Chapter Text
" Hiding behind a mask only lasts 'till you see the reflection of a liar in the glass "
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10.17.20 | 23:07:36
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Seokjin rips his mask away from his face, the ribbon's knot catching harshly on his ear. The edges of the intricately beaded filigree had begun digging into the skin around his cheekbones and eyes, which only added to his frustration as the hands on the clock struck closer to midnight. He still had not been able to locate the ever-elusive Dionysus. If he'd had his usual setup, Yoongi would indeed be yelling into his ear right now, scolding him for dancing with the pretty man that wouldn't leave his side instead of trying to chat up any of the disgusting rich pigs scattered all over the mansion to find some sort of clue.
God, how he'd wished he could have his teammate's voice there to ground him in this mission. Seokjin had gotten carried away, nostalgia tearing down every resolve he'd built up over the years with just a nod of a carefully coiffed head of hair and the innocent question of, "May I have this dance?"
And he'd walked straight into the trap, had gotten whisked away, and twirled until he didn't know where he'd begun and this elegant stranger ended. Except, it wasn't a stranger, but rather a memory personified as the deep, sharp eyes covered by white lace devoured him whole every time Seokjin was dipped. A large hand held his waist tightly, securely, and he hated to admit how much he enjoyed the slight squeeze at his side any time he tried to take the lead.
It was the same dynamic, and he'd missed it. And if Seokjin hadn't mastered the art of deflection and self-preservation, he might even have been able to admit he'd missed him.
"Snap out of it," he mumbles to himself, the faint sounds of the orchestra not able to cover up the slight quiver in his voice.
The golden sink handles are cool to the touch as Seokjin turns them on to splash some water onto his face. He presses his fingertips against his eyelids, alleviating some of the pressure built up there for the tiniest bit. Fleeting were moments when he didn't have to be on guard or pretend to be anyone else.
Water droplets stream down smooth porcelain as he opens his eyes, long lashes webbing together before eventually coming apart to reveal brown orbs reflected back at him. Seokjin looks close at the man supposed to be him, but all he sees is a stranger, an empty shell. This beauty was a good shield, a 'Trojan horse' he'd say if he wanted to be witty in front of his therapist. Who would ever believe the darkness hidden behind this pure white skin and petal-soft lips?
And would they still want him? After knowing everything, he'd had to do?
What he'd become?
It's the sacrifice that came with this life, and Seokjin had been swallowing that bitter pill for seven years now. It kept him alive, this pill, but only with the added damage that the lying and guilt had inflicted on his soul.
Seokjin had become lost within himself, his purpose no longer as clear and honorable as he once believed. It had all become a game where temporary solutions were strewn about out of fear rather than rightful justice.
What was justice? Killing someone he didn't even know just because it was a part of the plan? A plan much more significant than himself and his team?
Yoongi, he needed Yoongi… and his phone was locked away in a coat check locker.
"Fuck!" Seokjin snaps out, hands clenched around the vintage sink worth more than his life. He needed to find this Dionysus before his damaged mind got the best of him. Before… before he got whisked away on a dream never meant to last longer than a night.
It's disturbing how much the weight of the gun at his side brought him comfort, the cool metal digging into his skin as he focused on his mission at hand. He's seen and participated in countless nightmare-fueled assignments, though. Relying on a murder machine for a sense of security is the least of his worries.
Just one more shot, Jinnie. One more person, and you'll be free.
One shot and all hell will break loose, and he could sink back into the shadows while the rest of the team takes over.
And then what? Get a 'real' job? Flee the country and seek out a new life outside of this dangerous profession?
Impossible.
He swallows that bitter pill once more, forcing himself to get back into the game, slipping on the mask as he goes over Dionysus' file that is practically embedded into his brain.
One more shot.
And then, the bathroom door opens and closes quietly.
Seokjin almost misses it if he hadn't been trained to hear even the faintest hitch of a breath. That single 'click' of the lock overpowers the space more than the large orchestra could in the ballroom downstairs.
Seokjin's body stills as he watches Namjoon's reflection appear right behind him, the white lace no longer present to dull out the knives shooting right at him with a single gaze.
"You lied to me, Seokjin."
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10.17.20 | 20:20:57
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Seokjin takes one final look at the invitation, luxurious cotton paper smooth to the touch as the embossed name Kim Taehyung glimmers under the moonlight. This was his identity for the night, despite not knowing a single thing about fashion, unlike the real Kim Taehyung. For a brief moment, he doubts himself and the mission for tonight. Getting a hold of this invitation just felt too easy.
All these years filled with countless deaths and destruction… all of it for it to come down to one fancy invitation to the annual Dionysus Ball? There had to be a catch.
"Remind me again how Taehyung managed to get this," Seokjin asks, hoping his voice didn't betray his hard exterior.
