trafficking rings. He’s been “ratted out” by others when arrested, but there’s never enough evidence to prove anything. Min was arrested once, but was anonymously bailed out at 200 million won. He’s also had numerous rumors of infidelity and has supposedly been seen with prostitutes and at backstreet strip clubs. But again, nothing has clear enough evidence. No pictures, videos, audio recording- none of it. It’s like the name is suddenly wiped clean every-time any scandal or rumor floats out. There’s never any witnesses or missing persons cases that correlate to his case either. He’s got a near-perfect record and whenever anyone finds somethin’ on him, everything after leads to another stalemate. He’s notorious for having high influence in the legislative office, so who knows how many people he has working on his side?”

Before she could answer, they pulled up to a modern house. Large and wide, not unlike the pot-bellied man who was stuck inside.

They pulled out their pistols and slowly crouched there way to the barricades of cars at the front of the house.

One man, masked and armed, held a knife up to the throat of the man who’s cause him so much strife the past months. Be that as it may, that man is the one he would be protecting right now.

(Which, admittedly, sucked ass. But Namjoon was a moral-driven man through-and-through. No matter how much he wanted to shake the answers out of that man, he would have to save him first.)

Namjoon walked up closely to the chief, who had a megaphone in hand.

“Gwajang-nim. What’s it looking like?”

“We’ve confirmed they’re all alive. No gunfire that we know of. It’s been strange though. They haven’t be anything except to being able to leave with Hye Min- him and only him. I guess it’s not a surprise he’s got enemies, though. Anything you know that could help?”

“Well-“ he was cut off.

Bullets sprayed and tinged off the cars, a pained groan being heard at Namjoon’s right. Boots pounded against pavement and threw themselves behind cars to take cover from the impartial rain of metal.

“YOU HAVE PERMISSION TO USE FORCE- GUNS AT THE READY! THEY’RE UNPREDICTABLE, BE CAREFUL!” his chief yelled beside him.

Namjoon was crouched, breath heavy and hairline dusting with sweat. His pistol was clenched tight in his palm, safety flicked off.

The cacophony of metal piercing and scrapping metal dampened to the occasional blast and ricochet of bullets.

They had to be moving.

Crap.

Namjoon pivoted and took the chance, peeking above the hood of the car, his chief doing the same.

Double crap.

Five guys, all ranging in height and build, masked and armed, were running and dragging the Min towards the road. The same road where a nondescript, black van darted up at.

He acted, dashing to the other end of the car and opened fire.

One, two, three, four, five- metal on rubber, squealing of tires. The van’s front two tires finally popped with a satisfying wheeze of air and the van titled forward.

Namjoon was frozen, gun still raised. He waited for the on-slot of bullets to pierce his skin.

What a day to forget your bullet-proof vest.

The silence that followed was tangible, but was quickly cut through by a voice.

“Nobody move! That goes for you too, Hotshot.”

The voice was animatronic and grainy, obviously altered in some way. The driver was now out of the car, decked in the same black gear and armed with a shotgun. A shotgun that was pointing straight at him.

Namjoon’s gaze drifted to the others. Four more guns were pointed at him, with the exception of the man with a knife to Min’s throat.

Triple crap.

Now, he didn’t regret his actions, he only wishes he had done it a little bit more discretely. (As discretely you can shoot a gun five times, that is.)

The officer slowly raised his arms palms out.

“Hotshot,” Namjoon raise his eyebrows, pointing at himself in question. “Yeah, you; the one who has a vendetta against tires. Get over here. And bring your car keys, will you?”

Namjoon couldn’t help the way his fingers trembled minutely and his breath stuttered.

“No.”

Okay, maybe not the best response. But you’ve gone through stuff like this in is training. You got this.

“Excuse me?”

Namjoon took a shuddering breath in.

“I’ll go over there under the condition that you let that man go into police custody.”

Cho blurted out, “you will not be doing that!” Although, her interruption went (thankfully) ignored.

Guns stayed trained on Namjoon’s face as the man turned and whispered to his constituents.

“Drop your gun, any weapons and identification on your person, and utility belt then come over here. We’ll let ‘im go once we have you.”

His breath trembled as he agreed in a rough voice with a quiet, “Okay.”

Switching the safely on, his gun then fell with a clunk, along with his utility belt, badge, and ID. The rest of the force held their breath in a tense resolve, guns trained on the men who had guns trained on Namjoon. The air was plastic and breakable as he ambled to the group.

One immediately grabbed him and started patting him down. His phone was thrown to the ground and shattered, his watch and radio soon following suite. Namjoon flinched at the sound of shattered glass and plastic, shoulders raising to his chin.

One smacked the peaked hat off his head and made a point to step on it, rubbing it into the gravel under his leather boot. Along with a hand that riffled through his pockets before finding the hard, disfigured metal of his keys, making a noise of satisfaction.

One hand grabbed his chin, tilted his head side-to-side, before chuckling at the glare Namjoon was sporting. The leathered-clad hand let go with a somewhat gentle pat to his cheek that Namjoon couldn’t help but half-scowl, half-grimace at.

His already rigid figure stiffened at the feeling of a hand around his waist from behind and a chin being place on his shoulder.

“You’ll be fine if you do what Hyungs say.”

The warmth from behind made his spine shiver and his grimace become all the more prominent. The voice had been robotic and gravely, devoid of the disturbing warmth that this man seemed to emanate.

Fidgeting in his discomfort only brought a more restrictive grasp, the grasp only making his skin crawl all the more.

Namjoon’s head spun at the speed everything was happening, though he remained placatingly quiet and still; uncomfortably rigid. The thumb gently stroking the soft skin of his side over his uniform most definitely didn’t help- creating an extra sense of terrifying vulnerability he didn’t need. And when a gun was cocked on his temple, Namjoon trembled.

“You’ll be fine, just listen to Hyungs.”

Namjoon chin wobbled.

Of course the day he gets kidnapped, all his friends are out of the station. The same friends that have been increasingly ignoring him for three months.

Bitterly, he thought, maybe this’ll make them pay attention to me- remember me.

He brushed it off before his thought process turned depressing instead of the pounding anxiety that lay over his heart and mind. It wasn’t the time for depressing, it was the time for fearing for your life- rationally, of course.

Before he knew it, Namjoon was being pushed towards his car, a gun on his back, hands still raised and tingling from the blood loss.

Seven men piled into a five seater. He was shoved into the middle seat, pressed tightly between two pairs of people. They had a person sitting on each lap beside him, their heads awkwardly brushing the top of the roof.

He never saw the exchange of Hye Min and himself, he doesn’t really remember seeing and taking in everything that was happening. He was too in his head, which Namjoon regretted, even if the act was involuntary. All he knew now was being swung side-to-side, forward and backward. Lights flashing, sirens blaring. He would never undermine the need for a seatbelt ever again.

He swung forward for the nth time, nothing to hold onto, nothing to grab. He didn’t dare raise his hands in any way that could be perceived as threatening.

A frustrated sigh was heard before an arm was pinning him back at his chest.

“Stop moving. Your elbow keeps jabbin’ my ribs,” the black-clothed man to his right grumbled out.

Namjoon tensed, pushing himself backwards, folding into himself. But the man sighed all the same, this time resigned.

“Stop lookin’ like I’m gonna shoot you. It’s fine- just be more careful.”

“Be nice, SUGA. We’re all stressed, don’t take it out on him.”

“That’s why I said it’s fine,” he spat.

In a disturbing way, this man couldn’t help but remind him of the gruffness of Yoongi. But although gruff, his Yoongi came with gentle pats and hugs, quiet words of encouragement, and the gentle scent of tangerines that made you want to bury your nose in his neck and stay there. Oh, and not kidnapping him while simultaneously scaring the shit out of him.

“Remember who you’re talking to.”

“Yes, Hyung,” his voice could’ve been paired with an eye-roll but he gave up all the same.

The man, whose lap he was sitting on, patted his hip and he, subdued, slouched back, fiddling with his handgun. Flicking the safety on and off, on and off.

The click-click, click-click of the safety made his palms damp with sweat and hairs raise on the back of his head.

Namjoon’s eyes were cloudy as the ride went on. The aggressive rocking and turns of the car slowly dwindled off, somewhere along the ride they abandoned the police car and switched to an undistinguished, black SUV. Where they got it, being in the middle of some forest, was unbeknownst to him.

They were far out of Seoul by this point. Where they were- that was a whole different question.

Again, he really needed to work on his attention to detail in high pressure situations. In retrospect, the three coffees this morning after a total of seven hours of sleep for the whole week wasn’t a great idea, his focus had been impaired. He could feel himself crashing in the juxtaposition that was the gentle, sleep-inducing movements of the car and his current situation.

Namjoon started pinching and scratching at his palms, trying to keep himself up. He tried to focus on the road and the signs that whizzed by. He knew he couldn’t fall asleep, not in the position that he was in. That’s ‘How Not to Die 101’.

50kph. Rest stop up ahead.

He continued the picking and scratching, surely breaking skin that only served to keep him awake enough to not get murdered.

Leaving Busan? Wait.

Two hands grabbed his, stretching them to both sides. Namjoon pulled and struggled but the restrictive grasps only made him realize the sting from his infliction.

“Do not hurt yourself or we’ll restrain your hands in a more permanent way,” the one to his left said, his modified voice doing nothing to conceal the dark and irrefutable tone deep-set in the man’s voice.

Why did they care?

It pissed him off, but the fear overid the anger and confusion.

A jerk of his head seemed to satisfy the man, their grasps both softening. Though, they didn’t let go. They just held his hands, maneuvering and massaging his hands as they liked. Both ignored the scared stiffness of his fingers and the slight trembling that occurred on-and-off.

The one to his left was the same one who reprimanded- who was it?- SUGA? He murmured reassurances, or what was supposed to be reassurances. “We’ll be there soon” only made his impending terror increase. For a terrifying minute he genuinely thought he was going to puke all over his black uniform pants and the car floor. (Namjoon did consider the upsides of getting puke on his captors, but then he considered the latter and swallowed the bile that continued to rise in his nausea.)

The black-clad man to his left seemed to have a considerable amount of influence, something he should stay away from on his non-consentual vacation.

In his plite to keep his guts down and stop himself from pulling away from the men who were still holding his hands hostage, Namjoon didn’t notice (this was becoming a bad trend) the car pulling onto a long dirt road and finally pulling up to a large house. Scratch that, a mansion. A mansion with guards, a gate, high-tech security, and everything as well as the kitchen sink.

Quadruple crap.

Chapter Text

Namjoon could only wish to have a home like this. Beautiful gardens with hundreds of varieties of flowers, tall trees lining the tall, iron-pegged, spike-topped- the mansion had to have at least four stories!

But it’s a punch to the gut when he thinks of just why he was here. His heart stuttered and lip wobbled.

And it’s a smack to the face when he wonders if anyone will actually, truly miss him back in Seoul. 

Namjoon gives his head a small shake.

He can’t dwell in the loneliness, the helplessness, the pathetic-ness he feels. He won’t let himself. Crying in the shower once (okay- MAX four times) was enough for him. 

He was almost fortunate for the robotic voice that bulldozed through his depressing thoughts.

“J-Hope-ah, would you go update security on our new guest? They know their rules but make sure to remind them and-“

“I’ll make it clear, don’t worry Hyung.” 

“I know you will. And SUGA, would you get dinner started?” 

It was almost ironically domestic. If Namjoon had any less will to live, he would have giggled in his incredulousness.

And when he shoved around, hands and arms looped tightly with rope, eyes covered, and mouth gagged, he almost cried in his incredulousness. 

“JK, you got ‘im?” 

“Mhm- up we go!” 

In a blink he was thrown hastily over this “JK” guy’s shoulder- his stomach and ribs throbbed, not being able to hold off a pained groan. 

Blindfolded, gagged, hands and arms restrained behind his back, a shoulder digging miserably into his stomach. His underlying nausea was building up again, stomach gurgling and bile rising in a way Namjoon knew if he opened his mouth, this man would get a back full of throw-up. Well, if he didn’t choke on it first.

Namjoon gagged, body jolting forward. 

“Don’t carry him like that JK!”

“Sorry! Sorry!”

“I swear- he’s not a corpse!”

“I know! I’m just so used to that sorta hold!”

A very unpleasant picture was conjured up in Namjoon’s imagination. His skin, peeling and rotten, as his body lay cold and dripping over someone’s shoulder. He shuddered from a mix of cheek-greening nausea and from the picture of his very possible, potential future

He was lifted off ”JK’s” shoulder, groaning around the cloth gag as he was transferred to someone else’s arms. The officer’s head flopped down heavily on someone’s shoulder, breathing heavily through his nose as he swallowed down his nausea. Namjoon, tall, broad, and he was still being cradled like a baby. It would be more humiliating if he wasn’t so ready to lose his lunch.

“JK, sweets, would you go help J-Hope?”

“Okay, sorry…”

”You’re okay, just be more careful next time.” 

(The helplessness, the involuntary vulnerability, the foreboding, was terrifying.)

“There ya go… Let’s get inside.”

The mechanical voices were starting to get old.

Sickness momentarily settling, Namjoon kicked his legs and twisted in a way that probably made the hold look even more childish but he couldn’t help the annoyance that bubbled up inside of him. It was stupid, very stupid in fact to do anything that could irritate his very competent kidnappers. But in all honestly, he really just wanted to make their lives more difficult.

“We can always just take away your right to legs, officer-nim~”

Never-mind .

He kept his body stiff and tense, only allowing his legs to swing with the motion of the man’s steady stride.

“Chim-ah, please send one of the maids to make up a room for our little officer friend here. Preferably the one- you know the one.”

Namjoon wasn’t privy to hearing an answer but he knew, he just knew, he would be rooming in a dungeon. 

Fuck mansions! Please, please let there be no rats…

A sharp, grainy burst of laughter breaks him out of his growing trepidation.

“Why’re you looking so scared? You get your own room. Unless you wanted to share?” Another cackle burst through the stuff air. “Just messing with you! We’re going to have so. much. fun.” The sudden decrescendo only proved that intimidation can be played off on voices at all levels.

A long finger snatched and pulled down the front of the blindfold until it rested uncomfortably, half on his eyes. Though it didn’t block out the terrible vision of a masked face getting closer and closer.

He was going to cry, or piss himself, but only if he didn’t pass out first.

Truly, Namjoon had to wonder what was wrong with these guys. Their unpredictability discombobulated him; made him lightheaded and confused in a way he could barely keep up with their mood swings.

His rationality and ability to focus had been bought out by the past five hour’s steady stream of adrenaline and terror running through his veins. A terrible sleep schedule and too much caffeine couldn’t have helped.

Nothing seemed to be consistent with these guys; one second they’re threatening them and the next their acting like mother ducks, all worried about his well-being.

He wasn’t sure how long he could wait to be rescued, but for now Namjoon just needed to wait. Don’t antagonize the guys with guns, and it’ll be all good.

But it didn’t feel too good when a petrifying man was nose-to-nose with him, practically being his CO2 supply.

Maybe crying was the way to go.

“V-ah, you’re in the way. Open the door first, then you can have your fun.”

He stood bent over Namjoon for a few long seconds before tilting his head to the side and backing away.

Namjoon wished he could say his lungs finally flooded with the much-needed that he was withheld from in his horror. Instead, his lungs seemed to collapse in on themselves, a bag of bricks weighing on his chest. Sweat beaded at his hairline and Namjoon couldn’t help from turning his head, hiding his face in the rough material of the man’s coat.

A set of beeps could be heard before the slight creaking of a door being opened.

All he tried to focus on was stabilizing his breathing; you wouldn’t want to hyperventilate and leave yourself vulnerable. That’s how you get dragged in by the jaws of a lion, being fully done for. 

They crossed through the (obnoxiously) large doorframe. A smooth rhythm of keys being plucked on a piano filled the (obnoxiously) grand foyer. Namjoon’s heart pattered slower; he couldn’t help but look up.

The face was uncanny. 

Namjoon’s eyes bugged out in a way that could almost appear comical if not for the obvious way his chest heaved in fear and his legs kicked with the panoptic need to run away and never look back.

“Hey, shhh~”

“Why’s he freakin’ out?”

He jerked his limbs, grunting at the strain under the gag.

“Uh…” The creepy guy from before made a motion at his face.

“What?” He touched his face. “Oh, fuck-“

Yoongi, HIS Yoongi. Made up in the same getup as the other men but all without a defining feature: his mask.

Namjoon was at his limit. He was going to puke.

And he did.

It gargled disgustingly behind the gag as he turned to his side and heaved. Luckily, of the guy ripped it out of his mouth before he could choke. Unluckily, he was dropped, right into the puddle head-first.

The wet smack of bone and skin against putrid throw-up was palpable. It rang and bounced off the bright foyer walls along with the panicked yelling and movement of three men.

Namjoon passed out with puke staining his mouth and his own blood clumping his hair.

Chapter Text

Namjoon’s didn’t dream in his unconsciousness. His mind was blank, a picture of stark black, and cognizance always fleeting at the outskirts of his mind.

It was pleasant.

But he awoke to pain, head throbbing and body sore. Sweat dampened his clothes and made his skin uncomfortably sticky. Even so, this didn’t stop his stubbornness from impending as he attempted to stand.   

The walls curled in, out, in, out, spiraling as he stood.

His head pounded and knees wobbled.

“W-where…?”

Namjoon’s mind swirled in bewilderment, but he pushed it away, stumbling a few steps forward.

“Needa pee-“

Falling forward some more steps, he thumped against the wall, hand spread wide and barely stabilizing his unsteady figure. A vignette blurred the edges of his vision and he closed his eyes, his head resting against the wall as the pounding of his head increased. His body slumped heavily and his breaths came out wet and labored.

Yoongi…

Namjoon’s eyes squinted open, vision fuzzy as he slowly tilted his head to look around the, outrageously luxurious room.

What..?

Namjoon shook his head, woozily bumbling to a stand and stumbling toward the first door he saw.

It was a grand, wide thing, gold embroidery paired with a golden handle. All that for a closet, which thankfully had another door that open into a conjoined bathroom. With how dizzy and confused he was, Namjoon was thankful doing his business went off without a hitch.

Sweating, legs trembling, he walked back through the giant closet and into the room where enraged yelling now bounced off the bright walls.

“Where did he GO! Are you THAT incompetent that a-“

Namjoon staggered and fell to the soft carpet in a heap on his hands and knees.

“Namjoonie-Hyung!” Jimin turned to him with a wide smile and peppy voice; contradicting his recent shouting, “Oh, I thought you left! I guess I shoulda checked the bathroom- oops!” He giggled.

Jimin let go of the maid he had shoved against the wall, his hands gripping her in a bruising hold. Her eyes were wide, scared, as she sniffled and bowed deeply before running out of the room.

“Jimi…” his voice trailed off as he clutched his head, another wave of dizziness making his ache.

“You should be in bed- doctor’s orders!”

“I…huh…?”

Jimin waved off his confused mumbling and hoasted him up, Namjoon’s arm curling around his shoulders and inordinately flumping against him.

“You have a nasty concussion and some general bruising on your body. You kept on barely exceeding consciousness and then falling back and sleep off and all. Thankfully, I was able to perform some basic cogency tests during that, which proved pretty well, all things considered. Oh- and I was finally able to get a drip for you, after two days, no less! So I’ll have to hook you up with that…”

He kept rambling on, Namjoon’s focus fizzling and befuddled brain just trying to piece together what had happened in the last, well apparently, few days.

Jimin’s not a medic, he’s a police officer. He’s not a medic, how does he know how to do all this? Namjoon muddled on, perplexed as his thoughts ran through his head as clear as mud.

A sudden spike of pain in his head knocked him out of revery.

“Why,” Namjoon’s licked his chapped lips, “why does my head hurt?”

Jimin laid him down on the bed, helping him correlate his limbs onto the plush comforter and tucking a soft throw blanket over him.

