Masks and Lost Faces

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/21796288.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Category: M/M
Fandom: | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Relationship: Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Min Yoongi | Suga
Character: Jung Hoseok, Min Yoongi | Suga
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Angst, Violence, Hugging,
Guns, Asexual Min Yoongi | Suga, PTSD, Shooting Guns, Minor
Character Death, This turned out much fluffier than I thought I swear,
Holding Hands, Cuddling
Collections: Sope Fic Fest 2019
Stats: Published: 2019-12-15 Completed: 2020-01-31 Chapters: 2/2 Words:
28598

Masks and Lost Faces

by Pammie

Summary

Two years ago, Yoongi managed to break away from his life as a contracted killer. His new
life is quiet, boring, a little lonely, but safe.

Then a familiar face from the past moves into the apartment directly across from his.

And maybe, just maybe, Yoongi doesn't have to be alone.

Notes

Prompt:

sope au where retired hitman Yoongi wants to enjoy his life like any normal 30 year old
does, but amongst other things, like faces from the past showing up, his neighbor Jung
Hoseok isn't making his life any easier.

TW: Guns, violence, mentions of blood and wounds. It's not heavy, but they're there.
 Chapter 1
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Yoongi groans, letting his head fall back against the elevator wall to feel the hum of the machine
rattling his skull. The floor buttons flash red, one after another.

He is exhausted. They're nearing the end of the development cycle at the cybersecurity firm he
works at which means a never-ending stream of peer reviews and user tests and requirement
documents and other bullshit that makes his head spin. Yoongi doesn’t usually mind his job: the
people are nice enough, the pay is decent, and he's always been good with computers, even if the
diplomas hanging in his office are fake and eighty percent of his knowledge has been scrouged out
of online forums.

But none of that matters now because it's Friday and he has two sweet days of freedom waiting for
him just behind his apartment door and he can already smell the leftover steak in his fridge and
hear the unopened bottles of soju calling his name.

The elevator finally stops, shuddering as its gears struggle to do their job. This apartment complex
is small and clean and out of the way, but it's old and Yoongi wouldn't be surprised if, after all of
the assassinationss and hitjobs he's done in his career, this elevator is what finally does him in in
the end.

Please don't kill me, Yoongi thinks as the elevator’s gears scream. It's Friday.

The elevator groans in protest but the doors slide open obediently. Yoongi taps the wall in a thank-
you-for-not-killing-me way and walks out into the seventh-floor landing.

It's a quiet floor. No kids or families, mainly working younger couples and older folk. The only
other person he had ever really interacted with - besides Jaejoon, the annoying librarian at the end
of the hall - was Lee Daeun, a grandmother just across from his apartment who had moved out a
few weeks ago to stay with her kids.

As he walks through the landing, hands jammed in his dark winter coat, he realizes that he can hear
Jaejoon just ahead. Talking loudly somewhere down the hall that Yoongi lives on.

Yoongi stops in his tracks, his thick-framed glasses sliding a fraction of the way down his nose.
The absolute last thing he needs right now is to get trapped in a conversation. Carefully, he walks
up to the corner of the hall and peers around.

There are four apartments lining the hall, with his being the last on the right. At the end of the hall
stands a tower of cardboard boxes and the apartment door directly across from Yoongi’s is open,
natural light spilling out. He can hear Jaejoon’s booming voice talking animatedly with someone
inside.

Shit. Someone must’ve moved into Lee Dauen’s old place. For a blissful moment, Yoongi
considers making an escape and finding somewhere close by to loiter until the coast is clear but he
just wants to go home. Besides. He's an adult. He can walk by, say hello, and make his exit. Maybe
Jaejoon would be too distracted by the new blood to care about interrogating Yoongi.

Taking a deep breath, Yoongi squares his shoulders and begins to quietly make his way down the
hallway. He grows closer and closer, doing his best to muffle his footsteps, and the sound of
Jaejoon’s voice grows. He sounds close to the open doorway, but maybe, just maybe, Yoongi can
sneak by without being caught -

Jaejoon steps back out into the hall, waving his hands at whoever he's talking to. Yoongi freezes
just twenty feet away and is about to bolt when Jaejoon turns and cuts off.

“Here he is!” He cries, clapping his hands and waving Yoongi over. “He must’ve just come from
work. He’s a software developer, works for a fancy corporation, it’s super cool. Yoongi, come say
hi!”

Gritting his teeth, Yoongi allows himself a small sigh before smiling with pressed lips.

“You’ll get along really well, he’s just as cagey as you are.” Jaejoon winks as Yoongi grows
closer. "Here, let me introduce you to - Sorry, it was Hoseok right? Jung Hoseok?"

A man steps into the doorway.

Yoongi raises a hand in greeting before his brain registers what his eyes are seeing and the record
player in his mind scratches off and his heart lurches because Yoongi knows him.

The stranger’s face is long and angular with dark hair, a button nose that curves out, and a sharp
jaw. Even under the baggy t-shirt and sweatpants, Yoongi can see the hard lines and compact body
underneath and he's wearing a wide and welcoming smile as he turns towards Yoongi.

Their eyes meet and the smile slides off the stranger's face.

Yoongi stares. Hoseok stares back.

“... I was just telling him that he really has to set the thermostat two degrees higher than what he
likes because it takes so long - Oh, is something wrong?” Jaejoon asks, glancing between the two.
“Have you two met?”

Silence. Hoseok is holding a cardboard box with both arms, but his body is tense. Feet spread
apart, shoulders squared, prepared to bolt or brace for impact. Yoongi realizes that he's already
shifted to the same stance. His own knuckles ache as he grips the shoulder strap of his bag where
he has a taser hidden in the front pocket.

“Um,” Jaejoon, glancing between the two with furrowed eyebrows. “Are you OK?”

“Sorry,” Hoseok says, breaking the silence but not the tension. He pulls the smile back on. Wide
and curvy, lots of teeth, just like Yoongi remembers. “We’ve met.”

Yoongi gaze sweeps over Hoseok and notices how he's shifted his right arm down towards a slight
bulge in front of his right hip. Probably a semi-automatic.

“Oh, excellent.” Jaejoon claps his hands again, fake buoyancy lifting his tone. “Where from?”

Hoseok looks at Yoongi as if expecting him to reply. Yoongi doesn't move. His brain is whirring,
trying to process but coming up with nothing because this absolutely can not be happening.

Several awkward seconds later, Hoseok clears his throat. “We’re … old friends.”

“Ah.”

More silence.
Yoongi stares at Hoseok and Hoseok stares back and Jaejoon stares between the two, eyes open
wide.

“Sorry,” Yoongi says finally, his voice grating in his throat. “I’ve had a long day. It was nice to
meet you. Again.”

Hoseok nods. “You too.”

Yoongi's fingers twitch. He's still standing twenty feet away from them down the hall, so he -
slowly, carefully - begins to walk forward.

Hoseok doesn’t move, but his eyes are sharp and tracking. Yoongi is fifteen feet away, then ten
feet, then five. The intensity in Hoseok’s gaze grows with every step until Yoongi feels it boring a
hole into his head, but he can't turn his back, can't expose himself. When Yoongi finally reaches
his door, he keeps his body positioned forward and front of the keypad, blocking it from view as he
pads in the code. Hoseok watches. Jaejoon has given up on formalities and is staring at Yoongi as
if he's lost his mind.

The door unlocks with a click. Yoongi pauses, licks his lips and opens his mouth, but nothing
comes out. Instead, he nods and slips back into his apartment.

He slams the door shut in front of him, locking it and sliding both deadbolts into place. They click
loud enough to be heard outside.

Smiles is here. Smiles has found him.

Fucking shit.

Eight Years Ago

Choi Kiwoo - head accountant of one of Busan's main criminal syndicates - is standing just in front
of a set of wide windows in the penthouse of a luxury skyscraper. He's facing his party guests with
his back to the window, his bodyguard's several feet away. Slowly, ever so slowly, he drifts closer
and closer to the glass.

Perched on the roof of the building across the street, Yoongi’s finger curls around the trigger of his
sniper rifle. He peers down the scope, letting himself breathe and focusing his attention on the gun
in his arms. Traffic roars on the streets below. The wind is sneaking into the hood of his coat,
bristling against his buzzed head and biting his cheeks. Sweat beads on his upper lip, instantly
chilling in the cold, night air, and he's almost ready, just a moment longer -

Something hard crashes into Yoongi. Scrambling, Yoongi twists immediately, pushing himself
back up to his feet and throwing the rifle over his back while pulling out his semi-automatic pistol,
but then the black, fast shape crashes into him again. This time, a hand catches Yoongi’s left arm
and bends it back, forcing him to drop the pistol. Yoongi grits his teeth, but jams his elbow up
vaguely in the direction of where the attacker's face should be. Sure enough, there is a crack of
cartlidge and the grip on Yoongi’s arm disappears.

Yoongi rolls away, grabbing the pistol and turning, training it on the man who had grabbed him
and who is hunched over, hands covering his face. The man is in all black with combat boots, a
thick, black holster, a bullet-proof vest, and, bizarrely, a black mask with a white grin painted on
it. Above the mask, dark eyes glitter under straight black hair. He looks young, maybe as young as
Yoongi.

The man shakes his head and staggers upright. “If you broke my nose,” the stranger says with a
voice lilted by southern satoori and partially muffled by the mask. “I’m going to be pissed.”

Yoongi eyes the penthouse. Kiwoo is still standing by the window, but he could move away at any
moment. This might be Yoongi's only chance.

He needs the money. He needs to fulfill this contract.

The man with the mask, Smiles, as Yoongi mentally dubs him, catches his glance and smiles. Or,
at least, his eyes curve up into quarter moons. “Sorry, but I can’t let you do that. That one’s mine.”

Yoongi scoffs. “Are you serious? Who do you work for?”

“Who do you work for?”

“Fuck you,” Yoongi snaps. “I was here first.”

Smiles shrugs. “I’m here now.”

Yoongi raises his pistol, training it on Smile’s face.

Smiles doesn’t flinch. “Go ahead,” he says. “Ruin the job for both of us.”

Fuck. They're too close to Kiwoo and his entourage: the street between buildings isn’t busy enough
to mask gunfire and Kiwoo would be whisked away to safety the instant security suspected
something. It had taken Yoongi nearly a month of research and trailing to get this opportunity. He
can not screw this up.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me the first time,” Smiles says, taking a step forward and whipping out a
serrated combat knife. “This one is mine.”

Yoongi hates knives. He hates all of it, really, but just on a matter of principle, who uses a knife
when guns exist? He holds his ground, pistol still pointing up.

There is a moment where they stare at each other, tense, before Smiles bolts towards him and
Yoongi raises his arms and then it is a flurry of blows and blocks, Yoongi ducking and dodging,
using the palm of his hand to knock the knife aside, as Smiles swings it over and over.

Smiles, unfortunately, is good. His movements sharp and precise, his blows calculated, but they
fall at a certain rhythm, almost like a dance. Too much like a dance.

Yoongi keeps time in his head, watching Smiles’s stance and moving always to stay a step ahead of
the blade, using the gun in his hand as a blunt-force object.
With a hard kick to the solar plexus, Yoongi shoves Smiles away and glances back at the
penthouse. Kiwoo is moving to the right, a little entourage of politicians beginning to crowd
around him. Yoongi needs to take a shot, but Smiles is moving towards him again. Yoongi doesn’t
have time for this so he spins and runs, well aware of Smiles’ heavy footfalls right behind him.
Kiwoo steps forward, moving away from the windows. This is Yoongi’s last chance -

Smiles leaps behind him, wrapping an arm around his legs. Yoongi trips but pulls his legs out of
his grasp and has just enough time to curl his spine, falling into a roll while using the strap to
swing his rifle back in front.

He pulls himself out of the roll and draws the rifle up to position in one fluid motion.

Scope. Aim. Kiwoo. Trigger.

Bam.

The window shatters and Kiwoo is knocked down, skidding several feet forward and out of sight.
The screaming begins.

“Holy shit,” Smiles says. He's crouched beside Yoongi still, but his eyes are wide, watching the
chaos in the penthouse. “You got him.”

Yoongi pivots and strikes him in the face with the butt of his rifle. Smiles collapses to the ground
and Yoongi pulls out another pistol, pointing it down to his face. Smiles freezes and stares up with
calm, clear eyes.

He isn’t afraid.

They only have minutes before security and police start swarming this area. Yoongi needs to get as
far away from here as possible and he knows that the easiest way to do that is just getting rid of
Smiles. It would be fast. Easy.

But instead, he asks, “Are you new to this?”

Smiles doesn’t answer.

“Do you work for the Seung Rings?” Smiles doesn’t react, but it makes sense. The Seung Rings
are a bunch of try-hards who usually deck their employees out with gimmicks, like smiling masks
and serrated knives. They also emphasize sabotaging their peers rather than getting any work done.
This guy is probably a rookie who had been instructed to kill the hitman before turning towards
Kiwoo, probably to start a guild war or stir up some beef with the coastal gangs.

“Listen,” Yoongi says, leaning down to stare straight into Smiles’s eyes. “Rule number one is don’t
fucking attack other hitmen. It’s counter-intuitive. Also, you have too much rhythm when you
fight. You’re too predictable. Lose the mask. And find a different boss. The Ring’s will fuck you
over. OK?”

Smiles stares up at him.

Yoongi sniffs before turning and walking away. Behind him, he can hear the stranger climbing to
his feet, but Yoongi doesn't look back and Smiles lets him go.
 Present

It's been three days since ‘Jung Hoseok' has moved in across the hall, and Yoongi has not slept
once.

He has no clue how Smiles had managed to find him, but he can think of only one reason why. In
the ten years that Yoongi had worked as a free-for-hire hitman, he had been under too many
organizations, crime syndicates, and government organizations to keep count and any one of them
could have decided that they wanted him gone. And that wasn't even considering the slew of
enemies he had made. Last he had heard, Smiles was a free agent who could’ve been hired by
anyone.

In the past, Yoongi had liked to think that he and Smiles had been friendly, or, as friendly as was
possible in that line of work while only occasionally running into each other in tense situations. But
maybe their 'acquaintanceship' could be the reason that Smiles had been approached for this job.
Maybe he was expecting Yoongi to be friendly with him.

The first day after Smiles, or 'Jung Hoseok,' or whatever his real name is moved in, Yoongi had
spent the entire day going through his weapons and security systems, ensuring that the escape
routes he had set up were uncompromised and that his access to the building’s security cameras
was still unhindered. He double-checked, then triple-checked, then quadruple-checked everything,
and still felt exposed, as though Smiles was watching his every move.

The next day he had hunkered down in his bedroom with video feeds of the security cameras
displayed on several extra monitors. He watched Smiles leave at roughly 8:00 a.m. with a coffee
and work clothes and return at 6:20 p.m. with several bags of groceries. As he unlocked his
apartment door, Smiles had glanced back at Yoongi's door, but instead of busting it down and
attacking, he simply unlocked his own and disappeared inside. Yoongi had no clue what that meant
and it made him fucking furious, so he paced his apartment, managing to force down a single
serving of rice before spending the rest of the day sifting through the dark web, trying to find any
jobs or announcements that had been released about him. He couldn’t find anything.

The insanity of the situation didn't hit him until the next day when his body is achy with hunger
and his eyes burn with exhaustion every time he blink. Its a Monday so he had called in sick, but he
wouldn't be able to keep up missing work for long. Every hour, he takes turns between checking
guns, checking cameras, checking the dark web over and over, but nothing is happening. Smiles
isn't making a move. It's driving Yoongi crazy; he can't eat, can't sleep and he's sitting in his desk
chair, watching the video feed when it all crashes down on him.

Two years ago, Yoongi had done the impossible. He had clawed and dragged himself out of the
world of crime and kill contracts, using his hacking skills and a few favors owed to him to erase as
much of himself as he could to start a new life.

And all of that is fucked now. He can't stay here. Not anymore. It's not safe.
Panic grips his chest, squeezing the breath out of him, and he stumbles out of the chair, curling up
on the floor beside his desk. Sobs build in his chest and tears sting his eyes.

Yoongi sucks in breathe hard and rocks, trying to calm himself, scrubbing at his face with his
sleeve. Stupid, stupid.

He's thirty years old. He has a kill count in the triple digits, has been one of the most sought after
free-agents on the East Asian coast, has single-handedly taken down criminal syndicates and
organizations, has taught himself enough programming skills that he could erase himself from the
criminal network and pass for a trained software developer, and yet, here he is, crying because he's
going to have to move.

Stupid. Idiot.

Had he really be naive enough to think that he could hide forever?

Yes, a part of him whispers, the part that aches to be left alone. He wants to rest. He wants to be
safe.

Times passes. He doesn't know how long he stays like that, weeping like a child with his face
pressed against the carpet, but eventually the sobs fade and the pressure in his chest evaporates. He
watches the light from the video feeds flicker with half-lidded eyes. When his neck grows too
stifff, he drags himself back up in his chair, too drained to do anything else.

He watches the stream. He dozes. He aches.

It's 1 a.m. when something happens. Exhaustion had been pulling on Yoongi’s eyelids and slowly
dragging them down, when Hoseok’s front door swings open on the feed. Hoseok lurches out into
the hall and, for one terrible moment, Yoongi thinks that he's going to knock down Yoongi’s door
to finish the job, but instead Hoseok stumbles to the right, making his way down the hall with
uneasy steps. He is hunched over and gripping the wall as if drunk.

Yoongi watches until Hoseok stumbles out of the camera’s frame and then waits for him to
reappear on one of the other cameras in the network. He shows up next in the elevator, slumping
into the corner. Even though the images are blurred and laggy; Yoongi can tell that something is
wrong.

What the fuck is going on? Is he drunk? Dying? Is this an act? A trick?

Finally, the elevator stops on the bottom floor and Hoseok rushes out of the elevator. Yoongi is
only able to see his back as he walks out through the lobby but, by some miracle, he stays within
shot of the apartment's security camera system that Yoongi had long-since hacked into. Hoseok's
figure is small and the video quality bad, but he can make out Hoseok lurching across the sidewalk,
cutting in front of pedestrians and heading towards the street. For a terrible moment, Yoongi thinks
that he's going to step out into the street, but instead, he sits hard right by the curb and drops his
head in his hands.

Yoongi keeps watching, hardly daring to breathe. Hoseok doesn’t move.