"He was bound to have gotten invited eventually. The brat isn't the city's #1 socialite without reason—anyone that wants their event to be successful invites the magnificent V." Yoongi answers gruffly as he packs away the last bag of cameras and guns in the trunk of the borrowed Mercedes-Benz. "Plus, he knows anyone and everyone."
"So why couldn't he have gone instead of me?" Seokjin already knows the answer before an exasperated Yoongi walks to the driver's seat and gives him a long, hard look.
"Because he isn't trained."
Trained.
That's a nice way of putting it , Seokjin thinks to himself. He wishes people would just call it for what it is. Maybe over time, it would get easier for him—he wouldn't feel as awkward.
"People are going to recognize me," he mumbles. Again, Seokjin already knows the answer to this.
"With a mask on, you wouldn't know the difference," Yoongi answers with a lazy roll of his eyes. "I'm starting to think Bang has a knack for pretty things every time one of you models stroll into the base."
Seokjin can't help but smirk as his partner fixes his slicked-back hair in the car's visor mirror. "That would mean he thinks you're pretty, too."
Yoongi snaps the lid close and fixes him with a steely glare. "It's not too late for me to switch out with Jungkook. I'm sure he would love to play the role of chauffeur instead of being stuck on backup."
And just like that, Seokjin loses all signs of teasing and straightens in his seat. "Okay, I'm done. Promise!" Despite enjoying Jungkook's company at the gym, Seokjin knew how antsy the young man got when given tasks that required more stealth and less… brute force.
"That's what I thought," Yoongi says with nothing short of a cocky edge to his tone. "Now, are you ready?"
Seokjin hesitates a bit, still uncomfortable with the idea of going into a mission weaponless and without support. "And if you can't get in? How will I know where you'll be?"
"Taehyung has a friend that was invited as well: Park Jimin. Hoseok is his chauffeur and will be taking his place in the ball if anything happens to me. He'll meet you in the bathroom around eleven and relay any updates," Yoongi explains as he turns on the car.
"Does this Park Jimin… does he—"
"He's innocent. No affiliation except for being one of the hottest models at the moment. He's on that Louis Vuitton billboard near base, with the weird sci-fi glasses. He and Taehyung hosted a Chanel release party last fall, and that's when they started getting called soulmates." Yoongi rolls his eyes at that. "If they only knew Taehyung has a thing for nerdy assassins instead of fashion it, boys."
"Hoseok is not nerdy. He just doesn't like to get his hands dirty."
"Fine. 'Ethical' assassin," Yoongi says with a huff as mansion after mansion passes them by.
"You seem to know quite a bit about this Jimin," Seokjin pries from the backseat, watching as Yoongi very clearly is trying not to give too much away.
A cloud of silence falls on them as they get closer to their destination, the weight of their mission more tangible with every minute before Yoongi relaxes his shoulders to say, "Yeah, well, I guess I like pretty things, too."
It was bittersweet seeing these tiny flashes of softness beneath the hard exterior his partner put up. They've both done unforgivable acts for so long that they have somehow become numb to everyday and trivial things that most people would fuss over… like crushes. It was bittersweet in the way that Seokjin knew Yoongi could never be with Jimin because that would mean opening himself up to vulnerability, which equated to instant death in their field of profession. Romances and everyday life, it would never work out. Seokjin had come to find that out over the years.
It was to save him. He's better off without you.
Seokjin shakes his head and flexes his fingers, willing all the tension to flow out of his body before tucking the invitation inside his suit jacket. Now was not the time to get hung up on choices made years ago. With one final exhale, he slips on a masquerade mask and hands over his gun to Yoongi.
"Okay, I'm ready."
Yoongi doesn't dare look or speak to him from then on, focusing instead on driving straight through the estate of one of the most flamboyant mansions in the country. The rearview mirror catches Seokjin's attention, and it's almost scary how little he feels towards the way his handsome features pull into something much darker and ugly.
Seokjin's eyes were set to kill.
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10.17.20 | 20:35:10
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Getting into the mansion was incredibly simple, and that was probably the detail that made Seokjin especially cautious. He'd been welcomed in as Kim Taehyung without further prompting. Besides the fact that he had to arrive at the ball unarmed—security made the guests walk through scanners and forfeit all electronics into lockers—the thorough authentication of his invitation was probably the detail that made him believe this whole mission would be a bust. But just like Taehyung had assumed in their team huddle earlier that night, the woman flashing light to reveal the secret watermark on the paper was the only form of identification needed.
Seokjin fidgets with his cufflinks, anxiety bubbling without the comfort of his earpiece and trusty Beretta pistol. The walk through the long entrance hallway and up the stairs leading to the main ballroom feels endless as the mansion's layout begins to take shape in his head. He had expected something a bit more modern, but he had been proven wrong.