“You have a bad concussion, Hyung. I just told you, do you not remember?”

“I-I do just…” he tried to find the words, “how did it get hurt? I can’t really remember everything.”

Jimin, as he worked on hooking the saline solution to the drip, back to Namjoon, smirked. Then he turned around, placing a hand on Namjoo’s covered knee.

“You, me, and the rest of the guys made last-minute plans to vacation out in Jin-Hyung’s family cabin. You tripped getting out of the car and smacked your head on a tree, Clumsy-Hyung~” he teased. 

Namjoon was silent, painfully mulling over the words. Something just didn’t feel right.

He could’ve- they haven’t ‘really’ talked in so long- right? So lonely… Or…

His thoughts spiraled, at a loss and bewildered. Namjoon’s head pounding, his temple particularly and his thoughts escaped him. Though, he couldn’t help but question…

“But,” his mouth opened and closed, eyebrows furrowing, “are you sure?”

Jimin’ eyebrows twitched before he swabbed Namjoon’s hand clean, picked up the needle, and carefully guided it in. He then turned his head up, making eye contact with the bandaged and battered man in front of him and pulling his face into a dramatic, puppy-eyed pout.

“Joonie-Hyung~ do you not believe me? Why would I lie to you?” His eyes watered and lower lip wobbled effectively.

“N-no! It’s nothing like that! I just,” taking in a long breath and drawing it out, his hands clutching the plush blanket fabric, “I don’t know. I don’t think you’re lying. My head is jus’ all confused.”

“I’m sure your mind will get all sorted out soon. Try not to worry about it too much and give your body and mind the rest it needs.”

Namjoon’s limbs jittered, fingers clenching and unclenching them fabric.

“Where are we?”

“I told you- at Jin-Hyung’s house. I probably need to run some more tests anyway- a memory one would-“

“But why not a hospital? You said I was out, for what- two days? And where ex-“

“Make this easy for yourself, Namjoon,” his tone no-nonsense and firm, confirming an end to that conversation.

Jimin was silent after that for long few minutes as he checked over the drip, stacked up and fluffed more pillows behind Namjoon, and poured water into a tall cup with a straw. All done with a pensive, though relaxed mood. His next words were said casually, a kind smile playing on his lips as spoke.

“I’m gonna go grab some food from the kitchen. You’ll stay here?”

There was something wrong about the smile Jimin gave as he left quietly. 

It really wasn’t a request.

Three glasses of water and a pleasantly full belly of fruit and a light, salty broth later, Namjoon laid warm and saited under the fluffy covers.

But so, so utterly confused.

Bits and pieces of…something have pooled into his memory, slowly and lethargic in cloudy, unraveled memories. It was more of underlying feelings than pictures.

Heart-pounding, nerve-wracking- hand-shaking adrenaline and fear. That, then shock- pure and horrifying; almost detrimental and even painful.

Painful, emotionally or physically, he’s not sure.

Though the few fleeting flashes of memories he did remember were black gloves, black masks, black boots, broken glass, and sleek, dangerous guns always pointed at him.

Namjoon had a hard time dismissing these lurking emotions and fleeting pictures as nothing more than an unnerving nightmare in his sleep of the past couple(?) days.

He had a hard time trying to think any deeper about it; his head would pound and the headache behind his eyes would build in pressure when he did.

One of the almost as equally baffling thoughts would be of Namjoon and his friends friendship “status.” But, as stated before, thinking and trying to focus too hard coming out an apparent concussion was frankly painful.

He huffed a breath, closing his eyes and rubbing his uninjured, aching temple.

I’ll dwell on it later.

“HYUNG!”

Namjoon flinched as body flopped on his lower half, bulky and tall. A rumpled black head of hair popped up, large, sparkling doe-eyes and a happy smile staring up at him.  

“Hey, Jungkook-ah,” his demeanor a contradiction to the man currently laying over his legs.

Jungkook squirmed in his excitement, jostling the bed and his very sore, fatigued body.

Namjoon grunted, putting up a hand to try to stop the burst of energy he couldn’t handle.

“Hey! Jungkook, you’re jostling his IV! Be careful, he’s still in a lot of pain!”

The scolded’s expression quickly turned guilty and sorrowful, slinking off the bed in a way Namjoon himself couldn’t help but feel guilty at.

“It’s ‘k. You can sit on the bed…” Namjoon mumbled, fatigue and pain laced in his voice.

Jungkook immediately perked up, crawling onto the bed excitedly (though, now with obvious careful consideration of the wounded).

“If I leave to fill up his water jug, will I not come back to a broken Joonie-Hyung?” Jimin’s arms were crossed over his chest as a pointed look was directed at Jungkook, eyebrow raised and questioning.

“Course not- you worry too much!”

“Mhm…”

Jimin backed out, still staring scrutinizingly at Jungkook before he turned, the jug whacking comically against the doorframe. He then blushed and strolled out as if nothing happened. 

“So!”

“Shhh, Jungkook-ah- ‘m head hurts.”

“Sorry,” Jungkook whispered as he rubbed Namjoon’s non-bruised shoulder in apology. “How’re you doing?”

Namjoon sighed, tilting his head back farther in his pillows, and blinking his eyes slowly.

“My head keeps throbbing and my bodies aching- and just so dizzy.” They sat for a few minutes- Namjoon collecting his concussion-confused thoughts and Jungkook comfortingly rubbing his shoulder, now laying curled up beside him. “Can’t really keep a handle on my thoughts.”

Jungkook hummed, “Concussion’ll do that to you.”

“Yeah…my memory is all jumbled too. Can you- Jimin told me earlier but can you just help refresh me on what happened. Where we are.”

“Sure, Hyung. Uh- well, we were all going on a trip at Jin-Hyung’s family cabin. We finally got here and you tripped when you got out of the car, hitting your head on a rock. It was really scary, Hyung.” Jungkook wrapped his tatted arm around Namjoon’s stomach, squeezing him closer, expression stormy. 

His ribs smarted slightly under the pressure, though too caught up in his head to relay. 

“Rock?” Namjoon muttered under his breath.

“Hm? What’d you say?”

“Oh- sorry, just mumbling to myself. Trying to remember all the details.”

Namjoon smiled convincingly down at him and Jungkook smiled brightly back.

“Don’t worry! Jimin-Hyung says your recollection will come back to you soon. Just listen to Hyungs-“

‘-just listen to hyungs-‘

“-and you’ll get better before you know it!”

‘You’ll be fine-“

Namjoon’s attempt at smile couldn’t had been more than a grimace.

Chapter Text

Namjoon’s expression held pensive but bored. He was stretched across the bed, arms and legs spread out like a sea star as he mulled over the befuddling day in the late hours of the night. His boredom couldn’t be remedied, though he had many chances to.

“Excuse my intrusion. Sajangnim wanted your water refilled at the hour, and to make sure you had a snack if you were feeling hungered.”

She stayed bowed as she talked, and Namjoon blinked bewildered before waving a hand and telling her to stand, embarrassed.

“Oh, uh, thank you? Thank you.”

As she rose, Namjoon could see the slight puffiness that still lingered around her dark eyes. The slight ruffle to her dark brown hair and the occasional tremble that barely rocked the tray.

“Just doing my job, Sonnim.”

She walked to the side table and refilled the container before placing the tray on Namjoon’s bed. She was a state of perfect poise and decorum for her job, in relation to her morning, which had just have been incredibly distraughful.

Come to think of it, he had never really questioned Jimin’s behavior toward the worker.

And why would Jin-Hyung even need a maid for a cabin? Seems way too boujie to just be some vacation cabin…

“I…I’m sorry for how Jimin-ah treated you. I have never seen him treat anyone like that, and to an employee no less! I know it means a lot less coming from the person who just witnessed it happen, and didn’t even try to step in, but I really am sorry.”

The women was silent as she went around, tiding up any line supplies. Her lip protruded in a contemplative expression.

“Feel free to call me Namjoon-nim. I guess it’d feel awkward having someone cleaning up after me and not even knowing my name,” he laughed awkwardly, picking at the cut peaches in front of him.

“There is no need to apologize for my superiors behavior.” She opened her mouth, then closed it, seemingly milling over her next words. “This isn’t exactly…new, either.”

Namjoon made a worried noise in the back of his throat as he stopped chewing the peach in his mouth. His eyebrows furrowed.

“I guess you could say I was feeling particularly sensitive this morning to have such a reaction of crying,” she laughed, sending him a small smile to ease Namjoon’s increasingly worried look. Then she looked down again before speaking, “I’ve been appointed to be your maid from now on. When we find ourselves alone, please feel free to call me Sook.”

Namjoon swallowed the peach that had gotten almost disgustingly mushy in his mouth, before smiling and nodding. (Though he had to stop when his head spun a bit too much, the forgotten migraine making itself obnoxiously present.)

Sook asked him if he needed anything else- he shook his head no. She then grabbed the dirty dishes, did a final once over of the room, then made her way to the door.

“Rest well, Namjoon-nim.”

Her hand rested on the door handle, paused.

“Be careful. Try not to acclimate to this new normal, no matter what they say.”

With that, Sook was gone. The door closing with a quiet click of the latch.

He was tired.

Two more days had gone by and his routine has already turned habitual.

• get woken up by Sook-ssi around 9 a.m.
• have breakfast (the scallion pancakes are his new favorite)
• have Jimin check up on his health and do his whole doctor thing

(When did Jimin become a doctor again? Everytime Namjoon asked, he got aloof and downright scary, giving him some cryptic words about how he should just not worry about it.

“Make this easy for yourself, Namjoon,”

Namjoon shuddered, pulling the comforter tightly around his body and over his chin.)

• sit around, stare around, overthink around, bore around, headache around, try to beg for the tv remote around, try to beg for some freedom around, etc. until lunchtime
• repeat the bullet above until dinner (probably get visited by Jungkook at some point)
• shower if he’s not feeling to dizzy- bath if he is
• sleep

As it was from day two- the pain from day one being too debilitating to think of anything else- Namjoon was bored.

And scared.

Sad, lonely, confused- it goes on from their. The utter whirlwind of thoughts and emotions in his mind enfeebling. And the bewildering and frightening words (threats? warnings?) from the three people he’s had the pleasure of seeing, most definitely didn’t help.

(Where was a Kookie-threatened dogpile when you need it?) 

Though, Namjoon’s loneliness was painful and growing.

No one but Jimin, Jungkook, and Sook-ssi (and she was being paid- he hopefully assumed) have visited him, which was as confusing as it is disappointing.

Besides those moments, Namjoon is alone for long hours of the day.

(Once, in a weak, lonely, blubbering moment of his, he had considered the drip stand his closest friend, sobbing out his anguish from the last months in the desolate warmth that was his dungeon of a room.)

His mind, seemingly wanting for his demise, kept wickedly bringing up memories when he felt and was not lonely.

It’s weird. If you had something, you don’t remember what it’s like when it’s gone.

Namjoon knew he was spiraling. The need for company and the overbearing, all-encompassing loneliness and sadness was becoming too much to bear. 

People and family he loved kept popping into his head like punishment. Memories and warmth- 

I want halmeoni…

A sobbed bubbled up his throat and his lips trembled as he tried to suppress it. His hand stung from the IV, his eyes fogged with fresh tears on his waterline, his legs felt weak from barely getting up, his head ached and was cloyed with sudden bouts of dizziness, he was sad .

Namjoon curled up and turned his face into his pillow, sobbing miserably.

He was so lonely and dismal .

“Oh… My Joonie-ah…”

Namjoon flinched at the warm and pitying voice- the bed dipping down as a big, warm hand was placed on his shaking back.

“Let me hold you, precious.”

Namjoon let out a gross, gurgling sob and threw himself at Seokjin, unintelligible words in between his sobs being let out almost hysterically. Seokjin comforted him all the way, rubbing his back and humming softly.

“H-hyung…” he hiccuped, sobs tampering off and only now tears dropping periodically.

They weren’t in a comfortable position by any means. Namjoon’s elbow was resting uncomfortably, starting to tingle with numbness. His cheek was pressed into Seokjin’s shoulder and his hand was being tugged slightly behind him, the IV stinging more at his sudden parole.

Namjoon sniffled, shifting. Seokjin helping him sit up to a more comfortable position.

Seokjin hummed. “I know, I know… It’s been a long couple days hasn’t it.”

“Months,” he mumbled out, sniffling and wiping his nose.

“Hm?”

Namjoon yawned then hummed in lieu of an answer, leaning heavily against Seokjin, and closed his tired and reddened, puffy eyes.

As Namjoon drifted off, he didn’t notice Seokjin’s smile that was as adoring as it was possessive.

Seokjin kept watching him, petting his hair and rubbing his back, into the lone hours of the night.

The smile stayed, even as his cheeks ached and eyelids drooped, becoming red and bloodshot as the sun rose into a beautiful plethora of soft pink and fading purples. 

“My precious Joonie.”

Chapter Text

Namjoon awoke to a warm, soft voice, muddled and foggy in his sleep-adled state.

“Come now, Joonie-ah, it’s time to wake up.”

“Hmph…”

He peeled his eyes open that were uncomfortably sticky and dry from his last night’s trepidation; his face also similarly puffy and discomfortingly dry. Namjoon’s mouth felt dusty- a headache sure to form soon. He ignored the chuckle that vibrated through his Hyung’s chest at his annoyed noises and glare that admittedly looked more kitten-like that intimidating.

Namjoon humphed and closed his eyes again, settling back into the other man’s broad chest with a satisfied sigh.

Seokjin clicked his tongue and tried to coax Namjoon up.

“C’mon Precious, time to get up. Jimin-ah said it’d be okay to try eating breakfast downstairs with the rest of us.”

Namjoon blinked one eye open and stared up at him, scrutinizing, his bottom lip slightly protruded in pout.

“No IV?”

“No IV.”

He nodded, accepting his fate, and groaned and he pushed himself up (with the help of his Hyung’s large hand gently pushing him to sit up).

The door clicked open and in walked Jimin, a first aid kit in hand and cheerful smile plumping the apples of his cheeks. A smile that Namjoon couldn’t help but return with his own dimpled and sleepy smile.

“Good morning, Hyungs~”

Jimin quickly paced over and got to work checking over Namjoon and carefully extracting the uncomfortable needle that had caused a pale purple bruise to bloom on the back of his hand. He worked diligently, massaging some sort of cream into the spot, then  unwrapping a pale blue and yellow bandage from the kit and stuck it down, smoothing it out firmly.

“I’m sure you know that you still need to be careful, with your condition and all, but as your appointed doctor and worried, but most importantly favorite, bepeu,” he took in a big breath, “I’m allowed to worry while also order you around, for the good of your health of course.”

“Doctor or not, I’m still your Hyung Minnie-ah,” Namjoon knew his voice came across more pouty than he meant it to, but he ignored it, concluding with a raise of his eyebrow.

“Yeah, yeah…”

Jimin seemed to be in a good mood, so he decided to take advantage of the fact, deciding to try to ask for the -enth time. 

He just wanted answers, real answers. He sure as fuck wasn’t stupid; even though his brain was all jumbled up, he could tell something was wrong. Or at least that information was being illuded, for whatever reason they felt the need to do that. 

Namjoon took in a silent, but deep, breath. 

“And…” Namjoon hesitated, tongue poking the side of his cheek, expression contemplative and tentative. “You keep avoiding my questions about the whole doctor thing. Yes, we go through basic medical training but you obviously have a lot more experience… I’m just confused, Jiminie-ah.”

Jimin huffed angrily, rolling his eyes and grabbing a navy long-sleeve, black sweats, and white socks out of the large dresser. He strode back over to the bed, grabbing Namjoon’s arm and pulling him to the side of the bed almost making him fall over in the sudden act.

“Are we really going over this again, Joonie?,” he spat. “You’re making a big deal out of nothing. I got my online bachelor’s degree in nursing before I got into the police force. Now,  is that enough?”

Jimin’s annoyed tone and peaved expression made an uncomfortable bubble of guilt sprout in his stomach.

“Sorry…” he whispered.

But why did you make it such a secret? And why had he never mentioned it? He wanted to ask, but it was pushed down as his throat closed up with guilt. Namjoon hated the feeling of people being mad at him- the anxiety had only been growing in his months involuntary loneliness and avoidance.

His lip wobbled against his will where he sat on the side of the bed, Jimin helping him shimmy out of his sleep-rumpled clothes (even though he protested against it, unconvincingly) and getting him in new ones. The action done none-too-gently, faint white-turned-red nail marks scratched themselves up his ribs and legs.

Namjoon body winced away reflexivity, but he willed himself not to react, too entrapped in his own rising guilt and similarly rising headache.

Jimin’s expression smoothed out when he saw Namjoon’s downcast look, his movements turning soft as he finished pulling up Namjoon’s socks. He gave Seokjin a cross between a weirdly satisfied and knowing look, before quietly semi-comfortingly patting Namjoon’s shoulder and leaving Seokjin to “work his magic.”

Seokjin scooted past Namjoon and stood up, cracking and stretching his body and groaning comically.

“I’m sure breakfast is ready by now. I think I heard something about bibimbap~” Seokjin smiled down at Namjoon.

Seokjin’s dark eyes were bloodshot around the edges and dark eyebags sat heavy under them. Namjoon blinked, his expression growing increasingly worried.

“Hyung-“

“Now let’s go!”

Before Namjoon could get a word in edgewise, Seokjin was hauling him up and marching them across the room and out the door. The other stumbled behind him, barely getting his footing.

“Hyung! Slow dOWN“

”I’m a hungry man, Joonie! Pick up those feet!”

Namjoon laughed, almost forgetting the aching pressure in his head and the new stinging marks across his skin.

“I can’t believe we had to miss breakfast for that,” Hoseok grumbled, swiftly pulling off his lead-knuckled gloves, throwing them onto the granite countertops.

“Tch, yeah. Heh, watch it. Don’t let that dry.”

“You worry too much, Yoongles. Blood’s easy to clean up when you know how,” he spoke with a wink.

Yoongi huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Just clean it up before Jin sees it, he’ll throw a fit,” he mumbled. “You know how he feels about his kitchen,” he said as he walked off to the stairs to clean up.

“What’s the point of having maids then?!” Hoseok yelled up after Yoongi, who just waved him off and kept walking in return. “Okay, but where’s my phone…?” he muttered to himself, patting his pockets.

Bloody gloves, and the scolding from Jin he would resolutely get forgotten, he walked into the living room humming a sweet tune under his breath. 

He searched high-and-low. 

What a first world problem, he thought, chuckling to himself, not being able to find your new smart phone because your mansion’s so huge. 

Hoseok perked up at the sound of light footsteps heading into to the kitchen. 

Shit. Seokjin must’ve heard about the bloody gloves! 

He scrambled up, banging his head on the couch he had stuffed himself under in his search.

Rubbing his head, eyes squinted in pain, he sped into the kitchen hoping to catch his (amazing, handsome, bestest-most wonderful, pleasedon’tscoldme) Hyung before he inevitably gets caught red-handed.

(ha- get it?)   

Asking with only the hope to distract, “Hey Hyung? Can you call my phone? I think I lost-“ 

Wide, brown, terrified eyes made him freeze, words lost on his tongue and only thoughts about how careless he had been filled his mind.

The hand of those eyes held a lone glove up, arm stretched out far from his body. A drop of blood hung heavy to the leather before breaking and plopping to the ground in a silence-shattering blip. 

Hoseok’s revery broke into a smile. Wide, heart-shaped, happy…

”Hey, Joonie! I didn’t know you were up yet? Sorry, you had to miss out on the fun. Me and Yoongi’ll make sure to invite you next time, alright?”

…and deranged. 

Chapter Text

Namjoon’s feet and calves ached slightly from the days of involuntary little use, but that didn’t deter his heart from bursting with a whole, giddy warmth.

For the first time in months, he didn’t feel lonely. He felt wanted (maybe almost too wanted at some points). He felt soft and bundled and carded for in a way he couldn’t explain. He felt like he was gonna explode from the bubbly warmth that filled from his core to the tip of his toes!

