He knew, the second Jimin tossed out the word Belhomme casually, that this was not going to bode well for either one of them.

He should’ve just said no and killed the ridiculous idea on the spot.

Yoongi forces out a slow exhale and tugs on the ragged long coat. Jimin is next to him, in equally unassuming and tattered outfits, although chin held high and strides languid and proud, as usual.

The house is by the edge of the city walls, a worn out residence amidst the row of equally unassuming buildings. The night sky above them is in shades of muddled black, with dim moonlight illuminating through the shifting clouds occasionally. The tall wooden front doors are half open, revealing the darkness within. As Yoongi pushes onto the weathered surface with his palm, he thinks back to the huddled figure of Jin far away by the corner of the street.

Someone to get help in case things go wrong, Jimin has explained casually, earning an eye roll out of Yoongi right on the spot.

What help? Here they are, both dressed down to disguise their titles, with clammy palms and thrumming hearts, stepping into unknown territory. He can’t afford the complexity that comes with dragging military involvement into this crazy little reconnaissance. So, no help. Alone and together, in and out. Simple enough.

.

Yoongi in another breath and lets the familiar sombreness wash over his profile. He squints and adjusts to the darkness as the doors creak open, the weight heavy against the push of his hand. Here goes nothing.

They are in an empty lobby, ghostly outlines of staircase and unlit chandelier rise into the tall ceiling above them. Muffled noises echo in the blurred darkness, of whispers, coughs and other strange sounds that he can’t be entirely sure of. Yoongi wrinkles his nose at the onslaught of stench - a stale mixture of dust and decay - and feels the presence of Jimin closely behind.

A light flickers from down the hallway and catches his attention - soft glimmer that trembles and hovers towards them. Yoongi zooms in onto it warily, feet apart and shoulders squared. A voice cuts through the darkness before he can make out the faces of the figures approaching them.

“You two better scram before something bad happens. This is the wrong kind of place to walk into by mistake.”

Before he can respond, Jimin’s voice pipes up lazily from behind him, “Pension Belhomme, isn’t it? I’m afraid we are exactly where we want to be.”

A cackle. “Well then. To what do we owe the pleasure of the visit?”

Yoongi can finally see them, as the lamplight casts shifting shadows on the faces next to it. The holder of the lamp is younger, a scrawny kid with bright eyes and a pinched expression. The speaker next to him is taller and hunched, weathered eyes furrowed, with a worn out flintfire piston in hands.

Yoongi speaks towards the taller man, “We are looking for someone that’s being kept here. Are you the head guard of the pension?”

His lips curl into a cold grin, voice gruffly, “Sure - head guard, keeper, the doctor, whatever name you prefer. This person you’re looking for, is he a patient or a prisoner?”

“A prisoner, I believe. The name is Namjoon, a bit of an intellectual, been here since July I heard?”

The kid glances up towards the tall man and whispers, “The lieutenant with all the books on the third level, Mr. Belhomme…”

“Ahh yes, the lieutenant. A lovely tenant, I should add, mostly keeps to himself.” The taller man nods, narrowed eyes scanning them, fingers rubbing against the barrel of the piston absently.

Yoongi paces around them slowly, and scans the surroundings against the faint lamplight, “How many of these “tenants” do you have, Mr. Belhomme? Just the two of you keeping guards of the whole place?”

Yoongi’s glance slides over the taller man’s wrinkled features, as Jimin’s words at the palace echo on his mind. Jacques Belhomme was an enterprising psychiatrist who found great wealth in running an asylum for the riches. As Paris fell under the spell of the revolution, he quickly adapted to the new political climate and offered his pension for yet another purpose - safekeeping of political prisoners willing to dole out their life savings so they could stay somewhere a little more “relaxing” than the regular prison.

“You earn a commission from the National Guard for each prisoner, if I’m not mistaken. I would’ve thought they’d requested for more security than this.” Yoongi drawls out the words.

“Strange things to ask, tsk tsk.” The taller man clicks his tongue, “Rest assured, there are more guards in the back, but security wise, let’s just say I have my ways of keeping the prisoners here.”

Mr. Belhomme adjusts his stance and continues, boots clanking on the wooden floor noisily, “So, tell me, what do you need from the lieutenant at this ungodly hour.”

“Just a conversation regarding some private matters.” Jimin steps closer, and Yoongi spots the hint of dark blue in his glimmering eyes.

Mr. Belhomme hums and arches his brow expectantly. His expression brightens when Jimin produces a few Louis d'or coins, the gleam of the golden shine drawing a contented sigh out of him, “But of course, I’m sure he would enjoy the company of a guest or two.” He nudges the boy by the arm, “Phillippe, our visitors to the lieutenant’s room please.”

With the shaky lamplight cutting through the darkness ahead of them, Yoongi climbs up the narrow staircase, the worn out floor creaking and groaning with each step, up and closer towards all the noises in the dark.

