sungbeam

[sungbeam]

i wanted to say you’ve never ever missed in a single day of your career… literally you be carrying the sci-fi genre on your back 🔥🔥🔥

thank you so much!! (^^ゞi'm not sure if u mean supernatural or fantasy instead, but i appreciate the sentiment very much — tysm for reading my work <3

[sungbeam]

i hate this fuckass country

[sungbeam]

BIRDS OF PREY — fourteen

nonidol!kim hongjoong x f!reader

living in gray areas of your city, out of the way of gangs and mafia territories, could only keep you safe for so long. it was only a matter of time before you began running into problems, or rather, problems began running into you.

▷ genre, warnings. nc-17, strangers 2 lovers, slow burn, mafia au, angst, swearing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of money laundering, workplace power dynamics and uncomfortable propositions, mentions of tracking devices, mentions of weed (reader does not smoke it, only inhales it secondhand bc of someone else in the room), one allusion to violent methods of extracting information (nothing is explicitly stated), barely proofread like idek if i can be considered conscious rn laskdfjndsk

▷ word count. 6.6k

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a/n: i finished this last night at abt the same time yn was crashing out at work in this chapter 🤡 also the way this chapter ended up this long... it was literally supposed to be so short.....

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: HOW TO KILL A HYDRA

“I FEEL LIKE I HAVEN'T seen you in forever,” groaned Ryujin as the two of you boisterously shouldered your way into the apartment, arms full of grocery bags for the week. Her face was flush from the sting of winter morning air, but a smile stretched across her mouth nonetheless. 

You couldn't disagree with her. Your face was just as nipped by the winter cold, but you were undoubtedly aglow from the much needed girl time from this morning. “And apparently we live together,” you joked. 

After all the tension and chaos your working at Dionysus brought you, a moment of normalcy was all you wanted. Lately, both you and Ryujin were mutually swamped with work and college, meaning it was nearly impossible to speak to one another besides the passing-by wave or a post-it note left on the door. But this morning had been yours and Ryujin's temporary strike in order to finally spend time together. 

Ryujin wiped an invisible bead of sweat from her forehead after wrestling the bags in her hands onto the kitchen counter. “Phew. I… am so out of shape. How about you?”

You grunted in response, nearly flopping onto the counter with your own bags. “I'm doing great,” you replied in exaggerated panting, though some of it wasn't exaggerated. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

She snorted, turning to the fridge. “It was a good thing we got breakfast before we left,” she said, “but I can't believe it was so crowded this morning. On a weekday, too.”

“You’re not the only one who got today off, I guess,” you said with a shrug. You dug out items from the bags to pass along to Ryujin. The only reason why this morning was even possible was because it was one of those random national holidays that came up too quick for anyone to remember. It celebrated some distant figure from the country's past; you undoubtedly learned about him in school, but his only legacy today was giving some folks a day off from their 9-to-5. 

She accepted a jug of dairy creamer from you with a hum. “Hm, you're right. I still think it's so foul that you have to go to work tonight. I mean—club workers should get national holidays off, too!”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I wish. It's too bad there isn't a bartender or waiter union in this city.”

“You should start one.”

“If only I had the time,” you lamented. Even as you threw out jokes, your stomach twisted. There wasn’t much time left before the meeting at the end of this week, and if you didn’t leave work tonight with the news that you were hoping for, you feared there might be Hell to pay. 

Your friend let out a noncommittal hum. “Well, at the very least, I could drop you off at work. I have lots of time today, anyways, so—”

The jar of maraschino cherries slipped from your grasp, and your hands fumbled to claw it back into the safety of your possession. The glass clunked noisily against the countertop as you used your front as an extra hand. “You don’t have to,” you said quickly.

Ryujin sent you a look, carefully taking the jar of cherries from you. “Oh. Are you sure? I never get to drop you off.”

“Really, you don’t have to,” you replied with feigned nonchalance. You glanced over at her briefly but pulled your eyes away just as fast. Your mind raced with the memory of Chan—he already knew who Ryujin was and interacted with her plenty. You needed to keep her out of this. “It’s getting a little more dangerous around here lately, especially with how dark it gets. And you know Jungwon comes to pick me up, so it’s all good.”

You wondered if she could hear your pulse, if she could see the guilt scrawled across your face like some glaring neon sign. 

In times like these, a moment sometimes felt like five years. 

“Right, I forgot.” Ryujin was turned away toward the fridge when your eyes darted back to her. 

“I appreciate it though,” you were quick to add. It’s just better this way. 

She shot you a smile; if you didn’t know her like you did, you might have been relieved to see it. “Maybe another time then. Just stay safe yourself, Yn.”

“I always am,” you hummed, a little too easily. Speaking of safety… “So, uhm, y'know Chan.”

In your periphery, Ryujin straightened like an arrow, perked up like a puppy. You realized your mistake far too late. “What about Chan?” she asked you with that teasing lilt at the end. She flounced over on the balls of her feet, plucking up the bundle of lettuce from your hands and wagging her brows. 

You inwardly facepalmed. Oh, could you be more subtle today? You forced a laugh. “It's not like that,” you insisted, though to no avail. “I was just wondering if you'd seen him around the office lately.”

Yeah, like saying that wasn't any more suspicious. 

Ryujin's expression practically screamed a similar sentiment, but she only cocked a brow at you and replied, “Now that I think about it, not really. He's swung by maybe once since the party, but he must be busy or something.”

Unfortunately, that only made it seem more plausible in your mind that Chan only sought Ryujin out to get to you, and ultimately, to Hongjoong. How did he know? And when? “Oh,” you said. “Must be, I guess. He mentioned something about the acquisitions industry.”

“Yeah,” your friend snorted. “Acquisitions is just a friendlier term for a less savory business.”

You paused. “Really.”

“Yeah.” Ryujin had her back to you as she shoved a box of ice cream sandwiches into the freezer. “One of my coworkers said it must be some kind of black market thing. Of course, it's not something that can be proven, but that's what people usually mean when they say 'acquisitions.’”

Great, so you had the answer glaring at you the entire time. There was still much you had left to learn. Your pulse still pounded against your throat though, unable to rid your mind of the dread seeping into your bones as you uncovered more information. 

“And that doesn't change your mind about him?” you asked next, slowly, while gauging her reaction. 

She shrugged. “Not particularly,” she said flippantly. Ryujin bumped the freezer closed with her hand as she turned to face you. “He's nice enough, but y'know, I like his friend Yeji a lot more.”

A sly smile curled onto your lips, and you felt a laugh bubble out of your chest as you noted Ryujin's own bashfulness began to peer through her nonchalance. “Yeah, forget about Chan. It's time for you to catch me up on her.”

When night casted its wide net over the city once more, you found yourself packing your bag for the work shift ahead of you. You quietly stuffed your small purse with the essentials: clothes tape, body tape, perfume, breath mints, pads, Band-Aids, and of course— 

Before you let her join the rest, you swiped a bit of Aurora over your lips. As you massaged the color into an even spread, you stared at the slim, gold tube in your hand. Your reflection appeared on its surface, albeit distorted and gold-tinted. 

Never in your wildest dreams had you ever thought you would end up doing this—playing spy for organized crime, as a bottle girl in a territory outside the gray areas. Perhaps the gravity of your situation had yet to catch up to you. 

You pushed out an exhale through your mouth, mindlessly fidgeting with the tube while you waited for Jungwon's text… Then, there was him. After the other night, with his strange behavior, you admittedly felt your pulse rush in anticipation of the tension. 

Maybe this Jjong hyung person was a sore spot, but regardless, you hoped this wouldn't put a damper on yours and Jungwon's working relationship. It was just—you’d never seen him act that way before. He didn't seem capable of reacting like that.

“You don't really know him that well though,” you muttered to yourself, now holding the sealed lipstick tube like a ballpoint pen. “You can't claim to know anything about anyone—”

Ca-schink!

You jolted. 

Your thumb had pressed down upon the end of the tube and activated a mechanism. A soft red light now emitted from its apex. 

You squinted at it, curious. When you pressed down on it again, the light disappeared, along with any trace of what you just saw, as if it had retracted back into the end of the tube. 

The light itself was not nearly bright enough to act as a flashlight, nor was it some blacklight that could reveal invisible ink (you guessed). Could it be…

Your phone buzzed on the table. 

jwon 😸: i'm here

This would have to wait until later. 

You clicked the lipstick into the off position, shoved it into your bag, and headed out. With forecasts of snow on the horizon, the air had developed a sharper edge to it lately. You tugged the sides of your thick coat tighter around you, instinctively checking both ways before scurrying across the road to where Jungwon was parked. At least you could still count on him for this. 

He was seated in the driver’s seat, as usual, his phone screen casting a white glow across his face and creating a glare over the lenses of his glasses. 

Don’t make this awkward, you thought to yourself as you rounded to the passenger’s side of the car and let yourself in. 

“Hey,” you chirped, huffing out a breath at the stark contrast between the warm air in here and the cold air outside. 

“Hey.” He nodded back, clearing his throat as he placed his hands on the ten and two positions of the steering wheel, waiting for you to get settled. 

You could feel the palpable stiffness. You hit an invisible wall every time you wanted to say something casual. Another apology sat locked and loaded on your tongue, but you stopped yourself. You’d already expressed that it was an accident and that you were sorry. Maybe you could try to pretend like the entire thing didn’t happen; maybe that would put you and him back to where you’d been before. 

As Jungwon peeled his car away from the curb, he cleared his throat again. “Listen,” he started, “I’m sorry I snapped at you the other night. I guess I’m just… a little protective over my personal life.” 

You swallowed, giving a small nod. “It’s okay, but really, I get it.” Bang Chan’s face from when you met in Dionysus for the second time—the first time you met his true self—flashed in the forefront of your mind. Something sour settled on your tastebuds. You understood Jungwon completely. “I wouldn’t want people from our line of work knowing about my private life either.”

He bobbed his head and sent you a thin smile. “Right.”

You both fell into silence after that with nothing left to say. There would eventually come a brief discussion over tonight’s goals and what to listen for, but other than that, the car was filled with nothing but the low hum of the radio. Your stomach continued to twist in a painful bind, that the conversation seemed to only widen the gap than resolve anything. 

Hongjoong knew the feeling of disappointment all too well. It was less a sharp stab to the gut like betrayal, and more of a heavy shroud over his shoulders. Paired with an acute sense of failure, one would have one Hell of a frustration cocktail in their hands. He would do anything to get the looming shadow over him to back the fuck up. 

The sound of the office door opening didn't break his attention away from the window. Up in the Crow's Nest, he could see everything and everyone, including their expressions. It was something that helped occupy his mind from simply imploding. 

“Don't tell me—”

Seonghwa's voice, already soft, cut off abruptly at the end. In the reflection of the window, Hongjoong could see Yunho's head shake, his mouth pressed into a grave line. 

When the door closed again, the second in command let out a sigh. “This isn't looking good.”

“How many addresses are left?” Hongjoong gripped the head of his cane as he watched Jongho's group come in through the warehouse doors. He made eye contact with his commander, who had a gleam in his eye and nodded his head. Finally. 

A beat passed. “We still have a couple left. Jongho and San haven't reported back yet.”

“We're about to get good news, I hope,” Hongjoong replied, inclining his chin out the window and turning toward Seonghwa. 

This day had been geared toward the list of addresses the DDC's Yoon Jeonghan had sent over. The addresses were possible locations where the Non-Captain and Mr. Young could be hiding out or making their base of operations. The list had been determined based upon intelligence collected from the men he had scattered all over the city, ranging from first person sightings to suspicious billings for said buildings. 

While Hongjoong didn't exactly trust Jeonghan, he was eager to squash the virus before it got worse. And so far, Jeonghan had yet to let him down. 

Well, until now. But hopefully, with whatever Jongho was returning with, it would all be worth it.  

By the time Jongho arrived at the Crow's Nest, Hongjoong could feel the pent-up anxiety and anticipation buzz through him like the low hum of caffeine at the back of his head. The commander didn't look any worse for wear, fortunately, but he didn't exactly seem to be bringing great tidings either. 

“What'd you find?” Hongjoong asked. 

Jongho shut the door behind him before tucking his hands in front of him. “We have a lead.”

Music to his fucking ears. Hongjoong could feel his heart rate subside briefly, before the adrenaline rushed through in anticipation of what the lead was.

Seonghwa lowered his glasses onto his nose and began flipping through his property documents. “You had the basement off of 23rd street in Sector 2, correct?”

“Aye,” he nodded. “The building used to be an old Laundromat, but had never been sold or remodeled. It was rotting away, basically. We found empty take out containers, filled trash cans, and other signs that people had been there but left in a hurry. There weren't any forms of identification left behind, but we did find remnants of documents in the basket of their paper shredder.”

Hongjoong sucked the inside of his cheek in thought. It was something. He hoped it was something big. He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling. “Good work, Jongho. Have the pieces sent over to be reassembled,” he said. 

“Already done, Captain.”

“And we need to cross-reference the last known owner of that Laundromat with any known associations to Strictland or even one of Mr. Young's aliases. Wooyoung is still working on compiling any other sightings of him throughout the city over the past three years, but cross it with his results once he's finished.”

Jongho gave a sharp nod. “Aye, Captain. Should I have a group keep watch over the location?”

“Yes. That's all—thanks, Jongho.”

The commander ducked out of the room and left the two to themselves once again. 

Hongjoong dragged a hand through his hair and leaned his weight onto his cane. It was something but not much. It would do no one good to be too optimistic at this point. They couldn't even be sure that the reincarnated Strictland had been in that basement, let alone if that had been their hideout all this time. How many members of Strictland were left? Did they have soldiers? 

In the worst case scenario, if none of this led anywhere, then what would be the next step? And what would that mean for his partnership with the DDC? Jeonghan had exchanged their assistance in smoking out this invisible threat for first pass at cromer powder when it hit the streets. He wouldn't send Ateez on a wild goose chase if he knew he couldn't get access to cromer powder otherwise, right?

Mindlessly, he leaned back against the wall by Seonghwa's desk. What to do, what to do…

“What do you think?” Seonghwa voiced aloud suddenly. He peered up from the papers in front of him, turning in the office chair to face Hongjoong with his arms crossed over his chest. “Do you think we're being played?”

In his gut? No. But with the results?... Maybe. “I can't quite tell but it wouldn't make sense,” he admitted. “Yoon's too smart to do that.”

“He is smart,” Seonghwa agreed. “And that's exactly why we should reconsider everything that's happened up until now. They seemed so sure of themselves.”

Hongjoong snorted. “The Diamond District is always sure of themselves.” He knew it first-hand and at every interaction with them. Though, he couldn't shake the feeling prickling in the back of his mind. Of course, he knew that Seonghwa's suspicions had merit; Hongjoong harbored the very same ones, though he didn't say them aloud. There were always contingency plans in place, but that didn't mean he wanted to use them. 

Really, if these were safe houses that members of Strictland were using, then tonight's work did have a productive purpose. After all, how did one go about killing a Hydra?

“We're sure that the product is under lock and key?”

“It's with Ruby, and Ruby is under Yeosang's watch,” he said in reply. It was almost guaranteed that nothing would happen to the product or its maker. If Yeosang lost her, there would be Hell to pay. 

Hongjoong knew the feeling. Or at least, an inkling of it. There was a strange ache in his chest and he rubbed at it absentmindedly with his palm. Perhaps he should be cutting back on the bourbon. 

“San still hasn't come back yet, and once Jongho's paper samples get reassembled and analyzed, there could be something,” Seonghwa stated, as if to console himself. “Maybe… maybe it's time to resort to different measures, Captain.”

He passed his right-hand a glance. He thumbed at his lip, already tasting the heady iron of blood on his tongue. He was itching to get this over with, and sometimes, civilized maneuvers weren't as fast as the alternative. “We’re gonna need to find someone to get information out of first. Any ideas?”

Something twitched over Seonghwa's lips. “I've got some.”

It was the first sign of excitement he'd seen from Seonghwa in a while. This would at least give him something physical to do with his hands. 

“Anything on our other operation?”

Hongjoong raised a brow. “It hasn't been that long since our last update.” At Seonghwa's silence, he prodded, “What's on your mind? I said I was sorry, and I'm not planning on inserting myself there anytime soon.”

Seonghwa leveled a stare at him that would have made any grown man piss his pants, but Hongjoong had practically grown up with that stare by his side. “You better not. It's bad enough that we've got crazy ghosts hell-bent on revenge. I don't need you losing your mind either.”

He grinned at him, suppressing a laugh. “Aw, you think I'm crazy? I'm touched.”

“Oy vey,” he grunted, shaking his head. “What’s our backup plan if Yn doesn't get into the meeting?”

“Now who doesn't have faith?”

“So you admit to not having faith in her?” Seonghwa parried. 

Hongjoong was not deterred. “I never said that,” he shrugged. “She'll get in. I have a feeling.”

“Is that what you're calling it now?”

Always with this, Hongjoong thought to himself. What else could that feeling be? It was normal to feel concerned over an asset or a liability. Sure, he cared a little more than what people might expect, but didn't he always? It was simply that he showed it a little more when it came to you. 

(What did that say about how he felt? Well… he wasn't about to answer that question. There were more important things to worry about at the moment.)

Hongjoong pretended he didn't hear him. “In a couple nights, we'll have the answers we need.”

“And if we don't?”

Another shrug. “I have ideas.” There would always be cards Hongjoong could play. No one was going to get away with forcing him to play mouse, not without him having his turn as the cat. 

Seonghwa held his face in one hand. “I hate that look.”

It was about that time of the night when your thoughts shook at the knees and wobbled down the path of no return. 

Tonight's air coincided with the stress of one event on the near horizon. You could feel it among the floor managers, amongst your coworkers. You could feel the weight of their stares burn into you even if you knew they were looking, boring their judgment into your skull and branding you as an outsider, or a contender, or maybe neither. 

You embedded the corners of your mouth deep into the apples of your cheek until you were unsure if you would ever smile again after tonight. 

“Your pockets are full, hon, go take a break.” Sabine's presence was your desert oasis as you leaned against the bar counter for just a moment of weakness. You'd taken a dive off the deep end tonight, working so many tables, so many clients, you thought you could fill a ledger book with them. 

“I've got about a dozen shots that need to go to table four—”

“Uh-huh, not until you sit down for like, two seconds. Y'know, long enough to breathe?”

There was a conveniently-placed stool at your three o'clock, and you slid right onto it, exhaling when you felt the pressure leave your soles. “Thanks,” you said just loud enough over the house music. 

Sabine nodded. “Yeah… you need a pick-me-up? A shot of whiskey?”

You passed her a look, and she raised her hands in surrender. “It helps; I speak from experience.”

“No, no. I don't doubt you. I used to sip on one tall glass of apple martini the whole night.”

She gave a loud chortle that made you grin. “A martini lasted you the entire shift? What, were you drinking one dew drop at a time?”

“It was a tall glass,” you insisted. “Like a Sex on the Beach glass. Lean, sexy. And I was savoring it.”

“Uh-huh,” she drawled. “Well, superstar, I'll ask Ronni to whip you up one of those tall apple martinis or whatever. Go deposit your tips and shake some tail.” 

You pressed a kiss to her cheek as you slid off the stool. “I appreciate you.”

“I know you do.”

You hurried off after you took a generous gulp of Ronni's apple martini, refueled and reenergized. As the alcohol zipped through you, it was almost as if getting injected with a shot of caffeine. You'd probably feel the crash a little later on, but it would at least make smiling easier. 

If there was one thing you were going to miss about this gig at the Dionysus, it would be Sabine. More than once did you entertain the idea of referring her to work at the Shipwreck. You didn't know how open she would be to a slight change of scenery, but… y'know, maybe the journey home from the Shipwreck to her apartment wouldn't be as bad. 

And maybe, then, you could still see her and be friends. 

Was that against the mafia spy code or something? Did it make you soft? (Maybe that was a good thing.)

By the end of the night, the lights had become haloes and you were slightly buzzed. You'd ingested the drink slow enough that you were only tipsy, and nothing that a cold drink of water wouldn't fix. 

All that mattered was that you had smashed your quota. 

“Dove,” you heard Ha-yi say as she appeared around the corridor by the staff monitor. Your coworkers had largely disappeared into the break room, waiting for tips to be split. “I need to speak with you for a moment.”

You nodded, logging out of the monitor. “Sure.”

“In the managers’ office.”

The organ in your ribcage shot out of a cannon. You just barely nodded in time for it to look natural. “Uhm, sure. Yeah. Lead the way.”

Ha-yi beckoned you toward the back hallway with the flick of two of her fingers, turning and walking on. You went after her, rolling your shoulders back and counting to ten in your head, wringing your sweaty hands in front of you, and trying to keep your heels from folding beneath you. 

You wondered if this was what a perp walk was like—like in those crime shows, where the cops walked the perpetrator out through the crowd like some backwards runway show. 

You caught Jungwon's eyes as you went through the kitchen, his dark eyes widening only slightly at the sight of you trailing after your floor manager. Silently, you made a gesture, something simple to signal where you were going. 

He sent you back a small nod, apprehensively turning back to the sink, but still watching you from his periphery. 

As you and Ha-yi neared the back room, the buzz of chatter hit your ears. A wave of quiet washed over the room, but you kept your gaze straight in an effort to steel your nerves. 

Nervous about speaking to the managers, you said in your head. Nervous about if I got promoted for promotion's sake, not because of anything else. Promotion, promotion, promotion, promotion—

If that was all you thought, then they couldn't possibly read anything else from you, right?

By the time you reached the managers’ office, you swore you could fill buckets with the sweat from your palms. You wiped them down on the sides of your dress, eying the gold sliver of light slicing into the hallway from beneath the door. 

The door itself was a large slab of dark, polished wood. Two silver plates were drilled into its surface, reading Cheung Leon and Ly Caden, respectively. 

Ha-yi gave a firm knock against its surface. 

A muffled voice emerged from within, and Ha-yi replied by stating who she was and who she had with her. 

When there came a second round of muffled voices, she nodded to you and opened the door. 