The mansion was something out of a Versailles dream with marble floors and pillars flanked with rococo moldings. The walls were covered in gold filigree that glimmered with every step he took, sparkling crystal chandeliers guiding him towards the double doors containing the loud sounds of music and cheers. The two butlers on opposite ends of the doorway could be mistaken for statues as they silently wait for Seokjin's signal to make his entrance. Seokjin tugs on his mask one more time and nods his head to be let in with bated breath. What is revealed behind the solid white doors is precisely what all the gossip sites and rumors had raved about… except it was much, much better.
Flying silk artists were suspended above the crowd, an impressive orchestra right at the helm as wave after wave of people laughed, drank, and waltzed without care. Waiters and waitresses dressed in opulent suits covered with baroque patterns and pearl buttons floated along, carrying endless trays of champagne and colorful hors d'oeuvres on tiny gold plates. All the guests were draped in the shiniest of jewels, with the women dressed in gowns that could be considered artistic masterpieces and the men donning tailored tuxedos with the most polished of shoes. Even the mandatory face masks were something to be admired—feathers, lace, and even flowers adorned the little pieces of cloth shielding the wearer from reality for at least this one night. It was like walking into a scene plucked right out of an ornate fairytale.
This was the famous Dionysus Ball, the event that has been continuously labeled as "the best night of anyone's life." And he was right in the center of it all.
Seokjin could only compare it to something out of Willy Wonka except with a lot more alcohol involved… and burlesque performers?
He tries really hard to not stare directly at a dancer shaking her breasts adorned with fire tassels right in front of him as he reaches for a glass of champagne. The bubbly beverage does little to calm his nerves as he walks his way around the ballroom. He does not recognize anyone here, and perhaps that should comfort him a bit, but it only makes his job that much harder.
How was he supposed to track down the ball's host? He didn't have any physical details or even confirmation that Dionysus wouldn't be surrounded by bodyguards. Seokjin's only assurances were his skills and that the mysterious man would be present within the crowd.
Seokjin didn't need to scour the rest of the mansion to know that the event was catered specifically to the elite running society. From the blatant showcasing of designer labels to the luxury cars lining the parkway right outside, it was apparent this ball was another opportunity to further separate the rich from the poor. However, one would think these people would want to show off and broadcast this magnificent display of wealth for the world to see, but according to the invitation's instructions: what happens at the ball stays in the ball.
That one line had been leaked to a forum website anonymously, further adding mystique to the grand Dionysus. Who was he? And why was this party so coveted, yet so secretive? Like anything on the internet, a following of sorts occurred. People became curious about the guest list and what exactly went on each passing year. It didn't take long for mysterious deaths and disappearances to start getting linked back to the party one way or the other. And so the conspiracy theories began.
Seokjin was fully aware of these speculations, having fallen down a rabbit hole as a means to find further information on Dionysus that his team and Bang couldn't get. The general consensus amongst commenters online was that the ball was an event thrown to the rich by the rich for the mere sake of indulging in the darkest of vices without penalty. A purge amongst the elite, and no one would ever find out.
CEOs, politicians, entertainers… The running list of potential guests was alarming. Many household names and TV screen sweethearts allegedly tied to prostitution and drug use were petty crimes compared to the deeper web, including human trafficking and political corruption encasing the most influential. Seokjin had read and taken this in, every so often noticing a familiar-looking figure mentioned on the compiled list. He was not once phased by the tiny bottle of white powder being casually shared amongst the crowd. It seemed like the internet hadn't been so far off, after all.
Typically, this type of event wouldn't even be worth his team's time and attention. Who were they to judge and vigilant against nefarious activities when they did not shy away from some good ol' shootouts and firearms imports? No, these types of games for the rich would not be something worth sending Seokjin out on a mission for.
But all of that changed when Bang received a very expensive tip that nearly cost him a whole team based in Kyoto—letting him know that Dionysus was the man behind HYBE Incorporated. Further research showed that the mysterious man only made one public appearance a year… and that was at the ball. Seokjin hadn't believed it when Yoongi told him the news of the confidential exchange, not even when Bang called him up to his office the day after.
"Why me? You have plenty of men at your disposal now," Seokjin remarked with a slight bitterness at the end of his words. He wasn't sure if it had to do with the fact that his day off had been interrupted or if he was sick and tired of having his trauma be used as a way to bribe him into jobs. He owed Bang his life, but Seokjin couldn't help but hate the man for having changed him into someone unrecognizable to even himself. "Hoseok is very good—you paid a good penny for him."
"You know why it has to be you," Bang answers him in the calm demeanor that was always so unnerving. Seokjin could never tell what side he was on with the man. "This is your shot and your key to freedom."
