Min Yoongi has a splitting headache.

Pain is all he can register at first. Pain and confusion. It’s as if his sensory neurons are coated in molasses, everything blurs together when he tries cracking open his eyes. It hurts too much, so he keeps them shut. With some hesitation, he tries moving his fingers first. His toes. Slowly, there is sound—or a disturbing lack therof. Then, he can taste iron in his mouth. Feel the plush carpet beneath him.

Why is he on the floor?

Then it hits him. He tries to sit up, but lets out a sharp grunt and clutches his head. He feels gingerly near his right eyebrow and there it is, a throbbing lump. Your screams punctuate the static in his muddled brain. There’s a flash Jong Suk’s jagged grin, then, of Seungri’s glowering face.

“[Y/n],” he moans, trying to take even breaths. His chest hurts, his stomach, too. Getting to his feet is proving impossible, so he manages to shift onto all fours, one hand moving to the pocket of his leather jacket. There is no gun, as he expected. His immediate thought is to call for backup, but then his eyes fall to his smartphone, purposely smashed and lying a few feet away. ing figures.

Battling dizziness, Yoongi cranes his neck to glance around the area. It appears to still be empty, as far as he can tell, but he needs a better look. What he can see is that there’s blood on the ground, too much blood, it has pooled on the carpet a few inches from where his head was, barely visible in color but noticeable nonetheless. Its coppery smell pricks his nose. Yoongi wonders how much is his.

Focusing further away, Yoongi can see that the door has been left slightly ajar as if to dare him to follow. He lets out a low growl, clawing at the nearest case of watches until he’s barely on his feet.

He slowly picks his way along the orderly rows, but stops immediately at the sight of an envelope sitting on the empty counter. He comes closer, blinking away black spots in his vision as he rips open the seal. In his hands now lies an insane amount of won, all bundled in high bills. On their binding, a message is scrawled in neat, blocky handwriting.

Consider the debt paid.

“.” Yoongi curses, wanting to rip the money to shreds and light what remains on fire. He settles for slamming the cash down with such force that it sends him reeling again and he has to brace himself against the counter to keep from falling over. How could this happen? How could he get utterly stomped like that, lose his lead, lose… you. He didn’t have a ghost of a chance against your brother, and his own weakness sears more blindingly than any punch to the head.

Clumsily, Yoongi stuffs the bills into his chest pocket and stands on his own, swaying like a branch in the wind. Loathing, guilt and regret overtake him. You are gone. G-Dragon won’t be coming here anytime soon. He wants to cry and scream and curl up in the fetal position all at once, but then…

Anger.

It brews in the pit of his stomach, heating his core. He spots the one broken display, the only proof he put up a fight against Seungri. It’s infuriating. Each heartbeat is an earthquake as white-hot anger grips his sanity. Suddenly, he can move, but all he can see is red as he staggers forward, rips an ornate iron floor lamp from its socket and hoists it over his shoulder. His ears are pulsing and his head is throbbing, but he couldn’t care less. He brandishes the lamp like a bat, eyes trained on the neat arrangement of pristine watches and their gleaming glass cases. He takes in a ragged breath and swings with all his remaining strength.

The effect is immediate and satisfying.

First, cracks spiderwebbing across the once unblemished surfaces.

Then, shards of glass raining from points of contact.

Yoongi moves with the ferocity of a natural disaster, demolishing everything in his path. Adrenaline and concentrated rage dull him to the sharpness of the debris, to the watchful eye of the security cameras, to his probable concussion. He simply destroys. In the beginning, it’s just the glass because the sound of it breaking is like music over the ringing in his ears, but then it’s the displays themselves, the pretentious art on the walls, anything with the misfortune of standing in his way.

When Yoongi is finished, panting heavily, leaning on his makeshift club for support, the staff member from before emerges from the customer service desk, playing a mobile game and wearing noise-cancelling headphones. When he finally does look up, glancing from Yoongi to the aftermath of his wrath, he pales, a tiny noise escapes his lips, and he faints like a Victorian lady.