Immediately, you held back from flinching at the smell of weed. There was a light, smoky film settled over the dimly lit room. It was rather spacious, with casual lounge seating and two large desks in different areas of the room. Something groovy, like jazz, filtered into the hazy air. Upon the two, L-shaped sofas at the center of the room sat only one man, of which you recognized as Cheung Leon of Cheung and Ly. 

He was a sturdy man with broad shoulders and a pair of hands adorned in large, bejeweled rings. Even in the dim lighting, he had a pair of dark shades perched on his nose. He reminded you staunchly of the classic mobsters from several decades ago; all he needed was the over-the-top hat and leopard print suit. 

He grinned from around his joint. “Ah! Well if it isn't my new star! Dolly, is it?”

“Dove,” Ha-yi coughed as she nudged the door closed with her foot. 

“Dove!” He stood and opened his arms out wide in welcome. His eyes peered over the rim of his glasses, and you swore, you could feel them roll up the length of your body from the tips of your kitten heels to the hairs on your head. 

You reined in a violent shiver, but plastered a smile on your face. The weed in the air was kind of helping, though you remained unnervingly alert. 

“My,” he murmured with a smile that made you wish you owned a gun, “she is beautiful. Nice legs… very nice face. You've made quite a few men happy, little lady, including me. You know—with all the money you've raised, of course.”

When the urge to gag threatened to bubble out, you pretended to laugh. “All in a night's work, sir.”

Manager Cheung glanced over at Ha-yi. “I do like her. Why didn't we decide to make her a VIP girl sooner?”

“We weren't sure if Lilac would recover in time.”

“Bah! Cut her loose already! That dimwit has taken too many days off.” He turned on his heel and made his way back toward the couch. “You hear me, Ha-yi?”

Ha-yi nodded. “Right away, sir.”

Manager Cheung's smile returned to his face as he turned his attention back to you. You could feel your feet angling toward the door, ready to bolt, but you glued your heels to the floor. “Dove, come. Let's have a drink to celebrate!”

“I,” you coughed, “really shouldn't, sir. I don't think that would be very professional.”

Your heart dropped as his smile grew an edge. The shark had just flashed you his great whites, and they looked like they hurt. “It wouldn't be very professional for you to reject an innocent request from me, would it now?”

“Sir,” Ha-yi cut in, and suddenly, you could breathe again. “You haven't even told her what you are celebrating.”

The man blinked. “Oh! How silly of me. Well, if it wasn't obvious already, we would like you to join our VIP waitressing line.”

You smiled, inwardly pumping your fist at the ceiling and through this guy's teeth. “I would be honored, sir. When do I start?”

“Right to business,” he marveled. “We are hosting a very important meeting in two nights, with a handful of very important guests. You'll have to come in during daylight hours to train before then. Ha-yi will provide you with all the necessary details.”

“Understood.” You bit back a smile. Finally, a success that you could report back to Hongjoong—

“So,” Manager Cheung said, “how about that drink, hm? You know, this couch is incredibly comfortable, my dear. Do you like jazz?”

A bucket of cold water washed over you. “I, uhm, I do appreciate the invitation, sir, but—”

“Do you have a family you're providing for?” he asked airily before bringing the joint to his lips and inhaling deeply. A trail of smoke seeped from his mouth as he continued, “Or perhaps you enjoy luxury items? A string of pearls would look… divine around your neck.”

You stole a glance at Ha-yi, who looked about ready to say something herself. What did one do in this situation? Would he ruin any chance you had if you rejected his advances? 

“I wouldn't be able to wake up in time for training if I spent more time here with you, sir,” you said sweetly. “I'm very eager to impress you even more with my performance on the VIP wait staff.”

You smiled, as pretty as you could manage, batting your eyelashes and folding your hands in front of you. All the while, every fiber of your being screamed to run. 

The smoke was on the verge of suffocating you by the time he replied. A slow, appreciative smile curled onto his face. “I suppose I see your point. I'll look forward to your performance in two nights.”

Taking her chance, Ha-yi blurted a good-bye to her boss, then grabbed you by the arm to whisk you out of that hellhole.  

The night was three drinks deep by the time you arrived on Hongjoong's doorstep. 

Jungwon dropped you off as normal, and you waved good-bye to him briefly over your shoulder when the Captain hauled the warehouse door open. His silhouette against the lights inside made him into a lighthouse to the storm brewing in the horizon. 

Or maybe that was from secondhand smoking. It wasn't your fault your only choice earlier had been to stop breathing or breathe exhaled weed air. 

The sea breeze out here had been enough to clear your mind and lungs, at least. You couldn't be too sure about inhibitions, but you made it here, didn't you?

“Don't you ever bring pants?” were his greeting words to you as he fussed over the way your coat barely covered enough of your bare legs. “Aren't you ever cold?”

“I'm usually in the car the whole time anyway,” you said, dismissing his concerns. “I have good news though.”

He rested his hands on his hips. “It couldn't have been said in an email?”

“So you don't wanna see me?”

You had meant it as a joke, but the question seemed to stop him in his tracks. Heat crept up the back of your neck, spreading rapidly over your skin like a forest ablaze. “You don't have to answer that,” you chuckled, rubbing your arm. 

He peered at you through his lashes. “Come on upstairs,” he said, nodding upward. He offered you his elbow, and you could have burst into a ball of flames then and there. 

“I got it, by the way.” You held onto him as the pair of you made your way up the stairs. “I was promoted to the VIP line tonight.”

“If you think I ever doubted you—”

“You put a lot of faith in me,” you noted. “Not that I mind, it's just that, you're on someone's shit list, Joong.”

Hongjoong cocked an amused brow at you. “Am I on your shit list?”

“Not yet.”

You beamed at the sight of his smirk, the one he had to duck his head to hide, but couldn't suppress completely. Some mafia boss he made. For a second, it was way too easy to forget who he was. 

He was just Hongjoong tonight, right now. 

You cleared your throat. “I'm starting training right away—tomorrow morning, actually. Well, I guess it's this morning now. And the meeting is taking place in two nights,” you told him as he helped you onto the sofa. 

“Drink?” he offered with a tip of bourbon decanter. 

You shook your head. “I'm good, thanks.”

He set the glass down and settled on the edge of the table right in front of you, as always. Maybe it was the residual intoxication—was that how it worked?—but you swore his eyes grew even darker as he leaned over his knees just then. 

“The DDC gave us a list of possible locations for Strictland's current base of operations,” he said. “Most of them didn't give us much, but we might have gotten something.”

You frowned. “Might have?”

He tilted his head to the side in a half shrug. “It's… something. Maybe. But you don't need to worry about that, dove; let's talk about you.”

I don't really wanna talk about me. The exhaustion was quickly seeping into your bones, water swimming up paper. He sounded like the rich, deep caramel notes of a bottle of bourbon. Didn't they say 'you are what you drink’ or something like that? “I guess whatever keeps you talking,” you blurted. “I like your voice.”

A low chuckle fell from his mouth and he closed the gap even further, but still not enough, to reach over and tap the space between your eyes. “I know you're tired, doll, so I'll make this quick.

“I know that we didn't get to talk about Chan fully, but he will be there at the meeting. He's on our side, so if something goes wrong with Jungwon—”

Your eyes shuddered. Should you tell him about Jungwon?

“—he’ll be there as a backup. Just focus on listening, but do what is expected of you for your job. But if”— he suddenly stopped himself, his mouth still open from the words he didn't push out through breath and sound. 

It woke you up a little. “What?”

Hongjoong shook his head, and when you blinked, it was like nothing crossed his face. “Nothing.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You're not telling me something.”

“I just don't think it's something that is right to say now,” he replied, picking and stringing his words together carefully. “Aren't you supposed to be tired?”

“I'm tired, not blind,” you quipped and wrinkled your nose at him. “Does Seonghwa approve?”

“Does he ever?”

That made a giggle bubble out of your chest before you could stop it. You slapped a palm of your mouth, even if your eyes still narrowed into upturned crescents filled with mirth. 

There was something in the way he looked at you then, chin resting in the palm of his hand. 

Your pulse thrummed against your throat and you couldn't breathe again, but it wasn't because you were suffocating on secondhand smoke or nerves. This was something far more dangerous. 

“Do you trust me?”

The question brought you back to the present. You sent him a strange look. “What do you mean?”

Hongjoong repeated the question. 

You nodded. “I do.” Once upon a time, you would've said that it was against your better judgment. 

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

Right. Your mind wandered to two nights from now, in the very near future. What role was Bang Chan going to play at this meeting? How would you know how to proceed with him if something went wrong with Jungwon?

And the latter—that was a can of worms on its own. Everytime you returned to this hesitation, you had to do backflips to convince yourself that Jungwon still had your back, one hundred percent. It was difficult to put your finger on it. 

You felt a hand gently take your chin and bring your attention to the man in front of you. Hongjoong had a crease between his brows now, eyes roving over your facial expression. “Hey, what's wrong? What do I need to know?”

It's nothing. You shook your head, waving him off. “No, it's nothing,” you promised. “I'm just—it’s residual nerves.” You had become too good of a liar recently, but somehow, he could always see right through you. 

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Residual nerves still come from somewhere. Yn, what aren't you telling me?”

Perhaps you were making a mountain out of a molehill. Jungwon apologized, he seemed to be worried when you were being led by Ha-yi to the manager's office, and he hadn't abandoned you tonight. “Do you trust me?” you found yourself asking, fully aware that you were taking his exact road out. 

“You're a sly one,” he grunted. 

“I learn from the best.”

That made him break. “Agree to trust each other?” he said at last. He seemed resolved to leave it at that for the night, but part of you wished to believe he would have trusted you in any other context, too. 

You didn't want to know what that meant, for him or for you. 

You nodded. “Agree to trust each other.” 

Before you left for the evening (truly, an ungodly hour of the morning, rather), you remembered the slim tube of lipstick stashed in your purse. You stood upon the threshold of the warehouse with Hongjoong, fishing the cosmetic out. 

“I found this earlier today.” You demonstrated the pushing mechanism that turned on the red light.

Hongjoong's face flickered with light surprise. “Sakura didn't show you? Polaris is an investment for most people, so having a way to track down their lost or stolen item was built into the design,” he explained. He tapped the red light with the tip of his pointer finger, eyes still on you. “There's an app and code it comes with somewhere on the box, but I have it if you threw it out.”

You chuckled. “You have it, too?”

He smiled slightly, shrugging as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, I did buy it for you, dove. Just promise you won't lose it.”

“I'll chain it to my wrist if I have to,” you said in partial jest. 

“Atta girl.”

a/n: pls reblog if u enjoyed !

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[sungbeam]

BIRDS OF PREY — fourteen

nonidol!kim hongjoong x f!reader

living in gray areas of your city, out of the way of gangs and mafia territories, could only keep you safe for so long. it was only a matter of time before you began running into problems, or rather, problems began running into you.

▷ genre, warnings. nc-17, strangers 2 lovers, slow burn, mafia au, angst, swearing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of money laundering, workplace power dynamics and uncomfortable propositions, mentions of tracking devices, mentions of weed (reader does not smoke it, only inhales it secondhand bc of someone else in the room), one allusion to violent methods of extracting information (nothing is explicitly stated), barely proofread like idek if i can be considered conscious rn laskdfjndsk

▷ word count. 6.6k

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a/n: i finished this last night at abt the same time yn was crashing out at work in this chapter 🤡 also the way this chapter ended up this long... it was literally supposed to be so short.....

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: HOW TO KILL A HYDRA

“I FEEL LIKE I HAVEN'T seen you in forever,” groaned Ryujin as the two of you boisterously shouldered your way into the apartment, arms full of grocery bags for the week. Her face was flush from the sting of winter morning air, but a smile stretched across her mouth nonetheless. 

You couldn't disagree with her. Your face was just as nipped by the winter cold, but you were undoubtedly aglow from the much needed girl time from this morning. “And apparently we live together,” you joked. 

After all the tension and chaos your working at Dionysus brought you, a moment of normalcy was all you wanted. Lately, both you and Ryujin were mutually swamped with work and college, meaning it was nearly impossible to speak to one another besides the passing-by wave or a post-it note left on the door. But this morning had been yours and Ryujin's temporary strike in order to finally spend time together. 

Ryujin wiped an invisible bead of sweat from her forehead after wrestling the bags in her hands onto the kitchen counter. “Phew. I… am so out of shape. How about you?”

You grunted in response, nearly flopping onto the counter with your own bags. “I'm doing great,” you replied in exaggerated panting, though some of it wasn't exaggerated. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

She snorted, turning to the fridge. “It was a good thing we got breakfast before we left,” she said, “but I can't believe it was so crowded this morning. On a weekday, too.”

“You’re not the only one who got today off, I guess,” you said with a shrug. You dug out items from the bags to pass along to Ryujin. The only reason why this morning was even possible was because it was one of those random national holidays that came up too quick for anyone to remember. It celebrated some distant figure from the country's past; you undoubtedly learned about him in school, but his only legacy today was giving some folks a day off from their 9-to-5. 

She accepted a jug of dairy creamer from you with a hum. “Hm, you're right. I still think it's so foul that you have to go to work tonight. I mean—club workers should get national holidays off, too!”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I wish. It's too bad there isn't a bartender or waiter union in this city.”

“You should start one.”

“If only I had the time,” you lamented. Even as you threw out jokes, your stomach twisted. There wasn’t much time left before the meeting at the end of this week, and if you didn’t leave work tonight with the news that you were hoping for, you feared there might be Hell to pay. 

Your friend let out a noncommittal hum. “Well, at the very least, I could drop you off at work. I have lots of time today, anyways, so—”

The jar of maraschino cherries slipped from your grasp, and your hands fumbled to claw it back into the safety of your possession. The glass clunked noisily against the countertop as you used your front as an extra hand. “You don’t have to,” you said quickly.

Ryujin sent you a look, carefully taking the jar of cherries from you. “Oh. Are you sure? I never get to drop you off.”

“Really, you don’t have to,” you replied with feigned nonchalance. You glanced over at her briefly but pulled your eyes away just as fast. Your mind raced with the memory of Chan—he already knew who Ryujin was and interacted with her plenty. You needed to keep her out of this. “It’s getting a little more dangerous around here lately, especially with how dark it gets. And you know Jungwon comes to pick me up, so it’s all good.”

You wondered if she could hear your pulse, if she could see the guilt scrawled across your face like some glaring neon sign. 

In times like these, a moment sometimes felt like five years. 

“Right, I forgot.” Ryujin was turned away toward the fridge when your eyes darted back to her. 

“I appreciate it though,” you were quick to add. It’s just better this way. 

She shot you a smile; if you didn’t know her like you did, you might have been relieved to see it. “Maybe another time then. Just stay safe yourself, Yn.”

“I always am,” you hummed, a little too easily. Speaking of safety… “So, uhm, y'know Chan.”

In your periphery, Ryujin straightened like an arrow, perked up like a puppy. You realized your mistake far too late. “What about Chan?” she asked you with that teasing lilt at the end. She flounced over on the balls of her feet, plucking up the bundle of lettuce from your hands and wagging her brows. 

You inwardly facepalmed. Oh, could you be more subtle today? You forced a laugh. “It's not like that,” you insisted, though to no avail. “I was just wondering if you'd seen him around the office lately.”

Yeah, like saying that wasn't any more suspicious. 

Ryujin's expression practically screamed a similar sentiment, but she only cocked a brow at you and replied, “Now that I think about it, not really. He's swung by maybe once since the party, but he must be busy or something.”

Unfortunately, that only made it seem more plausible in your mind that Chan only sought Ryujin out to get to you, and ultimately, to Hongjoong. How did he know? And when? “Oh,” you said. “Must be, I guess. He mentioned something about the acquisitions industry.”

“Yeah,” your friend snorted. “Acquisitions is just a friendlier term for a less savory business.”

You paused. “Really.”

“Yeah.” Ryujin had her back to you as she shoved a box of ice cream sandwiches into the freezer. “One of my coworkers said it must be some kind of black market thing. Of course, it's not something that can be proven, but that's what people usually mean when they say 'acquisitions.’”

Great, so you had the answer glaring at you the entire time. There was still much you had left to learn. Your pulse still pounded against your throat though, unable to rid your mind of the dread seeping into your bones as you uncovered more information. 

“And that doesn't change your mind about him?” you asked next, slowly, while gauging her reaction. 

She shrugged. “Not particularly,” she said flippantly. Ryujin bumped the freezer closed with her hand as she turned to face you. “He's nice enough, but y'know, I like his friend Yeji a lot more.”

A sly smile curled onto your lips, and you felt a laugh bubble out of your chest as you noted Ryujin's own bashfulness began to peer through her nonchalance. “Yeah, forget about Chan. It's time for you to catch me up on her.”

When night casted its wide net over the city once more, you found yourself packing your bag for the work shift ahead of you. You quietly stuffed your small purse with the essentials: clothes tape, body tape, perfume, breath mints, pads, Band-Aids, and of course— 

Before you let her join the rest, you swiped a bit of Aurora over your lips. As you massaged the color into an even spread, you stared at the slim, gold tube in your hand. Your reflection appeared on its surface, albeit distorted and gold-tinted. 

Never in your wildest dreams had you ever thought you would end up doing this—playing spy for organized crime, as a bottle girl in a territory outside the gray areas. Perhaps the gravity of your situation had yet to catch up to you. 

You pushed out an exhale through your mouth, mindlessly fidgeting with the tube while you waited for Jungwon's text… Then, there was him. After the other night, with his strange behavior, you admittedly felt your pulse rush in anticipation of the tension. 

Maybe this Jjong hyung person was a sore spot, but regardless, you hoped this wouldn't put a damper on yours and Jungwon's working relationship. It was just—you’d never seen him act that way before. He didn't seem capable of reacting like that.

“You don't really know him that well though,” you muttered to yourself, now holding the sealed lipstick tube like a ballpoint pen. “You can't claim to know anything about anyone—”

Ca-schink!

You jolted. 

Your thumb had pressed down upon the end of the tube and activated a mechanism. A soft red light now emitted from its apex. 

You squinted at it, curious. When you pressed down on it again, the light disappeared, along with any trace of what you just saw, as if it had retracted back into the end of the tube. 

The light itself was not nearly bright enough to act as a flashlight, nor was it some blacklight that could reveal invisible ink (you guessed). Could it be…

Your phone buzzed on the table. 

jwon 😸: i'm here

This would have to wait until later. 

You clicked the lipstick into the off position, shoved it into your bag, and headed out. With forecasts of snow on the horizon, the air had developed a sharper edge to it lately. You tugged the sides of your thick coat tighter around you, instinctively checking both ways before scurrying across the road to where Jungwon was parked. At least you could still count on him for this. 

He was seated in the driver’s seat, as usual, his phone screen casting a white glow across his face and creating a glare over the lenses of his glasses. 

Don’t make this awkward, you thought to yourself as you rounded to the passenger’s side of the car and let yourself in. 

“Hey,” you chirped, huffing out a breath at the stark contrast between the warm air in here and the cold air outside. 

“Hey.” He nodded back, clearing his throat as he placed his hands on the ten and two positions of the steering wheel, waiting for you to get settled. 

You could feel the palpable stiffness. You hit an invisible wall every time you wanted to say something casual. Another apology sat locked and loaded on your tongue, but you stopped yourself. You’d already expressed that it was an accident and that you were sorry. Maybe you could try to pretend like the entire thing didn’t happen; maybe that would put you and him back to where you’d been before. 

As Jungwon peeled his car away from the curb, he cleared his throat again. “Listen,” he started, “I’m sorry I snapped at you the other night. I guess I’m just… a little protective over my personal life.” 

You swallowed, giving a small nod. “It’s okay, but really, I get it.” Bang Chan’s face from when you met in Dionysus for the second time—the first time you met his true self—flashed in the forefront of your mind. Something sour settled on your tastebuds. You understood Jungwon completely. “I wouldn’t want people from our line of work knowing about my private life either.”

He bobbed his head and sent you a thin smile. “Right.”

You both fell into silence after that with nothing left to say. There would eventually come a brief discussion over tonight’s goals and what to listen for, but other than that, the car was filled with nothing but the low hum of the radio. Your stomach continued to twist in a painful bind, that the conversation seemed to only widen the gap than resolve anything. 

Hongjoong knew the feeling of disappointment all too well. It was less a sharp stab to the gut like betrayal, and more of a heavy shroud over his shoulders. Paired with an acute sense of failure, one would have one Hell of a frustration cocktail in their hands. He would do anything to get the looming shadow over him to back the fuck up. 

The sound of the office door opening didn't break his attention away from the window. Up in the Crow's Nest, he could see everything and everyone, including their expressions. It was something that helped occupy his mind from simply imploding. 

“Don't tell me—”

Seonghwa's voice, already soft, cut off abruptly at the end. In the reflection of the window, Hongjoong could see Yunho's head shake, his mouth pressed into a grave line. 

When the door closed again, the second in command let out a sigh. “This isn't looking good.”

“How many addresses are left?” Hongjoong gripped the head of his cane as he watched Jongho's group come in through the warehouse doors. He made eye contact with his commander, who had a gleam in his eye and nodded his head. Finally. 

A beat passed. “We still have a couple left. Jongho and San haven't reported back yet.”

“We're about to get good news, I hope,” Hongjoong replied, inclining his chin out the window and turning toward Seonghwa. 

This day had been geared toward the list of addresses the DDC's Yoon Jeonghan had sent over. The addresses were possible locations where the Non-Captain and Mr. Young could be hiding out or making their base of operations. The list had been determined based upon intelligence collected from the men he had scattered all over the city, ranging from first person sightings to suspicious billings for said buildings. 

While Hongjoong didn't exactly trust Jeonghan, he was eager to squash the virus before it got worse. And so far, Jeonghan had yet to let him down. 

Well, until now. But hopefully, with whatever Jongho was returning with, it would all be worth it.  

By the time Jongho arrived at the Crow's Nest, Hongjoong could feel the pent-up anxiety and anticipation buzz through him like the low hum of caffeine at the back of his head. The commander didn't look any worse for wear, fortunately, but he didn't exactly seem to be bringing great tidings either. 

“What'd you find?” Hongjoong asked. 

Jongho shut the door behind him before tucking his hands in front of him. “We have a lead.”

