Chapter Text
Chapter 3
Half Moon Waxing
Compared to the last couple of times he’s been to the Kim home (which, to his immense annoyance, he’s started referring to as HQ in his head), this visit is more along the lines of what he had expected the first time around.
When he pulls his bike up to the garage, two men in expensive, tailored suits are positioned at the front door, earpieces in place but guns tucked out of sight. Another man, similarly dressed, ushers Yoongi into the house, his presence clearly expected even though he hadn’t bothered to let them know he was coming. (It is, in retrospect, probably not a stellar idea to come over unannounced especially after the events of yesterday, but apparently Seokjae had—correctly—assumed he would take her up on the offer and prepared ahead. Damn her.)
Before entering, Yoongi notes that the same two SUVs from Sunday are still parked outside, in the same position they’d been in almost a week ago. Either whoever was driving them has a bad case of OCD or the cars are there for appearances and nothing more. It made him wonder what else is in the house, what other secrets he’s yet to be privy to, and then he has to reminded himself not to care because working with them to take down the kkangpae is a one-time thing, borne purely out of necessity. Not because he’s curious about them or enjoys their circus or anything. Of course not.
Yoongi runs into Namjoon in the living room just as the other man is sleepily pushing his way out of the swinging door to the kitchen, feet tangling over themselves enough that Yoongi has to take a step back for fear of Namjoon’s mug of—soup?—getting spilled on him. But apparently Namjoon is an expert with his own clumsiness, because he manages to save his meal just in time by shifting his weight and doing a weird pirouette on socked feet, his long arms arcing in the air.
“Hey, Yoongi-ssi.” Namjoon stumbles to a stop and gives him a goofy-looking grin, his sleep-swollen eyes reduced to slits behind his black, thick-rimmed glasses, before he lets out a yawn that makes Yoongi’s jaw twitch with how massive it is. “You can wait with Hoseok,” he says, flapping a hand vaguely down the opposite hallway. “I’ll go make sure Jin-hyung is ready.”
Namjoon waves him goodbye, and Yoongi follows the suit-clad man down the hallway, where a door is opened for him. Yoongi expects it to lead to a room or an office or something, but he’s met by the entrance to a small, four-person elevator, and honestly, at this point Yoongi’s disappointed with himself for still being surprised. The man thumbs the button for the top floor for him before giving a curt nod and walking away.
The elevator deposits Yoongi into a smaller hallway, still the same smooth gray concrete as the rest of the house with two doors on either side, one left ajar at the other end. Yoongi swallows the urge to snoop and find out what’s behind the closed doors before making his way to the open one, which lets him into a room encased by glass along three of its walls.
All of them are covered in sharp, hastily-drawn hangul and the occasional Latin alphabet in sloping curves, a yet-cracked color code evident as it scrawls over every accessible surface, the sunlight leaving shadows of the symbols where it pours in. The rug under his sneakers is a deep hunter green, the color of forest moss, and the only solid wall of the room houses a television with a couple of beanbags haphazardly tossed in front of it. The opposite side is obviously Hoseok’s workstation, given that the man is sitting at the desk with his back to Yoongi, eyes darting tirelessly between the multitude of screens in front of him.
Yoongi takes another minute to study some of the writing on the walls before deciding that he understands none of it—the symbols are in Latin and Hangul but obviously cyphered—and he clears his throat to alert the man to his presence.
“I know you’re there, Yoongi,” Hoseok mumbles distractedly. He picks up a red marker before reaching across his desk to the wall behind his computer to write something on it, then leans back in his chair and swivels it around to face his guest.
“You heard me?” Yoongi asks, eyebrow raised.
“I heard the elevator,” Hoseok chirps in response, and in a blink his serious expression is gone, replaced by another heart-shaped smile. “Want anything? Water, coffee?” he prompts, bending down to open the door of the small refrigerator under the table. “Beer?”
“I’m good,” Yoongi responds, finally stepping into the room. He doesn’t see anywhere else to sit, but if Hoseok is offering him a drink, he’s assuming that he’s about to spend a bit of time here. He sinks into one of the beanbags, printed with a massive Union Jack, and awkwardly flails his legs around for purchase when it engulfs him.
Hoseok giggles, kicking his chair to slide across the carpet towards Yoongi as he cracks open a can of Sprite. “Yeah, should have warned you that one’s, uh, cuddly.”
Yoongi pauses in his struggle to shoot him a glare, but manages to scoot himself into a more or less dignified sitting position. “Nice office,” he grunts, unmindful of how his tone might make it sound like less of a compliment than he means it.
“Isn’t it?” Hoseok sings, spinning in his chair to take in the room. He’s clearly proud of his work space, and Yoongi wonders what the one he has in Gwangju looks like. “I like to keep an eye on things.”
It’s an understatement—the room is literally made of glass—but Yoongi just flattens his lips into a straight line at him. “I never would have guessed,” he deadpans.
The other man just laughs again. “Listen, buddy, sunlight is good for you,” he says, gesturing at Yoongi’s pale skin. “You work with tech as much as I do and you start to miss the sun and the sky, you know what I mean?”
Yoongi rolls his eyes, looking out the wall that Hoseok’s desk faces to see that it offers a view of the back of the house; another black, wrought-iron gate and the same twelve-foot concrete walls encasing the compound, far more cars parked along either side of the driveway leading to the road outside it. Yoongi was right about the Kims utilizing the back entrance, as well as the fact that the cars in front are to keep up appearances that a normal family lives here.
“If you can look out can’t other people look in?” Yoongi asks, giving in to his curiosity.
Hoseok follows his gaze. “One-sided glass,” he says smugly. “But instead of reflective it’s just this dull silver when you’re looking at it from outside. Bulletproof, too.”
“Of course,” Yoongi snorts.
“Of course,” Hoseok agrees. He nudges Yoongi’s booted foot with his sandaled one. “I’m glad you decided to come through, bud,” he confides, smiling warmly. “Or is it just because you don’t trust us to deal with the kkangpae?”
Yoongi softens at the look of concern that’s being openly offered to him. Hard as he is, his life has been tough, and Hoseok as Hope had been one of the few people who had ever treated him as more of a person than a supplier. “I said I could handle them on my own, not that I wanted to,” he admits, returning the smile with a smirk of his own.
“Touché!” Hoseok chortles, slapping a hand on his bare knee. Yoongi spares a thought to wonder if he’s ever seen shorts that short. “Do you want me to get you up to speed or do you wanna wait until we have Jin-hyung with us?”
Namjoon had mentioned as much to Yoongi before he’d gone up to Hoseok’s office, but Yoongi doesn’t exactly have the utmost faith in the man. Seokjin is the heir, technically, but so far to Yoongi he comes across confused and uninterested, more passionate about making bad puns and talking about food than anything else. His sister clearly pulls all of their strings, so he’s wondering if her words to him the day before were bullshit and she’s passing off the task to her less-capable sibling.
Hoseok, at least, clearly has the charisma and the connections; is the brains and steam behind this aspect of their organization. Yoongi still has no clue what Namjoon does, but he’s sharp, if a little socially awkward, and he’s got a fair amount of sense. Taehyung… well, Yoongi hasn’t been around Taehyung enough to make any call on him other than that he’s a bit of a walking question mark, so to Yoongi, Seokjin is nothing more than a figurehead—a handsome male face to slap onto their regime while Seokjae calls the shots from behind him.
Instead of saying any of this (because there’s no question that it would be taken as an insult, and Yoongi’s opinionated but he isn’t stupid), Yoongi just clears his throat and asks, “Namjoon and Seokjae not joining us?”
“Joon needs to sleep,” Hoseok shrugs, pushing back away from Yoongi towards his desk. “Honestly I’m surprised whenever I see him in the daytime.”
“Why’s that?” Yoongi’s unable to stop himself from asking.