Yoongi watches, trying to see if there are any points of contact, any exchange of information with
the few pedestrians passing by on the sidewalk, but nothing happens. And nothing continues to
happen for the next fifteen, twenty, forty-five minutes.

It's 39 degrees outside, not counting wind chill. It's a cold, wet night and Hoseok is sitting alone by
the road with bare feet and only a t-shirt for no apparent reason.
Finally, at 2:56 a.m., Hoseok stands slowly and totters back inside. Yoongi watches as he makes
his way through the lobby, face blank, and as he leans against the door of the elevator as it rises so
that only the back of his head is visible on camera.

The elevator door opens. Hoseok walks out into the hall. Yoongi enlarges the feed of the camera
right outside his door, waiting as Hoseok approaches.

The indoor camera is much clearer; Yoongi can see the exhaustion on Hoseok's angular face, the
way his hair hangs down in wet, messy clumps, how his thin t-shirt clings to his frame. He moves
slowly and pauses when his hands wrap around the handle to his apartment. Then, he turns and
stares straight up at the camera.

Yoongi recoils as Hoseok’s eyes meet his through the screen. On instinct, his hand wraps around
the semi-automatic he has had tucked in his belt ever since Hoseok arrived.

Hoseok stares for a few moments longer before glancing at Yoongi’s door and opening the door to
his own apartment, disappearing inside.

Sagging, Yoongi releases the breath he hadn't realized that he had been holding.

It's late. He needs to get at least some sleep even if paranoia is buzzing hot under his skin. But not
yet. He watches Hoseok's door through the video feed, a dull headache building in his skull.

Although Yoongi had been planning on working up the courage to go to work the next day, the
ache in his joints and the pounding in his head convinces him otherwise. He knows he can't keep
going like this, but leaving his apartment feels too risky with Hoseok so close by. After a day of
pacing and re-checking and painkillers, Yoongi is sitting on his kitchen floor, the surveillance feed
pulled up on his tablet when he sees the door to Hoseok’s apartment fly open on the video feed and
Hoseok march out.

Yoongi's doorbell rings.

Yoongi tenses, heart hammering. The doorbell rings again.

Shit.

As quietly and quickly as he can, Yoongi pulls out the pistol from its holster and stumbles to his
feet, making his way out of the kitchen, through the living room and towards the front door. The
doorbell rings a third time as he presses himself against the wall right beside the door, holding both
the gun and using his wrist to push his glasses back up his nose.

Yoongi is just wondering if maybe Hoseok had left when he hears through the door, “I know you
can hear me.”

Yoongi doesn’t move.

Hoseok waits a few moments. “Look, I just want to talk. I think that some things need to be made
clear.”

None of this makes sense and Yoongi grits his teeth in frustration. If Hoseok is going to make a
move, why doesn't he just go ahead and get it over with? If he is here for surveillance, to spy on
Yoongi, why was he so surprised when they met and why did he keep making himself so blatantly
obvious? Yoongi wants to throw the door open, grab Hoseok by his sweatshirt, and shake him until
he admits why he is ruining Yoongi’s life.

The shadows under the door shift side-to-side.

“Please,” Hoseok tries again. “I just want to talk.”

Yoongi bites his lip.

“Look, I need to talk with you, but I get why -” Hoseok pauses. “I’m going to go get dinner at that
Chinese restaurant. The one beside the supermarket? It’s large and crowded. I swear, it’ll be safe.
If you want to talk, I’ll be there until nine.”

He pauses. Yoongi waits.

“OK." Hoseok takes a step away from the door. “I’m going now.”

The shadow under the door moves and footsteps make their way down the hall. Yoongi listens
before darting back into the kitchen and checking the video feed where he can see Hoseok's figure
making its way out onto the street.

If Yoongi had been smart, if he hadn't been a pathetic mess these past few days, he would have
disappeared by now. He would have pulled the plug on one of the many escape routes and would
have disappeared into some other new life. He could leave right now, take advantage of the fact
that he knows Hoseok is gone.

But he doesn’t want to leave. He likes this apartment, likes his job, likes this corner of the city that
he had grown accustomed to. He wants to be safe, to be able to sleep without wondering if he
would be dead the next morning.

Yoongi stands in his kitchen, watching the empty video feed and chewing on his lip.

An hour later, Yoongi stands in front of the restaurant with his fists balled in his coat pockets. It's a
hole-in-the-wall kind of place with backlit signs and dirty windows, but is large and crowded, with
two exits, an open layout, and is beside a major highway. At least half of the building is covered by
security cameras from the bank across the street.

Hoseok is sitting inside. His figure is blurred by the smeared windows, but Yoongi can make him
out, sitting with his head in his hands in a booth in the back. Alone.
This is Yoongi's last call. The last chance for him to turn heel and run, start over with a new life
where maybe he'll be safe.

But he feels old. Tired. All of this running is a game he doesn’t want to play anymore. He takes a
deep breath of dry, city air and walks into the restaurant.

The air is warm and damp from the buzzing, aggressive heater, the press of bodies and the steam
unfurling from the kitchen. Yoongi waves away a young waitress and winds through the crowd of
tables and people.

The table Hoseok has chosen is at the end of the restaurant, pressed against the back wall and
window which allows them a bit of privacy. Hoseok has taken the furthest seat, which means
Yoongi has the advantage if he tries to escape. A peace offering, Yoongi figures as he squeezes
past tables and approaches. Hoseok wants Yoongi to trust him.

Hoseok is still slumped at the table, face pressed against his hands, as Yoongi walks up to the
table. It's - weirdly vulnerable. It had taken months for Yoongi to work up the nerve to go
somewhere as public as a restaurant and even then he had been on high alert, watching for any
potential threats. He would never have laid his head down and closed his eyes.

Yoongi stands by the table, staring down at the back of Hoseok’s head. Hoseok doesn't move.
Yoongi looks around, frowns, and then coughs loudly.

Hoseok’s head shoots up and he flinches when he sees Yoongi standing above him. “Shit,” he
breathes. “You came.”

Yoongi shrugs and slides into the empty seat.

Hoseok glances at a dingy digital watch on his wrist. “You took your time,” he says, a small smile
growing on his face.

Yoongi stares at him.

The smile slides away and Hoseok shifts, crossing his arms in front of him. A defensive stance.
Yoongi keeps his hands in his pocket, one hand wrapped around his pistol, the other curled into a
fist.

“I wasn’t sure that you would come. I’ve been trying to catch you in the halls - No, not like that-”
He shakes his head when Yoongi's shoulders stiffen. “I just want to talk. Set some things straight.”

“Alright.” Yoongi’s voice catches in his throat. “Talk.”

Hoseok’s face is impassive but his fingers tighten and untighten rhythmically and Yoongi can feel
his knee bouncing under the table. He is silent for a few moments, eyes moving from Yoongi and
back to the crowd behind him. Finally, “I wasn’t expecting you to be here. I’m sorry if I acted
aggressively in the hallway that first time. It put me off guard.” He pauses as if to allow room for
Yoongi to say something. Yoongi doesn’t react. “I swear, if I had known that you would be here, I
would have alerted you somehow, or given you some type of warning. That wasn’t -”

“Why are you here?” Yoongi interrupts.

Hoseok smirks. “I thought you wanted me to talk?”

“Are you here to kill me?” The words spill out. He tries to put some heat into them, but they come
out rushed and scared. He winces. He sounds like a child.
“No.” Hoseok meets Yoongi’s gaze with steady dark eyes. “I swear.”

Yoongi holds his gaze as long as he can before breaking away, turning to look out the window. A
never-ending stream of people flows through the streets, like blood in a vein. “Then why are you
here?”

“I-” A waiter swoops in, interrupting. Yoongi frowns and quickly cases the waiter, eyes sweeping
up and down for any signs of a weapon or combat training, but Hoseok smiles casually and pulls
open a menu.

“Two waters and I’ll have the tangsuyuk, please. Could I also get some eggrolls on the side? Great.
What do you want?” He looks up at Yoongi.

“Nothing.”

“He’ll have the same thing as me, please,” Hoseok smiling at the waiter who smiles back before
hustling away.

Yoongi frowns. Hot annoyance pricks his already fragile sense of patience. “I said I wasn’t
hungry.”

“You need to eat.”

"I have eaten."

Hoseok frowns at him, his gaze sliding over Yoongi's face which Yoongi knows is pinched and
weary. It's been days since he's slept more than a few hours or ate anything other than snacks or
rice. He suddenly regrets not washing his face or brushing his hair before leaving the apartment.
Hoseok snifffs. "It doesn't look like you have."

“It doesn’t matter what you think. I said I didn’t want anything.”

A beat of silence. "I'm sorry," Hoseok says and he turns his face away as though he actually means
it. “I didn't - Sorry.”

“It's fine,” Yoongi mumbles, the fight leaving him in a puff. Fuck, he is tired. And Hoseok is right;
Yoongi can feel the toll of hunger and sleepless nights aching throughout his body. The silence has
just settled when Yoongi shifts in his seat and clears his throat. "Weren't you explaining why you
just showed up out of nowhere?”

“Ah. Right." Hoseok rubs his fingertips against a crack in the table, digging them in. "You left.
You were able to get away, right?" When Yoongi doesn't respond, Hoseok raises his head and
latches his gaze onto Yoongi's. "You got away. You were able to escape. No one's seen or heard
from you since the Chae Raid two years ago."

Even though it had been years, even though Yoongi has done his best to bury all of the memories
of that day, of the mistakes he made, of the broken, bloody bodies of Yui and Donghyuk and
Winter, of the fucking impassive face of the asshole who hadn't cared that the whole damn thing
was his fault - even though Yoongi had thought that he had moved on, healed, grown away -
hearing those words is like a punch to the gut. The Chae Raid. His breath stutters. Blind panic
floods his veins. He fights to keep his face straight.

Hoseok continues, either not noticing Yoongi's panic or not caring. "I'm also trying to escape,” he
says. His voice is hushed, like a prayer.
Yoongi clenches his fists, fingernails digging into the skin, hating the sweat breaking out under his
shirt, along his hairline. He grits his teeth, mutters, “You can’t stay here.”

Hoseok flinches but Yoongi presses on. “You can’t stay here. We can't - It's already dangerous for
us, but the two of us living so close together is too much of a risk. We’ll be easier to track down
and if they find one of us, they’ll definitely find the other.”

“No.”

“No what?”

“You’re telling me that I have to move,” Hoseok says. Any trace of warmth has been erased; his
shoulders are angular, his hands still, his face impassive and all sharp angles. His eyes are dark.
“My answer is no.”

“I can help you find somewhere else,” Yoongi says, leaning forward. “I - I'm good with computers,
I can find you a new job, a new place somewhere else -”

“No.”

“Fuck you,” Yoongi hisses. The panic is beating wild inside his chest. “Do you know how hard I
worked for this? I won’t let you just walk in and fuck everything up.”

“Where am I supposed to go?” Hoseok bites back, his face tightening in anger. “I've already spent
most of what I had saved on getting this whole thing set up and on that apartment. I can't afford to
move."

"I can help."

"No."

"You're going to fuck us both over if you stay."

"This isn't my fault. I didn't know that you were here and I'm sorry, but I'm not going to risk
everything just because you're paranoid."

“Fine.” Yoong barks a hysterical laugh. "Then we'll die."

Hoseok sneers and opens his mouth, but his eyes dart to the side and his face morphs. Yoongi
tenses, preparing to turn and attack whatever is coming up from behind, but then Hoseok smiles
and the scent of hot, oily food washes over them. Their waiter bustles up from behind, balancing
two platters of steaming chicken and vegetables.

Hoseok claps his hands. "Ah, amazing. I'm starving. Here, yeah, you can out the plates here. Thank
you!"

The waiter chats a little and Hoseok chats back, the picture of calm and collected and cool. His
body is lax, his eyes preppy, his smile natural.

It's like he had pulled on a mask. A smiling mask.

The waiter leaves, finally, and Hoseok jabs a finger towards Yoongi. "Eat."

Yoongi scowls at him but the warm smell of rice and oil and chicken is too much. He is suddenly
acutely aware of the ache in his muscles, his stomach, the top of his head. So Yoongi eats. And it's
fucking amazing.
They're quiet as they eat and Yoongi focuses just on the food, stuffing his face until most of his
plate was gone and he feels like he could lay on the ground and sleep for twelve hours.

He tries to call back the anger from before, but his body is too warm and the sappy energy feels too
good in his veins. He watches Hoseok who is still delicately poking at his food with his chopsticks.
Guilt starts to simmer in Yoongi's gut. Don't be stupid, he tries to tell himself, but really, Hoseok
hasn't shown any inclination of violence or double motives. If he was here to kill Yoongi, there are
much better ways to do it, and if all he is trying to escape, just like Yoongi did, and all of this is
just a strange coincidence -

"I'm sorry."

Hoseok pauses mid-chew and raises an eyebrow.

"I shouldn't have…" He trails off and waves a hand to elaborate. Hoseok raises his other eyebrow.
Yoongi grimaces. "I, uh - I know what it's like to try and leave it all behind, I just get scared still.
Sometimes. And you shouldn't have to move. That'd be dangerous. And shitty."

Hoseok swallows hard. "Yeah," he says quietly.

"So, I'm sorry."

"Well. Then, you're also forgiven." Hoseok smiles at him and a little burst of warmth hits Yoongi
because this isn't a hollow Agent Sunshine smile or a masked smile, but a Smile's smile. A real
smile.

The tips of Yoongi's mouth curl back before he looks away.

Hoseok pays the bill and they leave, walking together back to their apartment complex. Night has
settled in deep and city lights reflect off the wet sidewalks, taxis and cars and pedestrians flowing
around them. The air is cold. Yoongi buries his face in the large collar of his fleece jacket.

Hoseok is quiet as they walk, but it's a comfortable silence.

Still, it's surreal. Yoongi is walking in public. Beside Smiles. To their apartments. Which sit
opposite of each other. Where they would both be living for the undetermined future. As
neighbors.

He swallows the hysterical laugh that's bubbling up his throat, but some sound must escape since
Hoseok glances at him with a frown.

"Are you OK?"

"Yeah, sorry. It's just crazy."

"What?"

"Everything. All of this."

Hoseok snorts and his lips turn up. "Yeah, I guess it is." He kicks at a loose piece of cement,
knocking into the road as a flow of traffic roars by. "You know, I've always liked you."

Yoongi's heart stops beating.

"We never worked together," Hoseok continues as though he hadn't just sucker-punched Yoongi
for the second time tonight. "But I always thought that, if I had to trust someone, that I could trust
you. Remember that first time we met? When we were kids and you saved my life?"

Yoongi sniffs. "Not killing you isn't the same as saving your life."

They reach a crosswalk and stop, waiting for the open red palm to shift. Hoseok jams the
pedestrian button with his thumb and rocks back and forth on his heels. "You told me to leave the
Ring's. That saved my life." He laughs suddenly, head ducking between his shoulders. "You know,
I actually almost gave up on the entire thing. Almost walked away and went home."

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

The light changes and they cross quickly, passing other pedestrians who are all wrapped up in their
own lives, making their way somewhere else as night set in.

Yoongi watches the sidewalk pass under his feet as they fall back into step. "Why did you run?"

"Why did you?"

Yoongi frowns. Asshole.

"I was tired. I lost some people close to me.”

“I’m sorry.”

Yoongi shrugs. There was more to it than that. There was the fact that disgust and self-hatred had
been eating at him for years. His job had consisted of being hired by criminals to take out other
criminals; there wasn’t much morality to deal with. Some others in the field had considered
themselves heroes for ‘pruning the criminal ranks’ but that was bullshit. If you were being paid by
the system to deal with the system, then you were a part of the system and Yoongi had no qualms
about that. If he wasn't doing it, then someone else would, and it wasn't as though he had woken up
one morning and decided to become a trained killer, his life had been a steady slide down into that
shithole. He had played the cards that were dealt him.

No, it was the act of killing that got to him. No matter how much he tried to distance himself, no
matter how impersonal he tried to make it, he had grown exhausted and numb, a pile of nerveless
flesh that killed, got paid, washed his hands, repeat. And that bit of his soul that was supposed to
die away never actually did. It had rotted inside of him, eating him up from the inside until Yoongi
had been no more than a walking, talking shell, no different than the corpses that he had made a
living in making.

Yoongi glances at Hoseok. He wonders if he had felt the same way.

Hoseok catches his eye and Yoongi jerks his head away, digging his chin down into his coat's
collar. “Your turn.”

Hoseok takes a deep breath, puffing out his chest. “Well. Um, when I was younger, I had this
dream that I would have, like, a house party.”

Yoongi blinks.

“There were other reasons too,” Hoseok says quickly after glancing at Yoongi. “I was tired and I
had always meant to get out after I paid off my debts, but it was the only thing I knew and I had too
many connections that wanted to keep tabs on me. But I realized, I’m not getting any younger, you
know?”

“A house party.”

“Yeah. I just mean - You know. I want to be in a place in life where I can have a house party.”

“What does that mean?”

“You know what. Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

Yoongi isn't going to forget a word, but he lets the subject drop. They are drawing close to the
apartment complex anyway; Yoongi can see its familiar flat, cement top peeking out above the
surrounding buildings.

“If you really weren’t trying to track me down,” Yoongi says eventually as they pass a strip of drug
stores. “How did you end up here?”

"Chance maybe? Luck?"

"Bullshit. That'd be impossible. Did someone help you?"

“Yeah, I had a friend who helped get everything set up. Do you know Bonhwa? The hacker?"

"Yeah," Yoongi says slowly. "I worked with him a few times."

"He was my point of contact on a hit job I took a year or two ago. He's always been nice to me and,
I guess he must've noticed that I was looking to get out because he offered to set me up."

"Oh.” A sudden, awful thought flies like a shaft and lodges itself in Yoongi’s brain. “You trusted
him enough for that?"

"I have a good sense of people."

“That’s dangerous.”

“Staying would have been dangerous. Besides, I was right, wasn’t I? I haven’t had any trouble yet.
Well, besides meeting you. He must’ve not known you were hiding here too.” Hoseok snorts.
"He'd think it was hilarious if he knew. He used to talk about you. He praised you a lot and said he
missed you stopping by."

Yoongi doesn’t say a word because that awful thought is growing and sucking up all of his
processing power. Bonhwa does very much know where Yoongi is, in fact, he's the only person
who knows where Yoongi is. And Bonhwa doesn’t forget things. If he had sent Hoseok here ...

