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Jimin didn't scream when they took Yoongi away. He couldn't, mind shutting down instead. He only remembered the night with flashes of clarity: the guards, anonymous in their helmets; their room, ransacked within minutes; and Yoongi, gone.
He was numbed to pain by now—this side of the river tended to beat that into people early—but he still would wake up sometimes, suffocating, from repeat nightmares of them dragging Yoongi from his life, of Yoongi going limp without a fight.
The worst part was always Yoongi's eyes, in every iteration of them. Jimin thought it would be easier if there were any indication of bitterness, of blame. Instead, they would always be apologetic. Sorry I couldn't save you, they said. Sorry I couldn't give you more.
Yoongi was always selfless to a fault. Jimin wanted to scream at him, I'm not the one who needs saving, anymore.
-
The tavern was always bustling after sunset, when the working men slunk in for drinks, most with empty homes to return to. Jimin winded between the rough-hewn tables and benches with the ease of experience, balancing a platter of drinks.
He couldn't say he enjoyed working here but it could be worse, there was always worse. Jimin had learned to maintain a careful balance of meekness and fire here—too sweet, and he'd find himself piquing the interest of too many drunkards; too rude, and he'd find himself dead in a ditch.
Jimin got flagged over to a table. The man, broad in the chest and something inexplicably cruel in his handsome smile, was accompanied by his equally imposing friends. "Another round please, sweetheart."
He ran appreciative eyes down Jimin's figure, the kind of gaze that made Jimin shiver in the past but no longer. Jimin has learned to utilize his looks to his advantage, weaponize it. Shit, he wouldn't even be working here if the tavern owner hadn't taken one look at his face and decided it would be good for business. This side of the river, Jimin would take any advantage he could get.
"Of course." Jimin gave him a sweet smile. He had gotten good at judging people within seconds at the tavern, if he did not recognize them as regulars. These men looked like sailors; Jimin would likely never see them here again, but he could always tell from their muscled arms and penchant for rowdiness. Sailors always tipped well.
He let his hips sway as he returned to the bar, tapping on the table loud enough to catch the bartender's attention. "Taehyung! I need another pitcher of mead."
"Coming right up," Taehyung said over his shoulder. He was tall and a little gaunt in his handsome face (though weren't they all), and Jimin had established a nice rapport with him. Taehyung was always sympathetic whenever Jimin got a little too much attention from a drunk patron, and kept an eye out in case he needed to intervene.
And it was good that he did. Later that night, the sailor cupped Jimin's behind and squeezed as he walked past, which made Jimin whirl around and slam his wrist into the tableside. There was a sick crack and the sailor cried out, "Fuck, you little—"
Before a brawl could break out—his sailor friends all rose to their feet and Jimin had his fair share of white knight regulars—Taehyung had wormed his way into the crowd, shutting it down. "Hey, hey, enough. Next round on the house."
He gave Jimin a look, and they both knew Jimin would regret it later. The tavern owner wouldn't look too kindly upon Jimin injuring a customer, but Jimin refused to compromise over this—he would flirt for tips, fine, but no one could touch him without consent.
Jimin still had a few more hours to go in his shift but he was jumpier after that incident, his smile more strained. Business wound down as the sky outside began to lighten, most men drunkenly staggering home. There were only a few patrons left, and Jimin busied himself with wiping down tables with a rag.
A hand shot out to grab his wrist as Jimin cleaned up, from a hooded figure. Before Jimin could add another wrist to the tally of ones he had broken, he released him, palm open as he backed off. "Have a drink with me," the man said, face still obscured by his hood.
Jimin looked at him suspiciously. "And why should I?" He had noticed the man sitting in the corner all night, keeping to himself and quietly nursing a mug of beer. The mysterious figure was none of the regular fare Jimin was familiar with.
The man pulled his hood back, and Jimin blinked. He was young, face obliquely handsome. Most importantly, his skin was smooth and only lightly tanned. A resident of the walled city, Jimin's mind screamed at him. But what was he doing here?
"I'll pay you for your time," the man offered with a guileless smile, dimples appearing, and Jimin decided to take a seat. The tables were mostly clean at this point, and he was curious, anyway. "I'm Namjoon."
