Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, Yoongi had loved Hoseok, he thinks. But, that was in the past—an almost distant memory. Today, he has a job, and he’s resolved to get it done.

However, despite what he believes to be his determination and dedication to the task at hand, his mind has been wandering into the safe haven of past recollections lately.

Four years ago; Yoongi, in his final year of college, and Hoseok, the sunny owner of a cafe not far from Yoongi’s dingy apartment, crashed into each other on a bright summer morning. 

One in a rush to get to class with a cup of iced sweet tea in hand, and the other on his way to carry out a perfunctory check-in with a recently hired barista running the little cafe.

The shock of the cold drink spilling onto Hoseok’s shirt took away from the ‘meet-cute’ factor, but for the two of them, it was as soft a first meeting as could be.

“Are you sure you can do this?”

It’s not the first time The Handler’s asked him this question, and it’s most definitely not out of concern that he asks. 

Yoongi stands in a blue room with stained glass windows and arched walls, staring straight ahead. Coming in here always reminds him of a cathedral, but this is the farthest thing from hallowed ground. This is where he gets his assignments, where he reports to after every mission, and where the consequences of failure are meted out. Though, Yoongi’s only ever failed once, it’s not an experience or a memory he likes to relive. 

“I can,” he says steadily. Monotone. Doesn’t bat an eye as the alpha circles him leisurely before running two casual fingers through Yoongi’s hair. 

The man’s scent mixes with his overbearing aura somehow; a hair-raising smell of gasoline right before it smokes into a fire. It’s a strange one, Yoongi’s always thought.

“You won’t fail The Sanctum this time around, will you?” The Handler asks, coming to a stop right in front of him. 

Yoongi’s eyes glaze over the jagged scar running from the corner of the alpha’s mouth down to his throat, where it disappears under the sheath of a light blue turtleneck. “I won't fail,” he replies.

“Good. We don’t take well to betrayal or repeated ineptitude.  It’s been a few years and we believe you’ve had enough time to get over your…ah, shortcomings. At the same time, Jung Hoseok’s reputation in the country’s seedy underbelly has grown much too large to ignore. You understand that this is your fault, yes?”

Yoongi’s throat bobs once. “Yes, I understand.”

“And you also know that you’re quite possibly the only one who can get close enough to put an end to his reign, don’t you?”

He nods, but doesn’t say anything. 

A cold sensation slithers down his back when The Handler takes his jaw in one gloved hand, worn leather chafing his skin as the man tips his head this way and that, as though examining Yoongi for any defects or signs of wavering. Seconds tick by on a large grandfather clock sitting in one corner of the room, until finally, the alpha lets go of him with a mild huff of satisfaction. 

“Good enough,” he says, producing something from his pocket next. “Hold out your hand.”

Yoongi complies without hesitation, though as he stares at the little pill-dispenser, a sliver of apprehension cuts through him. 

“As we both know, you’re more than well-trained in concealing your scent, and we only give these to our newbies…but think of them as extra insurance,” he says, as the little device pops out two round, cream-coloured pills onto his hand. “We wouldn’t want you accidentally giving yourself away before you even get a chance to do your job, would you?”

Though the tiny tablets have no taste and barely give off a smell, Yoongi still fights the urge to gag. He gets memories of a time when he still had to take these before every mission. They work as a dual heat-suppressant/scent-blocker combo, and Yoongi is pretty sure there’s nothing like them being marketed to the public. He’s not sure if the right term would be ‘industrial-strength medication,’ but that’s how it feels. 

For weeks after taking just one dose, it feels like walking around in the dark, no sense of his omega present inside him, and then, always —about three weeks later, the most excruciating heats and nausea-inducing cramps. Sometimes, a job could take longer than usual, but these pills were a reminder not to waste any time. Of course, Yoongi has long since achieved a rank and reputation in The Sanctum where he stopped having to take them, but now, he stares at the small things sitting in the palm of his hand and presses his lips together. 

“...I thought the usual dose was just one of these.”

The Handler smiles, a wretched, uncanny image, pale scar stretching across even paler skin. “Like I said: extra insurance.”

“…Fine.”

Yoongi says nothing more and tosses the pills into his mouth, throat bobbing as he swallows. He breathes out through his nose, lets his heart rate slow to as rested a pace as it can get, and pictures any small vestiges of pheromones he might have been giving off getting drawn back into him. 

The alpha cocks his head a little, still standing so infernally close to him. “I trust that I don’t have to conduct an oral cavity search, do I?”

Without a word, Yoongi opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out. Waits. 

The smile on the man’s face pulls a little wider, looking more like a sneer now. “Of course I trust you, Crimson Briar.” A codename Yoongi hasn’t used in two years. “There’s no need for that, unlike old times.”

Yoongi closes his mouth wordlessly this time too. Still waiting. 

Eventually, the man sidesteps him, heading over to the wide mahogany desk set in the far end of the room. He leans against it and crosses his arms, appraising Yoongi with a gaze that’s far heavier than clinical interest this time around. Bile churns in Yoongi’s stomach as awareness of it crawls up his skin.

The cloying scent of gasoline permeates the room even worse than before, making Yoongi’s nose wrinkle in discomfort. 

“That will be all,” The Handler says finally, dismissing him with a flick of the wrist. “Be ready within the hour, we have a vehicle waiting outside for you.”

Yoongi nods and turns to go. His feet carry him across the room in a heartbeat, and as his hand falls atop the intricately carved doorknob, The Handler calls out lightly:

“Oh, and Yoongi? Get the job done.”

Yoongi waits until he’s in the safety of his room. He turns the lock in the door, then drags an ornate chair from the vanity area, and shoves it up against the door handle.

Only afterward does he make a beeline for the en suite bathroom, kicking that door shut behind him as well, before hurrying over to the porcelain toilet. He bends over it and sweeps his tongue along the lower section of his mouth, just past where teeth and gums meet. Finding the little tablets he’d tucked in there, he wastes no time spitting them into the toilet bowl, unremorseful as he watches a flood of water wash them away. 

If he’s going to do this damn job, he’ll do it on his own terms. Yoongi needs to have all his wits and senses about him; anything less could get him killed. 

Although, as he pushes up from the floor and starts to mechanically strip himself of his clothes in preparation for a shower, a small part of him knows that Hoseok would never hurt him. 

By the time he started college, Yoongi had known a multitude of violence. His hands were stained with blood, and though he could wash them clean, they would always remain tainted. 

He’d been picked up by The Sanctum as an orphan making a living by pickpocketing and surviving off scraps. They’d clothed him, fed him, kept a roof over his head, and like many others, they trained him. 

By thirteen, he’d killed at least a dozen people, and by the time he presented at sixteen, that number had more than doubled. 

Sometimes, if one did well enough at their assignments, The Sanctum granted them a favour. A reward, within reason of course. 

College had been Yoongi’s ask. 

He got to move out into a dingy apartment of his own and attend school, and play at normalcy. Of course, he didn’t—couldn’t—cut ties with The Sanctum, and they still sent him jobs from time to time, but those weren’t nearly as frequent as they once were. 

Yoongi never asked any questions or hesitated, and in return, he received allowances for each job well done. 

He’d known a score of violence, and then some. Then, in his final year of college, he’d met Hoseok. 

And he knew tenderness. Careful hands holding his own in their grasp. Unyielding. 

Yoongi knew all about violence, but he got to know Hoseok amidst all of that— and Hoseok taught him love. 

He wanted to play at normalcy even more for him. Wanted to be normal with him.

They’d been dating for almost six months the first time Hoseok finally took Yoongi to his house. Every date or visit they’d had for most of the time up till then were always in Yoongi’s little first floor cubicle apartment. 

He knew Hoseok owned the coffee shop that was on the way to his college, and he knew that Hoseok was always skirting around the topic of them going to his place, so after a while, Yoongi stopped bringing it up. The cost of living was notoriously high in the country, and he assumed that even small business owners had it tough. 

So imagine Yoongi’s awe and disbelief on a nippy winter evening, when Hoseok brought him up to the steps of a pristine, towering modern style penthouse. 

“So…I may have lied to you a little bit,” Hoseok murmured, sheepish and red-faced.

“You own what??”

Hoseok sighed. It was the third time he’d had to explain this to Yoongi in the span of twenty-five minutes. Within that frame of time, Yoongi had seen the house—expensive decor and warm colours, somehow all very Hoseok, though Yoongi used to think his boyfriend was dirt poor up until half an hour ago. 

“A um…it’s a conglomerate.”

Yoongi’s eyes bugged. “You’re saying you own a chain store of cafes all across the city—”

“—The country…and it's technically not a chain of stores—”

“Right, right,” Yoongi muttered. He felt the pressing need to sit down, but they were currently standing in Hoseok's ridiculously large kitchen because Yoongi had mentioned being parched before the house tour came to an end. 

“I’m…really sorry I didn’t tell you about this at the start, it’s just that, um—”

But Yoongi paid him no attention, head swivelling this way and that. He leaned across the large kitchen island behind him and peered across it, standing on his toes just to be able to see the other side.

“Uh…hyung? What are you—”

“Hoseok-ah, where's your wine cabinet?” he asked. “Rich people have stuff like that, right?”

Hoseok was stunned into silence for a moment. “I mean yeah, but…aren't you mad at me?”

Yoongi’s brows drew together. He slid off the counter and turned around to face the younger. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“…Because I didn't tell you about this…?”

“Why would I be angry about that? If you think about it, I'm winning double time here.” He began to list things off his fingers: “I have a hot boyfriend, said hot boyfriend is so…well, you, and you also happen to be—quite honestly appallingly—rich…see, Hoba, I'm winning triple time, so why would I get mad about it?”

He shivered when Hoseok wrapped an arm around his waist and tugged him closer, burying his face into the crook of Yoongi’s neck gratefully. 

Hoseok was gentle. The warmest person he’d ever known. 

The room soon filled with a wave of pheromones, soft and familiar and pleasant. The mellow notes of a lavender field swaying in a summer breeze, with just the mildest hints of peppermint. 

Hoseok was happy. 

Yoongi’s lips pulled up on their own accord. It was nice to be held this way.

“You know I love you, right?”

Yoongi grinned even wider, allowed his own hands to wrap around Hoseok’s back. 

This was the first time Hoseok had said those words to him, and it was a good feeling, being loved by him. He’d asked if Yoongi knew he loved him. 

“Of course I know that, silly. I love you too.”

(They told each other numerous digestible lies, but that casual yet intimate confession was perhaps the one truth that withstood the test of time, Yoongi would later realise.)

His own scent, saccharine roses and clementines, joined Hoseok’s in the air, and he felt Hoseok’s arms tighten around his waist. A soft, rumbling sound met his ears, resonated against Yoongi’s chest, soothed his omega. 

Up until then, he’d never really understood that the reason he’d moved out from under The Sanctum’s thumb was because he was in search of a safe place. Yoongi had never really thought about that—he’d never really had the luxury to think about it—until right at that moment. 

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. 

Hoseok was his safe haven.

“Hey, Hoba?” 

Hoseok pulled away from him slowly, arms still wrapped around his middle. “Mhm?”

“How come you’ve never fucked me during my heats? It’s been over six months and you’ve never asked.”

The question startled Hoseok visibly. His cheeks grew warm as he jolted a little with Yoongi still in his arms, and he was so fucking adorable, Yoongi was going to kiss him stupid in about three minutes.

