nuguseyo2013 for galmaegi
Title: Quo Non Ascendam
Recipient: galmaegi
& Pairing: Bangtan gen, Suga-centric (Hinted Suga/Rapmon)
Rating: pg-13
Warnings: brief mentions of violence
Summary: Mutant!band au. Down here in the slums, 20 doesn't seem much different from 19 when simply surviving is the biggest thing to celebrate each day.
Yoongi turns 20 on the coldest day of the winter. He knows a lot of things, like how to build a smoke bomb from scratch, or how Seokjin thinks he's being discreet when he sneaks out in the middle of the night, but he forgets his birthday. He only remembers three days too late when he fumbles for his fake ID and realises that he no longer needs one.
20 is the age the law washes its hands of you, no more careful shielding and protection. At 19, he was still a teen, forgivable no matter what he did because that's what youngsters do- fuck up and have fun. But come 20 and suddenly you're on your own now, chap. If you get in trouble, you're old enough to deal with it.
20 is the biggest birthday of a person's life because it marks their coming of age. In the richer areas of Seoul, a 20th birthday is celebrated for three days, at least. Sometimes, when Yoongi climbs up to the rooftop of his dingy flat, he sees the city burn bright with the distinct glow that comes with a 20th birthday bash, elaborate fireworks lighting up the sky in squiggly words that spell out the lucky kid's name. The rotating sparks stay in the air long enough that it drowns out the light of the stars, a symbol of how someone has a future so bright, not even the universe can hold them back.
Turning 20 is huge.
If Yoongi were normal, he would've known all of this. If he were normal, he would've had all of this.
But down here in the slums, 20 doesn't seem much different from 19 when simply surviving is the biggest thing to celebrate each day.
Yoongi is a telekinetic, but with limited powers. True mutants nowadays are rare, with most mutants having a partially developed power due to generations of imperfect evolutions and careless inbreeding. Yoongi can only mentally move small physical objects and even then, it drains him thoroughly and knocks the breath out of his chest. He's best at controlling sound waves, and years of practice after the initial discovery has made him an expert in manipulating sound. It's useful in the moments that he fights with Hoseok and makes Hoseok squeak out his next argument, but his power truly comes into play when he bends the waves to make himself sound good on stage.
He's lucky that his true passion lies in composing and rap, because without the help of his powers, he can't even hold a note. Hoseok once likened his singing voice to a frog, which is a bit rich from someone who tends to go off-tune with every other word. They started out the band with Yoongi as the lead vocal but if he tries bending sound waves for a long period of time, he gets nosebleeds. This is why they have Jeongguk.
"Our little golden maknae," Yoongi coos, crouching down next to the youngest member of their band and tickling Jeongguk under the chin like he would a puppy.
Jeongguk levels him with a glare, jerking his head away from Yoongi's fingers and turning back to his notebook.
"Stop filling your mind with this nonsense," Yoongi tuts, snatching the notebook away and knocking Jeongguk's pen over in the process. "Education does nothing but ruin us. Best that you go out there and learn how to fight instead."
Hoseok leans over and elbows Yoongi in the stomach, forcing him to hand the notebook back. Jeongguk takes the book from him with a grin and earns an affectionate ruffle of his hair. "He's underage. We can't keep sneaking him in like this. We're already toeing the line as it is."
"Don't speak of me like i'm not here," Jeongguk grumbles, uncapping his pen and throwing the cap at Hoseok. It bounces off Hoseok's shoulder harmlessly and Hoseok obediently moves to pick it up. He's the only one that listens to Jeongguk's every whim and fancy, spoiling him with too much attention. Sometimes Yoongi wants to warn Hoseok to lay off the coddling because it'll do no good for Jeongguk to get used to relying on someone else. They never know how long they can stay together like this, and they're all minutely aware of the possible dangers that loom.
"Do you want to live underground then?" Yoongi flops on the couch and lays his head on Taehyung's lap. Taehyung makes a half-hearted attempt to push Yoongi off but settles on petting his hair, playing with the floppy bangs that look like they should've been cut two months ago.
Hoseok frowns at the dark and dank basement bar they're crouched in, the air forever stale and tinged with an unidentifiable acrid stench. It's the only place safe enough for a group of misfits like them to perform in. When he laughs, the bitterness rings off the paint cracked ceilings. "We already do."
"Well, this place is more of a home than we'll ever have," Taehyung says grimly.
Hoseok opens his mouth for a retort but they're interrupted by Jimin, who kicks the door open noisily and peeks his head in. His hair is all over the place as usual and his eyeliner is already smudged on his right eye. Jimin too, shouldn't be in a place like this, especially when his face is so jarringly young, but Taehyung is right; Cypher is home. "10 minutes, guys." Through the open door, they can hear the din of the crowd, already fired up and chanting their name. Bulletproof, bulletproof, bulletproof. "I hear Daniel got some good ambrosia in this week. Everyone's floating in the clouds already."
His words cause a few raised eyebrows because with the stricter controls imposed by the Authority lately, normal alcohol, much less ambrosia, is hard to come by.
Yoongi jumps lazily to his feet and drags a languid Taehyung up with him. "Come on, guys, let's blow this place up." He fingers the guitar pick hung around his neck with a smile. Tonight'll be a good night.
When Yoongi said he would blow the place up, he didn't mean it literally.
The moment the light turns on, gone are the 5 scruffy boys who live in the slums, replaced by 5 bright eyed youths with the world at their feet and nothing to lose.
Taehyung strums his white electric guitar, the first notes causing the crowd to erupt into a deafening cheer. Yoongi catches his eyes and sees the transformation from quiet oddball to wild musician, knowing that the same wild look is reflected in his own eyes.
There are flashes of silver among the bodies tonight, a sign that there are spoilt Seoullites here. They get some of those sometimes, the upper class who are determined to prove that they are more than just a pretty face, that they are daring enough to push the limits of what the authority allows. Jimin should have turned them away at the door, especially when they were sporting their metallic outfits proudly like a badge, but it's too late to worry now.
"We are bulletproof!" Big words from a group of young boys, but on the stage, they are magnified; they are larger than life. Yoongi throws his arms apart, basking in the attention. He lives on this, because it's only when the mic is in his hand that he feels alive. The authority melts into a distant memory, picked apart by tongue-in-cheek lyrics that teeter on the brink of disobedience.
"Are you ready?" Jeongguk shouts, more as a cue for Hoseok to start on the drums than to hype up the audience. Yoongi is already ten feet above reality; he was born ready.
The spotlight makes the smirk tugging on Yoongi's lips seem extra menacing, but that's exactly the effect he's aiming for when he launches into the rap, riding the beat of Hoseok's drums and Seokjin's sharp notes on the keyboard.
What is the you that you’ve dreamed of?
Who do you see in the mirror? I gotta say-
It's no wonder underground raves like these are so popular among the youths. Jimin had done a good job on the promotion, making use of his charming ability to entice the hackers over at the underground radio system to slip in a word or two in their nightly coded broadcasts. As risky as it is, it only takes one broadcast to draw people in because the news of raves spread faster than poison in a water stream.
Rebel against the hellish society, dreams are a special pardon
Just when Jeongguk reaches a particularly high note, a light bulb bursts, shattering a shower of sparks and glass down on the pulsing crowd, but it only fuels the bodies as they reach a frenzied craze.
Yoongi turns around to glare at Hoseok, who grins and mouths, "Oops."
Thankfully, tonight's audience is too pumped up on ambrosia to even notice anything out of the ordinary.
Hey you, what’s your dream?
Yoongi is always on the wrong side of reckless, puffed up with the bravado that only comes with youth. They're toeing the line of so many rules, but celebrated like this, this is where he belongs.
Tonight is a good night.
Yoongi lets out one final whoop and jumps off stage, heartbeat ringing louder than the screams of the crowd. Behind him, Hoseok, always the dramatic one, launches himself into the adoring audience and immediately, hands reach up to tug at him, pulling mercilessly at every article on his body as Hoseok laughs maniacally.
Yoongi is thinking of jumping in to help his bandmate out when a cough catches his attention.
"Nice stunt out there, with the lights," the boy leaning against the wall says casually. His hair is pushed into this awful faux mohawk, but it oddly matches the black leather jacket and ripped jeans that hang loose on his hips. Yoongi hasn't seen that hair on someone so young -the boy is 20 at most- since his grandfather's yearbooks, but there's no accounting for taste. Yoongi frowns in confusion, too distracted by the adrenaline still pumping in his veins to make sense of his words. The boy lifts up a corner of his mouth and continues, "Be careful, what if people find out?"
The smile slips off Yoongi's face, until he notices how the newcomer sounds amused instead of threatening. Instantly, instinct takes over, scanning the boy over and picking up on the small details that a normal Seoullite would miss. Clothes genuinely worn in, a red hexagon tattooed on the inside of his wrist, scruffed up shoes- the boy screams rebellion. He unclenches his fist, letting relief leak away and arrogance take over. "Takes one to know one, eh?"
Hoseok finally stumbles in, hat missing and shirt ripped at the seams. He grabs at Yoongi to steady himself, reeking of the unmistakable sweet scent of ambrosia and a hint of something darker. "Good night?"
