Chapter Text
When Yoongi wakes up it’s to a steel-hard kick directly at his rib cage.
With a groggy groan, he curls into himself, holding the targeted part of his abdomen under his palms. His brain feels sluggish and slow, as if only now settling in, buckling up for the period of consciousness. His eyes struggle to open, bleary with the residue of unusually-heavy sleep. When they eventually obey his call, his gaze is directed at a closed window, morning light blocked by a dark gray curtain, dirty at the seams. A figure is standing above where he’s laid on a mattress that is too hard to be his own, and before he can take a closer look up at the figure, his breath is knocked out of him again by another rough kick to his lower back.
“Wake up, you useless freeloader.”
Yoongi looks up through his pained grimace, muscles burning in defiance, to see an unfamiliar man. His hair is unkempt, beard stubby, unevenly groomed. His eyes are glazed over and bloodshot, looking down at him with a sneer. Yoongi's heart drops to his gut with the intensity of the fear dawning on him now that he’s sobering up from his sleep; the dread of the possible scenario taking place is almost paralyzing.
With another second of his body stilling, sinking into itself, he starts to feel a dull ache in his joints, a nagging throbbing in the back of his head— a 4-4 kick drum overtaking any other thought process wishing to kickstart. There’s a sharp pain where he’s been hit in his abdomen, ribs calling for urgent attention.
All at once, everything starts to fucking hurt. From his heels to his temples, everything cries and wails and begs for help or relief. For reprieve, as if it’s been aching for too long.
“Oi!” The man roars, towering over him. “I said wake up, you lazy bastard!”
Yoongi is promptly snapped out of his shell-shocked freeze by a rough hand grabbing his hair, pulling aggressively against the strands and forcing him to sit up on the mattress with a yelp, knees digging into it until he can feel the hard floor-tiles underneath.
Yoongi doesn't understand. He doesn't recognize his surroundings, he doesn't recognize this man, his body feels heavy and groggy and injured— for the first time in years his eyes start stinging with tears— has he been kidnapped? What horrifying circumstances led to this moment? Is this person's interest to harm him? To get revenge on his parents? To blackmail them back for hundreds of millions of won? Would they even entertain that option? In his dreams, maybe. He needs to run, then— if he’s some sort of leverage, then he needs to get out, to— to escape.
“Go get me eggs, Jungkook-ah, and a pack of ramen. Don't make me wait." The man spits out the demands, voice gruff as he sits by a small table in the corner of the room. Yoongi spots too many empty soju bottles in his vicinity— on the floor, by the chair, on the tabletop— and feels a knot form in his gut. His brain is blaring— unsafe, unsafe, unsafe.
Jungkook-ah?
Does he think Yoongi is somebody else? Does this mean Yoongi has been wrongly taken here? He doesn’t want to wait and find out this man’s course of action once he discovers what family Yoongi is from, the jackpot he’s hit.
No— he jumps from the bed the moment the man’s eyes wander off of him, stumbling over his own trembling feet around the mattress. His fingertips shake uncontrollably as he puts on the first pair of shoes his eyes land on in the midst of his unfocused quivering, nervous system overloaded; and then he fucking runs. Pure unadulterated adrenaline for blood in his veins, before that man can regret allowing him to leave— he runs.
Yoongi fucking sprints. He’s never been in shape and his cardiopulmonary endurance is severely lacking, but he runs like he’s done it every day of his life, his body allows it, welcomes it, like second nature. He runs faster than he ever did before. The adrenaline, he thinks in awe, is going to fucking save him. The human body is incredible.
He runs outside and passes a quiet neighbourhood he’s never been in, a skyline he doesn't recognize, flimsy houses rounding the unkempt streets as he runs down them blindly, no destination in mind yet, just as far away as possible. He’s sure there’s a wild look in his eyes because passersby send him worried glances, or maybe his body’s filled with bruises, who knows what that man has put him through before he lost consciousness to make him forget ever getting there in the first place, to make everything hurt.
