Chapter Text
Silence.
It was around midnight when it all happened.
It was quiet at first. Deadly quiet, and then there were footsteps, as faint as leather soles clicking on cement pavements can be.
Then there were whispering and murmurings from the different cardinal directions, then a command in Yoongi’s voice, stern and confident,
“Go.”
Then things escalated; there was running, crashing, windows breaking, followed by the door. Not long after that were sirens, tires screeching, and then more shouting.
“Freeze!” The sound of the gun cocking breached through the extreme senses, followed by the sound of another gun cocked, mirroring the first one.
Then a sound of thunder. It rained.
But there was more than one thunder.
A loud thud sounds from the impact of a body hitting the pavement, of a groan of pain - of a metal police badge clinking against a metal drain.
Silence.
❀
“I’d like to make it clear that the only reason I haven’t struck you across the head right in front of everyone is that Namjoon threatened to leave if I do.” The bite in his brother’s tone comes out sharp but crumbles as it reaches him.
Yoongi sits back on the couch and crosses his legs, resting his feet on the coffee table between them. The sole of his shoe pokes the ashtray with a little clink. The smirk on his face only grows more extensive at the sight of his older brother twitching, hands tightening their hold on where they rest on his knees as if forcing them to stay in place.
“The lack of shame and guilt on your face is disgusting.” His brother charges again, but it’s just noise to Yoongi’s ears.
“Tell me what I did wrong then, big guy.” He emphasizes the mockery in his tone. Seokjin’s snort, followed by Namjoon’s groan is audible from somewhere near him, but he pays no mind, too entertained by the way he’s slowly ticking his brother off.
The older man in front of him takes a deep breath as if the fact he’s about to state is so painfully apparent that he’ll do something he’d regret if he doesn’t calm down.
“To get it through your thick skull, little brother ,” he takes another deep breath, “you broke the clan’s rule. Not just any clan rule, the clan rule.” The grip he has on his knees tighten, “You shot a cop, so now they’re cracking down on us. Not just us actually, the whole fucking clan !” He barks out the last sentence, hands releasing his knees to shoot up to his feet before Seokjin practically tackles him back onto the couch. A small glance from Yoongi’s side would show Namjoon whose eyes are locked onto the older man in a death glare.
Technically, Namjoon is lower in the ranks as the head chief’s advisor compared to the elder sons, but the Min clan’s business has prospered higher and further than ever, ever since the next door neighbor’s son (and Yoongi’s friend from high school) was hired. It can be said that Kim Namjoon’s wit and rational thinking has become the pioneer for the success that is the Min clan today, making him become one of the most prominent gang members. Because of this, Namjoon’s threat to leave the gang if anything were to happen to Yoongi calculates to a much higher loss than - well - not laying a finger on Yoongi and risking a damning headlock from Seokjin.
Which is why Yoongi can be as cocky as he wants, can poke anyone with his smugness without having to face any physical consequences - he’s practically invincible.
“I said tell me what I did wrong, not state the obvious. Jesus. The guy’s not dead.” Yoongi taps the ashtray with his shoe. “ Yet .”
“He’s been unconscious for the past three days.” His brother shoots back, speaking faster than usual in an attempt to not snap again.
“Still, he’s not dead. Rule says we can’t kill ‘em. Technically, I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You shot your soulmate, Yoongi.” A deeper, clearly angered voice shoots from the opening door. The weight and authority that comes with it are powerful enough for the whole room to freeze, and Yoongi’s grin tucks itself away into its corners. All other sounds - even the smallest of noises, scurry away into the cracks in the ceiling to hide from the sound of wooden sandals knocking softly against wooden floors, accompanied by a wooden cane. “We all saw the flower.”
Yoongi pushes himself up to sit properly, feet coming to rest on the floor like everyone else who start to straighten up at the presence of the Min clan’s head chief stepping into the room.
On the evening of February the 18th, the youngest son of the city’s notorious mafia gang shot a police officer.
A rare sight for many, especially for him - a young officer lying on the street’s pavement as a flower - a daffodil, blooms and glows from his chest.
On the cold Friday night, in a world where the first object one’s soulmate touches would bloom into a flower, a daffodil had bloomed out of a police officer’s chest from the bullet shot by a mafia.
