There’s a sharp ache in his left leg, shooting up his spine and spreading into each of his toes, impossible to ignore.

 

Yoongi in a deep breath and ignores it, shifting his focus onto Namjoon’s lanky figure amidst the piles of sketches spread out on the vast table.

 

“...that’s about four battalions, to be amalgamated with the other two of existing troops. The real goal of training will be to weed out the weak right off the start, and move the skilled ones to frontline as skirmishers.” Namjoon’s voice is calm and orderly as usual, as faint rays of moonlight shed through the window behind his hunched shoulders.

 

Yoongi purses his lips before responding, “Only the skirmishers will receive weapons right away. Even with the two cannons being melted and fashioned into some sort of makeshift bayonets, we will never catch up in supply at the rate we’re recruiting.”

 

Namjoon splats his hands carefully onto the table, “Understood. That won’t change for a while. But as I have told you before, there’s no other way. The assembly wants to mount a war at the border for morale, and simultaneously defend Paris from all the foreign troops waiting to swoop in and reinstate the royalists. You need a much bigger army. General Hoseok is reviewing the document I drafted for a national conscription program before presenting it at the next meeting.”

 

“I can’t argue with you, in principle, I agree.” Yoongi shifts in his seat and shifts his gaze towards the gloomy courtyard outside the window, “But we are essentially sending new soldiers into battle without training or weapons to defend themselves…”

 

“Yes.” Namjoon’s eyes are unflinching. “We’ve gone through this already, I don’t care what others are telling you, or what strategy books you’ve read, your troops are too inexperienced and disorganized for traditional battle formations. The only way they can push through in battle is by sheer momentum - skirmishers in the frontline to shock and confuse the enemy, then large battalions to follow behind and ram through with brute force. High casualty rate, to be replenished continuously.”

 

Yoongi winces at the words, “They are not objects. You’re talking about thousands of soldiers with almost no chance of survival.”

 

“Well.” Namjoon tilts his head as he responds, “To be exact, 2300 soldiers per battalion, half won’t make it through each battle, in the worst case scenario that is.”

 

Yoongi tried to brush off the words, but fails and feels his heart grow heavy instead.

 

“If the political scene stabilizes, if we obtain more resources in the future, we can always revise the strategies. But general, you have to remember, a soldier is only as useful as the role he serves in battle. And right now, this is the only way your infantry units will be able to complete the tasks set forth by the assembly.”

 

Namjoon’s voice is gentle and diplomatic as usual, but the air in the room suddenly feels suffocating, and Yoongi pushes out a long exhale. He thinks absently of all the people he knows in this very barrack, the friends and comrades that have fought together to survive through the past two years, and the throngs of fresh young faces stepping through the gates daily, eyes filled with dreaded excitement. Namjoon’s solutions are indisputable, necessary for the goal, and Yoongi wants to nod and buy into it, but the words stutter and stick at the back of his throat, refuse to come out.

 

Namjoon glances at him, and inquired cautiously, “I know it’s a lot to absorb. We can continue tomorrow if you wish? It’s late anyways.”

 

Yoongi’s gaze traces the way he thumbs at the sketches absently, thoughts drifting. Eventually, he sighs and responds, “Maybe, tomorrow…”

 

Namjoon’s eyes soften, as his lips curl into a small smile, “It’s ok, you’re still recovering from the fall. Tomorrow morning, I’ll go over the records of supplies again, and we can talk. Sleep on it for now, get some rest.”

 

Yoongi slides his gaze across Namjoon’s profile, taking in how his face is no longer gaunt, and the straightened back and firm posture that has replaced his slouched stance from before. It’s good to see his health recover, and his new found ranking in the army suits him. Yet it alarms Yoongi how quickly Namjoon seems to have accepted the death of feudalism, and poured himself into projects in the new regime.

 

Before Yoongi can stop it, the words slip out of his lips, the quiet yet incessant thought that longs to be spoken into existence, “Sometimes I wonder what it's all for, what keeps each of us going.”

 

Namjoon pauses. Then slowly, he begins to pad away from the table towards the window, boots clicking on the wooden floor, “You know, when I was at Belhomme, some days were especially long. It was almost easier to just let my mind slip away…” His voice turns pensive, head dipped low, “But what kept me going, what kept me alive was my ideas. I had so many of them - sketches of design, military strategies and policy drafts, things I longed to be turned into reality. I wrote everything down and convinced myself that they deserve to see the light of day. That was the one thing that kept me sane, the need to protect my ideas, to save them from slipping into the void. Empire may collapse, people are expendable, but science and logic - I’d like to hope they are eternal.” He turns, and Yoongi spots the gentle gleam in his eyes, “Maybe one day, you will find your own answer to the question, the one thing that helps you through it all.”

 

Yoongi swallows and nods wearily, right before they hear footsteps running through the hallway. A soldier rushes through the door and bows before announcing between ragged breaths, “General, we found the Falx brothers. They are at the holding room, awaiting your inquiry.”

 

Yoongi frowns, and rubs the creases between his brows. Of all the nights.

 

He asks, “Did they put up a fight? How many casualties on our side?”

 

“About half a dozen injured.”

 

“And theirs?”

 

The soldier hesitated before responding, “Nine dead, some escaped, the rest are all captured and at the barrack.”

