Chapter Text
To put it simply, everyone knows Lee Jeno.
One would say he’s a mechanic, to describe him in the least possible manner, the city’s finest. But others – others would say charming, knightly, the most cunning greaser in the city’s dark underbelly,
There isn’t a motor vehicle put out on the streets without Jeno’s knowledge – or permission. The mark of his craft stretched high and low – businessmen, politicians. The lawful, and the outlaws.
To put it simply, Lee Jeno and his team are both feared and respected.
There isn’t a thing they couldn’t repair, not a thing they couldn’t touch and immediately turn into the fastest automobile in the city – if not the country. The most ragtag team, and somehow, they make it work.
Their business stretches nation-wide to the most notorious robbers, violent gangs, and callous assassins, who pay well in cold, hard cash for the invaluable work of Lee’s Motor Works. Then, off they zoom with their newly acquired instruments that made them invincible.
Unstoppable.
And not a trace of evidence remained to convict the clever craftsmen. After all, the lawful, too, needed them.
But, the details will be spared because this is no action story. Nor is it a thrilling, adventurous tale about the perils and dangers of the deepest, darkest corners of society. No – this is simply, humbly, a love story..
. . .
The story starts with young recruit Jisung, a new apprentice in Jeno’s warehouse, soon to learn his way around. All awkward hands and nervous smiles – he’ll grow accustomed to the environment soon enough.
Being such a young new member, Jisung is warmly accepted into the job by Jeno’s right-hand man Jaemin, who promises to take good care of the younger boy and show him the ropes. Promises to ensure Jisung fit right in with the others and make this place his new home, just like those before him.
“We’re a bit of a rough bunch here,” Jaemin says lightly, guiding Jisung along with a strong hand on his back, weaving between bike parts lain about and tires rolling away from flailing hands, “but once you get to know us you’ll realise we’re all just soft –“
A loud crash sounds from the far end of the warehouse, followed by heavy foot steps. A thin, honey-haired man stumbles out from behind the pillars, closely followed by a much angrier looking raven-haired male.
“Jungwoo come back here you little bitch, I’ll teach you to mess with my food!”
“Doyoung-hyung please, I’m sorry,” the frightened man pleads, “it was a dare! Yuta-hyung said he'd give me ten dollars!”
A brown head pops out from behind an open bonnet just two stations away from the scene and gasps, “Excuse me, you agreed!”
“JUNGWOO!” Doyoung growls.
“Yuta-hyung!” Jungwoo shrieks, running to hide behind the shorter male.
Jaemin coughs beside him, turning Jisung’s head away from the scene, “as I was saying, we’re all family here.”
He takes Jisung through the back door that leads straight to a hallway, long and wide with pristine white walls, and glistening wooden floorboards that run straight towards a staircase at the end. On either side are doors leading to a few bedrooms, an overly large living space, and a designated game room fit with flashy arcade games. At the end of the hall is a bathroom, and two enormous kitchens.
“Taeyong-hyung uses one to cook meals by himself, and the other one is for casual use by everyone else.” Jaemin says, taking one look at Jisung’s confused face turning between the two.
One, a disaster, probably overrun by a tornado, twice.
The other, fit for eating off the floor.
"Not allowed in Taeyong-hyung's one, by the way," Jaemin adds, “c’mon, I’ll show you to your room upstairs then introduce you to the other misfits,” Jaemin says with affection, pushing a frazzled Jisung back out the door.
“Where’s Jeno?” Jisung asks, later at the dinner table, barely a whisper that couldn’t possibly be heard by anyone other than his designated babysitter, Jaemin. It’s been a long day, yet the very head of the establishment was nowhere to be seen.
“Jeno –“ He’s cut off by the sound of Yukhei howling as he smacks down his hand of playing cards, announcing victory. Annoyance flashes across Jaemin’s face for a split second, but it’s gone as fast as it comes. “Jeno’s spending the night at the hospital, attending to his father – our old boss.”