On that cold Friday night, Min Yoongi had shot his soulmate.
“The true core of a mafia’s family line is based around soulmates. I’ve emphasized this many times before and mentioned it countless.” Head chief Min says as he sits himself down at the head of the table, his strong and bold posture educates many on his power despite being in his black cotton nightwear. “You couldn’t have possibly forgotten that, Yoongi.”
“No, of course not,” Yoongi mutters. He can feel a sharp pain crawl up from the base of his skull, inching closer to the top of his head. He runs his fingers through his black locks in an attempt to somehow soothe the ache. “But then there was no way I could’ve known beforehand that Jung was my soulmate. He’s a fucking cop .”
“Well, now you know!” His brother exclaims, “It was a daffodil, Yoongi, your birth flower. It was your bullet! You-” His mouth clamps shut at the small wave of his father’s hand.
“His profession has nothing to do with your judgment. It shouldn’t have.” The head chief remarks coldly. “You’ve made eye contact with him before you shot him. You knew, yet you ignored it and did it anyway.” Yoongi tries his best to appear unwavered, although it’s proving to be difficult, and the ache in his head is definitely not helping.
“If you’re talking about the soulmate contact, head chief,” Namjoon intervenes, “it’s possible that Yoongi’s migraine had masked the feeling then.”
At that, the head chief’s expression seems to soften ever so slightly, taking what his trusty assistant had said into consideration. Yoongi sighs.
The soulmate contact refers to the sudden wave of senses that hits as soon as one makes eye contact with their soulmate. Yoongi did remember looking at the officer straight in the eyes, the barrel of his gun aimed at the badge near his shoulder, but then the panging pain in his head made his mind blur, and before he knew it, the trigger was pulled, and officer Jung’s body was laid on the pavement.
Even the most clueless bystander would be able to work out what had happened. They’d look at the officer’s body, then at the wounded flower blooming from his heart, then trace the path back to Min Yoongi, whose gun is still aimed upwards but his free hand was clutching his head.
“This migraine of yours,” his father lowers his voice “have you been neglecting your medication again?”
“Doesn’t matter if I did or not. They don’t help. Never do.” Yoongi lies back on the couch, head tipping over the top, “And so what if I knew? What difference would it have made? We were raiding his house! No one expected that to happen, out of all things!” He stops abruptly when his head gives him another painful sting.
Yoongi wants to say that he’s gotten used to the pain after years of it, but it progressively gets worse every time, sometimes so much that it clouds his thoughts, and his brain can’t seem to process anything but the stinging pain, outlining the trails of his nerves. No one knows what caused it or how to treat it, and Yoongi’s given up on finding the answer to any of that after his 30th prescribed medication.
Namjoon came up with a theory, years ago when it first started happening that it was because of his mother, more so her death, that has caused it. A bit harsh, but it makes sense since the endless waves of migraines started hitting the day his mother passed away. Yoongi was still in high school then, and most weeks were spent by him having this painful strike of a headache consume him in the middle of class and Namjoon has to carry him to the nurse who doesn’t do much except for giving him a few painkillers. Maybe it was the fact that his mother died that affected him, maybe it was the difficult concept of the chieftess of one of the most powerful mafia gang who has defeated several men was defeated by a car accident.
“Putting this bitch of a headache aside, is anyone else just baffled?” Yoongi starts, shaking the memory out of his head, “You’re getting mad because a cop was hurt. This sounds crazy, but even Donghyuk hyung makes more sense getting mad over that stock shit.” His brother looks as if he’s about to protest but then snaps his mouth shut after realizing that Yoongi is favoring his side. He looks around the room, at the other gang members, most if not all of them have their eyes glued to their laps, not daring to look up. Yoongi knows they agree, though. Any sane mafia would.
“It doesn’t matter what job he took up, Yoongi. What matters is that he’s your soulmate and you shot him.” His father coughs, and for a minute there all the faces in the room washes out into concern. “I’m not worried about the stocks because Namjoon will find a way to fix it. It’s the least of our problems.” He looks at Namjoon, and the boy gives him a reassuring nod.
