Unprecedented, he thinks. This world is unprecedented.

He's tried in the past to ignore this thought and he still does, but a growing plague of questions and doubts that arise from it are making it nearly impossible to do so anymore. These thoughts, they churn impatient and demanding at the forefront of his mind. And occupied by their vigorous assault, most days, he's too consumed by them to properly carry out his duties.

He's growing increasingly afraid that centuries had been wasted preparing him for a role he's too incompetent to fill.

His heart sinks. He takes in a quiet breath.

With another measured breath, he realizes he needs to loosen his hold on the armrest of his chair or risk breaking it. As he releases it, the wood gives a little groan and he tenses, but luckily no one spares the noise any mind. Relieved, he focuses his attention back on the council member who currently holds the floor.

The man, Head of one of the noble families, is speaking maddeningly slow and, after taking a number of surreptitious steps, standing very near him. He'd pretended not to notice the councilman's advance, ignoring each small step. Which is why, when the man takes another step closer, he's too busy attempting to ignore it to realize that he's been asked a question.

Suddenly, all eyes are on him, but he doesn't know what's been asked. So in lieu of a proper response, he just nods once, curt, and hopes that it's appropriate enough.

Everyone seems to accept this response, but he isn't sure if it'd been the right call to make. Because, somehow, the small, inane gesture of his nod seems to overly satisfy the man, whom he watches smile smugly and then throw a triumphant look around at the gathered council. It bothers him, because the man is clearly misconstruing something here, but he can't take his actions back anymore. So he does his best to quietly listen, while holding in a sigh, as the councilman continues on with his slow, self important speech.

He's finding it increasingly difficult to pay attention these days.

He sighs internally.

Another council member stands up. He quickly clears his throat and then takes the floor. As is expected from any councilmember, he begins by first lauding the dignity and greatness of his noble lineage. It's unnecessary and a waste of time, but all of the heads of house do this.

In all honesty, he doesn't think they can help themselves, after all, posturing is all they know how to do.

With another internal sigh, he mentally prepares for another long winded extolment. But just as he's settling in, he's unexpectedly taken aback, almost slips up, and very nearly breaks the impassive, neutral mien he carefully maintains, when the man only sings a few short praises and then quickly moves on. No councilmember before this man, at least in his experience, had ever said so little about their lineage.

Quick and careful to maintain his composure, he somehow avoids outwardly reacting, but it still takes his mind a moment to recover from the surprise, during which the man presents the issues he would like to discuss. Still thrown by the strange turn of events, it doesn't register with him right away that the man has asked him something.

Frustrated by his own incompetence, he wonders why exactly it's so difficult to pay attention these days. But part of him knows why and dwelling on the causes is only further distracting him, so he ignores theses thoughts altogether. After a short moment of consideration, the councilman's words finally trickle into the forefront of his mind.

A report.

The man had asked for a report of some kind and he's staring at him, expectantly. They all are.

But a report? Who has a report to give, he thinks in a panic.

On complete autopilot, he says, "Go ahead," and then gestures vaguely to someone who's usually stood at his left and a little behind him. He cringes internally, hoping that he hasn't just made a fool of himself.

There's a pause.

The pause isn't long, but it feels like an eternity to him. In the span of that pause, he thinks that he's been found out, that they can all see in his head. For a moment, he's paralyzed by the fear that they can see the crack of lightning in his eyes, see the raging mess of a storm within him and how it's taking up the entirety of his mind and mental focus. But the moment passes as everyone directs their eyes to his left and a little behind him.

A dutiful, steady voice fills the room.

So as to contextualize the report, it's customary for background information to be supplied first. And it's as this information is being given, that he's finally able to figure out what the councilman's concerns pertain to. The man, he finds, has asked about the same report that had only just been waiting for him first thing this dusk, as he'd walked into his office.

Laying atop his desk in the early hours of the evening, the report had seemed inescapably important, so he'd picked it up and very quickly read it. Afterwards, he wasn't entirely surprised to find that its contents were quite alarming.

He wonders how the council will take this news.

So curious of their reaction, he watches the faces of those sat around him very, very closely, ready to catch even the most minute change in expression, as they listen to the report.

However, they don't get very far, before there's already an interruption.

"General," someone says with undue exasperation. It's an ugly and rude display of discourtesy, he thinks, especially given that it's by the same councilman who'd asked for the report in the first place.