“Oh.” Jisung looks down at his grains of rice left in his bowl, guilt crawling up his skin. “I’m sorry –“
“Don’t be, you didn’t know.” Jaemin waves him off and glances to the side, watching the rest of the table restart their game of cards. Carefree, happy, warm. He sighs, voice softening, “he probably won’t make it.”
Jisung stops picking at his food with his chopsticks, “W-what?”
“Boss man – he probably won’t make it.” Jaemin says, in the same tone one would talk about the weather, “we all know this, Jeno does too. It’s just… it’s a lot harder on him, in many ways”
His hand curls around his glass of water, tight until his knuckles go white, “I think I’m done. Here, I’ll take your plate if you’re done too.”
-
“Jisung!” Donghyuck bursts through the door of Jisung and Johnny’s shared room, “little shit! Why was this stuck to the fridge?” He brandishes a photo of himself, mid-nose-pick and face particularly disfigured. Ghastly stuff.
“How do you know it’s me?” Jisung plays it cool, looking back down at his phone.
“Xiaojun saw you.”
Dammit.
“I’m only showing the truth. That mochi ice-cream was mine! Jaemin-hyung bought it for ME!”
He screeches as Donghyuck enters attack-mode, pouncing onto the bed and missing Jisung by a hairs’ width. The younger sprints out the door and down the stairs, straight through to the main warehouse as Donghyuck speeds up behind him.
“Got ya!” Donghyuck shouts as he grabs Jisung’s collar and wrenches him back. Jisung lets out a scream, making heads turn and Jaemin rush over to separate the two.
Donghyuck makes a strangled noise as Jaemin yanks him back, “I’ll get you, just wait –“ his face pinched as he tries to wriggle free.
Feeling brave under Jaemin’s presence, Jisung jeers Donghyuck on, “your tiny ass can try –“
“Guys!” Jeno’s voice echoes through the warehouse as he steps out of his office, brows pinched as he heads straight towards them, “what’re you guys doing?”
They both freeze immediately as Jeno strides over, face cross as he stares between them. Around them, the rest of the members gather around to watch the disaster unfold.
“Donghyuck –“
“Jisung –“
Each of them start, stopping to throw the other a nasty glare before turning back to Jeno. He sighs heavily before ripping the photo out of Donghyuck’s hands and crushing it in his fist, not even bothering to take a look or ask about the issue.
“Nevermind, I don’t care. We don’t have the time to be fooling around.” Jeno scolds. Chills spike down Jisung’s spine when their eyes meet, “you earn your keep here by working, and we’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Donghyuck scowls at that, but knows better than to fight aganst Jeno when he's worked up like this. Without another word, Jeno turns around and marches out of the circle formed around them, commanding everyone back to work before slamming the door to his office shut.
Jisung exhales, sinking to the floor.
“Sorry guys,” Jaemin comforts, patting Jisung’s head, “it’s not personal, y'know.” He glances towards Jeno’s office where he’s got his face scrunched at a bunch of documents, “it hasn’t been so easy on him...”
Grumbling under his breath, Donghyuck crosses his arms, “well, it’s been hard on all of us, but we're not being assholes to each other -"
"You know he doesn't mean it..."
"So? It's shitty behaviour nonetheless."
When Jaemin doesn't reply, Donghyuck quiets down. He knows, with all the new responsibilities, Jeno has been feeling more pressured by work lately, and isn't thinking straight. He knows Jeno will come around soon with an apology and make up for what he said, but for the moment, Donghyuck can't help feeling frustrated. But still, noting Jisung and Jaemin's sour faces, he teases, "he needs to get a girlfriend, or a boyfriend – someone else he can be on top of all the time.”
Jaemin rolls his eyes at Donghyuck’s remark and pushes him and Jisung back to their stations, sending them off in opposite directions with a, loving, wack on the head.