He felt!

Namjoon licked his lips. Oh. His chapped lips.

He felt thirsty.

“‘m gonna get some water.”

Seokjin started pushing himself up out of his comfortable heap, just as Namjoon was.

“Hyung’ll get it, Precious.”

Namjoon quickly stood up and pushed him back down.

“I’ll do it Jinnie.” Seokjin frowned worriedly, which Namjoon smiled and waving a placating hand at. “Honestly, you’re such a worry-wart Hyung. I’ve been laying around so much the past fews days and I’m kinda restless.”

“Hmm… I guess I can live without you for a couple minutes. But get back quick or I’ll have to hunt you down, Precious!”

Namjoon nodded dramatically and quickly padded his way towards the kitchen, socks providing a cozy warmth ( he should ask where they got them ) from the hard cold of the floors.

(The tone had been…oddly serious. Though, Seokjin’s humor could be like that sometimes. A type of sarcasm that made you question wether he was being serious or not, and a blank face that gave nothing away. Namjoon decided to not pay it any mind.)

He hummed as he walked, plushy step after plushy step. The cabin was seriously, ridiculously huge, but surprisingly homey. Large, squishy chairs and couches with plushy throw pillows and make-you-into-a-burrito blankets were around every corner. Warm chocolate browns and creams marred the interior decoration, enclosing the space in a welcoming and safe atmosphere.

Namjoon shivered despite the ambience; they really didn’t turn up the heat too often, did they?

He was knocked out of his revery with a blunt pain to his hip, cursing under his breath as he rubbed the hip he bumped into an (unnecessarily) heavy chair. He huffed under his breath at his own lack of attentiveness.

“Where were the cups again…?” Namjoon muttered.

He rolled his eyes along the dark cabinets, thinking to himself, before a disgusting sight captured his vision.

He gagged silently, slapping a hand over his mouth. His pupils dilated to pinpricks as his face paled from a caramel honey to a sickly, dusty olive. Beside himself, he stepped the few steps forward and reached a shaking hand out.

Drying and globed blood stained the once-clean granite and smothered a pair of gloves in an obscenely thick layer of red.

Namjoon has seen blood before, he knows blood; how to spot it and the smell it’ll permeate when they get called in for something terrible. It was a part of his job, a terrible and depressing one, but nonetheless a part. 

But why was it here?

(The warmth and safety was sucked out of his heart.)

Namjoon gagged again, one hand pressed bruisingly against his mouth as the other shot down and clenched one of the fitted gloves covered in the cold slop between his forefinger and thumb. He held it away from himself and took a stuttering step back in a terrified and repulsed disbelief.

What, what, what? Let go. Why is this here? Why am I touching this? Let go, let go, let go-

His thought were but a mere suggestion to his bodies horrified rigidness.

Let go, let go, let go-

“Hey Hyung? Can you call my phone? I think I lost-“ 

Let go, let GO, LET GO-

”Hey, Joonie! I didn’t know you were up yet? Sorry, you had to miss out on the fun. Me and Yoongi’ll make sure to invite you next time, alright?”

His horror-struck brain sped into a connect the dots- the end, a picture of gore and confusion all centered around the sweet, smiling faces of his Hyung’s. 

He dropped it with a wet splat and a high-pitched, voice-cracking curse.

Namjoon looked down, breath heavy, and startled at the bloody print left on his fingers. His back pressed into the cold metal of a large fridge, and his mind tumbled into another hysterical spiel.

OFF, OFF, OFF, OFF-

His vision engrossed as he bullheaded, thoughts screaming, towards a shining sink. He slapped the faucet on, burning cold as it washed over his bloodied fingers and trembling hands. A stainless steel scouring ball  blinked in his peripheral. He snatched it and scrapped, digging and bloody as it cut his finger pads’ delicate skin.

Namjoon jolted and shrieked as his hands were pulled apart in two sound grips. Even as he pulled, yelled, and whimpered, his hands stayed restrained.

And when his head finally bowed, body sweat slick, and breath ragged, the scourer was gently pulled from his limp fingers and a soft towel dried his cold, shaking hands.

He felt sick.

“We think it’d be best for you to quit.”

He felt sick.

“What?” he asked in disbelief.

They were all sitting on and around a large, L-shaped couch in the living room, all seemingly relaxed. Although, the tension in the air was almost palpable and clogged his throat.

Namjoon’s hands were wrapped very generously with two thin, soft cotton gloves over them. (He could barely look at them, but Jimin had assured they were necessary as he wrangled him into them.) A plush, cream blanket laid bundled up his whole body, his head only peaking out.

His body felt lethargic and heavy but his mind sharp and razor-focused.

“With how you reacted to that blood earlier, we think it would be in your best interest to quit. You know, Joonie, we would never tell you this if we thought it wasn’t for the best. I just don’t think it would be healthy to be constantly putting yourself in a position where you could see that sort of gore and/or blood if that’s how you’ll react. Please try to understand; see it from our perspective.”

His anger pilled at his skin, threatening to take ahold of his throat.

Yoongi’s low and sympathetic voice was spewing a load of bullshit.

Namjoon knew they were avoiding the situation as a whole. The “whole” being a fucking pair of incredibly bloody gloves just strewn across the counter like it’s normal . And then, Hoseok coming in and inviting him next time to whatever-the-hell has to do with those incredibly bloody gloves in question; he really doesn’t want to know.

He thinks he might have to.

“Okay. Just stop.” Namjoon pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and taking a calming breath. It was ineffective. “We’re not even gonna talk about what I just fucking saw?”

“No need to get angry, Hyungie.”

Taehyung’s dejected timbre almost, almost , made him want to back up and try (more like gaslight himself) to think this was somehow all some misunderstanding of sorts. Really just try to “see it from their perspective”.

But he’s not stupid, not naive, and for once, has a clear memory of just what exactly he saw and touched .

Don’t think about, don’t think about- okay.

“AND heard?! What was that Hoseok.”

“I am still your Hyung, Namjoon-ah. Watch your tone.”

Hoseok’s tone was ice, same as his expression, but Namjoon’s rageful flames snuffed any intimidation that would have otherwise passed through and stricken his sensitive heart with guilt.

“Oh, but it’s okay for a Hyung to invite their dongsaeng to some, for all I know, fucking MURDER FEST?!”

The blanket fell from around his shoulders as he slammed a fist down on the couch. The little power behind it and the plush feeling combined with the gentle thumping noise he got was entirely unsatisfying to his bursting anger.

Nonetheless, any earlier sense of practiced calm and collectedness was officially thrown out the window.

“Wow. How did you know?”

Hoseok’s head tilted to the side, either entirely serious or entirely sarcastic. His expression gave away nothing as it was set in monotone.

Namjoon couldn’t tell .

So, he stood up, the blanket pooling at his feet, and took a step to walk away.

“I can’t do this-“

“Hyung,” Jungkook grabbed his forearm with a grip that he used his feeble energy to try to pull from, to no avail.

“I’m going home. Where’s my phone?” His voice was cold, weary, blunt, scared .

Namjoon needed to leave.

Jimin butted in, “You can’t drive in your condition.”

“That’s why I need my phone to call for a ride.”

Then Seokjin, “There’s no internet connection here.”

“A cabin this big and you don’t have WiFi?” He snarked viciously, tone biting and void of any semblance of respect.

“Watch your tone, Precious,” Jin’s voice was sickeningly sweet, sardonic, daring him to say a word in edgewise.

So, in his blender of confused, spewing emotions, he spit, “Watch yours, Hyung ~”

And he was slapped.

Seokjin, Namjoon’s beloved, oldest Hyung, slapped him.

The sharp pain encompassing his cheek and the increasingly prominent blotchy red mark made it obvious, but Namjoon still didn’t want to dare to believe it.

The worst part wasn’t the blistering heat on his face, or even the fact that Seokjin,  Seokjin-Hyung,  slapped him. It was the fact that no one else reacted. No one flinched or made a move to stop him. No one asked him if he was okay or pushed Seokjin away from him. No one cared .

Except for himself.

He didn’t understand .

Namjoon’s face crumpled as he fell to his knees into the juxtaposition plush and comfort of the blanket. Thick tears cascaded down his skin and slipped off, disappearing into the fabric of his gloves ( let go, let go- ) and blanket.

His head bowed forward until his forehead rested near his Hyungs feet, his chest against knees, sobbing. Then, no longer able to hold himself up, his tall, but so utterly small , body fell to the side.

Namjoon felt like nothing.

He was nothing as he sobbed and curled in on himself at his Hyung’s feet. His pathetic attempt at apologies were just piss-poor strings of vowels and consonants drowned out by his insistent blubbering.

Nothing made sense .

He was just so, so tired.

After minutes of crying being the only thing shattering the silence, Seokjin kneeled beside him, watching as he sobbed and pleaded.

Warm fingertips brushed his hair back. Namjoon, clouded by his watered vision, was oblivious to the utterly enthralled and delighted look that possessed all of Seokjin’s being.

“I hope I won’t have to be so rough with you for a second time, Precious.”

Namjoon could hear the smile marring his Hyung’s face, the threat heard loud and clear.

It only made him sob harder.

He didn’t understand .

Chapter Text

Namjoon knew.

He knew.

There was no tree. There was no rock. There was no trip to begin with! 

The memories didn’t come back in a flash from some big, scarring event (like he subconsciously thought they would). They trickled in, sludging their way through his mind and forming in front of his eyelids, distorting his vision like a thick syrup.

They came back like they were medically proposed to do: “naturally”, “in-time”.

It was almost boringly anticlimactic.

It had been three days since, what Namjoon dubbed in head as, “the big, ole hurt”. Stupid and ridiculous sounding, but his own lightheartedness made it easier to accept. Acceptance was the first key to getting out and getting far, far away from this hellscape of a “cabin”.

That was also something Namjoon had also turned to realize. While before he was skeptical, he now knew this was not a cabin. (In heinsight, it was kind of a dumb to believe in the first place.)

Namjoon has mulled over his newly acquired memories, trying to put them in, what he hoped, was an accurate order of the events.

Namjoon’s mental list of how he got here in the first place

~ a list by Namjoon ~

1. His friends- no- kidnappers had been the crazy bastards holding up the Hye Min household
2. Bullets, lots of bullets- everything happened- then he got ‘napped instead (they were uncomfortably close and handsy with the full-body search- really fucking possessive seeming)
3. Jungkook(?) wanted him to trust his “Hyungs” (no thanks.)
4. They were on the road forever (specific details he remembered: he was extremely tired and scratched up his arms to stay awake, got threatened by Yoongi(?), switched cars once to some black SUV, he was terribly nauseous)
5. Showed up at some grand mansion that was apparently not a cabin
6. Got tied up and blindfolded (seemed kinda late for that) then was carried by Seokjin- those shoulders were uncanny- into said mansion
7. His blindfold was pulled down by someone, either Taehyung or Jungkook, with no consideration of personal space
8. He was brought in, saw Yoongi, had a panick attack and struggled, threw up, and- guessing here- was dropped and hit his head
9. About a week or so later and now we’re here

It made enough sense.

Namjoon’s head felt crowded and loud.

No matter how “natural” and “in-time” his memories came back, they were still jarring and disorienting. Horrifying, anxiety-enduring, confusing- all of it.

The memories would sweep his vision in a cloud of dust and suddenly he’d be watching a stuttered third-person picture. That’d be until the emotions from those memories set in and he was right there, getting slammed around and touched in a way that made his skin crawl.

Namjoon had felt a constant nausea during the past days as his memories filtered in, sitting and bubbling uncomfortably in his stomach. A constant, slight pressure sat behind his eyes and in his temples. (It was more annoying than painful.)

“Joonie! Stop moping around, we’re going outside. I have something to show you! C’mon get up, get up, get uuuup.”

So done. So tired.

Taehyung, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, bounced over to Namjoon, flopping on his bed. Namjoon sighed, rolling over and pushing his face into the plush pillows.

Another set of footsteps ticked his ear and a cheery voice trailed through the air.

“Really though, man. Kinda sad you’re sitting on your ass all day, acting all vacant.” Hoseok laughed, cruelly with a faux joking tone. “It’s just a little pathetic, compared to how you used to act.”

Hoseok smiled widely, eyes in crescents and smile lines seemingly genuine. His tone was…cruel. It only made Namjoon shrivel into himself more.

Taehyung, oblivious to the tenseness riding the air, shimmied his way closer to the curled-up and tense figure. After a minute of shuffling and a couple of accidental elbows to the ribs, Taehyung was practically laying on top of him, nuzzling into his hair.

“You’re not a fucking cat.” Namjoon snapped, jerking his shoulder and head away, trying to shove himself far away from the man.

Namjoon felt ridiculous. He laid here as a full grown man nuzzled into his hair on the bed that was given to him by his kidnappers.

Pathetic.

A hand fisting in his hair brought him out of his stupor, ripping his face out of his shield of pillows and leveling his gaze with Hoseok’s deadly one. Namjoon hissed in pain, trying to raise himself to release the pressure.

Taehyung’s head plopped down onto his shoulder, only adding to the stinging pressure on his scalp.

“Don’t take it so seriously, Hobi-Hyung. We’re just joking around.”

Hoseok huffed before releasing his grip on the black strands. A smile tugged on his lips, smiling sunnily down at Namjoon. In return, Namjoon glared and rubbed at his sore scalp, wincing. He shoved his face back into the pillows, retreating as closely into himself as he could.

“I think some sun would be good for you Joon-ah. Let’s go outside, grumpy-pants!”

That’s how he found himself dragged outside in his loose, grey sleep pants and some random large T-shirt, feet bare and slowly becoming stained green by the grass.

He plopped himself in the lush green, closing his eyes in the heat of the glaring rays. Bushy and a variety of trees were plotted across the large land, twisting paths disappeared into groves and benches were placed sporadically. Sun rays broke through the leaves a birds and bees jumped from branch-to-branch and flower-to-flower. It would have been his personal heaven if he was anywhere else.

The beautiful landscape didn’t sway him from the ugliness that was his “friends” true selves. His cheek smarted at the thought, blue and yellow bruise making itself known.

“Get up, Hyung, let me show you the new section of hydrangeas and ferns I put in!” Taehyung said excitingly, pulling a disgruntled Namjoon to his feet. “I’ve been trying to water them once a day, at least; I’ve even been setting timers!”

They stopped in front of a colorful array of greens, blues, and pinks, all newly planted and soil turned to a dark brown. The minerals enriched his sense with a sweet smell and his Namjoon’s mind calmed slightly. Taehyung still jabbered on beside him while Hoseok trailed slowly behind them, sitting a few feet away on a weathered bench.

“I know how much you love plants, taking care of them and everything. And, I know we already have a lot of different gardens and everything, I just thought this could be yours… I was hoping this would help you feel more comfortable here…” He trailed off, looking to the side with a nervous yet hopeful look.

It was cute, endearing even. Namjoon couldn’t help but find it disgusting.

Does he even understand the situation at all? Does he ever remember how I got here? How fucking delusional…? 

Looking to the side, he wallowed in his building anger and bewilderment. A part of him wanted to be mean ; tell him how delusional he’s acting, slap him and tell him it was all for nothing. That he doesn’t care what he thinks, what he wants, what he tries to do. He swallowed dryly and turned back to the other man.

Bright eyed, nervous fingers, and so utterly hopeful, looking at him as if he carried the world in his palm.

He could never hurt his donsaeng.

Namjoon would never.

He wanted to cry.

He smiled, tears brimming his eyes, and pulled Taehyung into a gentle hug.

“Oh- I’m so glad you like them!”

“Wow!” Hoseok said. “Your work brought him to tears, Tae-Tae. I told you he’d like it!”

Taehyung giggled, squeezing him closer and rocking them in his joy.

Namjoon let go, sun reflecting to make crystal streams billow down his face, as he slowly, robotically, made his way back inside. A smile still very prevelant on his face, but also manufactured to protect the others, and himself, from his true feelings.

The voice of Taehyung (“Hey, where are you going?”) and Hoseok (“I think your gift overwhelmed him- give him a minute.”) we’re drowned out, murky and muddled, by his self-deprication.

How could I? I can’t believe you thought about hurting him. Seokjin’s terrible but Taehyung hasn’t done anything to deserve this. You’re becoming a terrible person- you are a terrible person.

You’re a police officer. You were. You are. Don’t become Seokjin. Don’t become Seokjin.

“I won’t, I won’t. I promise, I won’t,” he whispered to himself, thoughts and breathing erratic and desperate. His hands twitched and shook where they were wrapped, stretching, in the bottom of his shirt.

He had to leave, and soon. There was no way Namjoon could stay here any longer- he’d go crazy. He do something regret, not just think about it for only a fortunate brief moment.

“I won’t become Seokjin…”

Between the waves of silent tears reflected a newfound determination that glowed in his eyes.

I’ll be the one to catch Seokjin- whatever it takes.

What was that maid’s name again…

Chapter Text

“Hm…” Namjoon hummed thoughtfully to himself under his breath. “So, this is how Rapunzel felt…”

Namjoon scratched the side of his face as his eyebrows scrunched in an inquisitive furrow, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. He threw an arm behind his head, creating an impromptu muscle-and-bone pillow.

Though, I guess she wasn’t imprisoned in a multi-billion won mansion... Schematics, really; principle of the matter and everything.

Namjoon hummed contemplating-ly, and bobbed his head, nodding to himself. He let out a soft huff of sardonic amusement, closing his eyes. He then turned on his side, cheek resting heavily against the soft blankets beneath him.

Maybe I should grow my hair out…?

It has been almost frightening how difficult it had been in the past two weeks to get away, for a even a second, to just look out of any of the the front-facing windows alone. They had even moved him to another (just as obnoxiously extravagant and irritatingly comfortable) room that faced towards the backyard. (He had a clear view of the garden addition Taehyung had planted for him. A terrible reminder that he thoroughly unappreciated with his own glare and grumbled reproachfulness when he knew he was alone.)

Though, Namjoon knew he really shouldn’t be all that surprised.

And he also really shouldn’t be all that surprised when they wouldn’t let him lay a finger on any phone, computer, or anything else they deem as “could be used as a communication device”. (Apparently, which includes the stove. But maybe they don’t let him use that for different reasons…)

They’ll taunt him with that too. It’ll go something like: “Oh, Joonie-ah~ Have you see what’s trending on Twitter today? It’s been pretty crazy!” And then he’ll stare pointedly at them, bemused. But then, they’ll giggle and “apologize,” before pressing into his personal space and hugging him uncomfortably tight until he “forgives them”. (Not that they necessarily let up after he does.)

It was all more of an annoyance, to put it lightly. And it was hard to keep that bubbling temper that grew in his gut out of his body language and tone. (Though, he’s sure they realize when he’s pissed. They always make sure to tease and provoke him accordingly.)

But he is always quick to surrender to their wishes. Remain placid, malleable, as he fell back into a spectrum of unnoticeable and unsuspecting that he welcomed kindly.

(Though, he did keep a certain level of defiance so they wouldn’t become too suspicious of sudden compliance.) 

Appear as a leaf in the wind, easily manipulated in the tides and turns that flow through the air. Though, he tried to assume the mindset of a tree- as ridiculous at that sounded- strong and sturdy against the perils of a bouldering hurricane. He was the one who controlled the leaves that he let be plucked away from his branches. But, he himself, would not be uprooted by the wind that rags through his branches and slaps him this way and that.

But for now, he could play the part as the leaf. 

Namjoon groaned as he sat up, hands fisting in the blankets cushioning him comfortably.

His lack of alone time though has benefited him in the knowledge of their schedules and the little understanding he’s gathered on what exactly they do, personally and together. Namjoon would say that they are surprisingly, relatively good at keeping the horrors he knows they’re hiding from him, hidden. Though, they aren’t bothered with showing him the bloody results that end up in their hair, on their clothes, printed into the carpet from their shoes, and then sometimes, even on him. (Which makes him shake, eyes glazed over in terror, and run to his bathroom to gag above the toilet until his knees are melded into the hard, cold tiled ground. Until someone comes around to hold him- suffocating him in their grasp, only making him gag more.)