"I apologize for interrupting your report," the councilman says, without any real remorse, "but, please clear something up for me. How would a 'group', such as the one you're describing, possibly exist outside of the rule and authority of a responsible party?"

With a disdainful look, the man adds, "Do you really mean to say no one was overseeing this group? Or is it merely that you have not yet identified them?" Then, as if expecting to be congratulated for what he's just said, the man turns to look at him.

He pointedly avoids meeting the man's eyes.

The councilman, clearly disliking that he's avoided his gaze, decides to stand up in order to seek a better reaction from the others instead. He asks the room at large, "What he's saying is preposterous, has anyone even heard of a mixed group before?"

No one answers the question, which seems to prove whatever point the man is trying to make.

One by one, the nobles turn their unsure eyes on him, but he doesn't know what to say. And when he doesn't say anything, they then direct their attention back to the person standing a little behind him and to his left.

"To answer your first question councilman, when I encountered them, no one was presently responsible for the group, nor, to the best of my knowledge, had anyone ever been. As well, I'd also like to assure everyone that I arrived at these conclusions only after thoroughly investigating the matter."

The response is enviously calm and carefully level. Hearing it makes him feel like a child.

The response continues and it's just as composed and as professional as before. "As for your second question, though difficult to believe, I can attest to witnessing the existence of a group containing a mix of fledglings from six different lineages."

Those words ring sharply throughout the room and, within him, he hears the echo of an unrelenting thought, as it bounces around the corners of his mind. "Unprecedented," intonates from no source in particular, dispersing like the waves of a skipped rock. His shoulders are heavy with tension.

He wonders if this is it, if this is the moment when everything starts to fall apart.

He expects a strong reaction from the nobles, since the existence of a mixed group of fledglings living on their own goes against everything they know. In fact, this news goes against their very nature, as they know it. Because it's entirely contrary to the notoriously possessive hold that all lineages, from the archaic Purebloods to the younger ones that had arisen later on, have over their bloodborne.

But no one says anything at all. The report simply continues and then reaches its conclusion without any comment.

In the end, the council members are visibly skeptical of what they've heard. Some look genuinely convinced they've just been fed a tall tale, some wild fabrication of an overly active imagination. And so being who they are, it doesn't take the council very long to collectively decide that they're above having to entertain such a ridiculous report altogether.

Someone gives a little cough, someone else shuffles their papers, and just like that, the council sweeps the report under a rug and then moves onto the next topic.

He's floored by this easy dismissal, though, he's also not entirely sure what else he really expected. Because if this room were instead a ship and it somehow sprang a leak, he knows, every one of these council members would sooner drown than admit that their ship could be capable of sinking in the first place.

But really, the council's ignorance, deliberate and sincere alike, is a non issue. Because it's his birth-given duty, in the simplest of terms, to keep their ship afloat, not theirs. He's the one tasked with keeping the seawater out.

Unfortunately, therein lies one of his greatest problems. The storm in his mind rains down so hard on everything these days, that his eyes see nothing but water and he isn't sure he trusts himself to spot a leak anymore.

Earlier tonight, as he'd sat at his desk reading that report, he'd had the audacity to think that he'd spotted something potentially dangerous to their way of life. Then, for a moment, as it'd been shared with the council, he'd had some small confidence that he'd been right, that the report warranted that they, at the very least, check their metaphorical ship over and ensure everything was alright. But he'd been proven wrong, when the report was met by an easy dismissal.

Whatever little confidence he'd had in himself is gone now. He wants to think that he's been gaslighted, that the council is pretending, that really this news has rocked them with an uneasy fear, but he's not so sure of that either. All he knows, with any certainty, is that everything feels equally uncertain and he can't pretend to know what he's doing anymore.

He's not sure, but he thinks he might be losing his mind.

It would make sense, would provide a neat explanation for everything that's wrong with him, how little of himself he recognizes, and why he can't seem to do anything to change that. And in the back of his mind he thinks, most of all, it'd explain that . The one thing he least understands, that has no plausible explanation. It'd provide a reason for the nonsensical urges that had come over him within the last two weeks.

A quick, harsh crack resounds in the room.

Everyone's attention snaps to him and he realizes he's broken his armrest with the strength of his grip. It's the one thing he'd been attempting to avoid all night.

He panics internally, unsure of what to do or what to say.

Someone comes to his rescue.

