They’re lying in bed kissing lazily, mouths moving in sync, when Jungkook walks in on them.

Yoongi is the first to notice. He’s always half aware of their surroundings; semi-cautious of trouble occurring when they least expect it. His eyes catch the way the Jungkook’s dark form pauses just shy of the bed, rather than continuing to sweep across the floor the way the shadows of the swaying branches outside do.

It makes Yoongi still and look up, his lips halting and hovering over Hoseok’s. Jungkook stares back at him with wide eyes. He doesn’t look scandalized; he looks horrified. Not because his older brother is kissing a man, but because his older brother is kissing someone he is not supposed to kiss.

Hoseok notices Jungkook half a beat later. He has always been the type to become completely immersed in any one action and kissing is no different. It takes him a moment to register that Yoongi’s tongue is not delving deep into his mouth and their lips have stopped sliding against one another like artic ice bergs. Only then does Hoseok slip out of his haze and prop himself up on unsteady elbows to see Jungkook. His breath catches in his throat and his fingers twist into Yoongi’s thin sleep shirt.

Jungkook shakes his head, one hand clutching at the door frame. He looks like he’s trying to deny what his eyes are telling him. “If they find out they’ll kill you,” he whispers hoarsely. And then he is gone and the shadows merge.

Yoongi forces himself to breathe and looks down at Hoseok. Hoseok stares right back up at him, eyes wide and afraid.

“Is he going to tell?” he asks in a shaky little voice, still a little rough with disuse.

Yoongi makes a disagreeing noise at the back of his throat. “No,” he says without hesitation, but his voice is low and choppy, a sign that he too is slightly shaken at being discovered. “Jungkook wouldn’t.” Not his baby brother, who though has just entered into that phase of punk adolescence and ripped jeans, is still his the same kid who has always looked up to Yoongi and has his back when no one else would.

“Are you sure?” Hoseok says, eyes wide and worried. He bites down on his lower lip, already reddened and sore and Yoongi brings up a thumb to gently pull away the abused skin from Hoseok’s worrying teeth. He bends down and kisses him reassuringly.

“He won’t,” Yoongi says again and when a small protest bubbles out of Hoseok, he shuts him up with another kiss.

*

Jungkook doesn’t tell. But someone else does.

Yoongi knows it’s not Jungkook because Jungkook is the one who warns him.

“They’re gathering in town,” is the first thing he says after throwing the bedroom door open, chest heaving and breathless from having run all the way home. “They know.”

The pen in Yoongi’s hand drops. It clatters to the floor, audaciously loud, and rolls and rolls until it collides with the wall and comes to a faltering stop amongst the dust bunnies down there.

“How?” he hisses, half standing out his chair. “Who?”

Jungkook’s eyes round with distraught. “I don’t know,” he says, voice tinged with desperation. “I just heard them talking about it. I was at school with Jimin and Taehyung. We stayed late to play basketball. We took the shortcut through the village center and they were there…”

Yoongi wracks his brain. Who could have seen them? They’ve always been careful to make sure no one sees, never making more than eye contact when necessary and skin contact when it becomes unbearable.

Except that the unbearable moments have become more and more frequent of late…

His phone buzzes. Yoongi snatches it up and looks at the dialer ID. Namjoon.

“You’ve got to hurry to Hoseok’s house,” Namjoon says in a gravelling voice. The connection of this backwater village they all live in is and it makes everyone sound either too low or too high. To begin with Namjoon already has a deep voice, and through the phone line it comes out sounding like the grate of stone on metal.

“Why-“

There’s the sound of rustling as the phone exchanges hands, and then Seokjin is speaking, quickly but clearly. “The men in the village. They’re gathering with weapons. Pitchforks, spades, I think some of them are bringing alcohol and lighters. It’s not good. It’s really ing not good. You messed up Yoongi.”

“But how,” is all Yoongi can say hazily, his mind feeling like it’s fogging up. He leans back heavily on the wooden table, his hand gripping it tightly for purchase. Everything feels like it’s falling apart, both metaphorically and physically. Jungkook watches his worriedly, looking like he’s ready to catch Yoongi if he falls.

“It doesn’t matter,” Seokjin snaps, a sure sign things must be bad because Seokjin is usually nothing but sweet, if a little firm at times. He has to be if he wants to counter balance Namjoon’s innate roughness. Seokjin and Namjoon. Hoseok and Yoongi. When they’d discovered that they weren’t the only homoual couple in a homophobic village it had been nothing short of an absolute shock to both Hoseok and Yoongi. At the same time it was relief, cool and clear. Now they weren’t the only ones sneaking around, watching each other’s backs in between frantic kisses. Now there were four of them, keeping watch and protecting one another. So the tattle tale couldn’t have been Namjoon or Seokjin who either. Yoongi is firmly sure that it is not any of his friends.  

