Chapter Text
The bathroom floor is cold, which is a relief against the heat rising up my neck. I’m sitting here, back pressed against the tile, trying to control the rhythm of my breathing. My fingers are buried in my hair, tugging lightly, as if that could organize the mess inside my head.
I just needed a minute. A minute away from Jimin’s investigation, from Yoongi’s tension, and, most of all, from Hoseok’s overwhelming presence.
But the door opens with a loud thud. I don't need to look up to know who it is. The sound of his footsteps, firm and determined, is something I would recognize anywhere in the world.
"Are you really going to behave this way?" The voice echoes in the empty room. It’s calm, but it has that reprimanding tone that makes me want to scream. "Everyone noticed."
I let out a dry, humorless laugh and finally look up. He’s standing there, hand on his hip, looking like a boss ready to give an order.
"I just came to the bathroom, Hoseok," I reply, my voice heavy with a passive-aggression I don't even try to hide. "The one who drew attention by coming after me like I was a dog running away from home was you. If they’re suspicious now, it’s your fault."
Hoseok sighs, closing his eyes for a second. He takes a step toward me, trying to break the barrier I’ve built between us.
"You need to understand that even if Yoongi is your boyfriend, it’s still dangerous — mostly because you aren't some stranger, you're his godson..." Hoseok continues, his voice low but urgent. "He’s known you since the day you were born, Tae. He watches your every move. If he gets it into his head that something is wrong, he will dig through Yoongi’s life until he finds a reason to destroy us."
"Oh, so now it’s the fault of my family ties?" I retort, letting out a bitter laugh. "It’s funny how you always find a technical angle to justify your fear. First, it was Yoongi, now it’s the fact that I’m your father’s godson. What’s the next excuse? The alignment of the planets?"
"It’s not an excuse, it’s reality!" He steps closer, his eyes flashing with a frustration that almost matches my own. "He has expectations for you, too. If he sees Yoongi as someone who is 'getting in the way' of your future or mine, he’ll end his career in a heartbeat. You know how our world works. And you know his opinion on men."
"I know, I just don't accept bowing my head to it all the time!" I explode, standing up. "You talk as if you’re protecting me, but sometimes it feels like you're only protecting your own peace of mind."
"How can you say that?" His tone drops to a broken whisper. "You know I would give anything not to have to lie."
"But you don't! You choose the lie every single time!" I feel the tears coming again, but I swallow them down. "You'd rather not admit that your father controls you. He does, Hobi. He controls you so much that you can't even imagine a scenario where you are happy and free."
Hoseok falls silent, his jaw locked. The truth hurts because it's raw. I see the conflict on his face — the captain who commands the field, but who turns into a frightened boy whenever the Jung name is involved.
"I’ll accept it," I say, my voice now cold and tired, which is much worse than a scream. "I’ll accept staying away from Yoongi the whole break because of your fear."
I turn my back to the sink, leaning my hands against the cold marble, trying not to collapse right then and there. Hoseok's silence is what hurts me most, but it’s not my fault.
But suddenly, I see him approach. He doesn't lower his gaze. Instead, I feel his large, firm hands wrap around my waist, pulling me gently toward him until our stomachs are touching, we’re that close.
"Thank you, Tae," he whispers, his voice husky, stripped of all authority. "I wanted… I truly wanted to have half the courage you have."
I freeze under his touch. The anger is still here, but the vulnerability in Hoseok’s voice starts to tear holes in my armor.
Shit. I love him so much.
"My fear isn't my father, Taehyung. Not in the way you think," he continues, and I feel his heavy breath against my face. "I'm not afraid of what he can do to me. I'm afraid of what he can do to all of us. To your family, to Yoongi's, to your peace. He has the power to erase people, and I couldn't bear being the reason for your ruin."
I close my eyes, gripping the edge of the sink. It’s the weight of being a Jung. It’s the price of living in this family where the surname is a loaded gun.
"But we won't be without Yoon," he murmurs, bringing his face closer to my neck, his voice fading between skin and the fabric of my sweater. "I called my father yesterday. He said he’ll need to stay in Moscow for two weeks to handle some import business."
I feel the warm trail of his breath against my skin, and that whining, almost pleading tone starts to melt the rest of my anger. Hoseok is no longer on the warpath; he’s looking for shelter. He hides his face in the curve of my shoulder, letting his body weight yield slightly against mine, as if he’s exhausted from arguing.