“Oh. Well, we never talked about it. You didn’t bring it up, so I was going to wait till you did,” he replied, shrugging a little. 

“Prude,” Yoongi teased. 

“Hyung…we’ve had sex outside of heats or ruts…you know that, right?”

“My point exactly, Seok-ah.” And then he frowned deliberately, faking a pout. “You always conveniently disappear around my heats, and again during your ruts; do you have someone else to help you through them? Is that what it is?”

This time, the question made Hoseok frown, teeth bared in displeasure as he shook his head at once. A small gasp escaped Yoongi as fingers pressed into his flesh. 

“There’s nobody else,” he professed. “No one but you. Only you, Yoongi.”

Pleased, Yoongi’s hands reached up to cup his face and tug him towards him. “Fuck, come here,” he rasped, eager to press his lips to Hoseok’s. Eager when they finally kissed and Hoseok’s tongue slipped into his mouth. Eager still as the other lifted him up easily and hoisted him onto the counter behind him. 

A soft sound escaped him into the kiss. His hands tugged at Hoseok’s shirt impatiently; he wanted him closer, and though practically every part of their bodies were touching, it wasn’t enough for Yoongi—not nearly. 

He whined again, angling his neck for Hoseok to press open-mouthed kisses to, graze his teeth across, to bite and nip, lick over his scent gland. 

Where Yoongi shivered, Hoseok groaned. Where his fingers strived to be tender against his skin, Yoongi’s tore at the other’s shirt, desperate to touch, to sink his nails into honeyed flesh. 

He couldn’t get enough of Hoseok, of his scent, of his lips on Yoongi’s flushed skin.

He wanted more. 

“S–Seok…Hoseok-ah,” he panted, squirming a little.

Slowly, Hoseok drew back from painting lovebites over and around Yoongi’s scent gland. His eyes were blown wide, dark pools of desire staring back at Yoongi. 

“I–I think ‘m probably going to go into heat in the next day or two.”

“I know,” Hoseok returned as evenly as he could, going in for a brief kiss this time. “You have no idea how much sweeter you smell around this time. It’s mouthwatering. And far more irresistible than ever.” 

“Yet you resist on every single occasion,” Yoongi accused, a little offended this time. Before Hoseok could reply, Yoongi had pressed himself against him, locking his legs around the other’s waist and slowly grinding into him. 

A harsh pant pushed past Hoseok’s lips. He jerked against Yoongi again, and tried to hold him still. “Hyung…” he muttered through grit teeth, eyes squeezing shut as Yoongi repeated the action. 

“Are you going to hold me down, alpha?”

A spike of desire shot through Hoseok, evident in the way his scent shifted into something that crowded Yoongi’s senses more. Still gentle and sweet-smelling, but pouring out in so many waves, it threatened to make Yoongi dizzy. 

He pressed himself more impatiently against the other, breath catching in his throat as he tried to blink away the first haze of thick need threatening to wash over him.

Ah, his heat might be coming on faster than anticipated. “Are you going to…” he trailed off as his lips wandered into the open space left behind by Hoseok’s ruined shirt. Yoongi trailed kisses along the path of his collarbones. Licked a wet stripe from the base of his throat to his Adam's apple. Nipped none too lightly across his jaw. “Are you going to take care of me, Hoseokie?” he asked finally, in between both of their heaving breaths.

Hoseok’s hold around his waist grew impossibly tight, sending an anticipatory shiver down Yoongi’s spine until he ultimately had to stop rutting against the other. 

“Is that what you want?” Hoseok asked quietly, lightly gripping Yoongi’s jaw in order to make him meet his eyes. “Want me to take care of you? Make you feel good?”

Hoseok’s voice was what sent the first familiar feeling of wetness dripping down his legs. 

Yoongi shivered head to toe, locked his legs even tighter around Hoseok’s waist, and whined. “P–please, Hoseok,” he mumbled hoarsely. “I want it…want you, hm?”

A string of curses left Hoseok’s mouth. Without warning, he picked Yoongi up like he weighed nothing, allowing him to remain straddling Hoseok as the younger swiftly left the kitchen. When they began to head up a flight of stairs, Yoongi pressed his nose to the crook of Hoseok’s neck, lips tugging at the corners a little. 

“Are you taking me up to your bedroom so you can have your way with me?”

“Absolutely,” Hoseok replied without a break in stride.

A tiny laugh escaped Yoongi, breathy and just slightly mischievous. Pressing his mouth to Hoseok’s ear, he murmured, “Go faster, I can't wait to get fucked in your nice, expensive sheets. Who knows? We could make a pup or two while we're at it.”

Hoseok faltered, foot catching on the next step in his surprise. “What—” he stumbled and almost lost his balance, and Yoongi squealed. 

“Seok-ah, pay attention!” he said, amidst laughter and the soft feeling in his chest that was definitely love.

Hoseok had wrapped his arms securely around Yoongi first before even thinking to reach for the bannister, but thankfully, he'd managed to steady himself before they went tumbling down the marble steps.

“I…s-sorry,” Hoseok mumbled, ears burning. “Are you okay? Were you hurt anywhere?”

“‘m fine,” Yoongi huffed out impatiently, squirming and grinding against Hoseok again. “Come on, let’s go,” he whined, looking eagerly in the direction of the bedroom waiting for them. 

A soft groan escaped the alpha as he adjusted his grip on Yoongi and steadied himself despite the overflowing waves of desire rippling off him in his intimately familiar scent. “Okay,” he gave in easily. “Let’s go.” 

Back then, Hoseok went wherever Yoongi led, and wherever Hoseok went was home to Yoongi. 

Yoongi steps out of the shower and grabs a towel off a heated metal rack nearby. He wraps the thick material around himself before making his way out of the bathroom and into the wide, extravagant expanse of the bedroom he’s been confined to for the last two years. 

He hasn’t been free to roam far outside the room, much less outside the hidden base, and it’s been an unspoken rule after The Sanctum rescinded the favour they granted him. 

Plus, he’d been…sick, for a while after he’d returned here for the first time—after he’d left Hoseok—and they’d been keeping a close eye on him since then. It would be inconvenient after all, if one of their best assets succumbed to an illness that had recurred for the first couple of months after his return, and weren’t able to get to him fast enough. And though his symptoms completely vanished after the first eight months, Yoongi stayed. Didn’t complain or ask questions or put up a fight when The Handler told him that his new living quarters would be under The Sanctum’s roof once again until they deemed him both well and trustworthy enough. 

There was nothing for him in the outside world after all. 

So he’d stayed. 

He’s been here for the last two years, and that isn’t going to change anytime soon, Yoongi thinks. This is just another job. Another hurdle to get over and put behind him. A way for him to lay to rest the barbed thorns of resentment in his gut that rake across his insides whenever he thinks about him.

Yoongi frowns at his reflection in a full-length mirror standing in one corner of the room. Runs a hand along his face and jaw. Allows his gaze to trace down to the stretch of his neck and collarbones and chest. Tries to imagine what the other would see if they ever stand face to face again. Tries to note where he’s changed after so long—he thinks maybe the once-soft angle of his jaw has gotten a little sharper, the laugh lines around his eyes have disappeared, and the stubborn or perhaps grim set of his mouth is more etched into the muscles of his face—but ultimately, he doesn’t know. 

He never was good at seeing himself from Hoseok’s perspective anyway. Not that it mattered, because at the end, Yoongi could barely tell the truth apart from the lies.

He turns away from his reflection decisively, heading for the bed where an all-black getup had been laid out for him prior. Yoongi gets dressed mechanically, with a single thought in his mind: 

He has an important job to carry out tonight, and he can’t fail at it a second time. 

Tonight, Yoongi is going to kill Jung Hoseok.

Hoseok’s penthouse is a high-rise complex surrounded by other opulent buildings in the nicest part of town. Seventeen levels of luxury caked by the cherry on top collection of extravagant suites at the highest floor, all owned by none other than the man himself. Back then, he’d lied and told Yoongi that he was only renting out the very top floor, and Yoongi had believed him of course. But now, he knows better.

Hoseok owns the entire building, and the only viable point of entry free from cameras and foot traffic is a maintenance stairwell that as far as Yoongi knows, has rarely ever been used. It’s his only option to get into the place undetected, but the downside is that he has to climb up seventeen flights of stairs, and he has to be quick about it. Just because it’s rarely used doesn’t eliminate the threat of someone running into him—it’s just past one a.m., but one could never be too cautious in this line of work. He’d rather not have to kill an innocent passerby just because they were at the wrong place at the wrong time. 

Having ditched his car a few blocks away, Yoongi walks the short distance it takes to get to the underground parking garage beneath the penthouse. It’s through there that he gains access to the maintenance stairwell, the door having always been left notoriously unlocked. He’s not surprised to find that that hasn’t changed in two years.

He slips into the corridor and shuts the door as quietly as he can, hyper aware of how noises can be amplified by the deathly stillness of night. Blowing out a breath, Yoongi glances up at the rows of stairs waiting for him and squares his shoulders determinedly. 

There’s no time to waste, he reminds himself. He starts to climb. 

“Hello, Crimson Briar. Your mission this time around is to uncover the identity of the up and coming crime syndicate that have been making a reputation for themselves these days. They’re known as ‘The Viper in the Vale.’” 

Before Yoongi met Hoseok, he’d always had reservations whenever he had to do some work for The Sanctum, but in recent days, whenever he got these phone calls, more dread filled him than he’d ever thought possible. 

That Saturday evening had been no different. 

“I’ve never heard of them,” he ground out now, quiet, yet stiffly. 

“I’ve given you the details of your job, Briar. It doesn’t matter if you’ve heard of them previously or not; you’re hearing about them now, and you need to carry out your orders without opposition or backtalk…or do you perhaps need a refresher course on how to serve The Sanctum?” The Handler asked coolly, a hint of danger in the otherwise collected tone of his voice. 

“I don’t,” Yoongi replied at once. It was just that this was starting to sound like a long-term undertaking, and he didn’t like to lie to Hoseok. How would he explain his disappearance this time around? Hoseok was an easygoing guy; he never questioned Yoongi’s long hours at ‘the government building’ where he’d told him he worked, and he rarely complained about the impromptu ‘business trips’ he sometimes took. Even though Hoseok had suggested that they move in together a few times, Yoongi could never take him up on his offer because of the real nature of his job. 

As a compromise though, he spent as much time as he could at Hoseok’s place when he could. That weekend was supposed to belong to them, but then The Sanctum had come calling and Yoongi was less than thrilled about it. 

“You seem distracted lately,” The Handler said curiously. “Have we perhaps given you too much free reign? Maybe it’s time for you to return to the fold.”

Yoongi bit back a hiss. Forced down the panic and aversion in his chest that caused his scent to spike, and spoke around the bitter taste on his tongue as calmly and as detachedly as he could. “I’m not distracted.” They didn’t know he was dating anyone, after all, and he wanted to keep it that way. “I wasn’t expressing doubts about the job, just noting an observation is all.”

The Handler sounded pleased. Knew he’d won, kept Yoongi in check again. “So you’ll take the mission ?”

“Of course,” Yoongi said immediately. It wasn’t like he could refuse. “Is there anything else I should know?” 