“Timezones,” Hoseok responds, the duh left unspoken, and Yoongi chews on the inside of his cheek thinking about what that means. “Jae-noona is at Guk’s school talking to his teachers about taking his work home for the rest of the term and she’s got another meeting after that, but she wanted me to tell you that she’d be here if she could.” Hoseok turns, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, and Yoongi makes a face at him, unsure what he’s trying to insinuate. Hoseok just laughs and turns back to his computer, clicking on shit a few times before his printer starts spewing out sheaves of paper.
“Is the kid gutted about getting pulled out of his classes?” Yoongi asks, unsure why he’s concerned about that instead of the look Hoseok just gave him.
“Nah.” Hoseok rolls over to the other end of the table, slipping papers into different colored folders. “One of us is always home and he’s got each of us whipped. He thinks it’s, and I quote, ‘the best thing ever’!” He pantomimes a weird jig in his seat, throwing his fits up in the air as he mimics Jeongguk’s voice, pitchy with the onset of his coming puberty.
The unexpected, and scarily accurate, imitation of the kid startles a laugh out of Yoongi. Hoseok looks victorious at the fact that he’s managed to get sound out of the cold, quiet killer. “I knew you had it in you to laugh, Agust,” he sings smugly, going back to his folders. “I wonder if anyone would still consider you a threat if they found out about that cute, gummy widdle smile of yours, eh?”
Yoongi stops laughing abruptly, hurling the closest thing within reach at him, which so happens to be the stuffed Bearbrick resting on the other bean bag.
The papers in Hoseok’s hands go flying as the projectile hits him square in the chest, and he topples from his chair to the floor, his long, gangly limbs flying through the air with a strangled cry. Yoongi laughs as Hoseok groans, clutching a hand to his chest dramatically. “Ugh, taken down by the thing I love the most.”
Yoongi gets up from his seat with minor difficulty, sauntering over to the other man with his hands in his pockets. He gives Hoseok the same gummy grin that was just poked fun at as he hovers over him. “Tell anyone and it’ll be a bullet instead of a Bearbrick.”
Hoseok stares at him for a second from the ground, his eyes clearly calculating the weight of Yoongi’s open threat before they disappear into his high cheekbones with a laugh. “Yah, shut up and help me up.”
* * *
In the end Seokjin doesn’t join them for some reason, but Yoongi finds that he doesn’t even mind. It’s no surprise that he and Hoseok work well together, or that they wind up staying in the glass office for the remainder of the afternoon, letting the sun set until Hoseok’s lights come on automatically, figuring out a way to take down the kkangpae without letting them get back up again.
Hoseok’s already done most of the research into the small group, and he pulls the information up on one of his screens for Yoongi’s perusal. “Most of their operations are small-time, drug-running for clubs in Mapo-gu and providing the usual protection services, but Taetae’s been leaning on some of their spots and he confirms what the rest of my sources have found out.”
“Which is?” Yoongi asks, eyebrows raised in unspoken question of Taetae’s judgement.
“That the bastards cause more trouble than they prevent,” Hoseok murmurs, eyes dark as he completely misses the meaning behind Yoongi’s look. “Looks like at least half of Hongdae will be happy to see them go, so it’s a good thing that Taetae’s already got his cluster in place, ready to take over the territory. I doubt anyone will kick up a fuss or wonder what happens to them.”
“We’re talking about taking down a kkangpae known for violence and you’re worried about people’s feelings?” Yoongi asks incredulously.
Hoseok smacks a hand on his arm, painful enough to make Yoongi wince. “Yes,” he hisses emphatically. Yoongi rubs his skin and scowls at the thought of anyone actually having a conscience in their line of work before shoving Hoseok just as hard in the shoulder in retaliation. Instead of initiating a volley, Hoseok just laughs. “Hey, I’m thinking in terms of retribution here. So far none of what I’ve found links them to a bigger jopok, so I think it’s safe to say that this will end here.”
Hoseok turns back to his computer, clicking open a bunch of other reference files, scrolling too quickly for Yoongi to keep up, so he retreats to his bean bag (it’s his now, Hoseok’s gonna have to fight him for it), which he’s pulled up to the side of the table. “Alright,” he hums, falling into it with a muffled plop. He twines his fingers together over his chest, staring up at the gray ceiling. “So you’re ready to freeze all of their accounts and blacklist them with your connections, and V”—Yoongi will be damned before he starts referring to anyone as Taetae—“his cluster can take in any loose ends, heads who aren’t at their headquarters when we hit, or those who are willing to turn themselves over. They’ll take over business in the district so that no one can trace this hit to the Ssang Yong Pa.”
“Pretty much,” Hoseok agrees, bobbing his head sideways between his shoulders at Yoongi’s rundown of what they’ve decided on so far.
Yoongi pushes himself up, propping himself on both elbows to look quizzically at Hoseok. “In terms of the hit, what are we talkin’ about here? Threatening them take-no-prisoners style or comin’ in guns blazing?”
Hoseok looks up from his screen, fixing Yoongi with the first smile he’s seen from him that doesn’t look like it’s made of sunshine and rainbows. “Guns blazing,” he answers curtly, and just as quickly the uncharacteristically dark look is gone and he’s back to looking for something on his computer.
Both of Yoongi’s eyebrows go up in confused surprise.
“What?” Hoseok prompts, not even looking at him.
“Nothing.” Yoongi flops back down into the plush comfort of his bean bag. “Just didn’t think that was your style is all.”
“We go by the golden rule,” Hoseok chuckles, clicking away. “Do unto others as they have done unto you.”
Yoongi frowns at the ceiling. “I don’t think that’s how that goes.”
Hoseok laughs, taking a sip of his soda even though it’s gone flat by now. “None of us are taking the attempt on Taetae lightly. Sure, Guk woulda been caught in the crossfire, but Jae-noona and Jin-hyung really don’t play around when it comes to their safety. Or for any of ours for that matter.”
“Makes sense,” Yoongi murmurs, smiling at the thought of getting to wreck some large-scale havoc for once. (It’s definitely not because he’s getting the warm and fuzzies over Hoseok’s casual use of ‘ours’, like Yoongi’s now considered part of their group. Part of their family. Nope, definitely not.)
“Dammit, I can’t find it!” Hoseok exclaims after a few minutes of companionable silence. Yoongi twists his head to look at him, having been lost in planning which guns and knives to bring when they hit the kkangpae’s headquarters.
“Find what?”
Hoseok rolls away from the desk, pulling his black beanie off to run a frustrated hand through his hair. “No one knows where their headquarters are,” he says, mouth twisting in disdain. “I have all their properties, all of their usual haunts, all of the businesses they work with, but none of my contacts have squat on a real, actual location for HQ. We’re gonna have to recon each of the properties, and that’s gonna take weeks.”
“So?” Yoongi asks, wondering why the other man sounds so exasperated.
“So,” Hoseok repeats, sending him a pointed look. “We don’t have weeks.”
The statement is cryptic, even coming from Hoseok, but Yoongi figures they just want it done. Swift and bloody retribution and all that. “So pin down one of their people. I’m sure V’s got eyes and ears on someone high enough on the ladder to know where they take their shits.”
Hoseok scrunches his nose at him. “You’re disgusting,” he states, but it lacks any real bite, so Yoongi just flashes him a grin. “But you’re right.” He lets out a small groan, throwing himself back in his seat and stretching his arms up over his head. “I need to get Jae-noona up to speed.” He reaches for his phone, and Yoongi expects him to call Seokjae but instead he types on it for a minute before he looks back up, blinking. “You in the mood for some pizza?”
* * *
Yoongi decides that pizza is his second favorite word to come out of Hoseok’s mouth, right after all of the toppings.
He doesn’t know if he’d had it delivered or sent someone out to get it for them (the latter seemed more probable), but free food is the best food, not to mention if it’s freshly made, and Yoongi has his fill. As soon as he exits the house, burping through his bellyful of cheese and carbs and already sifting through his pocket for a cigarette and a lighter, he spies the headlights of a car rocketing up the driveway. His body instantly tenses, aware of the fact that the two bodyguards previously stationed at the front door are gone and there’s no way anyone can hear him yell a warning through those thick concrete walls. Whatever relaxed state Hoseok’s glass office and its sunshine had lulled him into quickly shifts into one of readiness, his brain already going through multiple worst case scenarios.