"Two weeks, Tae…" he repeats, dragging his nose along my neck in a slow, needy caress. "Two weeks with the house almost free. Yoongi will be able to sleep with us, have breakfast with us…"
I let out a long sigh, feeling my fingers give in and slide up into the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging lightly. It’s impossible to stay rigid when he holds me like this, seeking an affection that I know he doesn't receive from anyone else but us.
I’m such a pushover.
"Two weeks?" I ask, my voice much softer now.
"Mhm..." he murmurs against my skin, and I feel him plant a chaste kiss there — a soft touch that makes my body relax completely. "Please, don't be mad at me."
He lifts his face but doesn't pull away. His eyes are damp, pleading, stripped of any pretense. The "private citizen" Hoseok, my Hobi, is right there, begging for a sign that I’m still with him. He touches his nose to mine, brushing it slowly, a gentle caress.
I roll my eyes, but I can't hide the half-smile that breaks through. He’s an idiot. An idiot who knows exactly how to bend me to his will.
"You’re a cheap manipulator, Jung Hoseok," I say, but my hands are already cradling his face, my thumbs wiping away the traces of exhaustion under his eyes. "Two weeks."
He lets out a low, relieved chuckle and squeezes me a bit tighter, burying his face in my chest now.
We stay there, in that freezing bathroom, but the heat between us is enough to drown out the world outside. The theater still awaits us in the studio, Yoongi’s pointe shoes still need breaking in, and Jimin is still suspicious — but for one minute, my Hoseok is just my boyfriend in my arms.
🐋
The room is plunged into that consumerist chaos that only Jimin and I can create. The glow from my laptop screen illuminates our faces as we browse websites, seriously debating whether that specific shade of blue on a leather jacket matches our "twin wardrobe" concept. Buying matching clothes is our ritual, the physical proof that we are one soul split into two bodies, but today, the air between us is charged with something no credit card can fix.
"This one, Tae. The cut is perfect, and it’ll look incredible on you in the summer," Jimin says, pointing at the screen, but his tone of voice is too calm. Too analytical.
"Yeah, maybe. I’ll put it in the cart," I reply quickly, trying to keep my focus on the mouse cursor.
Jimin stops messing with his tablet and turns to me, resting his chin on his hand. He stares at me with that X-ray vision of his. Jimin knows me better than I know myself; he catches a shift in my breathing before I even realize I’m anxious.
"You’re being weird," he blunts out, direct, without beating around the bush. "And it’s not just the bad mood. There’s something else."
"The late-night rehearsal was heavy. The shoes were horrible, Yoongi was exhausted..." I try to use the technical excuse, but the lie sounds hollow.
"Don't try that with me, Taehyung. I saw how you looked at Yoongi today. And I saw how Hoseok looked at you," he leans in closer, his gaze narrowing. "You’re hiding something. And this 'something' involves both of them. What is going on?"
My heart gives a jolt, but I keep my expression impassive. If I admit even a comma, Jimin will read the entire paragraph. I cannot tell him about my relationship.
"Nothing is going on, Jimin. Hobi is just being his usual annoying self, and Yoongi is stressed about the final performance. You know how they are."
"I know how they are, and I know how you are," he retorts, with a little smirk that gives me the chills. "You don't get this 'loudly quiet' for no reason. You’re radiant and terrified at the same time."
"I am exactly radiant and terrifying," I say, feeling the weight of the invisible pointe shoe crushing my conscience.
Jimin lets out a long sigh and goes back to looking at the clothes on the screen, but I know he hasn't given up. He’s just giving me enough rope to tangle myself up in.
"Fine, Tata. Pretend I’m an idiot. But remember that I’m the only one who knows when you’re acting and when you’re actually living. And right now… you’re living something far too big. And if I find out through someone else, I’m going to kill you."
I swallow hard, clicking "checkout" just to have an excuse not to look him in the eye. The secret burns on the tip of my tongue, but the drama forces me to keep being the best actor in this school.
Jimin lets out a heavy sigh, finally abandoning the shopping cart. He throws himself back onto my mattress, staring at the ceiling with an expression I rarely see: he is genuinely in deep shit.
"I met Jungkook’s parents," he blurted out, his voice carrying a tone of discovery that made me frown. "And, Tae... I didn't know he was adopted."