“Everything you need to know has been compiled in an encrypted folder and sent to you via email. It’s imperative to find out who the head of the operation is and take that one out. The rest of the team should fall apart after that because we suspect they’re linked via pack bond. They should be easy pickings once you cut the head off the main hydra.”

So his target was an alpha this time around.

“Understood,” he replied. 

“Oh and Briar?”

Yoongi’s finger stalled halfway to ending the call. “Yes?” 

“This is an extremely important assignment. Don’t fail.” 

This time, Yoongi couldn’t hold back the scoff that escaped him fast enough. “I have a perfect record. I don’t do failure.” 

“Very well, The Sanctum will expect a favourable—” 

Yoongi hung up. 

A few minutes later, he was scanning through the newest email on his phone with a critical eye and scowling because it was clear The Sanctum knew jackshit about this new syndicate because most of what was in there was basic information. 

There were at least three echelons besides the head alpha as far as they could tell; two cardinals running operations in the east and south parts of the country, and finally one other person listed simply as ‘the Watcher,’ who…well, kept an eye on things in Seoul. They were apparently a well-oiled bunch who’d quickly made a name for themselves in the underworld by ruthless methods, and always left a calling card to mark their work in the form of a flower dipped in a jar of poison. Whatever that fucking meant. 

They'd caused enough trouble, and fearing it wouldn't be long before the Viper in the Vale set their sights on The Sanctum, they’d decided to act first. Hence the fucking call that had interrupted a mundane session of making dinner with Hoseok. 

Yoongi was still scowling when Hoseok found him. He hadn't heard him coming up the stairs, but Yoongi caught a whiff of his familiar scent just as the door to their—technically, Hoseok’s—bedroom creaked open. 

“Can I come in?” Hoseok asked gently, pausing at the threshold with his hand poised as if to knock. 

Yoongi hadn't shut the door properly, it seemed. He was getting careless these days. 

Breathing out a slow sigh, he discreetly pressed the button to wipe the new information completely off his phone as he tucked it into his pocket and tried to smile for his boyfriend’s sake. “Of course, silly. It's your house, remember?”

“Debatable,” Hoseok responded, easily closing the distance between them in three long strides. He pulled Yoongi into his arms without any other words, one arm snaking securely around his midsection while the other rhythmically ran through his hair in just the way he knew helped Yoongi relax. 

He was letting out soothing pheromones too. Smelled like home with his usual lavender with underbites of peppermint, as well as the smell of the sugary hotteok they'd been making, clinging to his shirt. 

Hoseok knew him well by now, after all, they'd been dating for over a year at that point. 

This time, when a smile tugged at Yoongi’s mouth, it was genuine. He hid his face in the crook of Hoseok’s neck and breathed him in as he slowly wrapped his own arms around the other’s back. “How did you know I needed this?”

He got a soft hum in response. “...It’s a secret.”

There was an audible pout in Yoongi’s voice. “Tell me,” he urged, squeezing the alpha a little tighter. Like this, he almost never wanted to let go.

Hoseok was silent for a moment before giving in. “You do this thing sometimes, when you get upset. The first time I noticed it was a few months into us dating; you came back from a bad day at work…and I could barely smell you. Your scent gets incredibly subdued at times like that, it used to catch me by surprise at first, then I realized it only happened when you were upset, which…” he paused, a sliver of displeasure in his tone now. “I don’t know how you do it or where you learned the habit…but it can’t be healthy, right?”

Yoongi began to grow tense in Hoseok’s hold, but then the other pressed a kiss to the top of his head and murmured, “Should we go to the doctor to get it checked out?” and a tiny laugh bubbled out of Yoongi. 

God, he loved him so much. “I’m fine, Hoba, I promise. ‘S just a bad habit I picked up when I was younger,” he lied. Of course, it wasn’t normal for people to be able to get rid of their scents completely, Yoongi just didn’t realize he’d been doing it subconsciously around Hoseok. He wondered how many times that had been the case when he crawled into Hoseok’s arms in the middle of the night after a particularly gruelling or gruesome mission. 

“Are you sure? I really think we should—”

“So that’s why you always send out calming pheromones every time we hug? You’ve slowly conditioned me into only being able to relax when I’m with you,” he teased lightly. 

Taking the bait and smooth misdirection, Hoseok slowly pulled back to catch Yoongi’s eye with an earnestly sheepish look written on his face. “Oh, I didn’t mean to…I–I want you to be able to relax whenever you want, ‘m sorry…” he mumbled, looking ashamed.

“It’s okay, baby, I was kidding,” Yoongi replied, amused now.

“But—”

He stood on his toes and pressed a noisy kiss to his lover’s lips. “No ‘buts,’ okay? Besides, you were right this time around; I got a work call,” he said, wrinkling his nose.

Rather than ask what kind of work required him to work sudden hours and called at ten pm on a hot August night, Hoseok merely frowned and told him seriously, “I think you should quit your job.”

Yoongi wanted to. 

Wished he could. 

Instead, he deliberately caught his lower lip between his teeth for a second or two, then leaned in closer to Hoseok and asked with a sultry purr, “If I did, would you be able to take care of me, Hoseokie?”

Hoseok let out a rush of breath. “ ‘Course,” he answered gruffly, indignant. “I’d make sure you got to put your feet up every day. You’d never be stressed ever again, I’d take care of everything—I’d take care of you, hyung.”

Another grin tugged at the corners of Yoongi’s mouth, a heady thrill coursing through his veins for some reason. He pressed another kiss to Hoseok’s lips this time, quiet and longing. “Yeah?” he breathed out afterwards.

“Mhm.” Hoseok dove at his neck next, teeth digging into his racing pulse just enough to send it thundering with anticipation. “Wanna take care of you for the rest of my life,” he murmured against Yoongi’s skin, licking a wet stripe across the new mark blooming in the aftermath of his attention. 

Yoongi gasped, shivered, bared his neck even further. Lately, they’d been skating around the idea of mating marks—of being irrevocably connected. Yoongi knew Hoseok wanted it. He wanted it too, but he also knew he couldn’t go through with it. The Sanctum wouldn’t exactly take kindly to the idea of him ‘belonging’ to someone else. In fact, it was explicitly stated in the rules that had been hammered into his skull from the moment they picked him off the streets; he was their property, and under no circumstances did they ever let go of what belonged to them.

The thought of what they’d do to Hoseok if they ever found out about him, not to mention what would happen if they completed a mating ritual, made Yoongi shudder, this time with dread.

“...What’s wrong?” Hoseok asked, catching the change immediately. He started to pull back, but Yoongi’s hands latched onto him and kept him locked in his embrace as he shook his head. 

“It’s nothing, I promise. I just…don’t want to be away from you,” he muttered, throat bobbing precariously. 

“Ah. Another business trip?” 

“No. Not for a while, anyway,” he breathed out, shutting his eyes when Hoseok’s arms tightened around him too. It was true; if he had to dig up information on this new group, that could take some time. He could still be around Hoseok while he sent his feelers out and got in touch with his usual informants in the criminal underworld. 

“Okay,” Hoseok said easily. “And hey, it’s just a trip. Whenever it is, and however long it is, you can always come home to me when it’s over, hm?” There was a sharp vulnerability in his scent as he added, “Just be careful, alright?”

“...Yeah,” Yoongi murmured. “I can always come back to you.

Since they started dating, Yoongi had met Hoseok’s friends a few times. There were five of them in total, all connected to him by some uncanny thread of fate—not that Yoongi believed in anything as convoluted as that, but looking at them, it was almost easy to sway said belief. 

Kim Namjoon, Park Jimin, and Kim Taehyung were all childhood friends of his who’d then gone into business with him. Namjoon, a beta, and Jimin, an omega, ran branch offices of the conglomerate in different parts of the country, while Taehyung, an alpha, oversaw the number of coffee shops in Seoul on a more one-on-one basis than the other two would. Then there was Kim Seokjin, also a beta, and Namjoon’s boyfriend, and Jeon Jungkook, an alpha, and Jimin’s boyfriend. 

Seokjin worked with Namjoon, while Jungkook was a student in his final year, surprisingly attending the same college Yoongi had graduated from the year before. 

Because some of them weren’t exactly in the vicinity, the whole group only ever convened for holidays or other special events. Of the five, Yoongi saw Taehyung and Jungkook the most because they often hung out at the cafe by Yoongi’s apartment—the same one he’d met Hoseok at—but aside from that, he’d met the rest of them at least twice during Chuseok and Christmas. It spread warmth through his body with how easily he’d been accepted into the group—he was now a member of their ‘long-distance pack,’ Seokjin liked to joke. 

It was a joke because pack-bonding required the sort of commitment and connection that only being in close contact and seeing each other regularly could give. Hoseok and his friends were not a pack in that sense, but Yoongi had never seen camaraderie like theirs before either. He’d never been a part of any sort of community, much less like the one they readily brought him into. 

They were Hoseok’s home, his family, and now they were Yoongi’s too.

It had been a couple of weeks since he’d received his mission, and there was still nothing for Yoongi to report back. It was as if The Sanctum had sent him to hunt for ghosts, because the Viper in the Vale might as well have been a phantom force. They hid themselves well, conducted their operations seamlessly, and left no traces behind except for their deliberate calling card. Whenever there was an assassination these days, it was their handiwork. New drug circulating through the streets? Their handiwork. The smuggling of contraband in and out of the country? Also them. 

Yoongi was missing something, and he couldn’t figure out what, because how else was he always one step behind? He never heard about any of these deeds until after they’d been carried out, and it was driving him up the wall. He couldn’t continue to ignore The Handler’s phone calls, but he couldn’t exactly report back with nothing either. 

If he couldn’t figure this out soon, Yoongi knew he’d have to take drastic measures; the one thing he’d been hoping to avoid since he was given this assignment. 

If he couldn’t gather information from external sources, then he’d have to do it from the inside…which meant going undercover as a grunt for the group and working his way up. This was a drastic option because although he’d done it before, he’d never had anything to lose back then. 

Now he had Hoseok, and he had friends. 

If Yoongi went undercover, he couldn’t put them at risk. He didn’t know how long it’d take in the first place, and he might not be able to return to Hoseok afterwards. He’d been trained to be comfortable with the shadow of death following him, and Yoongi had never really feared the idea of it—of death— but now, he was scared. 

He was scared of getting hurt in a way he couldn’t explain to Hoseok, scared of dying and leaving Hoseok behind, but most of all, he was terrified of something happening to Hoseok because of him. 

Yoongi loved Hoseok with the meagre parts of his heart that were still accessible to him, and it was why he knew with gut-sinking certainty, that if he had to take the drastic option, it would mean cutting ties from Hoseok. Permanently. 

He was tossing and turning around in bed one night while Hoseok was away—though far and few between, the alpha went on work-related trips too—agonizing over the same issue for the umpteenth time, when Hoseok returned. 

He’d only left that same morning and wasn’t supposed to be back for three days, but there he was, barging through the doors, chest heaving, worry creasing between his brows. “Yoongi—”

Yoongi sat up immediately, heart leaping in his own chest. “…Seok-ah, what are you doing back so soon?” He couldn't get rid of his teary expression quickly enough, nor the distressed pheromones he'd subconsciously been releasing. The entire room smelled more of sour clementines than anything, overshadowing his usual scent. Yoongi pressed his lips together in shame as a low growl rumbled in Hoseok’s chest. “I—”

But Hoseok was crossing the distance between them in an instant and wrapping his arms around him at once. Soothing lavender attempted to ease the sour acidity surrounding them. “I'm sorry,” he professed earnestly. “I'm sorry, I should never have left.”