 

Namjoon speaks up beside him, “These are the insubordinate officers that everyone’s been talking about?”

 

Yoongi narrows his eyes and pushes himself out of the chair, “We’ve been trying to curb gossips about them, but I’m afraid it’s much more than insubordinance.”

 

Namjoon arches a brow, “Are you going to talk to them? I have some experience in disciplining officers, I may be able to help?”

 

Yoongi hesitates but eventually responds, “Certainly. This won’t be an easy conversation.” He gestures at the soldier to lead the way.

 

They pass through the hallway, cross the training field in the middle of the barrack, and eventually end up at the back of the facility, facing a decrepit building with weathered roof tiles.

 

The holding room.

 

It’s the end portion of the storage building that has been partitioned off. Conveniently tucked away from the rest of the barrack, the faded walls lay witness to gruelsome interrogations that often go off record.

 

For years afterwards, Yoongi still dreams of that room vividly, the cold and damp space filled with crimson splatters and malevolence. The memory always brings a phantom bitterness to the back of his throat - even the most noble ideas sometimes call for a touch of necessary evil, drawn out of the dark recess of his heart.

 

He steadies his breath, and eyes the way Namjoon walks with a limp, “One warning, what will transpire in that room… it may not end amicably…”

 

Namjoon returns a reassuring nod, “Understood. I’m here to support if needed, general. I’ll follow your lead.”

 

Yoongi feels the familiar sombreness washing over him as he steps inside slowly.

 

His eyes adjusts to the darkness - faint rays of the moonlight filter through the gaps between the nailed boards covering the narrow windows. Two figures stand in the middle of the vast room, with uniformed soldiers guarding beside them. The stagnant air reeks of mold and decay.

 

Alex and Theo Falx, two familiar faces that he’s known for years, now awashed in fear. Alex is the elder, with creases by his dark brown eyes and tattered rips on his shirt. Always the friendly and outspoken one amongst the original revolutionary bunch, Alex has always drawn admiration out of Yoongi with his unfaltering kindness. Theo, his quiet younger brother that always sticks close by, now stands a few steps behind with head lowered.

 

Yoongi locks eyes with Alex, voice flat but tinged with a touch of remorse, “I wish it didn’t come to this. You should’ve come back to the base on your own so we can just talk.”

 

Alex‘s impassive gaze is cast downwards, “You know better than anyone what we would say anyways.”

 

Yoongi can’t disagree. It’s all be said before - the soldiers at the barrack are disgruntled - no resources, endless fights between young recruits and old royalist officers, all the while receiving conflicting orders from the assembly every other week. They want to be heard, to have clear leadership and some basic autonomy of their collective future.

 

Yoongi tries to encourage the troops as much as possible, but he can not provide the security they yearn for when he doesn’t even have it personally. A soldier’s task is to follow orders, not to have late night gatherings scheming of going against the system they’ve sworn to protect.

 

“It’s wrong to plot against your superiors, even worse when you resisted arrest… I’m afraid now you both have to go on trial.”

 

Alex narrows his gaze at the words, Theo behind him looks up and eyes the armed soldiers around them hesitantly, “Can we - can we talk to you privately please, Yoongi?”

 

Yoongi tosses a glance at Namjoon, who arches his brow but dips his head acquisicently. He wants to say no, to just signal for them to be sent away and skip the conversation he’d rather avoid, but the words are stuck, for he doesn’t have the heart for them.

 

They are more than comrades he’s worked with for years. No, they are friends that he use to share idealistic fervent with, people that dreamt together of noble causes, of a better future they were all willing to die for.

 

What happened? When did it go terribly wrong for all of them?

 

With a long sigh, Yoongi relents and waves for the guards to leave them. Alex glances at Namjoon but lowers his gaze when Yoongi fires back sternly, “Captian Namjoon is staying.”

 

As the sound of footsteps recedes behind them and disappears outside of the room, Yoongi waits for the brothers to speak up.

 

His eyes widen as Alex drops to the ground and kneels in front of him, and Theo follows. His voice is shaky but determined, “General, we need your help. In return, we will offer our loyalty to you, and you only.”

 

Yoongi pulls back the hands that instinctually reach out to him, and murmurs, “What is it that you want?”

 

Alex looks up, eyes blazing with resolve, “You know when we signed up for the revolution, all of us were willing to do anything to see it succeed. But now that we’ve made it, we are being told to do different things everyday. Within the last month, there have been a dozen raids of the households of other revolutionists, based on nothing more than suspicion. We are literally being sent to dig our own graves as the assembly fights internally.”

 

“And this is just the beginning.” Theo adds from behind him, one hand wiping off the beads of sweat on his forehead hastily, “Now even our families and friends are being drafted with no training or weapon, all for the sake of starting some useless war at the Spanish border to ‘unite public opinion’. You know better than any of the politicians that they won’t survive - none of us will even make it through the winter march towards the border in this state. This is not what we signed up for.”

 

Yoongi rubs the creases between his brows, “Get up, please. None of this is within my control, you’re clearly approaching the wrong person.”

 

Alex hesitates at the words, but Theo stands up, voice quiet and trembling, “There’s nobody else. General Hoseok has already openly sided with the Jacobians within the assembly, who have sworn to eliminate anyone ‘endangering revolution ideas’. We - we had no choice but to seek outside support…”

 

“What do you mean by that?” Namjoon chimes in from beside them.