"Jimin." He didn't offer more, still inherently suspicious. What reason any resident of the walled city would have to come out here, across the river, Jimin had no idea. "What do you want?"
Namjoon laughed, hands raising in a gesture of surrender, robes slipping down to reveal his forearms. Jimin stared at them, also light and unblemished. "Aren't you a fierce little thing."
"You kind of have to be," Jimin said. Around here, was implied. "Why aren't you staying in your walls?"
Namjoon was still looking at him like he was the most intriguing thing in the world, but this made him pause. "Is it that obvious I'm not from around here? I'm just… interested. In what it's like."
That made Jimin a little spiteful, and he stood up. "Well, I hope you've slaked that curiosity."
"Wait," Namjoon said, moving to grab him again, but Jimin recoiled. "Will you sleep with me?"
"What?" Jimin couldn't believe his ears.
"I can pay you." His voice was earnest, and perhaps that made Jimin angriest of all.
"I don't know what the fuck you think we're like on this side of the river but no, I am not a whore. And I'm not desperate for your charity." Jimin hissed, body tight with rage, more so at how he let himself consider it for a split-second. "There are plenty of other places to go for that."
Jimin had been propositioned before, but he never found the compensation to be worth it. This was different though. There was no doubt Namjoon was obscenely rich; as a resident of the walled city, he had to be. If Jimin made enough off of him, there would be no reason for Yoongi to forgo sponsorship gifts in order to get coins for Jimin. But no—he wouldn't.
Jimin turned on his heel and left him sitting there, struck dumb.
-
Jimin waited outside the back entrance to the prison guard's quarters. He was familiar enough at this point to know what each of them were like, which ones were a little sweet on him. When Seunghyun stepped out for a piss break, Jimin waved at him. He was not as cruel as some of the others.
"Here for Suga again?" He didn't have to ask, there would be no other reason Jimin was here.
"Yeah," Jimin responded. He entered when beckoned, ready to go toward the entrance to the tunnel that led to the prison, but Seunghyun stopped him, shaking his head.
"My room first."
Jimin protested, "The deal was always after."
"Makes no difference does it, love?" he asked. Jimin wanted to argue further—while he never felt dirty for doing this, he still didn't think he could look Yoongi fully in the eye after. They never explicitly discussed it, but both of them knew what Jimin had to do in order to get visitation privileges.
Jimin conceded. In Seunghyun's room—cramped but militarily organized—he tugged him off, quick and dirty, eyes squeezed shut as Seunghyun leaned his forehead on Jimin's shoulder, panting. Jimin made sure to finish him off into a rag; he didn't think he could deal with Seunghyun's cum on his skin.
It was all worth it—it always was—when he was standing in front of Yoongi's cell after. Seeing Yoongi's face always gave him relief, but it made him ache too. Jimin had missed him so much, he missed him still when Yoongi was right in front of him. Yoongi looked gaunt, bruised up and battered as usual, but he stirred as Jimin dropped to his knees in front of his cell.
Jimin tried to hand him the loaf of bread he packed, but Yoongi immediately fixated on his face. "Jiminnie. Where'd you get that, huh?"
The brush of his fingers over Jimin's cheekbones made him shiver, and right, there was a bruise there. Jimin had been reprimanded for wrist-breaking, again. "This guy smacked my ass while I served him drinks yesterday. So I broke his wrist. Boss wasn’t too happy."
They fell into an easy conversation, and it had always been like this with Yoongi—comfortable, familiar. If it weren't for the bars separating them, Jimin could forget that Yoongi was here, imprisoned and fighting for his life at the whims of rich men.
Time was up before Jimin knew it, and his chest begun to hurt even before he left.
As Jimin walked away, intelligible shouts coming at him from adjacent prisoners, the bag of coins given to him from Yoongi weighed heavily in his backpack.
-
The first time Jimin visited and found Yoongi beat up, he had been utterly horrified. Yoongi's legs, partially covered by his prison uniform pants, were a blistering red from burns. His hair was still matted with blood, a gash on one temple, and Jimin couldn't even begin to take in the mottled shades of plum and sickly yellow over his body.