Heart still hammering, Yoongi drops the lamp to the ground, steals the man’s phone and dials as quickly as possible. As it rings, he staggers to the back room, searching for a way out that doesn’t involve being seen by hundreds of shoppers.

No luck. Hoping for a convenient exit was a long shot. Yoongi begins to pace, trying to reason out a solution over the mounting ringing in his ears. The phone line clicks to life.

“Jin.” Yoongi stops for a moment, gripping the edge of the customer service desk to steady himself.

“Suga? What is it?”

“I need an emergency extraction.”

Jin’s voice is desperate on the line, “Was the tracker compromised? Where are you?”

“Don’t think so,” Yoongi starts walking again. “Horlage.”

“And [Y/n], isn’t she with you? Is she okay?”

Yoongi lets out a shaky breath. There’s his answer.

“And you’re injured.” Somehow, Jin’s voice sounds far away. Yoongi blinks, focusing all his effort on putting one foot in front of the other. He has to keep moving or he’ll fall apart. “Yoongi?” Jin’s voice is shrill, but he barely notices.

“How’d you guess?” he responds at last.

“Doctor’s intuition.” Yoongi’s mouth carves into a broken smile at that. “Hold tight, we’re coming, okay?” Yoongi can’t tell if he responds or stays silent, the world is going dark as a bout of dizziness overtakes him.

“Hey,” someone’s voice echoes in his ears, but he can’t keep his eyes open anymore.

Hours Earlier

“Yoongi!” You wail, tears streaming down your cheeks as you wrench yourself free of Jong Suk’s grip and hurry to your unconscious boyfriend’s side. Your fumbling fingers go straight for his neck, checking his carotid artery for a pulse.

It’s faint, but you feel it. You sigh in relief.

Seung-hyun wipes his hands on his pants and clicks his tongue. “Do you understand now, [Y/n]?” You glare up at him as he continues. “Men like him are nothing but trouble. He doesn’t care about you, he’s after our leader and nothing else.”

“You’re wrong,” you snap, lightly tracing the bruise forming on his temple. He’s probably concussed. “You don’t know anything about him, Oppa. And you could have killed him!”

“He could have killed me,” Seung-hyun practically spits. He reaches for his chest pocket.

“Don’t be stupid, Oppa,” your voice is shrill as you desperately try to distract him, try to keep the gun you know is close at hand out of play. His hand freezes at your words, but you need a long-term plan. “I would be dead if it wasn’t for Yoongi. For Bangtan. They may be criminals, your rivals, and maybe that pisses you off—”

“Rivals?” Seung-hyun throws his hands in the air in exasperation. “Are you crazy? I’m not looking to spend my life as a gangster. I know I wasn’t around a lot when we were growing up, but…”

Good, if there’s anything you know about Oppa it’s that once he starts ranting, he’ll be at it for awhile. His words become white noise as you take inventory of your surroundings. You have a gun, but you’re not confident you could win in a standoff. Your eyes fall to Yoongi’s jacket and a thought hits you. His phone.

As casually as possible, you slip it from his jacket, covering your actions by pretending to check his vitals again. But who to call? If I this up and Oppa gets ahold of the phone, Bangtan could be in serious trouble. There’s no time to scroll the contacts, so you check his recent logs. A name jumps out at you. Impulsively, you dial.

You’d better pick up, Park Chanyeol.

“That’s why I met you here today. Do you get it?” You shove the phone under Yoongi’s arm and glance back up at Seung-hyun.

“Ummm… No?” You squeak.

“Are you serious?” Seung-hyun rolls his eyes.

There’s a soft click and then a deep, muffled voice. “Yo, Suga?”

“What was that?”

You hastily turn the call volume all the way down, speaking loudly to keep Chanyeol on the line. “Seungri, I don’t care what you have to say. Yoongi could be seriously hurt, this is an emergency. We can’t keep him here at Horlage, he needs a hospital.”

“Did you just call me Seungri?” Oppa raises a brow in suspicion.

You flinch. “B-Because that’s who you’ve become,” the taste of the bull spewing from your lips is bittersweet.