 

Theo gulps but responds, “All we want is for the assembly to stop killing our own people, and to pause external war until the army is ready. We have been in contact with a few royals, who are willing support us with resources, as long as the army agrees to protect the constitutional monarchy.”

 

A low gasp escapes Yoongi, and he steps towards Theo, fuming, “You agreed to help the royals?!”

 

Alex snaps up and blocks between the two of them, “Yes, we talked to them. But how is this any differently than what you’ve been doing. I mean, you are living at Toulouse, with the Prince of Lamballe personally helping you out. This is just on a grander scale - all of us need your protection, we have nobody else to turn to, nowhere to be safe…”

 

“No, this is absurd. It’s one thing to ally with one aristocrat, what you guys are organizing is mutiny. We cannot sell the loyalty of the army to the highest bidder, nor can we turn our back on the assembly, the very system we fought to build.” Yoongi in a sharp breath, “I’d die defending anyone at this barrack, but not like this, not for treason…”

 

Alex clenches his jaw, and Yoongi catches the glint of disappointment in his eyes. It hurts more than he’d like to admit, to turn down a cry for help from his own troop. Theo pipes in, words picking up pace, face blanched and desperate, “Yoongi, please. I’m begging you, please see it from our side. You understand, you’re the only one that understands. Our brother was just drafted last week, selected to be sent to the border without a weapon. He’s only 15… And- “ he stutters hesitantly but orces the words out, “- and Victoria de Bourbon’s name was on the list of royalists that would support us. We thought maybe you already knew, but didn’t want to pick a side publically… we hoped that maybe even this arrest was a front you’ve worked out -“

 

Yoongi turns pale at the comment, hands pulling into shaky fists. He takes a deep breath to control the surging anger, and is just about to respond when Namjoon speaks up beside him, voice low and hissing, “Remember who you are speaking to, boy. This whole thing has gone too far. A soldier’s only job is to carry out orders from your superiors, not to question the system or,” he sneers incredulously, “to challenge a higher commander. I think we are done here, don’t even think about uttering what you just said here anywhere else, and we will try to be fair when you’re on trial.”

 

A thousand thoughts rush through Yoongi’s mind, as he spots the deflated slouch in Theo’s figure, and how the typically jovial Alex remains painfully silent.

 

They’ve gone too far, broken every law there is.

 

But his heart stirs at the sight of them, looking no different than himself. If he had not been promoted himself, if he had siblings and were pushed to the brink, would their roles be reversed right now with just one different turn in the past? Would he be the one defying fate just to survive?

 

Yoongi averts his gaze, ignoring the glaring answer to all the overwhelming questions on his mind. His hand brushes against the handle of his piston absently as he turns away from the brothers, the corner of his eye catching their faces go from nervousness to hardened defeat.

 

“I can’t help you. I’m sorry you mistook my position in the whole thing.”

 

He hears Namjoon bellow for the soldiers outside of the door, as his feet turn to stride away. Suddenly, he feels a presence from behind, as Theo’s arm rips in front of his neck, choking him down with suffocating force, his other hand reaching for the holster of his piston.

 

Theo is taller, his movement filled with a desperately brute strength. Yoongi sees stars as he gasps for air, but there’s no time to be surprised. He pulls the pistol away forcefully, and ducks underneath, twisting Theo’s arm on his neck inwardly with the momentum - an escape trick he’s perfected as a kid to dodge the chokedown of bigger men on the street.

 

As Theo relents the grasp on his neck, Yoongi slides out from underneath and spins around, twisting on the arm harder until Theo stumbles towards the ground. The cold barrel of the hand pistol follows, pushing straight into Theo’s temple, as Yoongi snaps his head towards his brother and yells, “Alex! Stop!”

 

What he sees catches him by surprise - Alex didnt relinquish Namjoon as he feared, but instead stands frozen with his head pinned to the side. On his exposed neck, a dagger with a bronze lion’s head pommel glimmers dimly, the sharp tip piercing roughly through the skin, drawing scarlet at contact.

 

The yelling and shuffled footsteps of the soldiers rush towards them, as time seems to slow down suddenly on Yoongi’s mind. Alex is looking at him, and there’s despair in his eyes, and something else, a strange glint of wistfulness that pierces through his thoughts. Namjoon is facing Alex, back hunched, hand holding the dagger down forcefully. Yoongi feels words rushing up, wanting to tell everyone to stand down, to somehow rewind time and right all the wrongs that led them to this point.

 

But Namjoon’s gaze hardens, and his wrist pulls up as a chilling iciness washes over his expression. Then resolutely, with an irrevocable strength, the dagger pushes through the resistance of the flesh, and slams into Alex’s neck.

 

There’s a buzz in Yoongi’s ears, as he stands frozen with hand white knuckling onto the pistol. The words have all been robbed and wiped cleaned, replaced by the rapid heartbeats that reverberate deafeningly in his ears.

 

The warm scarlet fluid, the gasping for air, the eyes that refuse to screw shut, greedy for one last gaze towards the one they love. How familiar it all feels.

