Chapter Text
Yeouido, 2267.
Min Yoongi, twenty-one, hops out of his truck, only slightly losing his balance and violently shaking off helpful hands that tried to steady him. He hasn’t travelled all the way here to be judged for being weak, no—he came here to be judged on his sheer willpower and inability to die when someone had his name written on several bounties. Hoseok, who has been with him from the beginning, tries not to look at though he’s just been burned.
“Hyung, you should really have your crutches.”
Yoongi flings him a sharp look, slamming the door with as much force as he can muster (admittedly, not much), his one good eye piercing. “Another word, Seok-ah, and you’re gonna wait in the truck. Then if I keel over and you aren’t there to help me, it’s because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.” He smiles, poisonous., but something hurt swimming beneath it.
“I’m just saying—“
“And you’re fucking lucky there isn’t anyone out here to hear you, okay? Shut up.”
Hoseok’s expression pinches, and he follows Yoongi into the tower at a snail’s pace.
Kim Seokjin’s tower is located on Yeouido and sandwiched between two other towers that, back in the day, would have been used for the iconic LG company. His family owned all three from the moment the company closed, and what they had done with them was far beyond anyone’s expectations for them. Some admired the change and other’s loathed the family for it and had begged, at the time, for them to reconsider—to not poison the ground the towers stood on with silly games and bloodshed.
Of course, the Kim’s were not a family who listened to what other people wanted; everything they did and everything they owned, had to be for their own pleasure. Which is exactly why they had invested in the GTWC, those many years ago.
( The GTWC had first started in Chōfu, Japan in the year twenty fifty-five when they’d first learned how to created genetically engineered monsters bred for war. The funding had of course, expired—along with several of their most precious creations. However, in an effort to save the research and time plowed into the endeavour, scientist Mariko Yamato sold her information and equipment to three of the highest bidders in three different countries.
What became of it, was entirely the choice of those who purchased it from her.
Kim Seokjin’s ancestors had been one of the lucky buyers, and his family built their empire on Titan’s, they decided to call them, once created to wipe out cities hands-free, bred for entertainment instead. The process had evolved over the years, and when Seokjin himself had come to head the family business, Titans had human pilots, neurologically linked and controllable so that they couldn’t ‘go rogue’, as reporters had put it after the original test footage of their first fights had been leaked. )
“Still a vain little prick then, is he?” Hoseok sniggered, pointing at one of the many portrait frames that adorned the walls, flickering distantly as it changed from Seokjin to his great-grandfather, the two so alike the change wouldn’t even be noticeable if he wasn’t looking. “You really went to school with this guy, hyung?”
“This vain little prick is paying for your trophies, Hoseok-ssi.” A voice comes from the end of the corridor. “And yes, we did. Didn’t we, Yoongi-yah?”
“Hyung,” Yoongi tries to remedy as they reached him, shooting Hoseok a look that definitely said he should have left him in the truck. “Sorry about him, he’s…” He pauses, looking for an excuse. “On his last braincell.”
“Ah.” Seokjin waves off his apology, fixing them both with a cheerful smile, something else swimming beneath it. “Not to worry, he’s just lucky that I am rather fond of myself. And with good reason, too.” He turns on his heel through the open door, breezily ushering them inside to the lounge, the white modernity of it making Yoongi feel out of place with his black, wiry tattoos and fading blue hair.
“So,” Seokjin starts as they sit down. “You’ve thought about it? I assume you’re here to tell me some good news, otherwise you wouldn’t have come all of this way, yes?”
“I— Yes, but. It’s not that simple.” Yoongi shrugs, trying to find the words. “We’ve got, requests.”
Hoseok leans forward to cut him off. “Nothin’ too weird though, you know? Just some little details, little things we need.”
“Oh.” Seokjin eases back, extending an arm for the two of them to continue. “Of course, ask away.” Only, now that Yoongi had Seokjin here, all ears, he wasn’t so sure he could ask. “We want the split sixty-forty, in our favour. We also need a whole new system, truck, and—and an extra Home tank.”
“Is that all?” Seokjin barely moves. “What do you need the extra tank for? If I may ask, of course.”
“A project we’re workin’ on. No details to be given right now, Seokjin-ssi.” Hoseok says quickly. With no room to argue, Seokjin considers their requests. Home tanks, where Titans were kept to recuperate after matches, were expensive pieces of machinery. If something went wrong and it had to be replaced, it could put pilots out of pocket, and thus out of the ring. Yoongi figured he might have had a better chance asking for another one, a backup plan, if he had Seokjin as an investor.
“Alright,” Seokjin agrees without much thought. “You have a deal. You should have your new tank by the end of the month, and I expect to see your new Titan at the end of the year.”
“Yes—? Just like that?” Yoongi’s head shakes. He hadn’t imagined, despite their childhood friendship, that he would be so agreeable.
“Yes. Just like that. We’re friends, aren’t we, Yoongi? This is what friends do for each other. You have agreed to become my champion, in return it’s only fair that I should give you everything you require to fulfil your end of the bargain, no?”
Yoongi nods, an uneasy weight lifted from his shoulders.
“Can I just ask one thing?” Seokjin says after a moment. “Hoseok-ssi, may we have a moment alone?”
“Oh! Yeah. Hyung, I’m just outside, okay?” Hoseok jumps, obliging. He spares a look at Yoongi, even if only to make sure he was okay. Alone with Seokjin, Yoongi squirms in his seat—the question has been one to expect.
