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Chapter Text

Yoongi takes the last pull of his cigarette into his lungs and flicks the useless stub onto the curb. Something had caught his eye. Something he wasn’t used to seeing in Busan and certainly not in this particular part of Busanjin-gu. 

How could it not catch his eye? Everything about its design has been masterfully rendered with the intention of being jealously ogled. It’s meant to be spotted on this street. It’s meant to make mens’ temples twitch. Veins bulging with the bitter desire for something they could never hope to attain for themselves.

Parked in front of an unexceptional seafood restaurant, the very definition of exceptional.

A canary yellow supercar. 

Standing out like a sore thumb against the usual monotone sea of steel boxes that circle the outskirts of the neighbourhood. Any flashiness is usually saved for Seomyeon or the richer districts in general, but not here, not on this street. 

So, Yoongi can’t help but walk down the road to have a closer look. 

He doesn’t know much about cars, but he knows this is a McLaren. Confirmed when he reads the sleek emblem perfectly centred below the front hood. It’s small, subtle - about the only subtle thing on this entire goddamn machine. 

But perhaps the colour is throwing it off. Making the curves a little more punctuated in the purpling sky of early twilight. A little more indelicate than the model would look in a silver or black.  

It’s just so fucking yellow . 

A peek through the window reveals that the yellow has also burst inside like cartoonish rays of sunshine. Graphic lines contrasting with the black leather of the interior, outlining small details in the same near-neon hue from outside. A custom job by the look of it, everything new and upgraded. As if it could get any more obscene.

The colour flares from the piping and in the thread of the monogrammed headrests. ‘F1’ emblazoned on the leather of each one - marking it clear to see. Just in case you couldn’t tell from every other garish view, that this car is a big fucking deal. 

But despite it’s garishness, despite how it screams to be noticed like an attention-starved whore, and despite the absolute bomb of cash this useless lump of metal must have cost, Yoongi has to admit, it’s a beautiful car.

“Hey, punk! Get the fuck away from the McLaren!” A scratch of a voice calls out behind him. Yoongi turns to face that familiar sound and isn’t relieved to see the face attached. “Oh, Min. It’s just you.”

The face in question belongs to a man in his late forties. Hair dyed harshly black, masking betraying specks of grey. Clearly a desperate attempt to appear far younger than he is, though it has the opposite effect. And the new purchase he’s proudly sauntering towards only makes his desperation to cling to his youth more evident. 

Nothing screams, ‘mid-life crisis’ quite like a man approaching his fifties purchasing a supercar.

If Yoongi didn’t know him, he’d suppose the man would be of average attractiveness. But he did know him. Not well, but well enough to feel the tightness of loathing in his throat whenever in his company. 

His dislike of the man only makes his features every bit more punchable. Twists them to be more squished and clumsy on his face, like an ill tempered pug. A yapping, snarling, little bitch.

The man reaches into the pocket of his shirt, pulls out his mirrored aviator sunglasses and - despite the setting sun - slides them onto his face. His fingers heavy under the weight of the stacked jewels and precious metals he’s cluttered them with. 

The cobalt shirt he retrieved them from is unbuttoned far lower than it needs to be, revealing a few wisps of chest hair. A thick, gold chain rests above the sparse tangle, glinting ever so slightly as Yoongi surveys him.

So cheap , despite his evident fortune.

“This your car?” Yoongi asks, cooly, calmly. Stood in a slouch as he flicks his eyes from the car to the man approaching him.

Jinyoung holds the fob in his gaudy hand and clicks . The headlights flash in the dimming light as it unlocks for him. “Does it look like it’s mine?”

Yoongi takes a step back. Hands in his jean pockets, lips scrunching into a pout, appreciating its form. The elegance of its profile, the curve and swoop of its tight little waist. 

Maybe the yellow did compliment the marvel of its design after all. Highlighting every arc and bend almost salaciously. Like a showgirl at a carnival, incredible even in a dingy, unsavoury street. 

Yoongi bets it looks even better driving by the coast, weaving through some of the more expensive districts. It might not have been made for this shitty street in Busanjin-gu, but it’s certainly made for the likes of the Marine City.

“It’s nice.”

Jinyoung grins, an expression that one could easily identify as nothing other than shit-eating. He rests against the vehicle possessively, like he’s married to it.  