Yoongi tried to open his mouth to tell him that ‘of course it was understandable to go on a business trip,’ but when he tried to speak, all that escaped him was a broken sob. 

He didn't know what was wrong with him or why he was suddenly crying—well, he did know—but at that moment, all he could do was cling to Hoseok and sob into the crook of his neck.

“W–why are you back soon?” he asked again, despite the flood of relief washing through him. He wanted to be with Hoseok as much as possible so that in the event that he did have to leave him, Yoongi would carry as many happy memories with him as possible. 

The thought made him clutch Hoseok even harder, fingers squeezing tight around the collars of his shirt as Yoongi tried to stifle the sound of his tears. “You w–weren’t supposed to see me like this,” he croaked out. 

A hoarse laugh escaped Hoseok who continued to hold him without any questions or complaints at Yoongi ruining his clothes. “I rarely ever get to see you like this,” he whispered, both sadly and as a reassurance. 

It was true; Yoongi getting visibly upset was a rare occurrence that had been pruned out by years of training at The Sanctum. Whenever he was upset or displeased, he tended to withdraw and withhold his scent like Hoseok noted once before. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled thickly, pushing his face farther into the open collar of Hoseok’s chest, pressing his nose against the other’s scent gland. “I’m sorry, Hoseok,” he said again, tears spilling past his eyes as he breathed in the warm notes of his lover’s scent. “I’m sorry—”

“Don't say that,” Hoseok replied, shushing him. “It's okay to get upset. I came back because I had a really bad feeling,” he admitted with a wry chuckle. 

He'd gone to meet Namjoon in Daegu to clear up some emergency the beta couldn't take care of himself, but Hoseok had barely stayed there a full day before leaving because…he suddenly got worried about Yoongi?

Now that thought pushed a grateful noise out of Yoongi. Even though he knew by now that Hoseok cared about him—loved him—it still made his omega purr with contentment to have the knowledge reinforced time and time again. 

Yoongi had never had affection like this before, and he didn’t want to have to let it go. The idea sent a shock of cold through his system. Could he ever go back to his guarded self and the way things used to be before Hoseok? 

“I…” he swallowed thickly, cupping either side of Hoseok’s face with shaky hands as he slowly pulled back until they were eye to eye. “Hoseok, no matter what, please remember that I love you, hm?” 

The alpha’s gaze narrowed in what appeared to be confusion, yet, he nodded anyway. “Of course, I—”

“Promise me,” Yoongi rushed out, words catching on desperation. 

“Yoongi, what—” However, Hoseok broke off a moment later, deterred by whatever look he saw on Yoongi’s face. “…I promise,” he declared instead, staunchly, voice cracking just slightly. “And I promise that no matter what happens, I'll always wait for you, okay? Doesn't matter how long it takes, Yoongi. You can always come home to me.”

Rather than question it, Yoongi allowed the reassurance to wash over him like a gentle tide, soothing the frayed edges of his nerves. Allowed himself to relax in the presence of Hoseok’s comforting scent. Even then, it took a while longer for him to calm down. He basked in the warm certainty that Hoseok would continue to hold him for as long as he needed—through the rest of the night, if that was what it took. 

Later though, after Yoongi’s breathing had evened out and he’d quieted down to the occasional sniffle, he caught a whiff of something else winking in and out of the otherwise calming lavender. Pinpricks of peppermint punctuating each smooth, flowery note, like he was scared…or nervous. 

“Hoba.”

“Hm?” 

“What’s wrong? Why did you really come home so soon?” Yoongi asked. He’d been pulled into Hoseok’s laps earlier, making it easier to sling his arms around the other’s neck and press his face into his collarbone, but Yoongi sat up now, brows creasing with concern. 

Hoseok’s eyes met his for a moment before darting away. “I told you already; got a really bad feeling.”

“About what?” 

“About leaving you behind.”

Although Hoseok rarely went out of the city, this wasn’t the first time, and there’d been no issues before this. Yoongi said as much to him a moment later. 

Closing his hands tighter around Yoongi’s waist, a sound of discontent rumbled in Hoseok’s chest as he pressed his mouth to Yoongi’s temple. “I know this isn’t my first trip away from you, but I just really…didn’t want to leave you alone this time around. So I came back.”

Yoongi frowned a little. “…What about the emergency in Daegu? Joon wouldn’t have called you if it wasn’t important.”

Hoseok took Yoongi’s chin between his thumb and index finger, tipped it up just enough to make Yoongi look into his eyes. “There is nothing more important than you, and right now you’re my priority, okay?”

Ducking his head to hide a blush, Yoongi hid his face in the crook of Hoseok’s neck again, shaking his head a little. “W–well then what’s got you all nervous?” he asked feebly, letting his hands slip past Hoseok’s shirt to rub at his back in an effort to soothe him. 

Instead, a shiver pushed through Hoseok’s body and made his back arch in return. “A–ah…’m not nervous,” he mumbled. 

“You are,” Yoongi told him, using his nails to trace invisible patterns against the ridges of his spine, mouth tugging in the faintest beginnings of a smile. “Maybe in more ways than one now, but tell me the original reason.”

“H–hyung, I’m not—” 

Yoongi’s hand trailed higher. “Hoseok,” he said simply, biting back said smile when the younger’s words died with a choked gasp.

“Oh…okay,” the alpha gave in. “I’ll tell you, but first, you have to stop—” he groaned when Yoongi’s teeth nipped at his flesh. “Stop—ahh—distracting me,” he pleaded. 

He was feeling infinitely better by now. He had Hoseok with him at that moment, and he’d managed to shove the pending implications of his responsibility aside for the moment. Instead, he was now worried about the man holding him. So he stopped teasing and stared at him openly, waiting to hear what it was that was bothering him. 

“I uh…got you—us—got us something a while ago that I've been meaning to give you…” Hoseok sucked in a breath and began to root through his coat pocket while still keeping one hand wrapped securely around him. “I just sorta kept carrying it around everywhere because I didn’t want to risk you finding it on your own, um…” Anxiety spiked in his scent once more as he finally pulled out a rectangular jewelry case. 

A lump wedged itself unforgivingly into Yoongi’s throat. 

He figured out what it was even before Hoseok slowly pried the box open, but the sight of the two silver rings sitting in a dark velvet backdrop, took his breath away. 

They were beautiful, Yoongi thought, heart aching in his chest, a fresh sting of tears making themselves known in his eyes. Both bands were inlaid with an intricate pattern of emerald and ruby jewels, and a single thin gold chain came with each one. 

“…Hoseok,” he mumbled thickly, shaking his head once more. “I can’t—”

“Okay so, before you panic, this…isn’t what it looks like,” Hoseok interrupted quietly, in a steady tone despite  the sharp waves of nerves rippling off him. He looked Yoongi in the eyes and cracked a smile for his sake. “I'm not…proposing or–or asking you to be mated just yet because I know we aren’t ready for that…”

They were ready, Yoongi thought, with a jarring sting of longing. If he were anybody else in the world, he would have said yes immediately because despite what Hoseok was saying, Yoongi knew him. He knew that Hoseok thought Yoongi was on the fence about these kinds of things, thought they made Yoongi flighty or something, and so, he’d resolved himself to wait however long it took for him to come around. But the truth was, Yoongi simply hadn’t given the idea much thought while he was under The Sanctum’s thumb. 

Then, he'd met Hoseok, and he realized that he wanted what most people wanted; companionship, affection, a mate. 

He wanted to say yes so badly, the word clawed at him from the inside out, threatening to rip him apart if he didn’t. Ultimately though, fear over the repercussions of that decision—fear of losing Hoseok—restrained him. 

“So instead…” Hoseok was saying, picking up one of the rings by its gold chain. “I got these as a symbol of our promise to each other.”

Yoongi’s eyes burned with unshed tears. 

“If you’ll have me, I promise to always be a safe place for you to come back to, no matter how long it’s been or how bad the outside world gets. I’ll love you no matter what, always and for the rest of time.”

His gaze flicked up to Yoongi, reflecting all of his nerves as he waited for Yoongi’s response. 

For the second time that night, the sound of Yoongi’s sniffles filled the room again, this time, with the vibrant smell of roses and the usual sliver of clementines. “Of course I’ll have you, Seok-ah,” he mumbled, despite knowing better. He drew in and cupped Hoseok’s face, and kissed him insistently. “Of course I’ll love you forever and always come back to you no matter what, and I promise to be a safe place you can always come back to as well,” he vowed earnestly, a bit sorry that he could only parrot the other’s words back to him. 

Yoongi wasn’t nearly as eloquent as the alpha, it seemed. 

Regardless of that, Hoseok beamed at him on hearing the watery declaration. “Yeah?”

Yoongi nodded at once. “Mmh, come on, put it on for me,” he urged, shifting until he had his back to Hoseok, waiting expectantly. 

A trembling breath escaped Yoongi when he felt Hoseok’s hands go around his neck in order to fasten the necklace. He bit his lip when the ring brushed his skin, cool metal against the warm hollow of his throat where his pulse raced a dizzying beat. 

When Hoseok was done, Yoongi turned around immediately, overwhelming him with kisses and a flurry of hands desperate to get his clothes off. 

“Oh w–wait,” he said all of a sudden, drawing back long enough to look Hoseok in the eye. He giggled when Hoseok growled and tried to chase after his lips. “Hold on, Hoba,” Yoongi breathed out, pressing his hand to the alpha’s mouth and gasping when he began to nip at Yoongi’s fingers. “Y–you got us matching promise rings, I have to put yours on for you too,” he rushed out before his want could fully take him over.

Hoseok paused—reluctantly—and nodded, cheeks visibly flushed even in the low lamplight casting shadows on the wall in the room. 

So, Yoongi took the other necklace, identical to his own, and leaned in close to Hoseok. His fingers were trembling, clumsy, but after a mishap and a muttered curse or two, he managed to lock the clasp in place around Hoseok’s neck. He couldn’t help but admire the way the pendant glimmered prettily against Hoseok’s honeyed skin, and Yoongi really couldn’t help leaning in to nose at his scent glands again, a fresh wave of need and possessiveness outpouring from him all of a sudden. 

Hoseok was his. 

His omega purred with satisfaction when the thought crossed Yoongi’s mind, and before he knew it, he was letting out needy noises and pushing Hoseok flat onto the bed, desperate once again to shed any clothes between them. 

Although it wasn’t the completion of a ‘conventional’ mating ritual, they’d done everything except exchange bites to seal the deal. Gifts had been exchanged in the form of the rings, both hearts far more willing than they’d let on, and vows had been made. 

When they made love that night, it was a consummation; a reassurance, a fundamental or perhaps subconscious fact that the part of them that was instinctual and unfettered—their wolves—recognised each other as mates. 

All that remained was the anticipated mark of confirmation that came with the bite. A final step that wasn’t carried out that night, nor for the next two years to come . 

The morning after, Yoongi woke up happy and sated despite everything he should’ve been worrying about. He convinced Hoseok to go on his business trip and reassured him over a dozen times that he’d be alright before the alpha grudgingly agreed. 