“Maybe so.” He bought it. “But it was all to protect our family, [Y/n]. To fix what that leech of a father did to us all those years.”

“How is this in service of that?” You shoot back.

“I found him.” Your blood runs cold. “I want to take you with me to confront him. Then, we’ll take the rest of the money I’ve earned and we’ll run. Maybe to America to see Eomma, maybe somewhere else, I don’t know. I have enough money to clear Appa’s debt with Bangtan. Please.”

You stare at your older brother, at the tears shining in his eyes. This is the second time you’ve seen him cry. You grip Yoongi’s hand tightly. “I…” You swallow the lump in your throat. “I won’t let you kill him.” You bite out. “Let him deliver the money.”

“If I agree… you’ll go with me?”

You nod slowly. “I won’t see Bangtan again.”

There’s a long, tense silence. Then, “Fine. But we’re leaving him here and taking his weapons. That’s as generous as I’m willing to be.”

You give another curt nod. It’s up to you, Chanyeol.

“You’re both so naïve.” There’s no time for relief. You barely catch the gleam of metal as Jong Suk interrupts your conversation and pulls a glock from his belt. He trains it on Suga’s head. “Did you forget I’m here, soon-to-be traitor? I’ll let the higher-ups deal with you, but for now, I’ll eliminate the Daegu trash.”

You instinctively draw your own gun and point it directly at Jong Suk’s forehead. “Put that thing away.”

“Woah,” Jong Suk taunts, laughing. “Someone armed the little princess. But there’s no need to be cute, you won’t shoot me.”

Instead of responding, you take a deep breath like you practiced at the range, let it out and fire two consecutive shots into Jong Suk’s arm.

He drops his gun like a hot potato and screams in pain. “You. ing. !”

“The next one will be aimed at your .” You toss your brother Yoongi’s gun, then pocket Jung Suk’s. “Hurry. That will bleed out in here if we aren’t quick.”

While your brother prepares the money, you swiftly pull out Yoongi’s phone and whisper “Common Ground. Thank you, Chanyeol-ssi,” before throwing it on the ground and stomping on it for good measure. Sorry, Yoongi, this is all I can do.

You brush a goodbye kiss on his forehead and follow your brother outside.

~~

“We’re sharing a room?” Yoongi smirks at your flushed cheeks, surveying the new space. The walls are olive green, which wouldn’t be his first choice, but other than that and the mountain of boxes, the new bedroom strikes him as sufficiently homey.

“Yeah. Namjoon said we needed to ‘conserve space’.” With a -eating grin, of course. Namjoon wasn’t exactly subtle about his intentions to set Yoongi up.

“Does Jin know?” you raise a concerned brow.

“Probably not, he would think it’s indecent.” Yoongi grins like a cat, crushing you in the circle of his arms and nuzzling your hair. “But who cares what that quack thinks?”

“Excuse you, lots of people!” Yoongi whips around to see an irritated Jin holding a teetering pile of boxes. “And FYI, I did know about Namjoon’s little plan and I think it’s a violation of the sanctity of marriage. If I ever hear noises coming from across the hall—”

“Okay, thanks, neighbor!” Yoongi slams the door.

“Yoongi,” you whine.

“[Y/n], don’t worry, he’s happy for us. He’s just being, what do the kids call it…? Oh yeah, a pain in the .”

“I can hear you!” Jin squawks through the door.

“Cool story,” Yoongi sings back.

“You’re such an ,” you pinch his cheek.

“You love it.” He leans in and the two of you share a passionate kiss. He grasps you close to his chest loving how warm you are, how soft.

“Yoongi,” you say as the two of you break apart, reaching a hand to smooth his blond bangs.

“Yeah?”

“Yoongi,” you repeat, staring at him with an unwavering gaze.

“What is it, [Y/n]?” he blinks in confusion.

“Yoongi.”

Yoongi’s eyes barely crack open. The blurry scene in front of him makes him sick to his stomach, so he closes them again.

“Come on, Yoongi. I know it hurts, but I need to check on you.” Jin’s voice seems impossibly loud, and Yoongi raises a hand to his ear. Just let me get back to [Y/n], you quack doctor.