Yoongi runs, and his cheeks are wet as he does, cool where the wind hits salty tears. Doesn't know why he’s suddenly crying, hasn't cried since his grandfather passed away years ago. Maybe the relief of escaping, maybe the fear of what could have happened had he stayed. Maybe his body’s just letting the adrenaline out. It’s a natural reaction, he reasons with himself. The cortisol needs to get released, there’s nothing else to it, really, and there’s no one to perceive it here. It’s fine, he’s safe.
He runs until he hears that name again.
“Jungkook-ah!”
He doesn't know why he turns around. Maybe it’s his unrestrictable curiosity, his thirst for information to give himself a semblance of control, for clues to navigate this brain-fogging situation— his habit of over-analyzing has never betrayed him before, not that he knows of. When he slows his pace and turns to the direction of the voice, he sees a young man, surely his junior, messy brown hair and a gray hoodie pulled over his head.
Yoongi takes a precautionary step back when the man advances towards him.
“Hey, what's wrong? Why are you running? Your dad went too far again, didn't he? Do you need me to get you somewhere safe? You could come over to mine.” The man puts a gentle hand on Yoongi’s shoulder— who immediately flinches away as if burnt, takes two steps back.
“Kook-ah, are you hurt?” There's an expression of genuine worry on the other man’s face, but Yoongi knows just how easy it is to fake one of those, has a lifetime of experience with people whose intentions are hidden behind masks. This man is a stranger, could be in on this scheme just as easily as Yoongi's attacker is.
“G-get away from me, I'm not— I don't know you—” Yoongi walks back, senses heightened and focused on every micromovement of the other man, feels like prey under a tiger’s gaze. A proper prey, all injured and scared and crying, voice so whiny it’s taking to a higher pitch. Fuck, he’s pathetic. If anyone who even distantly knows his parents sees him like this— it’s over for him. He has to get it together. He's never felt like this in his life, has never had to deal with something like this, has never allowed himself to let it out when he’s confused or upset— it only ever backfires, only ever sabotages his efforts. But he finds himself unable to hold it, like the protective dam he’s built over his nervous system has never been put to construction in the first place. Where is he? Where is he and how can he get home? Should he call the police? No— his parents would have a field day with this. Someone is after you Yoongi-yah, they’d say, not to him but to the lawyer. It’s not safe to be so in the spotlight until we find out who it is. It’s better if we take over for now, only for now. Should he call Namjoon or Hoseok instead? Does he even have his phone on him?
“What?” The man frowns, gazing at Yoongi incredulously. “I'm literally your best friend, what are you talking about? Did he hit your head, or what?”
Yoongi recoils at the blatant lie. This guy is not even trying to seem believable at this point. Does he think Yoongi is dumb? “No— no you’re not. Get away from me. I'm going home—”
Yoongi slowly walks away from the puzzled-looking man, peeking back in case he’ll come after him, still hyper-aware of his movements.
“Jungkook-ah, your home is the other way. What the hell’s going on?” The man’s entire demeanor changes, his voice rings as frustrated in Yoongi’s ears, which is never a good sign when Yoongi is, unfortunately, just as confused and just as frustrated.
“Why do you keep calling me that?” Yoongi snaps. “That’s not my fucking name, and I don’t know you, and I don’t know where the hell I am or how I got here but I'm going home, which is not anywhere around here. I'm going home.”
Not that home is all that great, but it’s a lesser evil for sure. At least at home, Yoongi knows the rules of the game he’s playing.
The man looks flabbergasted. “I-I'm Taehyung. I’ve known you for years. What do you mean Jungkook’s not your name? I-I don’t understand.”
“My name is Yoongi, not Jungkook. I don't know where the fuck this place is— I woke up here and some crazy ass man was hitting me. I don’t fucking know what’s going on either but I'm not staying to find out and have a murder mystery documentary written about me, thank you very much.” Yoongi’s never volunteered that much information about himself to a stranger before; he regrets it immediately. It’s your fucking nervous system, he repeats to himself. Get it under control!