"Ah," they sigh and then clap him on the back with pride, leaving their hand there. The sudden act catches him off guard and he turns to look at the seat directly to his right where they're sat. "Recently, His Majesty has grown stronger and so sometimes he forgets his own strength," they say, speaking to the council.

He nods once, a bit stiffly, because what the other has said is a blatant lie.

The hand on his back is heavy and warm. It pats him once, twice and then doesn't return. Thinking that means the spotlight of attention has successfully been shifted, he takes a small, relieved breath. He doesn't realize, however, that the little scene he's caused has managed to get the wheels turning amongst some of the more opportunistic nobles.

A councilwoman clears her throat and then says, "At this rate Your Majesty, you'll be the strongest ruler to have lived." When she turns an eerily earnest look in his direction, he sighs, audibly for once, hoping she'll take that as a hint. She doesn't, of course.

"This remarkable trait will surely be passed down to your future heir," she adds on a moment later, with a kind smile and greedy eyes.

This particular line of conversation is one which he knows the person sat at his right won't allow to continue. Unfortunately, though, this woman isn't dumb. She's very aware of how short her window of opportunity is and so, before anyone can edge a word in, she asks, "Have you given any thought to taking a mate yet?"

Immediately, as if they all formed part of a single, many-eyed organism, the rest of the council perks up in their seats as one at her words. Their expressions morph, synchronizing until they're all wearing the same look on their faces. It's a comically horrifying sight to witness.

It raises the hair on the back of his neck.

The person at his right is saying something, but it's too late for damage control. Everyone is speaking at once.

Over the din of the room, one noble manages to speak with enough volume and authority to be heard, booming out, "The Royal lineage!" He pauses and everyone quiets. Satisfied by this attention, the noble lowers his voice and continues, "The Royal lineage has historically taken our heirs for mates."

He's barely spoken the words, when they're met by a collective groan from the others. And the welter of voices resumes.

They're talking over each other, but some things he's able to discern.

"Yes, but your heir is centuries too old, our's is more suitable!"

"Please, your lineage hasn't had a soul bonded pair since the last millenia! Tell me, is your bloodline even capable of it anymore?"

"Half of all of your lineage's matings can't even produce children!"

Their talk begins to grow heated quickly. In fact, it's doesn't take long for them to abandon all propriety and decorum, so that they can throw insults freely at one another.

He listens to them fight and thinks it's absolutely ridiculous how much they seem to care about whom he takes as a mate. It's ridiculous, as well, that they continue to quarrell as though he isn't present. And that aside from the lone question that had started this all, no one else has stopped to ask him what he thinks, much less whom he wants to mate.

But it's just as well, he thinks, because he doesn't care.

A single, powerful pulse radiates through him then. Shaken by its intensity, he mentally curses that that has chosen this moment to rear its ugly head. He curses it further when it doesn't just leave him in peace, but instead takes to nurturing that maddening urge within him, the one that's been haunting him as of late. He hates it, wants it gone. And he'd be rid of it too, if he knew how. But he hasn't been able to satisfy this irresistible urge yet, because he has no clue what could begin to satiate it. It just keeps building like a strong, phantom itch that he can't scratch.

It's making him go crazy.

Then, he isn't sure, but he thinks he feels what might be a tug. But that doesn't make any sense and so he wonders, terrified, if he's beginning to hallucinate things now.

The council members are still arguing with each other. The person at his right is vainly attempting to steer them down a different course, but from the sound of things, it isn't working.

The tug is a little stronger, more insistent. He ignores it and, focusing instead on something that he knows is real, listens to the voices of those around him.

"The beauty of our house's heir is unrivalled. One glance at him and I'm sure His Majesty would settle for no one less!"

"Certainly for no less, but there's far better yet, such as our own heir, whose beauty is truly unmatched!"

A beautiful mate would be nice, he thinks, as he distracts himself with the council's words. Naturally curious, he begins to wonder what that noble's heir must look like, for him to claim their beauty as unmatched, but then just as he's beginning to conjure up an image, the tug pulls at him too sharply to ignore and he stops.

What is beauty anyway, he thinks then, but the veneer that would allow him to take some small pleasure in a mating. That's all it is. And he knows it's important that he remind himself of that, because beauty can be treacherous. It's both the most frivolous and most dangerous characteristic of all for another to hold. It's superficial, offers nothing but what the eye can see. And all too too easily, it can be weaponized against anyone weak to it.