Note: yell a warning, not yell for help. Yoongi doesn’t need it, his hand already on the gun holstered at his hip, ready to take it out if necessary.
The car skids to a stop in front of him, jolting forward and then back in a way that he’s sure has given its occupants whiplash. Yoongi sees that it’s a matte black pick-up truck with chrome detailing, too new for anything other than a ‘FOR REGISTRATION’ sign on its bumper, but before he can take note of anything else the passenger’s side door is opening and Taehyung’s head pops up over the hood.
“Hey hyung!” he yells, waving his arm wildly through the air in greeting.
Yoongi lets out the breath he had been holding, taking his hand off the handle of his gun and narrowing his eyes at the younger man. “Who said you could call me hyung?” he growls. He barely knows the kid, the fact that he’d tried (and failed) to do recon on him notwithstanding.
“You did!” Taehyung laughs, climbing down the car and walking round the front of it as the driver’s side door swings open. “When you saved my life! Or don’t you remember?” He pauses, leaning against the still-warm bonnet of the truck, hands tucked into his—is he wearing paisley printed pajama pants?—with his already-large brown eyes widening worriedly at Yoongi. “Wait, you remember, right? You’re not one of those people with, whatchamacallit? Forgetfulness but worse?”
“Amnesia?” suggests the man climbing down from the car.
Taehyung frowns, considering it. “Isn’t it like Alzheimer’s or something?”
“Yah!” Yoongi complains before he can stop himself. “How old do you think I am?”
The younger boy considers this for a moment, looking Yoongi up and down analytically. “Jin-hyung always says you’re only as old as you act. And you act like you’re fifty.”
Yoongi scowls at him, but the sound of tinkling laughter pulls his attention to the man next to Taehyung.
“Aigoo,” the guy chuckles, pushing Taehyung softly in the side. “Your mouth is going to get you into trouble one of these days, Taetae.”
Taehyung just shrugs, smiling at the guy fondly as he slams the front door shut next to him. “Are you restricting my freedom of speech, Jimin?”
Jimin gasps, sounding affronted. “Me? Never!” he laughs, slinging the strap of a gym bag over his shoulder. “That would require a muzzle, and I don’t have one on me.” He jumps back quickly, avoiding the playful swipe Taehyung attempts, before he finally turns to Yoongi. His eyes light up with recognition and he walks briskly across the space between them with his hand outstretched. “Hi, I’m Park Jimin,” he introduces, smiling beatifically. “JM, I guess, in case anyone’s mentioned me.”
Ah, so this is JM. Out of politeness Yoongi should say that yes, he’s heard of him and it’s nice to meet him or whatever, but he’s having a hard time mediating the idea of someone able to take over the Chil Sung Pa—on their home turf, no less—looking like a goddamn cherub.
Rounded cheeks, full lips, a head of light blonde hair, a nice looking nose with a handsome little bump and sleepy, heavily-hooded eyes and sure, he’s got a ring pierced through the right side of his lower lip and silver studs running around both his ears to ruin the visual, but Yoongi’s still thinking no way, no fucking way.
Jimin’s triangular little eyebrows go up, so Yoongi finally takes his hand and shakes it, surprised to find that while the guy’s hands are much smaller than his, his grip is rock solid. Jimin beams a smile at him, making his eyes disappear into tiny crescents, engulfed by his cheeks, and Yoongi feels the weird urge to protect him.
He’s grateful for Taehyung and his mouth, because it saves him from having to say anything.
“Of course we mention you, Chim! I’m like, all about telling people how awesome my best friend is.”
Jimin releases Yoongi’s hand and turns that smile on Taehyung instead, and Yoongi remembers that yeah, he should probably breathe now. “Aww!” Jimin cooes, his voice dripping with mock sweetness as he bounces back towards the car. “You’re so gross, Taetae! I never tell people about you!”
Yoongi learns that, apparently, Taehyung can move hella fast because he’s already swung his foot out and sent his fur-lined loafer flying through the air towards his best friend’s head before any of them can blink.
Yoongi also learns that, fast as Taehyung is, Park Jimin is even faster, because he sidesteps the projectile gracefully, and it clatters to the ground right at Yoongi’s feet.
The three of them stare at the scuffed, lonely loafer for a few quiet seconds before Jimin breaks out into peals of throaty laughter, doubling over, his shoulders shaking.
“You’re a punk,” Taehyung accuses, trudging slowly towards Yoongi to retrieve his footwear, completely unmindful of how he’s walking half-barefoot on the paving stones.
“Yeah but I’m your best frieeeend~” Jimin sings, taking a step back to let Taehyung pass him.
Taehyung ignores him, giving Yoongi a boxy grin as he toes his shoe back on. “Hi,” he says in an unearthly Stitch voice, his face so close to Yoongi’s that the older man can see the little mole on the tip of his nose.
“Get out of my face,” Yoongi rasps out, moving to shove him if necessary. Taehyung laughs, dancing quickly out of his reach.
“Go change, Taetae,” Jimin grins from behind him. “And bring my bag up, would you?” Taehyung accepts the gym bag as it’s passed to him, flashing them a peace sign pressed to his right eye before he disappears through the doors.
Yoongi lets out a sigh, watching him go, and he finally takes out a cigarette, tucking it between his lips. He’d merely wanted one five minutes ago but now he definitely needs it.
“Those will kill you, y’know?” Jimin points out unhelpfully, watching as Yoongi’s practiced fingers light it up.
Yoongi exhales a stream of smoke, letting the white tendrils dissipate before he answers, “So will that guy, probably.”
“Probably,” Jimin agrees lightly, running a hand through his hair and looking sidelong at Yoongi, his face turned to stare up at the house. “But I’d be willing to.”
Yoongi grunts, smiling despite himself. “Thought he wasn’t your best friend?”
“Would I really be his best friend if I didn’t give him shit on a regular basis?” Jimin muses aloud.
Yoongi chuckles, taking another drag. “Guess not,” he mumbles, cigarette between his lips. His gaze follows Jimin’s towards the house, illuminated by garden lights and the blue neon cast that seems to lend itself to the entirety of Seoul once the sun sets. Yoongi’s never seen it at night, but like this the house looks almost monstrous; spotlights along the ground like jagged yellow, calcified teeth, windows along the front like a row of pitch-black eyes, the light from the upper floors a distant, glowing halo.
“Thank you,” Jimin says out of nowhere, and Yoongi turns to face him. Jimin meets his stare, his eyes serious under his blue contact lenses. “For saving Taehyung and Jeongguk, I mean.”
Yoongi lifts a single shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Don’t mention it,” he says, awkward. “Seriously, don’t. I’m sick of you guys acting like I sacrificed myself or something.”
“The way Guk tells it, you kinda did.” Holy fuck, is this kid seriously teasing him?
Yoongi scrunches the side of his nose. At the thought. At Jimin. “Kid’s probably watched too many superhero movies,” he allows, unsure why as he does it. Unsure why heat creeps up his neck. “Looks at me like I’m fuckin’ Superman or some shit.”
“Tony Stark,” Jimin offers, smiling widely now. “He thinks you’re as cool as Tony Stark.”
Yoongi’s heart does something weird in his chest again, clenching and shit, and he makes a mental note to go to the doctor to get it checked out. “The fuck is Hope then? Jarvis?”
Jimin laughs, and the sound is so full-bodied that Yoongi’s eyes close for a second to better enjoy it. “Y’know, I didn’t believe Hope or Taetae when they said it, but you’re really funny.”
Yoongi’s eyes snap back open to glare at him, but he doesn’t respond immediately. Just takes another drag of his cigarette, making sure to blow the smoke directly towards Jimin, who fans it away with a hand.
