August D {Sope/Yoonseok}

Chapter 9: J-18

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Hi guys!

I'm going to take a moment to clear a few things about this one. Although it's finally revealing some good secrets and other hidden things, it also mentions mental illness and drug use. For those of you who are not comfortable with this, i apologize. I warned you guys at the beginning, but i don't want you to feel uncomfortable reading this, which is why i prefer telling you beforehand. I want you guys to feel safe and good reading this story.

I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Get ready for a wild ride. It's about to get rocky ;)

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It's been three days. Three days since Suga has uttered more than a few words to the others. He's been trapped in a state of bare consciousness.

The idiot, the fucker, he'd almost said his name.

The secret he's been carrying for years. For as long as he can remember. No one can ever know. No one can ever tell.

But he'd been the one to almost tell.

He wants to yell. To scream. To punch something relentlessly, for hours on end. His knuckles are already bleeding from a fight, but it isn't enough.

Does J-Hope have any idea what kind of danger he is in? He cannot realize, or he would have never asked something like that. Suga can't put him through this. What he's been through himself.

The taste of blood, metallic and bitter on his tongue, is the only thing keeping him sane. There's a trail by his temple, lazily tracing the outlines of his face. He wants to wipe it off but doesn't do anything.

The other man is lying face down. It has taken hardly any effort to make him look that way. But the scumbag attacked Suga with a knife. And the knife left its mark.

His suit is ruined, his tie lost, one of his sleeves half torn. It reflects Suga's interior state. He thinks he wants to throw the suit away. To run. He knows where the tracker is. In his forearm, buried deep. It would hurt to remove it, but it would hurt less than this.

BH would find another team. He'd find other jewels. Another August D.

The road to the apartment passes by quickly, street names barely discernible in the darkness. He reaches the right floor, he thinks, fumbling with his keys until he's got the door open. No one is awake, thank fuck, and he almost dives for the door of his room.

Nothing moves as he stumbles inside. Three days of silent treatment have left J-Hope colder than he was before. Still, his presence makes the whole thing real. It feels like his world has come down to this room. Everything that has happened outside is an illusion, a trick.

J-Hope pulls himself upright, lighting up the lamp by his bed. Suga thought he was asleep. Perhaps he never was, these past few days. Perhaps he was listening to everything, waiting.

Suga blinks with the sudden brightness. J-Hope doesn't look at him, just down at his hands. There must be something interesting there.

The alcohol calls for immediate sleep, but somehow, he stands still. He's been caught trespassing. Flirting with the line between asshole and damn right psychopath.

He can't leave. He can't have J-Hope killed. The splash of red that would fall on his hair, that would taint his face, forever stuck in a mask of horror.

The dancer's eyes finally come up as he starts talking. "Look, Suga, I..." He stops and gasps, eyes going wide.

He's up in a second and right there next to him. His fingers ghost over the blood and bruises. "What the hell happened?! I'm going to get Jin..."