“Now, however,” The old man pushes himself up with his cane before Seokjin springs up to assist him. “We’re going to the hospital. All of us.” His eyes glide around the room once, then back to focus on Yoongi. “You, you’re going to visit Jung Hoseok.”
“Dad, that’s-”
“Dismissed. Go and dress yourselves properly.” The cane knocks on the wooden floor a few times before Yoongi’s father is completely out of the room, and everyone slowly starts to migrate to their places.
Yoongi sits back fully on the couch as if hoping he’d sink into the cushions, a bitter scowl on his face. He feels the cushion on his side dip slightly as Namjoon drops himself down.
“Hey hyung,” the younger boy starts, “I think you’re making the situation out to be worse than it actually is.”
Yoongi turns his head to face Namjoon with a confused frown on his face, and so he continues “I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you this, but head chief Min has been struggling to come to accept it too, the fact that you’re tied to a police officer.”
Namjoon takes Yoongi’s gesture of sitting up properly as a notion for him to continue, “You know the head chief, he hates cops. Doesn’t want anything to do with them ever. That’s just a mafia thing.” Namjoon clears his throat, “But I think he’s come to accept it as your father and as a person. He’s your soulmate whether you both like it or not. It’s practically written in the stars.”
“The stars are bullshit then.” Yoongi spits.
“That, or the world’s just having a laugh making their modern-day Romeo and Juliet pair.” Namjoon chuckles but stops after realizing that Yoongi barely cracked a smile.
“I really believe in being your own person and making your own choices,” Namjoon murmurs, “but I can also tell that it’s something your father really wants. He’s willing to look over the tension between the mafia and the police for his son. It’s probably his dying wish for you to be with your soulmate.”
Yoongi lifts his head, his migraine dying down a little. “Dying?”
Namjoon seems to realize then the weight of his words and clears his throat, “You see, hyung,” his tone softens “we’re not just going to the hospital so you could visit Jung Hoseok.” The younger boy looks as if he’s battling himself to say it.
“Oh, right.” Yoongi cuts him off. “Yeah, I know about that. Just didn’t think about it. Right.” He nods, feeling the minute pain building up again and he rubs his jaw. “Let me know what they say.”
“Of course.” Namjoon pushes himself off the couch. “You should get dressed. I’m gonna go see if the van is ready.”
❀
The hospital is a strange place, not only because of its sickly clean smell and the weird machinery, but the people of all sorts that visit. It could be a quiet afternoon with senior citizens coming for their usual checkups, or an injured officer rushed into ER… or a huge gang of mafias striding in like a large wolf pack, covered in black from head to toe, suits cuffed and hair slicked back, a few sunglasses and Rolexes. Two assistants accompany them at the side before the taller one steps forward to the front desk to ask for the whereabouts of officer Jung Hoseok.
“H-He’s in the patients' ward along with the others.” The nurse replies, clearly trembling.
Assistant Kim tries to offer a smile he hopes is kind enough, “Right, thank y-”
“He’s in the patients' ward?” Chief Min steps forward to Namjoon’s side.
“Yes.” Namjoon answers for the nurse who seems almost too intimidated to talk.
“Why, that’s ridiculous!” He exclaims, and the people at the receptions flinch. “Move him to a private room for god’s sake! The guy got shot!” The other men behind him start adding their own comments too.
Namjoon steps closer to the desk and the shaking receptionist, the attempted warm smile up and wider than before as an apology for the commotion. “I’m sorry, is it possible for you to transfer Officer Jung to a private room?”
The receptionist calms down a little before she answers, “The police department has only paid enough for a bed in the ward, so he’s sharing a room with the other patients.”
“If it won’t trouble you too much, would it be acceptable if we pay to transfer him to a private room, then? Mr. Min is very persistent.” Assistant Kim tries again, his tone more pragmatic than before.
Namjoon receives a pat on the back from Seokjin after returning the payment details to the receptionist. The younger boy ducks his head down to hide a dimply little smile as Seokjin leaves to escort head chief Min to his checkup. Most of the men go to follow Seokjin at his heels, leaving only Namjoon and Yoongi on the uncomfortable plastic chairs.
“Don’t be too worried about the chief,” Namjoon says suddenly.