"What happened to you?" Jimin reached out for him shakily between the bars, almost afraid to touch in case he hurt him further. He had seen Yoongi roughed up before—he got into his fare share of fights in the past, both at the orphanage and on the streets, mostly on behalf of Jimin—but never like this. Yoongi looked like he had been beaten within an inch of his life.
Yoongi cracked a smile. "Someone wanted my soup. I said no."
"You're so stupid," Jimin said heatedly. He made him want to cry, even though Jimin had long since taught himself how to keep the tears in. Jimin had heard the rumors about the prisons: the cruel guards, the hardened occupants, the fights that reduced men to little more than animals for entertainment. He had hoped against everything that they wouldn't be true, for Yoongi's sake, but it seemed like every one of them was getting confirmed.
-
Jimin didn't like watching Yoongi fight, but he would show up sometimes when his need to make sure Yoongi ended up alright won out over his hatred of watching Yoongi get hurt. This time he came right after his shift ended at the tavern.
He kept to the edges of the crowd, back pressed up against the chainlink fence. The spectators of these fights were often unsavory types, and Jimin would feel repulsed by the gazes he felt sweeping over him if he wasn't so used to them in the tavern. He curled his lips into a smirk, sharp enough to ward people off.
The crowd constantly emitted a low roar around the fighters, but Jimin could still hear the packing sounds of every impact on flesh clear over everything. It made him wince and shut his eyes—he could never get used to this.
He forced his eyes open when Yoongi was up, though. Jimin refused to close his lids even once during Yoongi's fights—if Yoongi could be strong enough to be the one out here getting physically beaten, surely Jimin could be strong enough to keep his gaze locked on his pain.
By the time it was over, Yoongi's opponent slumped unconscious in the dirt, Jimin's body was rigid and his jaw was locked. He hurt everywhere Yoongi was hurt, phantom pain leaving him sweating.
Yoongi locked eyes with him, always finding Jimin somehow in the crowd. His face that Jimin loved to press kisses to was beaten up, again. Jimin forced a smile for him and flashed him a thumbs-up.
He wished helplessly that he could keep Yoongi from ever feeling pain again.
-
Namjoon was back at the tavern. Jimin had first noticed him lurking again at the fringes, wrapped up in his hooded robes. Now that Jimin knew to look, he could see the fine quality of the cloth, the neat lines of the stitches—so markedly different from what everyone else wore around here.
Jimin approached him of his own accord as the tavern emptied again around dawn. He had felt Namjoon watching him all night, so his mock surprise when Jimin straddled the bench next to him made Jimin scoff. "Don't give me that. Why are you here again?"
"I said, I'm curious." Namjoon pulled his hood back again, and there he was again, stinking of privilege in his unblemished skin. Jimin knew that he himself was softer compared to most this side of the river—working indoors instead of hard labor guaranteed him that, but it was nothing compared to Namjoon's appearance.
"Go be curious somewhere else, then," Jimin shot back. He was feeling irritated, looking at Namjoon now and thinking about Yoongi, his Yoongi fighting in the pits. "I'm not a zoo animal."
Namjoon gazed back at Jimin, head tilted in alarm as if he had never been spoken to like that before. That was probably true; he'd probably been coddled all his life, Jimin thought. "You don't seem like the type to bet on the prison fights."
Jimin jerked his head up. "You were there?"
He nodded assent. "People of certain circles in Eden are rather fond of it, but what does it offer you?"
Jimin mulled over the name, Eden. He had always understood that the walled city probably had an actual name that its residents referred to, but everyone here never called it anything other than simply, the walled city. They had no reason to give it a proper name.
"I don't answer questions from strangers," Jimin replied after his pause.
"Oh?" Namjoon smiled, leaning toward him on his elbows. "What must I do to graduate from that then, sweet thing?"
His words made Jimin stiffen. He had never been fond of pet names coming from anyone but Yoongi; all too often, they were appended to lewd comments from various patrons. "I don't know."
"Then I suppose I'll just talk then. It's rather barbaric, isn't it, the prison fighting. Some folks in Eden are particularly invested, though. It's odd to me."
Jimin cupped his face, eyebrows furrowing. "They probably enjoy the reminder of their wealth. Oh, here are all these helpless prisoners, look at how I can bend them to my every whim. Doesn't matter how cruel this is, because they're all dirty criminals, right?"