There are sounds of wailing and cursing as they pass the second floor. The boy turns his head around and smiles apologetically, “Sorry, this is where we keep all transients, so it can be a bit...unkempt. Some people don’t take to the changes as well, but they either don’t stick around for long, or Mr. Belhomme will find a treatment for them soon enough.”

“What do you mean by that.” Jimin asks from behind. Yoongi frowns and wishes he didn’t.

“Oh, it’s - it’s almost an art, what Mr. Belhomme does.” Philippe pauses by the stairs as they reach the third floor, eyes growing wide and reverent, “The mystery of the human mind, manipulated with nothing more than a long needle and a small hammer.”

Yoongi’s throat dries at the words. He stays silent behind Philippe, but hears Jimin pipe up again, his voice surprisingly stern, “Manipulating the sick and vulnerable, I wouldn’t take pride in that.”

Philippe doesn’t seem to notice the change in tone, merely comments as he leads the way down the hallway, “Well, at any rate, the residents on the higher floors are much more adjusted and civilized. Room 307, here it is, he’s probably up reading.”

The door with the small panel on top opens, and Yoongi slips inside. It’s a simple room, with sparse furnishing, and faded peeling wallpaper adorning the walls. The air is chilling and stale, with hints of decay that permeates every corner of the building. There are stacks of books and paper lining up against the walls neatly on both sides. A tall slender figure sits by the window shrouded in the flickering light of a small lamp on the table, staying immobile as they enter the room.

“Wait, did any of you tamper with his-“ Jimin’s eyes darken, as his words trail off.

Philippe shakes his head, “Most people squander away their savings right when they get here, bribing for useless material things that would make their stay a bit more comfortable, but the lieutenant was fine with everything right from the start. He only had one request later, that his mind be left untouched,” a shrug of the shoulders, “which was fine, he was always perfectly accommodating anyways , never caused a fuss.”

The lamp in Philippe’s hand trembles as he turns away, “well, I’ll be right outside if you need anything. He’s not used to talking a lot, so feel free to take your time.”

The door closes, and Yoongi eyes Jimin, who slowly strides towards the window.

“Sir, I’m here to pay respect on behalf of my father, the Duke of Penthièvre.” Jimin bends down and speaks to the figure gently.

Silence. The figure’s gaze stays by the open book on the table. Yoongi feels despair starting to bubble up from within.

Jimin waits. Finally, the figure tilts his head towards him, and a spark of recognition starts to grow in his gaze. When Namjoon finally speaks, his voice is whisper quiet and hoarse.

“Is this a dream, prince? Are you the same kid I saw in Burgundy?”

Jimin breathes out of relief and smiles, “My memory is blurry, but I do remember being amazed by the troops we saw there. Father has always spoken very highly of the engineer corps there, mentioned I would benefit from a few years of studies at the Mézières.”

The response comes slowly, but with much kindness, “I’m honored that the Duke thinks so highly of the school. My allegiance has always been with the house of Bourbon.” Namjoon leans onto the table and tries to push himself up for a proper bow, but his arms wobble weakly as a string of coughs push out of his throat.

Jimin leans in to support Namjoon and guide him back to the seat carefully, “it’s ok, sir, the honor is all mine. My father and my distant uncle, the Prince of Condé, both speak very highly of your strategies and inventions.”

Ahh, the Prince of Condé, with his counter-revolutionary army of emigres hidden inside the fortress of Coblenz far away. Yoongi muses of the precarious state Namjoon is in, a threat to the assembly yet needs to be kept alive as a bargaining chip for the unknown future.

Namjoon shakes his head and steadies his breath, “Please, I was just a lowly lieutenant representing the Prince of Condé’s troops in Paris. And now, as you can see, there’s not much left of me anyways.” His gaze dims, arms hanging by his torso awkwardly.

“I've read your essays on engineering principles, they are brilliant. Your mind deserves to shine out there, I wish I could've come here sooner.” Jimin grimaces, and stands up to face Yoongi. There's something different in his gaze that gives Yoongi pause.

“So? I'd say we got all the information we need to set up a plan.” Yoongi scans the seated man, whose eyes have once again been veiled by hollowness.

The creases between Jimin’s brows deepen, as he mumbles, “He's in a bad state, we should get him out of here now...”

“Wait-” Yoongi’s eyes widen, “-hold on, we agreed to come scope things out tonight, not to extract him with just the two of us. He's been here for half a year already, a few more weeks won't kill him. We can come back, organized and with proper documents to release him.”

Jimin scoffs and stares straight into his eyes, “Easy for you to say, you’re not the one stuck in this hellhole. Look, this guy here has strategies that can restructure your entire army from the inside out, the single person that can help you turn the tide around, I'd say he's worth the risk we are about to take.”

Yoongi scowls and inches towards him, words hissing out, “This is why I should've never come with you in the first place. You don't have the discipline to carry out a simple plan. Your impulsiveness will get all of us killed, nothing less and nothing more.”