But through it all, he takes whatever knowledge, how little or seemingly insignificant, in stride- storing it away to piece it together at night when he’s far under his superficially safe covers. And for what he’s found, he’s having a difficult time knowing exactly how to go from there:

Hoseok always seemed to disappear around 4 p.m. each day after drinking some puke-green smoothie or protein shake. Some days, Namjoon will spot him talking with one, or more, of the other men. Then they’ll walk off together when the time rolls around. (He hasn’t built up the nerve to try to follow him, or ask where he’s are going. With Hoseok’s erratic and aggressive mood swings, Namjoon knows it’s probably not the best idea to try or ask anyway.)

Jungkook and Taehyung have been…hit or miss- both behaviorally and for what they do from day-to-day. But one thing’s for certain, they are incredibly dependent and trusting in the others. They tend to follow whatever they’re told to do, and will disappear along with whoever called them with a giddy expression and starry-eyes. (So trusting and childlike. Almost to a fault, where Namjoon could barely discern their outward lovey-dovey, kid-ish personalities from the threatening behavior, possessiveness, and obvious warm familiarity and glee with hurting people.) Though, Jungkook seems almost less delusional to Namjoon’s situation than Taehyung does, in certain situations. Or maybe, Jungkook is just more obvious in his clear obsession and possessiveness over Namjoon. Though, without a doubt, if they aren’t busy, they’re usually stuck to his side.

Jimin… Jimin has been pretty much the same from day one. He was never particularly gentle since Namjoon woke up in this mansion, but not exactly aggressive or outright mean in the way Hoseok turned out to be during his mood swings. He always felt small when Jimin talked to him, as he did with Seokjin, Hoseok, and sometimes Yoongi and Jungkook. Although, it felt different with him.

Namjoon wasn’t sure why.

As for how Jimin operated, he did a lot of mini check-ups throughout the weeks- almost obsessively. He tended to leave and disappear the least out of the others, only vanishing when someone called him away; someone who was usually covered in blood, with a sadistic glint in their eye. Though, when he did leave, it tended to be sometime around 5-6, after Hoseok got back.

Namjoon had his own assumptions about that. Ones that he doubted were too far off the mark.

Seokjin seemed to be everywhere at all times. (Which made Namjoon wonder if he ever even slept.) He was there when Namjoon was thinking a “little-too deeply” and stuck in his head. He was there when any of the other men were looking for him- even when they didn’t say anything out loud. Some days, he was there when he fell asleep, and then there the next morning in the exact same position- like he never left.

With Seokjin, he never really knew what to expect. While Hoseok was erratic and had constant mood swings, he still reacted pretty much the same- aggressive and cruel- to things that set off his short temper. For Seokjin, he may grab you and shake until your head spun and finger-shaped bruises were left on your arms on one day. On the other, he may litter your face with kisses and use a sweet, coercing voice to make you feel like the only thing you can do is apologize. Sometimes, it’s both.

But out of all of them, Yoongi was the biggest unknown. The most he really knew about his day-to-day was that Seokjin, him, and sometimes Jungkook, would trade off on days they would make meals for everyone, or sometimes just make them all to together. He would disappear like the others, but it would be for multiple hours, to even days, at a time. All he would see of him would be the few passing glances in the hallways and “mandatory family meals” that he and Yoongi both were forced to be at.

(And he hated how he couldn’t help but feel fleeting sadness and disappointment that wrapped around his heart and squeezed like a snake when he rarely saw the other man.)

One thing’s for certain though, they all had played their part well. It left Namjoon curious to how they ever pulled it off, and who they had on the inside to begin with, if anyone.

A displeased and disappointed huff escaped Namjoon’s nose as he pursed his lips. His hand rose up to press over his cheeks and mouth before he dragged it down, planted his hands beside him on the couch, and rose up on his black-socked feet.

Everything he had compiled was barely anything to go off of, and Namjoon knew that. It pissed him off.

Here, he didn’t have the resources. He didn’t have the connections. He didn’t have the backup or even the knowledge that he had friends that supported him and loved him- cheering for him to keep on going. And while before, his mental health- and physical health in turn- was deteriorating, here he could feel it exacerbating, but in a different, even worse way.

(Being in a constant state of manipulation and violence, among other things, would do that to you.)

He felt pathetic, but his desire to escape thankfully won out in the end, giving him just enough motivation to craft up some shoddy, half-assed plans to get out of here.

Plan A: Use the front windows to see if they had any sort of supply trucks using here as a drop-off point. Or, to see if they leave at any point in personal cars. Maybe even figure out something about the guard and security system fixed around the tall walls and gate that encased the land?

(Namjoon was hoping he could get back to this plan at some point. But for now, it just wasn’t plausible with how on-guard they all constantly were.)

Plan B: Learn their schedules and behavioral patterns- or fixate on one of them personally. (Which he enacted in time of Plan A and will continue to use throughout any of his time here.)

(It halfway worked. Namjoon just wished he had more of an understanding of psychology and behavioral patterns, especially in criminal, sociopathic, and psychopathic minds.)

Plan C: Plain stupid. Really just asking to be caught. This is where the shoddy and half-assed plan comes into play.

Time to move onto his only (kind-of, maybe, not really) ally, that in a twist of fate, is not really his ally at all.

Namjoon just holds onto a gut feeling that they may have, to some degree, a mutual understanding.

Namjoon’s stomach jumped and swirled unpleasantly. His cheeks warmed as his fingers and lips twitched with a sudden cold, anxiety trembling through his blood. He kept his plush bottom lip lodged between his teeth as his hands worried together mechanically.

His hope for this to work wavered as his motivation to act dwindles.

Namjoon hopes they have some sort of silent camaraderie; some unspoken understanding. He feels it in the air when she comes into his room to clean his bathroom or take out his laundry, as he deftly apologizes like clockwork, not used to the treatment. He feels it when he sees a certain sheen in her eyes as she looks out the window, or at him, when she thinks he’s not looking. And that look…it’s sad, in a way, but also not really. It’s full of a lot of things he can’t completely figure out. He just hopes those feelings fall in the genre of “on his side”, in one way or another. Or at least, willing to see his side.

Namjoon has a feeling she knows and understands a lot more than she lets on…

And If this doesn’t work, he has Plan D- and he really doesn’t want to have to use Plan D.

Namjoon sucks in a deep breath, flexing his fingers, before relaxing; he placed on a facade calm and carefree.

Now or never.

“Sook-ssi! Hi!” Namjoon greeted brightly as he rounded the corner and walked over to the maid. His smile was kind as he stopped beside her.

Her curly hair was pulled into a tight bun. A pile of white sheets bundled in her arms above where she was presumably about to dump it into the large, wheeled laundry basket below them. Sook was a picture of perfect decorum, all prior nervousness and reproachfulness that he had seen in his first day lost, or at least hidden.

She has probably been the one constant Namjoon’s experienced in his unique captivity.

Her lips quirked into a polite smile, dumping the laundry, before turning towards him. She kept a polite distance, both physically and emotionally. Her hands clasped in front of her, perfectly composed.

“Namjoon-nim,” she bowed in greeting. “How may I help you?”

Namjoon’s eyes scanned the hallway behind her, as discretely as one could over someone’s head. His ears perked up as he listened for any nearby voices or footsteps.

An odd worried, though knowing, look crossed over the maid’s face as she questioned again, “Namjoon-nim? Are you okay?”

(He hated that he really was never the best at stealth and discreetness. It was one of the things he kicked himself for, especially in his early days at the police academy, and now. That’s why he never chose to go into undercover operation. He knew his strengths, and that wasn’t one of them.)

He wet his lips before his voice lowered minutely, dropping to a quiet timbre.

“Would you be able to meet me in my room in twenty minutes?”

Sook raised an eyebrow, hands tightening in their clasp. Her voice tight as she spoke.

“May I ask why?” And added almost as an afterthought, “Namjoon-nim.”

Soft footfalls, a clatter, something dropping, a curse.

Sook’s eyes traveled between where the sudden clatter came from and him. Namjoon raised his voice, straightening his spine and relaxing his body to hopefully smooth out his tense body language.

(His heart pounded in his ears. His chest rose and fell quicker than it did before. It’s okay.)

He rubbed his hands together as a sheepish expression overtook his face.

“I’m sorry,” he smiled, sheepish and flushed, “I’m kind of a clutz. I dropped a grape soda on the carpet in my room and it definitely stained…”

Her eyes hung weary and strained but her body language smoothed out as his did. She smiled politely and forgiving.

“It really is no problem, Namjoon-nim. I happen to be very well versed in cleaning up impossible stains. Please, do not worry.”

Namjoon smiled. “Thank you. I would be terribly embarrassed if my,” he had to say it, he had to say it, he had- “friends figured out I had ruined my new room already.”

“Just doing my job,” she smiled, tone light and professional. “I will go get my cleaning supplies, then make my way toward your room- if that sounds alright?”

“Perfect! Thank you so much!”

Namjoon dimpled smile and crescent eyes are returned with Sook’s own small smile and bow before she turns and heads off, rolling laundry hamper in tow.

Distant complaining and grumbling rounds the corner, Yoongi hobbling down the hall toward him, face pinched in annoyance.

Namjoon blinked at him, bewildered. Yoongi glared back with little heat, slight pout placed on his pink lips.

“Stubbed my fuckin’ toe,” he muttered. “Think I cracked my phone screen too,” he scoffed, waving his phone in the air before pocketing it, grumbling under his breath.

Namjoon’s mouth opened in an “o” shape, nodding his head slowly in understanding as the other man slinked past him, pouting all the way.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Excuse me, Namjoon-nim? I am here to clean up that spill you asked me about earlier.”

A steady voice and three light knocks traveled through the wooden barrier, stopping Namjoon’s incessant pacing and making his heart jump uncomfortably in his chest.

“Plan C, Namjoon,” a breathy whisper that punctured through his trembling lips. “Plan C.” 

He worried his face turned wan in his anxiety, patting his cheeks and shaking out his stiff limbs to try to turn his dusty anxiety to ripe indifference.

Heart pounding heavily, breath awkward and weighty in his lungs, Namjoon opened the door with a pleasant smile, a guise.

“Hi, yes. Thank you so much, Sook-ssi.” His words may have come out a touch too rushed for his liking.

“It really is no problem.”

A small, courteous smile that ever-so-slightly reached her eyes.

“Still…”

Dragging her into this was a guilty pill to swallow. One he still wasn’t sure he was going to go through with.

Pulling innocent civilians into problems they shouldn’t be involved with was completely inappropriate and even cruel in some situations. It was something Namjoon always held himself to not do, always trying to look for another option.

It was hard to justify, no matter how he looked at it.

Tell himself it’s for the greater good- and maybe it is? Choosing between an innocent and the greater good would always be a question of the ages, the answer only coming with time.

There were so many terrible possibilities to come from asking for help, for information, even in the secludedness of a closed-off room. Even if Sook ran screaming down the hall, telling everyone what Kim Namjoon asked of her, who knows how the other men would react?

From what he’s seen from Jimin before, they are clearly quick to violence and blame with their staff, holding no apprehension against it.

Who knows how they could turn this around on Sook?

Namjoon gulped, sweat beading at his underarms and palms, to which he wiped off on his loose pants.

Who knows how he could be ruining her life in the next moment?

“Hey,” A warm voice- grounding- as a palm was placed lightly on his tricep. “It really is okay,” a knowing glimmer twinkled in her eyes, “I promise.”

A timid nod tipped his head down briefly, excepting. Sook dipped her head in the direction of the carpet.

“Now, the stain?”

“Oh. Yeah- um.” Namjoon shook his head, blinking his eyes a rapidly, recollecting himself. “Over here.”

Namjoon has never been so happy for his early-afternoon clumsiness as their eyes fell on a large, splattered, purple stain, contrasting greatly against the white rug. While the idea of asking Sook to clean up the accidental spill was an utterly spontaneous decision, it was probably the best excuse he could have gone with.

Having a viable excuse for talking to Sook, and obvious evidence that validates her being in his room, would be a great backer in the possibility that someone grows suspicious.

“Well, I’ll start with a spot treatment and then we can go from there.” She moved down onto her knees, smoothing out her dress under her as she kneeled. “Would you mind me working in your room? I’ll have to call in some more people if you want the rug out from under the furniture.”

“No, yeah, that’s totally fine. Do what you need.”

As Sook got to work and Namjoon sat down, they fell into a strange silence. He wouldn’t call it tense, no. More, purposeful.

He tapped a finger on his knee in a 4/4 pattern, his stomach doing a dangerous swoop as an unsteady breath filled his lungs.

“Would you mind talking, Namjoon-nim? I tend to get restless in quiet company.”

Everything was being offered to him on a silver platter.

He hated it. 

He knew Sook knew what she was doing, what she was offering, but he still couldn’t help the guilt that settled in his gut and squeezed his heart. His lips kissed his teeth at the unpleasant feeling.

“What do you want to hear?”

“Oh, anything, really,” her voice spoke smooth and calm, indifferent.

And it was almost frustrating how easygoing she seemed; so unassuming and naive in her obvious knowing and understanding.

Namjoon didn’t know where to start, mouth flapping open and closed with no words to show for it. Guilt stifled in his stomach, smothering any previous confidence he was able to muster up. His hands shook as intrusive thoughts full of “what if’s” clouded his burning mind.

What if she’s playing along now, just to go report it as soon as she leaves?

What if the others are just behind the door waiting for me to screw up and take Sook away?

What if?

What if?

What if-

“I don’t want to be here,” he blurted out, rushed and impulsive.

Sook hummed noncommittally, scrubbing and scrapping gently against the feathery carpet.

“I-“ Namjoon’s hands found their way up to cover his rapidly-warming face, tears budding at his water line and lips trembling harshly at the corners. “Please, I…I don’t wanna be here anymore.”

For a moment, all that filled the room was badly-repressed sobs and steady scrubbing.

“What do you want me to do about that?”

It was said so simply; lukewarm; neither filled with warmth or cold. Just a straightforward question with no ill-intent or expected answer.

What did he want her to do about it? What even could she do about it?

So, he asked the only thing he could.

“What are you willing to do about it?”

Sook let out a tired sigh- one that gave him a glimpse of the real human behind the perfect decorum and constant hard-work. One with troubles and exhaustion. With morals and ideologies that fail to be held up like every, other person.

“You’re a good person…and I haven’t been blessed enough to be around someone like you in a long time.” An audible gulp escaped her throat; Namjoon could see her hand bunch into the fabric of her dress. “I’m surprised at how far I think I may go to see a good person succeed.”

Guilt stabbed Namjoon in the gut at the whispered admission, piling itself on top of eachother in his stomach like a bag of bricks. The sadness seeped in soon after.

Sook turned her teary-eyed face towards him as he stayed, and Namjoon bowed deeply.

“Thank you. Just…” he exhaled through his nose, “thank you.”

Namjoon straightened back up. Sook’s lips pursed as she swallowed thickly, nodding, looking straight into his open and trusting eyes.

“I will do everything in my power, to not see how far you’re willing to go.”

The left corner of her lips raised and her shone in a sad expression, before she turned back to her scrubbing.

Namjoon hoped the glimmer of hope he saw wasn’t a flicker of his imagination.

He sat back down heavily on the edge of his bed, closing his eyes and letting the gentle lull of his steadily-relaxing heartbeat and quiet scrubbing pull him into a foggy headspace of settling-adrenaline.

Something sad but also hopeful settled itself in his chest.

And for the next ten minutes, that’s how they stayed in each other’s company.

Until the gentle sound of the bedroom door pushing open broken Namjoon out of his reverie, making him stand. Sook paused in her cleaning.

“Hello, Sajangnim.” She stood and bowed politely, eyes trained on the floor. “I was just finishing up cleaning up a spill for Namjoon-nim.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow in her direction with a wordless expression of ‘well? get on with it.’

Barely sparing her another glance as Sook quickly began cleaning up her supplies, Yoongi’s eyes fell over to bore into Namjoon.

He didn’t utter a word, just stared, blank-faced, until the maid and all traces of her presence were out of the room with a soft click of the door.

“Hey, Yoongi…Hyung,” Namjoon spoke softly, flickering his eyes up to the other man’s before letting them fall back down.

“What were you you two talking about?”

A laugh, almost a scoff, escaped Namjoon’s lips before he quickly tapered it off, clearing his throat.

“She was here to clean up a stain, Yoongi-Hyung. You know how clumsy I am.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” his voice clipped and brushing on the edge of unsure. Namjoon’s eyes flickered to the right.

“I’m not stupid, Namjoon.” Yoongi took a step forward. “I know when my donsaengs are lying to me.”- another step- “Just know that whatever you’re planning,”- another- “and whatever you decide to do,”- closer - “you, and whoever you drag into it, won’t come out of it without consequences .”

Only about a half of foot of space was left between them. A shuddering breath left Namjoon lips as he stared down at his own slippered feet that were stuck to the floor like glue.

“And I sure hope you’re prepared for that.” It was but a whisper- the words brushing against Namjoon’s skin.

Namjoon chest squeezed around his racing heart, belly rising and falling, harsh and stuttered in his rising panic. Embarrassment, shame, and guilt rose in his ears and cheeks while his nails patterned crescents into the thin skin of his palms. He blinked rapidly, biting at the gummy inside of his cheek until the metallic taste hit him while his eyes teared up reflexively. Namjoon broad shoulders were hunched in, instinctively trying to make himself smaller; hide away in his rising fear, panic, dread, and embarrassment.

He didn’t dare look Yoongi in the eye for fear of how he, himself would react. He didn’t know who’d he see in those dark eyes: his Hyung, or the new, evil man that had been birthed before him in the past weeks of his captivity.

There it was again. That feeling of being nothing. Stuck in a blinding spotlight, feet cemented to the stage as everyone boos and cackles; any of his efforts seemingly thrown in the trash.

A heavy sighed heaved it’s way through the tense silence as a large, gentle hand was placed on Namjoon’s near-trembling shoulders. It felt like a crack if a whip to his fragile mind and he couldn’t help the flinch that ran through the appendage.

(In the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but feel like all the training and experience he had gained during his years as an officer had been in vain. He was only one man. One man who couldn’t hold back his reactions in front of these… men for the life of him.)

His eyes flickered up when there was no annoyed sigh as the large, gentle hand stayed gentle in it’s hold.

Gentle. Grounding. Calming.

Hyung .

Undoubtedly. And that was the worst part.

He didn’t know if he’d ever see Yoongi as anything but.

He had been gifted with something so precious…

( “You never get over seeing your first. Sticks like glue.”

And he was right.

A dead body. Though bludgeoned below the chest, the face still looked very much alive; like he was stuck in a deep sleep- almost like a fairy-tail. [He had almost wanted to push past the paramedics and check the man’s pulse himself.]

It was eye-opening. A sharp slap of reality he wasn’t 100% sure he could handle.

Namjoon and Yoongi had been working together for about half a year now- saw each other around the station and had gotten called out together good handful of times for bigger jobs and threats, among their other officers.

They were polite and respectful to each other; a perfect pair of fellow officers of the law and colleagues.

“Yeah…”

Namjoon didn’t know if he could handle going home to a cold, lonely house after this.

“How about I take you out to eat? I know a new  ramen place that opened up recently and I’ve been wanting to try it.”

And somehow Yoongi understood that by a single glance.

“Okay… Yeah, that sounds great Yoongi-ssi, thank you.”

“No sweat. And feel free to call me Hyung, Namjoon-ah.”

Warmth blossomed in his heart, a small smile overtaking his face.

“Okay, Yoongi-Hyung.” )

How do you forget the start to an amazing friendship? (Or, what you thought was an amazing friendship?)