Music to his fucking ears. Hongjoong could feel his heart rate subside briefly, before the adrenaline rushed through in anticipation of what the lead was.

Seonghwa lowered his glasses onto his nose and began flipping through his property documents. “You had the basement off of 23rd street in Sector 2, correct?”

“Aye,” he nodded. “The building used to be an old Laundromat, but had never been sold or remodeled. It was rotting away, basically. We found empty take out containers, filled trash cans, and other signs that people had been there but left in a hurry. There weren't any forms of identification left behind, but we did find remnants of documents in the basket of their paper shredder.”

Hongjoong sucked the inside of his cheek in thought. It was something. He hoped it was something big. He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling. “Good work, Jongho. Have the pieces sent over to be reassembled,” he said. 

“Already done, Captain.”

“And we need to cross-reference the last known owner of that Laundromat with any known associations to Strictland or even one of Mr. Young's aliases. Wooyoung is still working on compiling any other sightings of him throughout the city over the past three years, but cross it with his results once he's finished.”

Jongho gave a sharp nod. “Aye, Captain. Should I have a group keep watch over the location?”

“Yes. That's all—thanks, Jongho.”

The commander ducked out of the room and left the two to themselves once again. 

Hongjoong dragged a hand through his hair and leaned his weight onto his cane. It was something but not much. It would do no one good to be too optimistic at this point. They couldn't even be sure that the reincarnated Strictland had been in that basement, let alone if that had been their hideout all this time. How many members of Strictland were left? Did they have soldiers? 

In the worst case scenario, if none of this led anywhere, then what would be the next step? And what would that mean for his partnership with the DDC? Jeonghan had exchanged their assistance in smoking out this invisible threat for first pass at cromer powder when it hit the streets. He wouldn't send Ateez on a wild goose chase if he knew he couldn't get access to cromer powder otherwise, right?

Mindlessly, he leaned back against the wall by Seonghwa's desk. What to do, what to do…

“What do you think?” Seonghwa voiced aloud suddenly. He peered up from the papers in front of him, turning in the office chair to face Hongjoong with his arms crossed over his chest. “Do you think we're being played?”

In his gut? No. But with the results?... Maybe. “I can't quite tell but it wouldn't make sense,” he admitted. “Yoon's too smart to do that.”

“He is smart,” Seonghwa agreed. “And that's exactly why we should reconsider everything that's happened up until now. They seemed so sure of themselves.”

Hongjoong snorted. “The Diamond District is always sure of themselves.” He knew it first-hand and at every interaction with them. Though, he couldn't shake the feeling prickling in the back of his mind. Of course, he knew that Seonghwa's suspicions had merit; Hongjoong harbored the very same ones, though he didn't say them aloud. There were always contingency plans in place, but that didn't mean he wanted to use them. 

Really, if these were safe houses that members of Strictland were using, then tonight's work did have a productive purpose. After all, how did one go about killing a Hydra?

“We're sure that the product is under lock and key?”

“It's with Ruby, and Ruby is under Yeosang's watch,” he said in reply. It was almost guaranteed that nothing would happen to the product or its maker. If Yeosang lost her, there would be Hell to pay. 

Hongjoong knew the feeling. Or at least, an inkling of it. There was a strange ache in his chest and he rubbed at it absentmindedly with his palm. Perhaps he should be cutting back on the bourbon. 

“San still hasn't come back yet, and once Jongho's paper samples get reassembled and analyzed, there could be something,” Seonghwa stated, as if to console himself. “Maybe… maybe it's time to resort to different measures, Captain.”

He passed his right-hand a glance. He thumbed at his lip, already tasting the heady iron of blood on his tongue. He was itching to get this over with, and sometimes, civilized maneuvers weren't as fast as the alternative. “We’re gonna need to find someone to get information out of first. Any ideas?”

Something twitched over Seonghwa's lips. “I've got some.”

It was the first sign of excitement he'd seen from Seonghwa in a while. This would at least give him something physical to do with his hands. 

“Anything on our other operation?”

Hongjoong raised a brow. “It hasn't been that long since our last update.” At Seonghwa's silence, he prodded, “What's on your mind? I said I was sorry, and I'm not planning on inserting myself there anytime soon.”

Seonghwa leveled a stare at him that would have made any grown man piss his pants, but Hongjoong had practically grown up with that stare by his side. “You better not. It's bad enough that we've got crazy ghosts hell-bent on revenge. I don't need you losing your mind either.”

He grinned at him, suppressing a laugh. “Aw, you think I'm crazy? I'm touched.”

“Oy vey,” he grunted, shaking his head. “What’s our backup plan if Yn doesn't get into the meeting?”

“Now who doesn't have faith?”

“So you admit to not having faith in her?” Seonghwa parried. 

Hongjoong was not deterred. “I never said that,” he shrugged. “She'll get in. I have a feeling.”

“Is that what you're calling it now?”

Always with this, Hongjoong thought to himself. What else could that feeling be? It was normal to feel concerned over an asset or a liability. Sure, he cared a little more than what people might expect, but didn't he always? It was simply that he showed it a little more when it came to you. 

(What did that say about how he felt? Well… he wasn't about to answer that question. There were more important things to worry about at the moment.)

Hongjoong pretended he didn't hear him. “In a couple nights, we'll have the answers we need.”

“And if we don't?”

Another shrug. “I have ideas.” There would always be cards Hongjoong could play. No one was going to get away with forcing him to play mouse, not without him having his turn as the cat. 

Seonghwa held his face in one hand. “I hate that look.”

It was about that time of the night when your thoughts shook at the knees and wobbled down the path of no return. 

Tonight's air coincided with the stress of one event on the near horizon. You could feel it among the floor managers, amongst your coworkers. You could feel the weight of their stares burn into you even if you knew they were looking, boring their judgment into your skull and branding you as an outsider, or a contender, or maybe neither. 

You embedded the corners of your mouth deep into the apples of your cheek until you were unsure if you would ever smile again after tonight. 

“Your pockets are full, hon, go take a break.” Sabine's presence was your desert oasis as you leaned against the bar counter for just a moment of weakness. You'd taken a dive off the deep end tonight, working so many tables, so many clients, you thought you could fill a ledger book with them. 

“I've got about a dozen shots that need to go to table four—”

“Uh-huh, not until you sit down for like, two seconds. Y'know, long enough to breathe?”

There was a conveniently-placed stool at your three o'clock, and you slid right onto it, exhaling when you felt the pressure leave your soles. “Thanks,” you said just loud enough over the house music. 

Sabine nodded. “Yeah… you need a pick-me-up? A shot of whiskey?”

You passed her a look, and she raised her hands in surrender. “It helps; I speak from experience.”

“No, no. I don't doubt you. I used to sip on one tall glass of apple martini the whole night.”

She gave a loud chortle that made you grin. “A martini lasted you the entire shift? What, were you drinking one dew drop at a time?”

“It was a tall glass,” you insisted. “Like a Sex on the Beach glass. Lean, sexy. And I was savoring it.”

“Uh-huh,” she drawled. “Well, superstar, I'll ask Ronni to whip you up one of those tall apple martinis or whatever. Go deposit your tips and shake some tail.” 

You pressed a kiss to her cheek as you slid off the stool. “I appreciate you.”

“I know you do.”

You hurried off after you took a generous gulp of Ronni's apple martini, refueled and reenergized. As the alcohol zipped through you, it was almost as if getting injected with a shot of caffeine. You'd probably feel the crash a little later on, but it would at least make smiling easier. 

If there was one thing you were going to miss about this gig at the Dionysus, it would be Sabine. More than once did you entertain the idea of referring her to work at the Shipwreck. You didn't know how open she would be to a slight change of scenery, but… y'know, maybe the journey home from the Shipwreck to her apartment wouldn't be as bad. 

And maybe, then, you could still see her and be friends. 

Was that against the mafia spy code or something? Did it make you soft? (Maybe that was a good thing.)

By the end of the night, the lights had become haloes and you were slightly buzzed. You'd ingested the drink slow enough that you were only tipsy, and nothing that a cold drink of water wouldn't fix. 

All that mattered was that you had smashed your quota. 

“Dove,” you heard Ha-yi say as she appeared around the corridor by the staff monitor. Your coworkers had largely disappeared into the break room, waiting for tips to be split. “I need to speak with you for a moment.”

You nodded, logging out of the monitor. “Sure.”

“In the managers’ office.”

The organ in your ribcage shot out of a cannon. You just barely nodded in time for it to look natural. “Uhm, sure. Yeah. Lead the way.”

Ha-yi beckoned you toward the back hallway with the flick of two of her fingers, turning and walking on. You went after her, rolling your shoulders back and counting to ten in your head, wringing your sweaty hands in front of you, and trying to keep your heels from folding beneath you. 

You wondered if this was what a perp walk was like—like in those crime shows, where the cops walked the perpetrator out through the crowd like some backwards runway show. 

You caught Jungwon's eyes as you went through the kitchen, his dark eyes widening only slightly at the sight of you trailing after your floor manager. Silently, you made a gesture, something simple to signal where you were going. 

He sent you back a small nod, apprehensively turning back to the sink, but still watching you from his periphery. 

As you and Ha-yi neared the back room, the buzz of chatter hit your ears. A wave of quiet washed over the room, but you kept your gaze straight in an effort to steel your nerves. 

Nervous about speaking to the managers, you said in your head. Nervous about if I got promoted for promotion's sake, not because of anything else. Promotion, promotion, promotion, promotion—

If that was all you thought, then they couldn't possibly read anything else from you, right?

By the time you reached the managers’ office, you swore you could fill buckets with the sweat from your palms. You wiped them down on the sides of your dress, eying the gold sliver of light slicing into the hallway from beneath the door. 

The door itself was a large slab of dark, polished wood. Two silver plates were drilled into its surface, reading Cheung Leon and Ly Caden, respectively. 

Ha-yi gave a firm knock against its surface. 

A muffled voice emerged from within, and Ha-yi replied by stating who she was and who she had with her. 

When there came a second round of muffled voices, she nodded to you and opened the door. 

Immediately, you held back from flinching at the smell of weed. There was a light, smoky film settled over the dimly lit room. It was rather spacious, with casual lounge seating and two large desks in different areas of the room. Something groovy, like jazz, filtered into the hazy air. Upon the two, L-shaped sofas at the center of the room sat only one man, of which you recognized as Cheung Leon of Cheung and Ly. 

He was a sturdy man with broad shoulders and a pair of hands adorned in large, bejeweled rings. Even in the dim lighting, he had a pair of dark shades perched on his nose. He reminded you staunchly of the classic mobsters from several decades ago; all he needed was the over-the-top hat and leopard print suit. 

He grinned from around his joint. “Ah! Well if it isn't my new star! Dolly, is it?”

“Dove,” Ha-yi coughed as she nudged the door closed with her foot. 

“Dove!” He stood and opened his arms out wide in welcome. His eyes peered over the rim of his glasses, and you swore, you could feel them roll up the length of your body from the tips of your kitten heels to the hairs on your head. 

You reined in a violent shiver, but plastered a smile on your face. The weed in the air was kind of helping, though you remained unnervingly alert. 

“My,” he murmured with a smile that made you wish you owned a gun, “she is beautiful. Nice legs… very nice face. You've made quite a few men happy, little lady, including me. You know—with all the money you've raised, of course.”

When the urge to gag threatened to bubble out, you pretended to laugh. “All in a night's work, sir.”

Manager Cheung glanced over at Ha-yi. “I do like her. Why didn't we decide to make her a VIP girl sooner?”

“We weren't sure if Lilac would recover in time.”

“Bah! Cut her loose already! That dimwit has taken too many days off.” He turned on his heel and made his way back toward the couch. “You hear me, Ha-yi?”

Ha-yi nodded. “Right away, sir.”

Manager Cheung's smile returned to his face as he turned his attention back to you. You could feel your feet angling toward the door, ready to bolt, but you glued your heels to the floor. “Dove, come. Let's have a drink to celebrate!”

“I,” you coughed, “really shouldn't, sir. I don't think that would be very professional.”

Your heart dropped as his smile grew an edge. The shark had just flashed you his great whites, and they looked like they hurt. “It wouldn't be very professional for you to reject an innocent request from me, would it now?”

“Sir,” Ha-yi cut in, and suddenly, you could breathe again. “You haven't even told her what you are celebrating.”

The man blinked. “Oh! How silly of me. Well, if it wasn't obvious already, we would like you to join our VIP waitressing line.”

You smiled, inwardly pumping your fist at the ceiling and through this guy's teeth. “I would be honored, sir. When do I start?”

“Right to business,” he marveled. “We are hosting a very important meeting in two nights, with a handful of very important guests. You'll have to come in during daylight hours to train before then. Ha-yi will provide you with all the necessary details.”

“Understood.” You bit back a smile. Finally, a success that you could report back to Hongjoong—

“So,” Manager Cheung said, “how about that drink, hm? You know, this couch is incredibly comfortable, my dear. Do you like jazz?”

A bucket of cold water washed over you. “I, uhm, I do appreciate the invitation, sir, but—”

“Do you have a family you're providing for?” he asked airily before bringing the joint to his lips and inhaling deeply. A trail of smoke seeped from his mouth as he continued, “Or perhaps you enjoy luxury items? A string of pearls would look… divine around your neck.”

You stole a glance at Ha-yi, who looked about ready to say something herself. What did one do in this situation? Would he ruin any chance you had if you rejected his advances? 

“I wouldn't be able to wake up in time for training if I spent more time here with you, sir,” you said sweetly. “I'm very eager to impress you even more with my performance on the VIP wait staff.”

You smiled, as pretty as you could manage, batting your eyelashes and folding your hands in front of you. All the while, every fiber of your being screamed to run. 

The smoke was on the verge of suffocating you by the time he replied. A slow, appreciative smile curled onto his face. “I suppose I see your point. I'll look forward to your performance in two nights.”

Taking her chance, Ha-yi blurted a good-bye to her boss, then grabbed you by the arm to whisk you out of that hellhole.  

The night was three drinks deep by the time you arrived on Hongjoong's doorstep. 

Jungwon dropped you off as normal, and you waved good-bye to him briefly over your shoulder when the Captain hauled the warehouse door open. His silhouette against the lights inside made him into a lighthouse to the storm brewing in the horizon. 

Or maybe that was from secondhand smoking. It wasn't your fault your only choice earlier had been to stop breathing or breathe exhaled weed air. 

The sea breeze out here had been enough to clear your mind and lungs, at least. You couldn't be too sure about inhibitions, but you made it here, didn't you?

“Don't you ever bring pants?” were his greeting words to you as he fussed over the way your coat barely covered enough of your bare legs. “Aren't you ever cold?”

“I'm usually in the car the whole time anyway,” you said, dismissing his concerns. “I have good news though.”

He rested his hands on his hips. “It couldn't have been said in an email?”

“So you don't wanna see me?”

You had meant it as a joke, but the question seemed to stop him in his tracks. Heat crept up the back of your neck, spreading rapidly over your skin like a forest ablaze. “You don't have to answer that,” you chuckled, rubbing your arm. 

He peered at you through his lashes. “Come on upstairs,” he said, nodding upward. He offered you his elbow, and you could have burst into a ball of flames then and there. 

“I got it, by the way.” You held onto him as the pair of you made your way up the stairs. “I was promoted to the VIP line tonight.”

“If you think I ever doubted you—”

“You put a lot of faith in me,” you noted. “Not that I mind, it's just that, you're on someone's shit list, Joong.”

Hongjoong cocked an amused brow at you. “Am I on your shit list?”

“Not yet.”

You beamed at the sight of his smirk, the one he had to duck his head to hide, but couldn't suppress completely. Some mafia boss he made. For a second, it was way too easy to forget who he was. 

He was just Hongjoong tonight, right now. 

You cleared your throat. “I'm starting training right away—tomorrow morning, actually. Well, I guess it's this morning now. And the meeting is taking place in two nights,” you told him as he helped you onto the sofa. 

“Drink?” he offered with a tip of bourbon decanter. 

You shook your head. “I'm good, thanks.”

He set the glass down and settled on the edge of the table right in front of you, as always. Maybe it was the residual intoxication—was that how it worked?—but you swore his eyes grew even darker as he leaned over his knees just then. 

“The DDC gave us a list of possible locations for Strictland's current base of operations,” he said. “Most of them didn't give us much, but we might have gotten something.”

You frowned. “Might have?”

He tilted his head to the side in a half shrug. “It's… something. Maybe. But you don't need to worry about that, dove; let's talk about you.”

I don't really wanna talk about me. The exhaustion was quickly seeping into your bones, water swimming up paper. He sounded like the rich, deep caramel notes of a bottle of bourbon. Didn't they say 'you are what you drink’ or something like that? “I guess whatever keeps you talking,” you blurted. “I like your voice.”

A low chuckle fell from his mouth and he closed the gap even further, but still not enough, to reach over and tap the space between your eyes. “I know you're tired, doll, so I'll make this quick.

“I know that we didn't get to talk about Chan fully, but he will be there at the meeting. He's on our side, so if something goes wrong with Jungwon—”

Your eyes shuddered. Should you tell him about Jungwon?

“—he’ll be there as a backup. Just focus on listening, but do what is expected of you for your job. But if”— he suddenly stopped himself, his mouth still open from the words he didn't push out through breath and sound. 

It woke you up a little. “What?”

Hongjoong shook his head, and when you blinked, it was like nothing crossed his face. “Nothing.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You're not telling me something.”

“I just don't think it's something that is right to say now,” he replied, picking and stringing his words together carefully. “Aren't you supposed to be tired?”

“I'm tired, not blind,” you quipped and wrinkled your nose at him. “Does Seonghwa approve?”

“Does he ever?”

That made a giggle bubble out of your chest before you could stop it. You slapped a palm of your mouth, even if your eyes still narrowed into upturned crescents filled with mirth. 

There was something in the way he looked at you then, chin resting in the palm of his hand. 

Your pulse thrummed against your throat and you couldn't breathe again, but it wasn't because you were suffocating on secondhand smoke or nerves. This was something far more dangerous. 

“Do you trust me?”

The question brought you back to the present. You sent him a strange look. “What do you mean?”

Hongjoong repeated the question. 

You nodded. “I do.” Once upon a time, you would've said that it was against your better judgment. 

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

Right. Your mind wandered to two nights from now, in the very near future. What role was Bang Chan going to play at this meeting? How would you know how to proceed with him if something went wrong with Jungwon?

And the latter—that was a can of worms on its own. Everytime you returned to this hesitation, you had to do backflips to convince yourself that Jungwon still had your back, one hundred percent. It was difficult to put your finger on it. 

You felt a hand gently take your chin and bring your attention to the man in front of you. Hongjoong had a crease between his brows now, eyes roving over your facial expression. “Hey, what's wrong? What do I need to know?”

It's nothing. You shook your head, waving him off. “No, it's nothing,” you promised. “I'm just—it’s residual nerves.” You had become too good of a liar recently, but somehow, he could always see right through you. 

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Residual nerves still come from somewhere. Yn, what aren't you telling me?”

Perhaps you were making a mountain out of a molehill. Jungwon apologized, he seemed to be worried when you were being led by Ha-yi to the manager's office, and he hadn't abandoned you tonight. “Do you trust me?” you found yourself asking, fully aware that you were taking his exact road out. 

“You're a sly one,” he grunted. 

“I learn from the best.”

That made him break. “Agree to trust each other?” he said at last. He seemed resolved to leave it at that for the night, but part of you wished to believe he would have trusted you in any other context, too. 

You didn't want to know what that meant, for him or for you. 

You nodded. “Agree to trust each other.” 

Before you left for the evening (truly, an ungodly hour of the morning, rather), you remembered the slim tube of lipstick stashed in your purse. You stood upon the threshold of the warehouse with Hongjoong, fishing the cosmetic out. 

“I found this earlier today.” You demonstrated the pushing mechanism that turned on the red light.

Hongjoong's face flickered with light surprise. “Sakura didn't show you? Polaris is an investment for most people, so having a way to track down their lost or stolen item was built into the design,” he explained. He tapped the red light with the tip of his pointer finger, eyes still on you. “There's an app and code it comes with somewhere on the box, but I have it if you threw it out.”

You chuckled. “You have it, too?”

He smiled slightly, shrugging as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, I did buy it for you, dove. Just promise you won't lose it.”

“I'll chain it to my wrist if I have to,” you said in partial jest. 

“Atta girl.”

a/n: pls reblog if u enjoyed !

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[sungbeam]

Love that hj and reader are starting to get more affectionate with eo! I hope this escalates in the next chapter 😁

slowly but surely 🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️ i do love writing slow burn cuz sprinkling in bits of them falling is very fun haha

[sungbeam]

oh also to those who have filled out my new taglist form, thank you!! i'll prob start implementing it once i finish my current birds of prey series 🥹

[sungbeam]

𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬

nonidol!kang yeosang x f!reader

yeosang doesn't remember your name, but he remembers what kissing you tastes like and how you like your eggs in the morning. just your regular prince charming trying to find his cinderella, or in this case, his passenger princess..?

9.5k (lord.....), nc-17, s2l, frateez au, college au, mentions of alcohol, swearing, kissing, humor, fluff, minimal angst, another cinderella story au/trope(?), drama (i bring i bring all the drama-ma-ma-ma), a girl who is not a girl's girl :l, the barest of proofreading

a/n: this is for the @atzhouse you can't outrage us event! guys if the flirting is lackluster, it's cuz im running out of rizz

“I don't believe you.”

The last place you expected to end up was in the front seat of some guy's white Lexus while the party raged on inside the ATZ fraternity house just down the street. According to him, he had to run out just before the crowd rolled in, and when he got back, somebody had snatched his parking spot. 

“Okay, but why don't you believe me?”

The car smelled not like fresh leather, but an enchanting mixture of something like pine and smoked wood. Bitter, yet somehow, refreshing. You bet, even as the alcohol was hitting you, that it was what he smelled like. 