“How is your recovery? I can’t imagine it to be easy—after what happened…” Seokjin says quietly, tentative and leaving enough room to even decline to answer, if he thought perhaps the other man wouldn’t want to. “What happened to you,” he continues when Yoongi says nothing.” Was foul. I don’t pretend to know how you feel, I simply—I ask as a friend and now as, a share-owner in your success, do you think you will be able to compete by the end of the year?”
Yoongi often thought it didn’t bear thinking about, what happened to him. Why it happened. He carried scars from it, both physical and mental, but he chose not to dwell on it often for fear of letting the anxiety consume him again, make him a shut-in and ruin his chances of ever capturing his title again. He had been told, after all, that people wouldn’t like it when the underdog won—and kept winning. People didn’t much like it when his ghost resurfaced, either, and Yoongi was by no means a ghost, but when his name appeared in articles a few months after the incident, stating that his recovery was some miracle to be marvelled at, the threats poured through by the mile and far outweighed the well-wishers.
“Honestly, hyung, I’m fine.” He reassures, tries to, the words feeling wrong on his tongue. “The time you’ve given us is more than reasonable. We—I, won’t let you down.”
“Just what I wanted to hear.” Seokjin extends a hand and Yoongi met him in the middle, the both of them smiling, hopeful. “But I do think perhaps, you should be using your crutches. Just to speed things along.” Seokjin laughs, hearty, as he pulls away, letting Yoongi cringe in his seat.
So he’d heard anyway. “Yes, hyung—I’ll use the, fucking crutches.”
“He worries about you. It’s sweet.”
“It’s fucking annoying, is what it is.” Yoongi huffs, a smile catching the ends of his words.
“Someone has to look after you, hm, Yoongi?”
“I look after myself. I’ve always looked after myself.” More than anyone else would fucking know, he thought.
Seokjin offers him a knowing look, something sad swimming beneath his eyes. “I know.”
Gangnam, 2272.
“—You should be here.” Yoongi spits, head against the window. He’s been watching the scenery pass by lazily ever since they started this conversation, unfocused.
“Yoongi, you know how hard I tried to work around this so that I could be there to cheer you on, but I just can’t.” Seokjin says, voice stretched thin. He’s tired, Yoongi can tell. That alone makes him feel bad, Seokjin works so hard for them that this shouldn’t bother him as much as it does, but—
“I don’t need you to cheer me on, but he’s gonna try and pull all sorts of shit if you’re not there.”
“I know. I do know, and I’m sorry.” A lull as he obviously has to ask his assistant for something, microphone covered with his hand, presumably. “I’m just a phone-call away. You can handle Park Jimin alone, can’t you?”
The way he says it, as if he’s coaching a child makes Hoseok giggle beside him. Yoongi pinches his leg, happy when he hisses and concentrates on rubbing the pain away.
“That's not the fucking point.“
“Well, that’s just too bad.”
“I’ll show you too ba— Hello?” Yoongi drops his phone. “He fucking hung up on me. Asshole. ‘You can handle Park Jimin’, mrr-mrr…” He says in a poor imitation, slumping back.
“Ah, Yoongi-hyung, it won’t be that bad, and I’m here! You always have me.” Hoseok beams. “I’ll do all the talking and you can be brooding and mysterious.”
“Shut up. I’ll pinch you again.” Yoongi does it anyway. “ And I don’t brood. I’m going to sleep. Wake me up when we get there.”
He sinks back, closing his eyes and enjoying the last few hours of quiet before they reach Park Jimin’s extravagant arena, preparing himself for what might just challenge the title of, Worst Time of His Life.
It’s nightfall by the time they reach their destination. Yoongi hasn’t slept, but he’s rested enough that he feels good when he stretches and his bones give a satisfying ‘pop!’.
Back when the world was greener, it might have been beautiful. But the past two-hundred years have been anything but kind to the world. They’ve managed to stabilise it little by little, but in the end all their advancements in bio-engineering only prevents the inevitable. A heavy fog rests over half of the world now, leaving it dark and dirty on even the brightest of days, makes the air thick and hot and hard to breathe. Yoongi spends most of his time indoors, and half of the world is encased in a new sort of bubble, designed to replicate the Earth they once had before they fucked it all up.
( Yeouido and half of South Korea exist in these bubbles—the Arena does not. Built in one of the poorer districts to provide just a little bit of entertainment for the poor souls that are trapped out here. )
Hoseok brings the truck to a stop outside of the gates, flashlights blaring through the window so that security can get a good glimpse of who they’re letting through. The two of them are easily recognisable, Seokjin has had them do countless amounts of promotion in the last few years—that, and the scar that runs across Yoongi’s face is hardly missable.
“Alright, let ‘em through.” One guard calls as the gates lift, and the two of them slip under. Yoongi’s out before they even stop for the second time, shaking out his leg as he moves to lift the shutters. Hoseok isn’t far behind him, tablet in his hands as Yoongi sets the tank to roll on out and into the building. Namjoon catches them just as they slide through the curtains.
“Hey, I’ve been waiting for you. Took you long enough to get here, hyungs.” All smiles, he takes the tablet when Hoseok offers it. “She’s purring like a fucking kitten in there. You absolute beauty.” He comes to stand in front of her briefly, the tank dark but her shadow floating somewhere within it, sleeping and waiting to strike. Waiting to be called.
“Didn’t even have a scratch on her from the last match, did she, hyung?” Hoseok beams, chest puffed out.
Yoongi smiles, proud. Hoseok taps the tank gently, approvingly. “We should run those diagnostics again, I wanna make sure we’re one-hundred precent ready for whoever they have for us, but really she doesn’t even nee— Ah,” he stops, nearly knocking into a guard blocking their path.
“You alright?” Namjoon asks, trying to move past. The guard moves, extends an arm. “Aha, is there a problem here?”