"Tonight," Yoongi nods, pulling Hoseok up right and brushing at a spot on his shoulder, "is a good night." He glances back at the shadows but the boy is long gone.
Sometimes Yoongi dreams of pretending to be like any other Seoullite. His own parents were born normal in a line of mutants by some twist of fate and they had hoped Yoongi would be the same. When his mother was pregnant with him, they took the risk to move from Jeollado to Seoul, prepared to start their life anew. Yoongi was brought up with care, his days filled with violin lessons and afternoon tea with scones. Then he discovered his powers.
If he takes out his piercings and smooths down his hair, if he lets his eyes glass over and dresses in the odd metallic shines that the Seoullite youths favour, he could pass off as just another carefree 20 year old. After all, his parents are fairly affluent figures, and his powers are purely mental. Even if he were to use his powers, sound waves are intangible, all evidence easily swept away before detected by the unseeing eye.
Once a month, Yoongi plays pretend. He dresses in the only presentable outfit he owns, a baby blue button-down and pressed slacks, carefully masks his tattoos, and takes the tube into the city. He sits down with his parents for steak and fancy wine, concentrating on slicing the meat and ignoring his parent's pointed comments about his life. Every time, they belittle his friends and his lifestyle, and every time, Yoongi ends up chewing the inside of his cheek raw, trying to avoid stabbing the knife into the table. That would be bad manners.
He would rather eat glass than sit through this monthly ritual, but his parents give him a decent amount of money each time, just enough to pay the rent and cover most of what the band needs. He could always use more, but he's too proud to ask for more.
Besides, he already knows how his mother will react. "If you came back," his mother always says, "you could have everything you want."
Yoongi has always put her down, but a string on Taehyung's guitar broke a week ago and Hoseok split his drumstick in a brawl. Seokjin had sought him out that morning, worrying about the hike in grocery prices lately. Soon, Yoongi's allowance and the meagre wages Hoseok and Seokjin bring back from their odd jobs won't cover their living expenses.
He stares at the steak on his plate. The meat is a beautiful cut that probably costs as much as his rent for the week. Someone who has grown up in the slums like Hoseok has probably never eaten something as fine as this before.
Maybe if he just goes back-
"And you can finally go to university to learn something worth doing," says his father primly, looking everywhere but his son.
Yoongi's sock has a hole in it, but that's okay, because his shoes shine. In the city, appearances are all that matter. Suddenly, everything seems too stifling. Yoongi pushes the chair back abruptly and stands up, the sharp scrapping sound making the people dining around them to look around. He brings the folded napkin up to his mouth and dabs lightly, keeping a tight lipped smile as he then drops the napkin to the ground. "I’m sorry, but I have to go."
"Yoongi," his mother admonishes, sneaking looks around them in horror. "People are watching! Sit down!"
"I'm sorry I'm making a spectacle, mother, and I'm sorry that a spectacle is all I'll ever be. Thank you for the money." he bows politely, like he's talking to a complete stranger and not the people that form his flesh and blood.
He only breathes properly when he slams the door of his flat back in the slums.
"I made dinner," smiles Seokjin, always so serene and put together. He's wearing the ridiculous apron Jimin bought him on a whim, this pink thing with ruffles along the side and hearts dancing across the fabric. The hearts are barely visible now under the stains of a hundred meals. Without Seokjin, they might all starve to death.
The room smells like Hoseok hasn't washed his feet in weeks, and dinner consists of rubbery spaghetti and a few measly burnt pieces of bread, but Yoongi feels himself relaxing, stress knots tumbling away like the notes on Seokjin’s keyboard when he runs through the scales.
This is home.
Jimin is right; ambrosia is the drink of the gods. The company that makes the saccharine sweet drink claims it’s nothing but vodka, but Yoongi knows his alcohol. No normal vodka gives a kick like ambrosia does, especially not the accompanying hallucinations suffered by some, which many claim are visions. Anyone who has been in contact with a good Seer, however, would scoff at these unfound claims. Ambrosia makes you unwind and float; any side effects suffered are of your own imagination. The pink liquid slides easily down the throat, tinting lips with the tell-tale rogue of a good night’s out. It warms its way down to the stomach, a perfect drink for the colder days of winter, when ambrosia is much cheaper than heating.
It’s easy to let his guard down when he’s had one too many glasses of the drink. Taehyung won it in a poker game with the kids over at the Exo bar, which is unfair, because Taehyung has empathy and can sense the spikes in excitement with a good hand or the dread of a 10-2. But as far as the Exo boys know, Taehyung doesn’t have powers, and Taehyung isn’t about to rectify that belief. He loses on purpose every so often to throw the scent off, and secured himself a seat at Exo’s weekly round of poker.
Yoongi’s head is spinning as he stumbles down the stairs leading up to his flat. The stairs are steep and slippery, covered in a layer of mold that rubs away the friction.
Jeongguk disappeared early into the night, probably turning invisible and hiding somewhere to avoid being forced to drink by the other boys. Hoseok and Taehyung were curled up on the couch, arms snugly around each other while Jimin wandered back to his own bed after two drinks. Earlier, Jimin had tried to charm Hoseok into stuffing ice cubes down his boxers, and honestly, Hoseok doesn’t need much egging to do stupid things anyway.
Only Seokjin remained awake and sober enough to voice out his worries about Yoongi going out so late, but Yoongi brushed his concern away.
“I’m a big boy,” he had slurred, trying to fake sobriety even through the drunken stupor in his head. “Just need a walk to clear my head.”
Now he wishes he listened to Seokjin.
The cool air has sobered him up, and only now, he realises how quiet his surroundings are.
"Fucking mutants," comes a sharp whisper from his back and suddenly he’s slammed against the brick wall, a heavy arm pressed against his neck, hard enough that Yoongi has to gasp for air.
Yoongi’s reflexes are dull to begin with but his head is spinning too fast for him to even react. Eyes flash cold in the dark and he sees the glint of the knife, drawn out from the pocket of the grinning man. The next thing he registers is pain shooting up his shoulder as the blade is thrust into his arm and twisted cruelly.
Yoongi’s scream is loud enough to wake the neighbourhood. His attacker grabs his shirt collar and pulls him up close, strong grip holding Yoongi up despite his thrashes of pain. When he speaks, Yoongi can smell the fresh smoke on his breath, a sweet scent that he has grown to associate with the city. The cigarettes here in the slums are bitter at most, never sweet, like an additional punishment for the mutants and underclass littered across the streets. The citizens living here are so unworthy that they are deprived of even the simplest pleasures. “Today, it’s you. Soon, it’ll be everyone. Consider this a warning.”
The resident on the ground floor, Intae, bursts out with an unloaded gun in his hand and a million curses on his lips, but by then, Yoongi’s attacker is long gone.
When Yoongi comes to, he doesn’t expect to see the guy from Cypher, hovering over him and making odd faces. The boy is waggling his thick eyebrows, mere inches away from Yoongi’s face and Yoongi’s gut reaction is to push him away, but when he moves his shoulder, crippling pain shoots straight up his arm.
At Yoongi’s startled intake of breath, the boy draws back, pleased. “Oh, you’re awake.”
“Oh, thank fuck!” Jimin pushes the boy away unceremoniously and dives straight for where Yoongi is lying.
Thankfully, Taehyung catches Jimin and yanks him back before he can jump on Yoongi.
“Don’t jostle his injuries,” Taehyung says softly, thumb rubbing slow circles onto Jimin’s bicep.
Yoongi doesn’t need to have empathy to know that Jimin is upset and worried like the young, sensitive boy he is. They’re all young, but it’s easy to forget.
“I’m Namjoon,” the boy cuts in, eager to draw the attention back to himself. Everyone else doesn’t seem to mind his presence, which is a rare feat because they barely get newcomers in this house. How long has Yoongi been out cold for even Jeongguk, normally the most suspicious of them all, to become comfortable with Namjoon?
Seokjin swings an arm around Namjoon and pulls him close. “We go way back.” Back could mean childhood friends or just back when they haven’t discovered their powers. Either way, friends that stay are true friends. Then again, Seokjin declares everyone a friend, even Dongrim from the bar four blocks away, and they barely meet at all.
“He’s the only one who has experience with injuries,” Seokjin continues. His eye flicker to Namjoon, heavy with unsaid messages, but he recovers quickly with a grin. “He’ll be your nurse for the next few days, so he’ll be dropping by a lot.”
“You’re in good hands, Min,” Namjoon says solemnly with a quick salute. “I’ve had a lot of experience.”
“Welcome to our hideaway, I guess.” Yoongi moves to shake his hand but winces at the pain and abandons the motion. He flexes his arm tentatively and watches the bandage bleed red, the wounds bursting open again. A complete stranger did this, and a half stranger stands in front of him. It doesn’t hurt to be cautious. “For now.”
Namjoon smiles like a fox. “Don’t worry, pretty boy. I don’t want to see you more than necessary either.”