Jimin scrutinizes him for a brief moment, before stepping back towards Namjoon resolutely, “I can't just walk out of here and let him rot in this hellhole. I'm doing this, one way or another. If you don't want to be a part of it, then stay out of our way.” His gaze softens as he turns towards Namjoon, “sir, I'm here to get you out of this place, for good. How does that sound? Would you come with me?”

Confusion slowly spreads on Namjoon’s weathered profile, “Out of here? But how? My sentence is indefinite, and the court trial was never set…”

“I'll find a way. You know us, the Bourbons, we always achieve what we set out for.” A proud smirk hangs by Jimin’s lips, as he extends a hand out towards Namjoon.

Namjoon’s expression freezes. Then slowly, as if clouded by reminisce, the curve of his pursed lips softens, “Yes, the house of the Sun King, the embodiment of the divinity from above.” His gaze turns reverent, and reaches towards the extended hand, “I'm forever indebted.”

Yoongi groans and curbs the anger bubbling within. He nods towards Namjoon stiffly, “My name is Yoongi, sir. I’m afraid the night has just suddenly become a lot more exciting for all of us.”

The elder pauses at the words, eyes in a daze. Great, at least death won’t hurt as much in his delirious state, Yoongi casts a furious glance at Jimin. But Namjoon eventually responds, the calmness in his voice catching Yoongi off guard, “Some risks are worth taking, however impulsive they may appear at the moment.” There’s a dim twinkle in his eyes, drawing an odd sense of comfort out of Yoongi, however fleeting.

He turns towards Jimin, voice turning stern once again, “You tricked me into this, planned it all along. I won’t forget this easily, that is, if we all live through the night.”

A flutter of Jimin’s hand, “General, if you can command an entire army on a daily basis, I have no doubt you can get us out of a decrepit old asylum.” With one swift swing, Jimin pulls the long coat off his back and covers over Namjoon gingerly, “Now come over and help me carry him out.”

They are met with Philippe’s surprised eyes outside of the door, “But - but he’s a prisoner, you can’t just -“

“Take us to Mr. Belhomme, he’ll be our problem, not yours.” Jimin retracts a few more gold coins, and Philippe hesitates before snatching them from his hand, “I hope you know what you’re doing. Not many people get out of the pension alive, especially when Mr. Belhomme is upset…”

“Well then, we’ll just have to be extra nice when we talk to him, won't we.” Jimin flashes him a toothy smile that looks almost sinister in the dim light.

They step down the stairs, this time Jimin leading the way with one of Namjoon’s arms dangling over his shoulder, propping him up and supporting his weight. Yoongi frowns when he spots Namjoon’s feet dragging along the floor weakly - his condition is even worse than what he could observe when they first met. His mind races frantically, eyes scanning around and below the stairs, as a hesitant Philippe trudges behind.

The clamor in the dark grows louder as they descend, as if the inmates and patients can sense the tension in the air. Loud cursing and broken sobs blend into one another, a cacophony of frenzied emotions from hidden faces. Yoongi spots the small crowd already gathered in the lobby.

“Hmm, I guess this is more than just a visit, gentlemen?” Mr. Belhomme’s voice is low but bellowing. Four more men stand silently behind him, all with musketeers in hand, their eyes dark and hungry.

“Nothing we can't work through, I'm sure.” Jimin’s voice is casual, each step slow and careful. Next to him, Namjoon groans faintly under stuttered breath.

“I hope so. I mean, my crew got dragged out of bed for this, they are not in their best mood.” Loud words mixed with wry cackles.

“Well, I'll try to make it quick for you then…” Jimin reaches the bottom of the stairs and makes his way towards Mr. Belhomme’s stout figure. He pulls a pouch out of the coat dangling on Namjoon’s frail frame, and shakes it in his palm before handing it over. The sound of the coins clinking against each other rings in the space. “50 double Louis, that should be enough for you to expand your business into the house next door.”

Mr. Belhomme hums thoughtfully, and scratches his head, as a devious grin starts to bloom on his face. The laughter that follows starts low but growing in volume, joined by the dry cackles of the men behind.

“Oh, thanks.” He circles around Jimin and Namjoon, eyes predatory and lingering, “But why would I let you go? Much easier if I just finish you off right here, then the lieutenant back to his room, wouldn't you say? I don't think people would blink an eye at another aristo gone missing…” he inches towards Jimin, shirt faintly brushing against his, before backing off with a smug gleam in his eyes.

Yoongi strides forward in front of Jimin, and smoothes out his hair as he speaks, “And me? Guessing you were going to kill me on the spot also?”

Mr. Belhomme shrugs and eyes his men, “One or two, makes no difference. The clean up is all the same, right Phillippe?” His joking tone earns a few dark chuckles.