He'd be a fool to allow himself to fall in the trappings of anyone's beauty.

His chest gives a nasty lurch, as if both agreeing and disagreeing with him. It's such a strange feeling that as he puzzles over it, he misses a question, for the third time that night, that someone has directly asked him. They repeat it again, but their words don't make sense. He's confused and that confusion must show, because they repeat themselves one more time.

"Your Majesty, have you experienced any hint of a soul bond?" asks a councilwoman and he immediately knows why she's asking. He's recently met her heir and she's betting against all odds that he's found his mate in her.

Without explanation, his heart skips a beat and then starts pounding away. The beat is so strong, he can hear it, which means so can everyone else. On the woman's face a small, smug smile begins to grow and its presence enrages him. In his fury, the beating of his heart only grows stronger and the woman smiles wider.

She believes his reaction has answered her question.

But he's met more than just her heir before and so the same smile starts to pop up on a handful of different faces. Those with heirs he's met look at him smugly, as though they have him all figured out, whilst the others do a poor job of concealing their displeasure. Regardless of how they look at him though, he loathes all of their expressions. He wants nothing more than to wipe all of their faces clean, because, whether they're gleefully convinced that he holds a bond for their heir or not, they're all still just a bunch of fools and sycophants who don't know anything.

The irony of this situation doesn't escape his notice.

If only these nobles knew, he thinks.

Would they still clamber over each other in the race to mate off their heir to him, if they knew what orders he'd given Jimin recently? If they knew even a fraction of the deranged motivations he'd had to do so? No, he doesn't think they would. In fact, he thinks they wouldn't hesitate to overthrow him, old tradition be damned, and then turn on each other.

A queasy tangle begins to form in his stomach then, as he thinks of the lives that would be lost and how their small numbers would grow smaller still in the face of such a power vacuum.

As thoughts that he's actively attempted to ignore harshly invade his mind, he starts growing so tense that the muscles of his frame begin to tremble in stress. They tremble harder when he attempts to keep himself still.

A hand lands suddenly on his back. It's heavy and warm. Then another one, less heavy, but no less warm, lands lightly on his left shoulder. Under the hands of his court, he relaxes marginally.

They probably don't realize what they've done. He imagines they're simply reacting to his stress, but to him this gesture is a much needed reminder. He may be endangering lives with his failed leadership, rash actions, and deteriorating mind, but, at the very least, the world can rely on his court to come to its defence.

If the noble's knew of his erratic behavior, of his strange demands, their world would quickly spiral into chaos. But by some providence, that isn't so. Instead, the world is lucky to have his court's loyalty and honor at its service, because it's only their silence and discretion which currently protects them all. They alone know of his shortcomings. They alone have witnessed his wild degradation.

But after deeper consideration, a troubling thought occurs to him then.

He isn't actually sure what the court knows. In fact, he's beginning to realize that half of them are likely in the dark about that order. And so he has to wonder, will the half that knows tell the ones who don't? Does he want them to? Could he even ask his court to keep secrets from each other? Would they listen, if he did?

Does any of this secrecy even matter?

Because it seems to be the case that whatever is happening to him, whatever it is that has him acting so erratically and irrational, is bound to continue growing. And at this rate, he's sure that, soon enough, it's going to grow too big to be obscured by just silence alone. It won't be long before everyone's free to notice it, free to see it, free to see him .

A fierce howling of wind rips through his ears suddenly. His eyes note, however, that not a single paper has been disturbed.

His throat is squeezed tightly together, so he has to clear it roughly and then wrench it open to speak. "The council is dismissed," he says, interrupting whatever conversation had been taking place. Everyone turns to look at him, but no one makes to leave.

In an attempt to hold back an irritated growl, the muscles of his jaw spasm, tight and tense. The hand still on his shoulder squeezes him lightly and in response he takes a long, measured breath through his nose. Then, because no one has yet taken heed of his dismissal, he says, "Need I repeat myself?" The words come out harsher than he'd intended. The hands on his back and shoulder are withdrawn.

With a quiet murmur and several exchanged glances, the council finally decides to clear out of the large room. And with them gone, at last, he's able to lean back into his chair so that he may attempt to ground himself in the silence left behind.

It's quiet for all of half a second, though, because an exasperated sigh, followed by the clap of someone loudly slapping their palm onto the table, quickly demands his attention.

The person sat at his right says, "Need I repeat myself ?!"