I froze with my finger over the touchpad. I looked at him as if he had just said gravity didn't exist.
"What do you mean you didn't know, Jimin?" I let out a small nasal laugh, trying to lighten the mood. "Look at JK and look at his parents. They are physically the polar opposite. Jungkook looks like he was sculpted separately from any genetics in that family. It’s obvious."
"I know, I know!" Jimin exclaimed, covering his face with his hands, looking frustrated with himself. "But I had never really realized it. I saw the affection, the way they treat each other, and my mind never went to the biological side. And now that I know, I feel... kind of hurt."
"Hurt by what?" I asked, closing the notebook and turning fully toward him.
"By the fact that he never thought it was important to tell me," Jimin murmured, turning his head to look at me. "But to Jungkook, this is the most banal subject in the world. When I asked, he looked at me like I had asked if he liked eating rice. He said, 'Yes, I'm adopted, so what?' As if it were nothing."
I get JK's point. Jungkook is practical; he lives in the now. But Jimin... Jimin is made of layers and hidden meanings.
"And what’s really bothering you?" I questioned, knowing my bestie well.
"I want to know how he feels," Jimin admitted, his voice even lower. "He says it's normal, but what if deep down he wants to know who his biological parents are? What if he has a void he doesn't tell anyone about? I feel like, if I were him, I’d be dying of curiosity or pain, but Jungkook acts like he was born from a tree and is perfectly fine with it."
I watch Jimin and feel a pang of identification. He wants to dig up what’s hidden inside Jungkook, the same way he’s trying to dig up what I’m hiding about Hobi and Yoon.
Does he really always have to be Sherlock Holmes?
"Sometimes, Jimin, people don't tell things not because they want to hide them, but because what they have now already fills everything," I say, and I feel like I'm talking as much about JK as I am about myself. "Maybe Jeon doesn't need biological parents because the ones he has are his whole world."
Jimin lets out a heavy sigh and turns on his side, resting his head on his hand while he faces me. His gaze isn't judgmental anymore; it’s one of genuine, almost maternal concern.
"I get that, Tae. Truly," he begins, his voice soft. "But the problem is that Jungkook is very closed off. At the same time that he’s this grump who complains about everything — about Rudy, practice, the food… about you… — he has such a strong personality. He creates this shell of 'everything is fine, I’m self-sufficient' and doesn't let anyone see the cracks."
He pauses, playing with the edge of the duvet, and I see how much this wears him down.
"It worries me. I keep thinking that he needs to show his human side at some point, you know? He can't just be the perfect athlete or the guy who isn't shaken by his own past. Everyone has a breaking point, and I'm afraid that when his comes, he’ll be all alone inside that silence he built."
I stay silent, processing what he said. Jimin has this gift of seeing the humanity in people, even when they try to hide it with rudeness or sarcasm.
"He shows his human side to you, Ji," I say, trying to comfort him. "The fact that he’s a grump around you is already proof that he trusts you enough to take off the mask."
"Maybe," he murmurs, but his gaze fixes back on me, and I feel that the danger hasn't passed. "Except you're doing the same thing, Taehyung. You're being this 'perfect athlete' of joy and drama, but you're closing yourself off in a silence that scares me, too. You say that what you have now 'fills everything,' but look at you... You're exhausted from holding onto that secret of yours."
I swallow hard, diverting my gaze to the now-darkened laptop screen. Jimin is relentless. He uses Jungkook as a mirror to show me that I’m also hiding, and that he’s ready to be my safe harbor whenever I decide to stop acting.
The bastard.
"Let's just buy the jackets, Jimin," I say, forcing a smile that doesn't reach my eyes. "Before they go out of stock and we lose the chance to be the best-dressed twins."
He stares at me for a few more seconds; he knows I'm running away, but he decides to give me a truce. For now.
"Fine, Tae. But I’m still keeping an eye on you. And on Jungkook."
The bedroom door opens suddenly, and Yoongi walks in, looking even paler under the ceiling light, with that air of someone who has carried the world on his back and now just wants a place to collapse.
My heart leaps. The second my eyes meet his, a wave of electricity shoots through my body. I want to jump off the bed, run to him, and wrap him in an embrace that apologizes for every scream he had to hear yesterday. I want to ask if he's okay, if he managed to sleep in Jin's room, if he's talked to Hoseok yet... and, most of all, I want to scream that he’s going to be able to come home with us.