Namjoon raised his eyebrows at his outburst. "Many do enjoy betting exorbitant sums and sponsoring certain favorites," he noted.
"Sponsoring adds a whole other layer to the power trip. Now you control their entire life, their existence in and out of the ring. You own them." Jimin knew Yoongi had sponsors, though probably none from the walled city. The most elite strata were particularly picky in their choice of prisoners.
"Maybe I should get into sponsoring," Namjoon said lightly.
It startled Jimin. "You? You just said it was barbaric."
"I could improve their quality of life though, couldn't I?" Namjoon's face was eager, and Jimin wondered if all the people up in the walled city were so naïve. How could they possibly go through life without getting swindled? "You go to fights. Anyone you recommend I invest in?"
His words made Jimin pause, mind whirling at the sudden possibilities that opened up before him. Namjoon continued, "One Suga, perhaps…?"
Jimin almost bolted. "How do you know about him?" he asked sharply.
"Down, sweet thing." Namjoon laughed, but Jimin was unamused. How could he possibly—? "I have eyes. You looked tense for one fight and one fight only, and all I had to do was ask around. It's just a matter of asking the right questions."
He smiled again at Jimin, dimples appearing and serving to make him look open and honest even as Jimin was starting to suspect that he was anything but. Jimin's thoughts were warring in his head, but finally he spoke, shoulders slumping. "Fine. Yes, if you wanted to sponsor someone, I'd suggest Suga."
"Give me a reason to."
"He's a good fighter—"
"No," Namjoon cut him off. "You give me a reason to."
Jimin bit his lip, pausing. "I don't have much, I can't offer you money—"
"I don't want money."
He frustrated Jimin. "Then what do you want?"
Namjoon doesn't miss a beat. "Sleep with me."
Jimin gaped. "Excuse me?"
"Sleep with me." He looked particularly unabashed, smiling pleasantly at Jimin, as if this wasn't the third time he offered to bed Jimin in less than as many meetings.
"Why me?"
"You're pretty—" Jimin snorted but Namjoon held out a hand, signalling him to continue listening. "—and there's something about you that's raw and genuine. You don't really see that often in Eden. You interest me."
"Many things interest me too, but I don't want to sleep with them," Jimin exclaimed, shifting around in his seat.
"Well, like I said, you're pretty." Namjoon's gaze upon him subtly darkened, tinged with lust. This was far more familiar territory for Jimin.
There was a rejection on the tip of his tongue, but he didn't vocalize it just yet. Another sponsorship for Yoongi, from a wealthy walled city resident no less, would exponentially increase his quality of life. Jimin had to protect him, somehow, and he had no other means.
"And if I say yes?" he asked softly.
Namjoon looked almost surprised at his acquiescence. "Well, I suppose I better make a trip to the prisons to get it sorted out, then."
Jimin refused to look back. This would be worth it for Yoongi, if it would keep him safe and relatively unharmed. Namjoon was easy on the eyes, too, and he supposed he could derive some pleasure from this arrangement as well. "How often would you… want to—want to—"
"—Bed you?" Namjoon asked, slow grin returning over his features. "On my whim, would that be a problem?"
He asked like a man used to getting his way. Jimin sighed. It wasn't like he had much else to do in his life between tavern shifts and visits to the prisons. "I guess not. Alright, it's a deal."
They shook on it, Namjoon's hand engulfing Jimin's own, and Jimin shivered. He wasn't sure what he had just gotten himself into.
-
Jimin had been despondent the days after Yoongi had been thrown in prison. The tavern owner picked up on it, snarled at him that he paid Jimin for charming his patrons, not making them miserable. Taehyung noticed too.
Unlike his boss, though, Taehyung had legitimately helpful suggestions. "I heard that some prison guards are flexible, y'know? They work out visit deals."
Jimin had perked up. "Oh?"
That was how Jimin found himself in the prison guards' quarters, pleading with a guard posted outside. "You don't understand—I need to see him."
"He couldn't have fucked you that good, sweetheart," the guard responded, but the way his gaze swept down Jimin's body made him think that he had found an inroad. The guard paused. "You'll have to pay for it."