That motherfucker -

Four Years Ago

Yoongi’s watch reads 3 a.m. but here, buried deep underneath Busan in a cement basement
crammed with an army of whirring computers and snaking bundles of wire and blinking displays,
time is powerless.

Yoongi rubs his buzzed head and resists the urge to take a sip of his styrofoam cup of coffee. It's
warm and gives a brief illusion of comfort, but tastes like shit and he can already feel the nauseous
edges of over-caffeination building in the back of his throat.

“There he is again,” Bonhwa says, jamming a finger towards one of his many monitors. This one
displays a fuzzy CCTV video of a recent skirmish between criminals syndicates out near the
shipping docks. It's hard to follow the action since the lighting is bad and the resolution worse, but
there is one figure, currently perched on top of a mountain of shipping crates, ducking, weaving,
taking out figure after figure with a rifle.

“That’s Agent Sunshine, right?” Bonhwa continues. He crams a handful of potato chips into his
mouth but keeps speaking, little flecks flying out with every word. “This is the third time this week
I’ve seen him on a job. They say that he doesn’t sleep, doesn’t rest, just takes any job that’s offered
to him. They say that he’s going to be the best in the business soon. He might even surpass you,”
Bonhwa says, turning towards Yoongi with a smirk.

Yoongi ignores him and squints at the screen, watching Smiles' fuzzy figure.

“Not likely. Agust-hyung’s the best in the business,” Winter pipes up from where he's sitting cross-
legged on the floor, piles of documents surrounding him. He's several years younger than Yoongi;
too young and too kind to deserve this kind of life. Without meaning to, Yoongi had unintentionally
tucked him under his wing. He, Yui, and Winter have been working jobs together for almost a year
now and, as much as it makes his skin crawl to admit, they were the closest thing to family that
Yoongi has ever had.

“Agust's the best in the business. For now,” Bonhwa says, his desk chair groaning as he leans
forward. “But there will always be better. How many hits has he taken in the last month? Seven?”

“Nine,” Yui says, her low voice barely discernible above the constant whir of electronic fanst.
She's perched at the edge of a desk that crowded with modems and servers and is cleaning out a
barrel of a gun with her usual look of indifference. “He took out one of the Red Dragon's main
goons last Thursday. Bong Kihyun, I think?

“The man’s been busy,” Bonhwa says. He takes a loud sip of his Diet Coke.

"Hey," Winter says in his sing-songy voice. "Did you know that Agust-hyung has a crush?"

Yoongi’s head snaps up to glare at Winter, but he just wiggles his eyebrows back at him.

"Really?" Bonhwa says, a slow expression of joy dawning on his face. He turns back to look at
Winter. "Is that so?"

"Mhmm. Guess who."

Yoongi's fists clench and he does his best to stare daggers at Winter, ignoring Yui's smirk. "Hey
kid," he says, enunciating every word slowly. "How 'bout you shut up?"
"Sunshine!" Winter yells, suddenly, a huge grin cracking his face. "He has a crush on Agent
Sunshine, like a huge crush. They know each other and will talk and Agust-hyung will watch with
big eyes and he talks about him all the time -"

Bonhwa slaps his thigh and throws his head back, his laugh booming through the basement like
thunder.

"I should've known," Bonhwa cackles, wiping an eye. "He's just his type!"

“Please,” Yoongi sneers. "As if you know what my type is."

“He asks about him when we talk contracts,” Winter continues quickly with a shit-eating grin.
“And he gets super annoyed if you say anything bad about him.”

"Sunshine is always the first name he searches when researching recent hits,” Yui adds.

"And you should've seen him when we ran into Sunshine at the dock house hit a few months ago.
He was all like-" Winter pulls an exaggerated, love-struck face with fluttering eyelashes and falls
over, knocking down a pile of paperwork while clutching at his heart.

"Shut up," Yoongi growls, standing. It's one thing if Winter teases him when they were alone, but
Bonhwa is a dangerous man who remembers -

"There's no nothing to be ashamed of, Agust," Bonhwa says and sure enough, his smile is
purposeful and his beetle eyes glistening. “We can't always control who we love.”

“Love,” Yui echoes, snorting. Heat spills up on Yoongi's cheeks and he hates himself for it.

“I mean, Sunshine is hot,” Winter says, nodding with sudden faux seriousness, pushing himself up
from the ground. On-screen, the blurry figure of Smiles did a flip off of the warehouse stairs,
hooking a leg around a thug's neck, and bringing him down hard and out of the camera's frame.

"Don't be embarrassed," Bonhwa says in a comforting tone. "It's perfectly normal to begin thinking
about settling down at your age."

"Settling down?" Yoongi barks theatrically, slamming his palms against the desk. “‘At my age?’”

Yui is snickering now and Winter has fallen into hysterics; Yoongi is only a few years older than
these idiots but they enjoy treating him like a senior citizen.

"I can help you,” Bonhwa continues. “You could find a nice house, nice job, get a few dogs, adopt
some little baby Sunshines -”

“Shit, shut up. Please.”

“All I'm saying is you just need to get Sunshine onboard and the two of you could live a very
happy life together -”

“Please, Bonhwa. I am begging you.”

Winter has tears streaming down his face and Yui has set down the gun barrel down to cover her
mouth as her shoulders shake. Bonhwa just smiles condescendingly and shrugs, rotating back to his
monitors. “One day, you’re going to wish you had taken me up. You can’t live this bachelor
hitman lifestyle forever.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes and collapses back into his chair, taking a deep sip of his shitty coffee and
regretting it instantly.

“Sure, Bonwha,” he says, wiping his mouth. “Whatever you say.”

Present Day

Yoongi's mouth is gaping and his eyes are wide as shock surges through his system. This is insane.
Bonhwa is insane, but there are no other explanations, that bastard really relocated Hoseok right
where he knew Yoongi is just because -

… because -

A hand waves in front of his face and Yoongi jolts. Hoseok is standing in the doorway of the
apartment building, his head cocked, hair falling into his face. He looks ethereal as the lobby light
spilled out from behind him, catching on his cut figure and sharp face. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi croaks. Is he blushing? Again? Shit.

With a grunt, he pushes Hoseok aside and stomps into the building, beelining towards the elevator.

“Are you sure?” Hoseok asks as he jogs to catch up. “You spaced out a bit there.”

“I’m fine.”

They stand in silence, eyes trained forward, as they wait for the elevator, which is taking its time.
Yoongi hates this damn elevator.

Finally, it arrives with a pleasant ding and they step inside. Yoongi makes sure to stay in the
opposite corner as Hoseok and ignores the side-glances.

“So,” Hoseok says as the elevator jolts and begins to climb. “Where do you work?”

Yoongi’s hackles rise at a question, but he takes a deep breath. Might as well trust him, he thinks.
He'll find out eventually anyways. So he tells Hoseok about his job, how Yoongi tries to get there a
few hours early because he almost always has to work overtime and he’d rather sacrifice his early
mornings than afternoons, how he’s been made project manager which is too much responsibility
for his liking but how he is one of their best programmers in the firm, so it was bound to happen.

Hoseok laughs out loud at that, throwing his head back, raising a hand to cover his mouth. “Wow,
you’re so humble.”

“It’s the truth,” Yoongi says, shrugging. The elevator finally dings and the door opens up to their
floor. Yoongi waits for Hoseok to exit first before following him down the hall. “What about
you?”

The smile fades from Hoseok’s face. “It’s fine.”

“That's not very enthusiastic. What do you do?"

Hoseok shrugs. “I’m just a secretary at a construction firm. It’s nothing special.”

“If you don’t like it, maybe I can -”

“No, it’s fine. It’s not a big deal. I’ll get better at it, it’s just something I have to get used to.
Besides, it’s been so long since I’ve done… anything else.”

Yoongi purses his lips but lets the matter drop. They're standing in front of their doors now, facing
each other and Yoongi suddenly doesn't know how to say goodbye. What's the etiquette for this
situation? Should he wave? Shake hands? Can he just nod?

Hoseok, with a hand on the doorknob, grins. “Thanks for coming. We should do that again
sometime.”

“Sure,” Yoongi manages, his brain struggling to register that there was a chance for a next time.

“Well.” Hoseok says after a beat of silence. “Goodnight.”

Yoongi's head automatically bobs up and down. “Goodnight.”

In sync, they unlock their doors and slip inside.

Idiot, Yoongi thinks as soon as the door clicks behind him. He leans forward, letting his forehead
thunk against the door.

He needs to check his security cameras, maybe get updated on any breaking news on one of the
dark internet’s hidden forums, but the food and the walking and the sudden relaxation of stress is
too much. He barely manages to brush his teeth and peel off his jeans before collapsing in bed.

Life becomes relatively normal after that. Hoseok apparently leaves and comes home a few hours
later than Yoongi, so they rarely see each other unless in passing, and usually only on the
weekends. Still, the few times Yoongi runs into him are always a shock to his system. Every time
sends a thrill through his chest, a spark of adrenaline zipping through his limbs.

The weird thing is that Yoongi somehow does trust Hoseok, or, at least, he trusts that Hoseok won't
hurt him. He's strangely comfortable around Hoseok. After those first few days, Yoongi begins
leaving his weapons at home again and will only occasionally check the camera system. But even
with this weird trust, he still feels that thrill and nervousness every time they meet.

It's just instincts, he tells himself.

Days turn into weeks which turn into a month. Winter beings to sink her icy claws deep into the
city and despite what Hoseok had said on that one night, they have not gone to dinner again. In
fact, they've barely talked besides passing greetings. Sometimes, he thinks about Hoseok and feels
disappointed that nothing has happened.

But not really, he tells himself. Why would he be disappointed?

Staying away is safer anyways. It's better not to be seen together or to even get to know each other.
If Hoseok is tracked down or found out then Yoongi will be too and they'd both have to run yet
again to new names and new lives where they would definitely never see each other again. This
little slice of life he has, with his hobbies and sitcoms and leftovers and boxes of wine is the best
that he can hope for.

He tells himself that.

Exactly a month after Smiles randomly shows up in his life, Yoongi is up late at night, looking for
a distraction not to go to bed and is flipping through past recordings on his security camera
network. Sleep is a gentle pull that he does his best to shake off. This is nothing new; sometimes he
can feel the nightmares waiting on the other side and if he waits long enough, his body will grow
so tired that he'll just pass out into a dreamless sleep. It sucks, especially since he's aged to the
point where his body will feel like hell if he gets anything less than seven hours of sleep, but it's
worth it to avoid the nightmares. To keep himself up, he's breezing through past recordings, lazily
checking for anything abnormal.

The only strange thing that he can find is Hoseok's habit of leaving the building to sit on the
sidewalk in the middle of the night. Yoongi has noticed him do it on the cameras a few times since
that first night, but now that he is going over old footage, he realizes that at least three to four times
a week Hoseok will bolt from his apartment, taking the stairs or elevator to go and sit or stand on
the street curb. Sometimes bundled up in a winter jacket and boots, but sometimes he'll be barefoot
or wearing pajamas, and he'll stay there, on the curb, from anywhere from just twenty minutes to
almost three hours.

Yoongi frowns as he scrolls through the footage. After accepting that Hoseok doesn't have an
elaborate plan to assassinate Yoongi, he had assumed that maybe Hoseok just likes fresh air. Or,
maybe it's a religious or meditation-based thing. But there has to be more to it than that. In several
of the videos, Hoseok seem to lurch as he walks down the hall or will slump against the wall in the
elevator as if drunk.

The last time this happened was two days ago. Yoongi glances at his computer's clock. It's almost
10:15 p.m. and if Hoseok is keeping to any sort of pattern, then there is a high chance that he’ll be
repeating this ritual again tonight.

Yoongi taps his keyboard with his fingertips. He shouldn’t get involved in this. Hoseok is a grown
man who has worked as a contracted killer for nearly a decade. He should know how to take care
of himself.

But still, it doesn’t sit right with him. The way Hoseok will sit there motionless, vulnerable, head in
his hands, not talking with anyone.

When Yoongi had first begun this new life, the first few months had been hell. His brain saw
enemies and traps around every corner. He couldn’t eat without worrying about being poisoned,
couldn’t walk in public areas without the feeling of being tailed, would avoid any contact with his
coworkers and neighbors because anyone one of them could've been out to hurt him.
Time had eventually worn down Yoongi’s walls. He had been free from the criminal lifestyle for
two years. Hoseok had only been free for a month.

Fuck, Yoongi thinks, pulling his glasses off and rubbing his eyes until little bursts of light flashed
behind his eyelids.

Yoongi stays at his computer and waits. And waits. Half an hour ticks by, then an hour, then two.

It's 1:20 a.m. and Yoongi has reached that numb stage of exhaustion and is about to become the
largest blob in agar.io when he hears a door bang open in the hall. He startles and turns back to the
camera feed just in time to see Hoseok rush out from his room with barefeet and just a t-shirt and
sweatpants.

Agar.io forgotten, Yoongi watches through the security cameras as Hoseok lurches down the hall,
one hand propping himself up against the wall. He takes the stairs this time, smacking his shoulder
painfully against the doorframe of the stairwell, but instead of slowing him down, it seems to speed
him up and he takes the steps two at a time.

When he gets outside, Hoseok folds over and crouches on the curb of the street, ignoring the slow
flow of pedestrians and cars. Frowning, Yoongi taps his fingers against the desk before reaching up
and tapping Hoseok's motionless blob of white pixels on the camera feed. Nothing happens.

It's almost 1:30 in the morning and is twenty-seven degrees outside, ignoring windchill. Hoseok is
out there in a t-shirt.

Dammit.

What is Yoongi supposed to do? How does he even know that Hoseok wants his help? Maybe this
is an endurance training thing, to increase his resistance or pain tolerance or something.

Irritated, Yoongi turns to a free monitor and smashes a Naver search into the keyboard. He has just
found an article about snow meditation when some figures on the camera feed catch his eye.
Several figures are now standing and moving around Hoseok. Their movements are jerky and their
edges blurred due to the crappy resolution, but Yoongi can make out four figures. Informants
maybe? But Hoseok didn’t move. His head is still in his hands.

One of them reaches out a leg and jostles Hoseok’s shoulder. Hoseok still doesn’t move.

A moment later and Yoongi is out of his chair and out of his apartment, locking the door behind
him and shrugging on the jacket he has grabbed. He hurried down the hall as fast as his slippers
would allow, bypassing that stupid, fucking elevator to take the stairs, which he practically leaps
down, sometimes two or three steps at a time.

Stupid, he thinks. He isn’t sure what is stupid: Hoseok, the cold-ass air, the strangers, himself.
Maybe it's all stupid. Stupid, stupid.

The lobby is predictably cold when Yoongi finally exits the stairwell, but the air outside is colder
still, blasting Yoongi in the face as he bursts through the glass front doors and out into the street.

Yoongi notices several things very fast.

First: the four men surrounding Hoseok are loud, sweaty, laughing and swaying as if drunk.
Yoongi can almost smell alcohol in the air. The leader, the one that is standing over Hoseok, is
smirking and raising his leg again as if to put it on Hoseok’s shoulders, laughing.
Second: Hoseok. He's still sitting on the curb, arms wrapped around his knees, but has turned to the
side towards the men. His eyes are wide and he is coiled, fingers digging into his skin. Yoongi can
see the anxiety etched on his face and how his body was twisting and tensing. Hoseok is panicked.
He has four tall assholes aggressively surrounding him, one of whom is raising a leg towards him.
Hoseok is a trained assassin. Hoseok has killed people with his bare hands. Hoseok will do
anything to survive.

It isn’t hard to see where this was going.

Yoongi is twenty feet away but closing the gap fast, his slippers slapping the wet sidewalk. They
haven't noticed yet, he has options.

Option A is the safest, and therefore, best: stop in his tracks, walk away, and let it all fall out
between them because it isn’t Yoongi’s business.

Or, there's Option B, which is to walk up and have an adult conversation.

But Yoongi has instincts too and they've already taken over. So he goes with Option C: deck the
leader in the face.

There's the crack of bone on bone and pain bursts across Yoongi’s knuckles as his fist knocks the
leader back into his posse who barely catch him by the armpits before he can sink to the ground.
They gape at him for a frozen moment and Yoongi shakes his hand, stepping back and letting
himself smirk.

A few pedestrians stop to stare but move on quickly. It's too late at night to care. Cars pass by
impassively, headlights sliding over them.

“What the hell, man -” One of the men starts to say, but Yoongi glares and holds up a hand to
silence him. The others are looking at each other and down at the leader who's head is still rolling.
Idiots. Yoongi ignores them and turns towards Hoseok.

Hoseok's pupils are blown-out and his jaw is clenched tight. He's still curled over his knees and his
body shakes a little too violently to be just from the cold.

Panic attack. Yoongi drops down into a squat and raises his hands, softening his expression.
“Hey,” he says, lowering his voice just for Hoseok to hear. “I’m going to take you inside.”

Hoseok doesn't respond, but when Yoongi wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls, Hoseok
stands, teetering and gripping Yoongi’s shoulder for support.

The leader is back on his feet now, although his head still lolling and half of his face turning red.
One of his buddies jabs a finger towards Yoongi. “Fuck, dude, what the hell? You think you’re just
gonna walk away?”

“Sure do,” Yoongi deadpans and turns away to lead Hoseok back into the building. “Have a good
night.”

“Wait a fucking second -”

The doors to the apartment building shut behind them and Yoongi marches them both to the
elevator, ignoring the few other people loitering in or passing through the lobby. Yoongi jabs the
elevator button several times although he knew that it's useless, the fucking elevator would take its
time.
“I -” Hoseok says, his voice low and trembling. He pulls away from Yoongi and steps back, his
arms wrapped tight around his chest. His breaths catch in his throat and he moves constantly,
lifting his head, shifting from foot to foot, rubbing his arms, eyes darting here and there. The panic
is getting worse. “I can’t go back.”

Yoongi frowns at him. “Go back where? Outside?”

Hoseok shakes his head in short, jerky movements. “Back to my apartment, I can’t go back. I need
- I’ll go on a walk. I just need fresh air, I -”

“Wait.” On impulse, Yoongi reaches out and grabs his arm, wincing at how cold Hoseok's skin is.
Hoseok flinches but holds still. “It’s too cold outside. And you shouldn’t be walking around alone.
It's not safe.”