Before Yoongi can come up with a witty retort (because he’s not a fucking comedian, and if he has to be someone from the Marvel universe they better believe he’d be Loki instead of Iron Man—the guy doesn’t even have superpowers for fuck’s sake), the front doors open and Taehyung stumbles out of them, hopping on one foot as he shoves his other one into a black leather sneaker.
“Noona said yes!” he huffs, grinning widely as he advances towards them.
“Noona what?” Jimin says, laughter curling around his words as he watches his friend struggle.
“I talked to Hoseok-hyung,” Taehyung explains, panting. “He-aish!” He falls over, landing on his ass onto the ground to Jimin’s utter delight and Yoongi’s entertainment, but he finally manages to get his shoe on. He picks himself back up, dusting off the seat of the black jeans he’s changed into, still wearing the same black button-down from earlier. “He has a lead on someone who knows where the kkangpae headquarters are. I volunteered us and noona said yes!”
Yoongi glances at Jimin to find that all traces of amusement are gone from his face, replaced by a grave expression at the mention of the kkangpae. “What are you waiting for?” he asks Taehyung, who blinks at him. “Grab our gear, let’s go.”
Taehyung flashes him an almost manic grin before he’s already slipping back through the door he’d left open.
Jimin doesn’t seem to doubt Taehyung’s claim that Seokjae had cleared their little mission, but Yoongi’s got his own. He already has his phone to his ear, ringing Hoseok before he can tell himself that the only reason he gives a shit is because he doesn’t want the woman’s wrath directed at him for allowing the two to leave. After all, she’d specifically told Taehyung just yesterday to lay low; it’s not because Yoongi cares about any of them getting hurt. Hell no.
“You still here?” Hoseok asks, not even bothering with niceties when he picks up.
“The kids are saying they’re going after intel?” Yoongi prompts, ignoring the question. Hoseok’s looped into all of the cameras, he knows that Yoongi’s still on the property.
“Aww, ‘the kids’?” Hoseok repeats, giggling. “Look at you, already acting like a cranky, overbearing hyung.”
Yoongi rolls his eyes, glancing at the smile on Jimin’s face and wondering if he can hear Hoseok give him shit. “Answer the damn question.”
Hoseok laughs for another couple of seconds before he says, “Gwon Heejun, 37 years old, deals party drugs in a hiphop club called LVNA in Hongdae. My sources tell me he’s been working for the kkangpae for the last couple of years, so he has to know where they, as you so wonderfully put it, take their shits.”
“And you’re sure you’re sending the kids out after him?” Yoongi asks, rolling his eyes at himself for referring to the two younger boys as ‘the kids’ again.
“Noona says Taehyung should be the one to do it,” Hoseok muses, sounding far too entertained for Yoongi’s liking. “Said something about poetic justice, but if you ask me I think she’s being scary and wants them to see us coming.”
“And you’re sure about this?” Yoongi insists, disbelief making his voice sound a little desperate. Behind him Jimin seems to have gotten bored of standing around without anyone to talk to, and Yoongi hears the truck engine roar to life. “Don’t get me wrong,” Yoongi continues, hedging. “I’m sure Jimin’s a capable guy-” even if he does look like a fucking cherub, he adds mentally, “-but Taehyung’s about as soft as half-baked dough-”
Hoseok’s laughter roars over the connection, and Yoongi is struck by the mental image of how he’s sitting in his office, probably slapping his knee again as he watches them over the strategically hidden cameras. Yoongi’s sure all of them are pointed at him right now as they speak, so he glares up at the house in Hoseok’s general direction. “Well, I did ask you if you were in the mood for pizza.”
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Yoongi groans, squeezing his eyes shut as he silently prays for patience.
“If you’re so worried about ‘the kids’,” Hoseok sings, uncaring of Yoongi’s obvious suffering, “and since you’re just hanging around and all…” Yoongi knew it, stupid fucking Hoseok with his stupid fucking eyes and ears everywhere, “…why don’t you go with them?” he suggests. “I’m sure Jae-noona would appreciate you looking out for them.”
“The fuck?” Yoongi sputters, Hoseok’s smug grin practically plastered before his eyes. “Like I give a shit -what the fuck are you talking about, Hope, I was only asking because-”
“Have fun, Yoongi!” Hoseok cackles, clicking off the call.
Yoongi scowls at his phone, looking up when he hears the squeak of Taehyung’s sneakers against the marble, the force of his glare hitting the younger man in full force as he skids to a stop.
Taehyung takes an involuntary step back, clutching the black bag most likely full of weapons to his chest protectively. “O…kay?” he says, blinking innocently at Yoongi. “Someone clearly didn’t have their coffee today.”
The hitman growls at him, shoving his phone back into his pocket.
The youngest Kim sibling must have a fucking death wish or something, or he just doesn’t have any sense for survival at all, because he just zips the bag open, pulling out a wooden baseball bat with ‘V’ engraved in—Jesus Christ, purple glitter paint—spinning it expertly in his right hand with a grin full of promise. “Aw, c’mon, hyung,” he purrs, looking at Yoongi through his impossibly long lashes. “I promise we’ll have fun. Knock a few heads, break a few bones.” He licks his lips, tucking his tongue into the corner of his mouth thoughtfully, bat still arcing through the air. “I’ll even let you borrow Gertrude!”
“Gertrude?”
“The bat,” Jimin answers, leaning against the side of the still-idling truck.
Yoongi rolls his eyes, because of course Taehyung is the type of guy to not only name his weapons, but he’s also the type to name it something ridiculously non-threatening. If it weren’t for the fact that he no longer has a conscience, he’d blame it for the decision he makes to come along with them.
He makes his way over to his bike, pulling out an extra gun and magazines, slipping knives into the waiting sheathes he never leaves home without—all the while making excuses for himself that he doesn’t care about them, specifically, he’s only going to make sure that the two idiots stay alive. After all, he’s saved Taehyung’s life once already, right? And that makes him sort-of responsible for the guy?
By the time he walks back to the truck, Taehyung’s already thrown the bag and himself into the backseat, his torso hanging out of the sunroof. He fixes Yoongi with that weird smile again, his eyes alight with excitement, and Jimin looks smug, still leaning against the closed door.
“Got everything you need, hyung?”
Yoongi doesn’t even bother to respond to the honorific; just motions Jimin away from the driver’s side with a shooing motion of his hand. Jimin’s eyebrows furrow, lower lip already sticking out adorably in a pout.
Yoongi tries not to think about how lonely his bike looks sitting in the driveway, about how he’s breaking at least two of his rules. “’M not getting’ in that car with the way you drive, kid,” he drawls, expression clearly daring Jimin to argue with him. “And you ain’t goin’ without me.”
Jimin opens his mouth, but Taehyung draws his attention by slapping his hand on the roof of the truck. “C’mon, Chim!” he whines, pressing his chest to the metal and spreading his arms out. With how tall he is, his fingers manage to curl around the sides. “Take your pissing contest to the club. Whoever breaks the most bones gets a cookie.” He blinks, then snickers at himself. “Cookie. Like Gukkie. Whoever wins gets Gukkie.”
Jimin shakes his head, running his hand through his hair again—clearly a habit. “You’re so fucking corny.”
“You love it,” Taehyung sings, rubbing his hand on the roof in an inviting caress. “Come on.”
Yoongi doesn’t even know where to start with these two, but apparently Jimin is used to his best friend treating their lives like a videogame, assigning points like they’re in fucking Street Fighter or some shit, because it gets the guy to relent. Gets him walking around the hood of the car and climbing into the passenger’s side.
Yoongi takes a deep breath, praying that whatever deity’s been looking out for him so far (which, honestly, has probably been Hope and the Kims this entire time) will have eyes on him tonight.
* * *
Fact: There are two types of criminals.