 

The soldiers surround them now, towering over Alex’s body that has slacked onto the ground, as the bright puddle begins to expand amidst the gravel and dirt. There are flashes of light as two swords push down onto Theo’s shoulders, rendering him motionless. Theo’s head is lowered and face shaded, but his gaze stays fixed on his brother’s body, refusing to let go as tears well up. His lips are parted but no sound comes out, as if all the screams have suddenly been dry. An eerie silence slowly fills the space, saved for the sound of gurgling and gasping as Alex’s body convulses uselessly amidst the thick scarlet red.

 

Yoongi winces, and the hand holding the pistol slacks. He turns to see Namjoon eyeing Theo, breath laboured and voice hoarse when he speaks up, “He can’t be trusted anymore, he knows too much and will be blinded by revenge. You shouldn’t have let your guard down, we can’t afford the same mistake again.”

 

Yoongi’s heart sinks at the words. His gaze meets Theo’s, whose shoulders droop, as tears stream down his cheeks. Theo’s lips tremble, and a whisper stutters out, “Please…”

 

Yoongi can no longer tell, if it’s fear or resignation in Theo’s dimmed eyes, but it doesn't matter anymore. Something finally switches off in his heart, shutting off all the overwhelming emotions clouding his mind. He knows what needs to be done instead - Namjoon is right, they can’t afford more mistakes, and more unrest amongst the troops. Order must be restored, this cannot go any further.

 

Yoongi inhales deeply, willing the familiar numbness to seep into every fiber of his being, shading his heart in hollowness. Slowly, the steel barrel of the pistol returns to Theo’s temple, as Yoongi’s fingers tighten around the trigger.

 

——

 

The house is dark and silent, as Yoongi staggers up the spiralling staircase alone.

 

There’s a stir within him, simmering, roiling, fueled by the wine that still stains his lips. His steps are hurried and erratic, as the stairs turn, and the expansive hallway opens up towards him.

 

The thick crimson carpet under his feet, the chandelier above dangling in the dark with a hundred snuffed candles, the air that smells of aged wood and antiquity - everything this place stands for, all the people that he has observed with a fuming exasperation from a distance, all the past emotions suddenly come rushing back tonight, converging and clashing, making him want to scream out loud.

 

How could he have forgotten it all. How could he have trusted a prince, of them all-

 

He strides towards Jimin’s bedroom, and shoves the door open roughly, glaring at the sight in front of him - Jimin is sitting by his desk, white silk shirt loosened by the collar, chuckling and responding to a comment. And Jin is in the opposite corner of the room, hands pausing on the clothes he’s sorting through, a soft smile frozen at the interruption.

 

Yoongi pays him no mind and strides towards Jimin instead, feeling the alcohol boiling in his veins as he lashes out, “I told you to control your sister.”

 

The words tear through the serenidity in the room, and Jimin’s hands pause on the letters he’s flipping through. Yoongi continues, words rushing out, tainted with venom, “You couldn’t even do that. She’s out there jeopardizing the safety of countless people, and you couldn’t even talk some sense into her.”

 

Jin pipes up hesitantly, gathering up all the clothes, “I - I’ll finish the rest tomorrow, master Jimin.”

 

Jimin sighs and nods in response. Jin scurries out of the room hurriedly, lowering his head as he brushes by Yoongi. Yoonji frowns at his acquiescence, but stiffens his jaw and taunts at Jimin, “What good are you if you can’t even keep your own sister in check, huh? What’s the point of the alliance if she gets everyone killed?!”

 

Jimin pushes out of the chair slowly, and when he faces Yoongi, his narrowed eyes zoom onto him, unflinching, “I heard there was an incident at the barrack recently, is that why I haven’t seen you around for a few days?”

 

Yoongi scoffs, “An incident… Let’s see, Namjoon and I had to eliminate the traitors, then scrub through the whole infantry at the barrack, identify all the supporters of the mutiny and punish accordingly. And even now, I can’t be sure if the whole thing has been snuffed out completely. And your family funded the mutiny, of all people! , I should be bringing myself to the assembly for trial-“

 

“But you didn’t. Huh, general? You came back because you’d rather live and vent on me instead.” Jimin’s chin is lifted proudly. His wavy blonde hair is untied, white silk shirt draping his firm frame loosely, yet he looks the picture of elegance as always, drawing an inexplicable irritation out of yoongi.

 

“I’ve had enough of this - your attitude, your air of superiority… I think you’ve clearly forgotten your place in this whole deal - your class in this society no longer exists, I can have you killed right now and nobody would even blink an eye.” He inches towards Jimin mockingly, words hissing out, “You are under my control, Prince. Try to remember your place and learn to obey orders for once.”

 

Jimin stares at him for a moment, then slowly, an icy grin blooms on his face, as he starts to pace in the room, voice dangerously calm, “Your control? Very well, enlighten me please, exactly what am I then? What’s my role and what orders am I to obey?”

 

Yoongi frowns at the comment, but the memories of the stained dagger flashes across his mind, making his stomach twinge. He snaps back instead, “You are - you are here to support me, to do my biddings, nothing more. , you of all people would know what people think of you now anyways. That’s the only way we could keep your family safe, to show that you’re not a threat to the assembly-“

 

Jimin raises his hand to interrupt, eyes glinting with coldness, “What do people think of me? Care to elaborate?”

