The Broken Dancer

Fractures Outside the Sanctuary

The nights blurred into one another, until the rhythm became almost natural.

Jimin entered the room without the hesitation that used to choke him. His body no longer locked into rigid stillness the moment the door clicked shut. The silence wasn't the sharp, suffocating weight it had once been - it was thinner, softer, something that could be shaped by words or left to settle between them.

Yoongi noticed. He noticed everything.

The faint slackening of Jimin's shoulders when he sat down. The way his gaze flicked up to meet his for a heartbeat longer before darting away. The absence of the brittle edge in his voice when he spoke.

They were small shifts, but Yoongi collected them like proof. Tiny cracks widening in the armor.

One night, Yoongi poured water into a glass and slid it across the table. "Here," he murmured.

Jimin froze, staring at it like it was something dangerous. His fingers flexed against his knee, hesitation written into every line of him.

"You don't have to," Yoongi said softly. "But you look tired."

Jimin's throat bobbed. Slowly - too slowly - he reached out and took it. Their fingers didn't touch, but the gesture itself felt louder than anything either of them had said.

He drank. His lips trembled slightly against the glass. When he set it down, he muttered, "You're... strange."

Yoongi almost smiled. "Strange isn't always bad."

Jimin didn't answer, but he didn't push the glass away either.

Their words grew longer now. Not quite free, but less barbed.

Jimin spoke about food once, though he regretted it immediately. A half-sentence about how he used to sneak sweet buns from the market with his school friends when he was younger. His lips curled faintly in a smile before his face snapped back to neutrality, shame chasing away the flicker of warmth.

Yoongi didn't comment, only tucked the detail into the growing collection of fragments he held of Jimin.

On another night, Yoongi admitted: "Sometimes I stay up until dawn just... listening. To the city, to the quiet. It feels like if I stop, the world might break."

Jimin's eyes softened without meaning to. His voice came out quieter than he intended: "That sounds lonely."

Yoongi's chest tightened. "It is."

The silence after wasn't empty.

But while the room softened, the world outside sharpened.

Taehyung noticed first. He cornered Jimin in the hallway, arms crossed, gaze sharp. "You're different. You don't snap as much. What's going on in there?"

"Nothing," Jimin said too quickly. He kept his face blank, his voice flat.

Jungkook wasn't convinced either. "It's Yoongi, isn't it? He's using you, isn't he?" His jaw clenched, fists curling like he wanted to punch something.

Even Seokjin, usually the calmest, gave Jimin a look that cut too deep. "You don't have to lie to us. We can see it. Just... be careful."

Jimin lied. Every time.

He told them nothing, offered them scraps. Because how could he explain? How could he say that in the one place meant for degradation, he found the only thing that felt like safety?

If he said it aloud, it would break. He couldn't risk that.

So he let them think what they wanted, shouldered their suspicions like another chain.

Meanwhile, Yoongi felt the air shifting in other ways.

He could sense the irritation simmering beneath Jimin's father's polished smile. The man still enjoyed the steady stream of money Yoongi poured into his pocket, but the spectacle was faltering.

An auction with no competition was no auction at all. Clients grumbled. The room no longer pulsed with anticipation when Jimin's name was called - everyone knew who would win.

The father's eyes lingered longer now, sharp and calculating, as if trying to solve the puzzle of Yoongi's obsession.

Yoongi didn't flinch under his gaze. He only bid, steady as always, his voice cutting through the room like a blade.

But he knew. The reprieve would not last forever.

Back in the room, Yoongi sat across from Jimin and watched the exhaustion darkening the boy's eyes. He wanted to tell him to rest, to sleep, to stop carrying the weight of his father's demands. But he knew those words would sound hollow.

Instead, he said simply: "You don't have to fight so hard in here."

Jimin stilled. His lips parted, then pressed shut. His body softened by the smallest fraction, as if his bones finally let go of some invisible tension.

He didn't thank Yoongi. He didn't smile.

But he stayed, more present than ever, in the fragile sanctuary they were weaving.

And for Yoongi, that was enough.

For now.