To tell the truth Yoongi doesn’t really care who to blame anymore. If he really needs a culprit, then it’s probably himself. They had promised to be careful. To hide their affections unless absolutely alone. But in the past few months they have been taking too many risks, playing with fire. A kiss behind the butcher’s shop, Yoongi pressed up against the chipped paint of the wooden wall. Linked hands under the school desk when the teacher had their back to them all. Late nights sneaking out of windows so that slick hands could roam against bare skin and the rustling of the woods would swallow their moans.

Too many risks.

“Hoseok’s house is closer to the village center,” is what Seokjin then says and Yoongi gets it. . , , . The phone call is ended before he even hears what Seokjin next has to say, and Yoongi grabs for an inconspicuous black hoodie and hat.

“Go to Jimin’s,” he orders Jungkook who jumps at suddenly being addressed. “Don’t come back unless I or one of us come for you. In case the villagers come here.”

Jungkook nods, obedient, and Yoongi feverently hopes he does as he’s ordered. He presses a quick kiss to Jungkook’s sweaty forehead and then time is up. He’s out of the house, dashing down the long path fenced by swathes of trees that are bare and sparse with the oncoming winter. His fingers are frantically dialing Hoseok’s number, the digits memorized by heart. He can’t afford to save Hosoek’s number in his phone book in case a stranger picks it up and makes the link between the two of them. It’s unlikely, but they’ve always tried to be careful.

Not that it worked anyway.  

The call goes straight into voicemail. Hi this is Jung Hoseok here! Unfortunately I’m a bit preoccupied at the moment but please-

“,” Yoongi swears loudly as he ends the call and tries again. Voicemail again. Hoseok’s tinny sunshine voice coming through.

Please, please, please, please be alright, he begs internally as he skids down a slope and tries to take a shortcut through the woods to Hoseok’s house. Hoseok lives about twenty minutes away from the central village which is where everything happens. School, shops, the village elders, they all reside there. Yoongi lives almost forty five minutes away. It means a bigger house and quieter mornings, but it also means waking up to complete darkness in the thick of winter to get to school on time and always been too far away from Hoseok.

He trips over some tree root buried deep in the leaves and goes flying, hands and knees scraping as he tumbles. Yoongi gasps but gets right back up, running again. He can feel something sticky on his palms but he doesn’t dare to look. He just wipes it down on his jeans and continues. He’s out of breath and Hoseok has always about his short endurance span. This will probably be the one and only time he regrets not taking up Hoseok on his training regime.

Please be alright, Yoongi begs and squeezes his hands tightly as they pump through the air. He almost relishes in the pain. The throbbing in his hand. The burning in his chest. He doesn’t care how much it hurts, so long as Hoseok is okay.

*

Hoseok is not okay.

He’s hiding with his back to his bedroom wall, heart thudding as he hopes the man in his backyard who just looked up has not seen him. There’s a whole group of them, at least thirty or so. The one at the front seems to be giving a speech and from the bits and pieces that Hoseok can hear through the tiny opening in the window, he knows he’s in deep trouble.

The village has always been deeply religious as most reclusive villages do as a mechanism to maintain morale during the harsh winters and difficult summers. However ever since the arrival of the priest and his church that he has built right in the middle of the village, the village’s tolerance of same- couples has plummeted. There are sermons that dictate homouals ‘sick’, petitions that encourage those to confess their sins, and ceremonies where the sinner is told to make a sacrifice. And sacrifices always cost more than they are worth.

Hoseok has seen it happen. To his neighbor that Hoseok had never really known, other than the fact that he was friendly to everyone and open about his uality. Back then no one had ever cared. So long as you could bring in the harvest and support the village, who cared who you liked.

But then the priest had arrived three years ago and established his doctrine and the next thing Hoseok knew, his next door neighbor was being dragged to the church and forced to knees in front of the entire village.

After that incident no one dared to show homouality of any nature. Even kids playing together were furiously scolded and warned to know their limits.

Hoseok has never seen his next door neighbor since the incident but rumors state that he was banished. Hoseok hopes that is all that happened to him.

It’s for that very reason that he and Yoongi have sworn to keep their relationship a secret.

“What we have is not a sin,” Yoongi had said quietly one night when Hoseok had snuck into his bedroom and curled himself around Yoongi’s tiny form. It had been the night after Yoongi’s mother had left, citing that she was tired of this village and its narrow minded views. Hoseok had thought it narrow minded of her to have also left Yoongi and Jungkook behind. But if she hadn’t then Hoseok would have never had Yoongi, and Hoseok doesn’t know where he’d be without Yoongi.