Whilst mourning the silence lost, he ignores the comment and simply begins to gather up his things: documents and papers he hadn't made actual use of tonight. As he's gathering his things though, he senses that the other is looking at him expectantly. So in return, he asks, "What would you have had me say, Jin?" while throwing the man a quick, challenging look.

Then, he continues to gather his possessions.

Jin huffs, affronted, and then asks, "Seriously?" But that doesn't garner a response from him, so he directs the same rhetorical question to the other two presently in the room. One of them, Yoongi, grunts, and it's clear from that, that he's wordlessly in agreement with Jin.

The other one doesn't comment immediately. He's quiet for a beat, before carefully hedging, saying, "Whatever we think he could have, should have , said is inconsequential. Because he's already said what he has. It's done, I don't exactly see the point of this conversation."

Jin retorts, "No, of course not, Hoseok," while side-eyeing him sharply, "but that's easy to say when it's not your problem." The atmosphere in the room changes, taking on a type of hostility that's been growing more and more familiar to them these days.

Attempting to avoid the squabble that's surely about to ensue, he quickly finishes gathering his things, then stands and starts walking towards the exit.

"I'm the one who's, as we speak, being bombarded," Jin begins to argue, pulling out his phone to show the others how new email notifications are appearing, one after the other and without pause, on his screen, "by demands to know if their noble lineage has fallen out of His Royal Highness' favor."

As he's halfway out the door, he hears Hoseok reply back, "That one's not even-what is that a newsletter ?" He doesn't stick around to hear how the rest of their argument will surely devolve.

Thankfully, they don't follow after him right away and he uses this, and his speed, in order to leave them well behind. But then because of this effort, he finds that he has made his way to the northernmost wing of their premises very quickly and has to pause, because he hasn't yet thought through what he should do.

He standing there, hasn't yet arrived at a decision, when he hears that, in any case, the three he'd left behind are quickly catching up. And so with a sigh, he simply heads towards the study where he works, leaving its door open behind himself.

He's at his desk, putting away the documents from this evening's meeting, when they finally walk in. Immediately, something about their presence makes him confident that he knows how the rest of the night will likely play out. Sighing once, he forgoes taking a seat at his desk. Instead, he makes his way to the small lounge at the far side of his study.

Then, as he's making himself comfortable on one of the reading chairs, he notices that Hoseok is in front of the fireplace that the small lounge sits before, and that he's arranging firewood. Without thought, the words, "Leave it," slip from his mouth.

Surprised by the sudden command, Hoseok turns to look at him curiously, but then just nods once before sitting down at a reading chair opposite his.

He can't remember the last time that fireplace had held a fire, but he knows he doesn't want one now. They're not worth the effort, he thinks, especially because he's never felt that his study needed to be warm. And as for the light a fire might provide, well, there's already a lamp shining from atop his desk and he thinks that's enough.

He often forgets, though, that with their eyesight, it's easy not to realize when a room is dim.

Silently, a goblet of dark ruby is offered to him. For a moment, he simply stares at it, transfixed by the jewel-like glitter of the glass and blood as they reflect the somber, low light of the room. It's beautiful to look at, he thinks, without particularly wanting to accept it and then takes it anyway, because it's Yoongi who's offering it to him.

He doesn't think Yoongi would take his refusal too kindly at the moment.

He watches then as he returns to the small, fully stocked bar by his desk. There the man pours a set of drinks, three in total, and gives one to Jin and the other to Hoseok before finally taking a seat on a couch to his left.

It's quiet for a beat, then Yoongi clears his throat. "Jungkook," he says solemnly.

Jungkook looks at him.

"You appear to be neglecting your thirst," he notes, still in a solemn tone, then steals a glance at the crystal goblet in Jungkook's hand.

It's a strange thing to say to him, Jungkook thinks, given that none of them have even so much as sipped at their drinks either. He's about to point this out, but stops right before, thinking that it's probably more prudent to keep his quiet instead.

Keeping quiet and treading lightly is something he's begun to do as of late. It had originally started as a means of keeping the court's undue worry at bay, but then had quickly become all that he knew how to do anymore. And now he spends the majority of his time hiding behind silence, because it offers him the only peace of mind that he's been able to find.

Lately, however, he's begun to wonder how much longer he'll be granted this small reprieve. Because, when his court happens to be home to some of the sharpest eyes, he knows that there's only so much of himself that he can really hope to hide.