"Please," Jimin adopted the breathy tone he used around tavern guests who looked particularly well-off and stepped closer. He was not above batting his eyelashes at this point. Fuck, he was just desperate to know if Yoongi was alright, if he was even in there. "I don't have money but I'll—I'll do anything, just a few minutes, please."
The guard took a deep breath. "Tell you what. I'll take you in to see your boyfriend for ten minutes and then we can head to my room for a bit, okay?"
Jimin didn't wait before he agreed. He justified it easily in his head; he had to do this for Yoongi's well-being, for their well-being. Yoongi would hate it, of course, but there wasn't anything Jimin could do about that. This was nothing compared to everything Yoongi had ever done for him.
-
There was a weird crackle in the air as Jimin stood on the sidelines again, waiting to watch Yoongi fight. A sense of foreboding made the hairs at Jimin's nape stand up.
Namjoon had begun his sponsorship of Yoongi, and he was probably somewhere in the crowd here now. Jimin crossed his arms, trying to hold himself together. He spread his legs for Namjoon whenever he wanted and—and it wasn't all bad, he was gentler than Jimin expected, treated him well. About as good as it could be, even. He hadn't told Yoongi about it, acted surprised and congratulated him when Yoongi told him about his mysterious new sponsor.
Jimin didn't have time to dwell as he watched Yoongi step out on the dirt floor, several steps back from the crudely drawn line. The roar of the crowd counting down faded out around him as he soaked in the sight of him—Jimin missed him more than anything, and the minutes Jimin could rest his eyes upon him were never enough.
When the fight started, Jimin knew that something was wrong, all wrong. Yoongi was always quick and clever when he fought, but now he was being viciously dirty. He and his opponent were a blur in the dirt and Jimin tensed as they ended up with Yoongi on top, pinning the other man down.
The roar of the crowd was deafening. Sudden confusion swept through them when Yoongi stood up, the would-be sign that he was victorious, except—there were screams, rumbling, and Jimin caught a glimpse of metal on the dirt floor.
Jimin only realized he himself was screaming too when Yoongi got dragged out of the pit, cries of Murderer! echoing around him.
-
When Jimin found Namjoon in the crowd, his hooded figure a familiar sight by this point, he grabbed him by the neck without a care. "What were you doing? He's—he's going to die, they're going to kill him!"
Namjoon's face was stony. "I can't control everything, unfortunately. That was another sponsor's doing, I believe."
"You were supposed to keep him safe!" The dam broke; Jimin started crying. All he could see was Yoongi's limp body as the guards kicked him, their heeled boots sinking into his flesh, bloodied everywhere. Yoongi's—Yoongi's going to die—
"I'm sorry," Namjoon said, scrutinizing him. He asked slowly, "You're in love with him, aren't you?"
"Of course I am!" Jimin exclaimed, swiping over his face. He had trained himself not to cry but here he was, body wracked with sobs. "I need to, I need to see him, I need to make sure that he's alright—" That he's alive, he finished in his head.
"I could… arrange that, but—you'll likely have to promise more than what you usually—"
Jimin's blood ran cold but he shook himself out of it. "I don't care, I'll do it. Let me see him."
-
Jimin sat with Yoongi's head in his lap, running his fingers through his hair as he stared at his face. Even this contact that he had longed for was not much of a respite; he has seen Yoongi beat up, but this was—this was something else. He didn't know how Yoongi could do it.
When Yoongi came to, all Jimin could feel was exuberant relief. He didn't think about—about what would come after this, and instead focused on running his fingertips all over Yoongi's face.
Yoongi was insistent, though, and Jimin thought this was a long time coming. "What the hell did you do?"
Jimin shook his head helplessly. "Why are you asking if you don’t want to know the answer?"
Both of them had always known, but it became all too much for Yoongi; the repercussions of Jimin staying by his side for hours reverberated through them painfully.
"Don’t come back," Yoongi finally said.
"What?"
"Don’t fucking come back," Yoongi choked out, coughing between his words. "I’m not worth it. Don’t come back."
It broke Jimin's heart. "It's my choice." It's my turn.
"Not worth it," Yoongi repeated, insistent. "Not fucking worth it."
Jimin squeezed his eyes shut to hold back the tears. He leaned down, gently pressing their foreheads together. "Don’t you get it? You’re all I’ve got."