Being a mutant has its perks. They’re stronger, for one, with a better stamina. Jimin can easily lift 100 pound weights with his tiny body, and his powers are nowhere near physical. Their metabolisms also burn faster, making diets unnecessary and leaving them with a large appetite. Yoongi’s shoulder heals in two days but leaves behind a pink, ragged scar, still sore to the touch.
Namjoon stays true to his word and only comes as necessary, stopping by only to check on the wound and change the bandages. Taehyung flutters around them and feeds Yoongi suspicious pills that burn down his throat, but Yoongi doesn’t question because it makes him feel light and pleasant. Sometimes, in the moments where Yoongi drifts between reality and sleep, he hears Seokjin’s loud laugh mixed with Namjoon’s low chuckle, and it settles down in his stomach, an odd anchor that unnerves him at the same time.
By the third day, he’s already feeling good enough to drag himself out of bed and into the balcony. The air is crisp and his clothes are too thin but it’s a relief to be outside even for a moment.
He doesn’t bother turning around when the door slides open.
Namjoon dangles a cigarette between his fingers. "Have a light?"
"I don't smoke." he used to, going through a pack a day until his hands shook and his voice trembled. He dealt in all the vices until he realised he had enough fuck ups to last a lifetime. “Where’s your little voice of reason? Shouldn’t he be stopping you right now?” Seokjin has taken to waddling around after Namjoon, like he’s making up for the years spent not taking care of him. Jimin and Hoseok are the happiest about this because Seokjin has found someone else to coddle. Even bed riddled, Yoongi does not envy Namjoon.
"Seokjin is feeling unwell." Namjoon seems nervous, hand trembling as he brings the cigarette to his lips. His face is startlingly pale today, a stark contrast from his usual tanned appearance. Yoongi can feel the little sparks of energy rolling off Namjoon’s arm, a sign of the jitters.
Suddenly, Taehyung runs in, rushed and frantic, beads of sweat down his face. “I could feel him scream from a mile away.”
He doesn’t even need to specify who he’s talking about, because Yoongi bolts to Seokjin’s room. The door bursts aside without him even touching it, his powers coming out full blast in his worry.
He’s horrified to see Seokjin lying in a mess of blankets, sweat drenching his shirt. The metallic tang of blood is strong in the air.
"Jin...." Yoongi reaches out for Seokjin but Seokjin winces, curling into himself.
In a flash, Yoongi has Namjoon pinned against the wall, an arm pressed on his neck. "What did you do to him?"
Namjoon gasps, hands reaching up to claw at the pressure on his throat. He widens his eyes and manages to gasp out, "His- his wings."
"No- no-” Seokjin tries to pull himself up, but he’s too weak to even manage and he collapses back down. Jimin gasps, drawing attention to the blood that’s rapidly spreading across Seokjin’s back.
Taehyung curls up in a ball by the bed and starts murmuring to himself with his hands over his ears, overwhelmed by the emotions rising in the room.
"Get out. Now."
Namjoon opens his mouth to protest, but his gaze falters when it falls on Seokjin's writhing body and he bows his head slightly, a sign of submission and backs out of the room.
Yoongi has never felt fear the way he does now.
Jimin sent a hologram to Cypher the night that Yoongi was attacked and cancelled their next three shows. The manager screamed so loud in his returning hologram that Yoongi could hear him from the next room but quieted down immediately when Jimin informed him of the reason. Cypher’s manager is known to be shrewd with money, and if he’s cowed enough by the attacks to let a couple of sold out performances go, something is wrong.
They’ve had a delicate peace in the neighbourhood for months, with no attacks since the terrible suspected arson that killed two young teens, one a teleporter and the other a rookie time manipulator.
“Just be careful,” the manager warned. “The streets aren’t safe anymore.”
Yoongi doesn’t know who to trust now. Seokjin is rapidly bleeding into the sheets but when they try to move him, he cries out in anguish. They’ve since left him alone, hoping that his heightened mutant defence system would heal itself.
“He’ll be okay,” Taehyung says, but he’s not much reassurance when his face is still drained of colour from the influx of the negative emotions in the air.
“He looks so-“ Yoongi can’t even continue his sentence and brings his hands up to cover his face, breathing in deeply to calm himself. Seokjin was always the strong one among all of them, the only to keep his cool when everyone was worked up over anything. To see him weak like this hurts Yoongi more than he thought it could.
Taehyung gently lowers Yoongi’s hands and smiles at him shakily. “I don’t know what happened, but Namjoon was only helping Seokjin,” he says softly. “I can’t feel a single thread of malice in him. You need to apologize.”
The logical part of Yoongi knows that he overreacted. But it was impossible to be level-headed when one of the most precious people to him is hurt. He gently brushes Seokjin’s hair away from his face and shakes his head. “I can’t trust him. Not yet.”
The person trailing him makes no attempt to be discreet, his footsteps heavy and dragged. Such terrible posture, Yoongi tuts in his mind as he watches their shadows overlap, cast long from the lone streetlight. He slips his hand into his pocket and tightens his finger around the knife that he now brings around everywhere, praying fervently that he doesn't need to use it. Yoongi isn't particularly tall nor strong, but enough time on the streets has trained him to be quick on his feet. Agility proves useless once an assailant has him in a headlock though, made worse by the wound on his shoulders that is probably bleeding through his shirt now.
He steels himself, prepared to whip the knife out and face his stalker straight on when the shadow comes into focus. Only one person would have a hairstyle as ugly as that.
He stops in his steps, and the footsteps behind him pause. Even so, his fingers remain firmly wrapped around the knife. It never hurts to be too careful around here, especially after he's already been assaulted once. Without even turning around, he barks out a single command, determined to show that this is his turf. "Speak."
“Let me join the group."
This surprises Yoongi enough that he whirls around. The hand in his pocket slips and catches on the blade, and he pulls his hand out with a hiss, bringing his palm up to his lips to suck on the blood.
Namjoon's eyes dance with amusement. His posture is bold and uncaring, shoulders slouched but still standing proud. "That's unsanitary."
Yoongi frowns in disbelief, taking his hand away regardless and wiping it on his sleeve. "Is that really an issue right now?"
The change in Namjoon's expression is almost startling. The smirk on his face remains but somehow, his face shifts until he's dead serious. "Now that two of you are out, you need a new front man."
Yoongi can't help but scoff. "I hurt my shoulder, not my throat."
"You can't even handle yourself. You need someone who can manage the team."
"And you can do that?"
"I can do that," Namjoon sounds awfully sure of himself for someone who hasn't earned the trust of everyone else. "And let Jeongguk go. He's too young for you to fuck up his future."
Yoongi clenches and unclenches his fists, wondering what Seokjin would say if he socked Namjoon in the face. "We're all young. You are in no position to squash his dreams, even if his dream ends up killing him. Anyway, how can I trust you, after what you did to Seokjin?"
Seokjin still hasn't woken up completely, but from the brief moments when he is conscious enough to open his mouth, he mutters about how Namjoon is a good man. They can’t even get the reason why he’s hurt out of him, but Yoongi completely trusts Seokjin's judgement because the boy has one of the best judge of character Yoongi has ever seen. Seokjin was the first person to see past his own prickly personality and make an effort to be friends. Seokjin was the one who gave him a home, so if he thinks Namjoon is harmless, he probably is. Paired with Taehyung’s insistent urging that Yoongi apologize, he has to admit that Namjoon is innocent. Still, Namjoon was the only person in the room, and Seokjin is now immobilised. It's an incriminating position to be caught in, trusted or not.
"You know how Seokjin is... Fragile?" Namjoon's face is impassive but his words are careful, laced with concern. From that sentence, Yoongi knows that Seokjin and Namjoon go way back. Seokjin doesn't tell anyone about his condition. Yoongi only found out himself when Seokjin slipped from the stage one night and broke three ribs. It's a blessing that Hoseok knows Cheolyong, who knows a healer. It would have been difficult if Seokjin went to a normal hospital and his hollowed bones showed up on the x-ray results.
"Seokjin and I grew up together. I don't know if he told you this, but Seokjin has the blood of a half siren."
This is news. Yoongi raises an eyebrow. "Meaning?"
"He has wings."
"Oh."
"Ever since I discovered my powers, I've been helping him keep it under control."
He sticks his hand out to show Yoongi. Namjoon's hand quivers, his skin rolling and popping like the surface of boiling water.
"Magma," Yoongi whispers, half in awe. Mutants tend to hide themselves so Yoongi has only seen a handful of powers in action. This is the first time he's ever seen someone with the ability to turn into another element. His skin prickles from the heat radiating off Namjoon's arm.
Namjoon clenches his fist and the glowing red melts into a calmer pink and fades away completely, leaving behind smooth skin, seemingly untouched. He lets his hand fall back to his side and watches Yoongi’s reaction carefully, an unspoken question in his eyes.
Yoongi looks up at the darkening sky. "Winter's coming. I think we just saved a whole lot on electricity."
The relief that floods Namjoon’s face warms Yoongi’s heart. Namjoon offers hesitantly, “Want a drink?”
They were right when they said that people bonded best over alcohol. Namjoon brings him to a tent bar hidden in one of the alleys littering underground Seoul.
“I thought these were extinct!” Yoongi marvels, already forgetting about the animosity he felt towards Namjoon with each shot that he brings to his lips.