Yoongi turns his head, considers denying that he is, then asking how Namjoon knew, then just acceptance. “I know I can’t do much to help, which sucks.”
Namjoon hums. “That Jung guy,” he starts, “it seems like he’s in critical condition. Might not make it. You should be worried about that.”
Before Yoongi could argue that a cop’s death means nothing to him, soulmate or not, Namjoon continues, “You may not care what happens to your soulmate, but your father does, hyung. I don’t think he’ll take the news very well, I mean, his son is going to end up living the rest of his life without a soulmate because he shot him.”
Yoongi sits back, trying to ignore another wave of pain in his head. “Right. Alright.” He breathes. “Is he good for us to visit yet?”
Namjoon looks back towards the reception, “They’ll probably tell us when they’re ready. He hasn’t woken up yet though.”
After about ten minutes of dozing off, nail picking, and Namjoon showing him random animal videos he saw on his Twitter feed, Seokjin slips into the waiting room and crashes onto the tiny seat next to Namjoon, head automatically coming to rest on his shoulder.
It’s comical, Yoongi notices, how the two assistants seem to switch off from their work mode whenever they have the chance to rest, and the huge switch in character that comes as a result. All of Namjoon’s words and decisions are carefully calculated, and he has impeccable adaptation skills whenever he’s an assistant, yet he enjoys looking at animals much smaller than him and making miniature houses even though he’s established that he’s terrible at them. Seokjin is incredibly stern and strong, physically and mentally when he’s working, yet he likes to whisper random dad jokes into the ears of anyone near him, (poorly) muffling a laugh after hearing the expected groan as a response.
“How’s the head chief?” Namjoon asks, one of his hand creeping up near Seokjin’s hair but retracting and coming back to clutch his tablet as if he knew better.
“It’s not looking so good,” Seokjin confesses “but it hasn’t been looking good since the chieftess passed and the flower wilted.” Yoongi gulps.
It’s inevitable; fate comes to one in the form of a thorned rose that leaves inevitable wounds. Soulmates can heal and extend life as much as it can take it away, and head chief Min’s disintegrating body is a barely living example of a singular soul that rots after losing a significant half of it when Yoongi’s mother passed away a few years ago.
The flower - a delicate little primrose that bloomed from what was initially the handkerchief of a waitress at some soju place. Now, it sits in a glass jar at the center of a room of several other glass jars of different varying flowers that bear with them different stories; a marigold from the cap of a pen, a rose molded from a scarf or even a poppy from the barrel of a gun. The difference is that all these mementos stay tinted and blooming, while the once white petals of the primrose have started to stain into an unpleasant dark brown, like an infection that has run too deep to cure.
Although, of course, just like how one can not bring a wilting flower back to its brown-less, unwilting state - lost lives stay lost - if only physically.
Wilted flowers stay wilted - lost lives stay lost.
Even stars die.
That’s just how the universe works.
“Oh, Yoongi, I was gonna tell you,” Seokjin stretches his arms back and groans as he hears his joints popping like an elderly when Yoongi looks up from his hands, “they moved the cop into a private room. You can see him now if you want.” He yawns, “Scratch that, you have to. Go see him.”
❀
Yoongi walks past most of the gang members on his way; they’re crowding outside his father’s room.
He can barely see his father’s face from where he’s standing, and he seems to be resting quite peacefully, save for the minute frown he has on, as if there’s an itch, literally and figuratively, that is still troubling him.
“I can’t believe boss.” Hyunsoo murmurs, “He’s practically dying, yet he’s still asking if that damn cop is alright.”
“Yeah, and the damn cop is not alright. Apparently.” Jaeun whispers sharply, “I heard the doc said he might not make it through tonight.”
“Shit, that’s just gonna make boss even worse than he is already! Fucking cops.” Hyunsoo hisses, “not only are they shit at their jobs, they also can’t even stay alive? Sure, Yoongi shot him, which was awesome by the way, wish that were me, but that doesn’t mean he has to die. ” Yoongi rolls his eyes and shuffles past them to the room a few doors further away.
The room is quiet, save for the sound of the door being pushed open and the soles of Yoongi’s shoes hitting the glossy bleached floor. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his suit pants as he walks up to the lone hospital bed at the center of the room, illuminated by one dim lamp.