Wait, [Y/n].

Yoongi snaps to attention, the white sheets rustling as he bolts upright. Immediately, his stomach does somersaults, and a dull pain thrums in his skull. He inhales sharply. “Ow.”

“Woah, woah, woah, hang on.” Jin’s broad shoulders finally come into focus as he gently guides Yoongi back down onto the pillow. “Take it slow, okay?”

“But… [Y/n]. And G-Dragon—” his voice sounds more gravelly than usual.

“I know. We’ll find her.” Jin soothes, handing him a glass of water. Yoongi takes a tiny sip, relaxing slightly as the cool moisture eases his dry throat. He realizes that they’re in Jin’s room at the new place. Unopened boxes line the corners, and Yoongi is propped up on Jin’s bed with roughly ten thousand pillows. When he looks to his right, he sees that Jungkook and Jimin are curled up on Jin’s couch, fast asleep under a fluffy blanket.

“Those two wouldn’t leave. They wanted to wait for you to wake up,” Jin says quietly. In spite of the pain he’s in, Yoongi’s eyes crinkle fondly.

“That was a hellish punch.” He sighs. “And a cheap shot, at that. Seungri got me while I was distracted.”

Jin nods, ping his medical bag. “It’s good that you still remember what happened.” He quickly and efficiently checks Yoongi’s eyes, ears and reflexes while he talks in a calming tone. “I was worried about you earlier because you could barely stay awake long enough for me to examine you fully. I can’t perform an MRI or a CT scan here, so I thought we might have to move you to a real hospital.”

Yoongi’s brow creases. His initial reunion with Bangtan is all a blur. “How bad do you think it is?”

“Not severe,” Jin assures. “But on top of a mild concussion, you’re suffering from exhaustion. You need to rest.”

“Rest.” Yoongi says the word like it’s a curse. “You know I can’t do that. The longer I wait, the more trouble [Y/n] could be in. And G-Dragon… the trail is getting colder by the second. Horlage won’t be an effective way in anymore.”

“So you want to hobble after them by yourself in your condition?” Jin can’t hide his irritation. “You are pig-headed, Min Yoongi! What use to anyone are you if you drop dead?”

“You said it yourself, Doc. Apparently, it’s not serious. I need to find a way to track them down. Maybe we can use the serial numbers on the money they left—”

“Don’t make me sedate you, young man.” Jin holds up a syringe for emphasis.

“Not a bad idea.”

Whipping toward Namjoon’s low voice makes Yoongi’s head spin. He lets out a low groan. “Which idea?”

“Both. But let’s discuss that in a moment. I brought your saviors,” Namjoon swings the door wide open to reveal Park Chanyeol’s strained smile and a nervous-looking Do Kyungsoo.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Suga.” Chanyeol says in a low voice, scratching his head.

Kyungsoo holds out a circular Tupperware with trembling arms. “I don’t know if you can eat yet, but I—” he gulps, “I brought soup.”

Yoongi puts a hand on his stomach, realizing how empty it is. He looks up at Jin, an unspoken question in his eyes.

Jin sighs. “You can eat. Just do it slowly.”

Kyungsoo and Chanyeol help prop Yoongi up with his food. Meanwhile, Namjoon discreetly puts a hand on Jin’s shoulder. “Let’s give them some time to talk, yeah?”

“I’m not sure—” Jin starts to protest, but Namjoon gives him a meaningful look. “All right.” He glances toward Jimin and Jungkook, still fast asleep on the couch. “What about those two?”

“Let’s let them sleep.” The leader chuckles. “They’ve had a long day.”

“Yoongi.” Yoongi looks up from his bowl at Namjoon’s voice. “I’ll look into the serial numbers on the won and the security footage from Common Ground to see if we can find Seungri’s car. We’ll do everything we can. For now, rest.”

Unable to put his gratitude into words, Yoongi nods slightly, watching after Jin and Namjoon as the door closes with a soft click.