Wearily, he notes that there are three sets of eyes firmly and carefully trained on him. And suddenly, he's not so sure anymore that he really knows how the night is going to play out.

Jungkook looks at Yoongi and finally settles on how to respond. "You've hardly said a word all night and that's what your leading with?" he says, choosing to deflect, to which Yoongi, of course, doesn't reply.

Yoongi does, however, look pointedly at the untouched drink in Jungkook's hand. Then with a raised eyebrow, he meets the other's eyes once more. They stare each other down.

Jin decides to make a loud, but short noise of disgust then, causing Jungkook to quickly glance at him, only find that he's holding his glass out, as though offended by it.

Curious, Jungkook watches as Jin carefully wipes the corners of his lips and then as he turns to him with a frown. "Have you not taken a drink yet? Has no one taken a drink yet?" Jin says, first to him, then to the others. "This isn't the right temperature."

Hoseok hums and Jungkook looks at him next. He finds the other still has his eyes trained on him. "It's the bar's settings, they're finicky. I'm always having to reset the one like it in our quarters," Hoseok says lightly and then directs his gaze to the cold drink in his hand. He swirls the ruby liquid in his glass around a few times.

Jungkook grits his teeth, then sits up a little higher in his seat. "If that's the case, we should have someone come and take a look at them. Perhaps, there's a fix to this issue," he says, diplomatically, and then places his own drink onto the small table at his side.

Hoseok nods, whilst subtly sliding his eyes to the right so that he can share a brief look with Yoongi. Jungkook, who doesn't miss this silent exchange, grits his teeth again.

"There's no need, Jungkook. They work fine," Yoongi responds with a perfunctory tone. There's an indiscernible look on his face. "They're set to cool after being out of use for a set period of time, so as to preserve the blood longer."

Hoseok lets out a short 'oh' in response, as if he hadn't already known this, then says, "That makes sense. We're gone so often these days, our bar goes without use pretty regularly." He pauses to turn a confused, theatrical frown on Jin, then adds, "Well except for you Jin, you rarely leave."

Jungkook is staring blankly at Hoseok, whose attention is entirely on Jin as he asks, "Are you so busy with the council you forget to feed?" Their eyes are locked on each other's in a way Jungkook doesn't like.

"No, not at all," Jin responds and then breaks off eye contact with Hoseok. "I mean, not that I'm not busy, cause I am," he says with a half-hearted chuckle. Then, settling his eyes on Jungkook, he adds, "I feed regularly, I just don't use the one in our quarters."

Hoseok makes another little 'noise' of understanding.

Jin hums thoughtfully. "It's more practical to feed in my study," he says, "since I spend most of my time either there or with the council." His voice is placid.

Jungkook is on edge.

"Jungkook," Jin says then and Jungkook meets his eyes with a wooden stare. "You spend most of your time in this study, don't you? And you don't feed here?"

An incriminating silence fills the room. And as it stretches on, Jungkook begins to wonder who'll tire of this stupid game first.

It's Yoongi who finally drops the pretext. "We know you haven't been feeding," he says, speaking plainly for once. "Why?"

"Because, I haven't had much thirst recently," Jungkook responds, but does so too quickly, too forcefully, and it ends up making him sound defensive. Realizing this, he huffs out a breath and then pushes his tongue against the inside of his mouth in self-conscious habit.

Jungkook tries again. "I've been busy." And no sooner do these words escape him, that he realizes they're a weak excuse at best. Immediately, he regrets speaking altogether.

In seconds, the looks aimed in his direction all take on a hint of concern. And suddenly, as if pulled on by a string, Jungkook stands up and moves to the front of the fireplace, so that only his back has to face the others and that small glimmer of sadness that sits in the depths of their eyes.

His chest is tight. It feels like he can't breath.

Forcing himself to focus on the silent in and out of his lungs, he finds it's helpful to visually trace along the dark lines of wood that Hoseok was going to light earlier and so uses this to distract himself for some moments.

Idly, he places a hand over a brick of the hearth and finds that it's cold.

He's made aware again of the three still sat at the lounge behind him, when, for a moment, he thinks that they might be arguing. They're too quiet, though, so he isn't sure. But then someone lets out a quiet, angry hiss, and this further catches his attention. Curious of what's going on, he finally turns away from the dark, fireless pit.

The first thing he notices is that Yoongi has stood up from his seat and that his hands are fists at his side. And when Jungkook looks further, he sees something in the other's eyes that sends a chill down his spine.