Yoongi squares his shoulders and keeps walking towards him, eyes unflinching. He pulls a document out of the pocket of his jacket and, and flings it towards Mr. Belhomme, “Sounds like just another night for freaks like you. But I wonder, is it still just another typical night, if you realize you’re about to kill a general of the revolution army.”

The crowd quiets. By the stairs, a muted gasp escapes Phillippe. The dark orbs in front of Yoongi stare right back, with narrowed brows. Mr. Belhomme’s fingers are rough and swollen, as he flips open the document and scans through it with pursed lips.

“By the power of the assembly, permission for the carrier to execute at will for the safety of the nation. Stamped by the private seal of the commander-in-chief, Mr. Lafayette himself.” Yoongi adds casually, throwing a glance at Jimin, who arches a brow in response.

Mr. Belhomme thumbs at the scarlet seal absently, and turns to look at his men. They seem equally uncertain of the news, staring back at him with a few quiet grumbles. He finally snaps back to face Yoongi again. “A general, you say?”

Yoongi nods, “Correct. General of Infantry for the National Guard. Harming me would mean war with the constitutional assembly of France. Not a wise move.”

There are murmurs from the men, as they fidget with their guns and assess Yoongi openly. One of them starts to back off, only to freeze when Mr. Belhomme glares at him.

The air is suddenly tense, with darkness hovering around them, punctured by the spheres of light from the swinging lamps and the sound of distant wails. Yoongi turns to see Jimin starting to inch towards the front door, with Namjoon leaning onto his shoulder and suppressing a cough. Jimin speaks slowly, each word careful and deliberate, “He’s right, you guys run a business here. Why risk your lives for this one prisoner. Let us walk and keep the gold, call the lieutenant dead under your watch, and nobody will be the wiser.”

His steps are slow but determined, as Mr. Belhomme traces his each move with impassive gaze. Yoongi steadies his breath and starts to follow, but suddenly, he catches it, the way Mr. Belhomme’s gaze turns steely, and his hands lift the piston up towards Jimin, “Not so fast.”

The other men follow, whipping up their guns and aiming at all three of them. Yoongi feels the blood rushing to his head, with his heart hammering wildly in his throat. Mr. Belhomme hisses, “Nobody waltzes out of this place with my prisoner like this, general or not.” He spits out and growls, hands stay gripping onto the gun and head tilting to aim, “People like you disgust me, with that air of entitlement, thinking you deserve everything under the sun. And I’m not worried about my business - death men can’t talk. A moment from now, nobody will ever know what has happened to the three of you.”

“Hey, put the gun down now -“ Yoongi steps in between the men and the huddled figure of Jimin and Namjoon, and raises his hand. Adrenaline urns through his veins, making his skin crawl and eyes widen in alert. But he in a deep breath and steadies his heart, and continues to stride towards Mr. Belhomme with an eerily calm voice, “Put your weapons down, gentlemen, let’s talk this through -“

The sudden twitch of Mr. Belhomme’s lips is visible under the shaky lamplight. A glint of coldness flashes across his eyes, and Yoongi’s heart sinks. As Mr. Belhomme steadies his aim and pushes down on the trigger, Yoongi lunges at him and kicks towards his hands violently.

The blast of the gun is deafening, cutting through the tense atmosphere. He ignores the ringing in his ears and seizes the opportunity, twisting Mr. Belhomme’s wrists forcefully until a loud scream escapes him. Yoongi rips the gun out of his grip before kneeing him violently in the abdomen, sending him stumbling.

“Tell your men to put their weapons down!” Yoongi growls at Mr. Belhomme, who’s cursing loudly and bent over.

“The other two are trying to make for the door. Get them! Fire! Kill them all!” Yoongi snaps his head up, and spots Philippe charging towards them with a hand frantically gesturing towards Jimin. The men surrounding them cuss and yell, raising their arms and ready to fire.

There’s a throbbing pain by his left arm, but Yoongi ignores it and turns to meet Jimin’s gaze, as he shields Namjoon’s torso with his own. He stutters out a ragged exhale and braces for the worst.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The loud banging startles him. He blinks through the sweat beading down his forehead, and realizes that instead of the guns, it’s coming from the front door.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

He sees his surprise reflected on everyone’s face. A voice sing songs through the door, loud and chirpy, “Open up. By order of the National Guard, won’t you open up and let us in please?”

Yoongi recognizes the lilt in the voice and pushes out an incredulous huff.

The men snarl and hesitate, but the voice pipes up again, cheerful and absolute, “Open up now. There are a few dozen of us, I guarantee you don’t want us to blast through that door.”

Finally Jimin pipes up, “Well, you heard the man.” He steps over and pulls the door open. The dim moonlight floods through the opening, as a slew of soldiers march in wordlessly, rapidly filling up the space in the foyer. The shuffling of their boots invigorates Yoongi. And right in the middle of it all, striding towards them slowly with a lazy smile by his lips, is no other than Hoseok.