“I love you, Namu-ah…” Two large, gentle hands stroked up to cup his face. “ Please… you’re breaking my heart.”

Yoongi thumbed away a stray tear, and their eyes met. Two deep brown pools swimming with vulnerability and openness, so terribly familiar.

Hyung…

Then, like he was never there to begin with, Yoongi backed away and quietly made his way out of the room.

Namjoon was left cold and alone.

Chapter Text

“I love you, Namu-ah…”

It burns.

A phantom hand claws up, up, up, scratching red thread into his long neck and continuing on into the fragile skin of his high, cherry-blushed cheekbones. His heart takes the pattern of a frightened rabbit: pounding harshly and threatening to break the brittle glass of his wobbling rib cage; knowing, if it cracked, it would only explode out into a grotesque slop of terror.

“Please…you’re breaking my heart.”

A hand grabs him from behind as it’s jagged nails tap teasingly- threateningly- against his vulnerable jugular.

“Please…you’re hurting me.”

Silence greets him as warm, gooey black coats his arms and crawls inside his mind. Now, only the repetition of his horrified heart pounds persistently in his ears.

“Please…”

A reprieve. But only for a moment, as his consciousness dips in and out of the treacherous waters that lap over his eyes and bring him back under.

A large palm violently swings out of the black. It engulfs the whole of his face, nails creating purple crescents in his forehead and cheeks, squeezing the battered flesh until the pain tingles into a dead numbness.

“This is yOUR FAULT-“

Namjoon throws himself back to the surface, conscious in full as his eyelids part widely, pupils wide and shaking in the pitch black of the cold room.

His lips froze, parted slightly, jaw locked as his lungs tightened and squeezed around his pummeling heart. His chest ached with the tremors that wracked through his wrung-out muscles and shaking limbs.

Namjoon’s eyes sat wide, unblinking and utterly terrified of the dark that sat behind his eyelids if he did.

His body remained frozen where he lay, sweat soaking through his feather-light sleep-shirt and dampening his hair to where it sat sticky against his nape and forehead. Hands crumpling the pale blue sheets between trembling fists, an aching wheeze left his breathless lungs.

And that’s how he lay until the sun’s warm orange glow began to filter in through the parts of the curtains. He lay silent, eyes blinking only when they got too dry to hold open, fingers twitching periodically; Namjoon lay stationary, timeless, as the birds rose to sing out in the garden and the sun’s glow fell from the ceiling to the wall.

He felt like he was dying. Like his insides were decaying and melting into his clammy, tacky skin. Namjoon was floating in his subconscious; blurry words would try to rise up, urge him to move, but he was just…stuck.

Yeah, that’s what he was, stuck.

Just stuck.

He just had to “unstick” himself. He could.

Namjoon’s ab-muscles contracted uncomfortably tight as he forced himself up in a hunched-over sitting position. It took all of his willpower to not flop back down and cry.

So, he sat there, muscles as tight as they were lipid and uncaringly loose. And, as much as he just wanted to cry- sob ugly tears and suffocate in his own brimming emotions- he was too exhausted to let out anything more than damp eyes and an unmotivated apathy.

Namjoon sat there as the sun’s light creeped from the walls to the floor, from an orange glow to a yellow beam.

Stuck…

He just had to wait until he had the motivation to unstick himself.

Five minutes…then I’ll get up. I’ll shower, brush my teeth, change, and eat. Five minutes…

But the crushing fatigue that fluttered in his heart and fogged over his mind had him sitting there for another ten, then thirty minutes.

Then, for an hour.

Then, two.

When his eyes finally slid over to his alarm clock, bright, digital numbers stared back at him, mocking  him. Namjoon eyes slid shut, tears burning behind his eyelids at the all-consuming disappointment that crushed his heart with large, clammy hands.

His stomach clenched in what might have been hunger, but it went ignored as Namjoon gave up and flopped back down, eyes still firmly shut. His cold hands clutched the comforter and pulled it up under his chin, letting his mind descend into a fog.

He wasn’t asleep, but he wasn’t present either.

He was just…stuck. That’s all.

A near-silent, trembling breath ghosted out over his lips.

Tomorrow . Yeah, he’ll figure everything out then.

Chapter Text

An oppressive pain burned just behind Namjoon’s dry eyes as he awoke, hunger gnawing nauseatingly at his grumbling stomach.

It was disorienting: not knowing how much time had passed while he laid motionless in his bed for hours, before finally falling back to sleep for an indefinite amount of time.

Though, the previous black-clouding numbness had now faded to a grey-fog that lay deeper in the back of his mind instead of the previous forefront. He’s…glad.

Pins and needles clambered up his feet and legs as he threw his long limbs over the side of the bed. Namjoon groaned and gritted his teeth at the uncomfortable sensation, but as the feeling passed, the plush carpet on his bare feet made a pleased noise roll out of the back of his throat.

His dry, cracked lips made their presence known as they involuntary ticked up in a small smile. (His gummy, equally as dry tongue had no help in the matter in trying to subside the unpleasant cracking.)

Namjoon sighed and stood up.

A sudden onset of vertigo made him clench his eyelids shut and stumble a step forward. Locking his knees under himself and taking a deep breath, Namjoon opened his eyes, blinked a few times, and made his way slowly to the bathroom.

He flicked the bathroom light switch on, engulfing the space is a warm light and giving way to the extravagant, pebble-tiled shower. It had a ceiling-mounted, rain shower head with an a obnoxious amount of bells-and-whistles (that he hated to admit took him a bit too long to figure out). (He only ever used the temperature nob anyway; who, in their right mind, would ever even need a disco setting?)

His skin felt sticky with dried-sweat. Hair, greasy and unkept. Namjoon felt terrible, and looking into the mirror only enforced that fact. (His eyebags puffy and uncomfortable, as his skin shone wan and slightly sickly.)

Shower. That’s what I need.

Licking his lips, Namjoon padded over and turned the temperature nob until the water steamed to an almost unbearable heat.

Stripping out of his rumpled clothes, he quickly slotted himself under the heat after closing the glass door. Sighing, he closed his eyes.

While the hour of unchecked alone time with his thoughts should’ve done more harm than good, surprisingly, his mind was blank. A wall of color and utter peace sat heavy on his thoughts, blocking out anything else.

He ran through his basic washing steps in a haze and spent the rest of the time standing, eyes closed, as hot water soaked his hair to a heavy mop and ran down his body. The gentle scents of soap helped lull his brain into a comforting fog.

Rose… Vanilla… Jasmine…

Red… Cream… Pale yellow…

When Namjoon finally opened his eyes an unknown amount of time later, the only thing that pushed him to finally get out of his calming cavern was the pruning of his fingers and toes.

When he finally stepped out, his skin had taken on a slight blush from the hot water. Though, thankfully it was still mostly rejuvenated to it’s normal golden-tan.

Grabbing a plush, indigo-hued towel, he patted himself dry. Then, he slowly made his way over to the (unnecessarily large) two-sinked, marble countertops to moisturize.

His mind was still pleasantly light.

Namjoon’s heart skipped a beat.

Please…you’re breaking my heart

It tickled Namjoon’s ear like a dying whisper.

He whirled around, heart in his throat, a heavy gasp leaving his lips. His brown eyes wildly roved around the room, fingers clenched knuckle-white on the marble counter behind him. His towel has slipped dangerously down his hips, but he couldn’t find himself to care in the fluttering panic that pounded in his heart.

He stayed like that for a minute. His eyes digesting every shadow in the room, breath thin on his lips, before a thread of understanding weaseled into his brain. Namjoon let out a heavy sigh and closed his eyes while tilting his head forward.

His right knee ached where he had knocked it against the drawer handles in his reverie, promising to form a splotchy bruise soon.

“Namjoon-nim?” Said man’s eyes shoot open just as his head shoots up. He pulls up and tightens the towel around his hips quickly before going over and cracking the door open to peek out. “Hello? Are you in here?”

Rationally, he knew it was just Sook, probably here to get his dirty laundry or give him breakfast. Although, another scared, weaker part of him made his hands shake, chest ache, and mind whirl in uncertainty and panic. His lips pinched together in a tense, anxious expression as he looked out into the room with one eye.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

It was a thought that made him want to sob and bury his nails into his own arms.

Instead, he pulled the door open and placed on a flat, but friendly, expression.

“Sorry, Sook-ssi,” he apologized airily, “I…I was in the shower.”

“No need to apologize, Namjoon-nim.”

Sook gave a slight bow to her head, eyes turned to the floor. She then turned around to give him some privacy as he made his way into the closet.

The aforementioned closet was as equally as gaudy and unnecessarily large as the rest of the mansion. It was filled to the brim with comfortable and surely crazy-expensive clothes with fancy labels that were unknown to him. And while it shouldn’t be that much of a surprise how much they know about him, it left a gross feeling in his gut when everything was perfectly in his size and perfectly attuned to his style. (A part of his mind tried to rationalize it; they were good friends before all of this weren’t they?) Though, there were no shoes in sight except for the many pairs of slippers stacked high on the shelves, including one outdoor pair. His uniform was gone as well- surely discarded or completely destroyed somewhere.

His eyes roved over his selection blankly, before grabbing a clean pair of what he had been basically wearing everyday: a comfortable pair of loose lounge pants and a sweater.

Namjoon walked out of the closet, eyebrows furrowed and lips pouted in a pensive expression.

Come to think of it, why was Sook here?

Or, “why was she allowed to be here?”, would probably be the right question. Namjoon was surprised that Yoongi didn’t stop her from looking after him after he found them together. It should’ve been, without a doubt, suspicious to him. Namjoon knew Yoongi was far from stupid or daft; he was even obnoxiously perceptive at times.

So, why…?

Namjoon rubbed a towel through his wet hair as he stood square in the middle of the room staring blankly as his thoughts and suspicions raced.

“Are you decent?” she asked, tone indifferent and almost bored, calming his sudden runaway train of thought.

A soft huff of amusement left his lips before he hummed in affirmative, leading her to turn with a uniquely stressed look on her face. Namjoon’s bro furrowed, and just as he opened his mouth to ask if she was okay, she cut him off.

“I have someone.” An awkward pause. “That might be able to help you, I mean.” She swallowed audibly as Namjoon’s face lit into an expression of surprise, but he kept quiet nonetheless. “The catch is, he doesn’t really know that I’m telling you this.”

“Sook-ssi…“ she took in a shakey breath.

“I know, I know. It’s not fair, but he’s the only one I know who’d we’d have any sort of hope with helping you getting out of here.”

A silent tension filled the space between them.

“I told you how far I’d go to see a good person succeed,” her breath hitched, making her stop and purse her lips together to stop any frantic noises that tried to weasel their way out of her mouth.

This side of her was something Namjoon hadn’t seen since the first day he met her. When Jimin…

His lungs shuddered under the weight of his trembling breath.

“But we don’t know how far this person is willing to go…” he whispered. “ Sook-ssi …I can’t put that sorta weight on another person. I’ve already done it to you! I can’t-“ Namjoon’s voice cracked unpleasantly as his face warmed from the on-slate of tears brimming his waterline.

Sook’s face hardened, a stubborn look washing out her prior timid disposition.

“ You are not making me do anything. I know what I’m doing. I full-well know I could get in a lot of shit for this, Namjoon!” Her eyes widened, her fingertips coming up to graze over her lips, which were suddenly pinched together. And for a second, he thought she wouldn’t continue, consoling words already brimming on the tip of his tongue. Though, for the second time that day, she cut him off.

“Please…please trust me.” Watery, though determined eyes set their unwavering gaze on his.

“I do- I do , Sook-ssi.” Namjoon wanted nothing more than to hug her, but he knew the consequences that could follow if someone found out. “But…you gotta see where I’m coming from. You said you’d do anything, and I am so insurmountably grateful, but I can’t put that on someone else… I just can’t.”

His tone held nothing but sincerity and guilt. They were silent as Sook’s head bowed forward and she quickly wiped away any stray tears, awkwardly sniffling before raising her head. Her gaze stuck at his chest as she sighed, breathless, a deep exhaustion evident.

“You’re right…” her head titled back, eyes to the ceiling. “You’re right, Namjoon-nim. I can’t ask that of you - to ask him for help.”

Their eyes finally met, dark brown and hazel. One, an expression of acceptance and sadness, the other holding guilt and understanding. Albeit, they both were bone-weary and tired.

“It’s laundry day,” she cracked a small smile, her normal cadence and stance of slightly-withdrawn professionalism slowly gaining. “Do you have any I can pick up?”

And for a second, Namjoon wanted to crack, expression faltering for a second because it just isn’t fair . He wanted to simultaneously sob and punch the wall, but he couldn’t.

He couldn’t.

He smiled back, eyes watery, “I just so happen to,” and quickly went to grab his recently used towel and laundry basket.

As he handed it off, he smiled- a timid, trembling little thing- but a smile nonetheless.

He thanked her, and she nodded as she smiled back, telling him that she was “just doing her job” and that it was “no problem”.

When she walked out quietly but a minute later, he didn’t let himself crack. Namjoon plastered on a neutral expression that held just enough sincerity and kindness to pass for any other day and made his way out of his bedroom to the kitchen, his painfully grumbling stomach his only motivation.

He didn’t even let himself think about how no one had come to check on him but Sook since Yoongi happened. Or, how he felt so terribly , utterly lonely -

His stomach grumbled.

Maybe I’ll make myself a sandwich .

Sook always kept her promises.

Sook has not yet to make any promises to Namjoon.

That’s probably why she was rushing to find “him” right now, her short legs moving as fast as they could without being deemed as something as improper as “running”.

Flickering guilt bubbled up in her gut, though it did nothing to deter her pursuit; her dark eyes locked forward and expression fierce. The weight that usually fell so burdening on her shoulders was somehow loosened in the fact that she was actually doing something for a change. Since Namjoon had arrived, her days didn’t feel so certain, repetitive, and bleak. There was something that whirled erratically in her at the uncertainness.

She loved it.

She also feared it.

Sook was grasping wildly for this newfound control she had gained. A part of her knew it was selfish- using Namjoon’s captivity for her own natural high and rebellion- but maybe she was just broken like that, traumatized like that. Maybe that was why she was so adamantly fixed on the idea of doing “whatever it takes to see a good person succeed”. A part of her wants to cope with that feeling of selfishness by being as selfless as possible.

Her head hurt, anxieties overwhelmed; her heart seemingly never calming from its rapid patter and eye-bags hanging heavy under almond-shaped eyes and dark concealer.

Sook’s steps patted audibly down the desolate hallway and stairs until she stopped in front of a large door, a labeled plaque on the outside reading “laundry” in large, blocky Hangul. The laundry basket swung gently in her hands. Taking a deep breath, then exhaling, she reached a (minutely trembling) hand onto the push-open door and gently shoved.

Peeking her head in, a flutter waving through her chest, Sook spotted a man carefully folding bleach-white towels in the cacophony of the whirring washers and dryers. The room took a lovely warm hue in the light of the early afternoon, adding an eerily beautiful visage to the varied-red color that stained the many garments and towels; a puce color floated about and mixed with a large tub full of hydrogen peroxide and bleach.

Her mind and heart was entirely indifferent to the slight scent of iron in the air and the should-be appalling view of loads of bloody cloth.

Blasé and stubborn, Sook strode forward and placed her basket of Namjoon’s laundry down heavily.

For a minute, neither spoke. Sook got to the familiar task of splitting the laundry based on color and loading up any available machines. The man continued folding the clean laundry, occasionally using a large stick to stir the drenched blood-ridden concoction. A part of her wondered if he had even noticed her appearance, but she honestly didn’t care. He would know she was here soon enough.

A hand placed lightly on the machine in front of her, touching for no other reason but to have the supportive balance of another object, she spoke, “Min-jae.”

A bored hum was all Sook got in return, but it was enough.

“I want to ask a favor of you,” her breath hitched unevenly but her voice remained steady.

“… oh ?” It was rough, voice likely used little in his daily work, but an underlying intrigue spurred her on.

“You know the new man of the house, Namjoon-nim?”

“Boss’ new pet,” he replied, steadfast and aloof.

Her lip ticked up beside herself. She wanted to argue, but it wouldn’t be productive. She also couldn’t be blind to the fact that it was partially true.

She hummed noncommittally.

Surprisingly, he kept on. “And I assume he has something to do with this favor you want to ask of me?”

It would be stupid to try to deny what was so obvious.

“Nail on the head. What’re your thoughts?”

“For starters, I think your delusional if you think you can get anything past them ,” animosity threaded his tone.

“I’m aware. That’s why I’m asking for your help.”

From the corner of her eye, she could see Min-jae’s jaw tense under a surely tooth-cracking pressure, an unamused huff puffing out between his gritted teeth.

“And what do you think I can do?!” A flurry of frequently suppressed anger and self-loathing rose to the surface. “Maybe try to except that I’m JUST as useless as the rest of you!”

The veins in his hands popped as a towel was strangled in his trembling hands. Sook knew if he turned around, his rage-filled eyes would pin her to the ground.

She swallowed thickly.

“We both know that isn’t true,” she whispered.

Min-jae slammed a fist on the table, angry puffs of breath leaving his lips and making his back heave up and down dramatically. As he turned, their eyes met. His pale skin burned red from rage and pointed index finger trembling consequently.

Sook could barely breath, Min-jae’s next words coming out terrifyingly quiet and subdued.

“I can’t save someone else’s skin when you know damn well I’m barely keeping my own.” He turned back around, running his long fingers over the cotton fabric and letting out a tired breath. “Give up, Sook.”

She licked her lips, hands clenching into fists as renewed vigor swirled in her lungs.

“You know damn well I never know when to give up.”

His shoulders hunched into themselves, head lowering- a complete juxtaposition to the brash man that once appeared.

Sook’s head cocked to the side slightly, eyebrow raising, observing. Her back straightened, breath slowly evening out.

“I’m asking for help, any you’re willing to give.” She spun on her heel and started walking toward the door. “Think on it. You know where to find me.”

The door swung slowly to a close behind her.

Min-jae exhaled out through his nose quietly and began folding once again.

Chapter Text

A large smooch, exaggerated with a loud “mmmwah”, is puckered on his forehead. Namjoon exhales a soft sound in his disturbed sleep, before settling again for a couple peaceful seconds. Then, a cheerful and giggly voice (“Hyung, look! I’m waking sleeping beauty!”), as well as another slobbery smooch, comes and finally disturbs him enough to disgruntledly flutter open his eyes, glaring up at the perpetrator.

Jungkook, unperturbed, smiles wide with an (admittedly adorable) nose scrunch back at him.

“Don’t pout Hyung, I tried calling your name but you were dead to the world. And, well, I figured my only other option was waking you up like they do in the fairytales!”

“I don’t pout, brat.” (His pout deepened, unbeknownst to himself.)

It was easy to fall into familiar banter, natural almost, in his still half-asleep and groggy state.

Almost like before…

Namjoon startled as Seokjin’s face fell an inch in front of his as he flopped over the back of the couch, arms resting crossed over the tops of the cushions. Safe to say he was wide awake now, staring wide-eyed at the man only but a breath away from him and suddenly uncomfortably in his space. Namjoon squirmed, eyes going listless as they stared anywhere past the smiling, carefree face in front of him. The expression in front of him was nothing but adoring.

“There you are Precious… I hope you had a nice nap. I also saw that you ate. Was it good? What’d you make?” Seokjin’s hand trailed down to twirl a lock of Namjoon’s thick black hair around his finger as he spoke quietly, never swaying from a (pseudo?) comforting, gentle tone.

Almost…

He cleared his throat as he curled into himself a bit, voice coming out weak, almost shy: “A sandwich…”

“That’s good; I was worried you might’ve burned yourself if you had attempted to heat anything up.” Seokjin’s grin widened, eyes closing. “We all kinda know you can be a cluts, so it’s good you have your trusty Hyung around to take care of you, right?”

This felt like a trap.