There are people like Yoongi who get their hands dirty on an almost daily basis. People who are driven by necessity, who do it to survive; crushed, as it were, under the heel of injustice or the system or the man—there are a thousand options, a million things to blame. Or, they’re anomalies who just don’t fit the status quo, a stray zero in a series of 1’s that no one knows how to excuse or hide, so off to the underbelly of society they go. Yoongi falls under both, but being driven by one or the other doesn’t matter. You can manage to wash bloodstains off your hands, but some marks are indelible on the soul.
Then there are the career criminals—the people who pull strings from top-floor offices and send people like Yoongi out to do their dirty work for them. They sit in their glass cages in designer suits, playing God without ever having to face the grit and gore of mortality. These people crunch people’s lives under their boots as easily as they do numbers, are responsible for the entire planet’s unhappiness, their systematic oppression. Their consciences are as small as their bank accounts are large, and they’re more often than not Yoongi’s favorite targets.
As Yoongi ferries the criminals across the city, he decides that these two are maybe a little of both.
Taehyung is all but a rabid Rottweiler on the short leash of Yoongi’s patience, but ten minutes into the drive Yoongi manages to mentally block out his whoops and hollers of excitement, reducing the odd, excitable boy to nothing more than white noise as he remains hanging out of the sun roof.
In contrast, Jimin is almost stoically silent, sitting staring out of the window with his hand cupped pensively over his mouth. Calm as he looks, Yoongi can feel the violence vibrating off of him. He guesses the kid wasn’t dicking around when he said Taehyung really is his best friend. He doesn’t understand how their dynamic works, maybe not yet, but he thinks that if he had a best friend (or any kind of friend at all, really) that someone tried to off, he’d be out for blood as well.
The rest of the car ride passes without anything more than Jimin politely (because of course the cherub is polite, of course) giving Yoongi directions from the map he’s pulled up on his phone. He has a minor argument with Taehyung when he asks them to turn the volume up on the radio and Yoongi tells him to be quiet because he can’t rap to save his life.
“I’m a very good rapper,” Taehyung sniffs affectedly, finally ducking back into the cabin as Yoongi pulls the truck up to an alley a block away from the club. “Tell him, Jimin.”
The younger boy grimaces, and Yoongi can’t help but throw him a look of sympathy. “Taetae is very…passionate,” he says diplomatically.
Yoongi just rolls his eyes and puts the car in park, patting himself down to make sure that all of his weapons are in place. “You guys got a plan?”
Jimin shrugs, accepting the holster of magazines and the MP7 Taehyung passes him as the other boy rifles through the black bag of weapons. “Whatcha got, Tae?”
Taehyung rattles off the information Hoseok had given Yoongi over the phone for Jimin’s benefit, along with the fact that the guy they want deals out of an office in one of the upper floors of the club, which unlike most is located at ground level instead of the basement. Taehyung tells them that he’s been to LVNA before, that they shouldn’t expect anything out of the ordinary. Drunk and drugged out kids on the dancefloor on a Friday night, not-quite-underground hiphop acts taking the stage. VIP rooms for high-rollers on the upper floors, as well as smaller ones for the kids who can afford to take their party somewhere more private.
And all of it is well and good, but Yoongi doesn’t like winging things as much as these two clearly do. He already sees two very big problems, their lack of an actual plan notwithstanding. “We can’t go in there this heavily loaded,” he says, face blank as the pair slip on their holsters under their respective jackets, Jimin tucking a hunting knife into a sheath before he straps it to his calf while Taehyung slips a couple of extra magazines into his belt. “And we don’t even have a visual on what this Gwon Heejun looks like.”
“What does every drug dealer look like?” Taehyung asks distractedly, loading a Glock and cocking back the chamber. He closes one eye as he inspects it, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth again. “Gross and ugly and probably getting high off his own supply.”
Jimin chuckles, straightening up after the rolls his impossibly tight blue jeans back down and tucks the hem into his boot. “Taetae can sniff him out; he’s like a dog. It’s his gift,” he informs Yoongi, eyes crinkling.
“Woof,” Taehyung laughs, already sliding out of the back seat.
Yoongi finds himself praying for the second time that night as he follows them down into the alley and locks the car behind him.
After a minute of idle walking, three pairs of eyes searching for an alternate entrance into the brick structure that the club is apparently housed in, they manage to squeeze themselves through the gap in between the buildings towards the back only to find a solid concrete wall about twenty feet high, a little space between that and the back wall of the club, probably used to store a dumpster.
They don’t have rope or any kind of hook, but there’s a small metal door that leads out into the small access way they’ve found themselves in. Yoongi drops to one knee, his pick set already pulled out to start working on the lock on the door, but Taehyung says, “Chim, lift” and Yoongi looks up to find him backing up across the space.
There’s no way. The access way is barely six feet wide; there’s no way in fucking hell Taehyung can manage to make that jump with or without help without flattening himself into a pancake against the concrete wall—not to mention that he’s got his stupid fucking bat tucked along his spine and is weighed down by a couple of guns—but before Yoongi can say anything to stop him, Jimin’s already crouched down on a knee, both shoulders braced, and Taehyung is getting what brief running start he can before he hops onto Jimin’s back. Jimin pushes himself up at the same time, launching Taehyung higher, and the taller man angles off into the air towards the post in the corner, kicking off it before managing to grab the top edge of the wall by his fingertips, legs flailing a bit before he manages to hoist himself up over it.
Spider-man. Kim motherfucking Taehyung is, apparently, Spider-man.
They barely hear him land on the other side because of the echoing thump of the music from the club, and Yoongi spends ten seconds worrying if the guy had landed on his head, effectively ruining the otherwise impressive feat, but the gate swings open and Taehyung’s head of honey brown hair pops out.
“Well?” he prompts. He slips the yellow-tinted sunglasses that have been hanging from the back of his ears all evening to his face. “Let’s go.”
The back door leads to a service hallway lined with doors leading to locker rooms and offices, and they manage to slip through unnoticed, not a single CCTV camera in sight. Not that it matters, Yoongi figures. Seokjae did say that she wanted the kkangpae to see them coming, and if she’s sent these two out, she probably knows that it’s going to get messy one way or another. The pair are careless, reckless, stupid, but Yoongi has to finally admit that they seem like they can handle their own.
He shakes his head, letting Jimin push the doors open to the belly of the club, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Taehyung has just scaled a 20-foot wall without breaking a sweat.
“I love this song!” Spider-man says, already shimmying his legs and arms out in a weird dance as they push into the throng of people. There’s a stage on the back end of the room, smaller ones littered through the club with people dancing on them, a bar running along the opposite side.
Yoongi grabs the back of Taehyung’s embroidered black jacket just in time to keep him from scuttling off towards the stage. “We got a job to do here, kid,” he says lowly. “Focus, yeah?”
Taehyung pouts, shrugging off Yoongi’s grip. “I’ll find the guy, stop worrying,” he huffs defensively.
Jimin turns to Yoongi from eyeing the crowd. “We should get drinks. To fit in,” he adds, holding both palms up in surrender at the dirty look that gets shot at him. Taehyung slips behind Yoongi and holds double thumbs up at Jimin with a grin before slipping off into the crowd.
Kid thinks he’s being sneaky, but of course Yoongi notices. He just resigns himself to the fact that neither of these two are going to listen to him. He sighs, deciding to take a step back and let them do things their way. Look out for them, Hoseok said. Not take responsibility. If they fail or fuck up, at least Yoongi can put the blame on them. “Fine, lead the way,” he tells Jimin, who places a hand on the small of his back and takes the lead, shouldering through the dance floor towards the bar.
They order expensive foreign beers, Jimin paying for them with cash. Yoongi doesn’t complain, taking a sip and making a face at the overpriced ale as they idle towards the back corner, watching the crowd for anyone who stands out and anyone who doesn’t.
“You don’t like working with other people, do you?” Jimin asks suddenly.
Yoongi turns from watching Taehyung’s head bob in and out of the press of people, moving too quickly through it for the movements to be considered dancing. He eyes Jimin, then takes another sip of his drink. “Most independent contractors work alone,” he says, careful to keep his voice low and his words ambiguous.