His name was Yeosang—the guy sitting next to you in the driver's seat, the owner of this car, and the ATZ fraternity brother you bumped into at his house's own party. That had been just about twenty minutes ago when you'd ended up isolated from your pack of friends, and Yeosang had needed a desperate breather. It seemed he'd been running from someone (question mark), so you asked if he knew where the kitchen was. Eager to get away from whoever it was, he guided you straight to the kitchen and where the secret stash of flavored sojus were. 

An offhand comment about wishing you didn't have to miss this one drama episode dropping tonight led to a longer conversation about the dramas you both enjoyed, which somehow landed you in his passenger seat. 

The rest was history. Or—you supposed the rest was now. 

“Because,” Yeosang said in a tone that sounded a lot like he was saying 'duh’, “you don't look like a biology major.”

He was gorgeous, even if the lighting in the party and out here was jack shit. The way the shadows cut across his face made him look like a faerie torn straight out of one of your old sketchbooks. You were half certain he had pointed ears beneath the cat-eared beanie he wore, but maybe that was just the alcohol doing its thing. 

You sputtered out a laugh as he knocked back another gulp of his melon soju. He was more drunk than you were, maybe not by too much because that wouldn't have been fair, but it did take him seven tries to unlock his car seven minutes ago. “What's a bio major s'posed to look like?”

“Mmm…” he hummed, lips pressed together in a line that dug into his cheeks. “Not you.”

It only made you laugh harder. It wasn't even that funny. “That doesn't even make sense!”

“Does it have to make sense?” He squawked. His face shuddered for a moment as if he just experienced a glitch. “I forgot what I was gonna say, but it's the vibe.”

“The vibe,” you parroted in mild amusement. After you swallowed down your next gulp of soju, you gestured to him with the bottle, “Okay, now what about you? Your major, go.”

“I read shit.”

“Who doesn't?”

“Jared, 19,” he replied, dead serious. 

Equally serious, you asked with wide eyes, “Really?”

He gave you an emphatic nod back. Really. Now, if you were a little less tipsy, you wouldn't have taken what he said at face value, but tonight was already miles away from your regularly scheduled program. 

You pondered on that—the “I read shit,” not the misfortunes of one nineteen year old named Jared. “So if you read a lot of shit, does that make you a literature major? No, wait! I got it; you look like Comparative Lit.”

“Bingo,” he cheered, raising his bottle up into the air. “Wait. What do you mean I look like a comparative lit major? What does a comp lit major even look like?”

“I dunno, but it’s you.” 

He pursed his lips into a deadpan at your callback to what he'd said before, and you merely stuck your tongue out at him like the mature adult you were. “Touché, my friend. Touché…”

Silence passed between you two for the first time since you met each other. In the distance, you could hear the muffled sounds of the party raging on. It wasn't that you didn't go to parties often; it was more so that you usually went to house parties hosted by friends or friends-of-a-friend. Making it all the way to Greek Row was not something you did every weekend, but a mutual friend—Chungha—knew the ATZ president and got you and your friends in. 

Nearly finished with his third bottle (or was it his fourth?...), Yeosang knocked the remainder down his throat with a grimace. With the empty bottle, he set it at his feet on the car floor to join another—the cup holders were already occupied with yours and his second rounds. The first was abandoned on the frat house lawn somewhere. 

“I think—” he slurred, blinking slowly at you like a cat, “—that you look like an artist.”

“An artist?” You parroted dumbly and felt warmth rise to your cheeks. “And why would you say that? Vibes?”

“Well, yes!”

You sputtered out a laugh at the way he said that. “Then yes, I am an artist,” you said, emphasizing the latter half of the word so it sounded like “teest” and not “tist.”

Yeosang gave a hoot. “I'm so good at this. Does that—does that mean you can paint me like one of your French girls?” He pulled his lips into an adorable, little smile, the back of his hand poised beneath his chin as he fluttered his lashes. 

“I don't think I could do you justice,” you admitted. There was a rather annoying buzz at the back of your brain that was distracting you. With a shake of your head, you refocused your gaze on him. “You're too pretty.”

He preened at the compliment, unconsciously reaching up to adjust his beanie. “Like calls to like then.”

“What does that mean?” Your buzzed-out brain couldn't compute—

“It means that prettiness is attracted to prettiness, and I'm attracted to you.”

You whined, burying your face in your hands. Yeosang giggled to himself, incredibly proud at making you flustered, his knees curling upward to kick his feet in the cramped space. “I don't like you.”

“You don't?” 

“No,” you raised your head up with a displeased frown, only to see that his eyes seemed to be twinkling with unrestrained happiness and something else. You weren't in the right state to hyper-analyze the way he looked at you, but it made your heart skip more than just a beat. “It's not fair that you're a literature major.”

“But I'm drunk,” he said innocently. 

“That's even worse!”

He grinned boyishly at you, bashfully stretching his limbs and then cupping the back of his neck with a hand. “What if I told you I'm minoring in math?”

You deadpanned. “I don't think that makes me feel any better. You rule both the realms of words and numbers.”

“It doesn't mean I'm good at math,” he guffawed, leaning back in his seat. “It's only there 'cause my mom's a math teacher, and having a math minor makes my parents feel better.”

That sounded familiar… awfully familiar. The thought made you sober a bit, and it seemed your counterpart wasn't so wasted that he didn't notice the shift either.

“Uh oh,” he chuckled nervously, “what'd I say?”

You waved your hand around dismissively. “Oh, it's nothing. I'm kind of the opposite—my bio major is sort of to appease my parents and the fine art minor is for my sanity.”

He pressed his lips into a line, nodding in understanding. “Ah, I see,” he drawled. “So you don't… you're not happy? With what you're doing, I mean.”

Maybe it was the way he asked it, but it made the cogs in your head turn. You bit your lip. “I'm happy-ish. It's kind of a lot, but I'll survive.”

“'m sorry I upset you,” he pouted. “But,” he stammered, swallowing, “but I get it. My parents never wanna talk about my major anymore. Pretty sure they're just bitter and disappointed. I always feel like I’m walking on eggshells around them.” 

You could tell that it affected him more than he wanted to admit. You wordlessly passed him your half-drunk bottle, and he gladly took a generous sip. When it was back in your hands, you guzzled down the remainder. 

The buzz was getting better. 

“Well, if they're not proud of you, I am,” you declared, setting the empty bottle at your feet. Your eyes blinked slowly for a moment as you got your bearings again. Maybe… maybe you should stop drinking! Yes, that would be the smart thing to do. 

Yeosang hummed. “Thanks,” he said with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He gazed over at you from his side of the car. “I'm proud of you, too. You'll be happy one day; it'll always turn out okay, Yn-ie.”

Something warm and fuzzy settled in your chest, like a cat had just curled up there, purring and content. 

A thought suddenly popped into your head. “Yeosang, how do you like your eggs?”

He snorted and burst into laughter, coaxing a similar expression out of you. A moment later, you were trying your best to pout at him, “Hey! Don't laugh! I hear it's all the rage on the pick-up line scene.”

“You're trying to pick me up?” He giggled. All memories of the previous topic flew out the car window.

“Well, is it working?”

He licked his lips around a smile, leaning over the center console to rest his cheek against his fist. “Ask me again.”

You took another sip of your soju before returning it to its cupholder. “Okay. Yeosang, how do you like your eggs in the morning?”

“However you'd like them.”

You deadpanned, and that only made him laugh louder. His head tilted back so you caught a glimpse of his canines, before he brought himself back down to Earth. His cheeks looked as flushed as you felt—even in the dim streetlight you could make out the blooms of peony pink across his cheekbones. “Yeo.”

He reached over to pat your head a couple times, though the sloppiness of his movements made it feel closer to two affectionate smacks. “Okay okay. Sorry. How about we say it at the same time?”

“Okay.” That wasn't a bad compromise. 

“Okay, one, two, three—”

“Sunny-side up,” you both said at once. 

Your eyes and his eyes widened at once, gasps of delight sounding into the quiet car. Could this guy be any more perfect?

“You're not bluffing?” You asked with narrowed eyes. 

Yeosang shook his head vigorously. “Mm-mm. I wouldn't lie to you, Yn-ie. Scout's honor,” he slurred, holding his hand up as if he was a boy scout. 

You giggled at the gesture, and he broke form to melt into an ooey gooey puddle of liquefied butterflies. For a moment, he just stared at you with a strange look on his face, one that you couldn't quite place when you were in this inebriated state. 

You chuckled, shifting your position when one leg started falling asleep. “What’s wr—?”

He leaned forward and—oh. Oh. Those were—his lips were on yours. He had leaned over the console and kissed you. He was kissing you. 

And when you didn't kiss him back, he drew backwards, an embarrassed expression painted over the adorable flush on his cheeks. “That—I shouldn't have done that, should I? I'm sorry; I dunno what I was—”

You crushed your mouth against his this time, effectively stealing the apology right off his tongue. He tasted like melon soju, and his touch was gentle as he brought his hand up to cup the side of your face, cradle your jaw. He was tracing the outline of your features in the dark like he could sketch them in the lines in his mind. 

He tasted like the color of amber, warm and bright, but not blindingly so. He was mellow and sweet, with the undertones of the burnt wood in his cologne. 

You melded your lips against his mouth like you could engrave him into you, and you were practically half over the middle console already. Yeosang's free hand fumbled backward to find the button on the side of his chair—there. The chair began moving backward with a monotonous brrr sound, and as it moved you couldn't quite keep your lips physically attached to his. 

You disconnected from him for what felt like an eternity in order to climb over—shoes knocking against empty soju bottles, ass nearly bumping the horn—and with some clumsy, awkward maneuvering, you were on him again, this time quite literally. You tumbled into his lap, his hands landing on either side of your waist and your hands bracing against the back of his chair.

He loosened a soft groan with the return of your lips to his, and he hauled you down closer to him, until your chests were pressed flush against one another and you couldn't tell which heartbeat was who's. His beanie fell off at some point, but your fingers buried themselves within the dark, silken mass of his hair, a hat in their own right. 

When you both pulled away for breath, your chests heaved in tandem to catch it. You settled your cheek against his shoulder while you inhaled the smell of his cologne, much stronger now that you sat against his chest with your nose by his throat. His hand warmed the small of your back with the other cupping the back of your head in an affectionate cradle. 

“I don't think I've ever kissed someone like that,” you admitted into the quiet. You suddenly couldn't hear the muffled music blasting from the party in the background anymore. 

“Me neither,” he replied, voice hoarse from the kiss. “I've never met someone like you before.”

“Never in your life?”

“Never in my life.”

“So let me get this straight,” drawled Wooyoung with both hands poised at his temples, eyes screwed shut against the bright morning light coming in through the window. There were currently eight people crowded onto President Hongjoong's bed at a time that was far too early to be alive for a group of people who partied until four in the morning. “You're saying that you know this girl's family life, how she likes her eggs in the morning, and how she kisses—but you don't even know her name?”

Yeosang was propped up against the headboard, squeezed between a very unfairly serene-looking Seonghwa and a mildly hungover Hongjoong. Yeosang's bangs were flat against his forehead and he squinted his tired eyes through the strands. “No, that's not what I said. I said that I know her name… it's just not coming to me right now.”

He knew your name. Right? You told him your name, right? He addressed you by your name at least once last night, right? 

(If he was being honest, as soon as Yeosang woke up this morning, he started whimsically recalling the events of last night in his head. But once he realized he neither had your number nor remembered your name, he jostled his friends up to invade the president's room for an emergency round table discussion. Who would have guessed their alarm clock would be a very panicked Maltese screaming, “I DON'T REMEMBER HER NAME!”)

“Which pretty much means you don't know her name,” Jongho piped up where he was laying against Yunho's back on the corner of the bed, his eyes closed while he attempted to squeeze in five more milliseconds of sleep. 

“Well, do you know who she came with?” San asked. “She probably has at least one mutual friend or else she wouldn't have gotten in.”

Mingi furrowed his brows together. “Not necessarily. The pledges might not have been thorough when checking.”

Hongjoong's eyes narrowed. “You were supposed to be there with them at the door, Mingi.”

“Oh, was I?”

Yunho cut in before Hongjoong could tackle Mingi off the bed. He grinned to himself, “Okay, but San has a point. Usually people are only able to sneak in if they're with a group.”

“Awh,” Wooyoung cooed, reaching over to pinch at Yeosang's cheek, “Yeosangie fell in love with a stowaway—ow! Hey! He just bit me!”

“Deserved,” Seonghwa said plainly. He turned his head so as to not have to face Wooyoung's wounded puppy eyes. It was too early for this. “Do you know if she came with anyone, Yeosang-ah?”

Yeosang scrunched his nose up, disgruntled. “No. I'm pretty sure she was looking for her friends when we met… something like that. I remember some things, but not everything.” He pinched the place between his brows in an attempt to piece together his memory of last night. He could remember the way you made him feel—it was the jittery warmth that came with falling, and his heart had never grown wings before like it had around you. 

After the kiss, the two of you had sunk into a comfortable, quiet conversation about anything and everything beneath the sun. For the first time in a long time, he felt comfortable and heard by someone other than his fraternity brothers. You were perfect, for lack of a better word. And he knew a lot of words. 

But how could he fucking forget your name? 

He was never drinking that much melon soju ever again. 

“She's a biology major,” he offered with a defeated sigh, letting his hand fall into his lap. 

“What does she look like?” Hongjoong asked. 

Yeosang's gaze went up to the ceiling as he recalled what you looked like to his friends. It was pretty dark the entire time he was with you, but there were a few moments when the streetlights hit your face and his conscience was constantly trying to keep his drunk ass from kissing you within the first ten minutes of meeting you. He'd managed to hold it together for a little bit longer before throwing all caution to the wind. 

When he was done, San said in light amusement, “I'm just surprised you kissed her first. She must be something then, huh?”

Yeosang couldn't conceal the smile that slowly crept onto his face. “Yeah, she's…” He cleared his throat. “I just don't want last night to be the first and last time I see her.” It couldn't be—just when he thought he clicked with someone, the universe couldn't possibly be so cruel as to rip you away from him, could it?

“Don't you worry!” Mingi chirped, “We'll help you find your passenger princess.”

Seonghwa snorted. “Passenger princess? What is this, Cinderella?”

“It might as well be,” San chuckled, lifting his shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Operation: Passenger Princess is a go!”

Yeosang wasn't sure if recruiting his friends’ help was a good or awful decision. But because his past, drunk self hadn't done many favors for his future, sober self, he would take all the help he could get. 

You knew the moment you stumbled out of your bedroom and saw your roommate that you were in trouble. It wasn't trouble in the conventional sense; considering her eyes were laughing as she watched your pitiful walk of shame from your room to the shared bathroom, you knew you were not going to hear the end of everything that happened last night ever. 

“Not a word,” you said to her as you winced at the blinding bathroom lights. 

Her toothbrush hung out of her mouth as she slipped in behind you to spit her toothpaste into the sink. When her mouth was rinsed and clear, she made eye contact with you in the mirror, eyebrows wagging up and down. “So you and Yeosang, huh?”

You glared at her from around your own toothbrush. You would have taken the damn thing out to defend yourself, but you were already late. 

Reina took full advantage of your occupied vocal chords. “I never knew pretty frat boys were your type, Yn,” she teased, practically floating out of the bathroom to go check on the state of her espresso in the kitchen. 

“Aye hae yuu,” you grumbled around your toothbrush. 

“What's that?” She cackled, bringing a hand up to the shell of her ear. “I love you? I love you, too, Yn. But you know who else loves you?—”

“Dompt shae it.”

“Yeosaaaang!” 

You loathed the fact that her saying such things made butterflies flap their wings and dance around in your belly. It was simply delusional to think of love when all you and Yeosang did last night was make out in his car and accompany each other in deep, provoking conversation… conversation that definitely didn't make you feel incredibly seen or anything… definitely not. 

Finally, you were able to spit your toothpaste out to make your argument. “Okay, first of all, I don't even have his number. And—how could he love me?” As if possession of a phone number could even correlate to love either.

Reina paused, her expression arranging into loud incredulity. “You what? After all I went through to separate the two of you to go home, you didn't exchange numbers?”

Okay, so maybe you shouldn't have disclosed that information—now you just looked stupid. 

You lathered up facial cleanser in your hands and on your face. “Look. Exchanging numbers was just the last thing on our minds—” Oh, Yn. Have you ever said something smart? 

Reina snorted. “Oh, I know.”

“We didn't just make out,” you grumbled, your cheeks warming beneath your hands. You furiously splashed cool water over your skin before patting your face dry. There likely wasn't much time left before you and Reina had to run to meet your other friends at your weekly volunteering session. “We talked.”

“Uh-huh, and you know that denial is a river in Egypt, right?”

Suffice to say that Reina most definitely did not let your shenanigans from last night go. The two of you managed to reach the food bank sometime before fifteen minutes past your original start time. Everyone else was already stationed and on time, and because you and Reina were the last to arrive, you were sent straight to dishwashing. 

As you and Reina pulled on your twin pairs of pink rubber gloves, your friend Mark Lee (and brother with the NCT fraternity) barrelled into the backroom with a dirty ladle in his hands. His head perked up at the sight of you both, a smile blooming on his face. “Well, good morning, Party Animals. How was the ATZ party last night?”

He deposited the ladle into the sink for you to wash while he went to go find a clean one. 

“It was cool, but I think Yn would love to tell you all about her experience,” Reina teased, bumping her elbow against your side. 

Mark sidled up beside the two of you and leaned in close in proper tea-spilling fashion. “Oh my gosh, did something happen?”

You scowled at Reina, then said to Mark, “Nothing catastrophic—”

“She hooked up with Yeosang!”

You cut her a hard glance. “Reina, I don't think Neptune heard you.”

Mark's eyes went comically wide, jaw slackening. “Yn and Yeosang? That's so wild. Like—like Kang Yeosang?”

“I think? We didn't exactly exchange last names, but why would it be wild? We just kissed and talked.”

“Who kissed who now?” The new voice had you all glancing back over to the kitchen door where another member of the group, Yura, walked in. Yura was Reina's cousin, and the two grew up quite close, so it was natural that they ended up in similar social circles. You and all your other friends got along pleasantly with her. She flashed you all a small smile. “From the sounds of it, I'm guessing you guys had a fun time at the party last night?”

“We did!” Reina chirped. 

“Shame you couldn't come with us this time,” you said offhandedly. It wasn't like Yura to miss a party. 

Reina cocked her head to the side. “I could've sworn I saw you there though—”

“Ah,” Yura waved her hand to dismiss her cousin's thought. She chuckled, “You're probably mistaking someone else as me; I had that paper I needed to work on last night, remember? But Yn, you and Yeosang?”

You groaned. “I thought we were over this.”

“Dude, we can't not get over this,” Mark quipped back. “Yeosang just doesn't do stuff like that—hook up with people, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Yura chimed in, “I've seen him at a couple other Greek parties with some of my sorority friends and he looks pretty standoffish most of the time. He's usually always with one of his brothers. He's kind of cold, really.”

Mark furrowed his brows. “I wouldn't call him cold; he's just a little shy, is all.”

“My friends told me that a lot of sorority girls chase after him,” Yura said with wide eyes. “They get, like, aggressive about him or something.”

You and Reina exchanged a look. Was that who he was running from last night? “That must be kinda stressful,” you said softly with a small frown. 

“Apparently, that's why his social medias don't take DMs unless approved,” she shrugged. 

Well, there went your backup plan of finding him on social media. Then again, if he recognized you or your name, would that help if you requested him? That was if you deigned to change your profile picture to yourself and not one of your silly doodles. 

You couldn't help the weight that your heart seemed to gain as it sank to the pit of your stomach. 

“Well, that's mildly disappointing,” Reina muttered, turning to quickly wash the ladle Mark had just dropped off. 

“I just wouldn't want you to get targeted by any of those crazy sorority girls, y'know?” Yura gave a laugh that sounded almost nervous. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before snapping on a fresh pair of gloves. 

You nodded, gnawing on your bottom lip. “Yeah, no, I—I get it. Thanks, Yura.”

She gave you a sympathetic look. “Of course,” she said. With a wave, she made her way back toward the kitchen door. “Mark, we better get back to work. See you guys at lunch break!”

When she was gone, Mark clapped a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Hey, listen. I don't really know the guy personally, but me and Wooyoung are pretty tight. I can get in touch with them if you want—”

Baekhyun, the section leader for your session, charged into the kitchen with his arm piled high with dirty dishes. If you didn’t fear for the safety of the porcelain bowl at the top of the stack, you might have chuckled at the scene before you. “Mark! We don't pay you to stand around.”

“Hyung,” Mark huffed exasperatedly as he rushed over to help Baekhyun before the section leader could get knocked over the head by a rogue dish assisted by gravity. “You don't pay us. We're here out of the goodness of our hearts.”

“Well, I don't get paid enough for this,” Baekhyun said once all the dishes were transferred to the sink, and you and Reina were put to work. “Now come on; lots to do!”

Just as Mark was about to follow after Baekhyun, he caught your eyes. “I'm serious about the offer, Yn.”

You smiled. “Thanks, man, but let me think about it and I'll get back to you.”

“Yeah, just lemme know!” And he was gone. 

Word broke out that someone in the ATZ household was searching for a girl. Word of mouth was a method of dissemination that could spread like wildfire, leaping from one tongue to one ear to another, leaving only ash and debris behind. And around Greek Row, it became a massive game of Telephone. 

But while nearly everyone in the university's fraternities and sororities knew about his strife, Yeosang’s efforts seemed to be for naught. The only thing that emerged from this were more people harping after him, claiming to be 'the one he was looking for.’ None of them were you. 

Your name had manifested itself in his head about halfway into the week. He'd been toiling over the theory readings his professor assigned for Thursday's lecture when he'd underlined a word, and it came crashing down upon him with ice cold clarity. 

His eyes went wide as he shot up out of his chair, nearly sending Jongho careening off his bed on the other side of the room. “What the—”

“Yn,” Yeosang said. Then he declared a little louder, a giddy smile on his face, triumphant and bright, “Her name is Yn.”

Jongho resettled himself on top of his bed. “Well that narrows things down for us,” he drawled, taking his phone out and typing something out. “I don't suppose you have her last name.”