Seokjin can't help the laugh that bursts out of him. He's never heard such bull—
"No one ever leaves a gang without blood being spilled."
Bang's smile is sickeningly smug as he hands over a manila folder across the mahogany desk, a silver gun acting as a paperweight not too far from reach.
"Exactly."
And so the mission had begun, leading Seokjin to stand under the most enormous chandelier he's ever seen in his life and wearing a custom suit that probably was worth more than his yearly rent. It was insane, and it didn't help the spine-tingly feeling of being watched from every angle by older men and women that could indeed be old enough to be his parents. He was fully aware of how good he looked—people were too damn obvious sometimes. Still, the gross feeling didn't diminish.
Seokjin admires the glimmering crystals hanging off of golden arms when he feels a tall presence stand a bit too close for comfort.
"Pretty, huh?"
Seokjin lowers his gaze to take in a man slightly taller than him, wearing a black velvet suit jacket and a mask made of white lace with gold trim. His hair was dyed silver and stylishly swept off of his forehead, and even without seeing his face, Seokjin knew he was handsome.
"It's so… big," Seokjin offers with a neutral expression. "I've never seen anything like it."
The man looks back up to the hanging fixture before trailing his eyes back on Seokjin.
"It's custom made—Italian crystal."
"Imported," Seokjin comments with a hum, not hiding his disinterest in the slightest. He takes a sip of champagne and is caught off guard by the man still looking at him. Even with the mask, those eyes were smoldering with piqued interest, and Seokjin felt a wave of nostalgia hit him straight in the chest. It had been a long time since someone looked at him like that—like he was the most desirable being in the room without it coming across as invasive.
"You're not impressed," the man says. It wasn't a question.
Seokjin shrugs. "I'm not much of a light fixture aficionado… not really a fan."
There is a beat of dead air between them, the music almost fading into the background as Seokjin waits for the inevitable end of the interaction because, god, why was he so dry and awkward? This socializing and undercover shit was Taehyung's bread and butter. Coming here was a mistake. He needs to get out–
And then the man is laughing. It's not loud or boisterous, but it is there.
"Was that a pun?"
"Unfortunately," Seokjin says with a grimace, fingers playing with the stem of his glass. "I'm so shit at these social things. I apologize for having put you through awful humor."
"Well, I happen to like puns," the man says with a kind smile before leaning his face towards Seokjin's to mock whisper, "I'm not much of a party person, either. I much prefer letting other people shine while I slip away into the dark."
"One bad joke is an accident, any more than that, and it's just sad." Seokjin can't help but smile cheekily, warmth radiating under his skin. "Come on, what's your next angle?"
The man huffs a bit, assessing Seokjin from head to toe with a lingering stare too intimate for having just met. It made him nervous, all his training flying out the window, and for what? His neglected arousal finally getting to see the light of day? Yoongi would have chewed him out by now, never letting him live it down. This wouldn't happen if you just got laid, his partner would say. God, how pathetic.
"Either my mask is really pretty, or you have a staring problem," Seokjin says after a while, not expecting his voice to come out so… flustered. His aloof persona crumbling with every second spent with this man.
The man can only smirk, a deep dimple popping out as he slowly circles around Seokjin, leading him with his eyes alone. "Or maybe I have a staring problem because you are so pretty."
Seokjin can't help but roll his eyes at that, the charming spell this handsome stranger cast on him breaking. Too predictable.
"Ah! You almost had it, and then you had to kill it with that cheddar line," Seokjin exclaims with a shake of his head.
"Cheddar?" The man asks, almost offended with how easily his advance had been rebuked.
"Yes!" Seokjin slaps the man's chest without thinking, letting an odd sense of familiarity overwhelm him. "That was total cheese."
"Do you like cheese?" The man asks, grasping onto Seokjin's hand from his chest. "Because I think the buffet has plenty of it."
And Seokjin is ready to say yes, but then the strike of the large clock on the wall snaps him out of whatever haze he'd been trapped in. What was he doing? He needed to find Dionysus and map out the mansion for his inevitable escape. He needed to shake this man loose before it was too late. Too much was at stake.
"Oh, there's a buffet?" Seokjin asks, distractingly moving away from the solid body before him. His eyes circle the room, nothing looking out of the ordinary except for the ever so present cloud of smoke escaping from the hookah lounge up ahead.
The man nods his head, beginning to lead the way. "Here, let me show you—"
Seokjin slips his hand away from that warm grip. "I'm sure I can find it myself. It can't be hard to miss." He tries to start walking away, but the stranger doesn't let him go that easily.
"Is this your first time at the ball?"
"I thought this was a 'don't ask don't tell' type of event," Seokjin replies, beginning to get impatient. "We're all strangers tonight."
"Well, this stranger knows the estate pretty well, and I would not mind guiding this wonderful ray of light through a private tour of these historical halls."