“Let us through,” Hoseok argues, trying to push past again but getting nowhere. “Look, can we hel—.”
“I apologise,” a new voice says from behind them. Heels clicking on the floor, multiple footsteps. Yoongi knows that voice, turns to face none other than Park Jimin, and a timid little thing standing beside him and clinging to his arm. “Our events have become quite popular. We can’t just have people wandering back in here from the outskirts—even the Breach centres. God, imagine the carnage.”
He settles the guards with a wave of his hand. “Yugyeom, give them their appearance fee.”
Yoongi’s eye catches on the young man standing beside Jimin, gaze fixed on him and looking him up and down. Yugyeom, the guard stopping Namjoon, hands him a brown envelope. “Oh—thank you.”
Jimin strides to the tank, his cane (gold, his family’s emblem adorning the handle), clicking softly against the tile. “Can I have a look? I’ve heard so many… Great things about it.” He lifts a hand, touching his fingertips to the glass and the tank flashes crimson, Yoongi’s Titan surrounded by tiny oxygen bubbles in her water cage, still sleeping despite the disturbance. The man makes a sound of approval, somewhere between a gasp and a hum.
Yoongi isn’t looking at him, though, but at his choice of company. Small and mousy, standing small despite the height he has on almost everyone else in the room. Yoongi thinks he might pity him the moment he opens his mouth, can feel the starved aura coming right off him.
“She’s beautiful…” Jimin says, awestruck. Yoongi clears his throat, catching the companion’s attention, his gaze shifting. “Yeah,” he says, eyes fixed on the other man’s, then down to his lips. “She is.”
The other man looks away, the tips of his ears a soft pink. Yoongi smiles to himself, turns his head to the floor to wipe it off of his lips before looking to the back of Jimin’s head. “Her name is Mariko—after her initial creator.”
“Hm… How touching. Now, what would you say if I asked you to lose tonight’s match?” He muses, head tipped as he studies the creature laying dormant. In a violent second, her tail hits the glass and Jimin startles, stepping back. Whether intentional or just a twitch, Yoongi doesn’t mention.
“Fuck right off.” He bites instantly, tone sharp.
“No—,” Jimin says, apologetic as he turns to face them. “There’s no need to be angry, Yoongi-ssi.” Arms outstretched, he stops in front of him, the act of friendliness looking less authentic by the second. “It’s just business.”
“Not to me. I won’t be bought.” Yoongi lets the last word hang there, watches Jimin’s brows crease in annoyance. He waves a hand and the young man he walked in with steps forward, reaching into his pocket and handing a Jimin a cigarette. Yoongi stays focused on the man in front of him. “I don’t dive, and I don’t lose.”
“And what makes you think you’re so special?” Jimin asks, cigarette hanging from his lips as his companion lights it, and is then promptly shooed away.
“Not special,” Yoongi remedies. “Just unique.”
“Unique? Ha!”
He doesn’t like to be laughed at. “No other pilot has this kind of connection with their Titan.”
“Yeah,” Namjoon defends from their left. “Seventeen straight wins to show. I’d say that was pretty special.”
Jimin’s brow twitches, feigning interest as he blows smoke past Yoongi’s face. Almost as if he knows what would happen if he were to chance it in the wrong direction. “So that’s your edge? You and your little money-making monster here are, what, best friends?” He sighs, disappointed. “You would be paid rather handsomely, if you were to do as I ask…”
“I already told you—“
•“Five hundred thousand. Think about it.”
Yoongi can feel his blood boiling beneath his skin, a sticky-hot kind of anger bubbling in his chest. “Fuck you and your money—that’s my answer.” He pushes past him roughly, finding little comfort in the affronted grunt Jimin gives in response. Manoeuvring the tank with the remote, he heads towards the elevator.
“This might be a game to you,” he hears Hoseok says, as Namjoon joins him. “But for us, this is personal.” There’s a venom in his voice that nobody would expect, just by looking at him. Cherry-coloured hair and a honey-like disposition, he doesn’t look capable of mirth, and yet here it is in the defence of someone he considers more than family.
“What, one insignificant loss for more money than you could ever hope to ma—“
“Insignificant?” Hoseok cuts, voice pitched in anger. Yoongi hears more than he sees Jimin get pushed back, turns just to see Jimin waving off his guards. “It’s people like you who fucked us over in the first place, fucking sheltered rich boys who think money is always the answer.” He bites, poking Jimin’s chest again.
“Five years ago, Yoongi got snatched by a local geondal who were paid to destroy his chances of winning the Championships. You know why we’re fuckin’ special, huh? Because he isn’t just Mariko’s pilot, they’re part of each other. Her genetics are Yoongi’s, too, used his own blood to make her. His last Titan was the same—and they took advantage of that. Killed his Titan first and then when they were done using it to torture him, they started cutting. Slicing their marks into his flesh. Can you imagine that kind of pain, that kind of humiliation carved into his skin? To feel the pain of two deaths at the same time?”
Yoongi still remembers it, skin crawling with the mention of it. Jimin’s younger companion is looking at him over his shoulder, eyes wide as if suddenly the way Yoongi looks makes sense. The winding snake tattoos, the ugly scars across his body and the one that winds right the way across his skull, marring his face. He was lucky Namjoon had found him before it was too late, lucky that he and Hoseok could patch him up again, lucky that Seokjin paid for his expensive treatments after hearing the devastating news, and offered to build Yoongi’s name again.
“Lifelong reminders—So when he goes out there, and when he wins, it’s not going to be for pride, or fame, and certainly not for your fuckin’ money.” Hoseok finally retreats, expression twisted in disgust.