“Doesn’t sound fun,” Jimin comments, turning away from Yoongi. The sleeve of his red and white letterman jacket brushes Yoongi’s arm with the movement, but the guy doesn’t seem to notice as he chugs half of his own beer down.
Yoongi frowns at the statement, following Jimin’s gaze to Taehyung, who’s finally stopped somewhere near the stage. “It’s work,” he says. “It’s not supposed to be fun.”
“You don’t enjoy what you’re doing?” Jimin prompts, the words sliding out of the corner of his mouth through his smirk.
“Sometimes,” Yoongi admits. He doesn’t like to offer information about himself, doesn’t like to get personal, but Jimin’s questions are gentle, prodding. He doesn’t sense any judgement in them, just idle curiosity. He also acknowledges that it might just be an act, because it would be weird if the two of them were just standing around not talking.
“I do,” Jimin hums. “I’ve worked alone and I’ve worked with other people, and this team’s the best one I’ve ever found.”
“Make sure to leave them a five-star rating on the app,” Yoongi says sarcastically, taking another sip of his beer. “Reviews matter, you know.”
Jimin laughs again, turning to Yoongi with his eyes curved, his cheeks puffed up with the force of his smile. His face is already flushed with alcohol, and instead of the dim, moody lighting of the club making him look older, the whole thing lends itself towards a youthful, even innocent effect. “You’re fucking hilarious,” he says, and this time Yoongi takes it as a compliment. “Who knows?” Jimin muses, turning back away. “By the end of tonight you might decide that you like working with our team, too.”
Yoongi doesn’t respond, taking another drink as he mulls that over in his head. Before his thoughts can get very far, they spot Taehyung striding off the dancefloor, his skin dewy with sweat, flicking his fringe off his face to keep it from sticking to his forehead. He makes a beeline for them, a shorter man trailing after him, looking absolutely star struck.
Yoongi doesn’t blame the guy. Dressed in all-black Gucci, the kid looks like the prince that he is.
“Hey,” he greets, slipping an arm easily around Jimin’s waist and tucking himself behind the shorter man. “I found someone who can help us get what we need tonight.”
“Oh?” Jimin’s eyebrows lift, and he takes another swig of his bottle as Taehyung lowers his face to Jimin’s shoulder, lips pressing to the fabric of his jacket as they sway from side to side to the music.
Yoongi takes it back—this guy doesn’t look like a man; he barely looks old enough to be out of high school, especially given the way he flushes when he sees all three of them staring him down expectantly.
“I, uh,” the guy stammers nervously, his hands moving to pat himself down. “What did you want, exactly?”
“Poppers,” Taehyung purrs, his large hands sliding down Jimin’s torso promisingly before they wrap themselves around his hipbones. Jimin covers one of Taehyung’s hands with his free one, caressing the back of it idly with a finger. “And drop. None of that shit you’re slinging to these kids—we want the cleanest you got.”
The guy licks his lips, probably half hard in his pants already as he watches the show being put on for his benefit. If Yoongi didn’t know better, he’d be buying into it hook, line and sinker, too. At least, he thinks he knows better—the pair is convincing as hell.
Jimin chuckles, leaning back into Taehyung’s shoulder to let the taller man nose at the column of his neck. “It’s our anniversary,” he murmurs, reaching his hand up to cup the back of Taehyung’s head. “I like to spoil him,” he adds, fisting the hand into Taehyung’s hair. Taehyung hisses and licks his lips, and Jimin grins at him. “Don’t I, princess?”
The guy promptly chokes on his own spit, and Yoongi has to hide his laugh behind another sip of his beer. “I can get you that,” the guy volunteers quickly, beet red under the lights as he clears his throat. “It’s just, uh, not on me. You’re gonna have to go up and see the boss.”
“We were going to get a room anyway,” Taehyung says, more to Jimin than to anyone else. “Right, kitten?”
“But you get so loud,” Jimin pouts, cupping Taehyung’s jaw. “Besides, we didn’t bring any of our toys.”
Yoongi’s worried the guy is going to pass out before he can get them where they need to be, because he sways slightly where he’s standing. But apparently the lack of blood pumping into his brain doesn’t make him any less careful, because then he eyes Yoongi, question unspoken.
Not one to be upstaged, Yoongi smiles, tonguing at his left canine before drawing it over his lip and biting it slowly. “They like it when I watch.”
“Daddy!” Jimin squeaks, his blush from the beer making him look like he’s truly embarrassed. He slaps a hand lightly on Yoongi’s chest, curling his face into his shoulder coquettishly.
Taehyung laughs, low and husky. “Please, kitten. Quit acting like you’re shy.”
Jimin whines, leaning back into Taehyung as the hands on his hips tighten.
“Right,” the guy manages to say, voice thick. “Fuh-follow me.”
The pair untangles from around each other, and Yoongi takes Jimin’s now-empty beer bottle for him, leaving both on the bar before they follow the guy to the back of the club and up a winding set of stairs to an upper deck.
Deeming the guy safely out of earshot ahead of them, Yoongi prompts Jimin as they climb. “Daddy? Really?”
Jimin just laughs, taking a step back on the landing to let Yoongi walk ahead as he takes up the rear. “Did you like that? No judgement, hyung, we all got our kinks.”
“Be quiet,” Yoongi huffs, the smile on his face giving his amusement away.
The guy leads them past a black curtain and through a pair of double doors with a bouncer stationed in front of them, careful to cup his hand around the keypad as he enters the code. Yoongi doesn’t even bother to watch—the need the code going in, not going out. But he does see the bouncer eying them warily, so Yoongi takes a step forward, clumsily stumbling into Taehyung as he wraps his arms around the taller man’s chest.
“Oh my god!” Taehyung giggles, catching on quickly and trying to peel Yoongi’s hands off him. “Wait until we’re in the room!”
Yoongi pouts at the reprimand, but it seems to convince the bouncer because he waves them in through the doors without frisking them. The guy clears his throat, and Yoongi and Taehyung break away from staring heavily at each other, both blinking in mock surprise.
“Sorry,” Taehyung offers, slipping out of Yoongi’s grasp. “We’re just really excited,” he lies, smile slick as grease.
The guy just flushes again, motioning them forward as the doors close behind Jimin, the bouncer on his heels.
Taehyung strides ahead into the red-lit hallway lined with closed doors, motioning behind his back for Yoongi to stand directly behind him. Yoongi is quick to pick up on it, taking a step to the right to block the bouncer’s view of Taehyung. Their guide stops in front of the door at the very end of the hall and knocks on it slowly twice, then three times in quick succession.
“So excited,” Jimin murmurs, his voice right at Yoongi’s shoulder.
Before the door even opens, Taehyung manages to slip his bat out, swinging it right into the guy’s jaw, making contact with a satisfying crack. Behind him Yoongi hears the muffled sound of a punch being thrown, and he turns in time to catch Jimin ducking the arms of the bouncer coming for his throat. Jimin straightens up quickly, sending his knee into the bouncer’s face. The guy staggers backwards, clutching at his nose, but Jimin doesn’t waste any time. He sends the guy a roundhouse kick, his heel colliding with the side of the bouncer’s head, and the guy falls against the hallway wall, knocked out cold.
“Tsk,” Taehyung huffs, drawing Yoongi’s attention back to him. “11 seconds, you’re losing your touch.”
Jimin scowls, running a hand through his hair as he rightens himself, but the door opens before he can voice a retort. Taehyung shoves his bat into the face of the guy standing there, striding inside without missing a beat. Yoongi and Jimin follow, Jimin behind him muttering under his breath about how it isn’t fair, his guy was bigger.
“Hi!” Taehyung greets cheerfully, pulling out his Glock and pointing it at the guy sitting behind a desk while keeping his bat trained on the one who’d opened the door. Jimin’s got his MP7 out, along with another handgun, pointed at each of the men on either side of the room, aborting their attempt to whip out the guns still holstered at their hips.