"Right, because you're a lamp expert, I assume?" Seokjin cocks his head, not falling for any tricks that end up with him being pushed into uncompromising situations. He probably thinks he can have a go at me… what a beautiful fool.
"What happened to not asking?" The man blocks Seokjin from escaping, a waiter coming up to offer them another flute of champagne.
Seokjin looks at him across the golden rims and pearlescent bubbles, noticing another pair of eyes directed straight at him. The older man had gray hair—natural—and had the posture of someone being used to getting what he wanted, a giant Rolex never too far from view. Seokjin didn't like being looked at like that… like some sort of commodity.
"Let's put it this way, if you are seen with me, you'll make it out of here alive without getting groped by disgusting men and women," whispers a deep voice that was slightly hoarse and heavy with meaning. It didn't sound like a threat, but Seokjin understood the warning.
"I know how to defend myself," he says, chin defiant and gaze level.
"They don't get their hands dirty, darling. Can you defend yourself against economic power and control?" The handsome man grabs a flute of champagne before dismissing the waiter into the crowd. "They'll see to it that you don't leave the night without giving in."
"What makes you different? Why should I trust you?" Seokjin narrows his eyes, tilting his head to try to get a better look at this man. His mask was hiding his whole face, the white lace casting shadows to hint at delicate features, but even still, not much could be deciphered.
The man leans close, warm air tickling the loose strands of hair around Seokjin's ear.
"Because the real Kim Taehyung does not wear Dior."
Seokjin's body goes tense as the words settle. Shit! How did he know about Taehyung?
"I don't know what you're talking about," he easily breathes, leaning back enough to look the man square in the eye. "You are breaking the rules."
"And you broke into the party," the man replies back, settling a heavy hand on the small of Seokjin's back. "Now, let's go explore some of these rooms, shall we?"
Seokjin takes the hint and walks towards the end of the ballroom, where a room full of framed art can be seen. He was in trouble. That much was a given. Without a way to communicate with Yoongi, he needed to think of how to escape this man to meet up with Hoseok. Time was winding down, and already he's met his first obstacle.
But if he could be alone with this man, Seokjin could easily take him out within seconds. Unless he was grade A security, his chances of flipping the guy on his back were in his favor. Perhaps he could get some critical information out of him. He did say he knew the mansion well… and maybe it could lead him straight to Dionysus.
This was his chance for freedom.
Seokjin holds out his hand demurely for the man to take. "Lead the way."
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09.27.13 | 22:48:23
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Seokjin had grown pretty numb to most things that didn't involve direct pain or an actual brush with death. Being a part of a gang somehow made most everyday routines pale in comparison. Each day pushed him to an extreme where his brain just decided to mute everything else that wasn't aiding him to merely survive.
He'd always been more of an introvert, his peace with silence often weirding people out because he never had much to say. Seokjin never really needed to say anything. Since day one, he knew his place in society and how little his voice could be heard. There wasn't much opportunity to rise above being born into poverty. Much less as an orphan sold into a gang.
Emotionally corrupt and without a shred of stability, Seokjin had learned to live in solitude. Relationships—in any sense—were a concept he'd never quite mastered. He had this fucked up paternal figure, Bang, to look up to, but that didn't really nurture any sense of love or longing in him. Humans were just a means of transactional exchanges meant to keep him alive for another day. Seokjin's head ran on completing jobs and pretty much nothing else.
Such a late bloomer he was to all the typical milestones, Seokjin hadn't ever been kissed, and here he was, at the age of twenty-one, pining over an imaginary make-out session with the dorky guy that just spilled beer onto his leather jacket.
"I'm so sorry!"
Seokjin can only blink slowly, taking in how low the guy's voice pitched just as the iciness of the beer seeping into his shirt started to register.
"It's fine. Don't worry," Seokjin stutters as he flees to the small frat house kitchen that was thankfully empty. Empty bottles of liquor and plastic cups littered the counters, not one napkin in sight.
"Here," the clumsy guy says while shoving a towel straight into his hands. "Found it near the sink."
"Thanks," Seokjin mutters while hastily wiping a sleeve. He'd been eyeing this guy all night from the corner of the living room. So entranced by this face he'd never seen before. It was a type of handsome that wasn't typical, but that's what made it that much more enchanting.
"That looks expensive," the guy goes on to say, running a nervous hand through long black bangs. The sides of his head were shaved close, making prominent cheekbones look sharper. "I can, um, pay for it to be dry cleaned."
Seokjin stops his wiping to look squarely at this kid's face. He looked guilty, and judging from the Greek letters printed on his crewneck, he probably meant the offer. With daddy's money, I bet.
"I'm okay, thanks."