“Of course. We’ll leave you in peace.” Jimin concedes, raising a hand in surrender, but his frown says he’s less than pleased at being beaten. “Please, enjoy your evening.”
But, just as the doors close, he calls, “And best of luck! May the best pilot win!”
Yoongi raises a finger in mock salute, hoping that gets the point across.
He’s waiting by the emergency exit when Jeongguk finally manages to find him. Without Jimin next to him he stands taller, looks a little braver. He drops his cigarette and stubs it out with the toes of his shoes as Jeongguk nears; he knows it’s a habit he hates.
“I thought you said you were going to quit,” he says on approach. “You were lying?”
“I’m stressed, and I smoke when I’m stressed—what, I’m not allowed?” Yoongi’s smile turns into a grin and he reaches out, not much, just enough to let Jeongguk sink closer and he does, fits himself into Yoongi’s hands and falls against him. “Hi, baby.” He says into Jeongguk’s neck, inhaling his scent.
“Hi, hyung. Missed you, missed you so much, I—.” Jeongguk’s arms snake around his waist, pulling Yoongi flush against him. “I have so much to tell you…”
“You got married, I know that much.” The disappointment is in his voice, the disgust is written all over his expression. Jeongguk pulls back to look down at him, and Yoongi drowns in the soft sadness of his eyes. “Can’t say I’m happy for you.”
“I didn’t—my parents, hyung, they—I didn’t want to.” He shakes his head furiously, swallowing thickly.
Yoongi understands. Park Jimin and Jeon Jeongguk are both chaebols that were fated to marry from the moment they were born, two families dead set on merging their businesses. Jimin’s family manufacture the structure of the bubbles that fit so snugly around Seoul and other parts of South Korea, and Jeongguk’s family provide the artificial weather to replicate what the Earth once had.
Yoongi himself is a hollow shell of the man he used to be, ugly and marred. The life he lives isn’t the kind of life he’d want Jeongguk to have, and so even if he hates this, hates what Jeongguk is and all that he has, he’s happy it’s him, that has it.
He supposes some part of him must have Jimin to thank, though the thought drives him partially mad, because if not for his interest in the GTWC they would have never met. Would have never had this, secret romance—true love, Jeongguk once called it.
“Baby, Gguk-ah, it’s not your fault. I’m not really mad, yeah?” Yoongi soothes, doesn’t want to see Jeongguk upset, not now, not in the minutes that they have with each other. He reaches up to cup Jeongguk’s cheek, relishes in the way he leans into his touch; turns his head to press a kiss to Yoongi’s palm, the feeling cool against his skin. “Hyung’s not upset with you, okay?”
Jeongguk nods, drops his forehead to Yoongi’s and sighs somewhere deep in himself, his breath coming in a little stutter. “You never—you didn’t tell me that happened to you, hyung.”
Yoongi expected this, expected Jeongguk to have questions, to feel left out. “I don’t like talking about it, it was all over the news for months—years, even, it’s an ugly story. I didn’t want to tell you.” He shakes his head gently, looking up at Jeongguk’s big eyes, so close and says quietly, “Didn’t want you to think differently of me.”
“Never,” he sounds broken. “Never, never… I think you’re beautiful, so strong, hyung—I love you.” The way he says it so finally makes Yoongi’s chest stutter. “I love you.”
Jeongguk’s hands leave his waist to cup his face, thumbs tracing the deep scarring on his face so endearingly, as though he isn’t afraid of them, isn’t disgusted by them the way Yoongi himself is every time he looks in the mirror. He’s tried to tell himself that they’re wounds of survival, that he earned them by being a fighter, by not being defeated—but they’re still so ugly, so prominent. Harsh lines carved across his face in an attempt to save his life.
“I love you,” he says again, so much raw emotion in his voice after learning the ugly truth that Yoongi almost doesn’t know what to say back.
Almost.
“I love you too, Jeongguk-ah. Love you the most.” He shakes his head, the words just aren’t enough for what he feels, and instead presses up until their noses touch, lips inches away. He feels Jeongguk sigh against them, feels him say, “Please kiss me.”
And that’s all there is, a stolen moment between them. Lips caught in a desperate kiss, too much to say between them and not enough words, never enough words. Just the soft touch of Yoongi’s hands at Jeongguk’s waist and his fingers in Yoongi’s hair, tugging softly to coax the smallest sounds out of him and hold them there, keep them forever in the warmth between them.
“I have to go…” Jeongguk says as he pulls back, leans in again to kiss him quickly one last time. Yoongi knows. If Seokjin had been here, he’d have kept Jimin busy, kept him talking. “Win for me, hyung—dedicate it to me.”
Yoongi grins, ducks to kiss his jaw, along the pretty line of it, to the pretty shell of his ear. “All of my wins are for you, Gguk-ah. Every single one of them. All for you.” He nips his ear, pulls on his earring with his teeth and Jeongguk pushes him away gently, pulls on his shirt for one, one last kiss before he really does put distance between them.
“I’ll watch you.” He says, beginning to walk away.
“I’ll win for you.” Yoongi replies, waving. “I love you.”
Jeongguk turns the corner, peeking back to say, “Good luck.” I love you.
With that, Yoongi feels like he can do anything.
Behind the ring, the atmosphere is tense. The crowd are cheering in anticipation, being led higher and higher into a state of euphoria by the commentator standing in the centre of the ring. Yoongi can hear his name, can see the spotlight searching for the champions, waiting for them to step onto their podiums.
“Is everything ready?” He asks Namjoon, shedding his jacket and handing it off to Hoseok. In the blacklight of the walkway, Yoongi’s tattoos shine, winding right the way around his body, covering almost every surface.