 

Yoongi shakes his head, “it’s all hearsay anyways, just vulgar gossips on the street…”

 

“No, you felt the need to bring it up, so we might as well air it out in the open once and for all.” Jimin’s eyes trace his profile, assessing, probing, “What do they say about me, Yoongi?”

 

Yoongi swallows thickly. He wants to stop, to retract the words out of rage and alcohol, but his cheeks flush and hands shake with all the emotions bottled up on the inside.

 

I killed them. I killed them and more.

 

His tightened fists tremble, as the incessant thought grips onto him. So instead, he pushes through with raw anger, and forces the words out with a hiss, “That you’re here as a prisoner - a pet.”

 

“A pet… Hmm, maybe.” Jimin drags out the words as he circles around Yoongi. Slowly, he turns, voice deepens and takes on an intimidating tone, “Or maybe that’s the rumor, because you refuse to tell people how I’ve helped you all these months, refuse to allow a royal to take the credit for restructuring the revolutionary army. It’s easier to pretend that you did it all, while I’m just, what’s the word, a pet.”

 

Yoongi’s eyes widen in shock, but he ignores the hurt the words inflict, and sneers, “Can’t believe I thought - I thought - , you know what, it doesn’t matter. Yes, people think I you and in return, your family is safe. So prince-“ he glares at him tauntingly, willing for him to back off, “- why don’t you play your part and be an obedient pet for once.”

 

He expects Jimin to bark back at him, to return the attack in equal measure as he always does, but he’s greeted with silence. Jimin his head to the side, and pauses in front of him, “Maybe I was right all along. A pity.”

 

His voice is hollow, expression blank, and Yoongi frowns. He’s used to the myriad of emotions from Jimin - the anger, the wry chuckles, the endlsss bickering in a loop, always raw and authentic. But this, the hollowness, he’s only seen it on Jimin in court, in the distance - the detachment and rigour, the mask that slips on in public.

 

Jimin circles towards him and whispers, drawing a shiver out of him, “What type of pet do you prefer then, master?”

 

Yoongi’s cheeks flush, “Stop-“

 

“No, tell me. You want to be in control, huh? You think you can handle that? Make at least one royal submit to your whims. Be your ing play thing, so your ego feels a little better, hmm?” Jimin’s fingers reach for his own shirt, sliding the front open. He saunters towards his bed, and sits down against the edge, hands lowering towards his breeches, “I’m all yours, vent all you want. Use me.”

 

The words are quiet and venomous. His face is shaded in the dark, eyes glimmering, golden curls draping by his stiff shoulders haphazardly. And suddenly Yoongi gets the urge to just reach in and touch his arm, just to feel the radiant heat of his skin and call this whole ridiculous thing off.

 

His mind is muddled, all the blood and screams mixed with the smell of faded glory, punctured by the familiar nonchalant smile that he sudden misses. And a question finally explodes on his mind, no longer suppressed:

 

What are we now?

 

He winces at the thought, forcing it out hastily.

 

No, just get it done. Get it done so you’re in control and no more questions. He’s an enemy, and he lost.

 

He pushes out a ragged exhale, and steps towards the bed, narrowing his gaze as he speaks, “Turn around.”

 

Jimin complies silently. Yoongi’s one hand lands on his hips, and the other reaches to loosen his own trousers.

 

He feels detached, thoughts hazy and movements abrupt. As he absently tries to switch it all off on his mind, memories flash across forcefully, refusing to be suppressed. The same darkness, same feeling of detachments, vivid small deaths mixed with contorted faces of fresh kills, people that have used him the same way he’s using the person right underneath him.

 

Suddenly, the bitterness in his mouth turns unbearable, trickling down his throat all the way into every cell of his being, making his limbs go stiff and stomach churn.

 

Yoongi exhales sharply and collapses onto the side, wincing through erratic gasps. But no matter how hard he tries to breathe it out, tries to turn it off like he always does, his heart feels impossibly heavy, and there’s a chill that climbs up his skin, making him shiver.

 

How he wishes to rip it all off, just tear himself out of his own body, shedding it like a shell and ridding it all…

 

A sneer in the dark next to him, “You can’t even enjoy it, can you? Can’t even carry through with it.”

 

Yoongi chokes back his words, too weary to comment. He feels Jimin get up, and hears the door locks. When Jimin saunters back, he stands by the edge of the bed, shirt open with exposed chest, pausing to observe him, as a long sigh escapes his lips.

 

Jimin climbs back into bed, and they lie next to each other, skin barely touching, with the silence of the night slowly seeping back into the space in between. They stay like that for a long time, lost in their own thoughts.

 

When Jimin finally speaks, his voice is gravelly, but no longer taunting, “I heard about what happened, everyone has heard.”

 

Silence.

 

“It’s done. You guys did what was necessary. And if my family was involved in any way, I’ll help you get to the bottom of it, we’ll fix it. Fix it and keep going…”

 

Yoongi clenches his jaw, but hums.

 

A scoff, “You thought would solve it instead? You’d rather through it than to talk, is that it?”