Jeno’s hostile behaviour began few months ago when his father had passed. It was the same day of Jisung’s arrival, actually, when the devastated boy had slinked into the warehouse in the dead of the night, passing out on the empty kitchen table. Taeyong would find him before sunrise, shaky breaths between his slumber.
According to Johnny, the death hadn’t come as a shock to any of them, and especially not to Jeno, who had seen his father’s ailing condition worsen from close. Yet stil, when the time came, they were all grief-stricken nonetheless.
See, Mr. Lee had started the establishment following Jeno’s birth, after his mother had passed during childbirth and the financial struggles of a single father struck fast. At the time, crime rates in Seoul were high and Jeno’s father, growing more desperate by the second, used the last of his money to buy out a lowly motor business that happened to be up for sale, catering specifically to the demands at the time.
Over time, under the guise of needing “help” around the shop, he’d recruited those from broken families in need of a new home, and those who didn’t have anything to begin with. Together, in due time and with patience, they became a family of their own. All in different sizes, with different coloured personalities, coming together like a quilt made entirely of patchwork (Johnny’s own analogy).
So, Mr. Lee’s death took toll on each and every one of them, who’d seen him as a father-figure of sorts – one they owed their lives too. Needless to say, Jeno had it the worst. For a business like theirs, to suddenly be left in the hands of a 19-year-old boy and his equally inadequate band of misfits, was like a ticking time bomb, waiting.
And of course their safety and secrecy needed to be guarded as well. (Stir the pot, stir, stir.)
Which leads to the current situation: a stressed and explosive Jeno, along with his tense friends who walk on eggshells around him.
It’s not that no one wants to take some load off of the young leader. On numerous occasions, the older members had suggested Jeno delegate some of the work, dealing with the harder clients and whatnot, to ease the load, and to let himself work the motors a bit – cleanse his mind from all the dust caught from being in his office all day. But every time, Jeno declines with the excuse that it’s his duty to his father, solely his responsibility in carrying on their family name.
There is no more comfort to be given to a boy who won’t accept it, who feels he doesn’t need it because he should be able to handle everything thrown upon him. So like the patchwork quilt they are, they hold together, waiting for the day Jeno comes back to their warm embrace.
-
Huang Renjun is also a businessman. A crumbling business that’s holding onto the last of the bit of its foundations – literally – but a businessman nonetheless.
He’s the owner of Love-Craft! A humble arts-and-crafts store oddly wedged between a barber’s shop and florist. Abandoned at a young age, he left his home town in China in search of a better life here in Seoul. If his luck would have it, maybe build a future too.
Currently he spends his days making ends meet, trying to keep his shop afloat while saving, a little bit every day, for college. To his left at the barber’s is Ten and his mother – a caring duo who Renjun often finds himself indebted to with all the food they send his way. To his right at the florists is Mark Lee – a Canadian runaway who’d left his home of overzealous entrepreneurs and sailed across the seas to live a quiet life surrounded by flowers – or something like that.
In the months that he’s been here, Renjun’s found himself growing fond of his neighbours, enough to even consider them as his best – if not only – friends. Of course there’s Chenle – the high school kid who had one day stumbled into the shop in search of playdoh, taken a liking to annoying Renjun out of his mind, and now never seems to leave.
Renjun would never admit it, but, he likes having the Chinese kid around. It’s a reminder of who he is, where he’s from. A little home away from home. Besides, the hyperactive child’s ludicrous cabbage-coloured hair is a much needed splash of colour on Renjun’s boring, brown world, in his boring, brown shop.
So Renjun’s days are spent in his quiet little store, waiting for customers to drop by so he can finally pay off the amassed rent for both the store and his apartment upstairs. (It’s one of those buildings.)
He meets Jeno one sunny day as he wastes away in his brown shop. The latter steps in, scanning the quaint store with wide eyes. It’s his first time here on the brighter side of the shopping district. It’s also his first time properly outside in months (Jaemin finally wore him down), so everything looks fascinating and new.