“I can’t go back,” Hoseok whispers and he locks eyes with Yoongi, face pulled tight.

“Then don’t." Yoongi pauses, hating himself for what he was about to say. "You can come to my
apartment.”

In all of the two years that Yoongi has lived there, he has never let another living soul into his
home. A few nosy neighbors, like Jaejoon, has tried and some co-workers have attempted to invite
themselves over, but Yoongi has always stayed firm. If a radiator went out or a light switch broke
Yoongi would do his research, search forums, or whatever he had to do to fix the problem himself
rather than let maintenance in.

His home is his own. His safe space. To let people in would be dangerous.

But here he is offering it up to Hoseok with barely a second thought.

Hoseok’s eyes widen and he glances outside where the thugs are still loitering on the curb, before
nodding. He lets out a shaky breath. "Thank you.”

They're silent until the elevator finally comes and when it finally does, Hoseok keeps still and
pressed against the far wall, his eyes screwed shut. Yoongi can see his limbs trembling, his chest
rising and falling in jerks, struggling to take deeper breaths.

Yoongi keeps his hand on Hoseok's arm with a loose grip. His palm stays pressed against Hoseok's
skin.

It's surreal to walk down the hall, unlock his door and lead someone inside. As they cross the
doorway, Yoongi has the absurd impulse to turn and shove Hoseok back outside, but he forces it
down.

As soon as they're inside, Yoongi switches gears. It's been a while since he's used the couch in his
living room, so he lets go of Hoseok and quickly clears a spot, tossing aside various electronics, a
stack of books he had bought on 19th century light fixtures and whales, a few CD cases, some
snack wrappers.

"Here," he says, patting the cushion once it's free. "Sit."

Hoseok obeys.

Yoongi grabs one of his better blankets, a fuzzy, red one that he had chosen because it's the same
color as his old minor league basketball uniform, and asks, "What do you want to drink? I have
water, tea, hot chocolate." He almost says coffee, but remembers the panic attack and stops.
Caffeine would make it worse.

"You don't have to -"

"I'm making a cup for myself anyways. It's no problem."

"Oh. Tea, then. Please."

Yoongi nods, then looks back at the TV where the hosts are forcing a young idol group to show off
different forms of aegyo.

"Have you seen this show?"

Hoseok shakes his head. He has pulled the blanket up to his chin and over his knees like a shell,
curling tight with his lips still pressed thin and his breaths still short.

So, as Yoongi slips into the kitchen, he talks loudly about the show, how the main host is funny
but ever since one of the larger entertainment companies had bought up the show, it's been
overstuffed with side hosters and advertisements and dumb games, like the one they were playing
now. As Yoongi walks back to the living room with two mugs of steaming green tea, he talks
about the k-pop group, how they're a good bunch of kids, but their company is too large and
doesn’t advertise them enough. By the time he has cleared himself a spot on the couch, Hoseok’s
muscles have loosened and the tightness left his face. He holds his mug of tea up close to his face,
letting the steam waft up his nose.

“Feeling better?”

Hoseok nods, eyes closed. “Yeah. I think.”

“Good.”

“I’m so sorry about this.” One of Hoseok’s hands rise up to cover half of his cheek and Yoongi
watches as his long, thin fingers fold and bend. “This is so dumb. How - How did you even know I
was out there?”

“I have access to the building’s security cameras.”

“Oh.” Hoseok is silent for a beat. ”So every other time I went out there … ?”

Yoongi looks away. “Yeah.” And because he can't think of anything else to add on to that, "Sorry."

“Shit.” Hoseok raises his hand all the way to cover his eyes. “This is so embarrassing.”

“No it's not. You’re fine.” When Hoseok doesn’t answer, Yoongi sighs. He holds the cocoa up
close to his face. “You know, when I first moved here, I couldn’t take showers.”

Hoseok cracks open his fingers to peer out of. “What?”

“I couldn’t take showers. I don’t know, I think being somewhere noisy and being naked made me
feel too vulnerable. I tried a few times but I always felt like someone was behind the curtain or
breaking into my apartment, so I washed my hair in the kitchen sink and wore lots of deodorant
instead. I did that for a few months.”

Hoseok’s hand lowers. “Wow,” he says. He wrinkles his nose. “That’s disgusting.”

“I felt like an idiot, but I couldn’t do it. I also always felt like I was being followed, like, I never left
the apartment except for work and it took me almost a year to get the nerve up to eat from a
restaurant instead of preparing my own meals. And - I work with a lot of programmers - so a lot of
my coworkers are really into video games. And some of them are really into the FPS games like
Call of Duty or Sudden Attack. Sometimes they’ll show videos during lunch or talk about the
different guns they picked up or missions they’ve beat and I know that it’s just a game and super
unrealistic and just for fun, but it still makes me sick to hear. It makes me remember what it's
actually like.”

“Do they know it bothers you?”

“They know I don’t like listening to it. But they just think I’m just a grouchy asshole.”

Hoseok frowns and his fingers stretch gingerly across the mug. “I’m sorry.”

Yoongi shrugs, heat crawling up his neck, not from what he had said but the honesty in Hoseok's
gaze. “It is what it is. But yeah, it does suck.”

The show switches to commercials. Yoongi finally takes a slow sip of his hot chocolate and
grimaces. He made it too sweet. The steam wafts up, clouding his glasses.

“I’m not sure what sets it off,” Hoseok says, breaking the quiet that had fallen between them. “I’ll
have a nightmare and when I wake up it suddenly feels like my apartment is too quiet and empty
and it’ll feel like it’s all crushing me. Being outside helps. Seeing the sky and stuff and I think the
noise helps also. I tried to play music a few times, but, it's like my brain knows that I’m trying to
trick it. If I do that, then all I can think of is if I turn the music off, the silence will still be there.”

“So every time you go out there to sit...?”

“Yeah. It worked the first time and I’m not sure what else to do. Nothing else has worked.”

Yoongi sips his hot chocolate, wincing, and shifts in his seat. “Well. You could come over here
instead.”

Hoseok's eyebrows arch and he stares at Yoongi with wide eyes. “Really? You'd be fine with that?”

“Why wouldn't I be?" Yoongi demands a little hotly, but deflates when one of Hoseok's look
narrows. "I’m usually up around this time anyways. And it’s not always safe out there.”

“If you really don’t mind,” Hoseok says slowly.

“It’s not a problem. If it’s just noise that you need or some company, then I’ve got that covered,”
Yoongi says, nodding towards the TV.

“Thank you,” Hoseok says with an earnestness that catches Yoongi's face on fire. “Honestly, I
think the mess helps too.”

Yoongi pauses. “The what?”

“Oh. I mean - It’s pretty cluttered in here and I think that helps. Me. With, you know. My
feelings.”

“It’s not that messy in here,” Yoongi objects as he looks around before the realization sinks in that
actually, yes, it is actually very cluttered in here. He has cardboard boxes of various knick-knacks
he had gotten at thrift shops still sitting by the front door, a mini-tower of dirty plates on the coffee
table, a pile of clean clothes still on his dining room table, a knot of tangled wires for his various
computers, stacks of CDs and appliances perched on the kitchen counter. There are soda cans on
his bookshelf. Books on the floor. The trash was peeking up from under the lid.

“I didn’t mean to sound judgemental or anything," Hoseok rushes to say. "It’s just - My apartment
is the total opposite. I have just the bare essentials and that’s it, so this is kind of nice. It's calming,
I mean. Lots of distractions.”

Yoongi feels mortification and irritation twist in his veins; mortification because this place is an
actual mess and he honestly hadn’t noticed and Hoseok is obviously disgusted and trying to make
him feel better, but also irritation because it's his own damn apartment that he pays for, who cares
if he hasn’t picked up in a while? He’s been busy. He'll get around to it. “Then why haven’t you
just gone shopping?” He asks instead, hoping to change the topic.

Hoseok shrugs. “I wouldn’t know what to buy, I guess. I’ve never had to decorate anything before.
And all of this still feels weird." Hoseok waves a hand vaguely in front of him. "It still feels like it's
won’t permanent. Like, I’m going to wake up and be back where I was before or something's going
to happen and I'll have to leave.”

Guilt jabbed Yoongi in the chest and he winces, remembering his sneer at the Chinese restaurant,
furious that Hoseok was staying and ruining everything when he knew exactly how it felt to try and
adjust to a normal life.

"I can help," his mouth says before his brain can catch up.

Hoseok shakes his head. "No, it's fine. I’m sure I can figure it out -"

"No, really, let me help. It can be to make up for being a jackass at the beginning. I've read a lot of
interior design books and stuff anyways." Yoongi points to a pile of magazines and photo books
piled in a corner of the couch.

Hoseok's face cracks into a smile; not the smirk that Sunshine had worn or the friendly grin
Hoseok had pulled on for Jaejoon and the waiter, but a huge smile that eats his face and curves his
eyes and grows until it can’t grow anymore.

“Wow, that's incredible,” Hoseok says and then giggles as though the laughter is forcing its way up
to his throat. ”Ok then. I’d like that.”

Yoongi tries to push away whatever it is that's hot and twisting in his chest. "Good. Maybe, this
Saturday?"

Hoseok hums and nods. "Works for me."

When Yoongi had moved here, he had gotten rid of all forms of communication with all of his old
life, save one little, ancient, plastic laptop that he keeps tucked away in a desk drawer. At first,
when he had first moved and had felt the ghost of his old life in every shadow and behind every
door, he had checked it twice a day. But now, two years later, he usually only checks it once or
twice a week.

A week in to being 'friends' or whatever he is with Hoseok, Yoongi slides the laptop out, plugs it in
and boots it up, waiting patiently as the prehistoric technology struggles, the tiny fans inside of it
whirring like the turbines at Soyang Dam.

Finally, the home screen pops up in all of its twentieth-century glory. Yoongi pulls up the
command line and types out a few well-rehearsed lines of code, bringing up an ugly message inbox
that would catch any messages sent to one of his multitude of ghost IP addresses.

He has a few spam emails - how spammers could find homemade inboxes hidden deep within the
dark web, he does not know - but one strange message catches his eye. It's also from a ghost
account, but the message title reads "ur welcome" and is from someone named BOHWA38263928.

Bonhwa. Telling himself that he really should just ignore it, Yoongi drags the slow mouse icon
over and clicks the email.

It reads: "have u got my late chuseok present?? hope u enjoy hope its tasty xoxoxo you’ll be good
together. when u hve kids name 1 after me"

Yoongi slams the laptop shut and hurls it back into the drawer with a crash.

That Saturday morning, Yoongi stands in front of the mirror in his entryway, patting down his
stray-away hair as best he can. It's getting too long, brushing down past his eyes so that he has to
push it to the side. He wears his winter jacket with a thick, knit scarf tied around his neck,
cushioning his chin. It's snowed yesterday which means the city will already be encased in an icy
slush.

He feels sleepy and clumsy and nervous all at once, and his hands kept moving, shifting his bulky
scarf, adjusting his glasses, straightening his jacket.

This is what friends do, he thinks. He's frowning at himself in the mirror. We're neighbors. It's not
weird.

The doorbell buzzes. Yoongi on instinct reaches for the taser he has tucked in his coat pocket
before swatting his hand away.

We're neighbors. This is normal.

He opens the door.

Hoseok is smiling in the hall, hands tucked into the front pocket of an over-sized, wooly denim
jacket, his shoulders high. He's wearing a ratty baseball cap and large, absurdly green sneakers.

"Ready?" He asks, sounding way too casual and cheery to be going out with Yoongi.
Yoongi nods wordlessly.

They chat as they walk, or rather, Hoseok chats and Yoongi does his best to keep up. He has
always hated small talk, hated the scripted responses, the painful pauses, hated the way that he had
to scrape along the bottom of his mind's barrel to try and think of another generic subject. As they
step out into the brisk, clear morning air, Yoongi is already kicking himself for suggesting this
when Hoseok switches gears.

"So," he says, nose high in the air as though soaking in the winter sun. "Interior design."

Yoongi narrows his eyes and waits. "What about it?"

"I just didn't expect that to be something you're interested in. I thought you were into
programming."

"People can be interested in more than one thing."

"Oh yeah. I guess so. Tell me about it."

"What?"

"Interior design." Hoseok's strides are long and brisk and Yoongi has to pay attention to keep up. "I
don't know anything about it. Is it, like, an art form?"

Yoongi raises an eyebrow but begins to talk, slowly at first, explaining the between interior design
and interior decorating, explaining an article he had read about interior design in the past, about
how modern society saw it as a hobby when really, any time a human lived within a space with
access to things they were taking part in interior decorating. Hoseok is an excellent listener,
knowing the exact cues for when to be quiet, when to ask questions, when to insert an exclamation.
Yoongi is just getting into the psychological effect of different living spaces when they arrive at
the furniture store just a few blocks from their apartment.

"Sorry if I bored you," he mutters, face red as he pushes the front door of the store open with his
elbow. An electronic bell dings as they step into the wide, brightly lit store that smells of sawdust
and leather.

"No, don't apologize. I asked and it's interesting. Actually," Hoseok laughs. "I'm getting a little
worried that you're too smart for me."

Yoongi ignores the tiny thrill in his chest when Hoseok said for me and clears his throat. "So, what
are we looking for? Rugs? Paintings?"

"Hang on." Hoseok pulls a crumpled post-it note from his pocket and squints down at it. "Um, I
think the most important thing is a bed. Then, maybe, a kitchen table? The guy who owned the
apartment before me left his couch, but it smells a little moldy."

Yoongi stops mid-stride. "You don't have a bed?"

"Um, no. Not at the moment."

"I thought that you meant you needed, like, a lamp or something. Or some posters."

Hoseok frowns at him. “Is this a problem?”

"No, no. No problem.” Yoongi shakes his head. “Sorry. OK. Bed first. What size mattress do you
have?"

Hoseok pauses. He purses his lips and slowly turns his head towards Yoongi. "I thought the
mattress came with the bed."

"No. They're separate."

"Ah. Then I also need a mattress."

"Where have you been sleeping? The floor?"

"I told you, the guy who lived there before me left his couch."

"So you've been sleeping on a couch three months. A moldy couch."

"It's not a problem," Hoseok says, a sharp edge creeping into his voice. "I've slept in worse places
for longer. And it's not actually moldy. If it had bothered me, I would've done something about it."

Yoongi opens his mouth to remind Hoseok that the entire reason they're doing this is because
having an empty apartment obviously did bother him, but he jams his mouth shut. "Sorry. I didn't
mean to make it sound like that."

"It's fine." The bell dings behind them and they shuffle to the side of the aisle to get out of the way
as shoppers walk by. "Look," Hoseok says, jamming his hands back into his pockets. "We don't
have to do this today. We can head back -"

"No. I mean, unless you want to." Yoongi looks around the shop. "But I'm pretty sure there are
beds in the back of the store and there should be a mattress store down the street. I can help you
pick it out."

"Alright," Hoseok said. He takes a deep breath and releases it. "Ok."

"Ok."

Three hours later, Yoongi is struggling to carry the bottom half of Hoseok’s new kitchen table up
seven flights of stairs because the fucking elevator is fucking broken and Yoongi is too proud to
admit that he may a bit out of shape.

The new mattress and bed frame are being delivered on Monday and the kitchen chairs would be
delivered Tuesday, but the store had asked a ridiculous price for delivery of the table because it
was from a designer set or something, so Yoongi had coerced Hoseok to refuse. “It’s not even that
big,” he had scoffed as he and Hoseok had hoisted the heavy, cardboard box up under their arms
and carried it out of the store, past the staring employees and out into the city. This is nothing."

And at first, walking in the late morning sun was nice, even with the heavy, wooden table tucked
under his arm. Thankfully, Hoseok had picked out one that was relatively small, so it wasn't too
difficult to carry. The sun had been warm and bright, the wind cool: most of the slush had been
pushed to the side by other pedestrians. Hoseok was smiling again. Yoongi had still felt like an ass
- he didn’t know why he kept acting like an idiot when he had gone through the exact same things
just two years ago - but Hoseok either forgave easily or didn't want to deal with it.

It wasn’t a long walk to their apartment, just about forty minutes, and they stopped often, resting
the table of the sidewalk. Hoseok would shoot dirty glances at pedestrians who gave them weird
looks, making Yoongi snort, and when Yoongi complained loudly about the scams in the delivery
business, Hoseok would giggle. The entire trip would have been a breeze, except, of course, the
sole elevator in their building had a sixth sense for when people needed it most. Yoongi’s arms
were just beginning to ache when they stepped through the front door of the apartment complex
and saw the front-desk worker taping an Out of Order sign to the elevator's closed doors.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Yoongi growled, trying to hide how short of breath he was.
Hoseok was still standing straight and breathing normal. Bastard.

Hoseok had sighed. “Well. I guess that means we’re taking the stairs. Are you alright?” He asks,
turning towards Yoongi. “We could take a break if you want.”

“No, I’m fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

And Yoongi was fine, at least, until five stories later when his thighs are burning and his arms
dissolving and his heart beating out of his chest.

"Wait," Yoongi gasps as they hit the narrow cement landing on the fifth floor. "Hang on … a
second."

"Yeah yeah, no problem." They shuffle to the side and set the table against the ground, propped up
against the wall. Or, Hoseok sets it down, because Yoongi's grip gives out halfway down and he
catches himself on his knees, struggling to get his breathing under control.

“You alright?” Hoseok asks, leaning on the corner of the box. He is breathing a bit harder than
normal, but looks as though he had barely broken a sweat whereas Yoongi can feel his shirt
sticking to his back.

Yoongi huffs and raises a hand, looking away so Hoseok wouldn't see the flush he could feel on his
cheeks. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t feel bad, I’m sure this must be hard at your age -”

“Fuck you,” Yoongi interrupts. “We’re the same age.”

Hoseok’s eyebrows shoot up. “We are?”

“Probably.” Yoongi wipes his brow and pushes himself back upright. “How old are you?”

“How old are you?”

“What happened to trusting each other?”

Hoseok grins and cocks his head. “I’ll tell you when you tell me. But I bet you’re older.”

Yoongi scowls at him. “Why?”

“I don’t know, you just have this -” Hoseok waves his hand in the air, his gaze dropping and
sweeping over Yoongi’s body. “This grandfather aura.”