Officer Jung has several chords attached to him, leading to a machine that monitors his heart rate, and one from the back of his hand to an IV drip. Near his collarbone where the hospital gown covers him is the white corners of the bandages that plaster the cotton just above the wound on his chest that moves quite faintly from his breathing.
On the little side table is a police badge, and in the small vase, a daffodil. His daffodil. Yoongi’s gut sinks.
His eyes finally cast down onto Jung Hoseok’s face; unlike his father, it's complete peace, everything at its most relaxed state. Perhaps, he’s still oblivious to the problems he’d have to face when he wakes up, what with his apartment being destroyed and discovering that the bastard that destroyed it is his soulmate.
Yoongi realizes then, as if he hadn’t before, the mental stress his father had to go through.
Starting from when his mother had passed away, and their flowers began to wilt, emphasizing how significant a soulmate is to one’s life, followed by discovering that his son’s soulmate is their arch enemy and that even if he’s come to accept it, it would lead to nothing if he dies. Not only that, who knows what would happen to Yoongi if his soulmate dies?
Just by going through the hypothetical consequences, Yoongi almost shivers and panic at the thought. He glances down to look at Jung Hoseok again, at the way the bridge of his nose catches the orange line of the lamplight down the slope to the pointed tip, the way it highlights his high cheekbones down to his slightly parted lips. His faint eyebrows sit above his curved eyes, drooping slightly at its corners, lined by his long lashes.
He’s attractive - handsome. Anyone can see that.
He isn’t sure if it actually works, though he’s seen his father done it before when his mother’s condition was reaching its critical state. It might not work, but there’s not much to lose in trying.
Yoongi pulls his hands out of his pockets and slips his leather glove off of his right hand before he reaches down towards his soulmate’s body, fingers creeping under the neck of his hospital gown to rest his palm entirely on where the bandages sit on his chest, right above his heart.
The healing powers of a soulmate’s touch.
Somehow, the world had decided that no medicine is as powerful as soul-bounded intimacy.
Yoongi can feel the faint beating of the heart underneath him, yet the boy shows no sign of stirring awake. Perhaps, this is not enough.
Yoongi contemplates the option for a while before he breathes, holds onto the rails of the bed for support, and bends down to brush his lips over his soulmate’s.
He closes his eyes for the length of time that he stays in that position. The other boy’s lips are cold, but then it starts to warm up until it feels alive against his.
Yoongi pulls away and straightens up, eyes catching the police badge on the side table. He reaches over to touch it with his bare hand, glancing at the way it glows and blooms a small little bud before drawing away and exiting the room, pulling his glove back on.
It was assistant Kim who witnessed it all; the sight of a mafia bending over to kiss a police officer, leaving behind a little primrose blooming from the metallic police badge.
“Shut up.” Yoongi mumbles as Namjoon swings the door open for him with a sly little grin.
❀
The few days after being discharged from the hospital felt like absolute hell.
After a word from the doctor that he’s somehow miraculously alive and well despite being shot in the chest, things don’t get much less confusing. Even the doctors couldn’t put a name to the condition; it was like phantom pain where the pain is coming from a part of the body that wasn’t there, but he wasn’t amputated. His wound has cured completely, leaving a scar, yet he still feels a sharp pain around it every now and then, which can be quite impractical and freaks Jimin out, especially when it’s in the middle of the night.
Oh, right. After going home to see his house completely wrecked, walls torn and door knocked off its hinges, his friend and coworker Jimin was sweet enough to let him stay over until things are settled.
“Hyung.” A voice sounds from far away, but Hoseok ignores it. “Hoseokie hyung.”
After a few seconds of silence, something hits the back of his head with a soft thunk, and he jumps back to the present. He turns back to see a piece of paper that seems to be important paperwork crumpled into a ball. He glares at Jungkook from the desk behind him, the cheeky smile on the boy’s face ticking him off slightly.
“If I can bruise your jaw with that banana I can do even worse.” He threatens, and the brat just laughed.
“Love you, hyung.” Jungkook makes a huge heart with his arms above his head, still giggling, his bunny teeth out in full view and god damn it this kid is adorable .
But he can’t lose, oh no.