“Prince, I’m disappointed. Here you are having a fun little gathering, and I never got the invite.” Hoseok thumbs at the tricorn hat in his hand and shakes his head casually.

“Well, I think my servant did track you down at the last minute.” Jimin responds as he walks towards Hoseok. Yoongi follows his gaze through the open door, and spots Jin standing not far away outside with wringing hands. Jimin pulls Namjoon towards himself before continuing, “Two generals at one spot, oh my, the honor, Mr. Belhomme.”

Next to Yoongi, Mr. Belhomme retorts through gritted teeth, “ing revolutionary army and their juvenile officers, what a joke.”

Hoseok’s expression darkens, as his words come out slower with a chill, “I recommend you be very careful with your words, sir. They might very well be your last."

Hoseok saunters towards Yoongi slowly, and stops just short. His glance dims, as he reaches for Yoongi’s arm, “You’re bleeding.”

Yoongi shrugs, “It’s fine, flesh wound, the bullet grazed by.”

Hoseok shakes his head. Yoongi tries to ignore the look of disappointment in his eyes, but feels it seeping into him.

“Alright, let’s round this place up, shall we.” With a flutter of Hoseok’s hand, the sound of boots shuffling over the wooden floor fills the room. As Yoongi finally loosens his shoulder, he notices the air of defeat in Mr. Belhomme’s hunched figure and lets out a long exhale.

It doesn’t take long for the soldiers to occupy the pension. Hoseok eyes Yoongi and comments flatly, “What do you want to do with them?”

Yoongi stares into the dimmed yet defiant eyes of Mr. Belhomme as he’s dragged away along with the rest of his gang, and pushes the words out icily, loud enough for him to hear, “Bypass the court, execution before the next nightfall, for high treason and being direct threats to the army.” He doesn't bother looking when one of men collapses to the ground at his words.

Hoseok tilts his head and nods, “Fair enough. And this place?”

“Dispatch all the prisoners and patients to other locations, and burn it down. All of it. Post notices around the city, let it be a lesson for all.” Yoongi wipes the sweat off his face and tosses the pistol in hand to one of the soldiers.

“You know you’ll hear it from the commander-in-chief about this, right? And from quite a few delegates of the assembly, I’m guessing. This hellhole, however morbid, stashed away all the inconvenient aristos that nobody wanted to deal with. And here you go blowing it all wide into the open.” Hoseok clicks his tongue and responds.

Yoongi grimaces, “Tomorrow, I’ll deal with it all tomorrow. But this place cannot continue to exist. It’s wrong, and I know you agree with me. Destroy it before anyone stops us.”

A heavy sigh escapes Hoseok, as he turns away to face the soldiers that are moving in and out, “I do agree, but I also wish you trust me enough to tell me before making irrational moves like this. Irrational moves that almost got you killed tonight.”

Yoongi eyes the huddled figure of Jimin and Namjoon sitting outside on the steps by the front door, with Jin standing next to them, adjusting the coat draped over Namjoon’s tall bony frame. The moonlight casts their silhouette in a faint silvery glow.

Yoong mutters, “I was barely let in on the plan myself. Let’s just hope it’s all worth it in the end.”

The ride back to the estate later is silent. Yoongi ignores Jimin and only purses his lips into a stiff grin when his eyes meet Namjoon’s gaze. Once they arrive back home, Jin and the other servants guide Namjoon away to settle him in. As they hasten away, the house sinks into a comfortable silence, and Yoongi finally feels his shoulders slump. Suddenly, the weariness washes over him, as the throbbing pain on his arm flares. Yoongi pulls his arm closer and spots the large gash soaked in thick crimson blotches.

“I’ll tell Jin to come dress that wound in your room.”

Yoongi’s just about to resist when Jimin cuts him off abruptly, “Stop, we are both too tired for your stubbornness right now. You don’t want an infection, so just accept the help.”

The words irritate him, despite the well intention hidden behind the stern tone, making him snap back, “Well, if you didn’t drag me into your reckless behaviour tonight, I wouldn’t have a wound to deal with.”

“You know you’d never agree with me if I told you the plan - Namjoon would never go with any stranger, I had to be there personally to show our sincerity. And he’s been nothing but loyal to the house of Orleans, he deserves this much.” Jimin straightens his shirt and retorts.

“Oh yeah? And what was I in your little plan? Just a chip to lure Hoseok to your rescue?” Yoongi’s eyes narrow, as he takes a step towards Jimin.

Jimin huffs and stares back at him, messy strands of hair framing his profile, “I don’t think you understand the definition of an alliance, we are in on this together. Sure, I told Jin to alert Hoseok, but the goal was to get Namjoon out of there. I did what was necessary to get the seasoned strategist that you desperately need.”

“Oh, so when it’s convenient, you remember the alliance. If this was a proper alliance, then we would’ve drafted a plan together, something a bit more thought out than walking into an asylum with no weapon in hand. And where was the alliance when you were making for the door back there?”