“Stick with me and I’ll bring you to the best places around town.” Namjoon speaks like he expects to be around them for some time, but Yoongi doesn’t correct him. It’s just easier to tip their shots and forget.
Somewhere along the sixth and seventh glass, Namjoon dares to venture. “Are you okay with the whole… Seokjin thing?”
Maybe this is what Namjoon planned to do all along- get Yoongi drunk and have his defences shaved down, and then wheedle his forgiveness out of him.
“Not angry at you,” Yoongi slurs, and it’s true. He understands what drives Seokjin to do something as extreme as burning his wings to stumps, but it fills him with inexplicable rage, not at Namjoon or Seokjin, but just at the injustice of it all. Why should he have to put himself to such pain to change what he was born with?
"You ever think what life would be like if we were born normal?" he muses, pouring the soju out so roughly that it splashes onto the table.
Namjoon clinks their glasses together. "We are normal."
“I want to think that way too.” Soju slides down the throat smoother than ambrosia but hits just as fast. He doesn’t remember what happens next, because he just lets himself go. It’s alright just this once; Namjoon is there to catch him.
Having Namjoon around is comfortable.
Yoongi has never realised the weight of being the frontman and unofficial leader until now. Seokjin always seemed like he took care of everything, leaving Yoongi with barely anything to do, but with Namjoon in place, everything seems oddly efficient.
Seokjin had worried they would clash, because they are both personalities that burned too brightly to be near each other. Yoongi is oxirane, dangerous on his own, but when paired with heat, with magma, they're explosive.
But it's comfortable. He's comfortable.
"Jeongguk, put the game away and finish your homework first," Namjoon nags, tapping Jeongguk lightly on the head with his knuckles. "And Hoseok, for god's sake, take a shower."
"He's like a fucking drill sergeant," Hoseok mutters half-angrily as he reluctantly picks himself up to freshen up. He brings his palm up to his nose and sniffs at his wrist. "How did he know I didn't shower today?"
Namjoon picks an old sock off the ground and throws it at Hoseok. "I don't have to be a dog to smell the sweat on you."
"Thanks," Yoongi murmurs, pulling Seokjin close in a half hug but careful not to jostle his wings. He doesn't have to elaborate for Seokjin to know what's he's talking about. Namjoon is a good addition to their team, and Seokjin is the one who brought them together and taught them to trust.
Seokjin rests his head on Yoongi's shoulder and smiles knowingly. "I'm not the one to thank."
Winter drags on too long this year, and their little two bedroom flat is the coldest it has ever been.
For someone who was brought up with the knowledge that friends are temporary, Yoongi fears solitude. He hates the cold because even if he’s cold inside, he doesn’t want to be cold on the outside either.
“Snow day!” Jeongguk cheers, tapping away at the holographic display on his watch. He’s still in his pyjamas that he’s been wearing since before his growth spurt and everything is a bit too short on him. It makes him look like his clothes shrunk in his sleep.
"Grow up, little one," Yoongi says fondly, fighting the urge pet Jeongguk on the head. Or don't. Youth is nice to cling to. “Maybe you can put in a couple of hours of vocal practice instead.”
Instead, he claps Jeongguk on the back, forcing him to lurch forward and Jeongguk turns invisible in a huff. The boy has the ability to turn himself and anything he touches invisible. He has the most complete power among them all, golden maknae that he is, but he mainly uses it to escape from the rest when they decide to tease him.
Namjoon shuffles into the living room, rubbing at his eyes sleepily.
“That’s my shirt!” Yoongi protests, abandoning his search for Jeongguk and heading over to tug at Namjoon’s black hoodie. It’s the warmest hoodie that Yoongi owns but he hasn’t seen it for days. The thought of Namjoon wearing it to sleep sends little flips in his stomach that he brushes aside.
Namjoon responds by yawning in Yoongi’s face.
“Stop bullying him,” Hoseok says, that traitor, and pulls Namjoon down onto the couch beside him. Still too sleepy to function, Namjoon falls with his arms outstretched and closes his eyes. Hoseok folds himself into Namjoon automatically, shifting them both until he’s satisfied with a comfortable position.
"You're so warm," Hoseok marvels, resting his head on Namjoon’s chest and blinking up at him.
"Get off me, you fat lump," Namjoon says gruffly, but he looks oddly pleased. His smile is jarring on his tough features and makes him look like a cat who caught his mouse.
He’s not allowed to use telekinesis against people, Yoongi reminds himself, clenching and unclenching his fist. He can’t blow Hoseok’s brains out either because they need a drummer.
"You're so silly," Taehyung smiles knowingly, pulling out a chair and joining Yoongi at the kitchen table.
"What," Yoongi snaps defensively. He stabs his fork into his eggs and shoves it into his mouth, carefully avoiding Taehyung’s eyes.
"If i could see colours, you would be pink, tinged with green," Taehyung says. "And when you look at Hoseok, you’ll turn dark."
"Because Hoseok is a fucking twat, that's why."
“Okay,” Taehyung allows. “Okay.”
They don’t talk about Seokjin’s wings and Yoongi almost forgets about it. Namjoon is a surprisingly good addition to their band as well. He has a keen sense of music and gives valuable input that turns their previously amateurish music into something more presentable.
Jeongguk is suitably impressed and never misses the chance to fawn over Namjoon’s skills. “You’re right, this verse does sound better if it’s slower!” He gushes, testing out the lyrics again and again.
Yoongi basks in the increasing amount of compliments thrown their way by fans who lap out their new sound. It’s more mature, they say, has more depth. Bulletproof has never sounded better. Their shows sell out faster now, with more and more banners flashing with Namjoon’s face instead of Yoongi’s. The fans accepted Namjoon into the group faster than they expected, brushing away Jimin’s initial worries over a resistance to change.
All this increased attention creates this false sense of security until the day Seokjin misses out on another performance. It’s no surprise that Namjoon disappears as well.
“Please calm down,” Taehyung says nervously after breaking the news to them, but it’s too late. Yoongi grabs his coat and storms out of Cypher.
He slams the door to their flat shut with so much strength that the crack along the hinges deepens. The ancient radio gathering dust in the corner of the room, an antique that hasn’t been working for decades, begins to crackle from the strength of Yoongi’s power which is trickling out.
Seokjin manages a weak smile when Yoongi bursts into the room, but he doesn’t even manage to get a word in before Yoongi launches into his rant.
“You’re like this modern day Icarus or something. Namjoon burns you and still you go close-”
Seokjin is so patient even when he’s in pain. “But I’m not obsessed with him.”
“And you get hurt and your wings literally melt away-“
“Yoongi.”
“How can you fly when he hurts you like this-“
“Yoongi.” Seokin presses a finger to Yoongi’s forehead and nudges him back.
Yoongi goes cross-eyed trying to look at Seokjin’s finger and snaps, “What.”
“Just because he helps me doesn’t mean he hurts me. And even if he hurts me, it doesn’t mean he’ll hurt you. I want nothing from him, so I will never burn from greed.”
Maybe Seokjin knows him too well, because how else can he draw blood with each word that he says? Yoongi bristles and stubbornly turns his head away, not wanting to respond to Seokjin’s implied message.
“Besides,” Seokjin grins, waggling his eyebrows, “Why would I want to be Icarus when I can be cupid instead?”
In Yoongi’s defense, the pillow that he sends flying into Seokjin’s face moved of its own accord.
Yoongi takes it upon himself to make dinner. He hurries a grumbling Hoseok off to the shops with an eager Jeongguk for groceries and appoints Jimin his right hand man. Taehyung stays in the room with Seokjin and gently sends him positive emotions, smoothing the wrinkles out of his frown when Seokjin winces in pain.
So far, it is not going well.
“Is this supposed to happen?” Jimin asked dubiously, peering into the pot.
It’s spaghetti, not rocket science, but Jimin still manages to burn the bottom of the sauce beyond salvation.
“Ten minutes,” Yoongi yells as he frantically turns the gas off. “I said ten minutes!”
“Oops? I might have left it in for twenty.”
Needless to say, Namjoon is surprised when he lets himself into the apartment to find noodles dripping down Jimin’s face and the strong burning smell in the air. He instinctively takes a step back at the sight of Yoongi, afraid that he would have a similar reaction to the last time Seokjin was hurt.
Jimin shrinks down into himself, anticipating the tension between the two elder boys but Yoongi just grins.
“Hey Namjoon, this kid here killed dinner. Wanna help me smash dessert into his face too?”
Jimin widens his eyes, darting his gaze to the pie lying innocently on the countertop. “I bought that for Jeongguk!” He protests, struggling to get away from Yoongi.
Namjoon only looks confused for two seconds before he recovers, mischievous smile slipping back onto his face. “I’ll hold him down.”
They make a good team, Yoongi thinks in satisfaction. Jimin, now covered in cream and candied apples, would disagree.
In another world, they would be international superstars and have stupid stage names like Suga and Rap Monster. In another world, they would be perfect.
But for now, fooling around in the basement they call home, tasting acrid in each breath that they take, catching Namjoon's eyes and getting a grin in return, this is perfection in itself.