Hoseok fixes his glare on Jungkook, determined to keep it on until the brat feels guilty for disturbing him, but Jungkook is also putting up a fight. He starts doing little hand motions as if he’s shooting out the hearts towards Hoseok, accompanied by little bboing bboing sound effects that Hoseok usually does.
Today is not Hoseok’s day, he thinks as he surrenders like a sore loser, muttering a little I love you too back before spinning his chair away from Jungkook’s evil victory laugh.
“Relax, hyung. This is the day shift. You can’t be sleep deprived anymore.” Taehyung says from behind him before passing down a few files onto Hoseok’s desk. “You’re lucky the captain was nice enough to transfer you from the night shift. The night shift’s terrible .” Taehyung shudders at the thought. “When I was assigned there, Hienjin hyung who uses my desk during the day shift always leaves his beard shavings on it! I come in to work every evening knowing that it’s going to be disgusting and miserable!”
“Oh trust me, I know all about the beard shavings.” Hoseok groans as he stretches his arms out, arching over the back of his chair.
“Getting assigned back to the day shift is like winning the lottery, so you better appreciate it hyung.” Taehyung remarks.
Hoseok laughs, reaching over behind him to ruffle the younger boy’s hair. His fingers brush the surface of his old badge, and he immediately sits up to position his primrose back in place.
Taehyung looks concerned. “That flower… do you remember who did it?”
“No.” Hoseok sulks. “It was already there when I woke up. I have no idea who came to visit.”
“Me Tae and Kook came to visit on the first two days.” Jimin chimes from behind Taehyung proudly, beaming when Hoseok gives him a warm little smile. “None of us touched your badge though. We only put your daffodil in a vase.”
“And then someone stole it.” Taehyung remarks.
“For the last time, it wasn’t me!” Jungkook whines. “I only said it’s pretty and it doesn’t look like a regular flower, and the root part is weird, but I didn’t take it!”
“A daffodil?” Hoseok asks.
“There was a daffodil on your side table at the hospital, so we put it in a vase for you, but then it disappeared when you got discharged,” Taehyung explains. “It looks like you got a new one though.” He smiles. “That’s your birth flower, isn’t it?”
Hoseok glances at the primrose on his desk and sighs happily, “Yeah.”
“I wonder who it is!” Jimin squeals, “Do you think we know her? Him? Them?” Hoseok laughs at that.
“Why would they leave like that though? Do you think they’ll come back?” Jungkook has now rolled his chair up to Hoseok’s desk.
Hoseok looks at the flower again and blushes, his hand coming up to brush the little petals. “I hope so.”
Jimin snorts, “Imagine if they just turn up to the station right now just declaring ‘I am Jung Hoseok’s so-”
“I am Jung Hoseok’s soulmate.” A deep, unfamiliar voice chimes from the door.
A group of officers are crowding there as if a threat has turned up, but aren’t making any moves as if they’re unsure of what to do.
The crowd slowly breaks as all the heads in the room shoots back to look at Hoseok, who’s too flustered and surprised to do anything. A man walks up to his desk in a menacing demeanor. His dark grey overcoat drapes over his black button up shirt that lines the width of his shoulders down to his large gloved hands that swing by his side. Half of his dark hair is slicked back neatly, though a pair of sunglasses conceals his eyes.
He makes a stop right in front of Hoseok’s desk, and Hoseok’s hand instinctively reaches for his gun, trying his best to ignore the stinging pain in his chest that’s slowly rising in intensity.
The man reaches up to pull his shades off and looks at Hoseok directly in the eye, but he’s too distracted by the pain in his chest that is slowly escalating.
The first thing Hoseok (shamefully) notices is that he’s handsome, but then the sharp corners of his brown eyes bear with them a reminiscence of some kind.
Then it clicks.
“Aren’t you the guy who-”
“Jung Hoseok,” The man says, and Hoseok jumps at the mention of his name. He glances at the primrose blooming from the police badge on Hoseok’s desk for a split second before looking at him again and dropping down onto one knee. The sound of Taehyung and Jimin’s simultaneous gasps audible from his left.
“Jung Hoseok,” The man repeats. “My dear soulmate, will you marry me?”
Silence.