Silence falls, broken only by Yoongi’s spoon scraping the bowl and Jimin and Jungkook’s deep breathing from the couch. It isn’t until Yoongi has finished his food that the conversation is revived.

“So,” Chanyeol starts, a bit awkwardly. “About the destruction of property that occurred today—”

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi bows his head in shame.

“No, no, don’t apologize.” Chanyeol taps the crown of Yoongi’s head lightly. “My old man deserves at least as much for dealing with gangsters. No offense.”

“None taken,” Yoongi deadpans.

“I just mean that I already talked to the staff and my father. The whole incident will be covered up, the security footage has all been destroyed.”

Yoongi stares at the younger boy, wide-eyed. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. RM called us your saviors earlier because of all that… and because we carried you out of there when you passed out, but… it was actually someone else who saved you.”

Kyungsoo pipes up. ‘Yeah, without [Y/n]’s call, you’d probably be dead or in prison. Make sure you thank her when you see her again.”

“[Y/n] called you?” A pang shoots through Yoongi’s chest.

Chanyeol nods. “From your phone, while she was negotiating with her brother. I don’t know how she managed to hide that, but she chose her words carefully to let me know what was going on. When I realized it was an emergency, I started recording the call.”

“You did?”

“Smart, right?” He takes his phone from his pocket.

“I guess those years of gaming and junk food didn’t entirely rot your brain, then.” Though Yoongi’s words are harsh and dismissive, they don’t hold his usual venom. He’s too busy staring at the phone in Chanyeol’s hand.

The red-haired man lets out a hearty laugh. “I think I can read you by now, Suga.” He places it in the other’s palm. “I already showed Namjoon. Go ahead.”

Yoongi’s eyes flick to the audio file on the screen. six minutes and fifty-five seconds. With bated breath, he taps ‘Play’.

~~

“Where are we going?”

“Shut up and hold still or so help me God—” You clench your teeth, pressing harder than necessary on Jung Suk’s wound.

“Gyah! What the hell? This is all your fault for shooting me, you dumb ! Now where are we—?”

Oppa makes a sharp turn, causing the whining man to slam into the window, and barks in a deep, menacing tone. “Be quiet or your ride ends here. Got it?”

The man finally closes his mouth.

“Good.” Seung-hyun sighs. “I’m sorry you have to stay back there with him.”

“Me too,” you grumble. “But I guess it’s better than killing him. Where are we going?”

“To drop him off with his owner.”

The rust-red foreign car turns into a side-street and parks in front of a tiny, eccentric building advertising itself as an art gallery.

Seung-hyun opens the rear door and pulls Jung Suk out. You move to follow them, but your brother stops you. “Stay here.”

Sensing the iciness of his tone, all you can do is nod and step back.

~~

Seung-hyun can already feel his heart rate accelerating as he enters the gallery. Upon first glance, it’s vacant. No curators, no art enthusiasts. Just surreal painting after surreal painting—vibrant, arresting colors that make the backs of his eyes throb even in low lighting.

Jung Suk is silent beside him, as he should be. He drags the injured man toward a back exhibit, noticeably more well-lit than the main room. It’s full of watches. Old pocket-watches from the 20s, antiques, modern fare a la Rollex. Some are mounted alone, but some have been melded and melted into strange sculptures of animals, people, trees. The centerpiece is a large serpent, its scales made up of ticking watch faces, its lithe body twisting around itself.

Absorbing the sight of it is a man in dark sunglasses. His hair is coiffed like storybook prince, powder-blue, and his suit is dark blue suede. He inclines his head slightly in Seung-hyun’s direction, breaking his statuesque pose of contemplation with a wide smile.

“Seungri.” He says in a sensuous baritone. “Come for some art appreciation lessons?”

“With a bleeding man on my arm? Of course, Hyung.” The younger rolls his eyes.

“Still a little , I see. But that’s why I like you.” The blue-haired man takes off his glasses, his steady gaze falling on the pool of blood on Jong Suk’s arm. “Lee Jong Suk,” his smile morphs into a frown. “How did this happen?”