Recipient: galmaegi
& Pairing: Bangtan gen, Suga-centric (Hinted Suga/Rapmon)
Rating: pg-13
Warnings: brief mentions of violence
Summary: Mutant!band au. Down here in the slums, 20 doesn't seem much different from 19 when simply surviving is the biggest thing to celebrate each day.
Yoongi turns 20 on the coldest day of the winter. He knows a lot of things, like how to build a smoke bomb from scratch, or how Seokjin thinks he's being discreet when he sneaks out in the middle of the night, but he forgets his birthday. He only remembers three days too late when he fumbles for his fake ID and realises that he no longer needs one.
20 is the age the law washes its hands of you, no more careful shielding and protection. At 19, he was still a teen, forgivable no matter what he did because that's what youngsters do- fuck up and have fun. But come 20 and suddenly you're on your own now, chap. If you get in trouble, you're old enough to deal with it.
20 is the biggest birthday of a person's life because it marks their coming of age. In the richer areas of Seoul, a 20th birthday is celebrated for three days, at least. Sometimes, when Yoongi climbs up to the rooftop of his dingy flat, he sees the city burn bright with the distinct glow that comes with a 20th birthday bash, elaborate fireworks lighting up the sky in squiggly words that spell out the lucky kid's name. The rotating sparks stay in the air long enough that it drowns out the light of the stars, a symbol of how someone has a future so bright, not even the universe can hold them back.
Turning 20 is huge.
If Yoongi were normal, he would've known all of this. If he were normal, he would've had all of this.
But down here in the slums, 20 doesn't seem much different from 19 when simply surviving is the biggest thing to celebrate each day.
Yoongi is a telekinetic, but with limited powers. True mutants nowadays are rare, with most mutants having a partially developed power due to generations of imperfect evolutions and careless inbreeding. Yoongi can only mentally move small physical objects and even then, it drains him thoroughly and knocks the breath out of his chest. He's best at controlling sound waves, and years of practice after the initial discovery has made him an expert in manipulating sound. It's useful in the moments that he fights with Hoseok and makes Hoseok squeak out his next argument, but his power truly comes into play when he bends the waves to make himself sound good on stage.
He's lucky that his true passion lies in composing and rap, because without the help of his powers, he can't even hold a note. Hoseok once likened his singing voice to a frog, which is a bit rich from someone who tends to go off-tune with every other word. They started out the band with Yoongi as the lead vocal but if he tries bending sound waves for a long period of time, he gets nosebleeds. This is why they have Jeongguk.
"Our little golden maknae," Yoongi coos, crouching down next to the youngest member of their band and tickling Jeongguk under the chin like he would a puppy.
Jeongguk levels him with a glare, jerking his head away from Yoongi's fingers and turning back to his notebook.
"Stop filling your mind with this nonsense," Yoongi tuts, snatching the notebook away and knocking Jeongguk's pen over in the process. "Education does nothing but ruin us. Best that you go out there and learn how to fight instead."
Hoseok leans over and elbows Yoongi in the stomach, forcing him to hand the notebook back. Jeongguk takes the book from him with a grin and earns an affectionate ruffle of his hair. "He's underage. We can't keep sneaking him in like this. We're already toeing the line as it is."
"Don't speak of me like i'm not here," Jeongguk grumbles, uncapping his pen and throwing the cap at Hoseok. It bounces off Hoseok's shoulder harmlessly and Hoseok obediently moves to pick it up. He's the only one that listens to Jeongguk's every whim and fancy, spoiling him with too much attention. Sometimes Yoongi wants to warn Hoseok to lay off the coddling because it'll do no good for Jeongguk to get used to relying on someone else. They never know how long they can stay together like this, and they're all minutely aware of the possible dangers that loom.
"Do you want to live underground then?" Yoongi flops on the couch and lays his head on Taehyung's lap. Taehyung makes a half-hearted attempt to push Yoongi off but settles on petting his hair, playing with the floppy bangs that look like they should've been cut two months ago.
Hoseok frowns at the dark and dank basement bar they're crouched in, the air forever stale and tinged with an unidentifiable acrid stench. It's the only place safe enough for a group of misfits like them to perform in. When he laughs, the bitterness rings off the paint cracked ceilings. "We already do."
"Well, this place is more of a home than we'll ever have," Taehyung says grimly.
Hoseok opens his mouth for a retort but they're interrupted by Jimin, who kicks the door open noisily and peeks his head in. His hair is all over the place as usual and his eyeliner is already smudged on his right eye. Jimin too, shouldn't be in a place like this, especially when his face is so jarringly young, but Taehyung is right; Cypher is home. "10 minutes, guys." Through the open door, they can hear the din of the crowd, already fired up and chanting their name. Bulletproof, bulletproof, bulletproof. "I hear Daniel got some good ambrosia in this week. Everyone's floating in the clouds already."
His words cause a few raised eyebrows because with the stricter controls imposed by the Authority lately, normal alcohol, much less ambrosia, is hard to come by.
Yoongi jumps lazily to his feet and drags a languid Taehyung up with him. "Come on, guys, let's blow this place up." He fingers the guitar pick hung around his neck with a smile. Tonight'll be a good night.
When Yoongi said he would blow the place up, he didn't mean it literally.
The moment the light turns on, gone are the 5 scruffy boys who live in the slums, replaced by 5 bright eyed youths with the world at their feet and nothing to lose.
Taehyung strums his white electric guitar, the first notes causing the crowd to erupt into a deafening cheer. Yoongi catches his eyes and sees the transformation from quiet oddball to wild musician, knowing that the same wild look is reflected in his own eyes.
There are flashes of silver among the bodies tonight, a sign that there are spoilt Seoullites here. They get some of those sometimes, the upper class who are determined to prove that they are more than just a pretty face, that they are daring enough to push the limits of what the authority allows. Jimin should have turned them away at the door, especially when they were sporting their metallic outfits proudly like a badge, but it's too late to worry now.
"We are bulletproof!" Big words from a group of young boys, but on the stage, they are magnified; they are larger than life. Yoongi throws his arms apart, basking in the attention. He lives on this, because it's only when the mic is in his hand that he feels alive. The authority melts into a distant memory, picked apart by tongue-in-cheek lyrics that teeter on the brink of disobedience.
"Are you ready?" Jeongguk shouts, more as a cue for Hoseok to start on the drums than to hype up the audience. Yoongi is already ten feet above reality; he was born ready.
The spotlight makes the smirk tugging on Yoongi's lips seem extra menacing, but that's exactly the effect he's aiming for when he launches into the rap, riding the beat of Hoseok's drums and Seokjin's sharp notes on the keyboard.
What is the you that you’ve dreamed of?
Who do you see in the mirror? I gotta say-
It's no wonder underground raves like these are so popular among the youths. Jimin had done a good job on the promotion, making use of his charming ability to entice the hackers over at the underground radio system to slip in a word or two in their nightly coded broadcasts. As risky as it is, it only takes one broadcast to draw people in because the news of raves spread faster than poison in a water stream.
Rebel against the hellish society, dreams are a special pardon
Just when Jeongguk reaches a particularly high note, a light bulb bursts, shattering a shower of sparks and glass down on the pulsing crowd, but it only fuels the bodies as they reach a frenzied craze.
Yoongi turns around to glare at Hoseok, who grins and mouths, "Oops."
Thankfully, tonight's audience is too pumped up on ambrosia to even notice anything out of the ordinary.
Hey you, what’s your dream?
Yoongi is always on the wrong side of reckless, puffed up with the bravado that only comes with youth. They're toeing the line of so many rules, but celebrated like this, this is where he belongs.
Tonight is a good night.
Yoongi lets out one final whoop and jumps off stage, heartbeat ringing louder than the screams of the crowd. Behind him, Hoseok, always the dramatic one, launches himself into the adoring audience and immediately, hands reach up to tug at him, pulling mercilessly at every article on his body as Hoseok laughs maniacally.
Yoongi is thinking of jumping in to help his bandmate out when a cough catches his attention.
"Nice stunt out there, with the lights," the boy leaning against the wall says casually. His hair is pushed into this awful faux mohawk, but it oddly matches the black leather jacket and ripped jeans that hang loose on his hips. Yoongi hasn't seen that hair on someone so young -the boy is 20 at most- since his grandfather's yearbooks, but there's no accounting for taste. Yoongi frowns in confusion, too distracted by the adrenaline still pumping in his veins to make sense of his words. The boy lifts up a corner of his mouth and continues, "Be careful, what if people find out?"
The smile slips off Yoongi's face, until he notices how the newcomer sounds amused instead of threatening. Instantly, instinct takes over, scanning the boy over and picking up on the small details that a normal Seoullite would miss. Clothes genuinely worn in, a red hexagon tattooed on the inside of his wrist, scruffed up shoes- the boy screams rebellion. He unclenches his fist, letting relief leak away and arrogance take over. "Takes one to know one, eh?"
Hoseok finally stumbles in, hat missing and shirt ripped at the seams. He grabs at Yoongi to steady himself, reeking of the unmistakable sweet scent of ambrosia and a hint of something darker. "Good night?"