Slow, Yoongi thinks with a snort, his hand poised over the row of leaf-blades on his belt nevertheless.
Taehyung motions the guy over to towards the desk with a quirk of his bat, and the guy, still holding his hands up, walks over slowly, making sure to stand behind his boss as the other man stands with his hands pressed to the top of his desk, glaring at them.
“The fuck do you think you are, coming in here like this?” he screams, spittle flying.
Yoongi makes a disgusted face, noting that Jimin makes the other two guards throw their guns down to his feet in his peripheral before he kicks them to the far corner
“You must be Gwon Heejun!” Taehyung says excitedly. He tucks Gertrude into his elbow as he drops his arms, hopping lightly onto the guy’s desk in a smooth motion. The guy who opened the door squeaks and drops to his knees, shaking, while Gwon stumbles back, pressing himself to the wall behind him as Taehyung crouches with his elbows on his knees, peering down at him quizzically. “Aish, you don’t look like I thought you would,” he laments, holding his gun loosely between his knees.
Yoongi scoffs, walking over to the long table pushed along the side of the room, picking up one of the small ziplock bag of cocaine and inspecting it curiously between his fingers. “Not gross and ugly enough for you?”
“Nah,” Taehyung admits, grinning maniacally. He puts the nozzle of his gun under Gwon’s chin, using it to turn the guy’s face from one side to another. “This one looks like he actually took a shower last week.”
Yoongi’s gotta hand it to Gwon—the guy may be a just a drug dealer for the kkangpae, but he’s got balls to still be glaring murderously at Taehyung even with a gun at his throat and that dangerous smile directed at him.
“We heard you got what we need,” Taehyung announces, letting his bat fall onto the table with a clatter as he fishes Gwon’s gun out from the holster on his side.
Yoongi rolls his eyes at Taehyung’s theatrics, deciding to pick up the roll of duct tape on the table. He motions the guy who opened the door towards him and out of the corner he’s been cowering in. Poor man is shaking like a leaf, and Yoongi figures he’ll be nice and tie him up to keep him out of trouble. He doesn’t look like anything more than a bookie; guy didn’t even have a weapon to surrender when Jimin prompted for them.
“What the fuck do you assholes want?” Gwon demands, his voice shaking a little now that he’s unarmed. The man probably thought he could still get the drop on Taehyung or something. Idiot. “Drugs? Guns?”
Taehyung scratches the back of his head with Gwon’s gun thoughtfully. “I have guns,” he muses out loud. “Do I look like I need more? Doesn’t this look like enough to you, Gwon?”
Jimin snorts, still holding his MP7 up towards the two guards now pressed against the same wall. He glances at Taehyung and Gwon. “Get to the point, V.”
Yoongi finishes taping the bookie’s wrists and ankles together, giving him a pat on the head. The guy winces, and Yoongi chuckles before straightening up. His knees pop softly at the effort, reminding him that damn, he’d forgotten to stretch. All things considered, he’s expended minimum effort, gotten a free beer, and has thus far been entertained. Plus, he’s gotta hand it to Jimin for referring to Taehyung by his alias, leaving the men with no doubt as to who’s responsible for their little ambush.
Taehyung just grins again at Jimin’s prompt, pushing the nozzle of Gwon’s own gun into the man’s jowls. “Tell me, Gwon,” he drawls, and when he says it like that Yoongi thinks uncomfortably of Seokjae and the almost Sphynx-like way she tends to tilt her head when she does, identical to the way Taehyung is now looking at Gwon. “What’s more valuable than drugs or guns? If you get the answer right I promise not to hurt you.” Taehyung licks his lips, tucking his tongue in the corner of his mouth as he stares unblinkingly down at the dealer. “Not too badly, at least.”
Gwon pales, pressing up even further against the wall behind him as his fingernails scratch against the wallpaper. “Guh-girls?” he guesses, sweating profusely under Taehyung’s stare. “You wuh-want girls? I can get you girls, we got a t-ton of them! And if yuh-you want boys I can-”
Taehyung cracks him across the face with the butt of the gun, apparently just as dexterous with his left hand as he is with his right. He clucks his tongue, shaking his head disappointedly at the dealer as he sputters, spitting a tooth out onto the carpeted floor. “Drugs, guns, and skin?” Taehyung enumerates. “You’re really making me rethink not killing you here.”
Gwon’s knees buckle and he starts sobbing helplessly. Yoongi leans against the table, arms crossed over his chest as he watches, and just from the way he sees how Taehyung’s brown eyes light up at the sound he feels like he understands more about the man than he had a minute ago. The theatrics aren’t because Taehyung is fucking around—no, they’re because Taehyung enjoys making people squirm. The kid gets off on violence, on chaos, which Yoongi can understand completely, but also on being in control. The insight makes Yoongi move the oddball out from his list of people who are merely capable to outright dangerous.
“Puh-please,” Gwon starts begging, Taehyung’s threat getting the desired reaction from him. “Please, I’ll give you what you want. Anything.”
“Pay attention,” Taehyung says warningly, tucking Gwon’s gun into his belt, the Glock still held loosely in his right hand. “You’re older than me, but you can’t even answer a simple question,” he comments, disdain and disappointment palpable. It’s the first time Yoongi sees him acting like a real offspring of Kim Il-Hun; like he was born to have the world surrender at his feet—like royalty. “The answer is information, Gwon. Information is far more valuable than anything else. You feel me?”
Gwon just stares at him, so Taehyung lifts both eyebrows expectantly. “Yuh-yeah,” he stammers, wincing. “Okay.”
“Now,” Taehyung says, straightening up and hopping backwards off the desk gracefully. He puts his gun back into its holster at his ribs, picking up his bat and spinning it in his hand idly. “You work for the kkangpae.”
It’s a statement, but Gwon’s eyes widen and he shakes his head forcefully. “No! N-no! I don’t work for anyone, I-”
Jimin lets one round off into the wall by one of the guard’s feet, making the man jump.
“Don’t bullshit me, Gwonnie,” Taehyung purrs, tucking his chin down and looking darkly at the dealer through his lashes. “It wasn’t a question.”
Gwon swallows hard, wincing at the bitter taste of his own blood in his mouth. “I-I-”
“Tell us where the kkangpae headquarters are,” Jimin finally snaps, clearly at the end of his patience. He’s just been standing there with his gun poised throughout the whole thing, and Yoongi figures that as much as he wants to let his friend have his fun, he must be getting bored. “V might promise not to kill you, but I won’t,” he adds, the natural sweetness to his voice making the threat sound even more promising.
Gwon finally caves, giving them the address to one of the kkangpae properties by the Han. Yoongi remembers it from the list that he had gone over with Hoseok, and puts a pin in the information, a map of Mapo-gu already in his head. He wants to doubt the information, but Gwon doesn’t seem like the type of guy who’d be able to bullshit his way out of a situation like this and Yoongi’s usually right about these things.
“Good boy,” Taehyung sings, similarly convinced. He tucks Gertrude behind his neck and hooks his elbows over it on either side of his head. “C’mere,” he says, motioning with his chin.
Gwon complies, all of his previous fight having been scared out of him. He walks slowly around the table to stand directly in front of Taehyung, unable to keep his hands from shaking or to look away from the younger man’s eyes. Like prey in front of a predator, and Yoongi can’t help but feel a little proud.
Taehyung lowers his right arm, patting Gwon on the cheek. “Atta boy,” he sings, but before he can say anything else or knock the guy out Gwon is lunging towards the gun tucked into his pants.
Dammit, Yoongi thinks, going for his Glock as Taehyung brings the bat down on the dealer’s back, almost ineffective from the angle and lack of recoil.
“Fuck yes!” Jimin yells, springing into action. To Yoongi’s utter bewilderment, Jimin drops his MP7, a pair of silver knuckles Yoongi hadn’t noticed him put on gleaming on his hand. He dives towards one of the guards, a right jab straight to the nose making blood ribbon out of it, spraying mesmerizingly through the air before Jimin spins like a fucking ballerina, crouching down to land an elbow in the other guard’s solar plexus.