At the sound of the door creaking open (the bell above fell off weeks ago), Renjun tucks his phone away and pops out from behind the counter with a charming, practiced smile. “
Welcome! How may I assist –“
He freezes at the sight of the stranger before him, dressed head to toe in dark clothing. His cap is pulled down over his eyes, and his fingers sport silver, chunky rings big enough to crush bone – probably. His leather jacket hangs off his shoulders, slipping back slightly to reveal a tattoo wrapped around his bicep. A simple design really – thick chains knotted together – but it has Renjun swallowing thickly.
Alarms go off in his head. He looks outside and sees the dark silhouette of a motorbike cast across the footpath leading to the door.
Faintly, he remembers Chenle warning him about the numerous amount of gangs littering the city, which he heard from word of mouth, liked to terrorize innocent civilians and leave a trail of destruction wherever they tread.
Renjun’s entire body shivers as he looks away from the window and directly into the eyes of his ominous customer. He jumps back, heart hammering in his chest as the stranger merely stares at him.
He can feel his face scrunch up in distress. His shop is little, yes, doesn’t have a lot to offer, true, and is on the verge of collapsing, correct – but it’s all he has. He doesn’t want any gangster trashing his little home because they have nothing better to do.
In his mind, he goes over the action-plan Chenle had advised him of if he ever found himself in such a situation.
Head spinning, he tries to recall the young boy’s words: use your small size to dodge them, elbows are the strongest part of your body, kick them where it hurts and if all else fails, scream at the top of your lungs and bulldoze right into them. At least you’ll die brave.
No – Renjun decides and waves the advice away, directing his attention back to his customer. Kill ‘em with kindness, he tells himself.
He takes a breath, “can I help you?”
The stranger doesn’t reply, only stares and blinks for a few seconds longer before jolting. “Oh,” he meets Renjun’s eyes again, then turns away, “uhh, wax. Do you sell,” he pauses to look around the shop again, taking a deep breath, “wax? Do you sell wax? I need wax.”
Renjun takes a moment to puzzle the stranger out, “you mean… like wax beads?”
The stranger frowns, head tilting just slightly.
“Molten wax comes from wax beads,” Renjun explains slowly, “you heat the beads and it makes molten wax…”
The stranger stares, “right…”
Renjun drums his fingers on the countertop, chewing his lips and looking anywhere but at the man staring right at him. The thick silence eats away at his resolve, “it’s right behind you,” he points, “down that row, last shelf.”
The stranger cocks his head again, “what is?”
“The beads,” breathe, “the wax beads.”
“Oh, yes. Of course.” The man turns and heads straight down the directed aisle, picks out the beads – deep-blue ones – and heads straight to the counter.
“That’ll be four dollars,” Renjun says without looking up, bagging the purchase quickly and holding it right up to the biker’s face, “thank you for shopping,” he doesn’t add the come again soon.
“Thanks,” the stranger tips his cap – talk about old-fashioned – and makes his way towards the door. He stops, holding the door open just a slight, and looks back, “I’ll see you,” and then he’s gone.
Renjun sighs loudly as he slumps over the counter, his rapid heartbeats fading back to steady pulses. He needs the business, but frankly not with such a risky and capricious crowd. He certainly hopes he doesn’t have to see the guy again, but a voice taunts at the back of his mind, telling him otherwise.
-
What Renjun hadn’t expected was to see the biker back the very next day. He shows up in the same style; inky leather jacket hung over shoulders, dark denim that hugs his legs too tight, and a plain white tee that stretches along his chest.
Although now, he’s missing his cap, revealing jet-black hair that falls over sharp, starless eyes. His cheeks are smooth and sculpted, tight against his cheekbones and finish with a dangerously sharp jawline - all perfectly in tune with the rest of his appearance.