"Seriously, I feel so bad. Let me at least get you a drink? Or like, have you spill a drink on me for reparations?" Frat boy keeps on blabbering, and Seokjin can't tell if that's due to the alcohol or not. Who would ever say that sober?
"What?" Seokjin bites out.
"I mean, that would actually be better? Because I'm kind of broke and dry cleaning will probably use up my coffee budget… which is cool! But it's kind of sucky for me because I basically need my iced lattes to survive morning classes. Can you imagine taking economics at seven in the morning? I swear, I was probably high on cough medicine when I made my schedule this semester—WHAT THE HELL? "
"There, we're even." Seokjin can hardly hold back his laughter at seeing the guy's shocked face taking in the wet spot on his gray sweater where a generous amount of tequila just got thrown at him.
"You can't just do that?" Whiny boy exclaims, pulling at the damp cotton. "That was like, not meant to be taken seriously."
"Then don't say things you don't mean," Seokjin says calmly, trying not to stare too long at the toned stomach being revealed as the other takes his sweater off.
"Well, you shouldn't look that good! Look at me, falling over you and making a mess out of the both of us."
Seokjin's grip on the bottle of tequila is unsteady as he tries his hardest to not implode on the spot. Who was this guy? The nerve! He was supposed to be just hot. He had to be charming, too?
"You can't just do that!" Seokjin says a bit too loudly, skin heating at the compliment he'd yet to finish processing.
"I meant every word." And the frat boy just smiles. Smiles! With dimples! With a quick sneak at the naked torso in front of him, his fate had been sealed. Seokjin could now confirm that a six-pack was also involved in this tragic turn of events. Fuck me.
Seokjin feels hysterical with how not shy he was feeling. He was feeling looser and… and free. Something about this goofy kid was melting the walls he had built up around his poor heart.
"What's your name?"
"Namjoon."
"Well, Namjoon," Seokjin bites at his lip, keeping his gaze low before eventually looking up at this man up and through his lashes. "My name is Seokjin, and I'll hold you to those words."
"Hello Seokjin," Namjoon says with a friendly smile, offering a large hand. "I'll remember that."
And Seokjin could do nothing else but accept that welcome gaze and the start of what would become his first and only love. They'd stolen a six-pack of beers and headed outside, Namjoon now wearing Seokjin's leather jacket to shield him from the autumn chill.
"You go to school here?" Namjoon had asked, twisting off the bottle cap.
"No." That was the truth.
Namjoon raises an eyebrow before looking him up and down. "Yeah, you seem more of the artsy type… like maybe in theater? Let me guess: VANTE Academy of Arts?"
"No," Seokjin offers with a nervous smile. "I, um, don't go to school." Another truth.
Namjoon frowns, leaning his body against the side of the house. "Do you know someone that goes here?"
Seokjin looks away, taking a sip from his beer. "I know some people here. They invite me out sometimes." Now that was half of the truth.
"Oh," Namjoon breathes out, the puzzlement still evident on his face. "What do you do, Seokjin?"
I sell drugs to rich kids like you, Seokjin can't help but think.
"I work at a bookstore," is what he says instead. A lie.
"That's awesome! I work at the library," Namjoon exclaims, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "My friends tell me I should quit, but I honestly love it there. I basically get paid to study and talk about books, which I kind of already do in my free time."
It was Seokjin's turn to be confused.
"You… work? "
"Yeah," Namjoon answers sheepishly, such a drastic contrast to the loud and open energy from before. "Tuition, you know?"
"You're not rich?" Seokjin blurts out, not quite believing it.
"Is that a problem?" Namjoon counters, his body language tense.
Seokjin shrinks a little, ashamed for having stereotyped this hot guy who, for some reason, was still talking to him… shirtless, and wearing his leather jacket. Who was he to judge anything? And why did he give a shit when he had a hot guy in leather right in front of him? Jesus Christ, Seokjin! Get it together!
"Sorry, the frat sweater didn't help with assumptions. That's… good! Good on you to work for your education." Seokjin can't help but internally cringe at his semi-coherent babbling. Ah, Namjoon would probably leave him now, politely, at that.
Except Namjoon never left, and instead, he started talking about himself as if Seokjin were any other friend. Kim Namjoon was a business management major to please his parents but was studying art history in secret because that's where his true passion lay. He was a lover of long bike rides, even longer philosophy novels, and an all-around dork that watched way too much anime and liked going to underground rap battles as a hobby. Kim Namjoon is the most interesting person Seokjin has ever met and the first man he's ever kissed and fallen for.
Seokjin had walked Namjoon back to his dorm building, the frat party fading away with each clumsy step they took. By the end of the night, Seokjin left with a hickey on his neck, a phone number pocketed, and a promise of something more. As soon as he'd driven his motorcycle back to base to drop off the money and to collect a new bundle of drugs for the next week's earnings, Seokjin had logged into his computer and applied at several bookstores around Namjoon's campus.