“Like it, do you? Want one?”

Yoongi scoffs, his own smirk pinching at his lips. He looks up at the gang leader. “You offering?”

“Fuck off, Min,” Jinyoung taunts with a grimace. “Nah, I’ve got a job for you, it’s right up your street.”

It’s always the same with Pan Jinyoung. He’s nothing if not persistent. 

Obviously it’s worked for him. He’s made his place as the most dangerous and prolific gang leader in all of Busan through that persistence. Pumped the city so violently with drugs he’s made himself a fortune from it. Exchanging people's misery for whatever luxury he’s desired. This week it’s the McLaren he’s smugly tapping his fingers against as he anticipates Yoongi’s answer. 

He’s obsessed with the idea of Yoongi working for him. He just won’t take no for an answer. 

It’s a pain in the fucking ass.

“I’m not interested in your jobs, Jinyoung-ssi.”

“There’s good money in it.”

“There always is.”

Jinyoung shakes his head, pissed now. Persistent but impatient. “Always been a stubborn sonofabitch, haven’t you?”

Yoongi shrugs off the insult and crosses his arms against his chest. “Stubborn... having integrity… I guess it’s all just a matter of semantics.”

Now Jinyoung’s the one who’s scoffing. His fingers finally leave the smooth surface of his new love just to point at Yoongi for emphasis. “I don’t buy it. You’ll work for me one day when you tire of that little Robin Hood act.”

“I’m not into that gang shit, you know that,” Yoongi tells him, yet again. His Daegu drawl even more pronounced, words lazily blending into one another with the boredom of repeating himself. “I don’t care for the senseless killing, nor the materialism.”

“You sure about that, Min?” Jinyoung counters, still not buying it. His irritating tongue buries itself in his cheek, self-satisfied and malicious as he catches the glint in Yoongi’s eye and mistakes it for envy. “Then why are you getting a semi over my car?”

Nonchalantly, Yoongi places his hands back in his pockets, eyeing the car as he begins to pace. Impressed, despite himself. 

“It’s a nice car, you don’t see many of these in Busan.”

“Imported it.” The man grins. “You can do that when you make a decent living, so I guess this is as close as you’ll ever get.”

Asshole.

“The canary yellow, with the matching piping on the interior... nice choice,” Yoongi ignores him and continues to evaluate. He turns back around to face the man.

Jinyoung cocks his head. “I have good taste, what can I say?”

“Good taste in something at least,” Yoongi mutters under his breath, loud enough for the petty dig to be heard. 

Yoongi’s always liked to play with fire. Light a match and catch the flame between his fingers. He likes the thrill of the heat. Confident that he knows it well enough to not get burnt.

“Cocky little shit, aren’t you?”

Yoongi’s smirk returns, striking that match. “Only when it comes to pricks like you, Jinyoung-ssi.”

“Watch it, Min,” The pug-faced bastard warns, his own smile sliding off of his face, irked. He leans off of his car and edges towards Yoongi with a threat in his step. 

It’s an empty gesture. A threat so thin it would crack upon further inspection. Yoongi knows this, knows he won’t touch him for simply being a shit, and tips his head for a closer look. 

It doesn’t take long before Jinyoung steps back and returns to his lover with a snarl.

Yoongi watches as Jinyoung runs his hand under one of the many sleek lines of the vehicle. He clicks the wing of the door up, letting the car open up like the spreading wings of a butterfly. A breed that doesn’t belong in Busan.

He slides inside effortlessly, used to the grandeur of a feature that seems to lack practicality and trade it in for aesthetics instead. 

Though, admittedly, it does look impressive.

Impressive how much it suggests that Jinyoung’s making up for smaller things.

Jinyoung strains the door closed and begins to zip down his windows. Yoongi observes as his own arrogant reflection is replaced with Jinyoung’s prideful face instead.

“What are you gonna do, set your boys on me?” Yoongi teases, letting his fingers draw slightly closer to the flame of Jinyoung’s temper.

Jinyoung's mouth fixes into a tight line. Suddenly feeling smaller than he’d like in his flashy imported bastard. “I might.”

Yoongi leans down, slow and deliberate. He peers into the open window, smirk crackling on his lips. As though, in some bizarre twist of this fucked up world, it’s Yoongi who carries the power. 