“What the hell?” Taehyung lets out, hand running through his messy strands, hood falling off to reveal a deep-set frown. “If you're not Jungkook, then why do you look like him? You even have the same scar he has on his cheek!” He points at his own to accentuate. “You’re messing with me, aren't you? This isn't funny, Jungkook-ah. I'm getting worried so drop it off.”
“I don’t even know who this fucking Jungkook guy is! I just— I just woke up here, okay? Now can you please tell me how to get to Gangnam station from here?” Yoongi looks around, suddenly desperate for directions, the realization public transportation could be miles away is a terrifyingly realistic option.
“Gangnam station? What do you have to look for in the city? What the hell,” Taehyung asks, voice dripping with skepticism. “Look, I don't know what’s going on but you look and you sound just like Jungkook. I'm his best friend, I'll recognize him anywhere. If you’re here, and you’re not him, then where is he? You came right out of his house, didn’t you? Doesn’t it mean he’s where you come from?”
“What are you saying?” Yoongi almost sneers at him, at the silent insinuation in his word-choice. “There are doppelgangers out there, someone must have switched us up, for all I know. At this point, I don't even want to know. I just need to get out of here—”
Before he can even finish his sentence, Taehyung stares at him with intent, and pulls his phone out. He directs his front camera at Yoongi, and for a single moment, Earth stops moving. ”Is this what you look like?”
Yoongi blinks, and watches an unfamiliar face blink back at him. Dark long strands down to his nape and framing his face, big doe-eyes and nose, a frown that looks more like a puppy’s than Yoongi is used to seeing manifesting on his own features. This is not him. This body— he loses his breath at the realization— this body is not his own.
“I thought so,” the man stares back at his shock-frozen expression. With a worried purse of his lips, Taehyung retrieves his phone. “Go uphill and you’ll see a bus station, line B72 will get you to the nearest train station. I'm saved on his phone so call me if you get lost, I don't want anything to happen to him. Just—” he stops, expression bothered and uneasy. “I have to go to work, but, stay safe, okay? My name is Taehyung, don't forget.”
Yoongi nods, suddenly frantic. He watches Taehyung walk away, stealing worried looks back at him. B72. Line B72. His mind runs ten miles a minute. If he's here… and looks and sounds like this other guy… Then… this Jungkook is in his home… instead of him? With his parents? In his body? With the ability to believably act in his place? Without the knowledge of the sharks he’s swimming with and their ulterior motives?
Yoongi's relentless thought process cuts abruptly. The tears cease at once like they never existed. Only one thought remains, only one lone sentence in an endless cycle of repeat.
He has to stop Jungkook. He has to stop him from ruining his life.
And again, adrenaline surging, he runs. He runs with his entire being, he runs with his mind first and this unfamiliar body second, heart and brain screaming in unison because Jungkook could ruin his fucking life. Jungkook could tear apart every single thing he has built for himself, every single thing he has continuously fought for every moment since his grandfather passed away and— and Yoongi won’t sit still. He won't sit still and let some naive kid take his dream away from him. An easy scribble of a pen on paper, a shaky voice recording of clueless words, an not-so-impromptu perfectly-timed visit from their family lawyer, and Yoongi’s future is gone, vanished into thin air.
He won’t let him. He won't let him.
Yoongi runs. He runs, makes it to the bus that takes him to the train he’ll take to Gangnam station, where he knows a train will soon arrive at the platform with Jungkook in his body in it. He’s found Jungkook’s phone in his pocket— fuck is he lucky face recognition exists and that Hoseok’s Instagram addiction still prevails. He runs to the second cabin entrance to the left, he boards the train and when it’s time, exits at the familiar Gangnam station. He stands still right where he’s stood countless times before, where he’s passed just a week prior, in a different body, not as heavy and aching, not as charged with anxiety thrumming in his veins like boiling gasoline. He waits, and his heart is in his throat and his hands are shaking and god, he has to stop him, he has to warn him, at least, he has to find a way for them to switch back so Yoongi doesn't lose his fucking future.