“TOP hyung-nim, this traitor’s of a sister—”

TOP raises a hand, signaling for silence. His sneer is b with contempt, “It’s rude to insult the families of your superiors, Lee Jong Suk. What I gather is that you were shot by an untrained little girl, then. You’ve proven to be just as spineless as ever.”

All Jong Suk can do is gape, dumbstruck.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I need to leave him here with you.” Seung-hyun lets him drop to the floor, wiping fresh blood on his sleeve. “I thought I’d let you choose what to do with him, since I have important business to attend to.”

“Fine,” TOP’s reply is brisk. “But if this is about your father, I’ll ask you to reconsider.”

Though he tries hard to hide it, Seung-hyun’s grimace isn’t lost on the older man. “It’s almost time, Hyung. I’m nearly done here.”

There’s a hint of sadness in TOP’s eyes. He lets out a breath. “So be it.”

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Seung-hyun pulls an Horlage watch out of his pocket. “Give this to Ji-Young when you see him.”

“If it’s a gift from you,” the corners of TOP’s mouth quirk up. “Give it to him yourself.”

~~

You’ve been leaning against the car’s hood for a number of minutes, lost in your worries about Yoongi’s safety and your anxiety about seeing your father again when you suddenly hear footsteps. Thinking it’s your brother, you snap to attention, “Oppa—” You freeze.

The man standing before you has a nearly-spent cigarette dangling from his elegant fingers. A pair of round, amber sunglasses are perched on his nose and through them you can see bright, alert eyes. An absurdly ostentatious (and probably absurdly expensive) red jacket hangs from his shoulders over a crisp suit, and to pull the look together, his hair is a dark blue, swept away from his forehead with not a strand out of place.

You can feel an aura of powerful sophistication emanating from this man, not so different from what you felt the first time you were in the same room as Namjoon. But this man is somehow even more magnetic, you can’t bring yourself to tear your eyes away, even though it’s embarrassing.

He’s aware of your awe, he takes in your appearance and his lips curve a bit. “’Oppa’? How cute. I wasn’t aware I had such an adorable donsaeng.” He steps closer and your heart picks up speed. It’s a mix of excitement and fear. Definitely fear. “Let me guess, you must be…” he drags a finger under your chin, sending goosebumps prickling over your arms. He smells faintly of tobacco and cologne. “Seungri’s little sister. Am I right? [Y/n].”

You give the stiffest nod in the history of head-bobbing. The man grins. “I can see the resemblance.”

“A-And you,” you manage, clenching your fists and staring him straight in the eye. “You’re G-Dragon… right?”

“Smart and tough, definitely related to Seungri. But that’s my formal title, you can keep calling me ‘Oppa’ if that pleases you.”

If that pleases you? Gross. You make a face. “It would please me if you remove your hand,” you say dryly.

This time he actually laughs. “You are so entertaining! It’s a shame your brother wants to leave us.”

“Wait… you know about that?” You find yourself blurting.

GD nods, unfazed. “He’s made his intentions clear to me from the beginning. Still, it’ll be a sad day when we beat him out.”

Your blood runs cold. You’d seen that tradition in movies, but it was actually true?

“Ji-Young,” A deep voice causes you both to turn around. There in the doorway stand your brother, a sniveling Jong Suk, and a third man with powder-blue hair.

“What are you doing?” Seung-hyun looks pissed off as he stalks closer to the two of you, but GD holds up his hands in a placating gesture.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t lay a hand on her.” He winks at you. “You’re free to go now.”

“Here, you crazy bastard.” Seung-hyun shoves a small, dark gray box against GD’s chest as he ushers you toward the passenger side of the car.

“Until we meet again,” GD gives a little wave.

You feel like you might be sick.

[A/N: Well, Helloooooooooo! It's been awhile, huh? Sorry about that, between school and social things and my new Superstar BTS addiction, writing hasn't been all sunshine and rainbows. But I'm back now, yaay! Thank you for supporting me, for not giving up on my story. As always I appreciate comments, I hope you all are doing well, and Happy Lunar New Year to those of you who celebrate. --Usa]