“Yeah, we’re ready to go.”
Alright, then. Yoongi thinks, and steps through the curtains and onto his podium.
At the sight of him, the crowd cheer. He can hear his name being chanted, their emblem, a striking Viper, coloured onto a few boards in the stands. These fans have waited months to see him here, to see him win here—he waves, lips caught in a smug grin. They might not be what he does this for, their love might to be something he needs, but it’s just another one of the reasons he won’t be bought—he won’t disappoint the people who admire his journey, who believe in him. He couldn’t give a fuck about the fame, but the respect he has from these people, the respect he’s earned, he won’t stand to lose that.
“Looks like a good turn out.” Hoseok breathes, looking around the arena just as their opponent, Kim Taehyung, steps out onto his podium in a flurry of yellow flames. He roars for the crowd and they roar back at him, throwing him the attention he thrives on. His eyes settle on Yoongi, something wild and feral swimming in them, and he winks. Taehyung, in all of his golden glory, sweeps up the crowd with a honeyed smile, looking a little younger in the lights. The people love him because he's pretty, pretty and deadly and a force to be reckoned with.
But Yoongi knows he can take him, be an equal match, be the opponent he needs to wipe the cocky smile right off his face.
Yoongi watches him, sitting down on the floor with his legs crossed. There are no words to be said between the two of them. They’re both here for one thing—to win, it just so happens that one of them will be going home tonight without a crown, and it won’t be Yoongi. There’s no need to play it up, to bite at each other. They’re here to fight, and that’s what they’ll do.
“Alright,” says the commentator, a well-built hologram in the centre of the ring below. Yoongi tunes him out, focuses on feeling for Mariko.
Tonight is the night. Yoongi is silent, searching for her fighting spirit, the noises of her moving beneath the ring and itching to get out.
The night two of the year's best competitors fight it out for the title—you’ve all been waiting for it! The crowd cheers again, anticipation growing. Yoongi finds Mariko, or she finds him, they seek each other out every waking moment. Something within her purrs back at him, like she’s found what she’s looking for, like she knows what he’s thinking.
“The affinity link is booted, Yoongi. Your ready?” That’s Namjoon beside him. Yoongi nods, already connected, already raring to go. He hears the boot-up, feels the cogs in his brain whirring, feels something—someone reaching out to him—
“Fighting for Viper—“ The commentator starts slow, and the bars on their side of the ring start to lift. “Give her a warm, warm welcome…— Mariko!”
His eyes glaze over, and suddenly he sees the world from a whole new perspective.
Mariko springs out of her holdings and stands tall in the ring, raising her head and letting out a deafening shriek. She’s alive, and she’s ready. She stalks the inner circle for a moment, the crowd fumbling over themselves to get a good look at her. She’s lean, somewhere between a prehistoric reptile, spider, and other DNA Yoongi used to create her in the labs. One unmistakable feature that she has, that other Titan’s don’t—her eyes are human, a part of Yoongi that can’t be replicated, his brown eyes looking at the crowd.
She stands straight and searches the crowd, eyes landing on Jeongguk and Jimin, long boy tail swishing high above her head. She turns and sees Yoongi, a low clicking in her throat sounding as though she’s trying to communicate with him, and then—
“Fighting for Tiger—“ Mariko turns to watch Taehyung sit down, to watch his people crowd him. She waits, hears the bars move up, the low rumbling of heavy footfalls accompanying the cheers. She settles onto her feet, waits. “Welcome, Kaptor…!”
The commentator flashes and disappears, and Kaptor takes his place. He’s obviously some ideation of a cat, and he bears his teeth and roars deep within his chest, so loud that the entire arena shakes with the force of it. His body is a hard shell that takes the colour of rocks, his eyes a piercing, frightening yellow. In one swift movement, he’s already charging towards Mariko with all of the false confidence Taehyung’s mind feeds into him. Mariko springs up, flicking her tail at his shoulder and already drawing blood—
The crowd gasp, some of them cheer and some of them reject the movement. Taehyung swears loudly from his podium, and Yoongi remains as passive as when he started. Kaptor, when he regains his footing, charges again, catching Mariko’s leg and sending her to the floor. She’s agile, though, quick to regain her footing and strike for him again, aiming for his face, his eyes, long claws slashing and slashing and chunks of Kaptor’s hardened skin falling to the floor.
He roars and slashes his own paws up at her torso, pushing her back. She shrieks, falling back into the opposite wall, and he pounces on her, standing on his back legs—they hadn’t known he could do that, pinning her to the wall and biting at her skin, drawing blood, letting it drip to the floor, the two creatures already drenched. Lifting a foot, Mariko kicks him back, and the crowd cheers for her success. Kaptor’s back is momentarily turned, a bad choice, and Mariko lines up her sharp, pointed tail and spins at him—at the last second he turns, catches it in one meaty paw, and pulls he the rest of the way forward and into the wall, violently smashing her against it. She rolls away, hissing, and Yoongi can hear Namjoon’s worried voice even from where he is, so deep within her head.
“Her heart rate is spiking..!”
Cornering her, Kaptor charges for Mariko. Her tail raises, and in a graceful movement, splits itself into four, each end pointed and deadly. Two imbed themselves into the floor and she pushes herself up and away, flinging one into Kaptor’s back and watching him roar and squirm in pain. He turns, but he isn’t fast enough, Mariko using the tail to lift him and slam him into the wall, another tail imbedding itself in his chest, another in his arm, another around his neck and using them to drag him closer until he’s beneath her, struggling to get up and clawing at the ground for purchase.