But I can't.
Jimin is right here, sitting on my duvet, with his hawk-like eyes attentive to every millimeter of my reaction.
"Hey, Yoongi," Jimin says, his voice soft but loaded with that curiosity that gives me the chills.
"Hey," Yoongi responds, his voice short, almost a whisper. He barely looks at me, and I feel a pang in my chest. He’s protecting himself.
I force myself to stay seated, squeezing the notebook against my lap to hide the trembling in my hands. My tongue itches to let it all out, to tell him about Hoseok’s plan, to see the relief on his face. But Jimin’s presence is an anchor of reality.
"Did you come to grab something?" I ask, trying to sound casual, but my voice comes out a bit too bright, vibrating at a frequency that Jimin has surely already noticed.
Yoongi finally looks at me, and for a brief second, there is a silent exchange of messages between us. I try to convey all my reassurance in that gaze, trying to say: it’s okay, Hobi fixed it, we’re going to be together.
"I just came to get my charger," he says, walking over to the desk.
The silence in the room is deafening. Jimin shifts his gaze between the two of us, and I feel that if I blink the wrong way, he’ll discover the truth. I want to take care of Yoongi. I want to ask if he’s eaten yet, but I’m forced to stay here, still, pretending that his presence is as ordinary as that of any other roommate.
It’s the worst torture in the world: having the best news for the person you love and having to keep it in a locked box because your best friend is sitting right in front of you, waiting for you to make a mistake.
Yoongi grabs the charger from the desk with slow, almost mechanical movements. He’s about to leave, and I feel a growing desperation. I can't say anything, because I can't hold him there. But the moment he opens the door to exit, he runs straight into Hoseok, whose hand was already raised to open it.
Time seems to freeze for a second.
They stare at each other. It’s a quick look, but loaded with all the emotional hangover from the previous night and the relief of the conversation they had (or that they still need to process — I haven’t seen them since the bathroom). Hoseok, still in that somewhat vulnerable and "whiny" state he was in with me, can't hold up the captain facade for long.
Completely ignoring that Jimin and I are three meters away, Hobi cups Yoongi’s face and pulls him into a quick but intense kiss, right there in the doorway. It’s the gesture of someone who needs an anchor, a silent apology for the chaos in the dorm.
Instantly, I feel a swarm of butterflies in my stomach. Seeing the two of them like that, finding each other in the middle of the chaos, gives me a sense of warmth I can't hide. An involuntary smile starts to form on my lips, and my eyes shine with the satisfaction of someone who loves seeing their world in balance.
But my mistake is forgetting the damn person sitting right next to me.
I look away from the two at the door and come face-to-face with Jimin. He isn't looking at the "couple" in the doorway. He is staring fixedly at me.
Jimin has a lopsided little smile, eyebrows slightly arched, clearly enjoying the show. He knows Hobi and Yoon are dating, obviously. What’s amusing him is my reaction. The way I vibrated at that touch, the way I look like part of the scene, even while sitting on the bed.
"How romantic, isn't it, Tae?" Jimin lets out, his voice dripping with sarcasm and amusement.
I freeze. My smile dies instantly, and I feel my face burn. Hoseok and Yoongi pull apart; Hobi clears his throat, trying to regain his composure, and Yoongi rushes down the hallway without looking back.
The theater was terrible. We were amateurs. And Jimin is sitting in the front row, silently applauding my total lack of discretion.
"Yeah... they make a... good couple," I mutter, turning my eyes back to the laptop screen and trying, uselessly, to pretend my heart isn't hammering against my ribs.
"They certainly do," Jimin agrees, closing his tablet with a sharp snap.
Hoseok remains standing in the doorway, watching Jimin with one eyebrow arched and arms crossed. He’s already recovered his captain's posture, but there’s a spark of impatience in his gaze.
"Jimin, what are you still doing here?" Hobi asks, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. "Jungkook just sent me a text. He’s out on the field, huffing because you're late to meet him."
I know it’s a lie. Jungkook is probably training or smoking, but Hoseok wants the territory cleared.
Jimin, who isn't a fool by any means, lets out a soft nasal laugh. He stands up slowly, stretching his body with a calculated laziness, and shoots me that look of someone who knows they’ve won the round.