 

Yoongi winces at the words, “I didn’t mean to…”

 

“Didn’t mean to do what? It’s fine, it’s always been such an effort to get some real words out of you. You know, I’m not against communicating through other means, especially when you can be so damn thick sometimes. is fine, you can’t hide behind all your lofty ideas and that facade of yours during it, I’d be fine with that. But really -“ he turns around to face Yoongi, shaking his head incredulously, “- ever tried to enjoy something for once? That was just…god...”

 

“What’s there to enjoy, it’s just a mean to an end…” His voice comes out cracked, surprising himself.

 

A hand touches his arm, making him draw back, “Ugh, just - can you just relax for a moment please? You’re still shaking…”

 

Yoongi in another sharp breath.

 

“Keep breathing, let it go. Whatever happened, it has no power over you anymore.”

 

His words irritate Yoongi. They feels feeble, like making light of the situation, dragging him out of the guilt that he deserves. But strangely, the lilt in Jimin’s voice is hypnotizing, loosening his tightened fists a little. Yoongi resists the urge to get up and leave, and instead, screws his eyes shut.

 

“It’s all gone. Just us in this room now, nobody else. Forget it all.”

 

He wants to snap back, to remind him of what just transpired between them. Of how monsterous he is, how undeserving he is of inner calm.

 

The hand lingering on his arm starts to pat gingerly, distracting his thoughts away from the dark. He resists, yet even with his eyes closed, the light touch feels intense, sending waves of sensation across his body.

 

The voice drifts closer, making his skin flush, “Stop clenching your jaw.” Only then does he realize that he’s been gritting his teeth the whole time. He complies, but then regrets right away and murmurs, “I should just go…”

 

A chuckle, the breath hitting his skin faintly, “You want to run away now? After everything? Tsk, I thought you wanted it all today, the control, the power…”

 

The fingers are travelling up his arm, dancing and skipping up, ever so carefully. Yoongi gulps but is afraid to open his eyes and face the gaze next to him, “I didn’t mean - I didn’t want - I…”

 

His voice trails off, and the fingers climb up his shoulder, and pause on the scars peeking through his loosened collar. Yoongi’s breath hitches. He can’t remember a time when someone touched his scars like this, feather light , casual and gentle.

 

The cause of the scars is not lost to him, they will never be. But together, the touches and the voice create a trance, clouding his mind with a different haze. Foreign, mellow, but not entirely unpleasant.

 

How he yearns to pull back yet simultaneously move into the touch.

 

The voice whispers, “That’s better, keep breathing. Let it all go…”

 

The fingers move up, swiping soft on his cheek, tracing the outline of his ear, sending tingles that ripple across his skin.

 

The voice continues, “Such a brute, always looking for the violent way out. All you had to do was ask… I’ve always given you what you wanted, haven’t I?”

 

Yoongi is trapped between all his thoughts, with no way out. He forces the words out through hazy thoughts, “Such a lie. I know how much you hate m-“

 

His words fizzle into a gasp, as he feels the touch of Jimin’s lips on his jaw. It’s chaste, grazing by his skin and making his eyes snap open.

 

“Shhh.” Jimin’s hushing tickles on his skin, as his lips continue to trace his jawline, up and up it goes.

 

Yoongi bites into his lower lip. It’s strange, the tiny flame that’s been ignited from within, warming him up from the inside. Everything about Jimin’s touch is strangely foreign. They are gentle and careful, none of the hastily roughness he’s used to during the other few intimate encounters in life.

 

He’s handling him with care, as if he’s worth something, as if he matters.

 

But you despise me, so very much.

 

Jimin whispers by his ear, echoing the thought on his mind, “I may never forgive. But just for the moment, I’d rather forget. Would you let me…”

 

Yoongi shivers as the warmth of each word spreads out on his skin and taking roots. Weariness washes over, like overlapping waves that overwhelm his senses and threaten to knock him over. He gasps for air, hands reaching out to push Jimin away, yet his fingers dig into his arm, like a drowning man clinging onto a shred of hope, however feeble, however false.

 

He feels the shadow hovering over him pausing, but then, as Jimin inches closer, and their lips touch, something within Yoongi finally cracks open. Delicate, lingering, lips parted with gentle shushing mixed into hot breaths, each kiss fuels the tiny spark within.

 

It’s all so terribly wrong.

 

You’re not supposed to be like this, never like this… You’re supposed to hurt, to submit.

 

It’s all so terribly right.

 

The thoughts fizzle in the dark, as the tiny flame flickers and devours, turning everything on his mind into a blissful daze.

 

Yoongi blinks, and reciprocates clumsily, finally succumbing to the enveloping darkness.

 

Time seems to pause for a moment. All the touches slow down, all the urgency of the outside world fades, just two people learning to just be and opening up to each other.

 

Yoongi has never really enjoyed , it seems primal, unsavoury. There would be a hint of desire from time to time, but it comes and goes, pushed to the back of the mind conveniently. He feels more at ease alone, safer, really.

 

But undeniably, there is still comfort in being close to another person, even though he can’t remember when was the last time he was held like this - arms enveloping his torso, lips searching for his languidly. Jimin’s one leg drapes over his, and Yoongi pauses when his brushes by his hip.

 

He croaks, “Do you - do you need to…”

 

Jimin hums, as his tongue teases by Yoongi’s lips.

 

“I mean, if you want to, we could-” Yoongi’s voice trails off.