"Tonight," Yoongi nods, pulling Hoseok up right and brushing at a spot on his shoulder, "is a good night." He glances back at the shadows but the boy is long gone.
Sometimes Yoongi dreams of pretending to be like any other Seoullite. His own parents were born normal in a line of mutants by some twist of fate and they had hoped Yoongi would be the same. When his mother was pregnant with him, they took the risk to move from Jeollado to Seoul, prepared to start their life anew. Yoongi was brought up with care, his days filled with violin lessons and afternoon tea with scones. Then he discovered his powers.
If he takes out his piercings and smooths down his hair, if he lets his eyes glass over and dresses in the odd metallic shines that the Seoullite youths favour, he could pass off as just another carefree 20 year old. After all, his parents are fairly affluent figures, and his powers are purely mental. Even if he were to use his powers, sound waves are intangible, all evidence easily swept away before detected by the unseeing eye.
Once a month, Yoongi plays pretend. He dresses in the only presentable outfit he owns, a baby blue button-down and pressed slacks, carefully masks his tattoos, and takes the tube into the city. He sits down with his parents for steak and fancy wine, concentrating on slicing the meat and ignoring his parent's pointed comments about his life. Every time, they belittle his friends and his lifestyle, and every time, Yoongi ends up chewing the inside of his cheek raw, trying to avoid stabbing the knife into the table. That would be bad manners.
He would rather eat glass than sit through this monthly ritual, but his parents give him a decent amount of money each time, just enough to pay the rent and cover most of what the band needs. He could always use more, but he's too proud to ask for more.
Besides, he already knows how his mother will react. "If you came back," his mother always says, "you could have everything you want."
Yoongi has always put her down, but a string on Taehyung's guitar broke a week ago and Hoseok split his drumstick in a brawl. Seokjin had sought him out that morning, worrying about the hike in grocery prices lately. Soon, Yoongi's allowance and the meagre wages Hoseok and Seokjin bring back from their odd jobs won't cover their living expenses.
He stares at the steak on his plate. The meat is a beautiful cut that probably costs as much as his rent for the week. Someone who has grown up in the slums like Hoseok has probably never eaten something as fine as this before.
Maybe if he just goes back-
"And you can finally go to university to learn something worth doing," says his father primly, looking everywhere but his son.
Yoongi's sock has a hole in it, but that's okay, because his shoes shine. In the city, appearances are all that matter. Suddenly, everything seems too stifling. Yoongi pushes the chair back abruptly and stands up, the sharp scrapping sound making the people dining around them to look around. He brings the folded napkin up to his mouth and dabs lightly, keeping a tight lipped smile as he then drops the napkin to the ground. "I’m sorry, but I have to go."
"Yoongi," his mother admonishes, sneaking looks around them in horror. "People are watching! Sit down!"
"I'm sorry I'm making a spectacle, mother, and I'm sorry that a spectacle is all I'll ever be. Thank you for the money." he bows politely, like he's talking to a complete stranger and not the people that form his flesh and blood.
He only breathes properly when he slams the door of his flat back in the slums.
"I made dinner," smiles Seokjin, always so serene and put together. He's wearing the ridiculous apron Jimin bought him on a whim, this pink thing with ruffles along the side and hearts dancing across the fabric. The hearts are barely visible now under the stains of a hundred meals. Without Seokjin, they might all starve to death.
The room smells like Hoseok hasn't washed his feet in weeks, and dinner consists of rubbery spaghetti and a few measly burnt pieces of bread, but Yoongi feels himself relaxing, stress knots tumbling away like the notes on Seokjin’s keyboard when he runs through the scales.
This is home.
Jimin is right; ambrosia is the drink of the gods. The company that makes the saccharine sweet drink claims it’s nothing but vodka, but Yoongi knows his alcohol. No normal vodka gives a kick like ambrosia does, especially not the accompanying hallucinations suffered by some, which many claim are visions. Anyone who has been in contact with a good Seer, however, would scoff at these unfound claims. Ambrosia makes you unwind and float; any side effects suffered are of your own imagination. The pink liquid slides easily down the throat, tinting lips with the tell-tale rogue of a good night’s out. It warms its way down to the stomach, a perfect drink for the colder days of winter, when ambrosia is much cheaper than heating.
It’s easy to let his guard down when he’s had one too many glasses of the drink. Taehyung won it in a poker game with the kids over at the Exo bar, which is unfair, because Taehyung has empathy and can sense the spikes in excitement with a good hand or the dread of a 10-2. But as far as the Exo boys know, Taehyung doesn’t have powers, and Taehyung isn’t about to rectify that belief. He loses on purpose every so often to throw the scent off, and secured himself a seat at Exo’s weekly round of poker.
Yoongi’s head is spinning as he stumbles down the stairs leading up to his flat. The stairs are steep and slippery, covered in a layer of mold that rubs away the friction.
Jeongguk disappeared early into the night, probably turning invisible and hiding somewhere to avoid being forced to drink by the other boys. Hoseok and Taehyung were curled up on the couch, arms snugly around each other while Jimin wandered back to his own bed after two drinks. Earlier, Jimin had tried to charm Hoseok into stuffing ice cubes down his boxers, and honestly, Hoseok doesn’t need much egging to do stupid things anyway.
Only Seokjin remained awake and sober enough to voice out his worries about Yoongi going out so late, but Yoongi brushed his concern away.
“I’m a big boy,” he had slurred, trying to fake sobriety even through the drunken stupor in his head. “Just need a walk to clear my head.”
Now he wishes he listened to Seokjin.
The cool air has sobered him up, and only now, he realises how quiet his surroundings are.
"Fucking mutants," comes a sharp whisper from his back and suddenly he’s slammed against the brick wall, a heavy arm pressed against his neck, hard enough that Yoongi has to gasp for air.
Yoongi’s reflexes are dull to begin with but his head is spinning too fast for him to even react. Eyes flash cold in the dark and he sees the glint of the knife, drawn out from the pocket of the grinning man. The next thing he registers is pain shooting up his shoulder as the blade is thrust into his arm and twisted cruelly.
Yoongi’s scream is loud enough to wake the neighbourhood. His attacker grabs his shirt collar and pulls him up close, strong grip holding Yoongi up despite his thrashes of pain. When he speaks, Yoongi can smell the fresh smoke on his breath, a sweet scent that he has grown to associate with the city. The cigarettes here in the slums are bitter at most, never sweet, like an additional punishment for the mutants and underclass littered across the streets. The citizens living here are so unworthy that they are deprived of even the simplest pleasures. “Today, it’s you. Soon, it’ll be everyone. Consider this a warning.”
The resident on the ground floor, Intae, bursts out with an unloaded gun in his hand and a million curses on his lips, but by then, Yoongi’s attacker is long gone.
When Yoongi comes to, he doesn’t expect to see the guy from Cypher, hovering over him and making odd faces. The boy is waggling his thick eyebrows, mere inches away from Yoongi’s face and Yoongi’s gut reaction is to push him away, but when he moves his shoulder, crippling pain shoots straight up his arm.
At Yoongi’s startled intake of breath, the boy draws back, pleased. “Oh, you’re awake.”
“Oh, thank fuck!” Jimin pushes the boy away unceremoniously and dives straight for where Yoongi is lying.
Thankfully, Taehyung catches Jimin and yanks him back before he can jump on Yoongi.
“Don’t jostle his injuries,” Taehyung says softly, thumb rubbing slow circles onto Jimin’s bicep.
Yoongi doesn’t need to have empathy to know that Jimin is upset and worried like the young, sensitive boy he is. They’re all young, but it’s easy to forget.
“I’m Namjoon,” the boy cuts in, eager to draw the attention back to himself. Everyone else doesn’t seem to mind his presence, which is a rare feat because they barely get newcomers in this house. How long has Yoongi been out cold for even Jeongguk, normally the most suspicious of them all, to become comfortable with Namjoon?
Seokjin swings an arm around Namjoon and pulls him close. “We go way back.” Back could mean childhood friends or just back when they haven’t discovered their powers. Either way, friends that stay are true friends. Then again, Seokjin declares everyone a friend, even Dongrim from the bar four blocks away, and they barely meet at all.
“He’s the only one who has experience with injuries,” Seokjin continues. His eye flicker to Namjoon, heavy with unsaid messages, but he recovers quickly with a grin. “He’ll be your nurse for the next few days, so he’ll be dropping by a lot.”
“You’re in good hands, Min,” Namjoon says solemnly with a quick salute. “I’ve had a lot of experience.”
“Welcome to our hideaway, I guess.” Yoongi moves to shake his hand but winces at the pain and abandons the motion. He flexes his arm tentatively and watches the bandage bleed red, the wounds bursting open again. A complete stranger did this, and a half stranger stands in front of him. It doesn’t hurt to be cautious. “For now.”
Namjoon smiles like a fox. “Don’t worry, pretty boy. I don’t want to see you more than necessary either.”
Being a mutant has its perks. They’re stronger, for one, with a better stamina. Jimin can easily lift 100 pound weights with his tiny body, and his powers are nowhere near physical. Their metabolisms also burn faster, making diets unnecessary and leaving them with a large appetite. Yoongi’s shoulder heals in two days but leaves behind a pink, ragged scar, still sore to the touch.