He decided himself to take a day off, so to speak, from the worries of his impending assignment. ‘Just for today,’ he told himself. Just for today, he’d put all thoughts of The Sanctum and the Viper in the Vale out of his mind. He would figure out an alternative solution to getting ahead of the latter, but he resolved not to stress over that until tomorrow. 

Today, he was happy.

Hours after Hoseok reluctantly left, Yoongi left the house too. He made his way over to the cafe by his own apartment. 

It was there that he ran into Taehyung and Jungkook, bickering as they always did. 

For a pair of friends, the two alphas seemed to have a lot of…tension between them. Yoongi recalled mentioning it to Jimin once and watching the omega giggle like the knowledge amused him. 

The two were bickering that afternoon too, over something as simple as the temperature of the drink Taehyung had made for Jungkook. 

“I asked for a double-shot vanilla frappe, Kim.”

Taehyung arched a brow. “And?”

“And there’s hardly any ice in here. This is tepid coffee with barely any vanilla in it and a crap ton of whipped cream!”

“Are you insulting my skills as a barista, pup?”

Jungkook growled in warning, the impending scent of a thunderstorm stirring the air as he muttered, “I told you not to call me that.”

Taehyung gave him a once over and crossed his arms, entirely unbothered. “I’ll stop calling you a pup when you stop acting like one, pup.”

“Oh just wait till Jimin hears about this—”

The scent of fresh marigolds wafted around Taehyung as he chuckled derisively. “That supposed to scare me? You do know he's my best friend, yeah?”

Jungkook scoffed. “Pretty sure him being my boyfriend means he’ll take my side—”

“Ha, you wish—”

Yoongi, standing by the doorway, finally decided that he'd seen enough. “That's as far as you're going today, you two. Quit it, you're scaring the customers,” he told them, fighting the smile on his face when they both turned to look at him in surprise. 

“Oh, hyung!” Jungkook beamed, perking up as he took him in. 

“Here to hold the fort down since Hobi hyung’s away?” Taehyung teased, waggling his eyebrows. 

“Of course,” Yoongi sniffed, striding into the shop, arms akimbo. “I had a sneaking suspicion you two would be here, getting up to…whatever it is you always get up to. And I was right.”

“ ‘S not my fault the idiot manning the bar can’t make a halfway decent cup of coffee,” Jungkook said indignantly. 

“First of all, this isn’t a bar, and secondly, who the hell are you calling—”

“Guys,” Yoongi interceded unhurriedly, fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. The sight of the two alphas glaring at each other pushed a sigh past Yoongi’s lips as he tried to placate them. “Alright, first off, Taehyung.” He fixed the one behind the counter with a patient stare. “You’re good at what you do and it wasn’t fair for Jungkook to call you an idiot.” 

Taehyung grinned as Jungkook huffed and tried to complain. 

“But hyung, he—!”

“And Jungkook, how about you come sit with me over there while Tae makes us both fresh cups of coffee like the expert barista he is?”

The younger wrinkled his nose and bit his lip in contemplation, but said nothing else as Yoongi led him away. They sat down at a table by a window, and while Jungkook sulked, Yoongi gave him an amused look. 

“…What?” he asked uncertainly, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Nothing,” Yoongi answered with a shrug. “Just wondering when you two are going to let the cat out of the bag and admit to what this is really about.” 

Jungkook’s expression shifted to one of suspicion now as he sat back in his seat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he deadpanned. 

“So, this isn’t some weird, roundabout courting ritual because you both want Jimin and also each other?” 

“I— what? N–no! Me…wanting…him?? Pfft, absolutely not!” Jungkook spluttered, suddenly red-faced and on his feet as he stared at Yoongi in disbelief and outrage. 

Yoongi’s body shook with laughter, but still he raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, my bad. I must’ve been reading the situation entirely wrong this whole time.”

“Y–you have!” 

“Alright Ggukie, I’m sorry, hm? Take a seat, why don’t you?”

Reluctantly, Jungkook settled into his chair once more, glancing around at the sparsely populated shop where he’d garnered the attention of more than a few people. Still blushing, he leaned across the table and whispered like he urgently wanted Yoongi to believe him, “I already have the best boyfriend in the world, why would I want…him?”

Yoongi shrugged again. “I don't know, you tell me—”

“The correct answer is there’s no good reason, and also, I don't want him,” the younger muttered with a scowl. 

“Don't want who?” Taehyung asked, striding up to them, drinks in hand. 

Jungkook jumped and quickly turned away, staring pointedly out of the window as he mumbled, “Shouldn't you be getting back to your job?”

Grinning, Taehyung set the alpha’s drink in front of him with a little more force than necessary. “It's a slow day, I've got time.”

Before they could escalate into another argument, Yoongi eased his own cup out of Taehyung’s hand to save it from the same fate Jungkook’s had met. The action seemed to snap the barista out of glaring at the back of said boy’s head because he soon turned to Yoongi and beamed. “Made you your usual; an iced sweet tea with a dash of milk and lots of love.” 

Yoongi laughed in the middle of taking a sip and quickly set his cup down. “Thanks, Tae, it tastes great as usual.” 

Taehyung’s boxy grin grew wider. “Of course, hyung.” 

“Jungkook-ah, is there anything you’d like to say to Taehyung?”

Jungkook, in the middle of sneaking a taste of his new drink, shot Yoongi a betrayed look. Nevertheless, he sighed and smacked his lips together as he put his cup down. Glancing briefly at Taehyung with a suspicious tint of colour in his cheeks and his scent flickering with a grudging sense of acknowledgement. “…I guess you can make a decent cup of coffee after all, Kim. This one doesn’t taste half as bad as the last.”

“Thanks,” Taehyung said innocently. “The secret ingredient is I spat in it.”

And with that said, he turned on his heels and strode off while Jungkook stared after him, mouth hanging agape. 

He stared into his drink in dismay and slowly pushed it away from himself with a quiet sigh. 

“Come on, you know he was just kidding, right?”

“With Taehyung, I can never be sure,” came the mournful response.

Biting back another laugh, Yoongi took a look at Jungkook’s pitiful expression and gave in quickly. “Alright, here. Switch with me?”

Jungkook sat up eagerly at first, then soon let his expression fall again as he shook his head. “No, hyung…you don’t even like coffee,” he muttered sullenly. 

Yoongi dutifully switched the plastic cups in front of them, clicking his tongue against his inner cheek while he did. “Who said I don’t?”

“I’ve never seen you drink coffee,” Jungkook said pointedly now, switching the cups around once more.

“I do,” Yoongi lied, evasive gaze darting across everything except Jungkook, while Jungkook stared at him unimpressed. “…Okay fine, I don’t really drink coffee, but just this once, I could—”

Smiling now, Jungkook took his drink and lifted it to his mouth. “‘S okay, hyung, you big softie,” he teased. 

Yoongi rolled his eyes, feigning offense. “I am…not,” he muttered feebly, listening to the younger’s laughter in the wake of his weak declaration. 

Who was Yoongi kidding? He'd grown far too soft ever since he met Hoseok, and that wasn't exactly a good thing, considering the nature of work he did. 

They were sitting together in quiet companionship afterwards, Jungkook texting who Yoongi assumed was Jimin, because the alpha’s scent had gone pleasantly fluttery at the edges, giving away his bashfulness.

On the other hand, Yoongi was inevitably losing himself in his thoughts, worries he’d sworn to think about the next day, assailing him now. His brows were drawn together, bottom lip caught beneath his teeth in concentration as he doodled onto the chibi mascot etched onto both his and Jungkook’s now empty cups. 

It was a habit Yoongi had cultivated ages ago, even before he met Hoseok. For as long as he’d been coming to the cafe, he always thought it a bit unseemly to have a worm settled in a field as a logo, so he’d taken to doodling tiny legs onto it. Hoseok didn’t even like bugs, but a cute little caterpillar was better than a worm. 

Having caught wind of this dedicated hobby more than a few times, Hoseok had laughed and thanked Yoongi for making the design even prettier. Only once or twice had he commented that it wasn’t a bug. 

Perhaps Yoongi should have paid more attention to those lighthearted moments. 

It may have been purely coincidental that afternoon, for him to be lost in thought regarding the fruitlessness of his mission when Jungkook broke him out of his thoughts with an innocent question.

“Hyung, what are you doing?”

By now, Yoongi had gotten started on Jungkook’s empty cup and was halfway through reimagining the cafe’s little mascot when he raised his head with a tiny smile. “Oh…it’s nothing, I just get carried away sometimes.”

Jungkook reached forward to snag the cup with the completed modifications and huffed out a laugh when he got a closer look. “You gave it legs?”

Yoongi flushed in embarrassment despite the lack of judgment in the other’s tone. “Well yeah, Hoba doesn’t like bugs but I figured caterpillars were cuter than worms…” he sighed in defeat and rushed out, “And before you say anything, yes I know that these get thrown out and he doesn’t always get to see them, but…” he shrugged once, giving up. “Fine, it’s really more of an ongoing idle habit of mine.”

Falling over himself in amusement, Jungkook laughed even louder and stared at him, gaze sparkling with amusement. “Good,” he said staunchly, startling Yoongi a bit. “God I fucking hope Taehyung’s seen these.”

Brows furrowing in confusion at the vindictive tone, Yoongi answered slowly, “I’ve been doing this forever, so I’m sure Tae’s probably seen them a couple of times—”

“Pfft—” the younger dissolved into another uncontrollable fit of giggles, pressing his forehead onto the table for a couple of moments. 

He was still trying to collect himself while the questioning look on Yoongi’s face grew deeper. “What’s so funny, Jungkook-ah?”

“Ah, sorry hyung, was just—” he bit his lip and stifled another laugh. “He designed that,” Jungkook said eventually, jerking a thumb in Taehyung’s general vicinity. “It just cracks me up to imagine him being aware of the fact that you think this should be a caterpillar and not a worm. It’s actually supposed to be a snake, y’know?”

“Oh…” Now Yoongi felt bad. “I didn’t know Tae made the design…” He’d heard something about the barista having attended an art college once before, but somehow, Yoongi hadn’t stopped to think about it.

He picked up the cup in front of him and stared at the painted logo carefully like he was just seeing it for the first time.

“Well, he designed it, but all four of them including Hobi hyung, decided on what it should be,” Jungkook was saying. 

A distant pang of alarm was coming to life in the back of Yoongi’s mind. “The four…of them?”

“Mmh. Since they were all childhood friends beforehand, I guess Hoseok hyung wanted something of each of them on the business logo. Look, there’s a flower in the field for each of their scents,” Jungkook pointed out.

Now that Yoongi took a closer look, it was true that there were different coloured blooms in the miniature field where the tiny snake lay— a smattering of vibrant purple for Hoseok’s primary lavender scent, yellow for Taehyung’s marigold, white for Jimin’s jasmine, and blue irises for Namjoon’s subdued scent. 

Hoseok had told him once that it was a happy coincidence that all four of them had presented with floral notes to their scents regardless of being alpha, beta, or omega. Joked about it being good for business, and Yoongi had assumed he meant that it was good for them to appear as friendly and welcoming as possible, but Yoongi supposed that the logo design was part of it too.

It was clever, really. A green snake nestled in a field of bright blooms. 

A viper in a vale of flowers. 

Yoongi’s throat closed up, and his heart sank into his stomach at once.