Jimin frowns at the words, “I needed to get Namjoon out, he was in no shape to fight, could barely stand or walk. I’d come back for you, I’m not a deserter.”

“Really? Seems like you deserted your monarch just fine when you crawled to me for protection.”

Jimin exhales sharply and suddenly turns silent. He stares into Yoongi’s eyes, before hissing out a response, “You know what’s your problem? Always so harsh to everyone, try to intimidate with your sharp words and cynicism. But why don’t you take an honest look at yourself instead? What have you truly accomplished, general? Paris is collapsing right in front of us, dragging everyone along with it. You swore to protect them all, but have you, or you’re the one that have brought everyone their demise? You can only hide behind your righteousness for so long.”

Jimin’s dark blue eyes pierce right through Yoongi, sending a chill through his heart. A mocking sneer, and Jimin turns around and disappears up the stairs, never glancing back again.

 

 

⚜️

 

 

He’s drifting away, spirit light and airy, flitting above the clumsy physical body that drags him down. His steps have no weight to them, hovering around the narrow back streets of Paris he adores so very much.

The stone cobbled road is dark and comforting, saved for the occasional faint light streaming out of the streetside windows.

He staggers, allowing his mind to finally relax, if just for one fleeting moment. He pretends that he's a kid again, getting lost intentionally and putting off going home.

Did he even have a home?

His body slacks, arms swinging by his torso as he wanders, thoughts scattered amongst broken shadows, somewhere between the past and the future.

“You’re drunk…” A familiar voice rings in his ears, making him chuckle out loud.

“Just like old times.”

Yoongi turns to face Hoseok beside him, cheeks flushed and lips stained by wine, and responds, “Yeah…”

“Remember last winter, after that one gathering, you had two bottles all to yourself and tried to climb the city wall?” The voice is teasing but jovial, spreading a smile upon Yoongi’s face.

He retorts, feigning indignant, “I did climb the wall! More than half way up!”

A loud guffaw erupts out of Hoseok, “Yeah, right before someone yelled ‘guards’ and made you fall.”

That fall cost him a broken leg, would’ve been worth it though if he actually made it to the top, Yoongi muses, but responds otherwise, “But I did climb it. And it wasn’t because of the yelling that I fell, my shoe slipped.”

Hoseok stares at him and shakes his head through a wide beaming grin, “Always have to have the last word.”

Yoongi feels Hoseok’s arm draping over his shoulder, and his lips quirk into a gentle smile.

It doesn’t matter, after all. Those were some of the best days of his life - reckless and optimistic, with the future suddenly opening up wide and endless in front of him. Drunk on the collective optimism, Yoongi felt empowered for the first time in life, tasked with the noble goal of ushering in a whole new era.

And Hoseok was always there, one of the first he met at these revolutionist gatherings. A successful lawyer with wealthy parents back in the countryside, Hoseok seemed the wrong fit on paper. Yet just like the thousands of youths that craved for equality and a new social order, the enlightened ideology took roots in him and ignited his heart with passion.

Yoongi has always adored Hoseok’s optimism that has stayed unwaived even in the bleakest and bloodiest days. He sighs contently, and welcomes the warmth of Hoseok’s arm over his shoulders.

“You know, what we’re working on nowadays is amazing and all, but I almost care about this just as much -“ Hosek ruffles Yoongi’s hair fondly, “- someone that went through thick and thin with me, watched my back when I was so sure I wasn’t gonna make it out alive…”

Yoongi hums and feels the stone pavement under his feet, each step wobbly and making him dizzy.

“Which is why I was so - disappointed when you went to Pension Belhomme without letting me know. Nothing, you told me absolutely nothing before hand. And with him, of all people.” Hoseok’s lips curl into a disdained sneer.

“I told you, I didn’t know, thought it was just a visit to ensure the lieutenant was there.” Yoongi sighs.

Hoseok rolls his eyes, “You’re smarter than that. It’s a dangerous place, ludicrous you’d agree to go just with him, with no weapon or backup. No, you didn’t tell me because you knew I’d talk you out of it.”

Yoongi pulls his arm off his shoulder slowly but resolutely, “Maybe. Look, I can’t keep an alliance with him and get your buy-in at every step. You two are always at opposite ends of things. We’ve already decided to accept his help, so it has to be all or nothing, I have to see it through.”

Hoseok scoffs, exasperation starting to build in his voice, “This entire conversation is just -“ he pulls Yoongi by the shoulder, “Listen to yourself, it’s only been, what, two months? He’s a royal, a pawn. Utilize him however you can, yes, but never, never let him lead. He’s disposable, tossed at the first sign of trouble. You know he’d do the same to you without a second thought.”