Namjoon stays true to his word and only comes as necessary, stopping by only to check on the wound and change the bandages. Taehyung flutters around them and feeds Yoongi suspicious pills that burn down his throat, but Yoongi doesn’t question because it makes him feel light and pleasant. Sometimes, in the moments where Yoongi drifts between reality and sleep, he hears Seokjin’s loud laugh mixed with Namjoon’s low chuckle, and it settles down in his stomach, an odd anchor that unnerves him at the same time.
By the third day, he’s already feeling good enough to drag himself out of bed and into the balcony. The air is crisp and his clothes are too thin but it’s a relief to be outside even for a moment.
He doesn’t bother turning around when the door slides open.
Namjoon dangles a cigarette between his fingers. "Have a light?"
"I don't smoke." he used to, going through a pack a day until his hands shook and his voice trembled. He dealt in all the vices until he realised he had enough fuck ups to last a lifetime. “Where’s your little voice of reason? Shouldn’t he be stopping you right now?” Seokjin has taken to waddling around after Namjoon, like he’s making up for the years spent not taking care of him. Jimin and Hoseok are the happiest about this because Seokjin has found someone else to coddle. Even bed riddled, Yoongi does not envy Namjoon.
"Seokjin is feeling unwell." Namjoon seems nervous, hand trembling as he brings the cigarette to his lips. His face is startlingly pale today, a stark contrast from his usual tanned appearance. Yoongi can feel the little sparks of energy rolling off Namjoon’s arm, a sign of the jitters.
Suddenly, Taehyung runs in, rushed and frantic, beads of sweat down his face. “I could feel him scream from a mile away.”
He doesn’t even need to specify who he’s talking about, because Yoongi bolts to Seokjin’s room. The door bursts aside without him even touching it, his powers coming out full blast in his worry.
He’s horrified to see Seokjin lying in a mess of blankets, sweat drenching his shirt. The metallic tang of blood is strong in the air.
"Jin...." Yoongi reaches out for Seokjin but Seokjin winces, curling into himself.
In a flash, Yoongi has Namjoon pinned against the wall, an arm pressed on his neck. "What did you do to him?"
Namjoon gasps, hands reaching up to claw at the pressure on his throat. He widens his eyes and manages to gasp out, "His- his wings."
"No- no-” Seokjin tries to pull himself up, but he’s too weak to even manage and he collapses back down. Jimin gasps, drawing attention to the blood that’s rapidly spreading across Seokjin’s back.
Taehyung curls up in a ball by the bed and starts murmuring to himself with his hands over his ears, overwhelmed by the emotions rising in the room.
"Get out. Now."
Namjoon opens his mouth to protest, but his gaze falters when it falls on Seokjin's writhing body and he bows his head slightly, a sign of submission and backs out of the room.
Yoongi has never felt fear the way he does now.
Jimin sent a hologram to Cypher the night that Yoongi was attacked and cancelled their next three shows. The manager screamed so loud in his returning hologram that Yoongi could hear him from the next room but quieted down immediately when Jimin informed him of the reason. Cypher’s manager is known to be shrewd with money, and if he’s cowed enough by the attacks to let a couple of sold out performances go, something is wrong.
They’ve had a delicate peace in the neighbourhood for months, with no attacks since the terrible suspected arson that killed two young teens, one a teleporter and the other a rookie time manipulator.
“Just be careful,” the manager warned. “The streets aren’t safe anymore.”
Yoongi doesn’t know who to trust now. Seokjin is rapidly bleeding into the sheets but when they try to move him, he cries out in anguish. They’ve since left him alone, hoping that his heightened mutant defence system would heal itself.
“He’ll be okay,” Taehyung says, but he’s not much reassurance when his face is still drained of colour from the influx of the negative emotions in the air.
“He looks so-“ Yoongi can’t even continue his sentence and brings his hands up to cover his face, breathing in deeply to calm himself. Seokjin was always the strong one among all of them, the only to keep his cool when everyone was worked up over anything. To see him weak like this hurts Yoongi more than he thought it could.
Taehyung gently lowers Yoongi’s hands and smiles at him shakily. “I don’t know what happened, but Namjoon was only helping Seokjin,” he says softly. “I can’t feel a single thread of malice in him. You need to apologize.”
The logical part of Yoongi knows that he overreacted. But it was impossible to be level-headed when one of the most precious people to him is hurt. He gently brushes Seokjin’s hair away from his face and shakes his head. “I can’t trust him. Not yet.”
The person trailing him makes no attempt to be discreet, his footsteps heavy and dragged. Such terrible posture, Yoongi tuts in his mind as he watches their shadows overlap, cast long from the lone streetlight. He slips his hand into his pocket and tightens his finger around the knife that he now brings around everywhere, praying fervently that he doesn't need to use it. Yoongi isn't particularly tall nor strong, but enough time on the streets has trained him to be quick on his feet. Agility proves useless once an assailant has him in a headlock though, made worse by the wound on his shoulders that is probably bleeding through his shirt now.
He steels himself, prepared to whip the knife out and face his stalker straight on when the shadow comes into focus. Only one person would have a hairstyle as ugly as that.
He stops in his steps, and the footsteps behind him pause. Even so, his fingers remain firmly wrapped around the knife. It never hurts to be too careful around here, especially after he's already been assaulted once. Without even turning around, he barks out a single command, determined to show that this is his turf. "Speak."
“Let me join the group."
This surprises Yoongi enough that he whirls around. The hand in his pocket slips and catches on the blade, and he pulls his hand out with a hiss, bringing his palm up to his lips to suck on the blood.
Namjoon's eyes dance with amusement. His posture is bold and uncaring, shoulders slouched but still standing proud. "That's unsanitary."
Yoongi frowns in disbelief, taking his hand away regardless and wiping it on his sleeve. "Is that really an issue right now?"
The change in Namjoon's expression is almost startling. The smirk on his face remains but somehow, his face shifts until he's dead serious. "Now that two of you are out, you need a new front man."
Yoongi can't help but scoff. "I hurt my shoulder, not my throat."
"You can't even handle yourself. You need someone who can manage the team."
"And you can do that?"
"I can do that," Namjoon sounds awfully sure of himself for someone who hasn't earned the trust of everyone else. "And let Jeongguk go. He's too young for you to fuck up his future."
Yoongi clenches and unclenches his fists, wondering what Seokjin would say if he socked Namjoon in the face. "We're all young. You are in no position to squash his dreams, even if his dream ends up killing him. Anyway, how can I trust you, after what you did to Seokjin?"
Seokjin still hasn't woken up completely, but from the brief moments when he is conscious enough to open his mouth, he mutters about how Namjoon is a good man. They can’t even get the reason why he’s hurt out of him, but Yoongi completely trusts Seokjin's judgement because the boy has one of the best judge of character Yoongi has ever seen. Seokjin was the first person to see past his own prickly personality and make an effort to be friends. Seokjin was the one who gave him a home, so if he thinks Namjoon is harmless, he probably is. Paired with Taehyung’s insistent urging that Yoongi apologize, he has to admit that Namjoon is innocent. Still, Namjoon was the only person in the room, and Seokjin is now immobilised. It's an incriminating position to be caught in, trusted or not.
"You know how Seokjin is... Fragile?" Namjoon's face is impassive but his words are careful, laced with concern. From that sentence, Yoongi knows that Seokjin and Namjoon go way back. Seokjin doesn't tell anyone about his condition. Yoongi only found out himself when Seokjin slipped from the stage one night and broke three ribs. It's a blessing that Hoseok knows Cheolyong, who knows a healer. It would have been difficult if Seokjin went to a normal hospital and his hollowed bones showed up on the x-ray results.
"Seokjin and I grew up together. I don't know if he told you this, but Seokjin has the blood of a half siren."
This is news. Yoongi raises an eyebrow. "Meaning?"
"He has wings."
"Oh."
"Ever since I discovered my powers, I've been helping him keep it under control."
He sticks his hand out to show Yoongi. Namjoon's hand quivers, his skin rolling and popping like the surface of boiling water.
"Magma," Yoongi whispers, half in awe. Mutants tend to hide themselves so Yoongi has only seen a handful of powers in action. This is the first time he's ever seen someone with the ability to turn into another element. His skin prickles from the heat radiating off Namjoon's arm.
Namjoon clenches his fist and the glowing red melts into a calmer pink and fades away completely, leaving behind smooth skin, seemingly untouched. He lets his hand fall back to his side and watches Yoongi’s reaction carefully, an unspoken question in his eyes.
Yoongi looks up at the darkening sky. "Winter's coming. I think we just saved a whole lot on electricity."
The relief that floods Namjoon’s face warms Yoongi’s heart. Namjoon offers hesitantly, “Want a drink?”
They were right when they said that people bonded best over alcohol. Namjoon brings him to a tent bar hidden in one of the alleys littering underground Seoul.
“I thought these were extinct!” Yoongi marvels, already forgetting about the animosity he felt towards Namjoon with each shot that he brings to his lips.