Jungkook was still saying something more, something about not being able to pry the reason for the snake out of Jimin even though the other had told him everything else, but Yoongi was only half listening. The faraway alarm in his head was ringing loud and clear now, reverberating through his bones. Making his hands tremble. 

“...Hyung?”

Yoongi sucked in a sharp breath as his head snapped up. There was a new, heavy lens of mistrust over the alpha as Yoongi met his questioning gaze. 

“Is everything okay? You seem panicked all of a sudden.”

He hadn’t realized his scent had turned sharp and acrid with fear until Jungkook mentioned it, and now he worked consciously on reigning it in even while his mind spun and raced with a million thoughts all at once.

‘It couldn’t be…right?’

Cracking a small smile that fell apart almost as soon as he’d mustered it up, Yoongi shook his head once and replied, “‘S fine, Jungkook-ah, I just um…remembered something I have to do last minute.”

‘Was Jungkook one of them?’ He mentally shelved that possibility aside. The boy would have figured out what Yoongi’s sudden distress was about, and it’d show on his face. No, there was only genuine concern in his expression as he watched Yoongi shakily get to his feet. 

“I have to go—head back. Work,” Yoongi muttered mechanically. 

At the same time, his mental faculties were frantically working to reorganize the intel he’d received on that first day, in accordance with his newfound fears. 

‘It couldn’t be, it couldn’t be, it couldn’t be—’

According to The Sanctum, there were at least four main echelons behind this new syndicate. It definitely couldn’t be Yoongi’s innocent, newfound family.

There was one only known as ‘the Watcher,’ whose main job was to keep an eye on their groundwork in the city… Yoongi’s mind filled in the blanks at an alarmingly rapid rate. Even though Taehyung was mostly situated in this particular cafe, he sometimes went around to the other locations in town in order to determine that things were running smoothly. He was looking over in Yoongi and Jungkook’s direction now, a worried look in his attentive gaze.

Then there were the two cardinals, spread out in other parts of the country where the group had the most reach…Jimin in Busan, and Namjoon in Daegu.

Which meant that the head of the whole operation…the alpha he was meant to get rid of the entire time—

A wave of nausea threatened to knock Yoongi off his feet without warning.

He barely heard Jungkook’s farewells, barely mumbled out a response, before he was pushing his chair backwards and sliding out of the booth. Gnashing his teeth, Yoongi forced himself to keep a neutral expression on as he slowly made his way over to the counter where Taehyung was. Made sure his pheromones were tucked tightly behind him, giving nothing away. Made sure his voice didn’t wobble in despair or pitch into the panicked scream that had been lodged in his throat from the moment he made the sinking connection.

“Taehyung.”

“Hyung, are you—” 

“I need you to call your b— call Hoseok and tell him to get back here as quickly as humanly possible,” Yoongi ground out. 

Chuckling a little uncertainly, the younger joked, “Trouble in paradise?”

Picking up a new cup that had been lying upside down in a stack for display, Yoongi set it down in front of Taehyung and tapped at the logo to draw his attention towards it as he spoke in another calm, devoid-of-emotion tone. “I suppose you could say that. It turns out neither of us have been exactly forthcoming in regards to our jobs, and I think it’s probably time we ironed out the little details.”

There was nothing more final than the little, knowing “...Oh,” that Taehyung let out. 

His expression twisted into something withdrawn, hard set to the corners of his mouth…he looked sad. “I’ll— I’ll let him know,” he said quietly, and no four words had ever pained Yoongi more.

They were the final nail in the coffin, in this situation. 

Or so he’d thought. 

He went home—to his own small apartment just a couple of blocks away—in a daze, needing to collect himself. He couldn’t be around Hoseok or anything that belonged to him, Yoongi thought, and yet he’d forgotten about everything in his own apartment that Hoseok had left behind back when he used to crash there. 

Back when Yoongi still thought him to be a broke business owner. Yoongi had loved him even then, hadn’t he?

His fingers trembled as he turned the key in the lock and let himself into the crammed apartment. The first thing his eyes fell on was an antique, stained glass flower vase sitting atop a little square table in front of the closest window—Hoseok had gotten him said vase pretty early on into their relationship, and Yoongi had always loved the way it caught the light when the sun was out. The first scent his nose caught as he trudged through the living room was the lingering remnants of Hoseok’s gentle lavender haze wafting off a forgotten tweed jacket draped over a coat hanger. 

Yoongi’s teeth dug painfully into his lower lip. Didn’t he love him now, despite everything? 

How was he supposed to throw away everything in favour of the mission he’d been given? 

He’d made his way into the kitchen in that same blind, distraught state, before his instincts slowly picked up on the fact that he wasn’t alone. It wasn’t anything in particular, just a hair-raising certainty he’d learned to trust, and a silence that hung heavy with the threat of danger. 

Sucking in a breath, Yoongi reached out to grab the sharpest knife from a utensil block on the counter he’d been bracing himself against, and spun around, holding the sharp point up to the neck of the person who’d soundlessly crept up on him. 

The sound of The Handler’s chuckle sent a cold shiver down his spine as the man paused and glanced down at the makeshift weapon. “One of the first things we teach you in The Sanctum is speed. Whenever you go up against an adversary, the element of surprise should always be on your side, Crimson Briar. You let me sneak up on you, meaning you’ve gotten slow. If I meant you any harm, your body would be hitting the ground by now.”

Yoongi grit his teeth as the alpha’s caustic scent assailed his senses, but he didn’t waver, glowering harshly as he demanded, “Why are you here?”

Glancing down at the edge of silver still pressed against his neck menacingly, The Handler let out a deliberative hum before dragging his gaze back up to Yoongi’s scowling face. He smiled, something grotesque and pleased. “You’re one of my favourite students, Yoongi,” he said, breaking out of the codename he usually called him. 

It felt even worse, hearing his name on the man’s lips. A phantom, slithering sensation wormed across Yoongi’s skin. He glared even harder, mustering up as much cold contempt into his voice, pressing, “That doesn’t answer my question. House calls weren’t part of our agreement when I left The Sanctum’s roof.”

“Of course,” The Handler agreed. “But neither was shacking up with some two-bit alpha along the way.”

Yoongi’s heart slammed into his ribcage. “I d–don’t know what you’re talking about.” He bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood, and his hand—the one holding onto the knife—trembled precariously, effectively giving him away.

 In that half-second moment of tenuous uncertainty, Yoongi found himself disarmed. In the blink of an eye, he’d lost his one means of leverage, allowed the alpha to get behind him, and now Yoongi stood helplessly as an arm hooked roughly around his neck while the man’s other hand pressed the point of the blade against his throat. 

“Don’t try to deny it,” he sneered, pressing his elbow hard enough to cut off Yoongi’s air supply. “Your house reeks of him, and more importantly…” he eased his arm off and changed to grab him by the scruff instead. 

Yoongi sucked in a harsh breath. “W–wait—” 

A fresh wave of nausea threatened to well up in his stomach as the alpha pressed his nose to his scent gland where his neck met his shoulder, and Yoongi quickly pressed a hand to his mouth in order to curb the sensation. 

“You reek of him too,” The Handler said darkly. “Did you forget that you were only taught to conceal your pheromones?” 

Staring past the sudden well of tears in his eyes, Yoongi fixed his gaze on a spot on the wall and ground out stubbornly, “...No.”

And truly, it wasn't that he'd forgotten that the only scent he could fully conceal was his own, but it was more that being around Hoseok had made him pay it less mind. The two of them had scented each other just the night before, so of course Yoongi would still smell strongly of him. 

But even that quiet, guilty comfort had been soiled by the fact that when The Handler breathed in against Yoongi’s scent gland, he'd deliberately smeared the acrid smell of his own pheromones against him, tugging a visceral reaction from Yoongi’s omega that made him recoil and want to crawl out of his body.

“I'm sure you know well that The Sanctum doesn't take kindly to a breach in their trust, Yoongi. This won't go without consequences.” 

“It…it's my fault. I'll take whatever punishment there is, but leave him out of this,” Yoongi mumbled hastily, thoughts spinning in a dizzying swirl. At some point, he seemed to have decided to bury everything he'd found out today; he'd take it to the grave if need be. 

The sound of The Handler’s laughter in his ear sent a foreboding chill down his spine for the second time that afternoon.

“How could I possibly leave him out of this when we both know that he plays a far bigger role here? What was it you said…? Oh right, ‘it turns out neither of us have been exactly forthcoming in regards to our jobs,’ isn’t that right? I’m assuming you called him back today so you can finish said job, hm?”

Paling, Yoongi’s body went completely rigid, and his heart dropped to the bottom of his feet. “How…?”

“Oh come on,” the alpha tutted, tipping Yoongi’s head further back with the knife in his hand. “Did you really think I wouldn’t check in on my best student every now and then? Particularly after our last phone call? I found out that you rarely come home here, but when you do, it’s almost always briefly. In a rush to grab more things and go back to the claws of the alpha who had you fooled this entire time, hm? It wasn’t hard to have your phone bugged while your back was turned in one of those moments. Not only are you slowing down, Crimson Briar, but you’ve become careless.”

The words stung like he’d been slapped. Squeezing his eyes shut, Yoongi sucked in a slow breath and tried to slow the frantic beat of his heart in his chest. Tried to focus past the roar of blood in his ears, tried to rein in his racing pulse and stop his pheromones from going out of control in his frenzied state. 

The Handler brought the blade of the knife down to Yoongi’s stomach instead and pressed lightly. “Now, the way I see it, you have two options here.” 

A sharp spike of fear shot through Yoongi, but it wasn’t for himself. 

“Option one, is you carry out your duty as intended and get rid of the head of the enemy organization. Kill the alpha, Jung Hoseok, like you were always meant to, and I just might be inclined to forget to mention to the higher ups that you’ve been warming his bed for over a year. Or…” the tip of the knife breached Yoongi’s flesh, stinging pain erupting through his torso as it cut a short, horizontal line across his left side. 

Yoongi ground his teeth together, blinking rapidly, determined not to make a sound as a slow well of blood seeped through the cut, only to be soaked up by his shirt. 

“Option two, is that you step away from this mission. It’d be seen as a failure, of course, and you would be punished for it as well as for the events of the past year, but rest assured. I’ll personally oversee the team that would be dispatched to take care of our viper problem. Of course, I wouldn’t make it pretty, but still I’d wipe out the entire pack and everyone associated with them, and that would be case closed.” 

He tossed the knife aside and spun Yoongi around to face him, head cocked derisively. “It’s time to decide. What’ll it be, Crimson Briar?”

Breathing out through his teeth, Yoongi braced his left side with one hand as his throat bobbed tightly. It was just a light cut, barely even a flesh wound, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Strangely enough though, the pain seemed to help in clearing his mind; perhaps he’d never really grown out of his familiarity with The Sanctum’s methods. 

Perhaps, despite his search for a safe haven, he’d never really found one. Afterall, he’d tried to run away from one vice, only to land in the arms of another one. 

As far as vices went though, Hoseok had been the gentlest one Yoongi knew. Maybe the deadliest too, because he’d achieved a feat no one else could say they had. He’d made Yoongi fall in love with him. 

“...I’ll do it,” Yoongi said, unwaveringly. “I’ll kill him.”

Yoongi hadn’t told Hoseok where to find him, but Hoseok had found him anyway. 