Yoongi snorts and smiles despite himself as memories flash; memories of long nights squatting in
the shadows, guns primed, waiting for a target while Winter would elbow his side, whispering to
him that his old man knees needed a break while Yui smirked silently behind.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if someone told me that you were actually an 80-year-old with a face-lift.
Or if, like, you were immortal. Like a vampire.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes and bends to grip the corner of the table. "You're being pretty disrespectful to
your elders if that's the case."

Hoseok's grin sharpens. "Or I just feel comfortable around you."

A familiar warmth flushes down Yoongi's neck, but he just frowns and grunts as they lifted the
table again, shuffling towards the stairs.

"Is Yoongi even your real name?" Hoseok asks with his voice strained as they rotated the table
around the corner and begin climbing the stairs, one step at a time, stepping in tandem to a slow
rhythm.

"You think … I'm going to answer that?"

“This isn’t going to work unless someone admits something first.”

“Alright. You start. You tell me your real name and ... I’ll tell you mine.”

Hoseok huffs.

They fall silent after that, which is good because Yoongi isn’t sure how much of a conversation he
can keep up with when his lungs feel as though they're on fire. For several months after moving
here, he had kept to a strict exercise regime, but it had been one of the first things he had given up
on. He still stretches daily and goes on one too many walks during the workday and the occasional
jog, but the little upper body strength that he had been able to scrape together has fizzled away.

Finally, they arrive at their apartments and, after some fumbling with the keypad, Hoseok opens his
door. And then he hesitates, freezing, just for a moment, just long enough for Yoongi to notice.

“Next time, I think I’ll just pay the extra fee and get it delivered,” Hoseok says as he turns around,
all anxiety wiped away. He drags the table in while Yoongi pushes from behind.

“You’d just be fueling their scam.” Yoongi wipes his face as soon as the table comes to a stop in a
large empty area beside the kitchen and looks around.

Hoseok’s apartment is spotless. The apartment looks brand-new, so much so that Yoongi felt a
chill of deja-vu wash over him. The walls are bare, the carpet looks freshly steam-cleaned and the
only personal items that he can see are a few kitchen appliances, neatly placed on the counter, and
a single couch, accompanied by a solitary lamp, and a laptop. A pile of dumbells sit against the
wall.

“Wow.”

“I know.” Hoseok wipes his hands against his jeans and glances around his apartment, his cheeks a
warm pink. “I know I should’ve gotten stuff sooner, I just - “ He cuts off and shakes his head. “I
don’t know.”
“I think you and I have opposite problems.” Yoongi looks away and tries to find something to
focus on, but since the apartment is bare, he ends up staring down at the box they had just lugged
through the city. “Want me to help you set this up? I have some tools.”

"Um, sure. Yeah, that’d be great.”

Yoongi slips away to his apartment to grab a screwdriver and slip off his coat. He takes a moment
to pause in front of the mirror, patting his hair down, wiping his glasses, and scowling at himself
for being stupid, before rushing back to Hoseok’s.

The table doen’t take long to build, even though the instructions are shit. Yoongi cusses a lot and
Hoseok laughs a lot.

Finally, the table is built and standing proud. Hoseok has grabbed them each a juice box and they
sit on the floor against the wall, facing the table with legs stretched out.

“Congratulations,” Yoongi says after almost sucking his entire juice box in one go. “You have a
table.” He holds up an invisible microphone to Hoseok’s face. “How does it feel? Are you proud?
Overcome with emotion?”

“I feel exactly the same.” Hoseok sighs and sags against the wall. Yoongi pulls his arm away,
feeling the shift in atmosphere. “I’m awful at this.”

“At what? Building tables?”

“No. Real life.” Hoseok pulls his knees up and let his forehead drop on top of them. “I don't want to
complain or anything, but - I’m almost thirty and it took me three months to build up the nerve to
buy a table.”

Yoongi frowned. Almost thirty? Yoongi takes a moment to bury that bit of information far away
into the deep recesses of his mind, before breathing out, setting his head back against the wall.

“There’s no such thing as a real life. All lives are real.”

Hoseok shakes his head. “I worked so hard to get here and I can’t do anything.”

Yoongi thinks while the table was stood in front of them, a silent, impartial watcher. Eventually,
Yoongi glances back towards Hoseok. “Want me to tell you the secret to a successful adult life?”

Hoseok twists his head on his knees so that he's staring up at Yoongi. “Will it solve all my
problems?”

“Not at all.”

Hoseok snorts. "Alright. Shoot."

“When we were, you know, employed the way that we were, things were easy. Or, at least, making
decisions were easy. There was a code and a set of rules you had to follow. You got a job and you
finished it and then you got another job, but with real life or whatever this is, no one knows shit
about anything.”

Hoseok gives Yoongi a dead look.

“No, I’m serious,” Yoongi says. “I spent a lot of time tying to figure out what I was supposed to do
and not do, but after you cut through all of the bullshit, no one knows they’re doing. All of the
normal things people do aren't required, people are just copying each other. And those people that
you meet that seem so smart or put together are just over-confident and good at pretending, I
guarantee you. So if you went the next two years without buying a bed or if you never buy a bed
for the rest of your life, it doesn’t matter. It’ll be bad for your back, but having a bed doesn't make
you successful.”

“Wow,” Hoseok whispers. His head was still down, ear pressed against his knees, and his smile is
thin but wide. “You should be a counselor.”

“Thank you. I’m very emotionally mature."

“Oh yeah, I could tell. Very wise.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

Hoseok smirks and sits up, shifting ever so slightly so that his shoulder nearly brushes against
Yoongi’s and suddenly, any confidence Yoongi has built up pops like a bubble. He feels vulnerable
and hot and clumsy again. He curses Hoseok in his head and does his best not to instinctively move
away even though he swears he can feel the heat radiating from Hoseok’s shoulder.

“If I’m being honest though, I don’t think this is what I want. I mean, I don’t want to complain,
there are so many people who aren’t able to just start again like this, but -” Hoseok shifts. “But, I
keep telling myself that this is just the beginning. It won’t be like this forever. I'll get better. Things
will get better.”

Yoongi watches him. When Yoongi had escaped, the only thing that had guided him was fear. He
had been so terrified of being dragged back that he had sat and hidden and stagnated. He didn’t
have friends, not really, and no life goals besides staying hidden. He had been given a shred of
safety and had been too afraid of losing it to even think of moving anywhere or trying anything
new, but as he watches Hoseok, with that strange, iron glint in his eye, he can feel it too, digging
deep in his sternum. A sharp, dangerous hope for the future.

Hoseok notices him watching and turns, but Yoongi doesn't look away. He catches Hoseok’s gaze
and holds it, even as Hoseok flushes and leans away. Yoongi feels a thrill at being able to control
someone like that; with the strange, dangerous energy thrumming through him, he lets his eyes
drop, sliding down Hoseok's face and settling on his bowed lips. Hoseok’s nails dig into his jeans.

“It is Yoongi, actually.”

“What?” Hoseok asks, his voice hardly more than a whisper coming from somewhere deep in his
throat.

"My name. Yoongi is my real name. I should’ve used a fake one. It would have been safer, but no
one had called me it since I was eighteen. I wanted to be called by my name."

“It sounds like you.” Hoseok pauses before speaking again, his gaze dropping down to his juice
box. “I chose the name Hoseok for myself when I was nine, so - I don’t really have a real name.”

"Yes you do. It doesn’t matter how you got it, you would know if it’s your real name.”

The corners of his mouth lift and Hoseok looks back up. “Alright then. My name is Hoseok.”

“See? It's not hard to trust each me.”

"You're the one telling me that?" Hoseok asks with his voice rising and falling in a thick cadence
and laughter lining his words.

Yoongi scrunches his nose. “I'm the most trusting person you know."

“Really?" Hoseok smiles, leaning an inch closer. "Alright then. How old are you?”

“Thirty this year."

“Well then, hyung,” Hoseok leans down, smiling slowly and dropping his voice so that it vibrated
in his throat, “It's nice to meet you."

Later that day, while Yoongi is doing various household chores such as folding laundry or dusting
or sweeping, he will be struck with a wave of red, hot, searing embarrassment because he had done
that. He had held Hoseok’s gaze and stared at his face and said those things and it was all too
much. Yoongi would fall face first into his bed or couch or wherever the nearest surface was and
scream because not only had he done those things and told Hoseok his name which was so
extremely off-limits, but Hoseok had responded and moved closer and said everything back.

You can’t do this he tells himself as he burrows deeper into the cushions of his couch, hoping that
they will swallow him whole. You cannot do this. Not with him.

But his heart keeps beating at a ridiculous pace and his face feels like it's melting and instead of
going to bed at a reasonable hour, he opens a bottle of red wine and watches reruns of a nature
documentary, trying to shake off the intoxicating feeling that is knowing Hoseok.

The next night Hoseok shows up at Yoongi's door at a quarter 'till midnight, shaking and pale. He's
harder to calm than the first time and grips the edge of the couch while Yoongi bustles around,
making hot chocolate and talking about an article he read about the bullshit of the logging industry.

When the panic finally ebbs away, Hoseok flops back against the couch, exhausted. He blinks
around at the apartment as though it's his first time seeing it.

"You've cleaned up."

Yoongi bristles. He had actually, but not because of Hoseok. The mood had just struck him.

"It looks good," Hoseok continues, his voice low. He points to a few curved, abstract wood
carvings that sat in the ground near the doorway to the kitchen; one of the myriads of knick-knacks
and weird figurines that Yoongi had forgotten that he had bought. "Those are cool."

Yoongi blows on this hot chocolate. "I got them from this small craft market I found a few months
ago, down by the river." He pauses before asking, "They should be open tomorrow if you want to
go."

So they go after work, grabbing a coffee before braving the freezing city winds to walk around a
ten-stall craft market by the Han River. Apparently, the winds have scared off most of the usual
stalls and Yoongi feels stupid that he hadn't thought of it earlier, but Hoseok doesn't seem to mind.
He still finds a small, six-by-six abstract painting that was a splash of yellows, blues, and purples
all dancing around each other.

"This was fun," he says afterward, swinging his arm so close to Yoongi's hand that Yoongi half
expects him to grab it. "We should do this again next week."

The next day Yoongi makes kimchi noodles and brings them over to test out Hoseok’s newly
assembled table and chairs, which they determine, are a solid 8/10 stars and will hold up just fine.
Two days after that, they go to see a new action movie at a nearby cinema before finding a frozen
yogurt store where they sit for a few hours, whispering stories from their past and expertly ignoring
the awful memories that lurk behind them. Then, the day after that, Hoseok drags Yoongi to a CD
store where Yoongi gets stuck in a lecture from an employee about the failings of the hip-hop
industry while Hoseok shoots him pitying glances over the employee's shoulder.

Hoseok becomes a dangerous habit.

Yoongi's schedule used to be straightforward. He'd go to work, chat with some co-workers, come
home, and then bury himself into whichever project had caught his fancy. Life had been lonely, but
he had never believed those relationships on TV where couples hung out every day and friends
were always over at your house. He needs to breathe and he needs time to spend his energy the way
he wants. Having friends, actual friends, would be dangerous and would take up too much time.

And he had never understood how people could sacrifice a thing as precious as time up to small
talk and meaningless dinners and social outings with people they barely liked. Time is his most
precious commodity and he hoards it like gold, and yet, it doesn't feel like a waste when he gives it
to Hoseok.

Afternoons, nights, weekends. Yoongi offers it all up.

They don't do things every day: that's another terrifying thing about this sudden relationship, the
fact that Yoongi felt comfortable enough to say no. It's comforting and thrilling to have the total
assurance that he could just say no and Hoseok trusts him enough to smile and say, "Alright, see
you later," with total conviction. They’d go days without seeing a glimpse of each other, before
falling together perfectly again with no questions, no accusations.

Hoseok still comes frequently at night when panic grips him. Sometimes he’ll come several days in
a row or sometimes it’ll be a week between attacks. A few times, Yoongi finds himself
unconsciously making a batch of hot chocolate late at night just minutes before Hoseok knocks on
his door, gripping the wall with blown out eyes. Every time is the same: Yoongi will bring him in,
tuck him in on the couch, give him a hot drink, and chatter while the TV played into the
background until Hoseok learns how to breathe again.

Other habits begin like shopping every Saturday, going to the Chinese Restaurant on Thursdays,
going to the craft market on Mondays. They see movies in theaters and Yoongi guides Hoseok
through the various close-by museums, and they walk together through parks and try out coffee
shops. Once, Hoseok drags Yoongi to a street dance competition in a nearby skate-park. Yoongi
watches Hoseok who watches the dancers with a fiery intensity in his eyes and although Yoongi
doesn’t understand why or how he can recognize the ache of knowing that there are things in life
forever stolen. He had almost held Hoseok's hand that day, but instead, keeps them balled up tight
in his coat.

There are still lines they don't cross. Yoongi doesn't know the dreams Hoseok has that wake him
up three times a week in a blind panic. He doesn't know what had caused Hoseok to run from it all.
He doesn't know why Hoseok had become a hired killer in the first place or why he had stayed,
whether he had friends that he lost, like Yoongi had, whether he had enjoyed playing the game of
killing, the same way Yoongi had, or whether he hated himself for it, the way Yoongi still did.

But he does know that Hoseok likes sunflowers. He likes songs with strong beats and bright clothes
with large price tags and those bubbly drinks with the glass balls in the neck. He knews that
Hoseok’s knees have minds of their own and wills dance to their own beats while he eats. He
knows that Hoseok keeps a collection of smiles in his back-pocket, each a mask for a different
occasion, but he has one smile that is fast and hot, like lightning, that eats up his face and bows his
lips like a heart and Yoongi knows it every time and knows that it's real.

Yoongi also knows that when Hoseok’s hand accidentally brushes against his own, his body lights
up as though electrocuted. He knows his heart stutters whenever Hoseok quietly trusts him with
anything from his past, like pointing out a toy he used to cherish in a store window or describing a
tree he used to climb. He knows that Hoseok likes hanging out with him, likes bumping into him
and flustering him with cheesy pick-up lines and well-placed flirts.

Yoongi has seen the movies and dramas. He knows what was happening. But he refuses to think
about it. Because it can’t happen. He can’t fall in love. He isn’t allowed to. And yet, the little
things like spending time together, brushing hands, flirting, continue to build up and Yoongi finds
his mind straying and thinking things that he shouldn't think until all of the tension and pressure
growing between them boil over one night.

They had gone ice skating. Winter has settled in and the holidays are approaching. The stores had
hung lights and decorated trees and although the holidays have never meant anything to Yoongi,
there is a warm, winter sweetness in the air, so when Hoseok had brought it up, he had given in.

The outdoor rink is packed, the shoes they rented too big, and Hoseok is infuriatingly better at it
than Yoongi is, but it's an exhilarating night in a dreamy way. After Yoongi becomes fed up with
falling on his ass, they grab some hot cocoa in a nearby park where they walk together, Yoongi
trying to point out the layout of the park while Hoseok imitates old cartoon characters. Once the
cocoa was gone, Yoongi convinces Hoseok to grab an actual adult drink from a bar near their
apartment. And then another drink. And, since Hoseok had boasted earlier about taking his own
initiative and buying a coffee table for his living room, Yoongi ends up sitting on Hoseok’s couch
with just enough alcohol in his system to fuck up his impulse control.

That is the only reason it happened, Yoongi will tell himself later. The only reason.

Because when Hoseok sits beside Yoongi, near enough to brush legs as he sinks into the couch,
Yoongi moves closer and Hoseok turns to face him and Yoongi tips his head up and Hoseok’s half-
lidded eyes slide down to Yoongi’s mouth and the thrill of the night and alcohol burn in Yoongi’s
veins. Yoongi does what he had been thinking about for days: he surges forward and kisses him.

A moment passes of Yoongi just pressing into Hoseok’s body, lips on lips, before it registers what
he's doing and panic sets in. But before his brain can work up a reaction, Hoseok is moving. A
hand twists up into Yoongi’s hair and another slides around his waist. Hoseok's body shifts to pull
Yoongi closer and his lips open, letting Yoongi in.

Warmth, like hot molasses, spills down Yoongi’s body, electrifying every cell, and all he can see,
all he could focus on is Hoseok and Hoseok’s hands and Hoseok’s lips. He kisses and Hoseok
kisses back and it isn’t until Hoseok tugs him closer that muscle memory reminds Yoongi of what
might come next, what had come next in the past.

Yoongi breaks away suddenly, gasping for breath and his face burning. His heart and head race.
Common sense threatens to set-in, but he wards it off. He needs to be kissed again, now, but he
also needs Hoseok to understand that he can't physically open up any more than this, that there are
levels of physical intimacy that he will never be comfortable with.

“I can’t - I don’t want to do any more than this.”

Hoseok blinks hard and his expression shatters into horror, but as he begins to pull away, Yoongi
grips his arms. Hoseok’s lips are wet and swollen. His eyes impossibly warm and Yoongi’s
heartaches.

“Kissing -” Yoongi chokes, the words sticking in his throat. “Kissing is fine. No more than that.
Ever. Just kissing.”

Hoseok huffs and his body sags in relief. He smiles, already moving closer and tilting his head to
the side. “Just kissing.”

This time, it's Hoseok who dives down, slotting his mouth into Yoongi’s who grabs at Hoseok’s
shirt and kisses back with a fervor he hasn’t felt in years.

They could’ve kissed for a split second or they could’ve kissed for days, Yoongi can’t tell. His
mind floods with buzzing warmth and when they finally break apart, Yoongi gasps in cold air. He
shivers as Hoseok’s heat pulls away.

So Yoongi moves forward again, but this time presses his face against Hoseok’s chest. As if he had
read his mind, Hoseok, with his arms still wrapped around him, leans back so that he's laying
down, head on the cushion. He shifts so that Yoongi is laying half on top, half beside.

They are silent. There are no other sounds other than the rhythmic whoosh of Hoseok’s breath and
the thump of his heart and Yoongi closes his eyes, letting the feeling of touching and holding
another person wash over him. He hadn’t realized that he missed this. Hadn't realized that he
needed it this bad.

Hoseok’s nose buries down into Yoongi’s hair and his arms tighten.

They don’t speak. Yoongi feels if he moves or says a word, the spell will break and he’ll be cold
and alone again. So he is quiet.

Eventually, they fall asleep.