Yeosang fwumped onto the edge of his bed with his lips pressed into a line. “Dude. I literally just thought of her first name. Do you really think I can come up with—”

“Okay, okay,” Jongho laughed, flicking his wrist at him for a moment before resuming his typing. 

“Who're you texting?” Yeosang asked as curiosity drew him across the room to Jongho's side. 

His friend sat up so he could peer over his shoulder at the phone screen. “I'm doing the heavy lifting,” he teased. Based on the social media handle at the top of the direct messages channel, Jongho was texting Chungha, a friend of the frat's but a closer friend of President Hongjoong's, and the recently graduated head of the Phi Omega Phi sorority. “Hongjoong hyung mentioned offhandedly that Chungha wanted to get some friends into the party on Friday, so I'm seeing if she recognizes this Yn person you're looking for.”

Yeosang’s eyebrows flicked upward as he settled into a more comfortable position on Jongho’s bed while they awaited Chungha’s response. In the meantime, he pulled out his own phone in an attempt to search for your name amongst his mutuals. He frowned at the lack of a successful search—did you use a different name or did you not have a social media account? Was that why you hadn’t attempted to contact him in the past few days?

For a moment, a shard of self-consciousness pierced through his chest at the prospect that you didn’t want to contact him. Did sobriety make you embarrassed at what happened that night? Had he made you uncomfortable with the amount of vulnerability that was in the car—no, the vulnerability was mutual… but maybe—

“Gotcha.” 

Yeosang’s head whipped back over to Jongho’s screen. Having your name and major seemed to ring a bell for Chungha, and she forwarded a social media handle, along with a “tell Yeosang good luck ;)”. 

“Thank you, Jongho. And bless up, Chungha,” Yeosang muttered as he swiftly input the social media handle into his search bar. There it was—a private art account with your first name in the biography line. There were only one or two people who you both shared mutuals with, which made sense. 

His thumb hovered over the request button, and he bit his lip. With little else left to do and his heart banging around in his ribs from the anticipation alone, he clicked the button. 

It didn’t take you incredibly long to accept his follow request and to follow him back. (Though, half an hour felt like an eternity when he was so anxious.) He made it painfully obvious that you acted in response, because Yeosang fumbled his phone between his palms like it was a hot potato, before he dropped it and stubbed his toe with it. 

Jongho sent him a strange look as he handed the device back to a red-faced Yeosang, who furrowed his brows together to think of an opening direct message to you. 

“It doesn't have to be perfect,” Jongho said as he peered over Yeosang's shoulder this time. He had even paused the game he was playing on his phone to stay tuned into the live entertainment. 

Yeosang made a face. “Yes, it does.” It had to be the perfect mix of witty and funny and subtle and—

He figured it out. 

@/yskang99: how do u like ur eggs?

Jongho released a sound of utter flabbergast, and Yeosang shushed him, both pairs of eyes pinned to the three dots that appeared on the bottom left-hand side of the screen. 

@/studioyn: sunny side up

Yeosang broke into a smile, and Jongho's face contorted into pure incredulity. “What kind of security question is that?”

“Inside joke,” Yeosang replied giddily, rising from Jongho's bed to cross over to his side of the room. He collapsed into his desk chair and propped his feet up along the end of his bed. 

Jongho scoffed, shifting his lounging position. He threw his friend another incredulous glance before giving up and returning to his game. He'd done his job. 

@/yskang99: congrats u passed the test!

@/studioyn: ahh so that was a test? i imagined us doing a virtual handshake tbh

@/yskang99: i like that better actually

@/studioyn: also how did u find me lmao

Yeosang bit his lip through a grin. I have my ways, he typed out cryptically, cheekily. 

@/studioyn: wtvr u say ig… 🤨🤨🤨

For a brief moment, Yeosang wondered if he should bring up the concern lingering in his mind—why you hadn't reached out to him. He didn't want to simply assume that he was “popular” enough that just anybody knew who he was, but he was also aware that most people were able to track him down on social media. But would that kill the vibe? He liked the energy. 

@/studioyn: i can't get a read on whether or not ur any different than how u were drunk 

@/yskang99: would that matter?

@/studioyn: not particularly, no, but i've met people who r

@/yskang99: no i get that, i've met my fair share too :/ 

He began typing out slowly: I missed you… Then he swiftly amended it to: I missed talking to you. 

@/studioyn: awhh wait ik we've only technically spoken the one time, but i missed talking to u too yeo :’)

A smile split his face from ear to ear. Would you wanna hang out again? Only if you're comfortable, of course. 

He watched the three dots appear, then disappear. You were thinking and his heart was sinking.

Finally, your response came in. I'd love to, but I don't wanna disappoint you with my god awful schedule this next week. 

@/yskang99: what abt the weekend? something low stakes maybe?

@/yskang99: my brothers and i r going to the nct house on sat

@/studioyn: oh!! im actually close friends w mark lee :] i'll see if i can drag my friends along, and we can link up there?

The thought of seeing you again, even if it was at another dumb Greek party, made electricity zip through his veins. His stomach filled to the brim with butterflies, and he had to shift his position because of how much it tickled. 

@/yskang99: yeah sounds great :D i'll look forward to seeing u

@/studioyn: same here yeo :’))

@/studioyn: how's ur week been so far? 

Yeosang leaned back in his chair again, propping his elbows on the armrests to sink into a comfortable position. He had a feeling he might be here awhile, but he would sit here all night if it meant talking to you. 

“Yn! We're gonna be late!” 

You nearly jolted at the sound of Reina's voice carrying through the other side of your bedroom door. You dropped your phone onto your bed, racing to finish up the rest of your makeup. “You can never be late to a Greek party!” You countered, swiping your thumb over the pigment you just put on your lips. 

Your bedroom door opened just as you were slipping a chain necklace around your collar. Reina poked her head in, her eyes looking you up and down. “Ooh-la-la,” she gushed with a teasing smile. “Someone's gotten all dolled up. I wonder who for…”

You rolled your eyes and ignored the obvious warmth rising to your face. “I just felt like it,” you defended weakly while spritzing a light mist of perfume over your neck and wrists. You stood up from your desk to collect your wallet, keys, and lip gloss to dump into a purse, then went over to retrieve your phone. 

The screen displayed another message from Yeosang, no doubt continuing the conversation you had to abruptly pause because you would be late for the NCT party. This was going to be the second Greek party in two weeks—a record for your books. But you had a feeling it was going to be a good time like last week, you were sure of it. 

As you skimmed the message Yeosang sent, you slipped out of the room to join Reina in the main living space. She casted you a pointed look with arms crossed over her chest and lips pressed together. 

“What?” You blinked over at her innocently. 

“You're never gonna see your boy at this rate,” she said as the two of you picked out your shoes for the night. 

You sent a text answering Yeosang and letting him know you would be at the party soon. “He's not 'my boy,’” you said. 

“Right. He's your man.”

You hated how hard it was to keep the giggle in your throat down. It was embarrassing how you smiled just then, too, turning your head away from a smug Reina. 

God, he was just a guy; how did you get so head-over-heels after just one night? It had to be the fact that you'd been texting him nonstop over the past few days. Though you were busy and exhausted, you continued to check your phone all throughout the days and stayed up long into the nights just to talk to him. He had you hook, line, and sinker. 

At some point, you'd forgotten what Yura warned you about on Saturday. 

Your friends picked you and Reina up in one of their family minivans. A round of greetings went up as you clambered in behind Reina, and your friend asked where her cousin was tonight if she wasn't carpooling with the rest of you. 

“She said she was at her sorority friend's house,” Sieun said offhandedly from the driver's seat. The minivan door closed on its own with a mechanical whirring sound. “She's probably at the party already.”

Some nights, parties called for a pregame session, while others (not unlike this one) was attacked raw. Sieun parked the minivan about a block outside of Greek row where there were spaces between cars along the curbs and where there was less of a chance of her accidentally running over a drunk partygoer stumbling into the street. The party was already in full swing with neon green strobe lights blazing aggressively through the front windows, and Gasolina blasting at nothing less than one hundred percent speaker volume. 

You felt your phone vibrate in your hand as Reina grabbed your hand to avoid instantly losing you in the crowd. 

@/yskang99: im on the second floor where there's less people 😋😋 they've got a nice balcony we can hide on!!

“Mark said they've got spiked Capri Sun somewhere in here!” Reina shouted into your ear. 

You nodded your head vigorously. “Let's find it then!”

@/studioyn: gonna grab hard caprisun and then head up!! do u want some??

@/yskang99: surprise me w a flavor, pretty pls x

You grinned to yourself and slid your phone into your purse to focus on the task at hand. 

The NCT fraternity house wasn't a completely unknown landscape to you and Reina. Being friends with one of its brothers and friends-by-association with all the rest, you'd popped by more than a few times. You could likely navigate this house with your eyes closed; that was what it was like weaving through the dark rooms and throngs of people squeezed together like sardines in a can, anyway. 

Along yours and Reina's trek to the kitchen, you gained a couple people in your conga line of linked hands, NCT's own Xiaojun and Jungwoo. NCT frat brothers always pregamed, so the two brothers were already tipsy and giggled about your kindergarten field trip line (with Reina being dubbed the poor kindergarten teacher tasked with keeping you together). 

When you arrived at your destination, it didn't take long for you to lose both Xiaojun and Jungwoo to the game of Texas Hold 'Em being played at the breakfast table. The singular lightbulb overheard made it feel like a smoke-filled backdoor gambling den. 

“Aha!” You cheered after playing a game of mystery cooler roulette, and opened the cooler lid that held the spiked Capri Sun juice pouches on ice. 

“Mine!” Reina snatched up the last cherry flavored one, the shiny aluminum slippery and ice-cold as she impaled the opening with the thin, yellow straw. 

You grabbed a Pacific Cooler flavored pouch for yourself, and a second for Yeosang. 

“Ah, is that for the man of your dreams?” Reina said between sips, her pouch already half empty. 

You sent her a look. “He has good taste, which means he'll probably appreciate Pacific Cooler as much as I do.”

“As long as it's not lemonade,” came a voice to your left. There stood a rather tall and lean man, his warm smile enunciated by the dim kitchen lighting as the green strobe lights from the living room painted across his face. “I can't deal with sour shit,” he explained, making a face. 

You laughed. “That's valid. Fruit Punch is a classic though.”

“Can't argue with that,” he replied, leaning down to pick his poison for the night. He stabbed a straw into his pouch of strawberry kiwi juice, then arched an eyebrow at you. “I feel like I know you. Do I know you?”

“Hey,” Reina chimed in as she leaned over your shoulder, “you're with the ATZ frat, aren't you? I recognize you from Twister last week.”

He smiled sheepishly from around his straw. “Ah… haha, not my best moment, but yes. I'm Yunho.”

“Reina,” your friend replied. 

“Yn,” you added on. 

Yunho's expression jerked as if he'd just been delivered an electric shock. He waved his pointer finger at you. “Oh my god, you're Yeosang's girl!”

Your eyes shuddered in surprise. Yeosang's girl. “Sorry?” You stammered. There was an insane amount of possessive pronouns being used tonight, buy you definitely weren't complaining about it, and could he perhaps say that again—

“Yeah, he won't shut up about you.” Yunho slurped up the rest of his juice pouch, draining and flattening the life out of it in record time. “He loves Pacific Cooler, by the way.”

He took his leave then, saying nothing else to you and Reina except for shooting you a pair of finger guns like saying 'go get em, tiger!’

Reina wheezed, draping herself over you for a moment. “Oh—my god! Good thing Yeosang's just as down in the trenches as you are.”

“Don't do this to me, Reina,” you whined and dragged her along out of the kitchen toward the second floor staircase. “I don't need encouragement; the crush is enough!”

“It's never enough,” she declared with her pointer finger up in the sky. “You are gone, my friend! Gone, I say.”

You patted her head as you both began your ascent up the stairs. “Alrighty; then gone, I am. Do you remember where the balcony is on this floor?”

She hummed. “Ooh! Somewhere by Johnjae's room, abouts. I just remember because Mark told us how—”

“Right—the sophomore year Romeo and Juliet reenactment,” you snorted. You couldn't wrap your head around the batshit crazy things that occurred around these parts. “Who convinced Doyoung to play Paris anyway?”

She made a noncommittal noise. “Must've been bribed—oh, there it is, but I think there's a couple out there already…”

There was most definitely a couple on the balcony. Their outlines were silhouettes against the residual strobe lights shining up from downstairs, so it was a little too dark to make out who they were. They seemed close—the girl was all over the boy, the latter trying to hold her up by her waist. Maybe she'd had too much to drink, and for a moment, you were glad someone was taking care of her. 

But when she leaned in for a kiss, green light glanced across their faces to reveal their features to you. It was only a split second, but it was all you needed. 

“Reina,” you exhaled in shock, turning away from the balcony with enough speed to nearly give you whiplash. 

She didn't question you, as you both careened back down the hall from where you came from, heading for one of the open bedrooms on this floor to collect yourselves. When the two of you were out of earshot of the balcony, she hissed under her breath in utter disbelief, “Yura?”

You'd seen it nearly clear as day, too. That was Yura kissing Yeosang. 

Your head spun as you shouldered your way into Mark's and Haechan's room, their names plastered on the door in foam letter stickers from the craft store. As Reina closed the door and turned on the lights, you sat down in Mark's desk chair attempting to make sense of what you and Reina just witnessed. 

Yeosang and Yura? But wasn't Yura the one who warned you that chasing after Yeosang was a risk because of how many others were, as well? Why would… 

Oh. 

Well, now you just felt stupid. 

Reina dragged over Haechan's desk chair to settle in front of you, her expression less enraged than before, and more concerned over what she was reading off of your face. “Hey, don't do that. Don't think like that.”

“You don't know what I'm thinking,” you murmured, setting the untouched juice pouches on the desk. 

“You're thinking that you're stupid.” 

“Okay, maybe you do know what I'm thinking.” You inhaled, then exhaled slowly, leaning forward onto your knees. “I don't really know what to think or assume.”

Reina nodded, chewing on her bottom lip. “That's okay. I don't think I really understand what I saw either.”

“But that was Yura, right?”

She bobbed her head again. “That was my cousin, yeah.”

“Would it be fair to even think that she told me all that shit last week to discourage me from seeing him?” You didn't enjoy thinking that another person would have such malicious intentions without understanding their point of view, especially someone you considered yourself friends with. 

“Well,” Reina drawled, “I think we both saw what we saw, and Yura was acting strangely about it on Saturday. It would be fair if you were hurt by it; I think your feelings have been clear.”

You gave a small nod. “Do you think he…?”

“I'm not sure, hon.” 

You resolved to talk to him about it. If anything, you had these juice pouches left to console yourself, but you wanted to make sure you knew where his feelings laid. You would be lying if you said your heart didn't harbor even a glimmer of hope that this was all a misunderstanding, and that the kiss was an accident and didn't matter. 

You and Reina left the relative safety of Mark and Haechan's bedroom to go find Yeosang. There weren't any new messages between either of you since the Capri Sun exchange, and you thought about texting him on his whereabouts. 

The balcony by Johnny and Jaehyun's room was empty now, barren of any evidence somebody was there in the first place. 

You and Reina wandered back down to the main floor. The party was nowhere near over; the night was still young. Hope was sinking fast in your stomach as the two of you traveled from room to room in search of him, but with no luck. Even asking around was useless. 

“Text him,” Reina encouraged, as the two of you sipped on the juice pouches that were supposed to be for you and him. 

She held your spiked juice while you texted him. 

As time passed, and a response had yet to come through, you tossed yours and Reina's flattened Capri Sun pouches into the nearest garbage can.

If he wasn't going to answer, then maybe you would just go home for the night. You had a lot to think about. 

Defeated, you let Reina sweep you under her arm and guide you to the front door. “Let's go home, hm?” She said, rubbing your shoulder. 

On your way to the front door, you paused. You thought you heard someone calling your name—

You turned around to find Mark barreling toward you through the crowd with another guy at his side. “Mark?” You shouted over the music. 

“Hey, we've been looking all over for you,” he said. Nodding to his friend, he told you, “This is Wooyoung, by the way, the ATZ brother I'm friends with.”

“Yeosang's been looking for you,” Wooyoung said in earnest, eyes as wide as Mark's. Had they been looking for you as much as you were looking for Yeosang?

Something like hope sparked in your chest again—you were at odds. The fight had nearly dissipated from your blood and you were ready to go home. But if he was trying to find you… it must be worth it then, right?

“Where is he?” You asked. 

It was nearing midnight by the time you settled yourself on the concrete curb outside the ATZ frat house just down the block from the target being thrown at the NCT house. With everyone over there, no wonder it was quiet enough to finally hear yourself think. With the coming of deep autumn, a slight breeze wafted by that drifted over your skin and raised goosebumps on your arms. 

You heard gravel crunching from behind you, coming down the ATZ driveway, and before you could turn your head to look, a warm jacket was placed over your shoulders. You held your breath, fingers finding the lapel to keep it from slipping as you glanced over at your counterpart. 

Yeosang lowered himself onto the curb next to you, mimicking your position with his knees bent and arms resting upon them. “I—my phone died,” he said lowly. 

“Oh.” That took care of at least two of your questions. 

“Is there—” He stopped himself, amending his statement, “There's something on your mind.”

Understatement of the century. You pulled his jacket around you, the intertwining scents of alcohol and his cologne lingering on the collar. “I was going to meet you at the balcony, and I was there, but… but I saw you and Yura, and…”

It was his turn to say “oh.” He angled his body toward you now until his knees bumped against yours and he was muttering out an apology he didn't need to say. He laid his upper body over his arms that were folded onto his knees and peered up at you through lengthy lashes.

He was waiting for you to finish. 

You swallowed, following his lead and turning your body toward him. “I saw her kiss you,” you said, the sound barely audible to anybody but you and him. “Reina and I went somewhere to kind of just soak in what we saw, and then we went back out to find you so I could talk to you about it, but we couldn't find you.”

“I'm sorry you had to see that,” he murmured, eyebrows furrowed together. “It—it didn't mean anything. She did try to kiss me, but I pushed her away before she could.”

You believed him. You loosened a small chuckle from your lips. “Y'know, it sounds silly to me now, but last week she told me that there were a number of girls who were pursing you and were very aggressive about it.”

He snorted. “If there were any, I only know of one.”

“She…?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, lips pursing. “I know she's liked me for a while, but I've made it clear I don't see her the same way. At last Friday's party, I was actually trying to lose her in the crowd when I found you.”

Your eyes widened. “So she was there?” Then Reina had actually seen her cousin at the party; Yura had lied about where she was. 

“She told me tonight that she was scared about me liking you more than her,” Yeosang said as he lifted his body back up to rest his cheek against his fist. “She was really drunk—which was why you probably saw me trying to hold her up—and then she… tried to kiss me. I pushed her away, and one of her friends found us, so I handed her over and went to get some air.”

And that was why you couldn't find him. You released a breath you didn't realize you were holding in. “Are you—are you okay? I'm so sorry she did that to you.” 

The corners of his lips tugged upward in a reassuring smile. “I'm alright, thank you. And it's not your fault.”

“I know, but still,” you insisted. “Your boundaries were violated, and it makes me feel so icky that I've called her a friend of mine, and—what?” 

Your words came to a screeching halt when you realized that Yeosang was just smiling at you. Or rather, gazing at you, admiring you. It was whatever he did whenever his eyes possessed a set of twin jewels in his irises that needed no light to glitter like gold; and when his grin softened at the corners by a tenderness that knocked the wind out of you, all words and systems failed you. 

You recognized this look, except this time, you weren't drunk. 

“I'm really happy I met you,” he said in your silence. “And I'm happy I got to see you again.”

You nearly melted. You smiled back at him, replying quietly, “Couldn’t have said it any better. Thank you for being honest with me.”

“And thank you for believing me.” He reached for your hand, his movements slow as if giving you an opening to pull back if you wanted to. But you didn't, and you closed the remaining space to link your fingers and press your palms together. 

You and Yeosang shared mutual smiles in the dim lighting outside his fraternity house. Your heart beat had quickened a considerable amount now that he was so close to you again. 

You cleared your throat. "Just to be clear though—when you said she was scared about you liking me more than her—?"

His smile reached his eyes and turned them into upturned crescent moons. "I'm not scared," he said, "that I like you more than I have ever liked her." By a landslide.

Your heart gave a lurch in your chest. "Good," you smiled. "That's good, because I like you a whole lot, too."

“Do you wanna get out of here?” Yeosang inclined his chin toward where his car was parked a couple vehicles down. “Properly this time, now that we're not completely wasted?”

You laughed. “I would love nothing more.”

Pleased, he helped you to your feet. You must have stood up far too quickly though, because the blood rushed up to your head in a riptide current. You swore as the vertigo hit you, and your footing stumbled. 

“Woah, careful there, pretty,” he murmured, his low voice by your ear as he steadied you with one hand pressed between your shoulder blades and the other around your waist. 

Oh, there went your heart… it flew up to halo around Yeosang's head, and it wasn't yours anymore—

“You okay?” He mused. 

You cleared your throat, straightening. “Yeah, I'm great,” you said sheepishly, ducking your head toward your chest. 

A warm, fond chuckle left his mouth. “Cute,” he murmured. He lifted your chin up so you would look at him, his eyes darting down toward your mouth, and yours mirroring his movements. “I was wondering…”

“You can kiss me,” you blurted out, ignoring the utter leap in your pulse and the heat crawling up the back of your neck. 

You tasted his smile as he leaned over to seal his mouth over your own, a long awaited return to the place that felt just right. You breathed him in, inhaled him, devoured him whole—you wrapped your arms around his shoulders to pull him closer just as his hands pressed you flush against him. 

In the distance against the heavy house music in the background, a cheer went up into the night sky. 

You and Yeosang parted only to crane your heads in the direction of the noise, only to find what looked like a gathering of your friends and his friends hooting and applauding like it was New Years. 

“OPERATION: PASSENGER PRINCESS WINS!” The guy from earlier, Wooyoung, practically howled up at the sky. 

You pressed your face against Yeosang's shoulder as he groaned. “I am so sorry about them,” he chuckled through a grimace, lips grazing over your crown. 