Yoongi grounds him, centers him, in this world where everything that he is is apparently wrong. An error. An abomination. One that should be tied to the stake and purified with the ashes of a fire.

“It’s not a sin, but not everyone knows that. That, or they’re afraid to acknowledge it.” Yoongi had said, eyes closed and mouth barely moving. There’s something terrible about that truth and sometimes Hoseok thinks that Yoongi’s mother had the right idea.

The sound of glass cracking makes Hoseok flinch, reminding him exactly of where he is and what predicament he is in right now. He should have left the moment he saw them arrive, but then again that might be the problem with Jung Hoseok. He’s too trusting of people and whilst Yoongi always says with a fond, exasperated smile that that is his best quality, Hoseok doesn’t feel it shine quite as brightly here.

Downstairs the first of a Molotov cocktail spreads, greedily consuming with long fiery fingers. And upstairs Hoseok clenches his fists and tries not to give in to despair as the first kicks thud against the door of people who either think he is damned, or want him to be.

*

There’s a knock on Jimin’s front door and he jerks his head up, instantly alert. The town has been abuzz with activity all evening and Jimin’s father had told him to sit still and be good while he goes to see what’s going on.

It’s been an hour and his father has still not returned.

He opens the door expecting his father with news. Instead there is Jungkook, out of breath and sweaty hair plastered to his forehead.

“What’s wrong?” Jimin asks, one hand out to help steady his best friend. Jungkook just gulps for breath and shakes his head, refusing the hand.  

“Inside,” he says between breaths, eyes darting around warily. Only upon seeing that the clearing is completely empty does Jungkook dare to enter. But even then he slams the door firmly behind them and fumbles for the lock, bolting the door harshly.

“Jungkook? Jimin asks again, worried. This is the first time he’s ever seen his friend look so…hunted.

“Honey?” Jimin’s mother calls down the hallway from where she’s in the kitchen, cooking dinner. “Who is it?”

“Just Jung-“ Jimin starts but then Jungkook’s eyes flare wide and he slaps a hand over Jimin’s mouth. “Mmmghg what?” Jimin hisses as he peels off Jungkook’s sweaty palm.

“Tell her it’s Taehyung,” Jungkook whispers quickly, and the fear in his eyes is enough to convince Jimin to do so.

“It’s just Taehyung,” he says, hoping the uncertainty in his voice doesn’t carry.

“Oh?” his mother hums in response and Jimin is half fearful that his mother will wipe her hands on a cloth and come out to greet Taehyung. But then he hears the sizzle of a pan and knows his mother won’t abandon her cooking just to come say hi to their next door neighbor. “Tell him he’s free to stay for dinner if he wants.”

Jimin looks to Jungkook, who shakes his head quickly.

“Ah, I think he’s got to be home for dinner tonight,” Jimin calls back. “We’ll be in my room,” he then says before his mother can say anything more and proceeds to grab Jungkook by the wrist and tug him into his bedroom. He closes the door behind them and then pads over to his window, flipping up the latch and throwing up the frame.  There’s a jar of tiny pebbles on his windowsill and he tosses a few at the opposite house’s window. It takes a few seconds but then there is movement and the curtains are drawn, window thrown up, and Taehyung’s head pops out.

“Get in here,” Jimin hisses and jerks his head. Taehyung tilts his head but he squeezes out his window and stretches across, slipping easily into Jimin’s room, a maneuver made smooth by practice. 

“Oh, hey Kookie,” Taehyung says as he catches sight of him. “So?” he says to Jimin who is busy closing his own window and pulling the curtains close roughly.

Jimin looks to Jungkook. “Explain.”

“My brother and Hosoek are dating,” Jungkook blurts out and Jimin’s mouth drops wide open. Taehyung’s eyes round.

“But the village…” he breathes. “That’s what’s going on, isn’t it?”

Jungkook nods gravely. “I think they found out and…” Words failing him as he imagines what could happen if the village does catch them.  

Jimin’s brows dip. “Are they going to be okay?”

Jungkook shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he admits and bites at his lower lip, his hands at the bottom of a grey hoodie that he thinks belongs to Yoongi. He’s not too sure because Yoongi always wears baggy clothes so that they can fit both him and Jungkook’s growing frame. So we can save money, he says as he fends off the protests, insisting that Jungkook chooses all the patterns and designs from the seasonal wagon that comes round every few months with new clothes and fresh food from foreign lands. . If it weren’t for these travelling salesmen, Jungkook thinks that this village would sink into stagnation.

Thought stagnation might have been better than the change that the priest brought.