"Oh, really? How strange... Jung isn't usually one to check the time," he comments, walking toward me. "Well, since 'duty' calls..."
Before I can react, Jimin leans in and presses his lips to mine in a long kiss — a peck far too lingering to be just a "goodbye" between friends. He does it deliberately, keeping his eyes half-closed to catch Hoseok’s reaction out of the corner of his eye.
I feel my face heat up. When he finally pulls away, he gives me a wink and passes by Hoseok, whose jaw is so tightly locked it looks like he’s going to break a tooth.
"Bye-bye, Hobi. Have a good night, you two," Jimin chirps, heading out into the hallway.
The second the door closes, the atmosphere shifts. Hoseok doesn't waste time: he turns the key in the lock with a sharp click and walks over to the window, pulling the heavy curtains shut with a blunt movement. The room is plunged into safe shadows, isolating the dorm from the rest of EAL.
He turns to me, and the "whiny" expression has given way to a jealousy he tries, unsuccessfully, to hide behind a mask of indignation.
"Are you serious right now?" he asks, stopping at the edge of the bed and pointing toward the door. "Are these kisses actually normal, Taehyung? Because for a goodbye selinho, it lasted long enough for me to consider filing a lawsuit for trespassing."
I let out a laugh, shaking my head.
“He did it to annoy you, Hobi. You know how Jimin is. He picked up on the vibe and wanted to test your patience.”
“Well, he tested it, and I failed”, he grumbles, coming toward me and fitting himself between my legs with a possessiveness that, deep down, I adore. “I don’t like seeing other people touching what’s mine. Especially when I’ve spent the last few hours doing nothing but arguing and arguing.”
He hides his face in my neck, breathing deeply, as if he’s trying to erase the trace of Jimin’s perfume and mark me all over again.
“Are you still mad at me?”
“I am”, I lie, but my voice wavers, losing all conviction as I feel his hands slide up my ribs, squeezing my waist with an urgency that makes my entire body wake up.
I pull his face up, forcing him to look at me. Hoseok has that dark, focused gaze he only gets when the mask falls and all that's left is the man who desires me. He doesn't wait for my answer. He lunges forward, sealing our lips in a kiss that is anything but calm. It’s a kiss of reconciliation, but also of possession — hot and deep, as if he’s trying to compensate for every scream from last night with the touch of his tongue against mine.
My hands find the nape of his neck, my fingers getting lost in those short strands of hair as I pull him closer, wanting to eliminate every remaining inch of air between us. Hobi lets out a low moan against my mouth and slowly pushes me back until my back is completely flat against the mattress.
He settles between my legs, the weight of his body a constant reminder that he is there, that he is real, and that he is mine. His hands, always so precise, begin to explore. One of them moves up to my face, his thumb tracing the contour of my bottom lip that Jimin had just touched, while the other slides under my shirt, his warm palm finding the bare skin of my stomach.
“You are mine, Taehyung,” he breathes against my cheek, trailing kisses down to my jaw until he finds that sensitive spot behind my ear that makes me arch my back. “Only mine and Yoon’s. Jimin can try whatever he wants, but he doesn't have what I have.”
I let out a shaky sigh, feeling his fingers press firmly into my skin, leaving invisible marks I know I’ll feel for hours. My head falls back, surrendering my neck to his dominance. The atmosphere of the fight has been completely replaced by this heavy electricity, where the touch of his hands seems to burn everything it finds along the way.
I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him even closer into the center of my heat. Hoseok stops for a second, supporting his weight on his forearms to look down at me, his eyes shining in the dimness of the room. He looks more relaxed now, but is still hungry.
“I'm going to make it up to you both for everything, Tae,” he promises, his voice vibrating low against my chest. “In that house…”
He goes back to kissing me, but this time it's slower, more exploratory, his hands moving down to squeeze my thighs, pulling me toward him with a hunger that says the theater outside can wait as long as it takes, because in here, between the sheets and the closed curtains, there is no fear, no father, no secrets. There is only what his hands are doing to me right now.
The sound of the lock turning is the only warning we have. The door opens and closes with a blunt thud, too fast, and Yoongi enters the room with his shoulders hunched, likely fleeing the bustle of the hallway. He freezes the instant his eyes adjust to the shadows, and he sees us: Hoseok on top of me, hands under my shirt, and me with my legs interlaced around his waist."