 

A muted chuckle, “Wow, you sure know how to make it sound enticing. I’m fine. This is nice… Tell me what you need…”

 

I need - I -

 

Nobody’s ever asked that, not even himself. And the question paralyzes him, knowing fully well that he doesn’t have the strength to face the answer. Yoongi’s throat dries as he screws his eyes shut, and he sinks into the kiss instead.

 

Clumsy, sloppy, timid yet yearning. Jimin pauses for a moment, surprised, but chases into the kiss right after, breathing passion into him, as his arm tightens on the embrace.

 

Jimin’s body drapes over him in a comforting weight, hands lingering and tracing maddening circles down Yoongi’s spine, tugging under his shirt and making a mess of it all.

 

The darkness feels safe, and so does the warmth of Jimin’s torso. The flame within Yoongi flickers and grows, morphing into a tiny itch that tickles at his heart.

 

I need -

 

“Hmm?” Jimin hums as his lips trail the shell of his ears.

 

Yoongi hesitates, but between ragged breaths and soft touches, the words slip out as a whisper, “I want-“

 

His thought is echoed, “You want-“

 

He’s suddenly afraid to let the truth come out. The flame burns and slithers its way into each part of his body, making him crave for something, anything for purchase.

 

I want to be at peace-

 

The thought makes him flinch, so does the gentle caress over his . He freezes instinctually, resisting the urge, eyes screwing tighter shut. The hand pauses and retracts, “It’s ok, relax, I won’t-“

 

He grips on Jimin’s hand and snaps back, voice hoarse but determined, “No, I want - I need a release. Please…”

 

A sigh in the dark, and he feels the weight of Jimin’s torso on him, grounding him, holding him in place with nowhere to run away to. And the hand returns, gentle and slowly, with all the time in the world.

 

There are soft sounds mixed into the kisses peppered on him, shushing and assuring him, knocking on his heart like tiny raindrops landing on cracked earth, no matter how much he resists it, how much he tells himself that it’s all pretend.

 

Trembling, the flame begins to grow, spreading up his loin, making him stiffen up, head thrashing from side to side, hands digging into the torso above.

 

His back arches, and he tries hard to ignore the bitterness in his mouth, ignore all the dark thoughts and memories flashing through his mind.

 

Just for one moment, let it all go, just for right now.

 

His toes curl and uncurl, thoughts drifting away, untethered and becoming a distant echo, as the bright ember flame takes over. Everything begins to culminate into one single point, higher and higher it goes, stronger and stronger as it threatens to tip over. He bites his lips but the word still slips out, trembling, incoherent, broken by ragged breathes that grew more urgent, “I - I -“

 

The words are snuffed out by Jimin’s lips, claiming him, suffocating him with a desire that overwhelms, and it finally all tips over. Yoongi’s body stiffens, as he feels the the waves of shiver pulsing out of him. Everything suddenly grows silent, and he dwells in the delicious lightness that finally wipes his mind clean.

 

Like nothing matters anymore. Blissfully mindless, just like death.

 

He sighs, and blinks away the mist by his lashes, as weariness finally takes over like a tidal wave.

 

He feels arms embracing him as his body becomes slack, and hands working gently to clean him up. But he no longer cares, and pushes out a murmur as his mind succumbs to the drowsiness, “I should go…”

 

The warmth of the torso next to him stays, “it’s fine, I locked the door already. Just sleep, you can leave when you wake up.”

 

He mind sinks into the void before he can respond. No dreams, no frets, just deep, deep sleep that comforts his soul, as he hasn’t experienced for months, maybe years.

 

Before dawn breaks, Yoongi sneaks out of the room, not wanting to wonder whether Jimin has stirred, never turning around to steal a glance. They don’t talk to each other during the day, and Jin bows courteously as if nothing has transpired, as usual.

 

It takes him a week to go back at night, and this time, locking the door behind him, as Jimin looks up calmly into his eyes.

 

Most nights, they don’t even do much. Sometimes Jimin has half a bottle of grand crus ready in the room, sometimes Yoongi brings over a document or two. It’s  strangely mundane, with Jimin sitting up against the headboard of the bed, reading through a book and mumbling, and Yoongi curled up under the blanket, feeling the blissful drowsiness taking over.

 

It’s as if an unspoken rule has been established since the first night, that no matter what the day entails, the night is different - they are different, to each other. Politics and the world as usual during the day, just themselves at night, two people that have very few attachments left in the world, being together for a moment of respite.

 

And tonight, they end up in Yoongi’s room. Jimin flips through the pages of the Social Contract, reading and thinking out loud, and Yoongi listens with lidded eyes. There's such peaceful contentment in listening to the calm voice simplifying all the confusing theories, distilling them into simple truths.

 

Not that he would ever admit to the enjoyment.

 

“The social pact, far from destroying natural equality, substitutes, on the contrary, a moral and lawful equality for whatever physical inequality that nature may have imposed on mankind; so that however unequal in strength and intelligence, men become equal by covenant and by right.” Jimin pauses at the end of the paragraph, and mumbles, “Equality is lovely until it clashes with all the other enlightenment ideas.”

 

“How so?” Yoongi comments, keeping his eyes closed.

 

“Take liberty as an example, it’s the ability to do anything as long as you don’t harm others. But equality calls for equal distribution of wealth and possession. How can you rob someone’s rightful possession while proclaiming liberty for all?”