He barged into Yoongi’s small bedroom, distressed, chest heaving, frantic. “Yoongi I—” he started to say, then stopped as he registered the image of the omega slapping a pad of gauze over the cut in his stomach. “…What the fuck, who did that to you?” he growled, danger and retribution and protectiveness winding sharp in his scent. 

He'd barely taken a step when Yoongi’s gaze pinned him in place. “Don't come any closer,” he said evenly, stopping Hoseok in his tracks. 

The growl in Hoseok’s chest became deeper, harkening his discontent, yet he stayed in place, eyes glued to each of Yoongi’s movements. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve patched up worse by myself. This is hardly a scratch,” Yoongi said, slipping on a new shirt, wincing only a little when he raised his left arm. Once he’d pulled the fabric over his head, he glanced at Hoseok with another steady gaze. Kept his pheromones in tight check to give nothing away of the fact that his heart was pounding rapidly in the confines of his chest. “You never once asked about the scars I have—one or two of them I got while we were together—”

“Yoongi…” Hoseok started to take another step, but this time, Yoongi glared at him. 

“I told you not to come any closer,” he warned, tense shoulders only relaxing slightly when Hoseok paused at the entrance once more. Continued, “You never asked about anything, now that I think about it. Not about why I wouldn't move out of this dingy fucking apartment, or about why my ‘public servant’ job took me out of town so goddamn often, or why I sometimes came back in the middle of the night reeking of soap because I had to scrub myself clean of blood before crawling into your arms, and you're not even asking now, why I smell of some other alpha—”

“I'm going to kill him,” Hoseok snarled. “I'll kill every single one of them, tear that organization apart with my bare hands and lay each one of their useless bodies down at your feet.” He said it like a promise, like it was something feasible and physically possible. 

The knowledge of his syndicate’s reputation pulsed a shiver through Yoongi, and he realized— of course Hoseok could do it if he wanted. 

“You knew,” he said accusingly. “This entire time, you knew who I was, and you still let me get close to you. Why?”

“Because I wanted to keep you safe, Yoongi— I still do. Because I love you,” came Hoseok’s ready response. 

His words tugged at something painful in Yoongi’s chest. “Wrong,” he muttered. “You kept me around and lied to me from the start so you could keep tabs on The Sanctum. You knew they’d set their sights on you and…your pack, so you orchestrated the whole thing; our first meeting, right down to every moment we spent together after that. It's how you managed to pull the wool over my eyes and stay one step ahead of me—”

A noise of disbelief and hurt slipped past Hoseok’s lips. “Why…” he trailed off, swallowing thickly. “Yoongi, you're talking like I'm some sort of criminal mastermind—”

“Aren't you?” Yoongi shot back. 

A pained look flashed past Hoseok’s expression. “Yoongi come on, you know me—” 

“I know who you wanted me to think you were. The person standing before me right now is a complete stranger,” Yoongi choked out, the words raking a barbed wire across his throat as he spat them out. “I don't love you, Hoseok. And you never loved me either, so I think it's time we ended this charade.”

“…Hyung please.” Hoseok’s voice edged on tears, the ache of heartbreak twisting his scent into something sour and subdued. 

Yoongi’s hands trembled as he went to undo the necklace around his neck, and his own heart twisted as he tossed it to the edge of the bed away from him. His omega writhed in pain inside him, and it felt like he'd lost some intrinsic part of himself, but the worst of the pain was yet to come. “I don't…” he sucked in a loud, trembling breath. “Don't want that either,” he muttered. “You can come in if you want now, but only to pick that up,” he whispered around the tightness in his throat.

Of course he should have known that Hoseok wouldn’t be able to resist going to him the moment Yoongi said he could enter the room. Hoseok crossed the distance between them in two long strides, eyes bright with tears, wild with desperation. 

“Hyung—” 

“…Hoseok.”

Unveiling a sleek dagger he'd been concealing just under a layer of the bed covers, Yoongi swallowed as he slowly closed his fingers around the hilt. “Don't,” he said, when Hoseok tried to reach out to touch him. 

Hoseok stopped again, gaze falling onto the blade in Yoongi’s shaky grip.

Pushing himself to his feet, Yoongi stared at him now, his own eyes reflecting grim determination—reflecting fear, really. “I have an assignment to carry out,” he said slowly, swallowing around the lump making each word painful in his throat. “Don’t come any closer, or else I’m going to—”

“…I understand.” There was no uncertainty in Hoseok’s voice. No fear, or betrayal, only that desperate edge in his words that begged Yoongi to listen. He closed the gap between them until there was only the point of the dagger at his chest, warning him to stop moving. Instead, he closed a hand around Yoongi’s trembling fingers, steadying them around the dagger’s hilt. “I understand,” he said again, softly, gaze boring into Yoongi's, full of sadness and resignation. 

Yoongi tried to wrench his hand away, but Hoseok's grip was ironclad, and a wave of panic threatened to push a sob past his mouth. 

When Hoseok smiled at him, Yoongi’s heart twisted in his chest. “Hoseok, l–let go,” he mumbled, distraught and unable to hide it any longer. 

“It's okay.” Hoseok’s other hand wound through the tresses of Yoongi’s hair and carefully guided him to lay his head against his shoulder. “I'm guessing that we’re being listened in on, or even watched, somehow—” 

Eyes growing wide, Yoongi tried to pull back a second time, but Hoseok wouldn't let him go this time either. 

“Yoongi, I just need you to listen…please,” Hoseok breathed out against his skin, the urgency in his words making Yoongi go still. “You don’t have to answer me or confirm my theory, it’s just a guess I made ‘cause…well, I’d want to see the job done too if the situation were reversed,” he said bitterly.

Yoongi couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. More and more, his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his ribcage with the amount of terror coursing through him. Despite Hoseok’s words, he forced himself to give a minuscule nod. “…O–outside,” he muttered thickly.

He didn’t know how or from where, but they were definitely being watched— it had been one of The Handler’s last words to him before he left Yoongi to his devices, so to speak. If he didn’t do this, there was a team waiting close by to finish the job anyway; Yoongi’s failure would be considered as an act of betrayal, and he’d be killed right alongside Hoseok. 

That didn’t bother him much; the promise of death had always been in his shadow from the moment he undertook his first mission with The Sanctum, however, he couldn’t stomach the idea of Hoseok’s death after all. Despite every jarring truth that had come to light earlier that afternoon, Yoongi couldn’t easily brush off the fact that he cared for him. Couldn’t shake the fact that it was Hoseok who stood before him, and despite everything he’d said to him, he still loved him and was scared for him.

Most of all, Yoongi couldn’t shake the fear in his system that was for himself. If he completed his mission here—if he killed Hoseok—would he be able to survive the aftermath of that cruelty? Would his hands ever be divested of that irreversible taint?

Seeming to come to a conclusion of his own, Hoseok nodded once. Drew in even closer and said to him, “…I know I broke your trust and you probably don’t want to hear anything else I may have to say, but Yoongi…if ever you were to believe just one thing I’ve said to you, then let it be the fact that I love you. I've always loved you; I never lied about that.”

A wounded noise hitched in Yoongi’s throat, fingers trembling at his side and where Hoseok held his hand. He’d been staring stubbornly at a non-existent spot on the wall again, seeing nothing, but now, tears blurred his vision so violently, that he really couldn’t see ahead of him. “Let go of my hand first, hm, Seok-ah? I–I’ll hear you out then, okay?” he urged through watery words and winded breaths.

Despite the fact that Hoseok no doubt heard him and felt the hot sting of Yoongi’s tears against his skin, he made no move to heed Yoongi’s request. Instead, he continued to speak, in that same soft and steady tone. “I wanted you to come out on the other side of this with as little pain and hurt as possible, but…if this is all I can do for you to be safe in the long run, then so be it. Maybe I deserve this.”

“Hoseok—”

“It's okay—”

“I c–can’t,” Yoongi croaked, finally letting out the sob that had been stuck in his chest the entire time. “I really—” he shook his head, trying to pull back again. “I can't, Hoseok, I really can't, p–please let me go,” he begged.

“It's okay,” Hoseok told him again, victim assuring his murderer. “You don't have to look, but you have to do it, Yoongi.” 

Shaking his head again, blindly, desperate, Yoongi muttered, “I can't—”

Grip tightening around his wrist, around the hand holding the weapon, Hoseok urged, “You have to.”

So…Yoongi did. 

Deep down, he knew that no amount of pleading could relinquish him of this heavy charge, no amount of wishing that things were different would change the fact that he and Hoseok stood on opposite sides. So, with his teeth pressing so hard into his lower lip that he ripped through the skin, with his fingers sweaty and slippery where he white-knuckled the dagger, Yoongi drove the blade through Hoseok’s chest. 

Someone let out a cry the moment it was done—it was Yoongi. 

Finally, he could step back, let go, but instead, he clutched at Hoseok’s hand even tighter, catching him as the other groaned and began to fall to the ground.

“I–I’m s—” tears spilled in an endless stream while Yoongi’s other arm supported the weight of Hoseok’s body and eased him onto the bed. Another broken wail tried to claw past his throat, but Yoongi clamped his lips together at once, biting his tongue so hard that it too bled. 

Hoseok was bleeding, fading away. 

Yoongi had killed many people before; he was no stranger to violence or the pungent art that death became. 

He knew that an alpha or omega in the throes of death always produced a last call of pheromones—it was originally an evolutionary adaption, he’d learned. A last, desperate call for anyone in the vicinity to help. Right now, the room was filled with an intertwined tapestry of Hoseok’s floral scent, that if Yoongi closed his eyes, he could almost imagine himself to be in a field of flowers, basking in his alpha’s embrace.

The shaking started in his hands at first. 

Yoongi slowly removed his hands from Hoseok’s body, in shock. In dismay. In terror. Then he registered the wet warmth splayed over his left hand. Looked down and saw the accusing stain of his lover’s blood on himself, and he began to tremble all over. 

“H–Hoba…” he mumbled, teeth chattering, eyes wide and glistening with an unending stream of tears. He glanced at the pale body of the one laying before him, and when his gaze fell on Hoseok’s closed eyes, a fresh wave of panic punched through his gut.

“…Hyung.”

Yoongi’s head snapped up to the sound of his name. To Hoseok’s lips, pale and pursed in pain. 

“Oh god, Hoseok I’m so— I’m sorry I’m sorry ’m sorry, I c–can’t—” 

“It's okay,” Hoseok choked out, chest heaving and rattling as he tried to suck in a deep breath. His face crumpled for a brief, uncontrollable moment before the tiniest of smiles tugged at the corners of his mouth. He reached out to caress Yoongi’s face, but soon let his hand fall away as a waxy sheen of exhaustion coloured his face. 

Sitting on the bed, entire frame wracked with uncontrollable fits of shaking, Yoongi could only watch in a frozen state as Hoseok’s eyes fluttered shut for what he’d thought to be the last time. 

A small, barely audible sigh escaped the alpha’s lips. “Want you to know, hyung,” he mumbled, words slurring over each other in a last-ditch attempt at comfort. “…I really wanted to be a safe place for you to come back to…really wanted to be your home.”

And then it was over. 

And then Hoseok was dead. 

Presumably.

Two years and seventeen excruciating flights of stairs later, and here Yoongi is, standing before the doors of a place he’d once called home. 

About to face a man he’d thought to be dead until six months ago.