The cliché bad-boy heartthrob, and Renjun would be swooning too if it wasn’t for the image of a tiny Chenle screaming blue murder and waving about red flags.
So Renjun takes a deep breath, and counts to three.
“Uhh, I got the wrong coloured beads,” is the plain explanation the biker provides after a minute of blank staring. At Renjun.
‘Oh,” Renjun shifts his eyes to the blue bag in the stranger’s hands, “I – I don’t take returns for purchases under ten dollars… I’m sorry…”
“Oh… that’s okay… I’ll just – I guess I’ll just,” he tips his head at the shelves, “get another one.”
Renjun nods as a go-ahead, before distracting himself with his phone. For a while, the boy paces up and down the aisle, occasionally stopping to play around with the shelved items and steal quick, not-so-discreet glances at the Chinese male.
Renjun watches him do so from the corner of his eye, lips curving down, down when the boy starts his pacing again, looks at him again –
“Would you like some help?” He finally breaks. The biker blinks dumbly then shakes his head, picking out deep-red wax beads before heading straight to the counter.
He pays the correct amount before prompted, so Renjun bags and slides it towards him, expecting their encounter to be over.
The latter decides otherwise.
“So,” small talk, “you work here part time?” Renjun’s worst nightmare.
“I run the store, actually.” He replies briskly, calm.
“Oh, cool.”
From up close, Renjun realises the biker is relatively young – much younger than he’d thought, maybe not even much older than himself. He stands with his hands in his jeans’ pockets, as he teeters on his feet.
Right now, he appears harmless even, and maybe just a little bit shy, if Renjun’s eyes don’t deceive him.
“I actually, uhh –”
Renjun meets his gaze, giving him a look, expectant crossed with impatience.
“ – work just around here. It’s the uhh,” his gaze darts out the window then back at Renjun, then down, “the – uhh – Lee’s Motor Works, just on the next street over,” he points in the direction.
Renjun nods, the name of the workshop rings a bell from another conversation with Chenle. “That’s… cool.”
“My name’s Lee Jeno.”
Oh no. Oh no. He’s heard that name before. Lee Jeno, the current owner of the infamous motor shop – not just some simple worker. Lee Jeno, expert racketeer with his fraudulent business in dealing with the country’s most wanted criminals. Lee Jeno, a man that leaves no traces yet his name is scattered all over the country.
Renjun spaces out, then manages to stammer out a quick, “Renjun,” more calmly than he felt.
It probably isn’t the best idea to introduce himself – names are the first step to personal relationships – but, it probably isn’t the best idea to anger the Jeno either. After all, by extension he is a crime lord, and Renjun’s definitely heard the rumours circling the city about Lee Jeno when angry – who knows what he’s capable of in actuality.
“Renjun,” the name rolls off Jeno’s tongue gently. He smiles, saying the name again, louder, “Renjun. That’s lovely – and foreign. Where are you from?”
Renjun takes a deep breath, tension building under his skin as Jeno relaxes against the counter – signs of small talk out the door as conversation takes its place.
Oh, what was he getting himself into?
Climbing into bed, Renjun recalls his afternoon with Jeno – how their conversation began out of the blue, how Jeno managed to lure more and more details about Renjun than the Chinese male would’ve liked to share. He supposes it’s the trick to being who Lee Jeno is – a very scary and very manipulative businessman – and the fact that Renjun was scared-as-fuck due to the very same reason. It might also have to do with Jeno’s charming smile, his soft voice and gentle laughter that nearly dismisses all of Renjun’s presumptions of him – but no. That definitely can’t be the case.
It can’t be.
Their chatter had only ended when Jeno spotted the time on the clock behind Renjun, panicked about being late for… something… then bid Renjun farewell with another dazzling smile and the promise to be back again soon.
Soon.
He groans, thrashing around under the covers, wondering about the mess he’s managed to get caught in and all that would follow.
Renjun’s quiet life – no more.