Yoongi wakes several hours later to find himself draped over and held by Hoseok, Yoongi’s head
buried into the warm material of his sweatshirt. He tries to pull himself away gently, but Hoseok
stirs, breathing in deeply and cracking his eyes open, blinking hard before focusing on Yoongi.

“I need to get ready for work,” Yoongi whispers. His palm is still flat against Hoseok's chest.

Hoseok opens his mouth but shuts it instantly. He nods.

Then Yoongi is up and stumbling away, grabbing his shoes and jacket and bolting out the door. In
the hall, he fumbles at the keypad, his brain foggy and slow and when he finally gets the door
open, he escapes inside, dropping his things unceremoniously on the floor and walking until he
stops.

Yoongi stands in the middle of his living room. It's dark. He gropes his pocket for his phone
wincing at the light. It's 5:45 a.m.. He’ll have to leave for work in an hour.
A clock ticks on the wall. The AC blows gently, a constant, quiet buzz. The carpet is spiky under
his feet and when he holds a hand up to his face and can feel the ridge of Hoseok’s sweatshirt
impressed into his skin.

Yoongi thinks that if he was able to feel anything, he would feel panic, fear, ache. But Yoongi
doesn't feel anything. It feels as though he's standing in a dark, foreign room buried inside a
massive, empty, consuming ocean.

He's alone. He's cold. He has work in an hour.

For the rest of the day, Yoongi feels slow and numb. He can’t focus on work since his brain keeps
looping back to Hoseok’s hand and eyes and mouth and the way that he had kissed Yoongi back
and every time, cold dread seeps down his body because it had been a mistake. Kissing Hoseok
had been a wonderful, amazing mistake, but he can’t -

To be honest, he doesn’t know what it was that he can’t do. He doesn’t know what Hoseok expects
or thinks and all day his phone felt like an iron-hot reminder in his pocket and he barely resists the
urge to just text Hoseok and get the wait over with.

He needs to know if things were ruined. If Hoseok has expectations of him that Yoongi just can’t
meet.

Thankfully, it's Thursday which means dinner at the Chinese restaurant. As Yoongi walks to the
restaurant, bundled up against the icy city cold, he half expects their usual table to be empty, but
Hoseok is there. Waiting.

He's wearing a carefree smile and waves as Yoongi walks up, instantly bursting into a story about
some shitty workplace drama.

Hoseok doesn’t mention the night before so Yoongi doesn't either. Just like every other aspect of
their relationship, it lays bare and obvious between them, but neither looks it in the eye.

Hoseok is dangerous.

And if Yoongi stops bullshitting himself, he knows that it's more than just the fear of being caught
by their past.

Hoseok scares him. What things could turn into between him and Hoseok scares him. Yoongi has
always grown up and lived alone; the few people that he has allowed into his life have all been
ripped away and he can still feel those wounds bleeding inside.

He needs to break it off with Hoseok before anyone gets hurt. Before anyone is caught or has to
escape. Before this thing between them breaks and they end up hurt anyway.

But days pass and Yoongi keeps hanging around Hoseok, keeps laughing and touching and flirting
and then pulling away. It's easier to ignore. So Yoongi does.
On the night of the Incident-After-Ice-Skating-That-No-One-Talks-About, if Yoongi had thought
to check the ancient laptop that he had tossed into the drawer, he would've found several messages
from BNHWA38263928, as well as stream of notifications from recurring pings he had set up to
scour the messages boards and job sites of the dark web for any recent hits on his name.

But he doesn't look. So the warnings go unheeded, sitting silently as impassive ones and zeroes
deep within the circuitry of his laptop.

At 5:00 p.m. on Christmas day, Yoongi stands in front Hoseok’s apartment, staring at the large
black door and balancing a platter of japchae against his hip. He stares at the door, hand raised.

He's never celebrated Christmas and hates the idea of starting now, but while walking back home
from shopping for a gag gift for Hoseok to bring to his office's party, Hoseok had pointed out a
large, glittering banner hanging in one of the stores, saying, “That'd look great in my living room.”

"Yeah," Yoongi had grunted, eyeing the banner, which said Happy Holidays in swirling gold
cursive. "It's festive. Would you just leave it up?"

"No, I mean for a party or something. I think it'd look nice."

And, because Yoongi doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut, he had blurted, “You haven’t had
that party yet have you?”

Hoseok had looked away, smiling sheepishly. “Oh. You remember that.”

“Of course I do. That's your main goal in life now, right?”

“No,” Hoseok said, rolling his eyes. He swayed as he walked, back and forth, almost brushing
against Yoongi’s shoulder when he leaned to the right. "I'll have one one day."

"Mmm," Yoongi had hummed. "Why not now?"

"Now? Who would I invite? I only talk to a few people from work. And you.”

“So invite me.” Hoseok had turned, eyes wide, and Yoongi had felt that now too-familiar thrill in
his gut when he's able to throw Hoseok off-balance, even when half of his brain is screaming at
him to shut up. “It can be a two-person party.”

"A two-person party,” Hoseok had echoed, a smile growing. “Is it even a party at that point?”

“Sure. As long as you have at least one extra person, some good food, some decorations, and
music, then its a party.”

“What, dancing music?”

“Just ambient music.”

“But if it’s my party then I can play what I want, right?”

Yoongi had narrowed his eyes. "I guess. Just so you know, though, I’m not going to dance.”

“What?" Hoseok laughed. "Not even for me?’’

Ever since the Incident-After-Ice-Skating-That-No-One-Talks-About happened, the flirting had

been dialed back, but sometimes it still slips out. Like the other day when Yoongi’s subconscious
had taken over and he had grabbed Hoseok’s hand as they walked before dropping it like a hot
potato. Or when Yoongi wore a new set of jeans to dinner and Hoseok had told him he looked hot
before both of their faces turned red and they buried their faces into the menu.

Hoseok must've noticed the stiff set of Yoongi's face because he forces out another laugh and looks
away. “What type of party? My birthday isn't until February.”

“You don't need a reason to have a party,” Yoongi had said, picking at a callous. “You just throw
one whenever you want.”

Hoseok huffs, hoisting his shopping bags up. “Alright. My place. Tomorrow. At, what, 6:00? You
bring the dinner, I’ll have the desert, decorations, and music. And make sure you look nice, OK?
This is a high-end event.”

So here Yoongi is, standing with a fresh, homemade batch of japchae and wearing perhaps the
nicest outfit he has: a pair of dark jeans, black loafers, a grey, fitted sweater with a striped texture
that he thought went well with his heavy-framed glasses. He's even managed to find a single silver
stud that had miraculously fit in one of his old ear lobe piercings that he hadn’t used in years.

He knows that he should just knock and get this over with instead of standing in the empty hall like
an idiot: Jaejoon might come out of his door at any moment and then it'd be game over. He'd never
hear the end of it.

But he feels hot and clumsy and vaguely like he needs to shit, because he isn’t an idiot. It has
definitely occurred to him going to Hoseok's for a 'party' with homemade food and all dressed up
falls dangerously close within the definition of a date. And Yoongi can not handle a repeat of that
night when Hoseok had held him close on the couch. Not because he doesn't want it because fuck,
that night had haunted him ever since and when he remembers how Hoseok had held him,
something sharp in his chest grows will a debilitating longing, but he can't.

Yoongi isn't even sure why anymore. He just can't.

Yoongi glances at his watch. 6:09 p.m., which means that it was actually 6:07 p.m. because it's an
old watch and he hasn't felt the need to reset it.

Taking a deep, lung-swelling breath, Yoongi raises a fist and knocks.

The door swings open immediately, so fast that Yoongi wonders if Hoseok had just been waiting
for him on the other side - and Hoseok holds out his arms, filling the doorway. He looks nice, very
nice, with form-fitting, washed-out jeans and a thick, black turtleneck. His dark hair had been
brushed and styled, pushed to the side, showing off the sharp edges of his face, and several gold
rings on his fingers gleam as they caught the light from behind. But before Yoongi can do anything
more than gawk, Hoseok rushes forward, crying out in a sing-song voice, "You came! How
wonderful!"

He grabs Yoongi's shoulders, lifts a foot in the air, and kissed the air in front of Yoongi's cheeks.
"Wha -" Yoongi gasps. "What are you doing?"

Hoseok pulls back with twinkling eyes and a smirk on his lips. "What, is that not how people greet
each other at house parties? I saw this on a drama, so I'm pretty sure this is how it works."

Yoongi wiggles out of his arms and pushes past him into the apartment.

Most of the lights are turned off, but golden lights hang around the room, several candles flicker,
and the warm light of the kitchen spills out into the adjacent living room and dining room.
Hoseok's apartment is still mostly bare, but it feels more minimalist now than just empty. Yoongi
notices a simple metal figure on the coffee table and a pot of succulents on the window that hasn't
been there before. A speaker somewhere is playing old, somber holiday songs softly in the
background.

"Let's get this started," Hoseok says, grabbing Yoongi's shoulders again from behind and
propelling him towards the kitchen. "I'm starving."

By the time they grab plates of japchae and soybean sprouts and the cucumber salad that Hoseok
had prepared and sit down at Hoseok's excellently constructed table, the song has transitioned to a
ballad, soft and sweet.

"Whoa, this is really good," Hoseok says, holding up a clump of japchae balanced between his
chopsticks. His eyes are wide and his lips stuck out in surprise. "I'm serious, this might be the best
japchae I've had."

Yoongi smirks. "I told you, I'm a good cook."

Hoseok huffs and looks at Yoongi with a soft smile and warm eyes and something close to
admiration.

Yoongi should've ignored it, let it slide, but on impulse his eyes narrows and he asks, "What?"

"Hmm?"

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Hoseok plays dumb and blinks. "What look?"

"You - Never mind." Yoongi jabs at the noodles.

They eat in silence for a moment, the only sound being the scrape of the metal chopsticks and the
distant songs playing somewhere in the apartment.

Hoseok clears his throat. Yoongi glances up, pausing mid-chew when he sees Hoseok staring at
him, his face straight and severe, his arms crossed upon the table. “I like how you don’t have to
play humble,” he says. Holding his gaze is painful but Yoongi can’t look away. “I like how you're
confident enough in yourself to know what you are and aren’t good at.”

Yoongi swallows hard. He opens his mouth to say how much he appreciates Hoseok’s
straightforwardness, the way he seems to know what he wants in a way that Yoongi never has, but
the words stick in his throat when he remembers where he is. Dressed up. In Hoseok’s apartment.
Eating food to gentle music and candlelight.

Instead, Yoongi looks away, stuffing a fistful of japchae into his mouth and feels hot, shitty guilt
blooming in his gut. Even though he isn’t looking at Hoseok, Yoongi swears he can feel hurt in the
air and he hates this game that they are playing, this game with no rules and no words, but it isn’t
his fault that Hoseok wants something that Yoongi can't have.

It’s not fair, he thinks. It’s not fair for him.

After the silence has lasted long enough to solidify into awkwardness, Yoongi musters his courage
and asks, “So how's the party so far?”

As predicted, Hoseok smiles up at him as though nothing is wrong, although Yoongi swears that
it'ss a different smile than before. The angle is off, the curve too shallow. “I think it's going pretty
well. But you're the expert. Is this how they all are?”

“I don’t know. I've never been to one."

Hoseok swallows hard and coughs. "What? I thought you knew what you were doing."

"Well, I went to a holiday party for work last year. I only stayed for a few minutes but I think it
was similar to this though. More food. More people."

"Did they have one this year?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi spins his chopsticks, winding up a ball of noodles. “I didn’t go.” Yoongi’s mouth
opens again to say that the reason why s that he has given up on all of his half-hearted attempts to
befriend his coworkers ever since Hoseok. He's still nice, still tries to hold conversations, but most
of them have partners and children and mortgages and could never understand the things that
Yoongi knows and has seen, in the same way that he can never understand them.

But Hoseok knows what Yoongi knows. He's seen what Yoongi has seen. So, instead of going to
the bar after work and listening to more soccer stories or sitting alone in the back during the
monthly company event at the bowling alley, Yoongi has chosen to spend his social energy on
Hoseok.

But he can’t say that. Instead, he clears his throat and asks, "So, why did you want to have a party?"
Hoseok stiffens. "You don't have to answer that."

Hoseok shakes his head, winding and unwinding his japchae.

“When I was younger, much younger, I lived somewhere that wasn’t … great. I don’t remember
much of it, just the worst stuff really, but I do remember this one movie scene. It must’ve played
on TV a lot because I remember watching it several times. I don’t even know the movie and it had
this scene. There was a huge tree and lights and presents and everybody was happy. I guess it just
stuck with me, for some reason. When things got bad, I’d remember that scene and think that I’d
have that one day.”

Hoseok pauses. Yoongi watches his eyebrows dip, lips roll and unwind, body shift in his chair. “I -
The reason I left,” Hoseok says, voice hushed. “The last few years - I just did things. I did my job
and ate and slept. That’s it. I was just waiting to die until I heard that you had escaped. Not just
disappeared, but had actually gotten away.” He looks up with dark and serious eyes. “The only
reason I escaped was because I knew you had. I had never thought it was option before. Never
thought I could - And, I didn’t know you were here, I swear, but if you weren’t - If I was alone… I
would have lost my mind. I wouldn’t have made it -”

“Yes, you would have,” Yoongi interrupts. “Of course you would've. I managed. You’re strong,
Hoseok, you would have managed with or without me.”
Hoseok shakes his head fiercely, his fingers pulling at the thick knit of his turtleneck. “I don’t
think I could be alone again.”

Yoongi’s heart clenches and on impulse, his arm unfurls across the table with his palm out.
Hoseok’s eyes widen but he reaches out too, snagging Yoongi's fingers and pulling their palms
close.

The alarm bells sound off in Yoongi's head and guilt settles hot and heavy in a corner of his brain
but tries to ignore that, focusing on the warmth of Hoseok’s skin, how soft the back of his hand
feels against Yoongi’s thumb. When Yoongi raises his gaze, Hoseok is staring at him either with
amazement or fear.

Yoongi licks his lips, trying to suss out what to say as a flood of words builds inside of him.
Distantly, he registers that the carols have stopped: the playlist must've ended.

The silence between them grows. Hoseok’s eyebrows furrow. Yoongi feels like his being torn in
two.

“Yoongi,” Hoseok whispers.

A spoken word. The spell breaks.

Terrible fear coils in Yoongi's gut. He rips his hand back and pulls it against his chest.

Hoseok freezes with his palm still up against the table. Yoongi can see the hurt strike him across
the face; he gapes, his eyes glint.

Silence.

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi says, his voice catching in his throat.

Hoseok blinks and then realizes that his hand was still lying open on the table. He pulls it back.
“It’s fine.” He slips into one of his Smiles, a casual, friendly one, but it slides off almost as soon as
it's on. Then he watches Yoongi, face blank like a wild animal.

More silence.

Your fault. The voice in Yoongi’s head screams. Your fault, your fucking fault -

“It’s fine,” Hoseok says again, although it's obvious from the set of his shoulders, how his hands
grip each other, that it's not. It's not fine.

Silence again.

Yoongi breathes in a stuttering breath. He needs to get away, needs to rip his hair out, bury his face
in something. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Sure.” Hoseok nods, his movements too exaggerated. “It’s just down the hall. First door on the
left.”

“Thanks.”

Yoongi can feel Hoseok’s stare on his back as he stands and walks away and it takes all of his self-
control not to run. He passes the couch where Hoseok had held him and kissed him and where
Yoongi had kissed him back. Past the little painting Hoseok had bought at the craft market and had
hung up on the wall.
Yoongi marches down the dark hall and into the bathroom, turning on the light, the fan, and the
sink before dropping to the cold, tiled floor and burying his head in his arms, his glasses digging
into his face.

What the fuck does he think he's doing? He can’t be what Hoseok wants him to be, can’t give him
what he wants, can’t commit to a romantic relationship. Yoongi has always known that he isn't
allowed that. He's done too much. He's hurt too many people. It isn’t safe. Too much commitment,
too much weight. Too much potential for Yoongi to fuck it all up.

Yoongi just wants to be safe. And now, he can look back over the last two years and see the careful
walls he has constructed around himself. Not just cameras and escape measures in case anyone
from his past life tried to find him, but walls between him and his coworkers and neighbors,
anyone that could’ve gotten close.

He had made that mistake years ago with Winter and Yui. He had let them in, let them lodge
themselves in his heart, and when he had lost them, when they had been ripped from him, it had
hurt. It had hurt so much. Losing them had felt like a knife in the gut that kept twisting and twisting
and twisting.

Yoongi had thought that he could ignore these feelings building inside of him. He had hoped that if
they keep acting as friends, then maybe he can have all of Hoseok without any of the danger but
that wasn’t fair because Hoseok wanted more and, fuck, Yoongi wanted more too.

But he can’t have more.

He's hurting Hoseok. He knows that. He's knowingly hurting Hoseok over and over because he
can’t -

He can’t -

Adrenaline courses through his veins, shaking his limbs and racing his heart. Slowly, Yoongi
unfurls and lets his head fall back against the wall. He rubs his thighs with both hands over and
over, feeling the coarse denim of his jeans grate away at his palms.

The sound of the sink and the fan fill the room with white noise, calming him.

Yoongi needs to think. He needs time to try and sift through the mess in his head. He knows that
it's full of hypocrisy and irrationality but he can’t tell which from which and he's sick of this game
of dancing around what they both already know.

He'll tell Hoseok he needs a break. Wait - No, that would imply that they were ever on. He’d tell
Hoseok he needs time. To think. Hoseok will know why. Hoseok will understand.

Slowly, Yoongi pulls himself up to the counter, leaning over the near overflowing sink. He stars at
himself in the mirror, taking in the red spots on his forehead from where he had smashed his
forehead against his knees and the now, ever-constant dark bags under his eyes, visible even under
his frames.

Yoongi stares at himself until he can’t stand it any longer and, at once, he turns off the sink, slams
the light and fan switches, and emerges back out into the dark hall.

He’ll be fast. He’ll tell Hoseok and then retreat. This is the best way. The safest way.

The living room is silent and he can’t see Hoseok in the dining room, so he marches towards the
kitchen, his hands balled at either side.
“Hoseok,” he says, voice loud and resolute despite the nausea clinging in his throat. “I’m sorry, but
I-"

He turns the corner.

Hoseok is on his knees, hands up and grasping at the arms of a masked figure who currently has
one hand wrapped around Hoseok’s neck, crushing it, and another twisting against his mouth and
nose.