What was one lie?
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10.17.20 | 21:27:10
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"And this right here is probably my favorite piece of this whole collection: Yun Hyong-Keun's Burnt Umber & Ultramarine. Something about his collection of work always keeps me entranced. There was a recent exhibition in Venice, actually. I was very fortunate to have been able to go and witness his wider array of work. Isn't it neat?"
Seokjin stares at the large canvas before him, dark brown-black ink bleeding into two large blocks with a sliver of light cream linen exposed in the middle. Art had never been something he'd taken an interest in, much less known enough to have an opinion. But after spending the past hour with this handsome man who had yet to reveal his name, Seokjin thinks he just might have an inkling of what to say to please him.
"The black ink is interesting. It's not completely opaque," Seokjin comments, motioning with his hand. "I'm sure there's a story behind that."
The man's excitement is palatable as he excitedly sweeps his hands over the dark painted columns. "Yes! Exactly, yes! You're getting it now."
"Are you going to tell me what it means?"
This is the little game they've been playing. The man would walk him from room to room, detailing all the framed art and sculptures and how much they were worth. It was quickly made clear that Seokjin had little interest in money.
"It's what makes art so pretentious," He'd said as an explanation.
The man had just tilted his head, a little in awe of his answer, something he frequently did every time Seokjin opened his mouth. It was unnerving but also… nice. It was nice to be listened to for once. And on the night went, two strangers conversing over art and seemingly ignoring the looming presence of danger hanging over their heads. They were keeping up pretenses, for what? Seokjin had yet to find out.
" Burnt Umber & Ultramarine, is not only the name of this painting, but it is also the colors Yun used in the latter part of his life. He mixed these two colors: an earthy red and bright blue to create this almost coffee burnt hue. Many have said the color and bleeding of this very thin paint mimicked the blood, sweat, and tears. However, he depicted them as heaven and earth. It's a stark contrast to his earlier work, which was much brighter and full of colors."
"I can sense the tragedy already. Alright, lay it on me," Seokjin throws out, crossing his arms in anticipation.
Another little part of their game: discussing the artists' tragic (and sometimes hilariously devastating) lives lining the walls. Many regrets, what-ifs, and inevitable faiths hung in some billionaire's estate with little to no empathy or grace from the wealthy aristocrats.
"Well, he grew up in the worst of times in Korea while it was still under Japan's colonial rule. He went to art school but got arrested and expelled for protesting the US Army's involvement in the academy. This would be the first of many involvements with the law, some of these arrests out of his control. You can see how his art style tells this story: as the beauty of his youth came tumbling down, so did all the color," the man ends with a sad sigh, eyes placed firmly on the canvas. "He stood for his beliefs despite not exactly coming out the winner. His art is honest in that sense, I think."
Seokjin bites at his bottom lip, a heavy wave of emotion hitting him in the chest as this artist's story settles in his mind. "There's a tension," he hears himself say suddenly. "And I feel it. I can't say what he probably hoped for these shapes to represent, but to me, it feels like he's trying to showcase the bridge between two sides. Or maybe it's questioning if there could ever be a bridge."
The man turns to him, eyes not leaving his before asking so quietly, Seokjin could breathe, and he'd miss it, "What do you think?"
The question is intrusive in the way that Seokjin knew the answer. These two painted shapes, they could as quickly been the time before and after his parents' death, his duality between hurt man and coldblooded killer, before and after breaking up with Namjoo—
"I don't know," Seokjin stutters, blinking fiercely, turning away towards the molded door that led to a study. That was a lie.
"Are you—"
"I'm okay. Now, are we ready to check out the next room?" Seokjin uses his champagne flute to point towards the lit hallway. "The fake Kim Taehyung does not appreciate being left waiting."
"You should give me a name, fake Kim Taehyung ," the man counters, walking with effortless grace, not unlike fashion models. His hands were in his pants pockets, and the sway of his head was casual.
It was a bit too much for Seokjin.
"You can call me RJ," he says, testing the waters because there's no way this could be real. This stranger just happened to speak and and and act like someone from his past. It couldn't be true.
The man stops abruptly, confidence buffering before quickly recovering and once again leading Seokjin through the next room with that gentle presence on his back, long fingers idly wandering lightly.
" RJ? you can call me RM ," the man says, low and with a hint of sadness that only those who have gone through profound loss would be able to pick up.
Unfortunately, Seokjin could.
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12.04.13 | 23:57:28
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"Did you enjoy your birthday?"
Seokjin was nearly falling asleep, so entranced watching the snowfall right outside his window that he could just make out the end of Namjoon's question. They were snuggled under a comforter on Seokjin's couch facing the balcony windows under a full moon. Even just this was perfect.