Jungkook hates the way the priest has changed the village with his words and wealth. The village has long been self-sufficient, relying only on what they can grow on the lands and take sustainably from the woods. Traders appear sparsely enough for the village to not become dependent on them, and instead see them as a fresh source of supply, to be interesting and nothing else. However in the past few years the number of traders has dropped, stating that the village is too far out of the way and not worth the trouble. Add to that the increasingly cold winters and the village is not doing as well as it used to. Only the sheer stubbornness of the village elders has maintained their existence here deep in the woods. Even then people are slowly leaving, one by one.

Then one day a priest arrived with shining words and more importantly, support from the Church. Secured food supplies, clothes, equipment. All the village had to do was accept the Church’s teachings and it would all be theirs. It wasn’t a hard choice to make.

His father had joined up as a devout almost immediately and the fruits of doing so had appeared almost instantly. New wood and paint to repair their old house with, fresh fruit for the morning, a handful of copper coins every two weeks that could be exchanged for flour and butter and sugar, stocks which the village strictly regulated. Give it a year though and the priest will have those changed to the paper bills that the main cities like to use, or so Jungkook has heard from the tradesmen who still shake their head when they rack up piles of copper coins and bemoan how they’ll have to spend hours in some bureaucratic office getting it all converted to proper money.

The village is backwater but it’s their village. Their ways. Their rules. The village is so ridiculously stiff when it comes to maintaining their community and place in this isolated little location, yet they then become so pliant to a stranger just because doing so allows them to stay. Jungkook snorts at the contradiction of the elders and wonders if they will only realize how much they have changed when it is too late. 

It had almost been hilarious at how disappointed his mother had looked when their father had returned, ecstatic, explaining just how amazing and how perfect the church was and look at what he had gotten today and lets all go to Church next Sunday and-

“I’d rather be a pauper than a puppet,” his mother had said and that night left with a tiny suitcase and all the love in the house.

Jungkook sometimes wishes that she had taken them too because he is choking on this village. He slides down the wall and pulls his legs up to his chest, tries to get into a position that will let him breathe.

Jimin kneels, eyes wide with worry. “Are you okay Kookie?” he asks in a gentle voice and Jungkook shakes his head. Thinks he will never be.

He’s hyperventilating now. It’s not the first time. He’d done it three nights after their mother had left and his father had gone into a rage and tried to drag Jungkook and Yoongi straight to the church to be signed up for the next ceremony. Back then it had been Yoongi who had told their father to back off, a dark snarl on his face that had been enough to send him fleeing. Then he had found Jungkook huddled under the table and had clambered down under there with him, one hand running through his hair and a gentle lullaby that their mother had used to sing on his lips.

But there is no Yoongi now. This time the one Yoongi is searching for is Hoseok. Not Jungkook. Jungkook is grown up and has to take care of himself now. But he feels so at loss, like the ground is shifting and he is falling through the cracks.

“It’s okay,” Taehyung rumbles, his voice low and shaky when he’s emotional like this. He drops down onto the floor next to Jungkook and wraps his long arms around Jungkook’s waist.

Jimin drops to his knees in front of Jungkook and runs his fingers through Jungkook’s hair just like Yoongi once did. “Shhh,” he whispers and something pops in Jungkook’s chest. It’s a balloon, blue and forgotten in the sky. But now it’s popped and he’s free to inhale as much as he wants.

He looks at both them of them and Jimin and Taehyung’s eyes are like mirrors, worry reflected there. Jungkook feels himself tear up and Jimin makes a frantic little sound like he’s worried. He grabs Jungkook into a roundhouse hug that includes Taehyung and Jungkook lets out a tiny squeak in protest at how hard Jimin is hugging them both.

“Can’t breathe Jimin!” he protests but Jimin doesn’t let up.

“Not until you feel okay,” Jimin says with a shake of his head and Taehyung laughs.

“But what if he really can’t breathe Jimin,” he says, body vibrating with laughter.

Jimin pulls off slightly as he realizes the reasoning there. He looks to Jungkook. “Could you really not breathe?” he asks anxiously and for some reason it cracks a smile on Jungkook’s face.

He shakes his head gently. “Hug me again,” he demands and Jimin grins, then complies. His arms come around Jungkook and Taehyung squeezes harder and for the first time that night Jungkook finally feels himself calm. He closes his eyes and lets their comfort wash over him. And finally he can breathe.

*

Yoongi stumbles to a stop outside of Hoseok’s house because the sheer destruction is mind blowing. The windows and front door are broken, glass sparkling across the lawn. The potted plants that Hoseok’s mother had planted and tended to so carefully before Hoseok’s father had died of a sickness one too-cold winter are strewn carelessly about. Yoongi’s heart skips a beat because he knows just how fond Hoseok are of those plants. A reminder of the better times, Hoseok had said once.