Yoongi freezes. The masked figure’s head snaps up. Hoseok’s eyes roll towards Yoongi, red-
rimmed and teary from lack of oxygen.

Instincts took over. Adrenaline crashes through Yoongi’s veins, but it's a different sort of
adrenaline than the kind that had crippled him in the bathroom just minutes ago. This is the kind of
adrenaline that Yoongi is used to. The kind he can work with.

While the assassin hesitates, Yoongi lunges for the set of kitchen knives sitting on the counter,
grabbed one in each hand, and, as he turns, used his momentum to fling the knife in his left hand
straight towards the assassin’s face.

The masked figure ducks, the knife striking the wall behind them with a heavy thud, and Yoongi
lunges again, lifting the other kitchen knife high to avoid endangering Hoseok. As Yoongi swings
down, the assassin releases Hoseok and steps away, raising an arm to knock aside Yoongi’s attack.
Distantly, Yoongi can hear Hoseok stumbling away and making an awful gasping sound as he
claws at the counter for support, but he can’t spare a thought as he swings and dodges and blocks
the assassin’s blows.

The assassin is good. Very good. They're young and spry and fast equipped with gear and
weapons, and covered head to toe with carbon-based armor and clothes. Their mask is black and
featureless, made of some light-absorbing carbon fiber.

After two years of carrying guns and weapons under his clothes, Yoongi is finally in a situation
where they would be super fucking useful, but of course, he left them all in his apartment. What a
moron.

The assassin begins to make a move towards a black rod on their belt that looks uncomfortably like
a taser when Yoongi lunges again but he steps too far forward, his center of balance lurching, and
like the lightning, the assassin spins and strikes Yoongi in the solar plexus.

Nerves across his body light up like firecrackers and his diaphragm spasms, forcing air out of his
lungs and bowing him forward. He doesn’t realize he has dropped the knife until he hears it
clattering against the tile floor. Grasping the counter, trying to find purchase with his nails, he does
his best to pull his body to its feet, looking up and blinking back tears.

The assassin has drawn their gun. Modern handle, long barrel, heavy silencer on the end. Seeing it
sends a wave of icy cold fear down Yoongi’s limbs, but the gun isn’t pointed at him.

“No,” he gasps.

Hoseok is up and moving towards them, the knife Yoongi had thrown earlier in his hand, but
Yoongi watches as the assassin draws the gun up high enough and fires. There's a hollow, muffled
boom and Hoseok’s body buckles, twisting to one side and falling back.

Yoongi lurches and, with every ounce of strength he has, slams his palm into the assassin’s wind-
pipe. The assassin gurgles and stumbles back while Yoongi steps forward, grabbing the gun in
their hands and, again, mustering as much strength as he can to strike the assassin’s solar plexus
with his elbow. When the assassin bends forward, Yoongi twisted his wrist, yanking the gun out of
his hands, while simultaneously grabbing the back of the assassin’s head and yanking it down to
crash into his raised knee.

The assassin goes boneless and Yoongi pushes them to the ground, taking advantage of their limp
form to unbuckle their gear belt and pull out as many knives and various other gear that he could
find, tossing it to the side. Just when he feels the assassin's limbs tensing, Yoongi reaches down
and rips off the mask. He stands and takes several steps back with the gun raised.

Now that he has a moment to breathe, he desperately needs to turn and see whether Hoseok is
alright, but the assassin is blinking up at him now. He can’t give them any opportunities.

“Who do you work for?” Yoongi growls, trying to mask how desperate his lungs are for air.

The assassin doesn’t say a word but their mask has twisted just enough for Yoongi to see that they
are young. And scared. They blink up at Yoongi as if they don’t understand what's going on. A
dark, sticky spot just under their nose is growing across their mask.

“Who do you work for?” Yoongi grits out again, taking a heavy step forward and jabbing the gun
towards them.

The assassin flinches and raises their hands but doesn’t say a word.

Yoongi knows what he needs to do. He and Hoseok have been found out; they're going to have to
leave no matter what but taking out this assassin could buy them a bit more time.

His index finger wraps around the trigger.

It's been over two years since he's last taken a life and the kid lying in front of him is so, so young.
Yoongi thinks of when he first met Hoseok, how young and stupid he had been. He thinks of Yui
and Winter. He thinks of himself when he had been young, dumb, scared, growing into a killer
because he thought he had no other options.

“Fuck,” he growls, finger tightening on the trigger. Hoseok could be bleeding out. Yoongi doesn’t
have time. “Stand up.”

The assassin complies, dragging themselves to their feet with their hands still raised above their
head. Their pupils are blown out and Yoongi can see their chest falling up and down in
anticipation.

“How did you get in?”

“Window,” the assassin says, their voice muffled by the mask. They point to the window
overlooking the table in the dining room. “That one.”

“Alright,” Yoongi says. “Leave.”

The assassin freezes. “What?”

“I want you to leave.” Yoongi takes another step forward and motions with the gun. “Now.”

This time the assassin doesn’t flinch. They just stare. “You - You’re letting me go?”

“Only if you leave now.”

The assassin finally gets the message and begins to move, walking backward as Yoongi pushes
them out of the kitchen and up to the window. He watches, gun trained, as they fumble with the
window latch and push it open, the cold air and city sounds pouring in.

The assassin has just swung one leg out, when Yoongi calls, “Wait.”

They pause, looking back towards him.

“I don’t know who your boss is or who's paying you, but you need to get out. Move. Find a
different life.”

“They won’t let me,” the assassin says, eyes still wide. They're so, so young.

“You have to.” Yoongi is an idiot; saying this wouldn’t change anything especially when he has
nothing to give the assassin that would actually help them, but he has to try. “And, if you can,
please. Don’t tell anyone just yet. Just - Give us a bit of time.”

The assassin doesn’t say anything. They look at Yoongi and look back to the kitchen, before
swinging their next leg up and disappearing over the edge into the night.

As soon as they're gone, Yoongi leaps forward, slamming the window closed, locking it, and
drawing the curtains before rushing back to the kitchen.

Hoseok is dragging himself up to his feet when Yoongi barrels in and Yoongi’s knees almost give
out in relief.

“Fuck,” Hoseok says when he sees him, his voice strained. His eyes are puffy and there are already
the shadows of a bruise forming around his neck, but he's standing. “Are you alright?”

“Are you alright?” Yoongi rushes forward with outstretched arms.

Nodding, Hoseok falls forward into Yoongi’s arms, gasping and wrapping his arms tight around
Yoongi, pulling him in.

They stand like that in silence. Yoongi can feel his pulse beating in his ears and the painful whine
of Hoseok’s fast and ragged breaths. Slowly, Yoongi relaxes, his muscles losing their tension one
by one and he let his face bury into Hoseok’s neck.

Yoongi’s chest aches: one rib in particular stings with every breath and his ankle feels swollen and
hot and he knows that he'll be covered with bruises the next day but he's alive and Hoseok is alive.

He could have stayed like that forever, but warm, familiar wetness is growing on his sleeve.

Yoongi pulls his head back, ignoring Hoseok’s gentle moan, and sees blood staining his grey
sweater, dripping down from a deep gash just beneath Hoseok’s shoulder.

“Shit.” Yoongi recoils. The gash is deep and long: the bullet hadn’t lodged, but it had torn as much
flesh as it could. Just a centimeter to the side and it would have struck bone. “I thought you said
you were alright.”

“I am,” Hoseok whispers. His voice is low and raspy. “It passed through. Not bad.”

“You’re bleeding a lot, fuck. Here. Sit.” Yoongi guides Hoseok down to the floor. “Do you have a
medkit?”

“Yeah. Bedroom. Under ... bed.”

Yoongi’s adrenaline burst is losing steam and he can feel his muscles stiffening, but he forces
himself to jog to the back room. Thankfully, the medkit is easy to find, poking halfway out from
under the bed.

“We don’t have much time,” Yoongi says as he runs back, immediately ripping the kit open and
pulling out a bandage, gauze, and antiseptic. “They weren’t expecting both of us to be together, but
they’ll be prepared next time.”

Hoseok flinches, breath sputtering when Yoongi splashes antiseptic on the wound. “They … got
away?”

“Yeah. And don’t speak, OK? You’ll just hurt your vocal cords more.” Hoseok nods and closes his
eyes, letting his head fall back against the pantry and Yoongi barely suppresses the urge to reach
out and cup his head with his hands. Instead, he breathes in deep and ripped open the bandage
package. “We can’t stay here. We have to leave.”

“Where?” Hoseok breathes.

“I have some contacts who can get us to the airport, it’ll just take them at least twenty minutes to
get here and I need to notify them.” He presses the bandage firm against the wound and purses his
lips when Hoseok shudders. He wraps the gauze around his arm as fast and tight as he can. “I can
get us plane tickets. I have several offshore bank accounts set up and so they shouldn’t be able to
track us. You’re going to go to Belgium.”

Hoseok’s eyes shoot open and he turns to Yoongi mouth wide like he wants to protest but can't find
the words.

“I have contacts there too. I can get you an apartment and a job. It might take a day or two, so
you’ll have to trust me.”

Hoseok’s right hand reaches up, tapping Yoongi’s chest. “You?” he says so quietly Yoongi isn’t
sure if he's just mouthing the word.

“I’m not sure.” Yoongi turns away and tosses things back into the kit and into the trash, refusing to
meet Hoseok’s eyes. A terrible ache is blooming over Yoongi’s heart but he can ignore it for now.
He's good at ignoring. He has things he needs to do: they don’t have time. “Maybe South America.
I know some people who might help.”

Hoseok begins shifting and although Yoongi is looking away, he can almost feel Hoseok reaching
out for him. “Wait - “ Hoseok tries. His vocal cords sound as though they're tearing themselves
apart.

“Stop.”

The word comes out stronger and harsher than Yoongi meant and Hoseok falls silent immediately.
Yoongi stands. Hoseok's eyes are still teary, his face sharp. It's the same look he wore when
Yoongi had torn his hand away just thirty minutes before or when he had run from Hoseok’s
embrace that night on the couch or when Yoongi had flirted or touched or played along before
yanking himself back the second after, constantly playing this game of cat and mouse over the last
few months.

“Don’t -” Yoongi begins before the words die as his throat chokes up, a nameless emotion gripping
him. “Don’t speak,” he finally manages to say. “You need to pack. Just one suitcase. You have
twenty-five minutes.”
Yoongi turns and runs.

It was easy to pack. Yoongi’s computer whirs as it notifies his contacts that they need extraction to
the airport ASAP and connects to his offshore accounts to begin setting up the ticket purchases.
Grimacing at the pull of stiff muscles, Yoongi packs, focusing on essentials like his weapons, some
change of clothes, toiletries, stashes of money he had hidden, any personal item that could give
information on his true identity or past. He'll have to give up his weapons to his contacts before
they reach the airport, but hopefully he won't need them wherever it is that he's going.

For the past two years Yoongi has been living in the fear of losing this apartment that he has grown
familiar with or the things he has collected, this little life he's scraped together and guarded so
closely.

But now that he was leaving it all, Yoongi doesn’t give a fuck.

He's angry. Actually, scratch that, he's fucking furious and he doesn’t even know why, because this
was what he had been expecting for years, right? If he built this life up, then he can build up
another. It’ll be easier this time. He’ll be more prepared to find somewhere to live, get a job better
suited for him, pay the bills, et cetera.

It only takes Yoongi about twenty minutes to pack and when he sits down in front of his computer
again, moaning as his ribs twinge, his contacts have already responded, telling him that they would
arrive in twenty-three minutes. His accounts are good to go too, ready to purchase the tickets, so,
using a fake identity he already has built, Yoongi pulls up an airline site and begins ordering the
tickets, legs bouncing under the table.

He thinks of Hoseok staring up at him from the floor. Hurt, raw and transparent, all of Hoseok's
masks tossed aside for Yoongi.

He shakes his head. Focus.

Really, if he looks at this from a certain way, Yoongi thinks as he types in the information to order
Hoseok’s tickets to Belgium, this is probably the best possible way for it to end between them. He
has helped Hoseok adjust and is moving him somewhere safer. They’ll probably never see each
other again, but - It's for the best.

He repeats that thought over and over in his head and wishes he could believe it.

Yoongi is on autopilot until he reaches the section in the application asking for the number of
tickets being purchased. By default, it's set to one, but he pauses, hands hovering over the
keyboard.

The awful ache in his chest grows and grows, a dangerous idea taking root.

He doesn’t care about leaving this apartment, or his things, or his work.
He cares about leaving Hoseok.

The cursor in the textbox blinks. Yoongi doesn’t want to lose Hoseok. He doesn't want to lose
Hoseok. That single thought rings through his body like a bell.

He loves Hoseok.

He's known that for weeks, months maybe, but has been too afraid. Before, he had a myriad of
choices to choose from and different paths that he can travel, but now, it's all boiled down to a
single choice.

Yoongi can buy one ticket. Or two.

He squeezes his eyes shut, breathes out. Buying two tickets is dangerous. Buying one is safe.

If he buys two tickets, he will hurt Hoseok. Yoongi knows he will: he hurts everyone in the end.
It's unavoidable.

But maybe, a small, clear voice says somewhere in the back of Yoongi’s head, behind the mess of
emotions and trauma, Maybe you’ll hurt him more by not loving him. Maybe you’re hurting
yourself by not loving him.

A few minutes later and Yoongi has wiped his desktop's memory, tossed his ancient laptop, and
some other supplies into a backpack and has cleared out all of the data on his hard drives. Wilting,
he sags into his desk chair and rests his head in his hands, feeling both numb and overwhelmed
when someone knocks on his door.

Yoongi glances up. He still had another twelve minutes before his contacts would be here, so he
stands, grabbing a pistol just in case, before walking to the front of the apartment and peering
through the peephole. He throws the door open immediately.

It's Hoseok. He's wearing his denim coat and a backpack, a suitcase behind him, and has tied a
plaid scarf around his neck to hide the bruises.

“Yoongi,” Hoseok whispers, his voice rough and taut and straining to be louder. He's leaning
against the doorway, holding his wounded arm with his other hand.

Yoongi steps forward. “You shouldn’t speak -”

“No,” Hoseok spits.

Yoongi shuts up.

Deflating, Hoseok's gaze drops to the floor. He licks his lips. “Yoongi,” he tries again, softer and
slower with his good hand reaching up to press against his throat. “I want to come with you.”
Yoongi opens his mouth, but Hoseok shakes his head, cutting him off. “I know that it’s more
dangerous and I would never want to put you in danger and if you want to leave by yourself, I
understand, but -” His voice catches and he coughs, shoulders bucking. “But, I -”

“Hoseok,” Yoongi tries, but Hoseok raises a hand.

“Please,” Hoseok rasps. “Let me… say this -”

“I bought two tickets.”

“You ... What?”

 “I bought two tickets. To Belgium.” Hoseok blinks, confused. “I'm going with you. I want to go
with you.”

Hoseok’s mouth drops into an o and his eyebrows arch. A little thrill of joy shoots through Yoongi,
a little burst of warmth.

“What?”

“Hoseok.” Yoongi steps forward again and slowly reaches a hand out, weaving his fingers in
between Hoseok’s good hand. “Look. I'm sorry, I know I keep messing and - I think I will keep
messing up, I don't want to leave you. I want to go with you.” Yoongi pauses, taking a shaky breath
and licking his lips. “Is that - Is that alright?”

Hoseok tightens his fingers and draws Yoongi’s hand closer. He nodded and bites at his lower lip
and somewhere in Yoongi's chest, a dam bursts. He can feel sobs building in his throat, tears
pricking his eyes so he wraps his arms around Hoseok and buries his face into his scarf, being
careful to avoid his injuries. Hoseok does the same, holding Yoongi close and pressing his lips
against Yoongi's ear.

They stand still, pressed together in the doorway with arms tight around each other. Yoongi closes
his eyes and breathes out, losing himself in Hoseok's warmth.

Chapter End Notes

Welp. This came out much fluffier and much longer than I had expected, but I hope
you enjoyed!!

Quick note: I am planning on writing an epilogue for this that will show them one year
later and will feature the rest of the members, so subscribe if you're interested! Again,
thanks for reading! xoxoxoxo

8/9/2020 NOTE: Just FYI, for anyone coming back to this fic, I did do a major
overhaul which included: changing the tense, cleaning up writing, changing a few
story beats I was no longer happy with. I first published this fic in a rush for a fest and
have since gotten a better handle on writing in general (or I like to this so), so even
though it feels a little shitty to edit a lot after posting the fic, I feel much better about it
now!

twitter!
 Epilogue: One Year Later
Chapter Summary

Warning: This epilogue is 100% fluff and kisses and resolution. Please don't expect
any plot or angst, because there is none!

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Yoongi groans, letting his head fall back against the elevator wall, feeling the hum of the machine
in his skull. The clusters of grocery bags in his hands are cutting off the circulation to his fingers no
matter how many times he shifts them around.

The elevator slows, elegantly coming to a stop on their floor.

He taps Thank you to the elevator with the heel of his boot before shuffling and maneuvering
himself and his bags out onto the landing.

The elevator is the only perk about this new apartment building which is old and worn and had
been the first available place they had found. By the time he and Hoseok had arrived here, in this
new bustling city, Yoongi had been frazzled and rushed and exhausted and he had not cared how
nice the place was as long as it was somewhere where they could lock the door and rest.

Yoongi shuffles down the hall, swaying to either side and letting the weight of the grocery bags tug
him back and forth. The white walls of the building are grimy and littered it black skidmarks from
who knows what. He and Hoseok have just begun discussing looking for another place and Yoongi
cannot wait. Loud voices boom out from one of the neighboring doors as he trudges past, a faint
background of sports music and newscasters in the background. Yoongi rolls his eyes for the
empty hallway, just for the hell of it.

Yoongi hadn't been expecting culture shock to knock him off of his feet just a week after settling
in. Everything had been off. The air tasted different, the ground felt different, the sky, moon, and
sun all looked different in a way that he couldn’t see, but that Yoongi felt it in his core.

Homesickness had hit him like a tidal wave and smothered him in a fog: it had gotten so bad that
he couldn’t leave their bare, empty rooms, couldn’t do anything more than lay in bed, feeling as
though he was drowning in this foreign air when someone knocked on their door.