"It was perfect," he manages as a whisper, lips sticking together due to the hot chocolate they'd bought from the coffee truck down the street. The velvety sweetness was sitting comfortably in his tummy, warmth radiating from within and extending into the body pressed hotly against his.
It is perfect. A truth.
"I know it wasn't much… but I promise to take you to a proper restaurant one day—"
Seokjin covers Namjoon's mouth, laughing a bit at the surprised expression on the handsome face he got to see every other day. How did they get here? How was it possible that someone so devoid of love like himself could end up with—
Could it be love? Is this true love?
"I haven't celebrated my birthday since my parents died," Seokjin says, eyes wide and rid of any masked resilience. Namjoon had that sort of effect on him—it almost made him feel normal. "Thank you for today."
This was the first time he'd said this to Namjoon, always skirting the subject of his family whenever it got brought up. Seokjin didn't feel like clouding any conversation with the heaviness that topic would inevitably overwhelm. Deep down, though, he knew it was also about him still not entirely comfortable with broaching the reality of what he'd gone through.
But Namjoon made him feel safe, despite having been told over and over to never trust anyone. He'd learned that the hard way, and now here he was, vulnerable and laid bare in front of someone he'd only met months ago. Seokjin was weak, and he was letting himself be gripped tight by a man that could quickly sell him out were he to find out the truth.
Seokjin was not good, but Namjoon was, and maybe that could be enough.
It had to be enough.
Namjoon was looking at him with sadness, but Seokjin didn't want to talk about it, not now. He wanted this day to end in true happiness and bliss. So instead of answering the millions of questions reflecting back to him through hooded eyes, Seokjin decides to invite Namjoon into a deep kiss, letting himself get lost in their embrace.
His lips were hot, Namjoon's kisses burning him with every gentle caress and lingering breath. They'd haven't gone further than this, and Seokjin had never once gotten intimate with anyone. But tonight, it felt right, and he wanted Namjoon in the most desperate of ways. He couldn't predict whether he'll ever get to spend his birthday like this ever again, so lost in this feeling too dangerous to his heart.
Things were tense at base, and Seokjin could feel something big coming. More of Bang's people were showing up dead, and many partnerships have been falling through. His gut told him this little cloud of heaven wouldn't last much longer and that he shouldn't get his hopes up.
So just this once, Seokjin allowed himself to fall.
He welcomes Namjoon in his arms, their bare chests brushing up against one another and its white-hot desire fueling his movements and sounds. Namjoon is everywhere, encasing him with his arms and bruising his skin, blood marring the surface and staking its claim. And Seokjin takes just as much, his hands gripping tight on shoulders and nails digging into a muscled back as Namjoon slowly fingers him open, his movements careful and slow. Their breaths were mingling together, bedroom eyes dazed and stuck on one another without shame.
"Are you sure?" Namjoon asked him with an added kiss that was a bit too needy, too gentle to really be labeled as such. But it was perfect, and Seokjin couldn't imagine being more certain than this.
"Yes." A truth.
And then Namjoon is pushing through, the pressure so immense and unlike anything else Seokjin has experienced. But that too was perfect.
He felt like he was floating, high up above his body, into a place somewhere between heaven and earth. The only thing holding him down was his heart, so stubborn and bruised due to all its pain. If he could just open up a bit, maybe it could be something close to freedom… somewhere far away from corrupt politics and misery.
Somewhere with Namjoon.
"I love you."
Seokjin isn't sure who said it first, but the words were hanging heavy in the air as Namjoon kept thrusting deep and slow into his body, and all he could do was push and pull until he didn't know where they ended or began. They were one, and Seokjin could feel himself get closer to his release, sweat prickling his forehead and Namjoon's intense stare engraving itself onto every inch of skin exposed.
And it was too much. The way Namjoon made him feel was too much.
He grabbed tightly onto Namjoon's head and forced a bruising kiss, lips hitting teeth but not caring because this was real. What they had was real, and Seokjin will be damned if he didn't at least get to own one good memory in this lifetime.
"My love for you is true," he breathes into every kiss he plants onto tanned skin offered to him.
"I swear." A truth.
"You're everything," Namjoon pants out, hips not letting up their thrusts as he takes Seokjin's erection in hand. They wouldn't last much longer, emotions running high and neither of them planning on slowing down. "Don't ever leave me."
"I won't," Seokjin gasps out, Namjoon hitting somewhere deep in him that felt like getting the wind knocked out of him. "I won't."
And then it happened: relief. Seokjin came with a cry, tears prickling his eyes and body shaking with overstimulation. He was pleading, sickeningly sweet nothings tumbling out of his lips as Namjoon brought him closer to the edge with every thrust and touch. It wasn't heaven, but it was close.
It was close.
Months later, Seokjin would come to find out he'd let one lie spill out that night.