Namjoon licked his lips, mind floundering for what to say.

“And me! It’s good you have your trusty maknae around to take care of you too!” Jungkook cut in, whiney and petulant, bottom lip surely pursed.

Namjoon was so relieved for the reprieve that he might just have to give Jungkook a forehead kiss back.

Seokjin looked down at him and rolled his eyes with an expression that made it seem like the two oldest in the room were in on something the youngest was not. He looked up at Jungkook with an indulging smile and nodded.

“Of course, how could Hyung forget?”

Stomach bubbling awkwardly, a unique shame rising in his gut. Namjoon felt little comfortable entertaining the patronizing tone and behavior. He stayed silent, lip ticking up in what he hoped was a good-enough semblance of an indulgent smile.

(In the back of his mind, a part of him pondered if he was truly being too sensitive to, and inflating what was really happening. They were friends before. Maybe it’s really not too different and he’s unjustly making it out in a different light? A lot of the teasing and indulgence of each-other was the same…)

Namjoon had a hard time being able to rationalize his reality in a true victim’s perspective.

A part of him knew that.

Little part of him accepted that.

He floundered slightly, brain as well as body stuck where he lay, not knowing where to go from here.

“Kook-ah and I are going to make cookies, Joon-ah. Do you want to join us?” His head cocked to the side a bit, an ever-present indulgent smile on his lips. “Either way, I think it would be best if you didn’t nap any longer so you can still sleep well tonight.”

Namjoon blinked rapidly, focusing back into the moment.

“Uh…”

“Actually, I’ll choose- Hyung will choose. Come help, I feel like I haven’t talked to you in forever.”

A slow blink and a solemn nod was all the confirmation Seokjin needed to haul Namjoon up and start corralling him to the kitchen, practically stepping on his heels, with Jungkook traipsing behind them.

A straight-out-of-the-oven warm cookie and a cold glass of milk irked him in a way he never thought possible.

The last couple hours had been…uncomfortable, to say the least.

His anxiety lay high and unchecked, combined with the exhaustion that seemed to settle deeper and deeper as his time in the hell-mansion prolonged unendingly. Namjoon was constantly on his toes- watching, waiting- for the random and inevitable mood swings that seemed to tip the scales in the most unfortunate of times.

Namjoon was scared, and not just for himself. For the servants that were at the will of the heads of the house. Specifically for Sook, who, he was certain would do something drastic soon. In a roundabout way, he was also scared for his prior-friends and now-kidnappers, and how sick some of them seemed to be in the head.

While, as an officer, he had experiences with people who had similar personalities and obvious afflictions that affected their decision-making and mentality, he had never experienced it up close and personal in the way he was (forcibly) now.

It terrified him, but it also made him terribly sad, and that shook him deep to the core.

What had they gone through…?

But maybe that was just his prior-to-kidnapping affections and attachments fighting through.

Out of everything, he knew that he would not come out of this unaffected.

(If. Not would. a traitorous part of his mind relayed in echo throughout his mind.)

“Joon-ah?”

Slowly departing from the fog clouding his mind, Namjoon hummed inquisitively.

Fingers snapped in front of his eyes, Hoseok’s face suddenly appearing in his line of sight. Namjoon startled slightly in his seat, backing up a bit.

In the sudden eye contact, Hoseok smiled brightly, asking, “how’re the cookies?” despite the half-eaten one already in his hand. At Namjoon’s obvious side-eyeing of his own, Hoseok laughed loudly.

Namjoon didn’t think it was that funny.

Nevertheless, he responded in turn, relaying how they were good in as little words as possible.

He was…tired.

A long and lonely week later, Namjoon found himself sitting in an alcove in one of the halls. He was propped up in a window nook, forgotten book splayed out on his propped-up thighs as he stared out into the garden below.

The roses that sat below seemed to create a prickling in his heart just as their thorns would. Similarly, the sun that created a pleasant warmth on his skin did nothing for the cold that seem to encapsulate his heart.

Namjoon sighed melodramatically, letting his head thump against the wall behind him as he closed his eyes.

In a terribly unthinkable way, he sometimes wished he was dealing with the normal doings that usually came with kidnapping. Maybe then there wouldn’t be such an ever present war in his mind.

Though, in many ways, it didn’t work like that. The brain tries to cope and rationalize any situation your in, no matter how traumatic and horrifying. Knowing he was friends with them before, maybe he’d be in the same predicament even if things had taken a different route.

Or, maybe it would turn out the same, but just falling to in a longer period of time.

Namjoon needed a plan. And for that he would need hope and motivation. To have hope and motivation, he would need healthy relationships and good support. For that, he would need to be in a good situation that didn’t involve being held captive… For that, he would need a plan.

Namjoon needed a lot of things, but most of all, he needed a distraction.

The sudden, repeated squeaking of wheels down the hall to his right would perhaps give him just that.

Chapter Text

…Namjoon needed a lot of things, but most of all, he needed a distraction.

The sudden, repeated squeaking of wheels down the hall to his right would perhaps give him just that…

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak-

The sound was making him go slightly crazy, a tick finding it’s way into his jaw.

Only his luck would allow him to grab the one laundry cart that hadn’t of had it’s wheels oiled in what seemed to be hundreds of years. The slight resistance to his pushing, and the way it kept trying to lead left instead of straight, only pissed him off more.

Nonetheless, there was no way he was turning back to get a new one now. Too much work, and he didn’t get paid enough- oh…right, he didn’t get paid shit .

Min-Jae let out a huff.

This really is a pathetic existence…

Namjoon just might be reconsidering his earlier doubt on his ability to be stealthy.

He was sure he looked absolutely ridiculous as he tip-toed behind the man with the loudly squeaking cart; it did nothing to damper the giddy feeling twirling in his gut though. Along with the tip-toeing, Namjoon would periodically step behind the large alcoves placed sporadically throughout the halls they twisted and turned down.

And, yeah , the man was none-the-wiser! He hadn’t looked back once .

Maybe it was time to promote himself to honorary detective…

This is stupidly reckless. What am I doing? What are you doing Namjoon? It’s time to turn back before you get caught-

Unlike his thoughts that dissuaded him from continuing on, his body kept moving. Even the thought of earlier in the evening- maybe around 6:30- when Hoseok had passed by him   with a deranged look in his eye and a wide smile plastered across his lips, did nothing to caution him from moving in the direction he had come from.

So yes, he was being stupidly reckless, but he needed to do something . Namjoon had been too afraid to do anything rash, and now he just found himself feeling completely useless and pathetic as he sat on his ass and lounged all day.

(And his sudden, unusual giddiness definitely helped push his current state of sneaky recklessness.)

He couldn’t stand to be a “normal” victim- he wasn’t a normal victim. He needed to get his shit together and act.

Min-Jae rolled his eyes to himself and let out an inaudible huff.

Whoever was following his was shit at being stealthy. But he had an idea of who it was, so he let the man continue on uninterrupted in his pseudo-sly “sneaking”. The man seemed to get a kick out of thinking Min-Jae was ignorant to his presence, so it was slightly amusing.

Despite all that, he needed to know who he was dealing with, and he didn’t know if the man’s less-than-impressive sneaking skills were a good thing or not.

He rolled on, cart still squeaking with every turn, as he leaned his over-exhausted body  heavily against the cart’s push bar. His feet trudged on and dragged with every step.

Maybe if he walked slow enough (as if he was trying to walk slowly) the man would be dissuaded in his boredom and wander away. In the event the other man does get bored enough to leave, while it would discard any ability to get to understand him, at least Min-Jae wouldn’t have to worry about being emotionally and socially intelligent. (Not that he was really planning on putting his heart into either, no matter the outcome.)

He deserves a hot drink and a filling dinner after all this inevitably goes to crap.

A self-pat on the back was definitely deserved- thought by Namjoon (maybe a little bit too confidently).

The man with the dark brown, messy-looking hair, black tattoo peeking out of the collar of his shirt, and pushing the squeaking cart, was still making his way through the long corridor of hallways. He walked confidently, though slowly (very slowly…) and gave no indication that he knew someone was following him. A slight scent of cigarette smoke wafted behind him, along with the more fragrant scent of a pleasant-smelling cologne.

Before Namjoon knew it, the man had stopped at a wall; all other sounds ceased, except for Namjoon’s heavy breathing (which he hadn’t realized had gotten so erratic) and the stumbling of his steps as he tried to hide.

It was embarrassingly futile as the man turned around, eyes conveying how deeply unimpressed and bored he was. Namjoon only let them keep eye contact for a second before he cut it. His cheeks immediately filled with heat, feet finally shuffling to a tense stop. His hands found themselves clenching and unclenching at his sides, his whole body wound tight.

He could at least try to get the first word in- explain himself for the impromptu stalking, at least.

“S-sorry. I just- um-“

“Just come here,” the man interrupted, voice barren and cold. The annoyed sigh that followed made Namjoon wince and grit his teeth. Their eye contact, once again, was broken by Namjoon’s shifty eyes, guilt and embarrassment filling his core with unpleasant warmth. The other man’s grey-brown eyes held steady whenever Namjoon looked up, never the first to look away.

“You either come here or leave, the choice is yours,” his voice was uncaring but his eyes held a silent heat, almost daring .

“…Why?” Namjoon’s voice was soft, questioning but held very little fervor; it hung in the air and faded out quickly. 

The man didn’t answer, but instead turned around and fiddled with a keypad and button that sat flush against the wall. Suddenly, the wall (which actually wasn’t a wall at all) opened to reveal an elevator in all it’s sleek metal glory.

Namjoon faltered back a step, eyes widening. ( Rich people shit... ) However, all he needed was a slight cock of the other man’s head in the direction of the elevator for him to stutter a step forward, then swiftly close the distance in the next few.

He stepped in as if a boobytrap would be set off by his weight alone, feet tentative and slow. The weight of the other man’s eyes on his neck made a subtle heat rise to his cheeks and ears. Namjoon fought the urge to clear his throat as his fingers found their way up to fiddle with the collar of his shirt.

He was barely breathing, air working hot and heavy in his lungs. Namjoon had no time to rethink his decision before the metal doors closed smooth and soundlessly in front of his nose.

Three years must have passed as they traveled down the elevator shaft; time seemed to pass in sludge, moving in slow motion. Somehow they still arrived before Namjoon could mentally pull himself together, as the sleek metal doors slid open and air tickled his face.

A vague sense of dread and nausea settled in Namjoon’s gut as he stared out into a well-lit hallway. It stood stark white, suspiciously clean, and hospital-sterile with a faint smell of bleach and citrus-scented cleaner lingering through the air.

A bump to his butt with the cart behind him knocked Namjoon out of his ( somewhat panicking) stupor, his head flipping around, hazel eyes meeting the other man’s blank but prodding stare . Namjoon was sure his whole being emitted “frazzled and uncomfortable and has no idea what he’s doing”- as he swallowed thickly and his fingers twitched at his sides. But the man did nothing to placate him, only giving a nod to urge him forward, a hard and examining look heavy on his intense eyes.

Namjoon took a step forward, an unidentifiable  unsettled  feeling settling like a rock in the ocean of his gut.

His right foot passed the invisible threshold. Then, his right leg; soon followed by the rest of him. Namjoon’s left hand lingered back for a moment on the side of the metal sliding doors, before he pulled it along with the rest of his trepidation.

The squeaking followed him as his slippered feet padded near-silent down the desolate hallway. A chill peppered across his body, pilling the skin of his arms. The rational part of him knew the hallway stood at quite a comfortable temperature, but the image of his breath turning white in the air kept replaying in his head.

The pleasant temperature did nothing to offset the foreboding-chill set deep in his spine.

As they walked (to where, Namjoon had no clue), a tang of iron started to twinge in the air, and then slowly started to overpower the bleach and citrus. At a certain point, it was the only thing Namjoon could smell, overwhelming all of his senses and imagination.

“Um-“ his voice cracked awkwardly, “-are you sure…”

Was he even supposed to be down here? Backed by a well-supported educated guess, he can come to the conclusion that, no, he isn’t. But even if he isn’t, that means there will be more of a chance to understand more and try to crack down on them in ways he wouldn’t have been able to prior to knowing…whatever he would find out down here.

I need to stop being so useless.

“Keep going and then turn right. It should be the first door on the left.”

Namjoon swallowed down the budding doubts and steadied his trembling limbs that urged him to turn back where he came from.

“Okay,” he replied, trepidation full in his tone.

The next 50 feet passed in what felt like 50 hours; time moved like sludge as the potent scent of blood and  other invasive, unidentifiable scents suckered him in the nose like a punch to the face. His fists tightened to the point of whitened knuckles and nails pressing curved lines into his palms. Namjoon could feel himself start to sweat. The churning in his gut and sour of bile deep in his throat held a great sense of foreboding danger.

At this point, Namjoon should know when to follow his gut… Maybe it was his pride to push through and prove himself fearless and brave. Maybe it was the fear making some sick roundabout “fight-or-flight” reaction, where he’s inadvertently flighting towards the danger. Nevertheless, he ignored his instincts, ignored all signs that presented themselves like actors in the spotlight. He pushed on- all too quickly finding himself with a trembling hand placed on the door’s handle.

It was easy to open, a smooth slide on the hinges, somehow only adding to his overwhelming feeling of unease.

For a second, nothing happened; his eyes hadn’t adjusted, his senses lay waiting.

In the second second, a putrid wall of smells hit him: sour vomit, piss, blood; bile rose in Namjoon’s throat, barely keeping it down with two thick and disgusting swallows.

The sleek stainless steel and white of the walls and floor only brandished the sight of blood and other unidentifiable liquids and solids strewn all around the room. Nothing was kept to the imagination as still-slick red blood in varying shades shown in the LED lighting.

A man (which he would assumed dead, if not for the barest twitches of his limbs and the labored rise of fall of his chest) he never expected to see again, stood chained in the middle of the room.

Shirtless, pant-less, the man was bared down to his undergarments of boxers and an undershirt. At some point, they probably were bright white and stainless. Now, they wore battered, torn, and stained in various smells and liquids. No part of him seemed left untouched; slashes coated his skin and stood atop of a myriad of purple, green, and red bruises. His ankles were busted in and ballooning while his left leg was twisted and extended in an unnatural way. There had to be much more damage done that was indistinguishable to his untrained eye, and hidden from the colors obscuring and painting the man’s skin.

Namjoon was dizzy. Colors shaded in red, brown, and white swirled in front of his wide and unblinking eyes. Ringing penetrated his ears as he was left frozen at the sight. His body trembled, caught between a state of hyperventilating and unintentionally holding his breath.

Namjoon distantly wondered if he would pass out.

He stumbled forward a step as the man who had brought him here nudged around his paralyzed form.

Eyes focusing back on the strung up man in front of him, Namjoon shuddered.

Hye Min…

He fucking traded himself for the familys’ freedom from the men, and now he finds Hye Min chained up and beaten to a bloodied pulp!

(A part of himself felt a deep guilt for thinking it had all been for naught, if this was what would have inevitably happened in the end. The bigger part of his guilt centered on his own self-loathing, for not somehow stopping this whole shitshow from the beginning-! )

Anger rushed through him as deeply as sorrow, confusion, disgust, and self-hatred did.

Soft humming from the man he had (stupidly) followed down here was what finally broke Namjoon out of his stupor. He blinked, pupils dilating and eyes blurry and wet.

He could only stare as the brown-haired man pulled on long latex cleaning gloves, grabbed out a bucket and a mop, and got to work cleaning up the…mess.

Namjoon’s whimper was barely bitten down.

Chapter Text

It had been surreal, curled up in the corner, arms tight around his knees and forehead pressed painfully on top of them. Time passed foggy and liquid, as he had no way to tell how long he was sitting there trying to suppress the urge to vomit all over his slippers. At a certain point, the pervasive and stomach-quenching smells fizzled down to something more manageable. (Something most certainly to do with the man cleaning up the mess as well as his nose acclimating to the overwhelming aroma; he didn’t really want to think about either.)

Namjoon’s head might as well been glued to his knees, so he had little to no idea how far into the…clean-up process he was. He just wanted it to be over. To leave-

“You can leave whenever you want. I’m not stopping you- no one’s stopping you.” The man let a beat pass, but his voice continued rough and uncaring. (Namjoon could’ve sworn he hadn’t said that out loud.)  “And you look like you’re gonna pass out or shit yourself any minute. I’m not cleaning that up or taking care of you if you do. I’m not a damn nurse.”

Namjoon huffed heavily, throat constricting uncomfortably around every trembling breath. But he still managed to spit out, “Really? Didn’t notice,” with as much sarcasm as he could muster.

“Hey.” The voice took a sharp turn, pinched in anger and frustration that was surely also adorning the man’s face. “It seems like you’re forgetting who actually did this to begin with. C’mon Namjoon, you’re not stupid . I’m just the clean-up crew. I don’t get my rocks off on this stuff, but I’m sure you know who does.”

Namjoon sneered at the other before tilting his head back down into the dark protection of his knees and arms.

Glorious would be one word for it; euphoric, maybe? Either way, he loved the smell of blood, sweat, tears- he loved the smell of pain . It made his gums ache and he longed to taste .

Don’t get him wrong, he had some class. And he wasn’t an animal , by any means.

(Although, he knew some people had some…differing opinions on the subject. Many of those people were what the police would classify as “missing”.)

He just thought about it. Sometimes.

Shower water bled from clear to pink and grimy in seconds as fluids (mostly blood) ran smoothly from his skin. It was satisfying, watching it mingle with the water and drip from his skin before inevitably circling and disappearing down the drain. It was satisfying, remembering the utter glee that tickled under his skin and bubbled up into periodic manic laughter as he “worked”. It was satisfying, the control tangible beneath his fingertips. It was satisfying, to hear him cry , to hear him scream .

Hoseok’s eyebrows twitched in a split-second furrow before smoothing out. His eyes remained shut under the hot spray.

He wasn’t an animal though.

He cared .

There were some… While control is satisfying, there is a fine line where he finds his mind fighting between the urge to control and the want to protect. And sometimes that line blurred.

Hoseok’s mind was still foggy and muddled from the bouts of adrenaline and dopamine that had been pumping through him less than an hour ago. The time between leaving the blood-soaked room and getting in the shower was an utter blur, and his mind still had difficulty focusing. Though, more often than not, this was his common reaction to any one of his little sessions. Hoseok wasn’t worried. At a certain point, the sluggish passage of time- and his inability to remember and keep up with it- always took a slow turn from blissful to frustrating.

Like clockwork. The structure to his schedule always put a piece of him at ease, and brought a subtle peace of mind. (Maybe that’s where his obsession with control trickled in again; Hoseok hated psychoanalyzing himself, so he never gave it too much thought.)

His hand came up and ran through his dripping hair, pushing it back from where it had been dangling it front of his eyebrows. (He had been  lucky that very little of the gore got in his hair or on his face. It was always a pain to wash off what you couldn’t see.) A pink tongue came out and wet thin, rosey lips, before they pressed together in a contemplative, almost pained, look.

He would never truly hurt the ones his mind and body instinctively wanted to control…protect. Their pain was never satisfying like the others.

Dark brown eyes jolted open.

Small beads of his own blood began to mix with the rest, where it had welled up in his accidental- although aggressive- scratching to his left arm. Hoseok looked down, sighed and rolled his eyes, before tracking them back up at the showerhead.

“Shit…”

That jumpstarted the next five minutes of quick and effective washing: scrubbing everything that needed to be scrubbed, and being diligent in washing under his nails and between his fingers. (Dried blood was always more trouble to clean than it was worth.) Hoseok had forgone the need for gloves during this session- wanting to make it a little more “personal”, or something of the sort. Sometimes he just appreciated being a little more “hands-on” (pun intended).

(It was an added bonus that it seemed to break down another barrier of his session’s mentality when warm, calloused hands dug the blade into their skin, rather than the impersonal physical and mental barrier of cool and well-fitted leather. Maybe it had to do with having to accept the fact that another weathered and life-worn human being was doing this to them? That another human being could be so “cruel”?