That person had turned out to be Kim Seokjin, a native-born Korean who lived two doors down,
spoke beautiful, fluent Korean and had been holding a steaming hot bowl of sundubu-jigae.

That stew had been the absolute best fucking thing Yoongi had tasted in his entire life and he
remembered weeping while trying to eat, Hoseok’s hand rubbing his back and Seokjin politely
trying to hold a conversation while doing his best to give Yoongi space.

Seokjin had been their first friend. At the time, they'd both been too desperate to be paranoid and
had trusted him from the beginning, which had apparently been the right choice since he had yet to
try and kill them.
Yoongi shuffles up to their front door, the last door on the right. Behind it, he can hear muffled
voices and music and Seokjin’s loud, oscillating laugh.

Smirking, Yoongi shifts the bags just enough so that he can jam a thumb against the door bell.

A voice yells, footsteps pound, and the door flies open to reveal Jimin, smiling wide with red
cheeks and his recently dyed blonde hair pushed back from his face.

"There you are," he says, voice breathless from laughing or singing or both. He's wearing a bright
red sweater adorned with a cartoon reindeer and blinking lights and an apron that reads Kiss the
chef, and, before Yoongi could react, he reaches down to grab the grocery bags, hoisting them up
as if they weigh nothing. "You're late."

"Late?" Yoongi scoffs in mock indignation, shaking his hands as he steps in to try and get the
circulation going. "I live here. I can't be late."

Jimin shrugs and spins on his heel towards the kitchen. "Hobi-hyung says you’re late, so you’re
late,” he calls over his shoulder before disappearing into the white, kitchen light.

Yoongi sighs for the empty entryway and begins peeling off his layered of winter clothes, slipping
off his boots and checking his hair in the mirror before shuffling forward into the apartment.

Somehow, he and Hoseok had found a balance between Yoongi’s clutter and Hoseok’s cleanliness.
The walls are covered in posters and artwork, but everything is framed and arranged. Books and
knick-knacks litter the many shelves, but they are all balanced and arranged on shelves, recently
dusted. It had been dumb, but out of all of the many issues for them to deal with, it had been the
issue of cleaning that they had probably fought most about at the beginning before they began to
understand that cleaning is a way for Hoseok control of his environment while Yoongi feels the
need to own things and be distracted, especially when his anxiety starts ticking up.

The kitchen feels too busy at the moment with its blaring pop music and Hoseok, Jimin, and
Seokjin all laughing hysterically about something while dishes clatter together, so Yoongi heads
towards the living room, hands in his pockets.

A muted cartoon plays on the television and the curtains to the wide windows are open, showing
the shadows of the city darkening with twilight.

Jungkook is curled up in one of the armchairs, his dark hair pulled back and his body dwarfed by
an oversized sweatshirt. Namjoon is on the couch and wearing a yellow hoodie and blue jeans
instead of his usual college professor get-up. His thick glasses catch glints of light as he turns
towards Yoongi and smiles. Taehyung is, as always, dressed like the stereotypical art professor:
dark modern suit, embroidered loafers half-crammed onto his feet, his permed, black hair spilling
over Namjoon’s lap as he lays on the couch, looking half asleep.

They all perk up as Yoongi shuffles in. Jungkook waves a sweater-paw while Taehyung lifts his
hand drowsily in the air in a vague circular motion.

"Hyung," Namjoon calls. He's carding a hand through Taehyung’s hair over and over, the black
curls bouncing back as Taehyung’s eyelids flutter closed. "Did they really have you work today?"

Yoongi nods and pushes his glasses back up his nose. He eyes the empty spot on the couch
enviously. It's Christmas Eve; work had been dull and grocery shopping had been hell. He'd like
nothing more than to flop onto the couch, but he hasn’t seen Hoseok yet. "It wasn't too bad. Just not
much to do. We pushed a small software update and helped some kids out with their porn viruses,
but that was it."

Almost a year ago, after moving into the apartment, but before the homesickness struck, before
Hoseok definitely moved in, before they even bought any furniture, he and Hoseok had sat on the
empty floor around Yoongi's mock-computer setup, take-out boxes littered around them, as Yoongi
scoured job search sites. He had almost applied for another software development position before
Hoseok had tugged on his sleeve.

"Are you sure you're good with that?" Hoseok had asked from where he was laying on the floor.
"This is your chance to try something different."

Yoongi had paused. He had liked his previous job, but he remember stressful development cycles,
late nights, working weekends, so instead, after applying and checking out several jobs, he ended
up in an IT position at a nearby university. It was not as cool, but much more chill: mainly just
worked on website and wi-fi maintenance and occasionally helping a panicked student when they
downloaded a virus. Most days he lounged around the IT office, listening to campus gossip from
the librarians or getting into hour-long debates with his dorky coworkers.

As fate would have it, it was also where he had met Namjoon, a Korean philosophy professor who
had a habit of finding the most bizarre ways to screw up his computer, like spilling half a tub of
glue on the keyboard or somehow knocking it ten feet across the room. But Namjoon was smart
and kind and it wasn't long until Yoongi was hanging out in his office during work hours,
discussing poetry and politics and old stories. Somewhere along the way, Yoongi had also met
Namjoon's fiance, Taehyung, an art professor at the same university specializing in photography
and modern art and who was weirdly introspective and funny and intelligent, somehow seeing
straight through Yoongi whenever their conversations would dip into deep topics.

"I don’t have to go in to work until a few days from now to prepare for next semester," Namjoon
says, pausing to rub his eyes until Taehyung reaches up, eyes still closed, pulls Namjoon's hand
back down to his hair. Namjoon immediately starts petting his head again.

"The campus was quiet. It was nice." Something crashes in the kitchen, followed by a shriek and
some more giggles: Yoongi winced. "What are you guys doing here so early? I thought this thing
didn't begin until six."

Namjoon shrugs. "We weren’t doing anything else today and Hoseok asked us to bring over a few
things. We’ve actually already been here an hour and we were the last ones to arrive.”

"Jimin and I have been here since two," Jungkook says, pushing back some dark strands of hair
that had slipped out of his ponytail. “And Seokjin-hyung was already here.”

"What? What have you been doing?"

“Cooking and stuff. I fell asleep for most of it.”

"You should see what they have in the kitchen, they've cooked enough for the whole building,”
Namjoon says, grinning.

"Mmmm," Taehyung hums, his deep voice rumbling. "Smells good."

Yoongi sighs again, this time getting a reaction when Namjoon snorts and Jungkook grins, before
aiming his shuffle towards the kitchen, feeling the swipe of his socks against the hardwood floor.

Compared to the calm living room, the kitchen feels like a war zone. Some SNSD song is blasting
loud enough that one has to yell to be heard. Piles of cookies and cakes and fried rice and hoeddeok
and salad and ddukbokki sit in plates and bowls and platters.

Seokjin is frying some pork by the stove, wearing sweatpants and a long-sleeve t-shirt instead of
his usual suit and tie and is singing along, bobbing his head hard enough that he doesn’t notice
when Yoongi slips by. Jimin is on the opposite side and is cutting vegetables so fast that the knife
blurs in his hand. Even with the music blaring, he turns just as Yoongi slips by and waves the knife
in greeting.

Sometimes, Jimin scares Yoongi a bit.

That night almost a year ago when he and Hoseok had laid on the bare carpet of their new
apartment, choosing their new jobs while Yoongi flitted from database to database creating false
documents and fake identification, Yoongi had asked Hoseok what he wanted to do.

"Dance," Hoseok had replied without missing a beat. He was still laying on his back on the floor,
head turned so Yoongi could only see his tousled hair and a few sharp angles of his face.

Yoongi paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

"I don't know if that’s safe..."

"I don't mean performing or anything. Nothing too public." He fell silent. "Maybe teaching?"

"I can probably only get you an audition for a position," Yoongi said slowly. "I wouldn't be able to
guarantee you a job."

"I know."

Yoongi had frowned. "And it's much harder to change the documents once they're made. Are you
sure -"

"Yoongi." Hoseok hadn't moved or changed his tone but there was still a shift in the air. "Trust
me."

So Yoongi had. Hoseok very clearly didn’t want to talk about it, so Yoongi didn’t bring it up, even
when Hoseok began to disappear most afternoons, returning late in the night sweaty and worn out.
And when Hoseok had shown up a few weeks later with an armful of employment paperwork
declaring that he had been selected for a dancing instructor position had a local studio, Yoongi had
held him as his shoulders shook on the couch, whispering soft congratulations.

It was at the dance studio where Hoseok had met Jimin and Jungkook, a young married couple,
and when he had invited them over to dinner the same night Seokjin, Taehyung, and Namjoon
came over, everything had clicked. Jimin and Taehyung became instant best friends, Namjoon took
Jungkook under his wing, and Seokjin developed a roaring, poorly-veiled crush on both Namjoon
and Taehyung, both of whom, from Yoongi’s observation, were also extremely interested, although
nothing had happened between them yet. Everybody else all had bets on how long it would take
the three of them to get together: Yoongi had bet February of next year and, from the looks of it,
he still had a decent chance at winning the hundred-thousand won on the line.

Yoongi narrows his eyes and Jimin and slides up behind Hoseok who's washing dishes in the sink
with his back turned.

Gently, Yoongi snakes an arm around Hoseok's waist and press his face against the back of his
neck, holding tight when Hoseok stiffens.
"Hello," Yoongi mumbles, letting his tired body sag against Hoseok's.

Hoseok laughs, muscles relaxing, as he twists in Yoongi's grip, rotating to face him. He wraps his
arms around Yoongi shoulders and draws him close enough to peck his forehead before pulling
back and smiling. "Hello," he replies with his resonant voice rising and falling, laced with laughter.
"How was your day?"

"Mmmm."

Hoseok grins wide and Yoongi can't help but grin back.

Hoseok is beautiful. Even more beautiful than last year, if that's possible.

His hair has grown out, styled to fall away from his forehead, and Taehyung had recently
convinced him to get blonde highlights. He's wearing a fluffy green sweater over tailored, dark
jeans. He glows now a quiet confidence that Yoongi thinks is hot as fuck.

With one last squeeze, Hoseok pulls away, unraveling his limbs and catching Yoongi's hand in his
own. "Here, follow me."

"What? Where?"

"I have a present for you." Hoseok winks, tugging Yoongi out of the kitchen.

"Oh, gross," Jimin groans and wrinkles his face in disgust as they pass. "Right now?"

"Hobi-yah, not in front of the salad," Seokjin scolds, jabbing a finger towards a bowl of chopped
greens beside the oven.

Hoseok ignores them, marching Yoongi out of the kitchen and turning left down the dark, carpeted
hall before opening the door to their bedroom and pulling Yoongi inside.

The room is dark, the only lights being the blood-red glow of their digital alarm clock and the
faint, grey glow of waning, winter daylight slipping in through the cracks in the window blinds.

The bedroom door shuts behind them, muffling the noises of the music and friends. Yoongi sinks
down onto their bed and feels that rush of relief in his lower back. He sags, his palms splayed
against the cool, cotton comforter.

"I was thinking about waiting until tomorrow morning," Hoseok was saying, bustling around the
room. "But I think you'd want to see this now -"

Yoongi interrupts him by catching his hand and tugging sharply, pulling Hoseok close enough for
Yoongi to rock forward and kiss him. Hoseok grunts in protest, but he still falls into the kiss,
sinking down onto the bed and turning his head enough to let Yoongi in.

Just like the first time, the second time, and every time, warmth blooms in Yoongi's chest but it
isn't the sharp, almost painful feeling from the beginning when he had been desperate and scared.
The warmth is familiar and known: there is a designated fireplace just below his heart that catches
the blaze and holds it steady, sustained and healthy.

Hoseok's hand reaches up and runs it through Yoongi's hair, giving one sharp tug before he
breaking away, a smile on his face.

Yoongi whines and pulls for another one, but Hoseok swats his chest. "Stop," he huffs, standing
and twisting away, dropping into a desk chair that was just a few feet away from the end of the
bed. "I really have to show you something."

"But what about my present?"

“I’m getting it ready now.” Hoseok wheels over to the computer desk and pulls out the ancient,
grey laptop from one of the drawers. As he boots the laptop up, Yoongi pushes himself up on his
feet and shuffles over behind Hoseok, leaning down to wrap his arms loosely across Hoseok's
shoulders. Remembering to pull off his glasses, Yoongi burrows his head into Hoseok’s neck and
shoulders and breathes in the rich cinnamon aroma of his body wash.

"How was work?" Hoseok asks quietly as his lean fingers tap on keyboard.

"Fine. Boring. Jungkook told me that everybody’s been here a while."

"Jin-hyung's been here since noon helping cook and Jimin and Jungkook came around two, I think?
I told them that they didn't have to but -" Hoseok shrugs.

"They like you a lot."

"I think Jimin and Jungkook were bored anyways with the studio closed."

“Mmmm.”

“I think it’s going well so far,” Hoseok says quietly.

“What is?”

“You know. The party.”

Yoongi snorts against Hoseok’s sweater. "Maybe this one will make up for last year's."

"What?" Hoseok says with mock exaggeration. "What was wrong with last years?"

"If I remember correctly, you were shot, I had an emotional breakdown, and we had to flee the
country."

"Well, OK. It wasn't all bad."

“The food was good, I guess."

“And we ended up alright. In the end.”

Yoongi smiles and burrows his face down deeper. “Guess so.”

The laptop chirps and Hoseok startles, shaking Yoongi off. "Ah, OK, here it is. Read."

Sighing, Yoongi straightens and pulls his glasses back on, squinting at the screen. "The Seung
Rings… bombed the Red Hand’s headquarters?" Yoongi reads on, taking in the convoluted details
before re-reading the email. His jaw drops. "What the fuck?"

Hoseok's eyes reflect the blue glow of the laptop. "The truces between syndicates has totally
broken and the Alliance of Five has disbanded."

"Holy shit. That means -"

"It means most of the data on you and I were probably destroyed in the bombings. It means that the
chances that anybody will give a shit about two old assassins just got much, much lower."

"Fuck." Yoongi straightens. His mind races, trying to process the new information.

"Yeah." Hoseok runs a hand through his hair. "I mean, this really doesn't change much. We should
keep up the security cameras and stuff and keep an eye on the web, but -"

"They won't find us."

Hoseok eyebrows arch.

"They won't find us," Yoongi repeats before spinning the desk chair so Hoseok is looking up at
him.

Hoseok is beautiful. The lines of his face, his shoulders, his hands. The way his muscles glow and
move. His mannerisms. His lilting speech. His dark eyes, his curved smile.

Love spreads and fills up Yoongi's chest until he can barely breathe.

Hoseok watches him from his chair, face furrowed. "Yoongi, what -"

Yoongi kneels suddenly, cutting Hoseok off, and grabbing Hoseok's hand, holding it tight in both
of his own.

"Hoseok," he says in a rush. "Let's get married."

Hoseok's jaw gapes and eyes bug, his hands gripping Yoongi's fingers. "What -" He sputters. "You
-"

"And let's get a house. Or - maybe not a house, I don't care about that, but I want to get a dog. Or
lots of dogs. Let's travel. Let's take those ballroom dancing classes you were talking about."

"Yoongi, this - This doesn't mean that we're definitely safe forever."

Yoongi shakes his head. A weird, giddy grin is taking over his face and he can see it spreading to
Hoseok, the corners of Hoseok’s lips twisting even though his eyes are still wide with shock.

"They're never going to find us, Hobi. We're safe."

"You don't know that."

"I do. Trust me."

Hoseok stares at him, searching Yoongi's eyes and face before pulling his shoulders up and
laughing hard, falling sideways into the armrest of the chair. He leans forward and smacks a kiss
against Yoongi's forehead. "Alright, handsome. I'll trust you."

Yoongi grins back hard, the bedroom air cold against his gums, before hesitating. "Um," he says
after a beat, anxiety crystallizing. "Is that… a yes?"

"A yes to what?"

"You know," Yoongi mutters, feeling very small as he looks up at Hoseok who's grin had shifted
into shit-eating mode. Yoongi's face starts burning. "The… marriage thing."
 "Hmm." Hoseok cocks his head and taps his chin while Yoongi tries not to implode. "You didn't
really ask me anything. But," he ducks down and brushes his cheek against Yoongi's face. He
whispers, "Ask me again tonight. And we'll see."

Yoongi nods, brain on autopilot. He probably would've knelt there the rest of the night, but Hoseok
begins to kiss him, gentle pecks up his neck, on his cheeks, until finally reaching his mouth, where
he tugs on Yoongi's lip. All tension bleeding away.

They stay pressed together: Yoongi doesn't know if it was for two or twenty minutes, but
eventually, a loud burst of laughter from the front of the apartment breaks them apart.

"We should probably entertain our guests," Hoseok says. He smirks apologetically and slides his
hand through Yoongi's hair one last time, pushing it away from his forehead.

"I guess." Yoongi climbs to his feet slowly, stretching his knees before Hoseok grabs his hand and
pulls him forwards.

As Hoseok opens the door, golden light spills in and catches on Hoseok's body.

"Hey," Yoongi says, tugging on Hoseok's hand.

Hoseok pauses, turns back towards Yoongi with upturned eyebrows and lips, his eyes soft and kind
and warm.

"I love you."

The pop song in the kitchen reaches a swelling crescendo and laughter bursts out again as Hoseok
smiled, the light behind him somehow growing brighter.

"I love you too."

Then he leads Yoongi away, back into the warm light of the apartment with Hoseok's hand hot
against Yoongi's own.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you so much to everyone who read and liked this, especially if you left kudos
or comments! Seriously, it means so much!

I'm sorry about this weird format: I had planned out this epilogue from the beginning
but I didn't have it ready in time to include with the rest, so I hope no one feels
disappointed about the lack of plot. I really just wanted to show them being happy
2gether 4ever and I actually have a spin-off in mind where everybody gets wasted at
this holiday party, just hours after this epilogue ends, and turns out, everybody has
hidden, double lives (I alluded to it a bit with Jimin) and Yoongi freaks out ... but I
don't know if I'll ever actually get around to it.

Again, thanks so much for reading !! Happy New Year !!

**Also, I should note that over the last few months I've edited this piece quite a lot! I
feel as though I've grown a lot in terms of fanfiction and writing, and there were
several elements to this story that I was uncomfortable with. So, if you're rereading and
 notice little changes, then yes, it is probably changed. :)

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