Yoongi steps inside almost fearfully. His shoes crunch on glass and broken bits of furniture.  Fire flickers, small embers still about scorched walls and it takes all of Yoongi’s willpower to not imagine Hoseok smoking and bones blackened.

He knows the way to Hoseok’s room, can find it with his eyes closed or in the middle of a moonless night.

His hand is trembling as he pushes open the slightly ajar door and uncovers the destruction inside Hoseok’s room. The lamp is overturned, as is the chair. Paper layers the floor, a mixture of homework and lyrics and choreography sketches. Hoseok’s wardrobe is thrown open and his mixture of hoodie and shoes torn down from their neat racks. On instinct Yoongi’s hand grabs one of Hoseok’s snapbacks and he brings it to his chest.

For a moment he stands there, eyes closed and imagines all the times of them in Hoseok’s bedroom. Of the time where they had lain down on Hoseok’s bed, fingers touching at the tips, and Hoseok had told Yoongi all about his dreams to leave the village one day and explore all that there was out there. Of course he couldn’t. Not with his mother and her unstable mind, wandering elsewhere after his father’s shocking death. They have loved each other a little too much, Hoseok had said once. And love can do beautiful and terrible things.

Yoongi had rolled over onto his side so that he could look at Hoseok and Hoseok had turned his head, a soft smile spreading.

It’s okay, he had said in response to Yoongi’s downturned lips. It’s just a dream and dreams are always just little bit too far out of reach.

Yoongi’s frown had only deepened because this was Hoseok, always worrying about someone other than himself. Yoongi wished he would treasure himself more, but that is a pipe dream and if that’s the case then Yoongi will be the one to treasure him on his behalf.

“I’ll take you there one day if you want,” Yoongi had said quietly, words that he would normally only speak with pen and paper, not with lips and tongue.

Hoseok spoke with his body. The spread of lips, the gleam of teeth under the moonlight, the curve of his eyes. All that had been enough to sweep the dusty crevices of Yoongi’s heart into one pile and that belonged solely to Hoseok. He curled his fingers around Hoseok’s hand and brought it to his chest, a promise unto itself.

“We have to take Jungkook with us as well,” Hoseok had said softly, and this was why Yoongi was so in love with Hoseok. Because he cared. Not just about Yoongi, but about the things that Yoongi cared about, and even though Yoongi never showed those things, Hoseok somehow knew them. Yoongi had smiled into Hoseok’s hand and whispered, “Yeah, let’s.”

“Ah but if we do, then Taehyung and Jimin will want to come,” Yoongi had said, snorting slightly as he imagined Taehyung bouncing up and down, demanding that they take him along for this ride, Jimin whining that they better not leave him behind. 

Hoseok had laughed, a nice rippling little thing that echoed in the quietness of the night and spread tiny wings, flying far and high. “We’ll have to bring Seokjin-hyung and Namjoon-hyung as well. Otherwise we’ll never be able to control those three terrors.”

It was a nice thought, all seven of them, leaving this village and its stifling ways behind, a whole new world theirs to take.

“Yeah, okay,” Yoongi had whispered, closing his eyes. There had been a shuffle of the sheets as Hoseok had turned as well, shifting until his forehead was pressed up against Yoongi’s and his knees knocked at Yoongi’s shins. There hadn’t been any kissing or touching that night but Yoongi liked nights like these where it felt like nothing existed other than the two of them. No Church, no rules, no sins.

They could like each other as they so wished and only the moon above would know.

*

Hoseok doubles over as a foot makes contact with his ribs. He swears he hears a crack, but then the pain takes over and everything become blurry, his vision, his hearing, his sense of space and time.

“What about the other one?” one man says gruffly, backing away from where Hoseok is curled into a ball.

It takes a few seconds for Hoseok to register what they mean, but then he gets it. Yoongi.

He coughs and claws at the dirt, trying to get up, because don’t you dare touch Yoongi. Don’t you even ing dare.

But his strength wanes and the world sweeps around in dizzying streaks of green and he has no idea where he is.

They had dragged him from his house, beaten and bruised and they had mocked him the entire way to where ever he was now.

“So you like pretty boys huh? Or maybe he’s a girl. Doesn’t that Min Yoongi always wear baggy clothes? Who knows what he actually is?”