“Stick with me and I’ll bring you to the best places around town.” Namjoon speaks like he expects to be around them for some time, but Yoongi doesn’t correct him. It’s just easier to tip their shots and forget.
Somewhere along the sixth and seventh glass, Namjoon dares to venture. “Are you okay with the whole… Seokjin thing?”
Maybe this is what Namjoon planned to do all along- get Yoongi drunk and have his defences shaved down, and then wheedle his forgiveness out of him.
“Not angry at you,” Yoongi slurs, and it’s true. He understands what drives Seokjin to do something as extreme as burning his wings to stumps, but it fills him with inexplicable rage, not at Namjoon or Seokjin, but just at the injustice of it all. Why should he have to put himself to such pain to change what he was born with?
"You ever think what life would be like if we were born normal?" he muses, pouring the soju out so roughly that it splashes onto the table.
Namjoon clinks their glasses together. "We are normal."
“I want to think that way too.” Soju slides down the throat smoother than ambrosia but hits just as fast. He doesn’t remember what happens next, because he just lets himself go. It’s alright just this once; Namjoon is there to catch him.
Having Namjoon around is comfortable.
Yoongi has never realised the weight of being the frontman and unofficial leader until now. Seokjin always seemed like he took care of everything, leaving Yoongi with barely anything to do, but with Namjoon in place, everything seems oddly efficient.
Seokjin had worried they would clash, because they are both personalities that burned too brightly to be near each other. Yoongi is oxirane, dangerous on his own, but when paired with heat, with magma, they're explosive.
But it's comfortable. He's comfortable.
"Jeongguk, put the game away and finish your homework first," Namjoon nags, tapping Jeongguk lightly on the head with his knuckles. "And Hoseok, for god's sake, take a shower."
"He's like a fucking drill sergeant," Hoseok mutters half-angrily as he reluctantly picks himself up to freshen up. He brings his palm up to his nose and sniffs at his wrist. "How did he know I didn't shower today?"
Namjoon picks an old sock off the ground and throws it at Hoseok. "I don't have to be a dog to smell the sweat on you."
"Thanks," Yoongi murmurs, pulling Seokjin close in a half hug but careful not to jostle his wings. He doesn't have to elaborate for Seokjin to know what's he's talking about. Namjoon is a good addition to their team, and Seokjin is the one who brought them together and taught them to trust.
Seokjin rests his head on Yoongi's shoulder and smiles knowingly. "I'm not the one to thank."
Winter drags on too long this year, and their little two bedroom flat is the coldest it has ever been.
For someone who was brought up with the knowledge that friends are temporary, Yoongi fears solitude. He hates the cold because even if he’s cold inside, he doesn’t want to be cold on the outside either.
“Snow day!” Jeongguk cheers, tapping away at the holographic display on his watch. He’s still in his pyjamas that he’s been wearing since before his growth spurt and everything is a bit too short on him. It makes him look like his clothes shrunk in his sleep.
"Grow up, little one," Yoongi says fondly, fighting the urge pet Jeongguk on the head. Or don't. Youth is nice to cling to. “Maybe you can put in a couple of hours of vocal practice instead.”
Instead, he claps Jeongguk on the back, forcing him to lurch forward and Jeongguk turns invisible in a huff. The boy has the ability to turn himself and anything he touches invisible. He has the most complete power among them all, golden maknae that he is, but he mainly uses it to escape from the rest when they decide to tease him.
Namjoon shuffles into the living room, rubbing at his eyes sleepily.
“That’s my shirt!” Yoongi protests, abandoning his search for Jeongguk and heading over to tug at Namjoon’s black hoodie. It’s the warmest hoodie that Yoongi owns but he hasn’t seen it for days. The thought of Namjoon wearing it to sleep sends little flips in his stomach that he brushes aside.
Namjoon responds by yawning in Yoongi’s face.
“Stop bullying him,” Hoseok says, that traitor, and pulls Namjoon down onto the couch beside him. Still too sleepy to function, Namjoon falls with his arms outstretched and closes his eyes. Hoseok folds himself into Namjoon automatically, shifting them both until he’s satisfied with a comfortable position.
"You're so warm," Hoseok marvels, resting his head on Namjoon’s chest and blinking up at him.
"Get off me, you fat lump," Namjoon says gruffly, but he looks oddly pleased. His smile is jarring on his tough features and makes him look like a cat who caught his mouse.
He’s not allowed to use telekinesis against people, Yoongi reminds himself, clenching and unclenching his fist. He can’t blow Hoseok’s brains out either because they need a drummer.
"You're so silly," Taehyung smiles knowingly, pulling out a chair and joining Yoongi at the kitchen table.
"What," Yoongi snaps defensively. He stabs his fork into his eggs and shoves it into his mouth, carefully avoiding Taehyung’s eyes.
"If i could see colours, you would be pink, tinged with green," Taehyung says. "And when you look at Hoseok, you’ll turn dark."
"Because Hoseok is a fucking twat, that's why."
“Okay,” Taehyung allows. “Okay.”
They don’t talk about Seokjin’s wings and Yoongi almost forgets about it. Namjoon is a surprisingly good addition to their band as well. He has a keen sense of music and gives valuable input that turns their previously amateurish music into something more presentable.
Jeongguk is suitably impressed and never misses the chance to fawn over Namjoon’s skills. “You’re right, this verse does sound better if it’s slower!” He gushes, testing out the lyrics again and again.
Yoongi basks in the increasing amount of compliments thrown their way by fans who lap out their new sound. It’s more mature, they say, has more depth. Bulletproof has never sounded better. Their shows sell out faster now, with more and more banners flashing with Namjoon’s face instead of Yoongi’s. The fans accepted Namjoon into the group faster than they expected, brushing away Jimin’s initial worries over a resistance to change.
All this increased attention creates this false sense of security until the day Seokjin misses out on another performance. It’s no surprise that Namjoon disappears as well.
“Please calm down,” Taehyung says nervously after breaking the news to them, but it’s too late. Yoongi grabs his coat and storms out of Cypher.
He slams the door to their flat shut with so much strength that the crack along the hinges deepens. The ancient radio gathering dust in the corner of the room, an antique that hasn’t been working for decades, begins to crackle from the strength of Yoongi’s power which is trickling out.
Seokjin manages a weak smile when Yoongi bursts into the room, but he doesn’t even manage to get a word in before Yoongi launches into his rant.
“You’re like this modern day Icarus or something. Namjoon burns you and still you go close-”
Seokjin is so patient even when he’s in pain. “But I’m not obsessed with him.”
“And you get hurt and your wings literally melt away-“
“Yoongi.”
“How can you fly when he hurts you like this-“
“Yoongi.” Seokin presses a finger to Yoongi’s forehead and nudges him back.
Yoongi goes cross-eyed trying to look at Seokjin’s finger and snaps, “What.”
“Just because he helps me doesn’t mean he hurts me. And even if he hurts me, it doesn’t mean he’ll hurt you. I want nothing from him, so I will never burn from greed.”
Maybe Seokjin knows him too well, because how else can he draw blood with each word that he says? Yoongi bristles and stubbornly turns his head away, not wanting to respond to Seokjin’s implied message.
“Besides,” Seokjin grins, waggling his eyebrows, “Why would I want to be Icarus when I can be cupid instead?”
In Yoongi’s defense, the pillow that he sends flying into Seokjin’s face moved of its own accord.
Yoongi takes it upon himself to make dinner. He hurries a grumbling Hoseok off to the shops with an eager Jeongguk for groceries and appoints Jimin his right hand man. Taehyung stays in the room with Seokjin and gently sends him positive emotions, smoothing the wrinkles out of his frown when Seokjin winces in pain.
So far, it is not going well.
“Is this supposed to happen?” Jimin asked dubiously, peering into the pot.
It’s spaghetti, not rocket science, but Jimin still manages to burn the bottom of the sauce beyond salvation.
“Ten minutes,” Yoongi yells as he frantically turns the gas off. “I said ten minutes!”
“Oops? I might have left it in for twenty.”
Needless to say, Namjoon is surprised when he lets himself into the apartment to find noodles dripping down Jimin’s face and the strong burning smell in the air. He instinctively takes a step back at the sight of Yoongi, afraid that he would have a similar reaction to the last time Seokjin was hurt.
Jimin shrinks down into himself, anticipating the tension between the two elder boys but Yoongi just grins.
“Hey Namjoon, this kid here killed dinner. Wanna help me smash dessert into his face too?”
Jimin widens his eyes, darting his gaze to the pie lying innocently on the countertop. “I bought that for Jeongguk!” He protests, struggling to get away from Yoongi.
Namjoon only looks confused for two seconds before he recovers, mischievous smile slipping back onto his face. “I’ll hold him down.”
They make a good team, Yoongi thinks in satisfaction. Jimin, now covered in cream and candied apples, would disagree.
In another world, they would be international superstars and have stupid stage names like Suga and Rap Monster. In another world, they would be perfect.
But for now, fooling around in the basement they call home, tasting acrid in each breath that they take, catching Namjoon's eyes and getting a grin in return, this is perfection in itself.