Hoseok didn’t care as much as he enjoyed the light that sputtered and flickered out of their eyes. It was like a game: how quickly could he make someone lose their will to live?!

32 seconds was his record.)

The grumbling of his stomach knocked him out of his reverie. In the next second, he was shutting off the water and quickly making his way through his after-shower routine, then dressing himself in comfortably lounge clothes.

Hye Min could wait- would wait. Wasn’t like he was going anywhere anytime soon. Hoseok snickered to himself.

Hye Min had proved to be nothing but a weak link with a pathetic demeanor and a pitiful amount of information under his belt. It really was karma, if you think about it, for all the corruption and monopoly the man had inflicted in his life with zero remorse. Hoseok was doing everyone else a favor for the man’s eventual demise, and he would take pleasure in dragging it out and making it as satisfying as possible.

Now his first priority that has unexpectedly moved up the list: food.

If his muscles weren’t liquid, all tension melted into a puddle (colored vaguely blood-red), then he would have outright skipped to the kitchen to hound Jin about what was going to be for dinner. A gentle hum didn’t stop itself from working its way up his throat though.

“Hobi-Hyung? I need to tell you something. It’s important, I promise.” Hoseok would have normally felt frustration brim at the interruption to his perfectly content mood and relaxing evening, but the urgency and nervousness in Jimin’s voice had it flickering out before it could even burn. 

“Here?” Hoseok’s eyes flickered briefly over to a Taehyung-shaped, seemingly sleeping, blanket-covered blob on the large couch.

Jimin worried his bottom lip between his teeth, before tilting his head to the left in a quick jerk.  Without another word, he turned and started walking with light steps. Hoseok followed languidly on his tail.

So much for a peaceful evening.

Chapter Text

“Jimin-ah, what’s this about?”

Hoseok and Jimin stood in Jimin’s room, door closed and only a lamp on to light the room. The warmth and comfort the lamp’s light exuded was contrasted by the tremulous atmosphere the two men in the room made. It was silent despite the heavy, anxious tension exuding off of Jimin as he tapped a fidgeting finger against his hip bone.

It was slightly…unlike him. He was rarely this nervous and visibly unsure.

“Just,” Jimin bit his bottom lip, “watch this.” He held up an ipad with a paused video displayed on the screen; the video itself was in black and white, but clear in quality and detail. Hoseok raised an eyebrow in question, but still reached out and took it, before pressing play.

“I stitched these clips together.” Hoseok’s eyes widened minutely at what he was seeing, before a glare overtook them, fingers clenching a bit harder on the device. “You know how it notifies the head of video surveillance whenever that elevator is opened? Well, it wouldn’t have been an issue, and he wouldn’t have informed me, if you-know-who wasn’t also with Min-Jae riding down to…you-know-where.”

Hoseok’s nostrils flared and his mouth pinched, watching the video through in full a second time to curb the disbelief. When his eyes finally tracked back up to Jimin’s, a fury sat behind them, though carefully (and surprisingly) controlled.

This guy may as well be asking for a death sentence.

“Remind me who Min-Jae is?” The voice, though thoroughly disgusted when he repeated the name, was devoid of what shone in his eyes. (Jimin couldn’t figure out if that was a good thing or not.)

“Currently? A dumbass with no self-preservation skills. But what else is new with that guy? He came here and made himself out to be the most defiant smartass he could, but he had enough sense that he didn’t push any farther than a slap on the wrist and a warning not to do it again. Soon enough, he learned to ‘simmer down’. Threats against his widowed mother seemed to be enough.” Jimin clicked his tongue before pursing his lips. “Well…guess not anymore.”

“Why’s he here in the first place?”

The tension between them was palpable. Although, it was different from before as it had changed from nervous and agitated to all-around disbelief at the stupidity and seeing-red rage.

Despite that, their tones held true to the “businessmen” they were: concealing their true emotions and replacing it with finely chosen wordage and a cool exterior.

“Paying off his father’s debt,” Jimin spoke flippantly. “Big gambler, addictive personality and shitty relationship with alcohol, heroine, and a bunch of other shit. He was high off his mind when he got angry that he was being cut off. Ended up killing one of our men.” A light smirk played on Jimin’s lips. “So we killed him. And Min-Jae got brought in when he finally became an adult to work off that debt. Felt kinda wrong at the time… Safe to say I got over it quickly.”

A silent beat passed.

Hoseok smiled. (Yes. Definitely as deranged as you’re thinking.)

“Timestamp?”

A set of feet pounded down the halls.

How could Min-Jae be this stupid?!

The steps made no effort to quiet as they sprinted through the maze of identical hallways, although, with no confusion to their whereabouts.

Impulsive, impulsive, stupid man!

Her thoughts ran rapid as her legs tried to keep pace.

A wash of cool air pebbled his skin and sent a shiver down his spine as the elevator doors opened.

Min-Jae was quick to make his way out, pushing the squeaking cart (now filled with bloodied rags and sponges) in front of him. No part of him showed that he was disturbed, or at least slightly grossed-out, by all of this. He walked as if he had done this a hundred times before. (And maybe he had…)

As for Namjoon, a glossy look plastered his brown eyes and his lips set themselves into a firm line. His tanned skin was a shade paler than normal.

He had seen things as an officer- it wasn’t a pretty profession to be apart of by any means. He was lucky to have never see anything like that before on the job… He wasn’t so lucky anymore.

His mind jumped between trying to fathom how someone could do that to another human being, and just general denial and nausea.

The hardest thing he was grappling with though, was the fact that he was the one walking away. Rationally, there was nothing he could do without making the situation worse.

But, fuck …he had practically ran out of that room when he got the chance.

Hye Min was a terrible man.

Namjoon knew this. But despite everything he had done, despite everyone he had paid off for his unlawful acts, he deserved justice, not torture.

The lone tear that trailed its way down his cold cheek was brushed away quickly as he finally stumbled along behind the other man.

Namjoon cleared his throat, then licked his dry lips.

“Why-“ his voice came out coarse, his throat dry, “why did you bring me down there?” A silent beat passed between them, Min-Jae seemingly not hearing him (or, more likely, not bothering to answer). Namjoon sighed. “I’d be an idiot if I assumed you were allowed to do that.”

Min-Jae’s sigh was almost response enough, before he spoke up and said in an even tone, “Part of me wanted to break whatever remaining hope you had in them; show you 100% what these people are capable of. What they find pleasure in. And part of me probably also just wanted to see if you could handle it.” The man’s eyes slid over to his awkward form and shaken look. “Obviously not.”

Namjoon wasn’t able to build up any frustration at the following snort the other man gave.

(He was right.)

Namjoon bit his lip before responding in a demure, quiet voice, “I did know what they were capable of.”

Min-Jae seemed unimpressed, hence the raised eyebrow.

“Did you?”

Namjoon looked away.

“Even if you did, you didn’t fully believe it. They aren’t the same people you once knew, but they sure were damn good at playing those characters. We’ve all seen it.” His jaw clenched. “They’re good actors for a bunch of mind-fucked, evil bastards.”

It was weirdly relieving to hear; his chest loosened a bit at the words. (But it was still kept tight due to the overwhelming guilt constantly swarming his insides and eating at his heart.)

A few more slow-going paces passed, as did the silence- filled only by the squeaking of the cart and tapping of their feet.

“I- just,” Namjoon scoffed, running a hand through his hair, “why is any of this worth it? Really. I don’t even fully understand why I’m here! Why would a bunch of ‘mindfucked, evil bastards’ want me?! What is so great, and so- so necessary about me that they went out their way to kidnap me?!”

Namjoon finally cut himself off, breath thick and warm in his heavy breathing. His arms came around to cross themselves over his chest, pressing them hard and secure together. (Part of him wished his arms would come alive into mighty pythons and squeeze the ever-loving life out of him.)

He hadn’t even realized he stopped walking.

“Even people like them have things they ‘care’ about. They’re just so fucked up in the head that they think this is the way to do it. They knew, once they showed you the real them and what they do in their free time,” his eyes pointedly looked at the bloodied rags, “they’d lose you. It’s fucked.”

There was a threshold to what Namjoon could handle, and he felt a hairsbreadth away from boiling over.

This whole kidnapping fuckery was really testing the limits of his sanity.

A weighty palm landed firmly on his shoulder and pulled him around to face the other man, effectively knocking him out of his train of thought. Namjoon stared wide-eyed at the man, arms loosening slightly in their position on his chest.

Min-Jae glared at him, a scowl twisting his features.

Namjoon winced, sure he was about to get berated by a man (who he didn’t even know the name of?!) that he was sure was trying to make him even more miserable than he already was.

“Hey. You’ve gotta learn to live for someone, or you’ll never survive this- never survive them . Especially because it’s so fucking obvious you aren’t living for yourself. I’m depressed just looking-“

“Is that what you do?” It was innocent, Namjoon’s tone heavy with a bewildered hope, and confused at the inspired message covered by a harsh tone.

Min-Jae’s mouth clicked shut, jaw aching at the grinding of his teeth. His nostrils flared at the sudden expel of hot air, his fists clenched, and his gut swooped in a feeling vaguely alike to being punched in the stomach. And suddenly he was at sea, helpless to the eb-and-flow of the waves, heart racing and adrenalin pumping viciously through his veins.

Min-Jae’s mouth opened. Contemplation was overcrowded by the sudden stress of his thoughts. His mouth closed with an audible click.

Namjoon just watched, wide-eyed, as Min-Jae’s eyes flew from rage, to pain and anxiety, and finally landing on a deep sadness he never would have expected from the normally blunt and harsh man in front of him.

Neither were exactly sure how much time had passed. But the apprehensive silence was finally broken by Min-Jae.

“Yes.” And that was all he offered.

But it was all Namjoon needed.

“Okay… I’ll try. To live for someone, I mean,” sincerity and assurance ran deep in his tone. He let out a breath. “I promise.”

Min-Jae shook his head, seemingly also shaking off the lapse of pain and sorrow that had overtaken him. He shoved it down and began pushing the cart again, before huffing out a breath.

“You don’t need to promise me sh-“

But the pounding of feet interrupted him.

Soon enough, a familiar (and incredibly flustered) face came barreling through and finally landed with her hands planted on the cart’s edge, opposite to Min-Jae. She was panting, slurred and unintelligible words being gasped out between large breathes.

Namjoon was the first to speak up, asking if she was okay with a sweeping worry overtaking his face and tone.

“Yeah- yeah. I’ll be fine, don’t worry,” she gasped out, but silencing for a second as she swallowed around her own racing heart that planted itself in her throat. “But you guys won’t be.”

A beat passed.

“Sook,” voice incredulous, “what the hell do you mean?”

“Don’t give me that shit, Min-Jae! You knew this would happen as soon as you let him ,” Sook stabbed a finger out at Namjoon, “down there! How could you be this brainless and impulsive ! They. know. ”

Namjoon was caught between them, wide eyes flickering at the two angry and frantic forms. His mind was caught between storing the information of the man’s name away, and frantically catching up to the information that “they know”.

It could only mean one thing.

“What…? Wait- what do you mean they know?!” Namjoon gasped out. “How?!”

“Cameras, Namjoon-nim.”

If he had been any less terrified, he would have slapped a hand over his forehead and sighed at his own ignorance.

“Sook.” Min-Jae visibly grappled with what to say, mouth moving with no noise. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I-“ He cut himself off with a groan.

Sook let out a strangled sigh, hands coming up to cup her face for a second. 

“Okay.” Her hands fell from her face and a determined expression was left in their place. “Okay. Just… Namjoon-nim, you need to leave, now .”

“Oh my- please , stop with the ‘nim’,” desperation rang through his tone, voice high with panic. “I’m about to either piss myself or have a heart attack, maybe both, and the formality isn’t helping!”

(He, in fact, did look like he was about to either piss himself or have a heart attack.)

“Namjoon…ya? You need to leave. Now. Or I’m dragging you away myself .”

Sook’s eyes were heavy-set on him, determination and panic filling the dark orbs.

“Point taken…but why? I’m scared. I’m lost. I don’t know what I’m doing, or what I should do-“

“If they find you two together, after knowing what this idiot decided to show you,” a glare was thrown at the scowling man, “it’ll make what’s already bad, a thousand times worse. Just…” she clenched her jaw, “trust me.”

Namjoon bit his bottom lip and looked between the two, expression pensive and worried.

“Go to your room, go to the library- wherever really. Just not here, especially not with Min-Jae.”

Namjoon started to nod and took a step forward, before stopping and turning to the other man. He could see the fear lodged deep in Min-Jae’s eyes, and he couldn’t help but feel his own eyes reflected the same.

“Will you be okay?”

Min-Jae seemed surprised, eyes widening as they flickered up to find his.

“Yeah-“ a false confidence crowded in the fear as he nodded his head, eyes blinking but never meeting Namjoon’s, “yeah, don’t worry, man.”

Namjoon, unconvinced, but knowing that was the most of an answer he was going to get, nodded his head.

“Stay safe. Please.”

And with that, Namjoon turned and quickly paced his way down the hall, before disappearing around the corner.

They found themselves hidden away in a mop closet, cart long-been abandoned as they had searched for the first place they could hide away for the time-being.

“Min-Jae, seriously. What were you thinking?” Bewilderment and hurt covered her words, and he winced and the knowledge that he deserved it.

What was I thinking?

“Sook…”

“And don’t you dare say you didn’t know.” Min-Jae bit the inside of his cheek and looked down. “Do you know what’s gonna happen to Namjoon now? To you?! You’re gonna be hunted, like a dog, and beaten like an animal! Why…?”

Sook’s eyes clouded with tears and she looked up, blinking until they dissipated. When she finally looked back down, a panic was heavyset in Min-Jae’s eyes. She instantly knew it wasn’t at his own expense.

This was a type of fear- no, terror - she had only ever seen when his mother was brought up.

“Oh, fuck. They’d finally gonna kill her. My mom, they’re gonna murder her. They’re gonna find her and kill her and it’s all gonna be my fault! Sook, it’s gonna be all my fault. They could already be on their way! Please-“

“Min-Jae-ah,” she wanted to cry, “stop.”

“They’re gonna k-kill her- it’s all my fault! Oh f-“

“Min-Jae, please.” Sook’s nails bit into her palms, “You’re panicking.”

“No- no, no, no! They’re gonna murder her, they’re gonna kill her! Please-“

“MIN-JAE STOP!” Sook’s heart beat faster and faster.

“S-Sook,” he sobbed, “p-please…”

“Min-Jae, please…” Sook’s breath hitched and her voice cracked. “She’s dead.”

As soon as the words left her lips- she didn’t regret it- but she regretted how she had to tel him.

“What…?”

Sook’s face fell into a tired sadness and guilt as Min-Jae searched her face for deceit.

(He found none.)

“No…no- they would have told me! They would’ve HAD to tell me! They would’ve used her as bait to find me! They wouldn’t just- Noona…”

She swallowed around the misery and blinked away the wetness in her eyes.

“I looked into it. When they threatened you that they’d kill her if you didn’t comply-“

“That …” his face screwed up and his lip quivered, “that was four years ago …”

Sook’s voice fell to a pained whisper, “…She committed suicide six months after you were brought here.” Sook’s eyes fell down to her shoes, falling completely into guilt and sympathy. She swallowed, trying to talk around the heavy lump in her throat and the heavy brick on her heart. “I- I’m sorry… I’m so sorry .”

Min-Jae sobbed, knees collapsing in on themselves as he sunk to the floor in a devastated and heartbroken puddle. He barely registered that Sook had followed him down and was now gathering him in her arms.

He felt tiny.

“I- I have nothing !” Min-Jae could barely get a word out around the heavy lump in his throat and cracking of his heart.

Sorrow raked it claws deep until he bled out and all that was left was a husk of himself, devoid of everything he was and everything he had ever hoped to be.

Sook’s lips found the crown of his head and stayed there, eyes closed but tears slipping past their gates despite that.

Countless whispers of “I’m sorry” fell from her lips, but were easily overshadowed by the tangible pain in the air and audible sobbing of the man she held.

Minutes turned to hours, heart-wrenching sobbing turned to pained sniffles, weary eyes, and random boutes of tears falling down red cheeks. Sorrow and grief huddled them together like the monsters they were, looming over them

Sook said nothing to her legs falling asleep as Min-Jae sat practically on top of them, searching for any warmth- however little- another safe person’s touch and heart would give him. (Even though she barely recognized the feeling herself, her mind far away from what her physical body needed in the moment.)

“I’m sorry…”

And when Min-Jae finally spoke again- minutes later than Sook, and for the first time in hours- it came out as a hoarse whisper: “‘s not your fault…”

And another boute of tears welled up and fell silently. Min-Jae’s eyes were half-mast and his being was exhausted. Sleep seemed to be his only possible escape at the moment, and he desperately wanted to fall into it, but another part of him knew that sleep meant hours longer in this hellscape of a mansion. He would just sit, be forced to wallow in it, for now…

“Min-Jae… I’m gonna say something, so please don’t hate me for it.” Min-Jae gave a crackly hum and Sook bit her lip, contemplating, before speaking. “She would have never wanted a life like this for you. You don’t deserve to be here…”

He let out a sob, shaking hand coming up to wipe at his right eye. (Fruitlously; the tears just kept streaming.) Min-Jae’s eyes trailed up to land on Sook, expression molded with sorrow and disbelief.

“ And you do ?”

Sook sighed and looked up, “I don’t know what I deserve anymore.”

The silence wandered for a bit.

“I’ll do whatever I can to help you escape this. We’re not going down without a fight.”

Min-Jae sighed a sad, hopeless sigh.

“Everything I did- everything I‘ve had in me to fight, was for her. Because of her… I th-thought that one day, when I had finally worked off all this debt, I would be able to leave and see her face. And hug her. And tell her that I did it all for h-her. And now…” Min-Jae closed his eyes, voice trailing down to a cracking whisper, “I don’t even have that.”

He had nothing. Not even the hope of what could be.

“I know it doesn’t amount for much, especially right now, but…you have me, and even Namjoon. And…if you can’t keep going for yourself right now, please keep going for us.” She held him a little tighter. “Please keep going for me.”

A noncommittal hum was all she got back, but at this point, she wasn’t going to push for more. She had said her piece, and Min-Jae needed time- more than what sitting in a supply closet would bring. But, they would sit here for a little longer. Long enough that the grief in his heart stopped creating the numbness in his legs and the apathy to move.

Min-Jae closed his eyes and grieved.

Chapter Text

Namjoon ended up sleeping in the library that night; legs swung over the side arm of a plush chair, head cushioned against the back, and a heavy throw blanket keeping him warm. Better yet, the chair was tucked deep behind an obscured shelf, hidden away from peeping eyes and searching cameras (or as he hoped). Books of various sizes, shapes, and backings lined the shelves, creating a barricade between him and the outside world. A soft throw pillow was even cradled in his lap, his arms wound round it tight as if it was his childhood stuffed sloth.

Despite the elusion of comfort and safety, it was perhaps one of the worst nights of sleep he had ever gotten.

He was hungry, first off. But that hunger was overshadowed by the lick of nausea that came with continuously rising anxiety and anticipation. The mix of the two were incredibly uncomfortable.

(Namjoon also couldn’t help but mentally chastise himself for thinking about food at a time like this. When people’s lives were at stack. He felt ridiculous and selfish, stewing in it periodically when he found his mind wandering.)

Teeth-grinding, knee-jumping, and heart-pumping foreboding didn’t bring any mental reprieve. Thoughts of the men bursting through with chains, ready to drag him away and beat him bloody seeped into the forefront of his mind. Visions of Min-Jae dead in a pool of his own blood, limbs twisted in every-which way and eyes soulless, glassy mirrors reflecting the own terror on his face. Ideas of Sook giving up on him, or better yet, blaming him for everything and turning her back with a smirk as his head was forced underwater again and again and-

The gentle crooning of his name, was heart-warming at first to his half-asleep and worn-out mind. It reminded him of early mornings with his halmeonil when he was a little boy; weekends when his parents let him stay over at her house. They’d get up early to watch the sunset and then spend their mornings figuring out some new breakfast recipe.