Hoseok hisses angrily because these are boys on the cusp of manhood, delusional and easily impressionable. They range in age but Hoseok recognizes a few of them. Knows that they are the villagers who were young enough when the priest first arrived to readily accept his words, not because of food or supplies or because they truly believed in his teachings, but because it was interesting and new and a fun way to kill time. And over the three years they have grown up to become cocky and arrogant and extremely adverse to homouals. They are the main reason why no one dares to be true to themselves anymore. Dogs of the church, loud and yapping and more bark than bite, but still a mean enough bite.

Hoseok hates what they say now. Yes Yoongi is small and slight and sometimes they tease Yoongi for being prettier than some of the girls in the village, but that isn’t why Hoseok loves Yoongi. He has never superimposed Yoongi onto a girl, because well heck, the risks are not worth that. But Yoongi, the Min Yoongi, all time sarcastic, eye rolling Min Yoongi, now he is worth all the risks.

He’s someone who can sit there, mired in quietness but for a tapping pen and then something will change in him, as if electricity has suddenly sparked under his skin. His eyes will light up and his brows furrow and his mouth will come down in a hard line. Pen will touch paper and a battle with begin to see if Yoongi’s hand can keep up with the thoughts that race and touch and crash about his head. It’s one of the most exciting things to ever watch and Hoseok can spend hours watching him until Yoongi notices and his brows twitch with embarrassment and he scolds Hoseok off.

“But seriously,” one of the guys scoff, “liking guys? Disgusting.”

Hoseok snorts into the dirt. What’s so ‘disgusting’ about that? Hoseok thinks it’s more ‘disgusting’ that this guy can’t even appreciate love. Love is not about genders or looks; it’s about character and personality and Yoongi fits to his puzzle piece like magic. Like they used to be one segment until life decided to divide them up, but the edges are smooth and they will always slide back together.

“What do you think the priest is going to do with them?” another asks, nudging Hoseok’s leg with one foot. “Get them to confess and repent? Banish them?”

They’re talking like Hoseok and Yoongi are criminals, not even human anymore. It lights fire in Hoseok’s veins and he wants to get up and punch them and make them see that what they are is not wrong.

Loving someone isn’t a crime. Stopping someone from loving should be one though.

But he can’t. The pains in his legs are unimaginable and he has to bite down on the insides of his cheeks to try and override the need to cry with more pain. He tries to focus instead on what the guy has just said. It’s true, Hoseok has no clue what the Church intends to do with them. The only other example he knows of is his neighbor and no one knows how that ended, other than badly. 

There’s a new voice that comes closer. “Get him up,” the newcomer says in a deeper, raspy voice. “Priest wants him over there.”

At first there are grumbles, but then there are hands – unkind – and they lock under his armpits and yank him upwards. Hoseok bites back a cry, but then he realizes where he is. The forest was cut down a year or so ago to make way for a lawn of dead grass and a structure of dirty white that is not physically large, but mentally towering.

In front of the Church construct is something being built. A base of wood, twigs and branches and bits of dead bark. A taller pillar is lodged in the center of it, three times as thick as Hoseok’s torso and it takes him a blurry few seconds before he realizes what they are building.

Burned at the stake. What a way to go.

Hoseok chokes and tries to struggle, but the two men carrying him just tighten their grip and pick up their pace.

“No,” Hoseok gasps, a dry thing like the branches on the floor.

The man to his right laughs. “Don’t worry, you won’t be alone. We’ll find your little lover soon enough.”

“This is murder,” Hoseok whispers. “You’re going to be murderers.”

“Nah,” the man to his left drawls. “The priest ordered it so I’m sure the Church will forgive us and all. Plus it’s not like we’re shooting you in the head or anything. It’s an um, what does the priest say, a cleansing.”

Fear pools in Hoseok’s veins. They don’t care. They don’t ing care that they’re about to kill him, and then Yoongi if Yoongi doesn’t get away. They’re going to kill two people in cold blood just because it doesn’t agree with the Church’s teaching and they don’t think it’s wrong.

The first scents of smoke fill the air as one man kneels by the pile, kindling it slowly into life.

Run, Hoseok pleads, prays. Please run Yoongi.

But privately Hoseok knows that Yoongi won’t abandon him. Yoongi isn’t the sort. He’s the type to always come back, no matter how hard it is, how much it hurts. And that’s why Hoseok fell in love with Yoongi.

But these men will never understand and Hoseok doesn't feel like explaining. 

*

Yoongi finds Hoseok unconscious, tied to a wooden stake, fire at his feet and the men laughing.

“Careful there,” one says with a raucous laugh. “We don’t want this one to burn before we find the other one. Bossman says they need to be purified together.”

Yoongi’s blood boils. They don’t even recognize the priest as a religious figure. They’re acting more like gangsters or thieves, acting blindly under a leader. Or perhaps not blindly. They know what they are doing is wrong but they’re using authority as a way to turn a blind eye to their misdoings.