You laughed along with him. “My friends are also among the guilty party, Yeo.” 

He kept his arm around your waist and you kept your head against his shoulder as the two of you walked away from your friends and toward his car. Contentment curled itself up over your chest again, and it nestled in deep, as if it planned to stay awhile. 

“By the way,” you piped up as he unlocked his car. 

“Mhm?”

You opened the passenger side door and leaned over the top of it to ask, “What the hell is Operation: Passenger Princess?” 

Yeosang sputtered out a laugh and his cheekbones burned red. “How about we save that for our third date?”

You blinked, lips parting. 

Yeosang grinned impishly. “Close that mouth, pretty, or I'll close it for you.”

Your jaw snapped closed, and his laugh echoed against the houses along this street. You climbed into the car after him, flustered beyond words. “I don't like you,” was all you could come up with. 

“I'm sure you don't.”

a/n: pls remember to reblog + comment if you enjoyed! also, the plan is to try and write another wooyo frat au as well, so pray for me...

atz m.list

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[sungbeam]

BIRDS OF PREY — fourteen

nonidol!kim hongjoong x f!reader

living in gray areas of your city, out of the way of gangs and mafia territories, could only keep you safe for so long. it was only a matter of time before you began running into problems, or rather, problems began running into you.

▷ genre, warnings. nc-17, strangers 2 lovers, slow burn, mafia au, angst, swearing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of money laundering, workplace power dynamics and uncomfortable propositions, mentions of tracking devices, mentions of weed (reader does not smoke it, only inhales it secondhand bc of someone else in the room), one allusion to violent methods of extracting information (nothing is explicitly stated), barely proofread like idek if i can be considered conscious rn laskdfjndsk

▷ word count. 6.6k

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a/n: i finished this last night at abt the same time yn was crashing out at work in this chapter 🤡 also the way this chapter ended up this long... it was literally supposed to be so short.....

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: HOW TO KILL A HYDRA

“I FEEL LIKE I HAVEN'T seen you in forever,” groaned Ryujin as the two of you boisterously shouldered your way into the apartment, arms full of grocery bags for the week. Her face was flush from the sting of winter morning air, but a smile stretched across her mouth nonetheless. 

You couldn't disagree with her. Your face was just as nipped by the winter cold, but you were undoubtedly aglow from the much needed girl time from this morning. “And apparently we live together,” you joked. 

After all the tension and chaos your working at Dionysus brought you, a moment of normalcy was all you wanted. Lately, both you and Ryujin were mutually swamped with work and college, meaning it was nearly impossible to speak to one another besides the passing-by wave or a post-it note left on the door. But this morning had been yours and Ryujin's temporary strike in order to finally spend time together. 

Ryujin wiped an invisible bead of sweat from her forehead after wrestling the bags in her hands onto the kitchen counter. “Phew. I… am so out of shape. How about you?”

You grunted in response, nearly flopping onto the counter with your own bags. “I'm doing great,” you replied in exaggerated panting, though some of it wasn't exaggerated. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

She snorted, turning to the fridge. “It was a good thing we got breakfast before we left,” she said, “but I can't believe it was so crowded this morning. On a weekday, too.”

“You’re not the only one who got today off, I guess,” you said with a shrug. You dug out items from the bags to pass along to Ryujin. The only reason why this morning was even possible was because it was one of those random national holidays that came up too quick for anyone to remember. It celebrated some distant figure from the country's past; you undoubtedly learned about him in school, but his only legacy today was giving some folks a day off from their 9-to-5. 

She accepted a jug of dairy creamer from you with a hum. “Hm, you're right. I still think it's so foul that you have to go to work tonight. I mean—club workers should get national holidays off, too!”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I wish. It's too bad there isn't a bartender or waiter union in this city.”

“You should start one.”

“If only I had the time,” you lamented. Even as you threw out jokes, your stomach twisted. There wasn’t much time left before the meeting at the end of this week, and if you didn’t leave work tonight with the news that you were hoping for, you feared there might be Hell to pay. 

Your friend let out a noncommittal hum. “Well, at the very least, I could drop you off at work. I have lots of time today, anyways, so—”

The jar of maraschino cherries slipped from your grasp, and your hands fumbled to claw it back into the safety of your possession. The glass clunked noisily against the countertop as you used your front as an extra hand. “You don’t have to,” you said quickly.

Ryujin sent you a look, carefully taking the jar of cherries from you. “Oh. Are you sure? I never get to drop you off.”

“Really, you don’t have to,” you replied with feigned nonchalance. You glanced over at her briefly but pulled your eyes away just as fast. Your mind raced with the memory of Chan—he already knew who Ryujin was and interacted with her plenty. You needed to keep her out of this. “It’s getting a little more dangerous around here lately, especially with how dark it gets. And you know Jungwon comes to pick me up, so it’s all good.”

You wondered if she could hear your pulse, if she could see the guilt scrawled across your face like some glaring neon sign. 

In times like these, a moment sometimes felt like five years. 

“Right, I forgot.” Ryujin was turned away toward the fridge when your eyes darted back to her. 

“I appreciate it though,” you were quick to add. It’s just better this way. 

She shot you a smile; if you didn’t know her like you did, you might have been relieved to see it. “Maybe another time then. Just stay safe yourself, Yn.”

“I always am,” you hummed, a little too easily. Speaking of safety… “So, uhm, y'know Chan.”

In your periphery, Ryujin straightened like an arrow, perked up like a puppy. You realized your mistake far too late. “What about Chan?” she asked you with that teasing lilt at the end. She flounced over on the balls of her feet, plucking up the bundle of lettuce from your hands and wagging her brows. 

You inwardly facepalmed. Oh, could you be more subtle today? You forced a laugh. “It's not like that,” you insisted, though to no avail. “I was just wondering if you'd seen him around the office lately.”

Yeah, like saying that wasn't any more suspicious. 

Ryujin's expression practically screamed a similar sentiment, but she only cocked a brow at you and replied, “Now that I think about it, not really. He's swung by maybe once since the party, but he must be busy or something.”

Unfortunately, that only made it seem more plausible in your mind that Chan only sought Ryujin out to get to you, and ultimately, to Hongjoong. How did he know? And when? “Oh,” you said. “Must be, I guess. He mentioned something about the acquisitions industry.”

“Yeah,” your friend snorted. “Acquisitions is just a friendlier term for a less savory business.”

You paused. “Really.”

“Yeah.” Ryujin had her back to you as she shoved a box of ice cream sandwiches into the freezer. “One of my coworkers said it must be some kind of black market thing. Of course, it's not something that can be proven, but that's what people usually mean when they say 'acquisitions.’”

Great, so you had the answer glaring at you the entire time. There was still much you had left to learn. Your pulse still pounded against your throat though, unable to rid your mind of the dread seeping into your bones as you uncovered more information. 

“And that doesn't change your mind about him?” you asked next, slowly, while gauging her reaction. 

She shrugged. “Not particularly,” she said flippantly. Ryujin bumped the freezer closed with her hand as she turned to face you. “He's nice enough, but y'know, I like his friend Yeji a lot more.”

A sly smile curled onto your lips, and you felt a laugh bubble out of your chest as you noted Ryujin's own bashfulness began to peer through her nonchalance. “Yeah, forget about Chan. It's time for you to catch me up on her.”

When night casted its wide net over the city once more, you found yourself packing your bag for the work shift ahead of you. You quietly stuffed your small purse with the essentials: clothes tape, body tape, perfume, breath mints, pads, Band-Aids, and of course— 

Before you let her join the rest, you swiped a bit of Aurora over your lips. As you massaged the color into an even spread, you stared at the slim, gold tube in your hand. Your reflection appeared on its surface, albeit distorted and gold-tinted. 

Never in your wildest dreams had you ever thought you would end up doing this—playing spy for organized crime, as a bottle girl in a territory outside the gray areas. Perhaps the gravity of your situation had yet to catch up to you. 

You pushed out an exhale through your mouth, mindlessly fidgeting with the tube while you waited for Jungwon's text… Then, there was him. After the other night, with his strange behavior, you admittedly felt your pulse rush in anticipation of the tension. 

Maybe this Jjong hyung person was a sore spot, but regardless, you hoped this wouldn't put a damper on yours and Jungwon's working relationship. It was just—you’d never seen him act that way before. He didn't seem capable of reacting like that.

“You don't really know him that well though,” you muttered to yourself, now holding the sealed lipstick tube like a ballpoint pen. “You can't claim to know anything about anyone—”

Ca-schink!

You jolted. 

Your thumb had pressed down upon the end of the tube and activated a mechanism. A soft red light now emitted from its apex. 

You squinted at it, curious. When you pressed down on it again, the light disappeared, along with any trace of what you just saw, as if it had retracted back into the end of the tube. 

The light itself was not nearly bright enough to act as a flashlight, nor was it some blacklight that could reveal invisible ink (you guessed). Could it be…

Your phone buzzed on the table. 

jwon 😸: i'm here

This would have to wait until later. 

You clicked the lipstick into the off position, shoved it into your bag, and headed out. With forecasts of snow on the horizon, the air had developed a sharper edge to it lately. You tugged the sides of your thick coat tighter around you, instinctively checking both ways before scurrying across the road to where Jungwon was parked. At least you could still count on him for this. 

He was seated in the driver’s seat, as usual, his phone screen casting a white glow across his face and creating a glare over the lenses of his glasses. 

Don’t make this awkward, you thought to yourself as you rounded to the passenger’s side of the car and let yourself in. 

“Hey,” you chirped, huffing out a breath at the stark contrast between the warm air in here and the cold air outside. 

“Hey.” He nodded back, clearing his throat as he placed his hands on the ten and two positions of the steering wheel, waiting for you to get settled. 

You could feel the palpable stiffness. You hit an invisible wall every time you wanted to say something casual. Another apology sat locked and loaded on your tongue, but you stopped yourself. You’d already expressed that it was an accident and that you were sorry. Maybe you could try to pretend like the entire thing didn’t happen; maybe that would put you and him back to where you’d been before. 

As Jungwon peeled his car away from the curb, he cleared his throat again. “Listen,” he started, “I’m sorry I snapped at you the other night. I guess I’m just… a little protective over my personal life.” 

You swallowed, giving a small nod. “It’s okay, but really, I get it.” Bang Chan’s face from when you met in Dionysus for the second time—the first time you met his true self—flashed in the forefront of your mind. Something sour settled on your tastebuds. You understood Jungwon completely. “I wouldn’t want people from our line of work knowing about my private life either.”

He bobbed his head and sent you a thin smile. “Right.”

You both fell into silence after that with nothing left to say. There would eventually come a brief discussion over tonight’s goals and what to listen for, but other than that, the car was filled with nothing but the low hum of the radio. Your stomach continued to twist in a painful bind, that the conversation seemed to only widen the gap than resolve anything. 

Hongjoong knew the feeling of disappointment all too well. It was less a sharp stab to the gut like betrayal, and more of a heavy shroud over his shoulders. Paired with an acute sense of failure, one would have one Hell of a frustration cocktail in their hands. He would do anything to get the looming shadow over him to back the fuck up. 

The sound of the office door opening didn't break his attention away from the window. Up in the Crow's Nest, he could see everything and everyone, including their expressions. It was something that helped occupy his mind from simply imploding. 

“Don't tell me—”

Seonghwa's voice, already soft, cut off abruptly at the end. In the reflection of the window, Hongjoong could see Yunho's head shake, his mouth pressed into a grave line. 

When the door closed again, the second in command let out a sigh. “This isn't looking good.”

“How many addresses are left?” Hongjoong gripped the head of his cane as he watched Jongho's group come in through the warehouse doors. He made eye contact with his commander, who had a gleam in his eye and nodded his head. Finally. 

A beat passed. “We still have a couple left. Jongho and San haven't reported back yet.”

“We're about to get good news, I hope,” Hongjoong replied, inclining his chin out the window and turning toward Seonghwa. 

This day had been geared toward the list of addresses the DDC's Yoon Jeonghan had sent over. The addresses were possible locations where the Non-Captain and Mr. Young could be hiding out or making their base of operations. The list had been determined based upon intelligence collected from the men he had scattered all over the city, ranging from first person sightings to suspicious billings for said buildings. 

While Hongjoong didn't exactly trust Jeonghan, he was eager to squash the virus before it got worse. And so far, Jeonghan had yet to let him down. 

Well, until now. But hopefully, with whatever Jongho was returning with, it would all be worth it.  

By the time Jongho arrived at the Crow's Nest, Hongjoong could feel the pent-up anxiety and anticipation buzz through him like the low hum of caffeine at the back of his head. The commander didn't look any worse for wear, fortunately, but he didn't exactly seem to be bringing great tidings either. 

“What'd you find?” Hongjoong asked. 

Jongho shut the door behind him before tucking his hands in front of him. “We have a lead.”

Music to his fucking ears. Hongjoong could feel his heart rate subside briefly, before the adrenaline rushed through in anticipation of what the lead was.

Seonghwa lowered his glasses onto his nose and began flipping through his property documents. “You had the basement off of 23rd street in Sector 2, correct?”

“Aye,” he nodded. “The building used to be an old Laundromat, but had never been sold or remodeled. It was rotting away, basically. We found empty take out containers, filled trash cans, and other signs that people had been there but left in a hurry. There weren't any forms of identification left behind, but we did find remnants of documents in the basket of their paper shredder.”

Hongjoong sucked the inside of his cheek in thought. It was something. He hoped it was something big. He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling. “Good work, Jongho. Have the pieces sent over to be reassembled,” he said. 

“Already done, Captain.”

“And we need to cross-reference the last known owner of that Laundromat with any known associations to Strictland or even one of Mr. Young's aliases. Wooyoung is still working on compiling any other sightings of him throughout the city over the past three years, but cross it with his results once he's finished.”

Jongho gave a sharp nod. “Aye, Captain. Should I have a group keep watch over the location?”

“Yes. That's all—thanks, Jongho.”

The commander ducked out of the room and left the two to themselves once again. 

Hongjoong dragged a hand through his hair and leaned his weight onto his cane. It was something but not much. It would do no one good to be too optimistic at this point. They couldn't even be sure that the reincarnated Strictland had been in that basement, let alone if that had been their hideout all this time. How many members of Strictland were left? Did they have soldiers? 

In the worst case scenario, if none of this led anywhere, then what would be the next step? And what would that mean for his partnership with the DDC? Jeonghan had exchanged their assistance in smoking out this invisible threat for first pass at cromer powder when it hit the streets. He wouldn't send Ateez on a wild goose chase if he knew he couldn't get access to cromer powder otherwise, right?

Mindlessly, he leaned back against the wall by Seonghwa's desk. What to do, what to do…

“What do you think?” Seonghwa voiced aloud suddenly. He peered up from the papers in front of him, turning in the office chair to face Hongjoong with his arms crossed over his chest. “Do you think we're being played?”

In his gut? No. But with the results?... Maybe. “I can't quite tell but it wouldn't make sense,” he admitted. “Yoon's too smart to do that.”

“He is smart,” Seonghwa agreed. “And that's exactly why we should reconsider everything that's happened up until now. They seemed so sure of themselves.”

Hongjoong snorted. “The Diamond District is always sure of themselves.” He knew it first-hand and at every interaction with them. Though, he couldn't shake the feeling prickling in the back of his mind. Of course, he knew that Seonghwa's suspicions had merit; Hongjoong harbored the very same ones, though he didn't say them aloud. There were always contingency plans in place, but that didn't mean he wanted to use them. 

Really, if these were safe houses that members of Strictland were using, then tonight's work did have a productive purpose. After all, how did one go about killing a Hydra?

“We're sure that the product is under lock and key?”

“It's with Ruby, and Ruby is under Yeosang's watch,” he said in reply. It was almost guaranteed that nothing would happen to the product or its maker. If Yeosang lost her, there would be Hell to pay. 

Hongjoong knew the feeling. Or at least, an inkling of it. There was a strange ache in his chest and he rubbed at it absentmindedly with his palm. Perhaps he should be cutting back on the bourbon. 

“San still hasn't come back yet, and once Jongho's paper samples get reassembled and analyzed, there could be something,” Seonghwa stated, as if to console himself. “Maybe… maybe it's time to resort to different measures, Captain.”

He passed his right-hand a glance. He thumbed at his lip, already tasting the heady iron of blood on his tongue. He was itching to get this over with, and sometimes, civilized maneuvers weren't as fast as the alternative. “We’re gonna need to find someone to get information out of first. Any ideas?”

Something twitched over Seonghwa's lips. “I've got some.”

It was the first sign of excitement he'd seen from Seonghwa in a while. This would at least give him something physical to do with his hands. 

“Anything on our other operation?”

Hongjoong raised a brow. “It hasn't been that long since our last update.” At Seonghwa's silence, he prodded, “What's on your mind? I said I was sorry, and I'm not planning on inserting myself there anytime soon.”

Seonghwa leveled a stare at him that would have made any grown man piss his pants, but Hongjoong had practically grown up with that stare by his side. “You better not. It's bad enough that we've got crazy ghosts hell-bent on revenge. I don't need you losing your mind either.”

He grinned at him, suppressing a laugh. “Aw, you think I'm crazy? I'm touched.”

“Oy vey,” he grunted, shaking his head. “What’s our backup plan if Yn doesn't get into the meeting?”

“Now who doesn't have faith?”

“So you admit to not having faith in her?” Seonghwa parried. 

Hongjoong was not deterred. “I never said that,” he shrugged. “She'll get in. I have a feeling.”

“Is that what you're calling it now?”

Always with this, Hongjoong thought to himself. What else could that feeling be? It was normal to feel concerned over an asset or a liability. Sure, he cared a little more than what people might expect, but didn't he always? It was simply that he showed it a little more when it came to you. 

(What did that say about how he felt? Well… he wasn't about to answer that question. There were more important things to worry about at the moment.)

Hongjoong pretended he didn't hear him. “In a couple nights, we'll have the answers we need.”

“And if we don't?”

Another shrug. “I have ideas.” There would always be cards Hongjoong could play. No one was going to get away with forcing him to play mouse, not without him having his turn as the cat. 

Seonghwa held his face in one hand. “I hate that look.”

It was about that time of the night when your thoughts shook at the knees and wobbled down the path of no return. 

Tonight's air coincided with the stress of one event on the near horizon. You could feel it among the floor managers, amongst your coworkers. You could feel the weight of their stares burn into you even if you knew they were looking, boring their judgment into your skull and branding you as an outsider, or a contender, or maybe neither. 

You embedded the corners of your mouth deep into the apples of your cheek until you were unsure if you would ever smile again after tonight. 

“Your pockets are full, hon, go take a break.” Sabine's presence was your desert oasis as you leaned against the bar counter for just a moment of weakness. You'd taken a dive off the deep end tonight, working so many tables, so many clients, you thought you could fill a ledger book with them. 

“I've got about a dozen shots that need to go to table four—”

“Uh-huh, not until you sit down for like, two seconds. Y'know, long enough to breathe?”

There was a conveniently-placed stool at your three o'clock, and you slid right onto it, exhaling when you felt the pressure leave your soles. “Thanks,” you said just loud enough over the house music. 

Sabine nodded. “Yeah… you need a pick-me-up? A shot of whiskey?”

You passed her a look, and she raised her hands in surrender. “It helps; I speak from experience.”

“No, no. I don't doubt you. I used to sip on one tall glass of apple martini the whole night.”

She gave a loud chortle that made you grin. “A martini lasted you the entire shift? What, were you drinking one dew drop at a time?”

“It was a tall glass,” you insisted. “Like a Sex on the Beach glass. Lean, sexy. And I was savoring it.”

“Uh-huh,” she drawled. “Well, superstar, I'll ask Ronni to whip you up one of those tall apple martinis or whatever. Go deposit your tips and shake some tail.” 

You pressed a kiss to her cheek as you slid off the stool. “I appreciate you.”

“I know you do.”

You hurried off after you took a generous gulp of Ronni's apple martini, refueled and reenergized. As the alcohol zipped through you, it was almost as if getting injected with a shot of caffeine. You'd probably feel the crash a little later on, but it would at least make smiling easier. 

If there was one thing you were going to miss about this gig at the Dionysus, it would be Sabine. More than once did you entertain the idea of referring her to work at the Shipwreck. You didn't know how open she would be to a slight change of scenery, but… y'know, maybe the journey home from the Shipwreck to her apartment wouldn't be as bad. 

And maybe, then, you could still see her and be friends. 

Was that against the mafia spy code or something? Did it make you soft? (Maybe that was a good thing.)

By the end of the night, the lights had become haloes and you were slightly buzzed. You'd ingested the drink slow enough that you were only tipsy, and nothing that a cold drink of water wouldn't fix. 

All that mattered was that you had smashed your quota. 

“Dove,” you heard Ha-yi say as she appeared around the corridor by the staff monitor. Your coworkers had largely disappeared into the break room, waiting for tips to be split. “I need to speak with you for a moment.”

You nodded, logging out of the monitor. “Sure.”

“In the managers’ office.”

The organ in your ribcage shot out of a cannon. You just barely nodded in time for it to look natural. “Uhm, sure. Yeah. Lead the way.”

Ha-yi beckoned you toward the back hallway with the flick of two of her fingers, turning and walking on. You went after her, rolling your shoulders back and counting to ten in your head, wringing your sweaty hands in front of you, and trying to keep your heels from folding beneath you. 

You wondered if this was what a perp walk was like—like in those crime shows, where the cops walked the perpetrator out through the crowd like some backwards runway show. 

You caught Jungwon's eyes as you went through the kitchen, his dark eyes widening only slightly at the sight of you trailing after your floor manager. Silently, you made a gesture, something simple to signal where you were going. 

He sent you back a small nod, apprehensively turning back to the sink, but still watching you from his periphery. 

As you and Ha-yi neared the back room, the buzz of chatter hit your ears. A wave of quiet washed over the room, but you kept your gaze straight in an effort to steel your nerves. 

Nervous about speaking to the managers, you said in your head. Nervous about if I got promoted for promotion's sake, not because of anything else. Promotion, promotion, promotion, promotion—

If that was all you thought, then they couldn't possibly read anything else from you, right?

