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Seokjin had been sold three times before.His first master had been an old man who liked to parade him on his arm and dress him in expensive lingerie. When he died of old age, and his family descended like vultures around a carcass, and Seokjin was deemed too expensive, too much of a extravagance.His second master was a young guy who had moved over into light criminality. His cocaine addiction made him flaccid, and every time he failed he would beat Seokjin with a whip. When his addiction landed him with a bullet in the brain, Seokjin was an unexpected windfall of cash for his master's murderers.His third master was an older man, well settled in Seoul's criminal underworld. He was wealthy enough to cover his house in gold and have several playthings besides. Seokjin wasn't used much, which he appreciated. However, over the last couple months, Seokjin had seen the servants start to disappear, the gold leaf peeling of the walls, the gifts of lingerie dwindling. Seokjin had to concede the facts: his master was broke and he was to be resold.His sale happened on a Tuesday. He had been playing the guitar, because it was always better for your master to see you occupied with some activity then to let them get creative.One of the girls, who were unused and well-fed, had directed him to his master's study. Seokjin wondered what was waiting on the other side of the door, but he knew he had no control, no choice about where he would end up, what he would eat or where he would sleep. As the door swung open, Seokjin's tired eyes drifted over Master's opulent study, with carved wooden furniture and gleaming light fixtures. Usually his master sat behind the desk, making him kneel on the wooden floor for hours at a time. Now, a very handsome, tall young man sat in Master's chair and Master was trussed up like a pig in front of the fireplace. Several other men, all as beautiful, stood around. One had his gun to Master's head, four snuggled on chairs facing the fireplace and one was humming rather well as he played with two old samurai swords.Master had received those swords after pawning off Seokjin for the night.Seokjin kneeled. It seemed appropriate."Hello," said the man behind the desk. Seokjin didn't look up. He knew that trick. "Sir," he replied."Are you Seokjin? You're not what I expected." Seokjin muffled a laugh. Who expected an aging naked whore kneeling on a rug?"Yes sir," Seokjin said. The man who had his gun pointed at Master glanced at Seokjin, eyes wavering for a minute. His eyes were catlike."This man owes us a lot of money." He pushed his gun further into Master’s skull. Master squeaked. "Yes sir," he repeated. He couldn’t help but feel a jolt of pleasure at his Master’s suffering.One of the men who was snuggling, with baby cheeks and pink hair, soft and flexible, looked over Seokjin's body for a long minute, assessing."Your…Your master’s notes say that Seokjin knows where his most precious material possession is kept." Seokjin licked his lips, hesitant. He knew they would find out either way, but at least he had a second of freedom."No sir."The baby cheeked man arched an eyebrow, and Seokjin immediately reassessed.This pink haired man was the kind of dangerous that shot you in the head while worrying about how to get blood out of linen pants. Seokjin continued: "I don't know where it is."The man who had been humming, with hair that curled at his nape and painter's fingers, turned away from the samurai sword.His glare was heavy on Seokjin’s naked skin.Seokjin took one more breath and finished: "I am his most precious possession."One of the men on the chairs, young and fit with brown hair, blinked twice as if the concept was ridiculous.Seokjin stifled a smile. That man was very young. What was he doing snuggling with a killer that looked as sweet as apple pie?The man behind the desk, stood up, stretching long arms. He was all arms and legs, sinuous, but Seokjin could visualise a teenage him with bumbling limbs.His dress shoes stopped in front of Seokjin.Seokjin wondered if he would be shot, bleeding out his guts on the Turkish carpet.The beautiful leader kneeled.They were almost eye to eye if Seokjin looked up.Seokjin forced himself to keep his eyes on the shine of the man's dress shoes."How much are you worth?""I last sold for just over 90 billion won."The last man in the group, who had kept a smile on his face the whole night, jerked up, eyes widening in shock."Well," said the man. He put two fingers under Seokjin's chin and tilted it to meet his eyes. Seokjin thought that he had very nice dimples."I'm Namjoon. I do believe you're coming with us."They shot his master in the gut and left him to bleed out on the carpet. They didn't touch him.They gave him a room, with a bed and clean sheets.They didn't make him wear special outfits or a collar.They didn't make him do any chores.They were appreciative when he started cooking, because they all lived off takeout and rice.They called him Jin and gave him lots of kisses, never pushing.Yoongi was tough but kind. He even bought Seokjin a guitar and a piano. Taehyung was slightly strange and very brilliant. He would sit next to Seokjin as he cooked, singing along to songs, not minding that Seokjin didn't know any of them.Jungkook was adorable and very loyal. He always asked how he could help Seokjin with cooking. The one time Seokjin's sweater had slipped to show a whip mark, Jungkook had gotten very pale and had hugged Seokjin for a long time. Three days later he had come back soaked in blood. Seokjin had run him a bath and made him lamb skewers. Hoseok had the best smile and the kindest attitude. When Seokjin would flinch in response to a question, or blurt out a "yes master," Hoseok would always cheer him up, giving his full attention till Seokjin smiled once more. Jimin was sweet and gentle. When Seokjin had admitted he couldn't remember when his birthday was, Jimin had thrown him a surprise party with a cake and lots of gifts.Namjoon, to Seokjin's surprise, was still as clumsy as a teenager, and his coolness rubbed off almost automatically. He was also very smart. When Seokjin had admitted how bad his reading skills were, Namjoon had sat next to Seokjin as he learned to read again, rubbing his shoulders as he stuttered through sentences. Seokjin knew they were dangerous, knew they killed people. They would come home covered in blood, or limping, or worst of all, silent for hours and hours. Seokjin sometimes wondered if he was like a frog in hot water, not realizing anything till you started to drown. Seokjin thought that if this was drowning, he was perfectly happy not learning how to swim.