“I’m not -“ Yoongi feels tongue tied, mind floating and muddled. He pushes the words out stubbornly, “I know it’s all business. Can’t trust the aristos, I get it. But he’s proven to be useful - his dad managed to wrangle up supplies for our base, and offered a generous donation to build up the barrack. And Jimin… well it’s pretty obvious he can’t stand me, but he helps in his own way.” He looks up at Hoseok through hooded eyes, “They are human too, I can only ignore it for so long. We don’t know how the end will turn out for any of us… Some days, I can't even be sure if I'm doing the right thing anymore…”

Hoseok curses under his breath and paces ahead, “, maybe it was a mistake to have you move to Palace de Toulouse… the very fact that you feel this way… If anyone at the assembly ever hear you talk like this, they’d put you under immediate investigation. Yoon - look at me - “ His gaze is piercing, “- there’s a reason we were given our titles. People may mock how young we are, how inexperienced, but they would never question our faith in the cause. The troops look up to us, all those kids that have followed us since the very beginning, putting their lives on the line simply because we say so. Yoon, don’t ruin it all for some ridiculous sentiment that came out of nowhere, promise me.”

Yoongi squints through the haze. The endless street ahead is familiar yet weary, and Hoseok’s gaze stings him, making him unsure of his own feelings. After a long pause, he meets Hoseok’s eyes gleaming in the darkness, and nods reluctantly, “Don’t worry about it, it’s fine. You know you can trust me. It’s probably just the wine talking…”

He feels Hoseok’s dark orbs assessing, then his expression softens, “You’ve looked tired for weeks now, trouble sleeping again?”

Yoongi murmurs, “Wish I could turn my mind off sometimes.”

Hoseok deadpans, “Well you know what they say, plenty of sleep when you’re dead.”

“You’re sick, you know that?” Yoongi rolls his eyes, earning a muted chuckle in return.

They turn silent for a while, walking next to each other down the street, without a destination in mind. Finally Yoongi pipes up, “Since we are on the subject of trust, I heard something peculiar.”

“Hmm?”

“Remember the recent raid of the royalists that conspired with the Spaniards? I asked about all the evidences left behind - the letters and documents confiscated from the houses. I was told there was an instruction to destroy all of them shortly after the raid.”

He eyes Hoseok expectantly, who averts his gaze. “Yeah?”

“Well -“ Yoongi draws the words out, “- I was told, that you gave the order.”

Hoseok clears his throat and saunters ahead of him, “Well, there’s no point leaving those behind.”

Doggedly, Yoongi pushes on, “Did someone report to you what they gleaned from the letters? Were you trying to protect someone? I heard you visit the palace from time to time, to meet with one particular person.”

Hoseok is silent, the silhouette of his back stiff.

Yoongi feels his throat dry, “What happened to not trusting the royals, heh?”

“We set up eyes in the palace for national security, not to spy on each other.” Hoseok’s voice is hoarse when he finally responds, “And if they already briefed you, then you’d know all I did was talk to her.”

The night air is chilling against his skin, making him clutch onto his coat. Yoongi looks into the distance absently, and waits for Hoseok to continue.

A long sigh, and the words do fall eventually, this time quieter, as Hoseok murmurs seemingly to himself, “Nothing can come of it anyways. My family in Normandy…”

Yes, family. Yoongi’s heard of him mention it, aging parents and an arranged marriage since youth, some superstitious thing when Hoseok was terribly sick as a kid, meant to tie him to this world.

“I hardly ever see her over the years, been in Paris for so long. I’m grateful though that she takes care of my parents. But Victoria, man -“ his eyes glaze over a little at the thought, lips parting as he struggles to find the right words, “- never thought I’d ever be in the presence of someone so - so surreal… The way she moves, like grace personified. How soft her voice is as she speaks. And the thing is -” He turns to look at Yoongi, hesitantly and in a daze, “- I think she actually enjoys talking to me? Me, this nobody from the backward countryside, in the company of a true princess, sharing her worries-“

Hoseok stops abruptly, as if surprised by the sudden outburst, and draws a sharp breath. He flinched and looks away, “It doesn’t matter, I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right. It’s playing with fire, stupid really. Nothing good will come of it.”

Hoseok dips his head down, and Yoongi frowns at the sight of his slouched figure next to him. He places a hand gently on Hoseok’s back, “Maybe it’s not so bad, just talks. They are on our side, after all.”

“Yeah.” Hoseok agrees, but his voice is dispirited.

Yoongi traces the dark outline of his silhouette, and murmurs, “What happened? Here we are, keeping secrets from each other, barely able to talk. I feel like every time I blink, the world changes, and everything just becomes more confusing, more tangled up…”

His words trail off, evaporating into the chilling air, drawing a shiver out of him. They walk in silence for a while, drawing comfort from each other’s presence, however feebly. All around them, the night whispers of distant clamor and echoing whispers. Here, on the dark streets of Paris he grew up in, next to one of the few people he still trusts, Yoongi suddenly feels loneliness washing over him, no matter how hard he tries to shrug it off.