When a train comes to a stop in front of him, it's like his blood has reached boiling point. Eyes staring intently at the exit he knows he always comes out of, at the spot he always occupies with his friends in tow, waiting to arrive at the stop closest to The Magic Shop, where they’ll spend the day drinking, vibing to live indie music and planning how they’ll overtake the music industry the moment Yoongi graduates from university in exactly one month. It’s all ready, an intricate plan just waiting to be followed, if Yoongi really manages to graduate. If Yoongi manages to stop Jungkook.
When the electronic cabin doors open, he doesn't even blink before he’s storming into the nearest railway car, pushing past Namjoon who isn’t as broad anymore, and Hoseok who’s shorter now, and looks himself in the eyes, sharp and catlike and slightly widened in surprise. The eye contact lasts for no more than a millisecond before Yoongi is yanking at an oversized Stussy sweater he hasn't worn in years, pulling at the fabric roughly enough to carry the weight of the body underneath it and pushing his familiar small frame against the first wall he sees. His elbow secures against his very own sternum, towards the pale line of his own throat.
“Huh?” He hears a gasp out of pouting lips, frown seeming more surprised than angry. Yoongi has never seen his own face contoured quite like that before, not in mirrors or under camera lenses, the expression too open to belong to him.
In the background, he hears the scuffle of Namjoon and Hoseok following protectively after them, ready to intervene.
Jungkook stares back at Yoongi with wonder, at his own face staring back at him, holding him down in place.
“Hey, what the fuck, man! Let him go!” Namjoon tries to push him back but Jungkook makes use of Yoongi’s pale hand and stops him from manhandling the sturdier body Yoongi currently occupies aside.
“No,” Yoongi watches his own mouth move. Watches, half-mesmerized half-terrified, the sharpness of his features turn to his friends. As he observes his own body in the flesh in front of him, awe-struck, he’s even more determined to make sure his priorities are still set straight, even in a different body. It’s too believable, it's too real, it's too risky. “I know him, it’s okay.”
Yoongi lets a frown take over, the body he’s trapped in jittering with pure anxiety at his emotions somersaulting inside his ribcage. Yoongi stares into his own eyes with intent, completely ignoring his friends’ presence. The friends that won't recognize him, won't know who he is, would stick by this Jungkook guy’s side instead with unwavering loyalty. More urgent than their understanding, there are things he must make clear.
He tightens his hold against a hoodie-clad sternum. Lowering his voice, he says. “You don't sign any documents, you don't utter the name Min Productions out of your mouth, you don't speak to any strangers especially if they’re acquaintances of your parents’. You don't agree with a word your parents tell you— not verbally, not in writing, not even with a nod of your head. Am I clear?”
A single scared, curt nod, and Yoongi’s continuing.
“You’ve been promised nothing by your grandfather, nothing special happens after you graduate, you trust no one but these two over here. Anything your parents spew out of their mouths is a lie, nothing is honest, spend the least time with them you physically can, do not answer their phone calls, ever. For every question they ask you, you don't know what they're talking about. They’re bad, greedy people, okay? Tell me you understand.”
“B-but they’ve been nice to me,” Jungkook mumbles softly, barely heard over the rustle of the crowd around them, people rushing out and into the train. Yoongi roughens him up, almost threatening. “I understand!” He squeals, shell-shocked, the sound horrifying out of Yoongi's own lips. His eyes look around frantically, as if connecting the dots, as if the fact this is not a dream, that this might actually affect his and Yoongi's lives, has just dawned on him. His eyes turn distraught to mirror Yoongi's own anxiety. “But in return, you don't file any complaints, you don't go to the police, and you don't get fired.”
“What the fuck?” Yoongi’s eyes widen, the bruises on his ribs throbbing in objection. “We don't know how long this will last, you want me to bear through that shit without doing anything about it?!”