Yoongi’s eyes widen, his pale face gaining an immediate rosy tint as he tries to make sense of our duality.
“I thought…”
I reach out toward him, refusing to let go of Hoseok, but desperately wanting Yoongi there too.
“Yoon, don’t go. Come here, please,” I exclaim, my voice coming out low, trailed by that sexual whine that still vibrates through every pore of my skin.
Hoseok turns his head, still breathless, and makes space, moving off me just enough for Yoongi to see that the invitation is real. Hobi’s gaze has shifted, too; the possessiveness from before has transformed into a hungry welcoming.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” I say, my voice heavy with a sweet regret as my eyes lock onto his. “I didn’t want you to have heard that. I didn’t want to scare you. Come here…”
Yoongi hesitates, the conflict visible in his expression. He looks at both of us, and for a second, I see in his eyes the reflection of the boy who wanted to run to Jin’s room and never come back. But the heavy atmosphere of the room, mixed with the heat radiating from both of us, ends up overcoming his hurt. Not because it’s gone, but because he seems too tired to carry it alone out there. He lets out the breath he was holding and walks slowly, almost uncertainly, to the edge of the bed.
I sit up, pulling him by the hand with extreme care, as if he might break if I used any force. I bring him close until he sits between us. Hoseok wastes no time and wraps himself around him from behind, resting his chin on Yoongi’s shoulder and winding his arms around his waist, as if he were anchoring our safe harbor back into place, holding him fast."
"Hobi fixed it, Yoon," I whisper, bringing my face close to his, breathing in the familiar scent of vanilla he always carries. "His father won't be there anyway. You won't be alone."
Yoongi relaxes against Hoseok's chest, and I see his shoulders finally drop, though a slight tremor still runs through his hands. He closes his eyes for a second, absorbing the touch of our hands as if he’s testing whether the ground beneath his feet is firm again.
"For two weeks," Hoseok confirms, his voice vibrating low against Yoongi's back, before leaving a lingering, affectionate kiss in the curve of his neck. It’s a silent apology for every shout.
I lean forward, capturing Yoongi’s lips in a slow kiss, almost timid at first. I taste peace returning to us, but it’s a delicate peace, one that smells of reconciliation and care. The desire that was burning between me and Hobi hasn't vanished; it has simply expanded to envelop Yoongi, becoming something deeper, more complete.
Yoongi returns the kiss with a certain sad urgency, holding my face as if he’s making sure we are still the same. He’s still frightened, but in the grip of our arms, he finally seems to believe — at least a little.
Yoongi pulls away from the kiss very slowly, keeping his eyes closed for a few seconds longer, as if trying to process the heat still vibrating between us. When he finally opens his eyes, the intensity of the desire Hoseok and I are feeling seems to collide with the deep exhaustion he carries in his gaze.
He looks at Hobi’s hands still under my shirt and then at my face, but there is no malice in his expression, only a silent plea.
"Can we just sleep?" he whispers, his voice so low it almost gets lost in the silence of the room. "I just want everything to be quiet and for us to... just sleep. Together."
His sentence cuts through the electric atmosphere immediately. I feel Hoseok’s hand relax on my waist, and the weight of his body adjusts, losing that hungry tension from seconds ago. It’s a bucket of cold water, but the kind you accept because you know it’s what the wound needs to stop stinging.
Hoseok nods first, leaving a gentle kiss on the top of Yoongi’s head.
"Of course, love. Whatever you want."
I let out a long sigh, letting my head fall back onto the pillow. The adrenaline and libido are still there, but the need to take care of Yoongi is greater. I pull back a little to make space, and the three of us begin to settle into the bed, a tangle of arms and legs seeking comfort.
Yoongi stays in the middle, acting as our center of gravity. I embrace him from the front, burying my face in his chest, while Hoseok presses against his back, enveloping him completely.
There are no more intense kisses or exploratory touches. There is only the sound of our breathing, trying to find a rhythm, and the heat of our bodies in the shadows of the closed curtains. It’s for the best. Desire can wait, but our connection needed this silent rescue.
Slowly, I feel Yoongi’s body soften between us, his breathing becoming heavier and more rhythmic. He finally fell asleep. And, as sleep begins to take me too, I can only think that those two weeks at the beach house won't just be about freedom, but about making sure Yoongi never feels like he needs to run away from us again.