By the time you reached the managers’ office, you swore you could fill buckets with the sweat from your palms. You wiped them down on the sides of your dress, eying the gold sliver of light slicing into the hallway from beneath the door. 

The door itself was a large slab of dark, polished wood. Two silver plates were drilled into its surface, reading Cheung Leon and Ly Caden, respectively. 

Ha-yi gave a firm knock against its surface. 

A muffled voice emerged from within, and Ha-yi replied by stating who she was and who she had with her. 

When there came a second round of muffled voices, she nodded to you and opened the door. 

Immediately, you held back from flinching at the smell of weed. There was a light, smoky film settled over the dimly lit room. It was rather spacious, with casual lounge seating and two large desks in different areas of the room. Something groovy, like jazz, filtered into the hazy air. Upon the two, L-shaped sofas at the center of the room sat only one man, of which you recognized as Cheung Leon of Cheung and Ly. 

He was a sturdy man with broad shoulders and a pair of hands adorned in large, bejeweled rings. Even in the dim lighting, he had a pair of dark shades perched on his nose. He reminded you staunchly of the classic mobsters from several decades ago; all he needed was the over-the-top hat and leopard print suit. 

He grinned from around his joint. “Ah! Well if it isn't my new star! Dolly, is it?”

“Dove,” Ha-yi coughed as she nudged the door closed with her foot. 

“Dove!” He stood and opened his arms out wide in welcome. His eyes peered over the rim of his glasses, and you swore, you could feel them roll up the length of your body from the tips of your kitten heels to the hairs on your head. 

You reined in a violent shiver, but plastered a smile on your face. The weed in the air was kind of helping, though you remained unnervingly alert. 

“My,” he murmured with a smile that made you wish you owned a gun, “she is beautiful. Nice legs… very nice face. You've made quite a few men happy, little lady, including me. You know—with all the money you've raised, of course.”

When the urge to gag threatened to bubble out, you pretended to laugh. “All in a night's work, sir.”

Manager Cheung glanced over at Ha-yi. “I do like her. Why didn't we decide to make her a VIP girl sooner?”

“We weren't sure if Lilac would recover in time.”

“Bah! Cut her loose already! That dimwit has taken too many days off.” He turned on his heel and made his way back toward the couch. “You hear me, Ha-yi?”

Ha-yi nodded. “Right away, sir.”

Manager Cheung's smile returned to his face as he turned his attention back to you. You could feel your feet angling toward the door, ready to bolt, but you glued your heels to the floor. “Dove, come. Let's have a drink to celebrate!”

“I,” you coughed, “really shouldn't, sir. I don't think that would be very professional.”

Your heart dropped as his smile grew an edge. The shark had just flashed you his great whites, and they looked like they hurt. “It wouldn't be very professional for you to reject an innocent request from me, would it now?”

“Sir,” Ha-yi cut in, and suddenly, you could breathe again. “You haven't even told her what you are celebrating.”

The man blinked. “Oh! How silly of me. Well, if it wasn't obvious already, we would like you to join our VIP waitressing line.”

You smiled, inwardly pumping your fist at the ceiling and through this guy's teeth. “I would be honored, sir. When do I start?”

“Right to business,” he marveled. “We are hosting a very important meeting in two nights, with a handful of very important guests. You'll have to come in during daylight hours to train before then. Ha-yi will provide you with all the necessary details.”

“Understood.” You bit back a smile. Finally, a success that you could report back to Hongjoong—

“So,” Manager Cheung said, “how about that drink, hm? You know, this couch is incredibly comfortable, my dear. Do you like jazz?”

A bucket of cold water washed over you. “I, uhm, I do appreciate the invitation, sir, but—”

“Do you have a family you're providing for?” he asked airily before bringing the joint to his lips and inhaling deeply. A trail of smoke seeped from his mouth as he continued, “Or perhaps you enjoy luxury items? A string of pearls would look… divine around your neck.”

You stole a glance at Ha-yi, who looked about ready to say something herself. What did one do in this situation? Would he ruin any chance you had if you rejected his advances? 

“I wouldn't be able to wake up in time for training if I spent more time here with you, sir,” you said sweetly. “I'm very eager to impress you even more with my performance on the VIP wait staff.”

You smiled, as pretty as you could manage, batting your eyelashes and folding your hands in front of you. All the while, every fiber of your being screamed to run. 

The smoke was on the verge of suffocating you by the time he replied. A slow, appreciative smile curled onto his face. “I suppose I see your point. I'll look forward to your performance in two nights.”

Taking her chance, Ha-yi blurted a good-bye to her boss, then grabbed you by the arm to whisk you out of that hellhole.  

The night was three drinks deep by the time you arrived on Hongjoong's doorstep. 

Jungwon dropped you off as normal, and you waved good-bye to him briefly over your shoulder when the Captain hauled the warehouse door open. His silhouette against the lights inside made him into a lighthouse to the storm brewing in the horizon. 

Or maybe that was from secondhand smoking. It wasn't your fault your only choice earlier had been to stop breathing or breathe exhaled weed air. 

The sea breeze out here had been enough to clear your mind and lungs, at least. You couldn't be too sure about inhibitions, but you made it here, didn't you?

“Don't you ever bring pants?” were his greeting words to you as he fussed over the way your coat barely covered enough of your bare legs. “Aren't you ever cold?”

“I'm usually in the car the whole time anyway,” you said, dismissing his concerns. “I have good news though.”

He rested his hands on his hips. “It couldn't have been said in an email?”

“So you don't wanna see me?”

You had meant it as a joke, but the question seemed to stop him in his tracks. Heat crept up the back of your neck, spreading rapidly over your skin like a forest ablaze. “You don't have to answer that,” you chuckled, rubbing your arm. 

He peered at you through his lashes. “Come on upstairs,” he said, nodding upward. He offered you his elbow, and you could have burst into a ball of flames then and there. 

“I got it, by the way.” You held onto him as the pair of you made your way up the stairs. “I was promoted to the VIP line tonight.”

“If you think I ever doubted you—”

“You put a lot of faith in me,” you noted. “Not that I mind, it's just that, you're on someone's shit list, Joong.”

Hongjoong cocked an amused brow at you. “Am I on your shit list?”

“Not yet.”

You beamed at the sight of his smirk, the one he had to duck his head to hide, but couldn't suppress completely. Some mafia boss he made. For a second, it was way too easy to forget who he was. 

He was just Hongjoong tonight, right now. 

You cleared your throat. “I'm starting training right away—tomorrow morning, actually. Well, I guess it's this morning now. And the meeting is taking place in two nights,” you told him as he helped you onto the sofa. 

“Drink?” he offered with a tip of bourbon decanter. 

You shook your head. “I'm good, thanks.”

He set the glass down and settled on the edge of the table right in front of you, as always. Maybe it was the residual intoxication—was that how it worked?—but you swore his eyes grew even darker as he leaned over his knees just then. 

“The DDC gave us a list of possible locations for Strictland's current base of operations,” he said. “Most of them didn't give us much, but we might have gotten something.”

You frowned. “Might have?”

He tilted his head to the side in a half shrug. “It's… something. Maybe. But you don't need to worry about that, dove; let's talk about you.”

I don't really wanna talk about me. The exhaustion was quickly seeping into your bones, water swimming up paper. He sounded like the rich, deep caramel notes of a bottle of bourbon. Didn't they say 'you are what you drink’ or something like that? “I guess whatever keeps you talking,” you blurted. “I like your voice.”

A low chuckle fell from his mouth and he closed the gap even further, but still not enough, to reach over and tap the space between your eyes. “I know you're tired, doll, so I'll make this quick.

“I know that we didn't get to talk about Chan fully, but he will be there at the meeting. He's on our side, so if something goes wrong with Jungwon—”

Your eyes shuddered. Should you tell him about Jungwon?

“—he’ll be there as a backup. Just focus on listening, but do what is expected of you for your job. But if”— he suddenly stopped himself, his mouth still open from the words he didn't push out through breath and sound. 

It woke you up a little. “What?”

Hongjoong shook his head, and when you blinked, it was like nothing crossed his face. “Nothing.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You're not telling me something.”

“I just don't think it's something that is right to say now,” he replied, picking and stringing his words together carefully. “Aren't you supposed to be tired?”

“I'm tired, not blind,” you quipped and wrinkled your nose at him. “Does Seonghwa approve?”

“Does he ever?”

That made a giggle bubble out of your chest before you could stop it. You slapped a palm of your mouth, even if your eyes still narrowed into upturned crescents filled with mirth. 

There was something in the way he looked at you then, chin resting in the palm of his hand. 

Your pulse thrummed against your throat and you couldn't breathe again, but it wasn't because you were suffocating on secondhand smoke or nerves. This was something far more dangerous. 

“Do you trust me?”

The question brought you back to the present. You sent him a strange look. “What do you mean?”

Hongjoong repeated the question. 

You nodded. “I do.” Once upon a time, you would've said that it was against your better judgment. 

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

Right. Your mind wandered to two nights from now, in the very near future. What role was Bang Chan going to play at this meeting? How would you know how to proceed with him if something went wrong with Jungwon?

And the latter—that was a can of worms on its own. Everytime you returned to this hesitation, you had to do backflips to convince yourself that Jungwon still had your back, one hundred percent. It was difficult to put your finger on it. 

You felt a hand gently take your chin and bring your attention to the man in front of you. Hongjoong had a crease between his brows now, eyes roving over your facial expression. “Hey, what's wrong? What do I need to know?”

It's nothing. You shook your head, waving him off. “No, it's nothing,” you promised. “I'm just—it’s residual nerves.” You had become too good of a liar recently, but somehow, he could always see right through you. 

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Residual nerves still come from somewhere. Yn, what aren't you telling me?”

Perhaps you were making a mountain out of a molehill. Jungwon apologized, he seemed to be worried when you were being led by Ha-yi to the manager's office, and he hadn't abandoned you tonight. “Do you trust me?” you found yourself asking, fully aware that you were taking his exact road out. 

“You're a sly one,” he grunted. 

“I learn from the best.”

That made him break. “Agree to trust each other?” he said at last. He seemed resolved to leave it at that for the night, but part of you wished to believe he would have trusted you in any other context, too. 

You didn't want to know what that meant, for him or for you. 

You nodded. “Agree to trust each other.” 

Before you left for the evening (truly, an ungodly hour of the morning, rather), you remembered the slim tube of lipstick stashed in your purse. You stood upon the threshold of the warehouse with Hongjoong, fishing the cosmetic out. 

“I found this earlier today.” You demonstrated the pushing mechanism that turned on the red light.

Hongjoong's face flickered with light surprise. “Sakura didn't show you? Polaris is an investment for most people, so having a way to track down their lost or stolen item was built into the design,” he explained. He tapped the red light with the tip of his pointer finger, eyes still on you. “There's an app and code it comes with somewhere on the box, but I have it if you threw it out.”

You chuckled. “You have it, too?”

He smiled slightly, shrugging as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, I did buy it for you, dove. Just promise you won't lose it.”

“I'll chain it to my wrist if I have to,” you said in partial jest. 

“Atta girl.”

a/n: pls reblog if u enjoyed !

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[sungbeam]

BIRDS OF PREY — fourteen

nonidol!kim hongjoong x f!reader

living in gray areas of your city, out of the way of gangs and mafia territories, could only keep you safe for so long. it was only a matter of time before you began running into problems, or rather, problems began running into you.

▷ genre, warnings. nc-17, strangers 2 lovers, slow burn, mafia au, angst, swearing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of money laundering, workplace power dynamics and uncomfortable propositions, mentions of tracking devices, mentions of weed (reader does not smoke it, only inhales it secondhand bc of someone else in the room), one allusion to violent methods of extracting information (nothing is explicitly stated), barely proofread like idek if i can be considered conscious rn laskdfjndsk

▷ word count. 6.6k

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a/n: i finished this last night at abt the same time yn was crashing out at work in this chapter 🤡 also the way this chapter ended up this long... it was literally supposed to be so short.....

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: HOW TO KILL A HYDRA

“I FEEL LIKE I HAVEN'T seen you in forever,” groaned Ryujin as the two of you boisterously shouldered your way into the apartment, arms full of grocery bags for the week. Her face was flush from the sting of winter morning air, but a smile stretched across her mouth nonetheless. 

You couldn't disagree with her. Your face was just as nipped by the winter cold, but you were undoubtedly aglow from the much needed girl time from this morning. “And apparently we live together,” you joked. 

After all the tension and chaos your working at Dionysus brought you, a moment of normalcy was all you wanted. Lately, both you and Ryujin were mutually swamped with work and college, meaning it was nearly impossible to speak to one another besides the passing-by wave or a post-it note left on the door. But this morning had been yours and Ryujin's temporary strike in order to finally spend time together. 

Ryujin wiped an invisible bead of sweat from her forehead after wrestling the bags in her hands onto the kitchen counter. “Phew. I… am so out of shape. How about you?”

You grunted in response, nearly flopping onto the counter with your own bags. “I'm doing great,” you replied in exaggerated panting, though some of it wasn't exaggerated. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

She snorted, turning to the fridge. “It was a good thing we got breakfast before we left,” she said, “but I can't believe it was so crowded this morning. On a weekday, too.”

“You’re not the only one who got today off, I guess,” you said with a shrug. You dug out items from the bags to pass along to Ryujin. The only reason why this morning was even possible was because it was one of those random national holidays that came up too quick for anyone to remember. It celebrated some distant figure from the country's past; you undoubtedly learned about him in school, but his only legacy today was giving some folks a day off from their 9-to-5. 

She accepted a jug of dairy creamer from you with a hum. “Hm, you're right. I still think it's so foul that you have to go to work tonight. I mean—club workers should get national holidays off, too!”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I wish. It's too bad there isn't a bartender or waiter union in this city.”

“You should start one.”

“If only I had the time,” you lamented. Even as you threw out jokes, your stomach twisted. There wasn’t much time left before the meeting at the end of this week, and if you didn’t leave work tonight with the news that you were hoping for, you feared there might be Hell to pay. 

Your friend let out a noncommittal hum. “Well, at the very least, I could drop you off at work. I have lots of time today, anyways, so—”

The jar of maraschino cherries slipped from your grasp, and your hands fumbled to claw it back into the safety of your possession. The glass clunked noisily against the countertop as you used your front as an extra hand. “You don’t have to,” you said quickly.

Ryujin sent you a look, carefully taking the jar of cherries from you. “Oh. Are you sure? I never get to drop you off.”

“Really, you don’t have to,” you replied with feigned nonchalance. You glanced over at her briefly but pulled your eyes away just as fast. Your mind raced with the memory of Chan—he already knew who Ryujin was and interacted with her plenty. You needed to keep her out of this. “It’s getting a little more dangerous around here lately, especially with how dark it gets. And you know Jungwon comes to pick me up, so it’s all good.”

You wondered if she could hear your pulse, if she could see the guilt scrawled across your face like some glaring neon sign. 

In times like these, a moment sometimes felt like five years. 

“Right, I forgot.” Ryujin was turned away toward the fridge when your eyes darted back to her. 

“I appreciate it though,” you were quick to add. It’s just better this way. 

She shot you a smile; if you didn’t know her like you did, you might have been relieved to see it. “Maybe another time then. Just stay safe yourself, Yn.”

“I always am,” you hummed, a little too easily. Speaking of safety… “So, uhm, y'know Chan.”

In your periphery, Ryujin straightened like an arrow, perked up like a puppy. You realized your mistake far too late. “What about Chan?” she asked you with that teasing lilt at the end. She flounced over on the balls of her feet, plucking up the bundle of lettuce from your hands and wagging her brows. 

You inwardly facepalmed. Oh, could you be more subtle today? You forced a laugh. “It's not like that,” you insisted, though to no avail. “I was just wondering if you'd seen him around the office lately.”

Yeah, like saying that wasn't any more suspicious. 

Ryujin's expression practically screamed a similar sentiment, but she only cocked a brow at you and replied, “Now that I think about it, not really. He's swung by maybe once since the party, but he must be busy or something.”

Unfortunately, that only made it seem more plausible in your mind that Chan only sought Ryujin out to get to you, and ultimately, to Hongjoong. How did he know? And when? “Oh,” you said. “Must be, I guess. He mentioned something about the acquisitions industry.”

“Yeah,” your friend snorted. “Acquisitions is just a friendlier term for a less savory business.”

You paused. “Really.”

“Yeah.” Ryujin had her back to you as she shoved a box of ice cream sandwiches into the freezer. “One of my coworkers said it must be some kind of black market thing. Of course, it's not something that can be proven, but that's what people usually mean when they say 'acquisitions.’”

Great, so you had the answer glaring at you the entire time. There was still much you had left to learn. Your pulse still pounded against your throat though, unable to rid your mind of the dread seeping into your bones as you uncovered more information. 

“And that doesn't change your mind about him?” you asked next, slowly, while gauging her reaction. 

She shrugged. “Not particularly,” she said flippantly. Ryujin bumped the freezer closed with her hand as she turned to face you. “He's nice enough, but y'know, I like his friend Yeji a lot more.”

A sly smile curled onto your lips, and you felt a laugh bubble out of your chest as you noted Ryujin's own bashfulness began to peer through her nonchalance. “Yeah, forget about Chan. It's time for you to catch me up on her.”

When night casted its wide net over the city once more, you found yourself packing your bag for the work shift ahead of you. You quietly stuffed your small purse with the essentials: clothes tape, body tape, perfume, breath mints, pads, Band-Aids, and of course— 

Before you let her join the rest, you swiped a bit of Aurora over your lips. As you massaged the color into an even spread, you stared at the slim, gold tube in your hand. Your reflection appeared on its surface, albeit distorted and gold-tinted. 

Never in your wildest dreams had you ever thought you would end up doing this—playing spy for organized crime, as a bottle girl in a territory outside the gray areas. Perhaps the gravity of your situation had yet to catch up to you. 

You pushed out an exhale through your mouth, mindlessly fidgeting with the tube while you waited for Jungwon's text… Then, there was him. After the other night, with his strange behavior, you admittedly felt your pulse rush in anticipation of the tension. 

Maybe this Jjong hyung person was a sore spot, but regardless, you hoped this wouldn't put a damper on yours and Jungwon's working relationship. It was just—you’d never seen him act that way before. He didn't seem capable of reacting like that.

“You don't really know him that well though,” you muttered to yourself, now holding the sealed lipstick tube like a ballpoint pen. “You can't claim to know anything about anyone—”

Ca-schink!

You jolted. 

Your thumb had pressed down upon the end of the tube and activated a mechanism. A soft red light now emitted from its apex. 

You squinted at it, curious. When you pressed down on it again, the light disappeared, along with any trace of what you just saw, as if it had retracted back into the end of the tube. 

The light itself was not nearly bright enough to act as a flashlight, nor was it some blacklight that could reveal invisible ink (you guessed). Could it be…

Your phone buzzed on the table. 

jwon 😸: i'm here

This would have to wait until later. 

You clicked the lipstick into the off position, shoved it into your bag, and headed out. With forecasts of snow on the horizon, the air had developed a sharper edge to it lately. You tugged the sides of your thick coat tighter around you, instinctively checking both ways before scurrying across the road to where Jungwon was parked. At least you could still count on him for this. 

He was seated in the driver’s seat, as usual, his phone screen casting a white glow across his face and creating a glare over the lenses of his glasses. 

Don’t make this awkward, you thought to yourself as you rounded to the passenger’s side of the car and let yourself in. 

“Hey,” you chirped, huffing out a breath at the stark contrast between the warm air in here and the cold air outside. 

“Hey.” He nodded back, clearing his throat as he placed his hands on the ten and two positions of the steering wheel, waiting for you to get settled. 

You could feel the palpable stiffness. You hit an invisible wall every time you wanted to say something casual. Another apology sat locked and loaded on your tongue, but you stopped yourself. You’d already expressed that it was an accident and that you were sorry. Maybe you could try to pretend like the entire thing didn’t happen; maybe that would put you and him back to where you’d been before. 

As Jungwon peeled his car away from the curb, he cleared his throat again. “Listen,” he started, “I’m sorry I snapped at you the other night. I guess I’m just… a little protective over my personal life.” 

You swallowed, giving a small nod. “It’s okay, but really, I get it.” Bang Chan’s face from when you met in Dionysus for the second time—the first time you met his true self—flashed in the forefront of your mind. Something sour settled on your tastebuds. You understood Jungwon completely. “I wouldn’t want people from our line of work knowing about my private life either.”

He bobbed his head and sent you a thin smile. “Right.”

You both fell into silence after that with nothing left to say. There would eventually come a brief discussion over tonight’s goals and what to listen for, but other than that, the car was filled with nothing but the low hum of the radio. Your stomach continued to twist in a painful bind, that the conversation seemed to only widen the gap than resolve anything. 

Hongjoong knew the feeling of disappointment all too well. It was less a sharp stab to the gut like betrayal, and more of a heavy shroud over his shoulders. Paired with an acute sense of failure, one would have one Hell of a frustration cocktail in their hands. He would do anything to get the looming shadow over him to back the fuck up. 

The sound of the office door opening didn't break his attention away from the window. Up in the Crow's Nest, he could see everything and everyone, including their expressions. It was something that helped occupy his mind from simply imploding. 

“Don't tell me—”

Seonghwa's voice, already soft, cut off abruptly at the end. In the reflection of the window, Hongjoong could see Yunho's head shake, his mouth pressed into a grave line. 

When the door closed again, the second in command let out a sigh. “This isn't looking good.”

“How many addresses are left?” Hongjoong gripped the head of his cane as he watched Jongho's group come in through the warehouse doors. He made eye contact with his commander, who had a gleam in his eye and nodded his head. Finally. 

A beat passed. “We still have a couple left. Jongho and San haven't reported back yet.”

“We're about to get good news, I hope,” Hongjoong replied, inclining his chin out the window and turning toward Seonghwa. 

This day had been geared toward the list of addresses the DDC's Yoon Jeonghan had sent over. The addresses were possible locations where the Non-Captain and Mr. Young could be hiding out or making their base of operations. The list had been determined based upon intelligence collected from the men he had scattered all over the city, ranging from first person sightings to suspicious billings for said buildings. 