"What is going on with you? " Yoongi asks, with a strong look of intolerance for any more bullshit.

Jungkook's ears ring harshly. Without thinking, he barks out, "Is there anything of actual importance that we needed to discuss?" His tone surprises a flinch out of Jin. "Or was it the plan to interrogate me with pointless questions all night?"

Yoongi takes the brunt of Jungkook's outburst like a stone, cool and unaffected, that is, except for his eyes, which harden as he steadily, relentlessly, looks at Jungkook in wait of a response.

And it's clear to Jungkook then, that the other is resolute, that Yoongi won't waver until his question has been satisfied.

"You're currently just wasting my time," Jungkook snaps and then adds, "Hoseok reported the only thing of import during tonight's meeting already, so if there's nothing more then-"

"There was one matter not reported on," Yoongi says interrupting him. Jin and Hoseok look between them in confusion. "It seemed important enough to you, earlier."

Jungkook freezes, realizing the mistake he's made.

"That didn't need to be discussed at the meeting," he says in a low, warning tone and Yoongi nods.

"I agree. But since you're asking-" Jungkook cuts him off.

"The particulars of that specific case can wait, you may write up a report and have it delivered to me at a later time," he says in frenzied, hasty dismissal, voice barely squeezing out past the sudden tightness of his throat.

Hoseok stands up from his seat in a slow, purposeful manner then. There's a deep crease between his brows. And for a moment, he looks slightly around himself, as if he's lost and trying to gain his bearings. Then he turns to face Yoongi and there's a question in his eyes, but it's clear that he won't be asking it any time soon, especially not at the present moment. "I'm leaving," he announces instead.

Yoongi frowns at him. "North?" he asks.

"No, to our quarters. I've work to do," Hoseok quickly replies and his eyes turn to look at Jungkook. He stares at him for a moment, then takes a deep, mocking bow. "Please excuse me, Your Majesty."

Jungkook clenches his teeth together, hard, and nods, but by then Hoseok is already gone.

"Perhaps, we should take our leave as well?" Jin says, moving to stand beside Yoongi. He places a hand on the other's shoulder.

Yoongi looks at Jin's hand and then at Jin. He nods.

"Then, please excuse us as well, Your Majesty," Jin says.

They leave with a little less hurry than Hoseok.

In the wake of their departure, a heavy quiet crashes over Jungkook like a wave. And as it floods his study, he takes it in with a deep breath. Because it's only drowning in silence, that he finds that he can really breathe anymore.

Back at their shared quarters, Jin sighs heavily. "So what? No one has anything to say?" he asks and Hoseok looks up only momentarily from his desk, before quickly returning to his work. Yoongi does nothing to acknowledge that he's even spoken.

Undeterred, Jin simply speaks louder. "Really? Nothing ? What about you Hoseok?" he asks, hoping to provoke the other. "Or was that dramatic exit just for show?"

Hoseok freezes over the document on his desk. He sighs and with a frown leans back into his chair. Then, visibly unimpressed, he crosses his arms over his chest and gives Jin a look. "You know damn well only one of us has anything that needs to be said," he says.

Yoongi's standing near a window. He's been rooted to that spot since coming back from Jungkook's study.

He's staring out into the night and now Jin and Hoseok are staring at him.

After a moment, Jin sighs again. "Is this the first time you've been ordered to keep secrets? Or just the first time we find out?" he asks.

Yoongi shifts on his feet, but doesn't answer right away.

"Discretion was implied, but…" he begins but then hesitates, while still looking out the window. He shifts again, as though trying balancing himself under the weight of something heavy.

"What happened earlier has made it clear he doesn't want us to know. It's more than simple discretion," Hoseok says, giving voice to what Yoongi has left unsaid.

"Yes and no," the other hedges. Hoseok scoffs in response.

Yoongi places his hands on the sill of the window before him and then hangs his head slightly. He lets out a sudden, low growl of frustration. "Or really, fuck if I know," he says, looking over his left shoulder at Hoseok.

Straightening up, Yoongi turns around to face the room. "Despite whatever was implied earlier, I was never explicitly told to keep anything a secret."

Hoseok laughs tiredly, then says, "Fine, so no one told you to keep a secret." He rolls his eyes. "Tell me, what do you call something you can't speak openly about?"