Voices reverberate in the distance, drunken crowds chanting jovially to a dissonant tune.

Ah ! ça ira, ça ira, ça ira
Par les flambeaux de l'auguste assemblée,
Ah ! ça ira, ça ira, ça ira

Yoongi mouths to the words silently, willing for the omen to calm his mind.

Ah! It'll be fine, It'll be fine, It'll be fine
By the torches of the August assembly,
Ah ! It'll be fine,

It'll be fine,

It'll be fine

 

 

⚜️

 

 

By the time Yoongi arrives back at home, the sight of a bleary eyed Jin in the lobby catches him by surprise.

“You didn’t have to wait for me.” Yoongi comments but regrets it immediately.

Jin stands behind him expectantly, and Yoongi purses his lips but relents, raising his arms to let Jin retract his coat.

“Master Jimin has asked to ensure someone attends to you when you’re back.”

Yoongi shoots him a sideward glance, but Jin’s head is lowered diplomatically, as usual. He’s holding onto a lamp in one hand, and has Yoongi’s coat draped on the other arm, gaze cast downward and face awashed in somberness.

Jimin’s comments flash across his mind, and Yoongi’s strides pause. The words slip out stiffly, “I’ve been meaning to tell you - that I apologize for misjudging you before.”

Jin’s gaze flickers as he looks up, “You don't have to, the fault is all mine if there was any misunderstanding.”

Yoongi feels his throat dry, but he shrugs off memories of what transpired before, and responds carefully, “Thanks for your help at Pension Belhomme, you saved all of us, I won't forget that.”

Jin shakes his head, “Please, I'm here to serve, whatever Master Jimin and you need, is what I strive to accomplish.” His back is straight, torso bowed to the perfect angle, the sight of impeccable courtesy. Yet Yoongi thinks of the way he's seen Jin around Jimin, eyes crinkled with laughter, lips always quirking into a playful grin.

He turns away towards the stairs, but hears Jin pipe up hesitantly again, “Could I…”

Yoongi tilts his head back, “Yes?”

“My apologies, but I was wondering -” Jin gulps but continued, “- what’s your plan for the servants here…”

“My plan?” Yoongi’s surprised at the question, feet pausing. He mulls the words over and responds, “There's no plan, you can stay or go, whichever you prefer. I don't think I'll be here for long, to be honest. This place is -” he tilts his head, “- it's better off turned over to the city. You’ll all be free to leave if that day does come. Does that worry you?”

Jin’s eyes widen, and breathes out of relief. Yoongi catches it, “So you’d like that.”

“Well, I'll be wherever Master Jimin prefers, but to be honest…” Jin responds, a glint of fondness gleaming in his eyes, “if he ever decides to move back to Rambouillet, I'd wish for nothing more than to go with him.”

“Château Rambouillet… Must be a pretty place.” Yoongi muses out loud, thinking of the few times he's heard Jimin mention it.

“It is. It's where he grew up, and where he goes to be himself. The whole family does, really.”

Yoongi glances at him thoughtfully, appreciating the rare moment of openness. He nods, “Good to have some roots to return to.”

A faint smile blooms on Jin’s face, and Yoongi notices absently how young he suddenly seems. Jin hesitates but finally adds, “I'm sure it seems weird to you, servants like us, lingering in a city where the royals are fearing for their lives.” He sighs, stepping forward and guiding the way towards the stairs with the bright lamp in hand, “But people like us - servants, seamstresses, entertainers - their world was the center of our lives, and still will be. My family relies on the money I bring back every year, and I -” he steps up onto the stairs and turns around, “ - this life is all I've ever known since 13.”

Yoongi responds stiffly, “I know I seem - uncooperative, but it's not because I judge you in any way. I'm just not used to all this.”

Jin responds quietly, “I'm sure there's a lot on your mind.” They reach the top of stairs and slowly make their way to Yoongi’s room. As Jin opens the room and leaves the lamp on the writing desk, his expression returns to polite courteousness, “Do you require anything tonight, sir?”

Yoongi pauses but shakes his head. Jin doesn't seem surprised, “I'll be downstairs then.” As he walks out, he turns around and glances at the desk, “Master Jimin did leave something for you.”

Yoongi hums in surprise.

“Well -” Jin clears his throats and adds cautiously, “I hope I convey the message properly, but he mentioned he wanted to amend for a past conversation.” With a diplomatic bow, he disappears down the hallway.

Yoongi feels the stiffness in his shoulders dissipating, as he zooms onto the object on the desk - a book. The amber glow of the lamp illuminates the cover, with the title printed in black ink - The Social Contract, by Rousseau.

Yoongi breathes out slowly and flips open book. The first line of the book falls into his vision,

Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains. One man thinks himself the master of others, but remains more of a slave than they are.

Yoongi’s lips curl into a tiny grin. A nice little amend indeed.