Her foot rises, and she uses the tail in his arm to raise it, claws clamping down on his back as she reaches for his arm and—bones crunching, she pulls it clean off. He wails beneath her and she releases him, raising his severed arm for the crowd to see, for Taehyung to see, turning to face Jimin’s VIP booth, for him to see it.
Behind her, Kaptor stands, and the crowd gasp, panicked and awed and terrified all at once. Mariko turns to see why—the genetically engineered bones within his body hide a perfectly sculpted knife, which flicks out without a cage of flesh to contain it.
Mariko shrieks, hisses at him as she charges, reading sharp tips to pierce his body in one graceful swoop. As she nears his blade raises, too fast, too heavy, and cuts them off—all at once. And where Taehyung had wailed with Kaptor, had felt his pain and made it known, Yoongi is a passive, beautiful picture of indifference. Mariko struggles as Kaptor has his meaty claws on her throat, holding her up as she fights back, albeit pitifully without her aids, until her back hits the wall.
A moment of silence, Kaptor raises his blade and—plunges it into Mariko’s abdomen. She screams, visceral and pitched in real pain. It twists within her body, digging deeper, deeper, deeper still until the bone of the knife hits the wall. Kaptor holds her there, Taehyung cheers for his victory.
Prematurely.
Mariko is engineered much the same way as Kaptor—hidden weapons, hidden assets, hidden victory. She wraps a clawed hand around the hilt of the knife built into Kaptor’s arm and despite the pain she must be feeling, despite the pain Yoongi must be feeling, pulls it back out of her body, far enough that Kaptor is reaching back to look at her. They’re looking at each other, her brown eyes boring into his black, emotionless abyss, and then she ducks the sharp nose of her face right into his neck, all the way in, until she feels something within him die, shut down, become dormant. When she lifts her head, Kaptor slumps to the ground in a graceless heap.
The crowd cheers and Mariko holds up her trophy, Kaptor’s severed head, which she then throws onto Taehyung’s podium, right at his feet.
Yoongi’s eighteenth victory tastes like something sweet as he opens his eyes. Mariko turns back to him, recognition in her eyes, before she sinks to her feet and slinks away back underneath the ring. He barely feels Namjoon hugging him, watching Taehyung on his podium looking forlornly at Kaptor and only feeling slightly sorry for him. You win some, you lose some. Yoongi just isn’t ready to lose yet.
Namjoon drops a bottle of beer on the floor as they’re heading for the quarters for the night, swaying with drunken happiness. “Hey, buddy slow it down!” Hoseok grins, laughter bubbling out of his throat as he steadies Namjoon and follows him into the room. Yoongi hangs behind them, waiting at the door, waiting for a sign.
“Hyung—you were amazing out there.” Namjoon says, “Really amazing. I was watching like, like holy shit.”
Hoseok scoffs. “You’ve watched him win thousands of time, Joon.”
“Yeah, but this! This was—I dunno, it was just so…”
“Thanks, Joon-ah.” Yoongi smiles back at him, small, and then focuses his gaze back out into the corridor.
“Hey, you think someone is gonna come clean that up..?” Hoseok asks, but Yoongi finds himself disinterested as he catches sight of a figure walking at the bottom of the hall, heading towards the loading dock.
He leaves without a word, assumes one of them will know where he’s gone, will know where to look for him if they start to miss him. He follows the figure through winding hallways, all the way to the loading dock and then into the back of his very own truck.
Standing in the middle of it is none other than Jeon Jeongguk, looking at all of the mechanics of the tanks, looking at the tank at the head of the truck, Mariko dormant within it.
“Fancy seeing you here.” Yoongi says to break the silence, and Jeongguk jumps.
“Hyung! God…” He giggles, hand to his chest to steady his heart. “I knew you were there, it was just so…”
“Quiet. For once, I know.” Yoongi steps further inside, towards Jeongguk, until he’s close enough to reach out and pull him close. “I won for you. Were you watching?”
“I said I would be. Thank you for winning for me.” Jeongguk beams, searching Yoongi’s face with nothing short of admiration in his eyes. “You did so well—I thought, I didn’t know if Taehyung-ssi was going to win, but you pulled it back at the last second and I… I, you were amazing.”
Yoongi hums. “Tell me more nice things, Gguk-ah. I like hearing nice things from you.”
“Well, I.. I would have been chanting your name too, if Jimin hadn’t been there… If Jin-hyung were there, we’d have cheered you on together.”
Yoongi’s brow raises, amused. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Jeongguk nods, ducks down to bury his face in Yoongi’s neck and inhale him, the bare smell of him, sweat and victory. He kisses the head of one of many snake tattoos on the junction of Yoongi’s shoulder, the moves away to look at the tank. One press of his fingertips and she glows crimson, and Jeongguk looks at her in awe, different than the expression Jimin had earlier in the evening.
“She really is beautiful, hyung.” He says, eyes raking over her face. “She has your eyes—I noticed. They’re just like yours, big and brown, beautiful…”
“She was looking at you—I—we were, looking at you, baby.” Yoongi says, bashful, ears pink at the end of his sentence. Jeongguk smiles, head tipped like it so often is when he’s thinking. “You can see, inside of her? When you merge, you see what she sees?” He asks, and Yoongi nods.
“I am her, or… She is me. Either definition works. I wasn’t lying when I said we had a connection unlike any other Titan and pilot. We’re one. I feel what she feels, her thoughts are my thoughts—we exist together, always.”