"Jimin, please." Jimin's heart ached, and he could handle pain, but not like this.
The tears spilled. "I need you."
"I'm gonna get out of here—" Yoongi was slipping into incoherency, delirious. "Don't come back."
Jimin cried out desperately, "How can I stay away?"
Jimin needed Yoongi; they needed each other, always had and always will. "Wait for me. Just wait."
He latched onto those words as the guard Yoongi hated guided Jimin out. Jimin felt chills go down his body. It was time. He struggled to turn to look at Yoongi one last time. They could go on and continue foolishly sacrificing themselves for the other, or they could just—let go.
He would wait, then, if that was what Yoongi wanted. Jimin wouldn't come back.
-
Jimin remembered the first time he met Yoongi, all those years ago, back at the orphanage. He thought the other children were the definition of cruel back then, well, he had no idea. Jimin cried easily then, something he had forced himself to learn to tamp down on now.
Yoongi had put Jimin before himself from the start; no matter how he spun it, he had chased away Jimin's childhood tormentors, and this was before he even met Jimin. Before they became friends, before they became something more.
It had been a long time coming for Jimin to do the same in return.
-
Jimin wasn't sure how to describe his relationship with Namjoon—he would call it ownership, while Namjoon likely thought of it much more kindly.
As Jimin often reminded himself, he didn't hate it, nor did he hate Namjoon, and this was all very necessary. He wondered briefly what Namjoon could possibly be getting out of this; surely not his superior companionship. And all things considered, Jimin couldn't have been that good of a fuck.
Jimin had always been perceptive, though, and spending time around Namjoon made him realize just how easily everything came to him. Namjoon got everything he wanted; he never really had to fight, struggle for anything in his life. Perhaps Jimin's original rejection was too much of a tantalizing challenge for him.
Namjoon dropped the bomb when Jimin was lying in bed next to him, several months later. Jimin was all fucked out, ready to doze off. "They're planning a prison break."
"What?" Jimin sat up immediately. "How do you know?"
"Like I said, I ask the right questions." Namjoon raised an eyebrow, and Jimin found himself temporarily caught up again in his guileless façade. It was an excellent one; it took time for Jimin to realize just how shrewdly manipulative Namjoon was.
"Is…" Jimin didn't finish his sentence. They both knew who he was asking about.
Bringing up Yoongi always made Namjoon stiffen. "He's a part of it."
"And? If—if you know, then the prison guards must know—they'll get him, or worse—"
"They'll catch him and then they'll kill him."
Jimin gaped at him. "No. No, that's not right, they can't—you promised me you'd keep him safe. You have to do something about it, you have to protect him."
"I'm not a miracle worker, Jimin," Namjoon said, voice hard. "You want to know how I know? The prisons are overflowing these days, they're over capacity. What's a better way of fixing this issue than to orchestrate a prison break? Sure, maybe a handful will actually make it out, but for everyone else, the guards will now have just cause for gunning them down."
Jimin shook his head mutely. "They can't do that. Yoongi—"
"Is it always about Yoongi?" Namjoon asked, frustrated.
"Of course it is! You know it is, I've never once denied it, the only reason I'm—" Jimin's words made Namjoon's face harden.
"I can pull some strings and see what I can do—" Namjoon held up a hand to pause Jimin's cry of excitement. "On one condition."
Jimin stopped, the relief he felt coursing through him freezing into something else, bitterly cold. "What?"
"You come with me to Eden, in exchange for Yoongi's life. And if he makes it out—you're to have no contact with him, ever again."
Jimin's heart shattered to pieces; it felt like the other shoe had finally dropped. This was it, then, this was the ultimate sacrifice he would make for Yoongi. He wouldn't regret this.
"Deal."
-
As the armored car rattled across the bridge towards the walled city, Jimin stared out over the river. It was never pleasant, water murky and stinking, but Jimin thought his happiest memories were set there: he fondly remembered running through the water as Yoongi chased him down when they were young, the river lapping around his ankles.
He remembered a hot summer's day, splashing water onto Yoongi in order to convince him to plunge in too. He remembered running through the waves with some young children, wistfully jealous of their innocence. He remembered kissing Yoongi on the banks, when all they had was each other, but it would always be enough.