“I'm sorry,” Jungkook replies, eyes honest. Yoongi has never seen himself look quite that innocent, that blissfully naive, that dangerously moldable. Sharp feline eyes trail over bruises both new and old, coloring a tan complexion in unnatural contours. “I know it's selfish, I know it's unfair to you, but I have no choice, I have no one else.”
“Fuck that, who cares? Blood relation means shit when they hurt you so many times, it's worth shit." Yoongi insists, the thought of agreeing to go back to that man who has hit him, Jungkook’s presumed father, to get physically abused on the regular, for what? Some twisted sense of obligation? An obligation that isn't even his own, an obligation he’s been thrusted into without as much as an explanation by some unnatural force— he doesn't even want to start digging into why this situation is happening. He’ll do that later when Jungkook understands exactly what he’s not allowed to do or be, in Yoongi’s body.
“To you, maybe. You’ve got everything— I don't have that privilege. Tell me you won’t report him.” Jungkook insists, a familiar stubbornness to him that manifests just the same in Yoongi— that same frown and set jaw.
“What the hell are you two talking about?” Hoseok butts in, eyes matching Namjoon’s in their bewilderment. “Hyung, who’s this guy? Why does he know all of that about Min PD? We’re supposed to be the only ones who know. And who can’t you report to the police?”
Yoongi watches his own expression turn nervous, looking helpless underneath Hoseok and Namjoon's perplexed eyes demanding answers. He and Jungkook need to keep this a secret, there’s no other option, at least until they get a hold of what exactly is happening to them. And so Yoongi does what he’s been raised to do to survive in his home; he twists the truth to fit his narrative.
“No one knows Min Yoongi better than me,” Yoongi looks at his closest friends, at their distrustful gazes at him, at the silent challenge he just prodded them with. He looks at them, and he chooses to do what he must. “And no one knows me better than him.”
Before the two can reply with a sound that is longer than one syllable, Yoongi turns back to stare at his own lost expression. With a small lick to chapped lips, he looks into his own dark eyes and says, “we were supposed to stay at your beach house this weekend, why not extend my stay by one more night and start today?”
He almost rolls his eyes at the bare surprise and confusion, the other man clearly not sensing the direction Yoongi is trying to shift their narrative to. Hasn't been trained for years by the mouths of two manipulative parents.
“Wait, what?” Namjoon shakes his head, “how do you know each other, Yoongi-hyung? You’ve never mentioned this before. You’re taking him to the beach house?”
“I—” the other man struggles, and so Yoongi removes the elbow from his sternum and crosses his arms on his chest, doesn't step away from him, though. The wheels in his head are turning, a story made up on the spot, in the seconds Jungkook takes to muster a response. “I am. We— we’ve known each other for a while. His name is Jungkook.”
“I've been there more times than I can count. My dad’s an abusive asshole, so hyung lets me crash over sometimes when it’s bad. He’s very good to me.” Yoongi retains direct eye contact with his own lost gaze, Jungkook trying to follow his story in its live enactment.
“Right, so… You’ll be staying… with me… for the next couple of days? Because you only need to work on Monday?” Jungkook continues, face turning even paler than Yoongi’s usual complexion is. “And… Your dad has no idea you’re gone?”
“I'll consider it a getaway,” Yoongi challenges back, brow raising.
“Except returning would be an even worse nightmare.” Jungkook stares at him with purpose, tense.
“It's better than staying and sucking it up. Taehyung will help cover for me, won't he?” Yoongi stares back just as intently, almost provocatively, knowing it must not be to Jungkook’s liking.
The charged staring contest stops when Hoseok’s voice cuts through, hand on Namjoon's shoulder. “Do you understand what's happening here? Because I'm lost. One moment they’re fighting and the next they’re saying they’ve been close for a while?”
“This is really fishy, hyung,” Namjoon shakes his head with a disappointed gaze directed at Jungkook in Yoongi’s body, who sends a begging puppy-eyed glance at him for help. Yoongi is torn between being impressed with himself at the agility and believability of this storyline he’s created, and being freaked out at how easily lying comes to him.