Jeongguk looks between the two of them, and Yoongi raises a hand to turn off the backlight in the tank. Jeongguk’s hand catches his own before it falls back to his side. He uses it to pull Yoongi closer, leans down to catch his lips in another kiss. Less desperate than before, slower, just the gentle slide of their mouths until Jeongguk tugs on Yoongi’s hair and makes him gasp, fingers fumbling on Jeongguk’s stupidly expensive dress shirt.
Things between them have always escalated quickly, the two of them all too aware of how little time they have together, of how quickly this will all be ripped away from them. It’s no surprise that Jeongguk has Yoongi crowded against the wall, lifts at his legs until Yoongi wraps them tightly around his waist so he can set him down onto Namjoon’s messy work desk, no surprise that Yoongi’s fingers are already working at the buttons on Jeongguk’s shirt, careful not to rip them, careful not to leave a single trace of his existence here.
“Hyung, hurry—off..” Jeongguk sighs, mouthing at Yoongi’s jawline and making his skin ache with the softness of it.
“I’m, trying…” Yoongi huffs, almost giving up. “This shirt is stupid—design is stupid, hate this shirt. Never wear this shirt again..” The buttons finally cooperate and Yoongi grins when he can finally feel Jeongguk’s skin beneath his fingertips.
Jeongguk sighs again, pitched higher and wanting, lips leaving a harsh bruise against Yoongi’s pale skin. He hisses, pinches Jeongguk’s hip in retaliation and then they’re both laughing, Jeongguk kissing back up to Yoongi’s lips and staying there for a long minute, the two of them breathing into each other, quiet.
Jeongguk breaks the silence, hands on Yoongi’s waist and thumbs rubbing small circles into his skin. “So proud of you, hyung.” He whispers, kissing the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his temple, his eyelid.
“Yeah..?” Yoongi hums, opening his eyes and pulling back to look at Jeongguk in the darkness, can see his eyes shimmering even then. “Love you, Gguk-ah.”
“Say it again?” Jeongguk asks, nudging Yoongi’s nose with his own, sounding breathless.
“I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. Is that enough?”
“No, again. Need to hear it again, tell me again, hyung.”
Yoongi pinches him again gently. “Jeon Jeongguk, I love you.”
Jeongguk sighs, a giggle on the end, is about to say something back when—the lights turn on in the front half of the truck. Blinding, white light.
“Oh, shit—Am I interrupting something important?” Park Jimin’s unapologetic voice cuts through the confused fog in Yoongi’s brain. He blinks hard as Jeongguk pushes away from him.
Yoongi pushes himself off of the desk, putting himself in front of Jeongguk. “What the fuck are you doing in here? You’re not supposed to be back here.”
“Neither is Jeongguk,” Jimin points to him over Yoongi’s shoulder with the point of his cane. “But I see the two of you solved that issue very quickly, hm? It was very cute, I was almost in two minds about interrupting the two of you.” He shrugs, wrinkling his nose in thought.
“Hyung,” Jeongguk pleads quietly.
“Oh, no—this is fine, I’m not upset about this. I’ve known about this for months now.” Jimin waves a hand. “I don’t care about this, Jeongguk, baby. We both knew our marriage was a sham, didn’t we? Why do you think I’ve been plowing so much time and money into Taehyung’s little pet project, hm? Why do you think I wanted him to win?”
Yoongi huffs. “That’s what this is about? I wouldn’t let you win, and now—what? What is this?”
“I think you know what this is. And I don’t think you’d want little ‘Gguk here to witness it.” Jimin levels with him, pouting impatiently. “I sure wouldn’t.”
Even though he’s certain he has no idea what is really happening, something tells him that Jeongguk should go. He turns, watching Jeongguk fiddle shakily with the buttons on this shirt. “Baby—go. You should go.” He says, stepping aside.
“Hyung—..” Jeongguk shakes his head, but his feet are already moving.
“Go upstairs and see Seok-ah, I’ll come up and find you when I’m done here, okay?”
Jeongguk nods, moving to pass Jimin and leave through the curtains. There’s a moment of silence, and then a little gasp and then—Jeongguk is back inside the truck, Yugyeom holding him still at the elbows.
Jimin shrugs, the movement almost comical. “It’s not fair of me to lie, I do want him to see this, actually.”
“What is this?” Yoongi demands, gaze flicking between Jimin and Jeongguk, fear spiking in his gut.
“See, Yoongi…” Jimin starts. “You’re just so hard to get rid of, aren’t you? People have tried and not even come close, mm? But then—the geondal, and all that. They came pretty close, didn’t they? I paid them a lot of money and they couldn’t even finish the job properly. A waste of my valuable time and money, no?”
Yoongi’s mouth drops open. “You. You?”
“Me.” Jimin smiles, proud. “I’ve never liked an underdog, but I wanted your Titan. I just wanted rid of you, and then I could fashion a new pilot and life could, go on. But then all that mess happened and you, you survived and now you’re a hero. A God to all those people out there who want to be something. Some of us don’t like that.”
Yoongi shakes his head, the panic in his gut spreading to his chest. Jeongguk is looking at Jimin with complete disbelief, complete horror—as if he knows what’s coming, as if he should have expected this.
“We like it better when people know their place. And, well. Yours just isn’t here.” He takes a step forward.
Yoongi holds his ground, straightening his back despite the fear in his spine. “You have two choices, Yoongi—and they’re really simple. You can hand over Mariko and denounce your title as Champion, and go and live a normal, sad little life with Jeongguk here, or you can refuse my offer and, well. I think the second option is rather obvious now, isn’t it?”
Yoongi looks past Jimin to Jeongguk, whose eyes are wet and shining, who is shaking his head. Yoongi doesn’t understand, but his answer is simple. “I’d rather d—..”