His jaw tenses as he makes quick, quiet work of the locks, heart pounding in his chest despite his smooth entry. The door opens without a creak and shuts just as seamlessly, and Yoongi is greeted with nothing but a deafening silence and an absolute darkness. 

If there’s one thing he does note, it’s that there’s something starkly different about the ambiance of the house, regardless of the fact that he can barely see anything. 

It’s cold, for starters. He remembers how cozy and warm he’d always been whenever he was here. The air is stale too, frigid and unmoving like the press of flowers trapped between the pages of a book. 

Memory leads him confidently through the house without incident, but he holds a hand out anyway in case any of the furniture is no longer in the same spot it used to be. He reaches the foot of the marble set of stairs that lead up to Hoseok’s bedroom, and pauses, listening intently for any signs that he may have roused the owner of the house. 

Everything is quiet. There’s a deafening roar of blood in Yoongi’s ears despite the eerie calm surrounding him, and he sucks in a slow breath, urging his racing heart to a slow, controlled rhythm.

He reminds himself that this is just a job he’s been tasked with—one he should have carried out two years ago, but a job like any other, nonetheless. His feet carry him up the winding marble stairs as silently as possible, one hand drifting down to unholster the gun at his side. 

By the time he’s face to face with the door to Hoseok’s bedroom, everything’s gone quiet in his mind. His breaths have evened out, the harried beat in his chest has slowed down, and the rush of blood in his ears has quieted down.

He’s here for a simple job; if he can do this, then maybe he’ll have redeemed himself in The Sanctum’s eyes, and he’ll be well on his way to being granted another favour.

He just has to do this—he’s killed many men in their sleep before; this is one of the easiest aspects of the job. He’ll be in and out in the blink of an eye. 

In the back of his head, his omega snaps its anxiousness and disapproval, but Yoongi does his best to ignore it. The firearm in his hand clicks as he disengages the safety with practiced fingers, while his other hand falls against the doorknob. Yoongi takes in a steadying breath—and pushes the door open. 

Hoseok’s scent is everywhere.

He hadn’t expected that. 

Hoseok’s scent is everywhere, gentle and assuasive, and threatening in the sense that Yoongi has to fight every second he’s in the room not to give in to another influx of memories. 

Hoseok’s scent is gentle and familiar, but Yoongi’s eyes burn with the sting of unshed tears. His knees threaten to buckle under him, but he forces himself to keep going, making his way further inside, till he reaches the foot of the king-sized bed. He quickly wipes his eyes so his gaze can properly zero in on the person-shaped lump under the sheets. 

Yoongi steadies his hand when it starts to tremble. 

Despite himself, his mind turns mutinous and tries to drag him back again to the night when everything fell apart. 

He remembers the two of them at his apartment. The things they’d said to each other—the things Yoongi had said. 

He grits his teeth and fires the first shot. It comes out muffled, like a low whistle through the silencer fitted against the gun.

The sharp anguish he’d felt when Hoseok’s blood stained his hands comes back to him too. He remembers the mixed emotions of hate and rage directed at himself for months and months—for a long time, he’d grieved Hoseok. 

Yoongi pulls the trigger a second time, third time. 

And then, six months ago, he’d been so…graciously informed that not only was Hoseok healthy and alive, but he’d also be Yoongi’s first job after a period of inactivity for two years.

One would think he’d feel relief or something of the sort…but no. All Yoongi had been, when he’d heard the news, was livid. 

And he’s livid now as he all but empties a full clip into what is now obviously a decoy figure of pillows arranged in the shape of a person under the covers. 

“…Yoongi,” comes a voice that sends shivers hurtling down his spine. 

Behind him . 

Yoongi whirls around immediately, but he’s not quick enough because Hoseok had managed to get right behind him somehow, without him noticing. Before he can make a move, or even process what’s happening, Yoongi’s back is hitting the nearest wall, breath escaping him in a whoosh, senses filled with Hoseok. 

Hoseok’s features, half-concealed in the dim lighting—Yoongi’s eyes drink him in greedily of their own accord anyway. Hoseok’s scent, stronger now, flickering and waning like a candle flame left in the wind—Yoongi breathes him in, despite himself, despite the fact that this up close, Hoseok’s scent should be more grounded and less all over the place. 

Digging his nails into his palm to clear his head, Yoongi starts to raise the pistol once more, but Hoseok catches his hand easily, then pins the other one against the wall as his gaze bores into Yoongi. 

“You barely hesitated this time around,” he murmurs, eyes fixed intently on Yoongi, managing to sound both wistful and impressed at the same time. 

“Yeah well I’m not the same idiot I was the last time we saw each other,” Yoongi snaps, teeth bared, chest heaving. 

He hates the fact that even though Hoseok is only lightly holding onto his hands, Yoongi can’t— doesn’t want to —break out of his hold. 

“You were never an idiot,” Hoseok says softly, gaze trailing goosebumps along Yoongi’s body as it drags over him, settling for a long moment on his lips before hesitantly shifting to the gun in his hand. “Drop it,” he murmurs. 

Jaw ticking, Yoongi glares at him. Hisses, “Let go of me.”

A tiny, unamused smile tugs at the corner of Hoseok’s mouth. “Let go of the gun first.”

Yoongi digs his teeth harshly into his lower lip, fighting the intrinsic urge inside him that wants to give in to the simple command. His omega is back in the forefront of his mind, pushing for him to give in to Hoseok altogether. 

He’d missed him, after all. 

Damn it. 

Breathing out slow and controlled through his mouth, Yoongi lets the gun fall to the floor with a clatter, and stares up defiantly at the one standing before him. “There. Now will you—”

Instead, a choked noise catches in his throat as Hoseok intertwines their fingers deliberately, one hand after the other. 

The alpha lets out a shaky laugh of his own as he stares down at them. His voice is pained, longing, when he says, “…I missed you, Yoongi.”

Yoongi tells himself that he hates the warm sparks that breathe to life on his skin where their hands touch. Tells himself that he doesn’t like the fact that his and Hoseok’s hands have always fit so effortlessly. “…Let go,” he grits out in warning, cold eyes glinting with a threat. 

“…Ah,” Hoseok mutters. “Right.” His fingers linger for a moment too long before falling away as his throat bobs once or twice.

“You—” Yoongi’s words trail off into a hitched breath, when, in front of him, barely an inch apart, Hoseok lowers himself to the ground for a brief while. The proximity veers Yoongi’s thoughts into dangerous waters, eyes fluttering as his breath leaves him in an audible whoosh when Hoseok comes up slowly. Almost deliberately. 

It takes far too long for him to register the fact that in Hoseok’s hand now, is the gun Yoongi had been forced to let go of moments before. 

Hoseok holds it between them almost curiously for a number of prolonged seconds, during which Yoongi’s mouth goes dry as he stares at it, heart pounding in his chest.

It’s been years…maybe things have changed in more ways than one, he thinks faintly. Maybe Hoseok is going to turn the firearm on him after all, and— 

“I’d better put this away,” Hoseok says decisively, turning away from him in one smooth move. He makes his way across the bedroom to a tall row of dressers, where he tosses the gun into the first one and methodically locks it afterwards, leaving Yoongi in a stunned silence for a second or two. 

Recovering quickly however, Yoongi scowls and pulls a sleek dagger out of a sheathe that had been strapped to his thigh, and goes after him so that as Hoseok pockets the little key to the drawer and turns around, he finds a pointed edge pressing against his neck. 

When the alpha laughs, a warm sliver of want slides across Yoongi’s spine, locks his muscles in place with anticipation or apprehension for a confusing moment. 

“This brings back memories,” Hoseok says. “…Well, kinda. Last time, you aimed right here.” He lifts up his shirt to reveal a toned torso, honey complexion unblemished except for a short, horizontal scar stark against his left rib cage. 

A gasp escapes Yoongi unbidden like he’s been punched in the gut. His other hand reaches out, hesitant, a little shaky, as he traces the outline of raised skin. Feels Hoseok suck in a loud breath first before he hears it. 

“I…missed?”

Another laugh, hoarse and full of emotion this time. “Yeah,” Hoseok tells him, confirming the incomplete question. “Tae found me and took me to the hospital; the doctors kept telling me how lucky I was that the blade missed my heart by an inch or two, but…it couldn’t have been just luck, right?”

“What?” Blinking rapidly, Yoongi quickly lets his hand fall away from Hoseok’s chest and forces himself to snap out of it. “What the hell else could it have been if not luck?”

Hoseok’s gaze bores into him knowingly. “I know all about your history and reputation, Crimson Briar.” Coming from Hoseok’s mouth, the moniker hits Yoongi like a ton of bricks. Makes him recoil. “You’ve never faltered in the face of an assignment. Never missed, never gotten anything wrong. Yet here we stand, for the second time, while you hesitate to finish the same job.”

“Shut the hell up,” Yoongi growls, advancing on him until Hoseok is backed up against the wooden dresser. “This isn’t a joke, Hoseok, quit screwing around.” This time, the horizontal edge of the blade goes up against the alpha’s throat. “I don’t know how you knew I’d be here tonight, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to kill you,” he hisses menacingly. 

“I’ve been wanting to see you for so long now, Yoongi. This moment is an amalgamation of all my efforts since I woke up on a hospital bed and you weren’t there.” Hoseok doesn’t shy away from him despite the threatening point of the dagger at his throat. Reaches out to caress Yoongi’s face as that familiar wash of his flowery scent seems to flicker again, nearly overpowering this time as he presses the pads of his fingers to Yoongi’s racing pulse, sweeping his thumb over his raised scent gland at the same time. “Tonight was all about seeing you…whether you come to me as a lover or executioner, your presence alone is a welcome reprieve to the hell I’ve been in without you.”

A choked gasp escapes Yoongi’s lips at the profession, knees threatening to buckle at the flood of warmth that travels down his throat when he sucks in a lungful of air. His eyelids flutter as he fights the mewl of want that threatens to punch out of him, his omega keening for Hoseok as he finally recognizes the smell of the alpha’s incoming rut.

His alpha.

Hoseok’s scent is erratic, a sharp and heady combination that drives needy urgency through Yoongi too. He doesn’t remember it being like this—doesn’t remember the smell of Hoseok’s rut ever being this urgent and capricious, he means. It makes him wonder when the last time the alpha had truly given in to his biological instincts. Had he been having irregular ruts too?

Yoongi had suffered the same thing with his heats for the first couple of months after he thought Hoseok was dead—remembers how excruciating and unpredictable they’d been. Can’t imagine how it must feel to still be going through something similar even after two years.

“...‘M g-going to kill you,” he mutters, even as the hand gripping the hilt of the dagger begins to falter.

Even now, Hoseok stares at him steadily, dark gaze sparking only wild and golden for a split second before he curls his mouth into a sharp canine smile. His words are a tight, collected rasp, regardless of the state he’s currently in. “I’m going to give you ten long seconds,” he tells Yoongi slowly, squeezing at his neck one last time before letting go.

Yoongi’s stomach tugs dangerously. “W-what?”

Hoseok taunts, bares his neck against the edge of the blade that had been only lightly kissing his skin. “Do it, now,” he hums. “Because in ten seconds, I can’t say I’ll have this same modicum of patience. You have a job to carry out, don’t you? Ten seconds should be more than enough. If I’m still standing once that time is up…you’re mine. So what’ll it be, Yoongi?”