A content warmth filled him…a sad warmth. Maybe something built off of longing for the past, but ultimately: peace, as it carves a place in his heart as a tender memory.

But in the next moment, when awareness washes out nostalgia and comfort, Namjoon has the sudden urge to burst into tears and melt into a puddle of pathetic and exhausted goo.

He was tired of being terrified, tired of the unknown, and tired of the change.

Was it too much to go back to the way things were?

Namjoon wishes he was a superhero. Wishes he could be his own shield to everything painful that bulleted his way. Wishes he could be the brave and courageous person his past self would have expected him to be.

An internal battle was fought everytime he thought of himself balled up in a blood-splattered room of a tortured man; everytime he thought of how pathetic it was, how he broke into himself in reaction to the barest hint of pressure.

And maybe coal ultimately produced a diamond in the end, but long has passed and all he had transformed into was a crumbling shell of himself. 

Maybe this was his climax, his breaking point, his conclusion.

Or maybe he was just being dramatic.

“Joonie-ya~…”

So tired…

“C’mon Precious, that can’t be comfortable,” the voice crooned, gently shaking his shoulder.

While his mind seemed to be ready to spring awakel, his muscles seemed to coil even tighter as consciousness seeped in. It wasn’t fast; he didn’t jolt up and shove away whoever was urging his awake. Instead, as his body grew tenser, the cloudy haze of emotional and confused static lifted from his head in a slow withdrawal. His body took slow and careful paces towards awareness. (And maybe that was his body’s way of protecting himself, subconsciously. To bring him slowly into the nightmare his life had become instead of slapping him awake with awareness.)

(Or maybe not. If anything, his brain was just hungover on panic, fear, and exhaustion, as his body screamed at him that he needed some good, damn sleep.)

Out of all the ways his body could react, somehow it decided that loudly groaning like he wanted “five more minutes, mom!” was the most appropriate response.

Despite the ensuing laughter from the intruder, Namjoon’s eyes still shot open and his body froze. His dark eyebrows sat furrowed from the decidedly unpleasant sleep and he was sure drool had dried on the corner of his lips. Sleep-rumpled hair and clothes as well as a puffy face completed the zombified look he wore.

Jin down cooed at him, gently patting down his hair and smoothing a thumb over his cheek. (It was maddening, how the patronizing behavior made him feel small and stupid.)

“I don’t even know how you could’ve possibly slept in that uncomfortable chair all night! Especially when you know you have such a luxury bed at your disposal.” Jin chuckled, taking the corner of his sleeve to try to rub away the dried drool ( what- ). “I could never . But I guess you’re probably not fully…acclimated to the nice things we can provide you yet. The bed in your old home was atrociously cheap,” Jin laughed on like he had made a good joke.

Namjoon held stock still and watched; letting himself be touched and finally manhandled out of the chair a second later.

At least he’s being gentle…

“Yoongi-ah and I made breakfast for everyone! We’re gonna have a little picnic on the back patio and everything,” a cheesy smile made it’s way onto Jin’s face, his tone bright and chipper. Namjoon’s mood was no reflection of Jin’s; more-so a ball of anxiety, fearful anticipation, and nausea. “Doesn’t that sound nice?” He didn’t wait for him to reply. “I feel like we haven’t hung out all together in so long! Now, would you prefer apple or orange juice?”

Jin forced him forward with an arm sling over his shoulder and a skip to his step.

Namjoon swallowed around his dry and heavy tongue. His lips felt practically sealed together and he gnawed on the inside of his cheek.

Clearing his throat, Namjoon whispered, “orange,” before wincing at how rough his voice sounded.

Jin nodded as he hummed to himself happily.

The overwhelming pep and sunshine and rainbows and unicorns and other sparkly shit that was shining off of Jin, well, Namjoon wasn’t sure if it was a good sign or not. Either way, it made his insides squirm and pinch in on themselves. He had to consciously stop himself from fidgeting around.

Namjoon swallowed nervously once more.

“Sit by me! Sit by me!”

“No, sit by me!”

A hand finding its way into the crook of his elbow shook him out of the fog that clouded his mind. It tugged gently and Namjoon made no resistance to follow, feet shuffling slowly under him.

“I would’ve thought you guys were five if I wasn’t looking at you; you’re gonna stress him out. He’s sitting by me and Jinnie anyway,” Yoongi chastised with a calm voice. By the pouts and furrowed brows of Jungkook and Taehyung, they found it unfair, but made no move to complain.

The chairs looked as comfortable and expensive as he should have expected from these men. Despite the physical comforts, his posture still ran uncomfortably rigid and his knees felt like they were creaking as he slowly sat down.

His plate was piled with food as a large, chilled glass of orange juice was plopped down in front of him, alongside a glass of water.

“Drink the water first Joonie. We wouldn’t want you getting a headache on us- you need the strength.”

For what…?

And while he wasn’t too sure if he’d even be able to stomach the water, he gulped it down in record time. It helped lift some of the fog, but clarity only made everything more painful.

“C’mon guys, dig in! We didn’t get up early to make this spread just for you all to gawk at it,” Jin teased.

Namjoon tried to, he really did. But how many squares can you cut your pancakes into, in avoidance, before it looks like you’re feeding a baby?

“Not to your liking,” an elbow bumped his side and he flinched. Namjoon could feel the sweat dampening his shirt. The clang of his utensils scraping his plate dragged against his eardrums. If he looked over, he would see the teasing smile that Yoongi held. If he was in a better headspace, maybe he would have recognized the harmless tone behind the words. But everything hurt.

Everything seemed to be weaseling their ways between the newly-formed cracks in his well-being and sound of mind.

Everything felt overwhelming and confusing and new.

Small and stupid and scared-

Namjoon wasn’t himself anymore.

He was drowning again. The realization hit like a tidal wave, and he cried.

He had been lost at sea for days. He was finally deciding to give up and drown.

This wasn’t what he was…expecting. Hyung’s never said this would happen, never warned him that this could happen.

Jungkook was loyal, gullible, optimistic, trusting- but only to his Hyungs.

He wasn’t idiotic, no… But he didn’t expect this.

He knew he had partially expected for Namjoon to just go along with everything, to be okay with being taken away because then he’d be with them. Forever. Brothers.

Namjoon loved them just as much as they loved him.

So he expected…

Jungkook didn’t expect this.

He didn’t think he would ever see his hyung curled into himself, crying in deep sobs, near-hyperventilating. He didn’t think he would ever see Namjoon shaking from the force of his own anguish as his hands scrambled to hold his own arms in a white-knuckled grip. He didn’t think he would ever see such a strong man break down. A man they loved so deeply, breaking down because of their love.

Jungkook’s eyes were wet.

As he watched the scene, as he watched four of his hyungs jump up to console him, something in Jungkook sunk and cracked.

He wiped his eyes before anyone could see the evidence of a guilty man, then looked to the left.

Jungkook had never seen Taehyung look so confused, so sad. Grieving, almost.

The sudden eye-contact they made was shocking. The sorrow that reflected in both of their eyes was painfully transparent.

As quickly as their eyes met, they darted away.

Chapter Text

“You’ll be fine if you do what Hyungs say.”

“You’ll be fine, just listen to Hyungs.”

Namjoon remembered hearing that, remembered processing it, and remembering thinking it was fucking stupid because they were actively kidnapping him. 

He wasn’t so sure how “fucking stupid” it was at this point.

Don’t get him wrong, he doesn’t trust them, any of them, not anymore. But maybe it would be easier to give in. 

Maybe if he gave in some more, let go of the remains of his priide, he wouldn’t be sobbing so hard he was choking on his own spit. Maybe his every muscle wouldn't be trembling til even his toes cramped. Maybe he wouldn’t want to claw his eyes out so he never had to look one of them in the eyes ever again. Maybe he wouldn’t have four men hovering around him, claustrophobic, trying to fix something they selfishly want to take no accountability for causing.  

Namjoon’s mind cycled from one painful line of thinking to another.

I want to die. No I don’t. Everything would be so much easier. How did you even become a cop in the first place? Pathetic, pathetic, small. I want to be held. No-

He felt tortured.

(He simmered in the guilt of feeling tortured when, in comparison to the shit he had seen, he was kicking his feet in a kiddie pool.)

Namjoon’s mind felt far away, as it had many times since he had been pulled into that car. His thoughts felt constantly right beyond his fingertips, until they weren’t. Then, they would all slam back in at once, hard brick meeting the back of his head as they punched in, over and over.

He wasn’t quite sure which one was worse, floating in apathy or drowning in a pool of deep sorrow.

Namjoon had to ask himself how he let himself get so fucked up in this experience. He never saw himself as easily susceptible, granted, not to an overconfident degree, but maybe any level of confidence in his fortitude was stupid at this point. 

His earlier bravado made him forget the possibility of cameras. Of course they would have cameras! Of course they would have fucking cameras. And now, due to some small-brained confidence that he was competent enough to get away with shit in a house full of captors that wanted to possess his every breath, Min-Jae was probably going to die. Sook too, if his misfortune had proved anything.

And Namjoon would be here, forever. Maybe they would torture him for a bit too, to really drive the point home: they weren’t to be underestimated. 

Once the sobs began to peter out (the other men rubbing along his shoulders and back, cooing and hushing, only leading him more towards exhaustion and overstimulation), Namjoon’s body began to lean precariously forward. His spine seemingly no longer able to hold himself up under the weight of his erratic emotions, building migraine, trembling lungs, and aching, wet eyes. 

He could only sink into his thighs, head between his knees. The few true tears he had left, he watched splash into little drops between his feet. The sweat that glistened along his forehead and soaked his shirt was starting to cool, unpleasantly tacky. He could only hate himself as his eyes started to droop in the fallout of a demanding outburst.

Mind now mostly blank, filled with black and dizzyingly light air, all he could hope for himself was for his increasingly repeated pattern of panic attacks to stop. Namjoon wanted a clear mind, not one that now only seemed to be on the brink of a breakdown. And really, who knew how long he’d be here? Holed up in a glass palace, cracking and waiting to shatter. At this point, Namjoon had pretty much developed a panic disorder from the fucked up situation that they put him in. The least they could do was get him meds or something. 

No, they would probably expect him to overdose, or do something equally as stupid. Or they would take it as an easy way to drug him into submission. No thanks.

Namjoon stayed silent as they coddled him into the living room, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders on the way, then having him lay on the couch. 

This is what being stuck in a loop must feel like. Scared, exhausted, culminate, panic, repeat.

Min-Jae was jumpy. 

Understatement of the century really. He was terrified out of his mind. (Evident in the way sweat continuously trailed down his spine and dotted his brow. In the way his hands never ceased trembling. And in the way he couldn’t seem to get a full breath since his royal fuck-up.) 

It was times like these when he both loved and hated the seclusion and darkness of the old servants’ tunnels under the mansion.  

While mostly deserted (other house staff typically only going down when they needed privacy away from prying eyes and cameras), anyone could be around any corner. It would be stupid to not be ready for anyone, anthing. His paranoia continued to drag his anxiety up, up, up.

The tunnels twisted like a glorified corn maze; lightbulbs dotting the walls, a collection of flickering, dim, and fully burned out. You were lucky if you didn’t get a face full of cobweb while down here. 

And while Min-Jae hated spiders, the only things he was on the outlook for now were suspicious shadows and footsteps. It was easy to not be afraid of the creepy-crawlies when the alternative were scary boss men with knifes.

He tried to keep his own footsteps light, expertly dodging the creakiest of floorboards from years of practice sneaking around the place. He couldn’t do anything about his shadow, but that didn’t stop him from flinching away from it every time he turned a corner and the perspective changed. At certain moments, it felt like his own hands were reaching towards his throat, teeth barred and ready to snap at his own jugular. 

Min-Jae needed to get out of here before he either passed out from stress, or his fear turned his underwear into a glorified diaper. Both were great options, and as a bonus, could also be done in tandem. It would just suck to be found like that, and then get tortured and murdered on top of it. 

Embarrassing for sure.

The thought of his body, turned horrifically inside and out, then buried where no one would find… The thought burned his mind, made his stomach shred itself on razor-sharp butterflies. 

Honestly, he was surprised he wasn’t already in that state: tortured to death. Min-Jae wasn’t sure if his bosses were just messing with him at this point. He hoped and prayed they were just more incompetent than they appeared. 

There was something so maddening about the fact that evil people could be smart too.

Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think. Just do.

If he started thinking instead of solely acting now, Min-Jae knew curling up into a ball and crying would become an even more appealing solution.

He already did that once in the last 12 hours. 

Through the exhaustion, both weary on his bones and mind, all that pushed him to keep moving was the thought that his passed mother would want better for him. 

He would make it happen, for her. 

Or die (getting brutally tortured to death) trying. 

After sobbing in a closet for a night with her friend, unloading deep traumas and fearing for their lives, Sook hated the normalcy of the awakened day. 

She went from room to room as she normally did, wheeling around her cart of supplies. The squeakiness of the wheels was usually enough to drown out her thoughts, (and sometimes would even get her a hairsbreadth away from ripping out her own hair), but just her luck led her to pick a newly oiled cart for the day. Smooth like butter, the wheels spun on their axels. So of course the intrusiveness of her overthinking was having a field day, only being spurred on by the exhaustion of a sleepless, and completely mentally and emotionally draining, night.

Her thoughts, hammering heavy in her imagination, were only of blood, gore, and the creative ways her bosses would find to get both out of Min-Jae. Perhaps even both of them if her bosses saw it incriminating enough that she met the boys after they came out of the elevator, shooed away Namjoon, and then ran off with Min-Jae. 

She wasn’t sure what to hope for. Selfishly, Sook wanted the relief of being able to stay out of it and help from behind the scenes. For the boys’ sakes, having another person for them to keep on eye on could slow down the burn of what’s soon to come. 

Ultimatley, Sook just wished she knew what they were planning, wished she just could get in their heads for a single moment. 

It was at times like these where she wished she were a little more clever. Maybe she would have never landed herself in this mansion if that were the case. She could’ve had a normal, ignorant, innocent life. 

Turning one more corner, Sook finally found herself at her last bedroom of the day. The cart’s linen basket was piled full of luxury sheets, silk pillow cases, towels that kept their softness even after being used. 

Namjoon’s room should be a quick in-and-out. Strip the bed, replace the sheets and towels, general tidying-up…

She couldn’t help the way her heart leapt into her throat as her hand fisted the door handle and began to turn it gently. Her palms hadn’t left their ever-sweaty state since the closet, heart thumping at each corner she turned and every door she opened, fearing what could be behind it.

Sook would soon blame her forgotten knocking on her burning anxiety and a hope they were all fawning over Namjoon somewhere far away in the mansion.

“Oh… Hello…”

Just her luck.

“…S-sir,” she managed to stutter out after a beat. “I should have knocked, I apologize.”

Sook dipped her head low, eyes trained to the floor and sweaty hand still white-knuckled on the handle. The silence was pervasive, uncomfortable. She sat in it until she figured he was waiting for her to excuse herself.

“Please excuse me. I’ll leave you to it. Sorry again, sir.”

The thudding of her heart almost drowned out the voice of the man as she turned to leave.

“No,” he cleared his throat, “I have questions. Stay.”

Fuck.

Jungkook felt stupid. He felt out of his depth. He felt like he had been misled, betrayed, even. But that wouldn’t make any fucking sense because he hadn’t been betrayed and they- he hadn’t done anything wrong!

How could it be wrong to take something, protect something, that belongs to them? He’s not stupid, he knows they took Namjoon from his other (arguably more dangerous) life. He knows Namjoon liked what he did, liked saving people, fighting for justice, and the cool silver badge he got to wear. But ethics be damned when you’re protecting something too precious to be kept autonomous and alone.

Jungkook would be the first to admit he was molded by his hyungs, his inspirations, his brothers, but that mold also brought him a fucked-up sense of right and wrong. He readily jumped at the prospect of serving them, showing them he loved them by doing what they wanted. They didn’t have to force him to show loyalty, he gave it out readily. That’s what love, respect, and brotherhood was. His moral compass was skewed south to his hyungs’ influence. 

Knowing that, it was easy to say that no part of him that regretted taking Namjoon. Regardless, he’s began to regret how they went about it, and how things have turned out. Jungkook’s flushed and puffy face from an hour of isolated, weepy crying from a guilty conscience proved a testament to that.

He hated how out of depth he felt.

Jungkook had hoped holing himself up in Namjoon’s ornate room would help him gain back a sense of control over his emotions. He hoped it would help remind him why they brought Namjoon here in the first place, remind him why Namjoon belonged with them. But the pit in his heart only grew, intensifying his guilt and confusion. (Two emotions he had little experience coping with.)

The maid’s surprise entrance did little to curb his unease. Luckily, his mask of cool and unaffected importance easily slipped on, regardless of his inner turmoil. 

But he recognized this woman. While he kept mental record of all the staff who worked under them- all their personal details, testimonies, and stories- what set her apart from the rest was that she had been personally selected to care for Namjoon’s room and needs. 

Sook was quiet, unassuming, and had a history of loyally keeping her mouth shut and turning a blind eye. While perhaps out of necessity for keeping her own tongue, there was nothing in her that seemed motivated to ever act on any impulses. That’s why she was good for Namjoon; she knew the importance of not getting attached. He wasn't hers.

Now, Jungkook wasn’t so sure.

“…Stay,” he swallowed heavily, sweeping a hand over his hair and rubbing his eyes for a moment.

He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to find out. Namjoon’s pained cries and continued departure into an unrecognizable, tortured man were clouding Jungkook's ever typical sense of self-confidence and loyalty-driven impulses. 

The wedge continued to widen between him and Namjoon. Jungkook needed help finding his way back to him. He needed to know everything he had missed when his eyes were unfortunately turned. He needed, He needed-

"Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times if one only remembers to turn on the light..." Yoongi's deep voice rumbled out, hard-cover book palmed in one of his large hands. The other found its way through Namjoon's dark hair, petting the strands gently as if he was a cat lounging on an evil villain's lap.

(Well...not too far off...)

The quote from Dumbledore was a little too on the nose for his taste; he would have snorted at the irony if the air in his lungs didn't feel as slow and stale as his mind did. He couldn't help the touch-starved part of his mind from finding the treatment nice. While he didn't have much to compare it to, the bar quickly finding it's way to hell since the initial kidnapping, the human in him needed the connection. 

It buzzed insistenly at the back of Namjoon's mind that his need for connection could end up being his ultimate demise. For a bit, he had hoped he had found it in Sook and Min-Jae, but it proved to be too dangerous. Although he didn't care too much about his own stability at this point, he knew the consequences for their transgressions would be a matter of life-or-death in comparison. Namjoon did not want to be the one who dug their graves, no matter if already unwittingly bought the shovel.

So now he was here, thick blanket folded around him and tucked up under his nose, head on Yoongi's lap as he read him 'Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban'. An unknow amount of time had passed. His hazel eyes were half-mast and teary, face blank as he passively listened while silently savoring the delicated touch of another human. It was unfortunate, that while his mind had fallen into a hazy, hollowly depressed state, his limbs remained rigid and tense. Namjoon's inability to relax only irritated his want, his need, to sleep, his only way to disappear, away from them, and his mind.

"Joonie," Young murmured affectionately, hand stilling in his hair, "would you like something to eat?"

Namjoon didn't respond, body folding into itself just a bit more, somehow growing more tense. 

"If you're not hungry, how about a hot drink? Some tea maybe? Jinnie also makes a killer hot chocolate..."

A few seconds pass, and when it becomes clear that Namjoon has no intention of answering, Yoongi begins to pet through his hair once more, and goes back to reading.

Sleep evades Namjoon.