"Are you okay?" Yoongi asked, staring intensely at his younger brother. He'd immediately dragged them back into their room and had shut the door, locking it. They weren't supposed to lock it, but Yoongi also didn't give a flying shit.

Hobi hadn't said a word.

Jimin just pulled his lips into the shape he knew to be a smile and nodded. Like a puppet, dancing on strings.

"Jimin." Yoongi looked pissed, which was really his way of being concerned. That didn't mean that he wasn't still pissed as hell though.

Jimin just blinked, still smiling, or at least he was pretty sure he was because he couldn't remember stopping.

He had this image in his mind of his lips being sealed together with stitches, a needle being threaded through the tender pink, blood bubbling up and sliding down his chin, his smile outlined in visceral red.

One stitch two stitch red stitch blue stitch, four stitch five stitch don't you dare open your fucking mouth Jimin.

"Jimin, Jimin, Jimin," Yoongi begged, his anger diminishing as desperation overwhelmed him. "Please, please, say something, anything, okay, Jimin? Please..."

Jimin just tilted his head.

Why would you want to hear me struggle to say a single word?

"Jimin," Yoongi said, his eyes watering with guilt and frustration and regret as he knelt down in front of Jimin, who was sitting on Hobi's bed. "I want to hear your voice, okay? Please, for me?" his voice broke, cracking slightly.

Those were the words that hit Jimin the hardest, but he'd taken enough damage that day to become somewhat numb to it.

He bit down on his lip, ignoring the wetness in his own eyes, and looked away from Yoongi.

Yoongi felt as though his stomach had been carved out and his heart had dropped from where it had been sitting in his rib cage. "I'm sorry, Jimin," he whispered. "This is all my fault. If I hadn't been so stupid...if I didn't punch that kid...if I didn't have detention..."

"Hyung-" Hobi spoke up, but Yoongi whirled on him, a mess of emotion, as he felt his anger rising back up.

"And you! You just stood there!" Yoongi accused, lashing out, needing to find a target for the guilt and anger swarming inside of him. Hobi flinched, dropping his head. "You just let him yell at Jimin! Hobi, I told you that you had to protect Jimin! And you replied! You said got it, hyung! What did you do, Hobi? Nothing! You didn't do-"

Yoongi cut off when he saw that, although Hobi hadn't lifted his head, tears were streaming down his face. His felt his guilt compound before he reached out and put his hands on Hobi's shoulders, hating himself a little more when he felt Hobi flinch yet again, scared of Yoongi, scared of him, and then Yoongi pulled him in close, letting Hobi's head rest against his chest as his tears soaked into Yoongi's shirt.

That was Yoongi's way of apologizing, and Hobi seemed to understand, because he started apologizing back.

"I'm sorry, hyung," he mumbled between tears. "I thought I was brave enough and strong enough, but I couldn't do anything. I felt helpless, powerless...I'm sorry, hyung, I know you trusted me and I let you down a-and-"

Yoongi cut Hobi off by putting a hand on the back of Hobi's head and pressing his head even closer against Yoongi's chest. He paused before placing the other hand on Hobi's back and rubbing it, hesitantly at first, and then harder, like he was trying to scrub the guilt off.

Yoongi didn't think any amount of scrubbing would heal himself.

The guilt he felt was enormous. He had known what could happen if he wasn't there to stand on the front lines for his brothers, his two special younger brothers who were too weak and insecure to defend themselves. He had known, and yet he'd let himself get riled up enough to throw that punch. If he had better self control...if he weren't so stupid...if he were a better brother...

He hated leaving Jimin and Hobi alone with their step-father. Their step-father had never hit them, never laid a hand on them. Instead, he would yell at them, scream at them, highlight their insecurities, their fears, the weakest parts of them. He would make them feel like nothing. He was a powerful businessman; he knew how to wield his words. He knew how to make them hurt, how to stab you with them and twist the knife. It was worse than a punch, somehow. Because the aftermath of a punch was a bruise, but the echo of being belittled and ridiculed was internal pain that didn't turn ugly colors and heal in a few days.

Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me.

The biggest fucking lie of them all.

Yoongi knew the pain of words. He knew because he had seen the light in Jimin's eyes flicker and go out. He knew because he had seen Hobi flinch and grow smaller. He knew because he'd been hearing things he'd never wanted to hear his whole life, and the pain was still echoing across the endless cavern of his hollow heart.

Mommy is gone, and she's not coming back.

They didn't see any kids that looked like Jimin. And I hate to say it, but he's small enough to fit in a backpack.

The court rules in favor of split custody.

Yoongi didn't know when he'd started crying, only that one minute, his face was dry, and the next, it wasn't.

With Hobi still pressed to his chest, Yoongi went over to Hobi's bed, bringing Hobi with him, and murmured "sorry" over and over and over again as he stretched out an arm and pulled Jimin in too.

Hobi was crying and Yoongi was crying and Jimin was-

Not crying.

Jimin was smiling.

Still smiling.

One stitch, two stitch...

Yoongi cried harder, because he knew Jimin had snapped, had gotten to the point where he'd heard the words often enough to accept them. Yoongi wanted to scream at him.

Don't listen to him!

But he knew Jimin was past the point of believing Yoongi, in believing in himself.

One stitch...

Two stitch...

Yoongi felt angry, angry that Jimin couldn't trust him, angry that Jimin couldn't just believe him when he said that Jimin was perfect and fine just the way he was.

Jimin, Jimin, Jimin...

One stitch...

Please, please, say something, anything, okay, Jimin?

Two stitch....

Please?

Three stitch...

I want to hear your voice, okay?

Four stitch...

Please, for me?

I won't open my mouth anymore, stitch.