 

Yoongi pulls on the thin blanket and responds lazily, “The point of equality is not to rob people, it’s to give people equal chances at birth.”

 

“Call it whatever you will, it’s forced, artificial.”

 

“Maybe in the beginning…” His mind is loosened, untethered, because he knows these conversations are not like those at the assembly. No more sides, just ideas floating around, agreeing to disagreeing yet hearing each other out. “Keep reading…”

 

“Hmm?” There’s a teasing lilt to the word, making Yoongi’s lips curl up absently.

 

“Keep reading, please…”

 

He can feel Jimin grinning without looking, and his voice next to him is back to the usual soft and calm tone, the one that puts him at ease. “To discover the rules of society that are best suited to nations, there would need to exist a superior intelligence, who could understand the passions of men without feeling any of them, who had no affinity with our nature but knew it to the full…”

 

The words fall into the silence, sinking in comfortably. The air is chilly outside of the blanket, and Yoongi finds himself leaning into the figure seated next to him slightly, careful not to touch but closer to the radiating heat. He considers moving the small heater filled with coal closer to bed, but gives up at the idea of having to get out of the blanket.

 

“...whose happiness was independent of ours, but who would nevertheless make our happiness his concern, who would be content to wait in the fullness of time for a distant glory, and to labour in one age to enjoy the fruits in another. Gods would be needed to give men laws.”

 

How the words sooth him, lofty, idealistic words shining with soft glimmers, like stars that are barely noticeable in the velvety night sky outside, but unmistakably there. Ethereal, too good for the real world.

 

“Wow, you should read out this section at the assembly next time and watch them eat it all up. Rousseau’s cloying romanticism leaks out of every page, even in a supposedly highly theoretical read.”

 

“Nothing wrong with that, it’s good to dream a little.”

 

A scoff, “Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re heartless or a dreamer.”

 

“It’s not heartless to do what it takes to safeguard a dream.”

 

Jimin shifts next to him, leg brushing against his. Yoongi hesitates but stays. A thought drifts onto his mind and stays stubbornly, until he whispers it out, “I heard Victoria hasn’t been in court much lately.”

 

The torso next to him stiffens. There’s a pause before the words fall again, “It’s for the best, for all of us.”

 

Yoongi doesn’t respond, his gaze drifts to the painting on the wall - a dark forest, the muted greens punctured by of grey and black shadows.

 

“I told you I’d take care of it. She said she never supported the mutiny, people were probably just using her name for prestige. She knows her place now.” He sighs, the heaviness palpable, “I think it’s all just been a lot for her to handle, always been so privileged, so cared for all her life. And suddenly it’s all gone…”

 

Exactly why she can’t be trusted.

 

Yoongi swallows the thought and comments, “Has she ever thought about staying at Rambouillet for a while? Paris is not safe for her.”

 

“I can only nudge her so much. Maybe in time, she’ll learn to let go and accept reality. But what do I know, in a way, she’s not the only one that can’t let go.” Jimin’s voice turns quiet.

 

Go with her, while you still have a home to go back to. Stay away and save yourself.

 

Yoongi blinks hard to rid of the thought and turns away, the image of the painting lingering on his peripheral. Words slip out before he can stop them, “This room, you should’ve told me…”

 

Jimin hums, Yoongi pictures his fingers tracing the edge of the book, and continues, “It was your mother’s, wasn’t it. I should’ve guessed, the decor, how it felt unused for so long, the painting of the Rambouillet forest…”

 

A long pause, then Jimin’s voice eventually pipes up again,”You both have a tendency to shy away from the crowd. In a way, it suits you.”

 

“I don’t want to taint your memories of her, I can talk to Jin and move to a different room-“

 

“It’s fine.” Jimin cuts him off, “I didn’t know what to think of it before, but it’s- “ he hesitates, choosing the words carefully, “- it’s better to have some life in here. At any rate, who knows how long either of us will be here…”

 

There’s a tinge of solemnness in his voice, matter of factly, like a person that’s used to loneliness. Yoongi wants to turn around and comfort him somehow, leaning into his arm and being there for him. But he stays still instead, feeling the cold air chilling against his cheeks.

 

Jimin doesn’t speak again. And Yoongi finds his mind slowly drifting between reality and sleep, shaded in all the shades of muddled grey. As his lids flutter wearily, he hears the voice from behind him, whispering, lingering, like echos from the recess of a terrible dream.

 

“Were you at Versaille during the march?”

 

Memories flash across his mind, of muffled screams and broken glasses glinting on the marbled floor.

 

He doesn’t respond, willing his thoughts into the void, wishing for the voice to go away.

 

Please, no more, not right now-

 

“Did you see him? Taehyung, the first prince of Orléans?”

 

The name rings a bell, reminding him of a set of beautifully frightened eyes against pale skin, and delicate features framed by sweat-soaked dark brown curls.

 

He hears faint breathing from behind him, suppressed, ragged, piercing through the silence on his mind, stirring up buried remorse.

 

“Yes.” He grits his teeth and murmurs, keeping his eyes shut.

 

He feels a stir from behind him, then the creaking and slamming of the door. The empty spot next to him turns cold, as the ember goal in the heater finally succumbs to the chilling air.