“Ah, you were right, hyung. They really don't get it, like you said they won't.” He sighs, sending a gaze over to the two confused men. With his most pseudo-honest eyes he blinks at his own frame standing in front of him. “Hyung, do you want to be the one to tell them, or should I?”
Puzzled, Jungkook replies almost immediately, “you can tell them. I'm sorry, i-it’s, um. It's hard for me…?”
With a long stare at his own two best friends, Yoongi knows he’s going to fuck up some things between the three of them, including ones that are unredeemable, but he knows there’s no other easy way to do this. Surely, they won't believe him if he tries to explain the truth, and his best friends and only confidants thinking he's lost his mind could just as easily unravel to become his dream’s demise and his parents’ delight.
“Hyung and I have been dating for a while.” Stunned silence. “All those times he disappears on you, he’s with me.”
“You—” Namjoon’s eyes almost pop out of their sockets. “You’re in a relationship?”
“I never told you,” Jungkook finally catches onto the scheme Yoongi's been building. Maybe the other man has some potential, Yoongi snorts to himself. “But now somehow you met. I'm sorry. No one knows about it.”
“How— how long has this been going on?” Hoseok asks, positively flabbergasted, brushing a hand through his hair.
“Long enough for him to know me from the inside out.” Yoongi supplies cooly.
“What the fuck. Did you really think we wouldn't support you in a relationship? That— that hurts, hyung.” Namjoon says, voice breaking.
“He said it would fuck up your plans,” Yoongi adds, leaning to hold the hem of his old Stussy hoodie for believability purposes, hoping they aren’t suspicious he’s talking more than their supposed friend is. It’s quite out of character for Yoongi to be this silent with them, but he thinks the shock factor can cover up their traces.
“Fuck the plans! We’re adaptive, it’s 2025! You can adopt a fucking heir when you’re forty, or legally assign someone you trust, who cares?” Namjoon calls out. Yoongi feels his heart tinge in his chest at the hurt in his voice. It’s too late, now, he tells himself. You have to keep playing.
“I didn't know what everyone would think. It’s— it’s new to me.” Jungkook struggles, tries to string words along that would make sense when all the gazes are directed at him, almost like blaming fingers. Yoongi almost pities the guy.
“I’m sorry this is how you find out. We've been having a fight and were planning to work things out this weekend, but things are rough back home. I didn’t want the first time I meet hyung’s friends to be when I'm like this," Yoongi lies through his teeth, a remarkable actor, prize-worthy, even, enough to play on his friends’ unrivaled compassion. He knows he must look like a mess in Jungkook's aching body and bruised tear-dry skin, hasn't looked at his reflection after his run-in with Taehyung, but can feel the manifestation of his aches as bruises on him.
“No, we’re sorry. We should be more supportive, Namjoon-ah. He would have told us when he was ready. We can't fault him for being uncertain of our reaction.” Hoseok pats Namjoon's back in comfort. “Why don't you join us to The Magic Shop, Jungkook-ssi? Or can we call you Jungkook-ah? You look like our junior. It’s our favorite bar.”
“Oh, I've heard all about it from hyung,” Yoongi grins at Hoseok, feels the slow warmth of keeping a secret weight in his gut, travel through his body gradually until it settles in every corner it can reach. The knowledge only Jungkook and him are in on it, the edge of caution it brings to every word he utters, the steady thrum of adrenaline in his veins. “I've been asking you to take me there, right, hyung?”
Yoongi's own face looks back at him, puzzled, a recurring theme with Jungkook, apparently. “Right,” he says, stares at the way a honey-tanned palm wraps around the milky skin of Yoongi's wrist, tugging him along.
When they’re seated in their regular corner booth in The Magic Shop, Hoseok offers to buy everyone a drink, but neither Jungkook or Yoongi take him up to the offer. Still, Hoseok lifts his own cup of liquor, and cheerfully toasts, “for new beginnings, relationships, and friendships! For Yoongi-hyung and Jungkook-ah, and the future to come! Cheers!”