While Hongjoong didn't exactly trust Jeonghan, he was eager to squash the virus before it got worse. And so far, Jeonghan had yet to let him down. 

Well, until now. But hopefully, with whatever Jongho was returning with, it would all be worth it.  

By the time Jongho arrived at the Crow's Nest, Hongjoong could feel the pent-up anxiety and anticipation buzz through him like the low hum of caffeine at the back of his head. The commander didn't look any worse for wear, fortunately, but he didn't exactly seem to be bringing great tidings either. 

“What'd you find?” Hongjoong asked. 

Jongho shut the door behind him before tucking his hands in front of him. “We have a lead.”

Music to his fucking ears. Hongjoong could feel his heart rate subside briefly, before the adrenaline rushed through in anticipation of what the lead was.

Seonghwa lowered his glasses onto his nose and began flipping through his property documents. “You had the basement off of 23rd street in Sector 2, correct?”

“Aye,” he nodded. “The building used to be an old Laundromat, but had never been sold or remodeled. It was rotting away, basically. We found empty take out containers, filled trash cans, and other signs that people had been there but left in a hurry. There weren't any forms of identification left behind, but we did find remnants of documents in the basket of their paper shredder.”

Hongjoong sucked the inside of his cheek in thought. It was something. He hoped it was something big. He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling. “Good work, Jongho. Have the pieces sent over to be reassembled,” he said. 

“Already done, Captain.”

“And we need to cross-reference the last known owner of that Laundromat with any known associations to Strictland or even one of Mr. Young's aliases. Wooyoung is still working on compiling any other sightings of him throughout the city over the past three years, but cross it with his results once he's finished.”

Jongho gave a sharp nod. “Aye, Captain. Should I have a group keep watch over the location?”

“Yes. That's all—thanks, Jongho.”

The commander ducked out of the room and left the two to themselves once again. 

Hongjoong dragged a hand through his hair and leaned his weight onto his cane. It was something but not much. It would do no one good to be too optimistic at this point. They couldn't even be sure that the reincarnated Strictland had been in that basement, let alone if that had been their hideout all this time. How many members of Strictland were left? Did they have soldiers? 

In the worst case scenario, if none of this led anywhere, then what would be the next step? And what would that mean for his partnership with the DDC? Jeonghan had exchanged their assistance in smoking out this invisible threat for first pass at cromer powder when it hit the streets. He wouldn't send Ateez on a wild goose chase if he knew he couldn't get access to cromer powder otherwise, right?

Mindlessly, he leaned back against the wall by Seonghwa's desk. What to do, what to do…

“What do you think?” Seonghwa voiced aloud suddenly. He peered up from the papers in front of him, turning in the office chair to face Hongjoong with his arms crossed over his chest. “Do you think we're being played?”

In his gut? No. But with the results?... Maybe. “I can't quite tell but it wouldn't make sense,” he admitted. “Yoon's too smart to do that.”

“He is smart,” Seonghwa agreed. “And that's exactly why we should reconsider everything that's happened up until now. They seemed so sure of themselves.”

Hongjoong snorted. “The Diamond District is always sure of themselves.” He knew it first-hand and at every interaction with them. Though, he couldn't shake the feeling prickling in the back of his mind. Of course, he knew that Seonghwa's suspicions had merit; Hongjoong harbored the very same ones, though he didn't say them aloud. There were always contingency plans in place, but that didn't mean he wanted to use them. 

Really, if these were safe houses that members of Strictland were using, then tonight's work did have a productive purpose. After all, how did one go about killing a Hydra?

“We're sure that the product is under lock and key?”

“It's with Ruby, and Ruby is under Yeosang's watch,” he said in reply. It was almost guaranteed that nothing would happen to the product or its maker. If Yeosang lost her, there would be Hell to pay. 

Hongjoong knew the feeling. Or at least, an inkling of it. There was a strange ache in his chest and he rubbed at it absentmindedly with his palm. Perhaps he should be cutting back on the bourbon. 

“San still hasn't come back yet, and once Jongho's paper samples get reassembled and analyzed, there could be something,” Seonghwa stated, as if to console himself. “Maybe… maybe it's time to resort to different measures, Captain.”

He passed his right-hand a glance. He thumbed at his lip, already tasting the heady iron of blood on his tongue. He was itching to get this over with, and sometimes, civilized maneuvers weren't as fast as the alternative. “We’re gonna need to find someone to get information out of first. Any ideas?”

Something twitched over Seonghwa's lips. “I've got some.”

It was the first sign of excitement he'd seen from Seonghwa in a while. This would at least give him something physical to do with his hands. 

“Anything on our other operation?”

Hongjoong raised a brow. “It hasn't been that long since our last update.” At Seonghwa's silence, he prodded, “What's on your mind? I said I was sorry, and I'm not planning on inserting myself there anytime soon.”

Seonghwa leveled a stare at him that would have made any grown man piss his pants, but Hongjoong had practically grown up with that stare by his side. “You better not. It's bad enough that we've got crazy ghosts hell-bent on revenge. I don't need you losing your mind either.”

He grinned at him, suppressing a laugh. “Aw, you think I'm crazy? I'm touched.”

“Oy vey,” he grunted, shaking his head. “What’s our backup plan if Yn doesn't get into the meeting?”

“Now who doesn't have faith?”

“So you admit to not having faith in her?” Seonghwa parried. 

Hongjoong was not deterred. “I never said that,” he shrugged. “She'll get in. I have a feeling.”

“Is that what you're calling it now?”

Always with this, Hongjoong thought to himself. What else could that feeling be? It was normal to feel concerned over an asset or a liability. Sure, he cared a little more than what people might expect, but didn't he always? It was simply that he showed it a little more when it came to you. 

(What did that say about how he felt? Well… he wasn't about to answer that question. There were more important things to worry about at the moment.)

Hongjoong pretended he didn't hear him. “In a couple nights, we'll have the answers we need.”

“And if we don't?”

Another shrug. “I have ideas.” There would always be cards Hongjoong could play. No one was going to get away with forcing him to play mouse, not without him having his turn as the cat. 

Seonghwa held his face in one hand. “I hate that look.”

It was about that time of the night when your thoughts shook at the knees and wobbled down the path of no return. 

Tonight's air coincided with the stress of one event on the near horizon. You could feel it among the floor managers, amongst your coworkers. You could feel the weight of their stares burn into you even if you knew they were looking, boring their judgment into your skull and branding you as an outsider, or a contender, or maybe neither. 

You embedded the corners of your mouth deep into the apples of your cheek until you were unsure if you would ever smile again after tonight. 

“Your pockets are full, hon, go take a break.” Sabine's presence was your desert oasis as you leaned against the bar counter for just a moment of weakness. You'd taken a dive off the deep end tonight, working so many tables, so many clients, you thought you could fill a ledger book with them. 

“I've got about a dozen shots that need to go to table four—”

“Uh-huh, not until you sit down for like, two seconds. Y'know, long enough to breathe?”

There was a conveniently-placed stool at your three o'clock, and you slid right onto it, exhaling when you felt the pressure leave your soles. “Thanks,” you said just loud enough over the house music. 

Sabine nodded. “Yeah… you need a pick-me-up? A shot of whiskey?”

You passed her a look, and she raised her hands in surrender. “It helps; I speak from experience.”

“No, no. I don't doubt you. I used to sip on one tall glass of apple martini the whole night.”

She gave a loud chortle that made you grin. “A martini lasted you the entire shift? What, were you drinking one dew drop at a time?”

“It was a tall glass,” you insisted. “Like a Sex on the Beach glass. Lean, sexy. And I was savoring it.”

“Uh-huh,” she drawled. “Well, superstar, I'll ask Ronni to whip you up one of those tall apple martinis or whatever. Go deposit your tips and shake some tail.” 

You pressed a kiss to her cheek as you slid off the stool. “I appreciate you.”

“I know you do.”

You hurried off after you took a generous gulp of Ronni's apple martini, refueled and reenergized. As the alcohol zipped through you, it was almost as if getting injected with a shot of caffeine. You'd probably feel the crash a little later on, but it would at least make smiling easier. 

If there was one thing you were going to miss about this gig at the Dionysus, it would be Sabine. More than once did you entertain the idea of referring her to work at the Shipwreck. You didn't know how open she would be to a slight change of scenery, but… y'know, maybe the journey home from the Shipwreck to her apartment wouldn't be as bad. 

And maybe, then, you could still see her and be friends. 

Was that against the mafia spy code or something? Did it make you soft? (Maybe that was a good thing.)

By the end of the night, the lights had become haloes and you were slightly buzzed. You'd ingested the drink slow enough that you were only tipsy, and nothing that a cold drink of water wouldn't fix. 

All that mattered was that you had smashed your quota. 

“Dove,” you heard Ha-yi say as she appeared around the corridor by the staff monitor. Your coworkers had largely disappeared into the break room, waiting for tips to be split. “I need to speak with you for a moment.”

You nodded, logging out of the monitor. “Sure.”

“In the managers’ office.”

The organ in your ribcage shot out of a cannon. You just barely nodded in time for it to look natural. “Uhm, sure. Yeah. Lead the way.”

Ha-yi beckoned you toward the back hallway with the flick of two of her fingers, turning and walking on. You went after her, rolling your shoulders back and counting to ten in your head, wringing your sweaty hands in front of you, and trying to keep your heels from folding beneath you. 

You wondered if this was what a perp walk was like—like in those crime shows, where the cops walked the perpetrator out through the crowd like some backwards runway show. 

You caught Jungwon's eyes as you went through the kitchen, his dark eyes widening only slightly at the sight of you trailing after your floor manager. Silently, you made a gesture, something simple to signal where you were going. 

He sent you back a small nod, apprehensively turning back to the sink, but still watching you from his periphery. 

As you and Ha-yi neared the back room, the buzz of chatter hit your ears. A wave of quiet washed over the room, but you kept your gaze straight in an effort to steel your nerves. 

Nervous about speaking to the managers, you said in your head. Nervous about if I got promoted for promotion's sake, not because of anything else. Promotion, promotion, promotion, promotion—

If that was all you thought, then they couldn't possibly read anything else from you, right?

By the time you reached the managers’ office, you swore you could fill buckets with the sweat from your palms. You wiped them down on the sides of your dress, eying the gold sliver of light slicing into the hallway from beneath the door. 

The door itself was a large slab of dark, polished wood. Two silver plates were drilled into its surface, reading Cheung Leon and Ly Caden, respectively. 

Ha-yi gave a firm knock against its surface. 

A muffled voice emerged from within, and Ha-yi replied by stating who she was and who she had with her. 

When there came a second round of muffled voices, she nodded to you and opened the door. 

Immediately, you held back from flinching at the smell of weed. There was a light, smoky film settled over the dimly lit room. It was rather spacious, with casual lounge seating and two large desks in different areas of the room. Something groovy, like jazz, filtered into the hazy air. Upon the two, L-shaped sofas at the center of the room sat only one man, of which you recognized as Cheung Leon of Cheung and Ly. 

He was a sturdy man with broad shoulders and a pair of hands adorned in large, bejeweled rings. Even in the dim lighting, he had a pair of dark shades perched on his nose. He reminded you staunchly of the classic mobsters from several decades ago; all he needed was the over-the-top hat and leopard print suit. 

He grinned from around his joint. “Ah! Well if it isn't my new star! Dolly, is it?”

“Dove,” Ha-yi coughed as she nudged the door closed with her foot. 

“Dove!” He stood and opened his arms out wide in welcome. His eyes peered over the rim of his glasses, and you swore, you could feel them roll up the length of your body from the tips of your kitten heels to the hairs on your head. 

You reined in a violent shiver, but plastered a smile on your face. The weed in the air was kind of helping, though you remained unnervingly alert. 

“My,” he murmured with a smile that made you wish you owned a gun, “she is beautiful. Nice legs… very nice face. You've made quite a few men happy, little lady, including me. You know—with all the money you've raised, of course.”

When the urge to gag threatened to bubble out, you pretended to laugh. “All in a night's work, sir.”

Manager Cheung glanced over at Ha-yi. “I do like her. Why didn't we decide to make her a VIP girl sooner?”

“We weren't sure if Lilac would recover in time.”

“Bah! Cut her loose already! That dimwit has taken too many days off.” He turned on his heel and made his way back toward the couch. “You hear me, Ha-yi?”

Ha-yi nodded. “Right away, sir.”

Manager Cheung's smile returned to his face as he turned his attention back to you. You could feel your feet angling toward the door, ready to bolt, but you glued your heels to the floor. “Dove, come. Let's have a drink to celebrate!”

“I,” you coughed, “really shouldn't, sir. I don't think that would be very professional.”

Your heart dropped as his smile grew an edge. The shark had just flashed you his great whites, and they looked like they hurt. “It wouldn't be very professional for you to reject an innocent request from me, would it now?”

“Sir,” Ha-yi cut in, and suddenly, you could breathe again. “You haven't even told her what you are celebrating.”

The man blinked. “Oh! How silly of me. Well, if it wasn't obvious already, we would like you to join our VIP waitressing line.”

You smiled, inwardly pumping your fist at the ceiling and through this guy's teeth. “I would be honored, sir. When do I start?”

“Right to business,” he marveled. “We are hosting a very important meeting in two nights, with a handful of very important guests. You'll have to come in during daylight hours to train before then. Ha-yi will provide you with all the necessary details.”

“Understood.” You bit back a smile. Finally, a success that you could report back to Hongjoong—

“So,” Manager Cheung said, “how about that drink, hm? You know, this couch is incredibly comfortable, my dear. Do you like jazz?”

A bucket of cold water washed over you. “I, uhm, I do appreciate the invitation, sir, but—”

“Do you have a family you're providing for?” he asked airily before bringing the joint to his lips and inhaling deeply. A trail of smoke seeped from his mouth as he continued, “Or perhaps you enjoy luxury items? A string of pearls would look… divine around your neck.”

You stole a glance at Ha-yi, who looked about ready to say something herself. What did one do in this situation? Would he ruin any chance you had if you rejected his advances? 

“I wouldn't be able to wake up in time for training if I spent more time here with you, sir,” you said sweetly. “I'm very eager to impress you even more with my performance on the VIP wait staff.”

You smiled, as pretty as you could manage, batting your eyelashes and folding your hands in front of you. All the while, every fiber of your being screamed to run. 

The smoke was on the verge of suffocating you by the time he replied. A slow, appreciative smile curled onto his face. “I suppose I see your point. I'll look forward to your performance in two nights.”

Taking her chance, Ha-yi blurted a good-bye to her boss, then grabbed you by the arm to whisk you out of that hellhole.  

The night was three drinks deep by the time you arrived on Hongjoong's doorstep. 

Jungwon dropped you off as normal, and you waved good-bye to him briefly over your shoulder when the Captain hauled the warehouse door open. His silhouette against the lights inside made him into a lighthouse to the storm brewing in the horizon. 

Or maybe that was from secondhand smoking. It wasn't your fault your only choice earlier had been to stop breathing or breathe exhaled weed air. 

The sea breeze out here had been enough to clear your mind and lungs, at least. You couldn't be too sure about inhibitions, but you made it here, didn't you?

“Don't you ever bring pants?” were his greeting words to you as he fussed over the way your coat barely covered enough of your bare legs. “Aren't you ever cold?”

“I'm usually in the car the whole time anyway,” you said, dismissing his concerns. “I have good news though.”

He rested his hands on his hips. “It couldn't have been said in an email?”

“So you don't wanna see me?”

You had meant it as a joke, but the question seemed to stop him in his tracks. Heat crept up the back of your neck, spreading rapidly over your skin like a forest ablaze. “You don't have to answer that,” you chuckled, rubbing your arm. 

He peered at you through his lashes. “Come on upstairs,” he said, nodding upward. He offered you his elbow, and you could have burst into a ball of flames then and there. 

“I got it, by the way.” You held onto him as the pair of you made your way up the stairs. “I was promoted to the VIP line tonight.”

“If you think I ever doubted you—”

“You put a lot of faith in me,” you noted. “Not that I mind, it's just that, you're on someone's shit list, Joong.”

Hongjoong cocked an amused brow at you. “Am I on your shit list?”

“Not yet.”

You beamed at the sight of his smirk, the one he had to duck his head to hide, but couldn't suppress completely. Some mafia boss he made. For a second, it was way too easy to forget who he was. 

He was just Hongjoong tonight, right now. 

You cleared your throat. “I'm starting training right away—tomorrow morning, actually. Well, I guess it's this morning now. And the meeting is taking place in two nights,” you told him as he helped you onto the sofa. 

“Drink?” he offered with a tip of bourbon decanter. 

You shook your head. “I'm good, thanks.”

He set the glass down and settled on the edge of the table right in front of you, as always. Maybe it was the residual intoxication—was that how it worked?—but you swore his eyes grew even darker as he leaned over his knees just then. 

“The DDC gave us a list of possible locations for Strictland's current base of operations,” he said. “Most of them didn't give us much, but we might have gotten something.”

You frowned. “Might have?”

He tilted his head to the side in a half shrug. “It's… something. Maybe. But you don't need to worry about that, dove; let's talk about you.”

I don't really wanna talk about me. The exhaustion was quickly seeping into your bones, water swimming up paper. He sounded like the rich, deep caramel notes of a bottle of bourbon. Didn't they say 'you are what you drink’ or something like that? “I guess whatever keeps you talking,” you blurted. “I like your voice.”

A low chuckle fell from his mouth and he closed the gap even further, but still not enough, to reach over and tap the space between your eyes. “I know you're tired, doll, so I'll make this quick.

“I know that we didn't get to talk about Chan fully, but he will be there at the meeting. He's on our side, so if something goes wrong with Jungwon—”

Your eyes shuddered. Should you tell him about Jungwon?

“—he’ll be there as a backup. Just focus on listening, but do what is expected of you for your job. But if”— he suddenly stopped himself, his mouth still open from the words he didn't push out through breath and sound. 

It woke you up a little. “What?”

Hongjoong shook his head, and when you blinked, it was like nothing crossed his face. “Nothing.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You're not telling me something.”

“I just don't think it's something that is right to say now,” he replied, picking and stringing his words together carefully. “Aren't you supposed to be tired?”

“I'm tired, not blind,” you quipped and wrinkled your nose at him. “Does Seonghwa approve?”

“Does he ever?”

That made a giggle bubble out of your chest before you could stop it. You slapped a palm of your mouth, even if your eyes still narrowed into upturned crescents filled with mirth. 

There was something in the way he looked at you then, chin resting in the palm of his hand. 

Your pulse thrummed against your throat and you couldn't breathe again, but it wasn't because you were suffocating on secondhand smoke or nerves. This was something far more dangerous. 

“Do you trust me?”

The question brought you back to the present. You sent him a strange look. “What do you mean?”

Hongjoong repeated the question. 

You nodded. “I do.” Once upon a time, you would've said that it was against your better judgment. 

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

Right. Your mind wandered to two nights from now, in the very near future. What role was Bang Chan going to play at this meeting? How would you know how to proceed with him if something went wrong with Jungwon?

And the latter—that was a can of worms on its own. Everytime you returned to this hesitation, you had to do backflips to convince yourself that Jungwon still had your back, one hundred percent. It was difficult to put your finger on it. 

You felt a hand gently take your chin and bring your attention to the man in front of you. Hongjoong had a crease between his brows now, eyes roving over your facial expression. “Hey, what's wrong? What do I need to know?”

It's nothing. You shook your head, waving him off. “No, it's nothing,” you promised. “I'm just—it’s residual nerves.” You had become too good of a liar recently, but somehow, he could always see right through you. 

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Residual nerves still come from somewhere. Yn, what aren't you telling me?”

Perhaps you were making a mountain out of a molehill. Jungwon apologized, he seemed to be worried when you were being led by Ha-yi to the manager's office, and he hadn't abandoned you tonight. “Do you trust me?” you found yourself asking, fully aware that you were taking his exact road out. 

“You're a sly one,” he grunted. 

“I learn from the best.”

That made him break. “Agree to trust each other?” he said at last. He seemed resolved to leave it at that for the night, but part of you wished to believe he would have trusted you in any other context, too. 

You didn't want to know what that meant, for him or for you. 

You nodded. “Agree to trust each other.” 

Before you left for the evening (truly, an ungodly hour of the morning, rather), you remembered the slim tube of lipstick stashed in your purse. You stood upon the threshold of the warehouse with Hongjoong, fishing the cosmetic out. 

“I found this earlier today.” You demonstrated the pushing mechanism that turned on the red light.

Hongjoong's face flickered with light surprise. “Sakura didn't show you? Polaris is an investment for most people, so having a way to track down their lost or stolen item was built into the design,” he explained. He tapped the red light with the tip of his pointer finger, eyes still on you. “There's an app and code it comes with somewhere on the box, but I have it if you threw it out.”

You chuckled. “You have it, too?”

He smiled slightly, shrugging as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, I did buy it for you, dove. Just promise you won't lose it.”

“I'll chain it to my wrist if I have to,” you said in partial jest. 

“Atta girl.”

a/n: pls reblog if u enjoyed !

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bp will be more than 90k, i fear 😭 considering i have five chapters left that will prob each end up around 5k, we r looking at a ballpark of 110-115k which is insane (for me, at least). like i do try to be a relatively minimal prose writer, but sometimes the urge to yap does possess me, as it is inevitable 💀 but yeah... whew. def my biggest project so far and im honestly still amazed i have stuck it out this long already

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I AM LITERALLY RUNNING TO FINISH THIS CHAPTER THIS IS SOOOO SKFNDKFNRN

[sungbeam]

The child is not even two pounds, he is in the intensive neonatal care unit. He is blind, may be unable to walk and he may not survive at all. Adriana Smith's mother, April Newkirk has affirmed that the decision to stop life support should have been the family's. The baby's name is Chance. Fuck Brian Kemp, I hope he gets sepsis.

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dude im so drugged up on cold medicine that i can't even process what's happening 😭 this isn't even meant to be a joke, like i genuinely can't feel anything but heaviness

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I FIXED THE FORM (HOPEFULLY) 💀💀

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WAIT IM FIXING THE FORM HOLD ON