"He asked for a written report, Yoongi, because he wanted to shut you up," Jin adds. "How is that any different?"

"It isn't, not really," Yoongi replies, with some bite. "And that's the fucking issue!"

The room grows quiet.

Yoongi runs a hand through his hair. "What do I do? Because on one hand, he's clearly asked me to 'write up a report' and keep my mouth closed, but on the other hand, I'm also not formally under any obligation to keep information from any members of the court."

Neither Hoseok nor Jin have an answer for him.

"Fuck it," Yoongi says, coming to a decision. "Jimin and Namjoon already know, so what's two more," he adds in a grumble.

"Wow, you hear that Hoseok? We're the only ones who don't fucking know!"

"Relax," Yoongi says to Jin, "they know because they're the ones on the damn case." But his words do little to placate the other, who just impatiently gestures at him to get on with the explanation.

Yoongi rubs at his jaw with one hand. "Earlier this evening, Jungkook ordered Jimin to find…" He pauses. "A corpse. The corpse of a fledgling's kill, some human kid. That's what Jimin's looking for," he says, then adds, "Namjoon later joined up with him." His words are met with silence.

Hoseok's mouth drops open. "What the hell? " he says, mostly to himself.

Jin says nothing, but his sentiment is much the same.

"That's it, that's all," Yoongi says. "I know as much as you at this point."

"You can't be serious."

"I agree with Hoseok, what do you mean that's all you know?" Jin asks.

"That my only job was to relay the-" he's interrupted by a buzz from his pocket. Glancing between Jin and Hoseok, he quickly digs out his phone.

Only a handful of people have Yoongi's number and almost half of them are here.

He accepts the call, before it's even rang twice.

The line is silent.

"Well?" Yoongi asks, while staring down at Namjoon's name on the screen. He turns the phone, holding it out in front of him, so the others can see as well.

"It's done," Namjoon responds in a sigh, causing the line to crackle.

Yoongi nods to himself, glad that they can put it behind them now. And he's about to say as much, but Namjoon isn't finished speaking.

"But... there's been a complication of sorts," he says and then goes silent.

"...And? Hello, Namjoon?" Yoongi says irritably, after the silence stretches on for too long. He rubs the bridge of his nose. "Are you not going to say anything? What, am I just supposed to fucking guess what that means?"

To their collective surprise, someone else replies in Namjoon's stead. "Maybe he should guess, cause we sure as shit don't know," they say, voice carrying, but only just barely, over the line. The speaker's words had sounded muffled by distance and their own mumbled pronunciation, meaning that they likely hadn't intended to be heard.

It's quiet for a beat, then Jin snorts in amusement. And hearing this, Namjoon realizes that they've heard the churlish remark and so he spends a few moments shushing Jimin.

Then, though the other two become distracted by the small back and forth that develops between Namjoon and Jimin, Yoongi remains well aware of the fact that Namjoon has yet to explain his cryptic remark. And as more and more seconds drag on without any real answers, he begins to grow increasingly frustrated by the whole of their phone conversation. Fed up, he's about to re-ask Namjoon his question, demand that the other actually answer him, when, suddenly, a soft voice comes over the line.

The call is muted.

Yoongi blinks several times, then looks across the room to the other two in order to confirm that they'd all just heard the same thing. Wearing twin expression, Jin and Hoseok look back at him and then at each other. And then all three of them spend the next few moments playing a strange game of hot potato, where they toss around a uselessly confused look between them, as if by doing this, one of them might miraculously arrive at an answer.

They pretty quickly tire of this game.

"Namjoon what was that? Who was that?"

The line is unmuted. "Jin?" Namjoon asks. "Who's all there?"

"Me, Yoongi, and Hoseok," Jin responds.

"Good, ok."

Jin frowns. "Namjoon, what's going on?"

Namjoon's quiet for a beat. "I think it's best if you're patient," he says in a careful tone. Jin is about to protest, but he's cut off as Namjoon continues speaking, "We're headed your way now, ok? We'll be there in a couple hours."

"Hours? Wait, you're driving here?" Hoseok asks, shocked.

"Only because it was necessary," Namjoon responds, but doesn't elaborate, raising, yet again, even more questions. "Just, hold tight, ok?"

There's a long pause, during which Yoongi, Jin, and Hoseok share a look of uncertainty between them. Eventually, Jin says, "Ok." Namjoon hangs up.

And they wait.

XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX

So? Any thoughts?

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