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10-spies and saviors

"Have you ever thought about what we might be capable of? They seal off our powers before they ever have a chance to manifest. They tell us we're dangerous but they never explain why. Just the Cataclysm, centuries ago. One event - that the decided the rest of our futures. We hear stories of Marks failing, allowing our powers to escape, and all the property destruction that comes with it - but they still never explain. Are they really that afraid of us? It's an interesting thought, isn't it? They chain us and hurt us and subjugate us, but they're still afraid."

- Excerpt from the writings of Suga, underground resistance leader

_ _

It's easier to get out of the building than Jimin was anticipating. He merely fakes a family emergency, not having to work too hard to sound frantic and out of sorts as he shouts down the radio at Minchul that he's just gotten word that his grandfather was in an accident and he has to go now. Then he just ... leaves. Right out the front door, dumping the radio and the badge at the front desk on his way past, but keeping the gun. Yoongi may be alive, and he may say he trusts Kim Namjoon, but Yoongi had bruises on his throat and marks on his wrists, and Jimin isn't going to take any chances. He could be walking right into a trap and he wants to be prepared.

Yoongi is alive. That's the thought his brain keeps looping back to, even as he hails a cab - still in his stolen guard's uniform - and rattles off the memorized address. He gets an arched eyebrow from the driver and a very judgmental glance at his outfit and glares back in response.

"I'm late for work and my bike broke down," he snaps. "Do you have a problem?"

The driver shrugs and merges into traffic. The clock on the dash reads nearly nine p.m. Jimin feels like it's been longer, since the start of all this.

Holy shit, Yoongi's alive.

Under any other circumstance, he would give in to the tears he can feel burning at his eyes and the sobs coalescing in the back of his throat. He'd allow himself to shake like his hands want to. He'd march back into that apartment building and pry Yoongi from Namjoon's grasp and never, ever let him go again. But Hoseok is still dying, back in Sector 5, and he needs Jimin to be strong.

(I think you're the bravest of us, Jimin-ah, Hoseok told him once, an affectionate smile on his face. So determined to keep us safe.

Someone has to, hyung, Jimin said, back then. Eighteen and so determined to be more. Older, stronger, faster - because for the first time in his life he had a proper family, and he wasn't about to let that be taken from him.

He still won't.)

He shifts his weight and wills his hands to still. Occupies himself with surreptitiously checking the gun and watching the immaculate city slip by in a blur of lights. Everything here feels pristine and new - so different from the crumbling decay of Sector 10 - and he still can't wrap his head around it. Around the fact that people can live so differently in the same city, only a few hundred square kilometers apart from each other but in opposite worlds.

He keeps an eye on the clock, too, and seventeen minutes pass before the driver pulls up to the curb outside another high-end apartment building. It looks very much like Namjoon's, except perhaps even taller - same artful landscaping around the front, though; same glass doors leading into an ornate lobby boasting floors of polished tile and intricate chandeliers and paintings that probably cost a fortune; this one even has what looks like a fountain, holy shit.

He's not sure how he's supposed to do this - Namjoon hadn't mentioned any instructions for getting inside and he really doesn't want to just march up to the security desk. He pays the driver with the borrowed money and climbs out into the frigid evening. Somewhere during their journey, it started to rain and the drops are near-freezing as they land on his shoulders and sink through the thin fabric of his shirt.