Yoongi lets out a breath. He’s a little bit miffed that Jimin doesn’t seem to need any help, so he tucks his gun back into the holster and turns to see how Taehyung is doing with Gwon.
Taehyung’s managed to get his bat under the dealer’s chin, pushing upwards and back as Gwon throws punches to Taehyung’s ribs. Yoongi doesn’t see Gwon’s gun back in his hand, so he looks around to see where it may have fallen. He sees it on the ground to the right of the desk, where he also sees the bookie inching towards it. Yoongi snorts, striding over to kick the gun out of his reach. It slides under the desk, the gap between it and the floor nowhere near wide enough for the bookie to get to with how his wrists are taped together.
The bookie blinks up at Yoongi, wide-eyed and terrified at having been caught. Yoongi should just let him be—he’s tied up, after all—but fuck that. This is what I get for trying to be nice, he thinks a little sadly, crouching down to pull his tanto blade out from the sheath in his boot. The bookie whimpers and wriggles into the corner at the sight of the knife. Yoongi doesn’t get off on this shit, he swears, but Jimin and Taehyung clearly aren’t going to use their guns, and like hell if Yoongi’s going to just stand around and watch. Besides, he’d tried to give this guy an out only for him to misbehave, and Yoongi’s getting a little jealous of the fun the other two are having.
He leans forward, an upwards motion of the tanto cutting clean through the restraints first at the guy’s ankles then at his wrists, before Yoongi straightens up, tossing the blade to him as he cracks his neck and rolls out his shoulders, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet a couple of times.
“Well?” He raises both eyebrows at the guy, looking pointedly at the knife sitting right there for him to take. “C’mon,” he invites, still trying to be a nice guy. “Get past me and you can walk out of here.”
The guy doesn’t seem to need telling twice, thank god, because he grabs the knife in shaking hands, getting up slowly with his back still pressed to the wall. He swipes the blade threateningly through the air towards Yoongi, a foot away from making actual contact, and Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose, berating himself for expecting at least entertainment, if not a challenge.
The bookie takes advantage of him having his eyes closed, finally taking a step forward and stabbing towards him. He puts too much of his weight into it, so Yoongi dodges to the side, grabbing his arm. He spins on his heel, using the guy’s own momentum to haul his considerable weight over his shoulder and slamming him painfully onto the table Yoongi had previously been leaning against. The force of it is strong enough to crack the table right down the middle, and Yoongi lets go of his arm just in time to keep from getting pulled into the edge of one of the pieces as the guy’s body weight pulls it apart, slumping to the ground.
Broken hip, a couple of ribs, maybe his back? Yoongi catalogues mentally, eyes raking up and down the now-unconscious man as he picks up his knife and returns it to his boot. The effort he’s just expended manages to get his heartrate up a little, so he figures at least he’s gotten a bit of exercise.
He looks up to find Jimin still throwing punches at the lone guard left standing, the fact that he’s aiming his silver knuckles at pressure points assuring Yoongi that he’s still fighting for fun and not for a take-down. He looks happy with his human punching bag, judging by the huge smile on his face. Taehyung’s got Gwon on the ground, no surprises there, the dealer hunched over on all fours as Taehyung sends kick after painful kick into his ribs, relenting only when the guy’s arms finally give in and he curls them around his middle, coughing up blood.
Taehyung flicks his fringe back, panting from the effort as he wipes sweat from his cheek away with the back of his hand. “Look at what this fucking mutt did to my shoes,” he rasps out, almost pouting.
Jimin seems to have gotten bored with punching and has his hunting knife out, slicing quickly at the guard’s soft spots. He pauses, blinking up at Taehyung with a couple of drops of blood splattered on his own cheek. “Was that Goodfellas?” he asks Taehyung.
“Yeah,” Taehyung laughs, smiling sheepishly as he swings one last kick at Gwon’s face, knocking him out.
Jimin snorts, resuming his systematic cutting down of his opponent. A stab to the thigh finally gets the guy down, but Yoongi notes that Jimin is careful to avoid any arteries, even if the hunting knife’s serrated edge makes the guy scream in pain as Jimin pulls it out. “Night night!” Jimin says cheerfully, right before he punches the guy in the face one last time, catching his dead weight and letting him down softly on the now-blood-splattered carpet under them.
Yoongi shakes his head, smirking at the irony. He turns back to Taehyung, who’s now holding two large pieces of what used to be his baseball bat in each hand, mouth puckered to the side as he considers them.
“We can get you a new one,” Yoongi offers, unsure if the kid is gonna start crying or some shit.
Taehyung looks up at him, his eyes vacant and cold, like he’s checked out for a second to somewhere else, but then he smiles that box-shaped grin (the one that Yoongi’s not growing fond of, not at all) and blinks slowly. Life, or presence, or whatever comes back into Taehyung’s eyes. “You’d really do that for me, hyung?” he asks quietly, his low, throaty voice almost a whisper.
Yoongi stares at him blankly for a few seconds, a little taken aback by how hopeful Taehyung is looking at him, before he hears the tell-tale screech of duct tape being pulled from the roll. Jimin snorts from where he’s applying it tightly to the guard’s stab wound.
“He’s playing you,” Jimin informs Yoongi, finishing with his task before picking up his hunting knife and wiping it clean on the guard’s plants. He gets to his feet, tucking the weapon back into its sheath. “That was like, his fourteenth Gertrude.”
Taehyung drops the pieces to the ground unceremoniously and laughs, striding over to loop his arm around Jimin’s shoulders and shake him playfully. “You didn’t have to tell him! We were about to have a moment!”
Yoongi rolls his eyes so hard he catches a glimpse of his brain before he shoulders between the both of them, making a beeline for the door. He pops his head out, looking up and down the corridor. The bodies they’d left are still in the same position, telling him that no one’s been in the hallway during their brief, violent interlude, so he holds the door open, ushering the two out as they bicker about who has the highest broken bone count.
“Guess we could stow them in the room and walk out the way we came in,” Yoongi says, scratching his nose.
“Whoever said it has to do it!” Jimin says quickly, dancing out of Taehyung’s grasp and walking briskly down the hallway.
“Yah,” Yoongi growls, low and threateningly enough to make Jimin stop in his tracks and turn back around. “I’m older than both of you. You guys do it.”
“Now he wants to act like a hyung,” Taehyung laughs, already picking up the kid he had knocked out and lugging him in through the doorway.
Jimin stomps his foot petulantly. “No fair! This one’s bigger!”
They hear a thud, Taehyung dropping the kid onto the carpet, before he sticks his head back out the door. “But Chim,” he drawls, blinking slowly. “You’re with me. You clearly like it big.”
“Aish,” Jimin complains, kicking uselessly at the air towards his best friend. “You drive me fucking crazy.”
Taehyung laughs and disappears back into the room. “Take responsibility for your actions, Chim!”
“Jesus Christ,” Yoongi complains, entertained but unwilling to waste more time on their idiocy. He walks over to Jimin and the still unconscious bouncer. “Get his legs, I’ll get his arms.”
Jimin stops pouting immediately, looking like the cat that got the canary. (Yoongi blames the cheesy metaphor on the fact that Jimin really does look like a damn cat.) “Thanks, hyung!” he chirps, doing as Yoongi says.
Yoongi grunts at him, and they haul the guy down the hallway, tossing him into the room. Taehyung locks the door, and the three of them walk calmly back down the hallway into the club. Taehyung licks his thumb and tries to wipe off the blood still on Jimin’s cheek, asking if they wanna catch the next rap act before they leave.
The pair turns to Yoongi with identical grins, making Yoongi regret this whole dongsaeng thing already.
“Fine,” he concedes, and the two let out a whoop before taking an elbow each and dragging him down the winding staircase back to the dance floor.