The Broken Dancer

The Fragile Sanctuary

Notes: 

I'm back! Sorry for the long break between chapters, I went on holiday for two weeks but I am back now and am continuing with this story. Hope you didn't miss me too much 😉

The room was thick with smoke, murmurs curling like the haze around the low lights. It was a familiar ritual, one Jimin had performed countless times before, but tonight the air was different. He felt it the moment his father called his name.

Every eye in the room followed him, but not with the usual detached hunger. Tonight, the stares burned hotter, sharper - suspicion threaded through them. Men whispered openly, their voices carrying more boldly than usual, no longer masked by the pretense of politeness.

"Why parade him at all if he's already taken?" one muttered, loud enough for Jimin to hear as he stepped onto the stage.

Another gave a short, derisive laugh. "What's the point of an auction if the outcome's already written?"

Jimin's throat tightened. His body knew how to move, how to play the role his father demanded, but inside he felt stripped bare, exposed under the scrutiny. The silence of unchallenged bids had once been a fragile safety; now it felt like a noose tightening.

And then it came - the sharp, cutting word that made his pulse stumble.

"Perhaps the boy's spoiled." A man sneered, leaning back in his chair. "Untouchable. Must be a personal pet."

Laughter scattered like broken glass, some amused, some bitter.

Jimin's chest ached. He didn't dare look toward Yoongi, but he could feel him there, somewhere in the crowd - still, silent, carrying the same tension coiled in Jimin's own spine.

His father forced a laugh, too loud, too easy. "Gentlemen, don't waste your breath. Business is business. He's reserved. Consider it efficiency."

The words silenced the room, but not the undercurrent beneath it. Buyers shifted in their seats, their whispers folding into each other like dark water. Jimin's father's smile lingered, but it didn't touch his eyes. He was watching. Calculating.

And Jimin felt it - the shift. This deal that was supposed to be safety was painting a target on their backs. Every gaze followed him off the stage, sticky and knowing. Relief didn't come. Dread did.

The door clicked shut behind them, but the silence didn't soften this time. It hung heavy, pressing down on the small room like a storm cloud. Jimin's chest rose and fell too fast, his hands shaking as he tore off the mask he wore downstairs.

"Reserved." The word rang in his ears, sharp as broken glass.

He rounded on Yoongi before he could stop himself. "What did he mean?" His voice was thin, brittle with something rawer than anger - a kind of terrified disbelief. "What did my father mean when he said I was reserved?"

Yoongi froze in the act of setting something down on the desk. His shoulders stiffened, but he didn't turn. Jimin's stomach churned with dread at the silence. Silence always meant truth.

"Yoongi," Jimin pressed, his throat tightening. "Tell me."

Finally, Yoongi faced him. His jaw was tense, eyes dark, but beneath it there was no cruelty - only guilt. "He offered me a deal," Yoongi said quietly. "If I paid... enough, you'd be mine every night. No bidding. No risk."