There is no climax to this. A simple ‘no’ is all Jimin needed to hear. A knife built into the hilt of Jimin’s stupid, pompous cane, finds itself buried seven inches into Yoongi’s abdomen.
“That’s too bad…” Jimin sympathises, twisting the knife slowly and tearing Yoongi’s insides apart, the edges dragging against anything it can find. He lets out a stuttered gasp, can hear Jeongguk struggling over the blood rushing to his ears, eyes wide. Jimin takes a step back, his knife leaving with him and the only support keeping Yoongi from falling to his knees.
He goes down in one fell swoop, legs giving out. He doesn’t cry out, doesn’t give Jimin the satisfaction of seeing him hurt—the geondal he’d hired had taken all of his screams from him, those five years ago. There’s nothing left.
Jeongguk is crying, he can hear that much, struggling against Yugyeom, trying to reach Yoongi as he sobs. Jimin’s lips pinch, expression dark. He’d expected more from Yoongi, maybe a river of tears, begs for his life—maybe Jimin is just that sick, or stupid, to think that Yoongi owes him anything. There’s nothing left he can give, except a blood-slick smile.
That seems to cross a line, for Jimin, and in two strides he’s at Yoongi’s head, raising his heeled boot and—coming down on Yoongi’s skull, listening to the sickening crunch of his bones, destroying his smug smile, finishing the job once and for all, finally.
The world enters a black abyss.
Jeongguk screams, and Yugyeom finally lets him go, both and Jimin convinces that this is over, that Min Yoongi has finally been taken care of.
“Hyung—Yoongi, no—Please..” Jeongguk pleads, falling to his knees at Yoongi’s broken body, blood soaking his trousers and hands reaching out to fix even though there’s nothing he can do, there’s nothing he can do—Yoongi is gone. His sobs alleviate the silence that hangs, Jimin looking at Yoongi’s body with some kind of sick satisfaction until his body moves with a bloody gurgle, something half dead and half alive, chest heaving with the movement and hands twitching.
Jeongguk scares easily, leaps back and watches.
“Aha… Hah…” Yoongi’s voice comes, thick and wet, pitched and mocking. “Did you… Ha… You thought it—would be that—easy?”
Jimin scowls, affronted. “What the—Yugyeom.” He orders wordlessly, Yugyeom striding forward and boring the heel of his boot into Yoongi’s skull once, twice. Waiting, another one, two strikes. “Aha…!” His voice still echoes, Jimin’s face pale.
“What is this—is this a joke?” He asks, looking at Jeongguk. The younger man looks absolutely petrified, but something hopeful lingers in his eyes, trained on Yoongi’s heaving chest.
“One thing—the geondal can… Be proud of—they got me good…” Yoongi says. “… Seok-ah—Namjoon-ah—they’re smart…They fixed me—aha… I’m just bioware processors—spliced to a fucking spine…!” He gurgles once more, choking on his own blood, then falls still.
Jimin, curious, steps forward and pokes the red insides of Yoongi’s skull. “You’re not—in there…?”
“No.” Yoongi’s voice is clearer now, coming through a speaker on the desk. Jeongguk scrabbles to stand on shaky legs, looking for a sign. “The night they found me, they managed to save my body, but they’d broken my fucking skull.” Yoongi in the speaker laughs, and the air grows cold. “You wanna know what makes me, special? Pieces of my DNA used to make Mariko, pieces of my brain, my consciousness transferred into her body. What you killed…? Just a vessel, she’s my pilot.”
Out of the darkness, in the back end of the truck, comes a low purring, and then Mariko’s repaired tail shoots out of the darkness, the pierced tip cutting right through the centre of Yugyeom’s face. It drops him quickly, and her face emerges from the darkness, snarling at Jimin—Yoongi’s eyes piercing, even now.
“You’re—You aren’t, you can’t…” Jimin stammers, eyes wide. He looks towards the doors, past Jeongguk, thinks on if he can make it out of here alive.
“I am,” Yoongi supplies helpfully, voice static. “My edge, is that every time I go out there, I’m fighting for my life—nobody else is their fucking Titan.”
Jimin drops his cane and hops over both Yugyeom’s body and Yoongi’s, but Mariko—Yoongi’s tail slides around Jimin’s feet, curling upwards and upwards until it has him in a tight hold, spinning him around so that they’re face-to-face, a low rumble caught in Yoongi’s throat and the sharp tip of his nose lightly pressing against Jimin’s chin, making their eyes meet.
“Are you scared now..?” He purrs, breath warm on Jimin’s face, and if he were human, if Jimin hadn’t destroyed his body, he’d be pouting mercilessly.
“You, y-you won’t. You won’t kill me.” Jimin tries, though he sounds unsure. “Not with Jeongguk watching.”
Yoongi’s gaze shifts to where Jeongguk has been watching, crying quietly, still huddled next to Yoongi’s body as if it makes a difference anymore. Another of Yoongi’s tails comes from out of the darkness, finding its way to Jeongguk and stopping. He doesn’t flinch, and something within Yoongi’s eyes softens, pointed end gently caressing Jeongguk’s cheek whilst he looks on, both awestruck and horrified.
Yoongi wouldn’t want to change Jeongguk’s thoughts of him, turn his name into something of a nightmare for him when before, it had been nothing but a prayer. “Hyung—“ He chokes on another sob, but his hand comes up, up, rests on the scale of Yoongi’s tail, soft and forgiving. Understanding.
Yoongi takes that as a sign, says, “Jeongguk—close your eyes for me. Close your eyes for hyung, mm?” Tone soft despite the harshness of the speaker.
Jeongguk, because he’ll always do what Yoongi asks, does.
Victory—has never tasted so sweet.