Ca Ira | yoonmin

Five

He knew, the second Jimin tossed out the word Belhomme casually, that this was not going to bode well for either one of them.

He should've just said no and killed the ridiculous idea on the spot.

Yoongi forces out a slow exhale and tugs on the ragged long coat. Jimin is next to him, in equally unassuming and tattered outfits, although chin held high and strides languid and proud, as usual.

The house is by the edge of the city walls, a worn out residence amidst the row of equally unassuming buildings. The night sky above them is in shades of muddled black, with dim moonlight illuminating through the shifting clouds occasionally. The tall wooden front doors are half open, revealing the darkness within. As Yoongi pushes onto the weathered surface with his palm, he thinks back to the huddled figure of Jin far away by the corner of the street.

Someone to get help in case things go wrong, Jimin has explained casually, earning an eye roll out of Yoongi right on the spot.

What help? Here they are, both dressed down to disguise their titles, with clammy palms and thrumming hearts, stepping into unknown territory. He can't afford the complexity that comes with dragging military involvement into this crazy little reconnaissance. So, no help. Alone and together, in and out. Simple enough.

Fuck.

Yoongi sucks in another breath and lets the familiar sombreness wash over his profile. He squints and adjusts to the darkness as the doors creak open, the weight heavy against the push of his hand. Here goes nothing.

They are in an empty lobby, ghostly outlines of staircase and unlit chandelier rise into the tall ceiling above them. Muffled noises echo in the blurred darkness, of whispers, coughs and other strange sounds that he can't be entirely sure of. Yoongi wrinkles his nose at the onslaught of stench - a stale mixture of dust and decay - and feels the presence of Jimin closely behind.

A light flickers from down the hallway and catches his attention - soft glimmer that trembles and hovers towards them. Yoongi zooms in onto it warily, feet apart and shoulders squared. A voice cuts through the darkness before he can make out the faces of the figures approaching them.

"You two better scram before something bad happens. This is the wrong kind of place to walk into by mistake."

Before he can respond, Jimin's voice pipes up lazily from behind him, "Pension Belhomme, isn't it? I'm afraid we are exactly where we want to be."

A cackle. "Well then. To what do we owe the pleasure of the visit?"

Yoongi can finally see them, as the lamplight casts shifting shadows on the faces next to it. The holder of the lamp is younger, a scrawny kid with bright eyes and a pinched expression. The speaker next to him is taller and hunched, weathered eyes furrowed, with a worn out flintfire piston in hands.

Yoongi speaks towards the taller man, "We are looking for someone that's being kept here. Are you the head guard of the pension?"

His lips curl into a cold grin, voice gruffly, "Sure - head guard, keeper, the doctor, whatever name you prefer. This person you're looking for, is he a patient or a prisoner?"

"A prisoner, I believe. The name is Namjoon, a bit of an intellectual, been here since July I heard?"

The kid glances up towards the tall man and whispers, "The lieutenant with all the books on the third level, Mr. Belhomme..."

"Ahh yes, the lieutenant. A lovely tenant, I should add, mostly keeps to himself." The taller man nods, narrowed eyes scanning them, fingers rubbing against the barrel of the piston absently.