His hands fumble with the gun. He’s never held one before, but his father has always kept one in the living room drawer just in case wild beasts appear. It’s happened before but back then the village men had banded together with fire lit torches and pitchforks to chase them away. Guns had always been this strange foreign tool that the traders had decided to start selling one day, but only Yoongi's father had been daring enough to purchase and adapt to one. It’s almost funny to think he here is wielding one now,  only this time the hunt is for humans instead of animals.

The rebound of the first gunshot makes Yoongi’s arms shake. He almost falls back with the impact, but he digs his heels in and charges into the clearing.

People jump and back off as he waves the gun around. “Get back,” he snarlsas he points the barrel towards them. He has five bullets – four now – but they don’t need to know that.

“Min Yoongi,” one man says darkly under his breath. His name spreads across their lips like wildfire and they all back off, like he’s infectious or something.

He points the gun at the closest man. “Get out of here,” he demands and the gun just so that the sound can scare them. They flinch.

“This isn’t worth it,” one man says and takes a step backwards, dropping the dagger in his hand.

“What are you talking about,” another guys hisses. “If we let them go the Priest will be angry. And he’s the one supplying us with the goods.”  

That gets the men motivated. Yoongi recognizes them as the brash bunch of twenty or so year olds, a grade or two older than Yoongi and out of school. They follow the priest around, heads bowed and eyes shining. But then behind his back they scorn him and drink and laugh raucously. The older generation turn a blind eye to this because the priest is happy and the kids are happy and they are happy because they get their food and clothes and equipment and well, who cares that society is going down the drain if everyone gets what they want.

This is the problem Yoongi thinks. That everyone is too complacent, too willing to indulge in themselves. Too starved of real love to realize that the true treasure does not lie in materialistic means.

“He’s only got one gun,” one person says, gripping a spade between meaty hands. “And there’s more of us.” Their eyes gleam and their arms tense and slowly they converse. Yoongi has lost his advantage. They may not have guns but they have spades and pitchforks and long bats and numbers. And in a pack they are comfortable.

Yoongi’s hand wavers and that is the final point. A pitchfork is thrown and Yoongi stumbles and falls as he tries to avoid it. The sharp prongs land just centimeters away from his foot and Yoongi shakes with the realization that these men truly don’t care whether he is alive or dead, injured or not.

Yoongi shuffles back his hands and the dirt scrapes against his raw palms. They sting.

“Please-“he says to the approaching feet, and then his words are chopped off as a shovel smacks into his side, hard and relentless. Yoongi chokes as he falls to the side, the gun falling out of his hands.

There are feet and hands, hard and heavy against his skin and they rain down on him. Yoongi curls in on himself and tries to protect his head, his chest.

Then there’s someone grabbing at his neck and dragging him up. Yoongi kicks out, trying to wriggle free but a hard blow to his head sends his vision reeling. When the whiteness fades he is at Hoseok’s feet and they are trying to get him up on the other side so that they can tie him to the stake.

Yoongi panics. He kicks out hard and manages to catch his captor’s hand. There’s a curse and he is dropped heavily onto the floor.

“ing kid,” the man hisses, forgetting he is barely two years older and not that much wiser. He kicks Yoongi in the sternum, eliciting a sharp gasp.

“Knock him out. It’ll make dealing with him easier,” one person suggests.

“Or we could threaten him with his gun,” another says and Yoongi sees feet come close, the gun held loosely in one hand. The safety is off and Yoongi realizes that this person doesn’t know how to hold a gun. At least his father had taught him the rudimentaries of how to use it. The safety, the trigger, the loading of the bullets, the firing.

This person holds the gun lazily with one hand like it’s a joke. He points it at Yoongi and a grin flickers across his face, pleased when he sees Yoongi’s face widen with horror.

“Bang,” he says playfully, one finger over the trigger, but he doesn’t press down.

Then suddenly there’s yelling and a hoarse voice that sounds awfully like Namjoon and shocked, the man with the gun presses down on the trigger out of reflex. Yoongi doesn’t quite see the bullet, but he feels it.

It’s like a puncture, sharp, and Yoongi gasps as he folds in one himself.

“,” the man swears, dropping the gun and staring first at his hand, then at Yoongi. “. I didn’t mean to-“

He runs.

Yoongi can feel it now, the blood seeping and staining the black hoodie and the shirt he’s wearing underneath. It’s just one bullet but it feels like a hundred.

His hand claws at his chest and he feels suddenly so weak, so sapped.

“Yoongi!” comes a gasp and feet skid. Seokjin’s face swims into vision. Yoongi coughs, blood bubbling at his lips. “, Yoongi.”

There’s yelling and what sounds like the crunch of bones in the distance. Yoongi wonders if it is Namjoon. He’s always been particularly good at destruction.

There’s pressure on his chest, Seokjin trying to stop the bloodflow, but Yoongi knows it’s too late. He can feel blood seep into his lungs and he is drowning in his own fluids.

“Don’t,” he manages and clutches at Seokjin’s wrist.

There are tears at Seokjin’s eyes and they fall like crystal drops. “We were too late,” he whispers, head close to Yoongi’s cheek.

“Jungkook,” Yoongi whispers and Seokjin’s head comes up, his eyes hardening. “At Jimin’s.”

“I’ll find him,” Seokjin promises.

Yoongi lets out a tiny sigh of relief. “Take him away from here,” he begs. “Anywhere. Anywhere better than here.”

“I will,” Seokjin promises. “I swear it.”

The yelling in the distance has faded and briefly Yoongi wonders if he’s lost his ability to hear. But then there’s the crunch of footsteps and Namjoon’s familiar heavy breathing. Namjoon sinks to his knees and Hoseok is in his arms, clearly unconscious. Yoongi scrabbles for him and Seokjin helps move him over.

Hoseok’s face is a canvas of black and blue. Blood drips down from his temple and Yoongi wipes it away gently.

“His legs,” Namjoon whispers and curses. Yoongi looks down and sees that they are twisted inhumanely. Broken. Hoseok had always loved to dance, Yoongi thinks forlornly. “We’re going to have to carry him out and-“

“Namjoon,” Seokjin says softly, gently. But Namjoon continues talking to himself. About how they’ll have to hike it for the first few miles. Then maybe they can find a wagon or some traveler and get proper transport. And if they get to a city they should be able to find a doctor or something and-

“Namjoon!” Seokjin snaps and Namjoon freezes. “They won’t make it,” he says matter-of-factly and the despair in Namjoon’s eyes is like a stone dropping to the bottom of the lake. Irretrievable.

Yoongi wants to say something to him. That’s it’s okay. That it’s alright to leave them behind. Just take care of Jungkook and the others. Only the blood is swirling in his throat and when he tries to speak he is choking on it.

“Shh,” Seokjin says and pats him on the back so that he can cough up the blood. It splatters the ground, surprisingly dark.

Yoongi reaches out for Hoseok and Seokjin lowers him so that he is face to face with Hoseok.

“Do you want anything?” Seokjin asks softly and somewhere out of sight Namjoon chokes on a sob and kicks at the wood pile fiercely.

“The gun,” Yoongi says in a hoarse voice. “Can you get me the gun?”

Seokjin inhales sharply, but nods. He shuffles out of view for a few moments, but then he’s back and gingerly placing the gun into Yoongi’s hand. Three bullets left.

In his peripheral vision Yoongi can see the fire flicker. In the commotion the stake has been knocked over and the flames at the dry grass. It’s a farfetched hope but Yoongi privately wishes it would burn down the church with them. Free the village from its clutches. But then again, who is to say that the Church will not send another envoy, build another construct. There is no escaping them here; the only choice is to flee.

“Get out of here,” Yoongi whispers and Seokjin’s face scrunches up with sorrow. He drops to his knees and presses a kiss to Yoongi’s matted hair, then another one to Hoseok’s cheek. “Go on,” Yoongi says, fondness seeping through despite the pain. Seokjin has always been nothing but good to them. He wishes him what he and Hoseok could never have – a future.

Namjoon sniffs and there’s a warm hand pressed to Yoongi’s shoulder, and then he’s gone. They’re both gone.

Yoongi closes his eyes and hopes they get to Jungkook in time. Gets him out. The dream of the seven of them isn’t around anymore, but it will have to do with five.

Around them fire flicks, a backdrop of red and orange and smoke in the sky. Hoseok’s eyes are still closed and his breathing is uneven. Yoongi rakes his hand through his hair and holds it there.

He can feel the heat of the fire grow and rise like a hungry serpent.

So they wanted to burn them. Purify them. Whatever. There’s nothing wrong with them. This way of an ending, this is of their choosing.

Yoongi can’t quite reach Hoseok, so he presses a kiss to two fingers and moves those fingers over to Hoseok’s lips.

If this world is not ready to accept their form of love, then so be it. They’ll move on and find another world where they can hold hands out in the public, kiss without fearing of being seen, and love without it being a sin.

“See you in the next world,” he whispers and raises the gun with a shaky hand, the last of his strength. His finger comes down on the trigger, once, then twice, and then it falls out of his hand and onto the ground.

And finally, they are free.