“I’d love to see it.”

Understandably, Jinyoung doesn’t like that. 

“I don’t have time for this,” he spits, letting his monster growl out for him - a warning. “Get fucked, roach.”

It’s the only warning Yoongi gets before Jinyoung reverses and speeds off. Ferocious wheels a little too close to Yoongi’s toes for comfort. Another unsubtle gesture of dominance. 

The roar of the McLaren echoes through the street as it makes its exit. Glaring gold, until it becomes a flash of yellow popping against the purple sky like a bolt. 

“Be seeing you around,” Yoongi mumbles, saluting into the empty air.

Another set of footsteps approach from behind. Yoongi glances back to see Namjoon striding towards him. Lollipop stick cushioned between his thick lips, a dainty pink bag in his hand, tissue paper in another blossoming tint fluffing out over the top. The final touch of the night’s supplies nesting within it - fresh rose petals. 

He makes his way over to Yoongi, his face quizzical. Clearly surprised to hear such a roar of a sound in these parts, on another quiet, mundane evening in June. 

“Shit, who the hell was that?” Namjoon asks, standing beside Yoongi.

“Jinyoung and his new ride.”

“Really? Damn .” Namjoon takes the lollipop out of his mouth. It clatters past his teeth as he joins his friend in looking at the empty space Jinyoung has just left behind. The echoes of the engines' purring roars still rattling in their ears. “What are the chances we’d bump into him today of all days?”

“I know right, you reckon the universe is trying to tell us something?”

Namjoon huffs in amusement, dimples beaming. He twirls the stick between his fingers and rests his elbow on Yoongi’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, it’s saying, ‘rob him blind.’ ” 

Yoongi glances up at his friend and watches him pop the lollipop back into his mouth and grin, mutually appreciating this funny twist of fate.

“That’s what I heard too, Joon-ah.”

***

Honestly, the entire plan is stupid. 

Really fucking stupid. 

But the handy thing about cons, is that not all cons have to be smart - they just have to work. And breaking into Pan Jinyoung’s home and stealing a fat stack of cash from his safe is a plan dumb enough to work. 

In theory.

There are a few things Namjoon specialises in, two of them: information and people. Handy things to specialise in as a con artist. And that’s what he is, an artist. A quiet artist of deception. 

Who would question a clumsy, dimpled boy apologetically steadying himself on your shoulder as he trips over his own feet in the queue of a cafe? The polite, young man holding the door open for you as you enter the convenience store? 

Handsome, kind and unassuming as he slips a bug right into your pocket - and now your day is his. Every word of it to collect and farm for information. 

It hadn’t taken long to find out that the most important coke deals are made on the first Thursday of every month. Namjoon had learnt of the whispers and then he watched. And like clockwork, the trades would be made. 

Today is June 3rd. It’s also a Thursday. The coke deal has already been done, which means one thing. 

Cash. 

A shitload of it. Now in Jinyoung’s possession.

To give him some credit, Jinyoung isn’t foolish enough to hold all of that profit in the private safe in his home. 

But he doesn’t need to be a full on fool, he only needs to be dumb enough. 

It’s hard to deny the thrill of a bulging briefcase of won, sitting within the confines of your own personal fortress for a few days. And it’s not stupid for Jinyoung to do so. The place is guarded, so keeping a portion of the profits there for a couple of days before he moves them to somewhere more secure isn’t foolish at all, really. 

It’s just dumb enough.

Maybe he likes the way it feels. Maybe it gets his pathetic dick hard. What matters is, it's what he does. Every first Thursday of the month. 

Tonight.

Namjoon didn’t need to bug anyone to know that the titillation of fresh trade makes Jinyoung want to fuck. A well documented and disgusting thought, but useful when it means he won’t be home for the best part of the night. Too busy on a date with whatever shallow woman can stomach him for the evening to get in the way of a robbery. 

There’s opportunity there. Risky, but it’s there. And Yoongi wants to make it his bitch. 

The idea had bloomed in Yoongi’s sharp mind as soon as Jinyoung had moved into his new mansion. Mansions are somewhat of a rarity in Busan, with apartments and penthouses being the norm. But Jinyoung had enough money to commission the renowned local architect, of KH architectural firm, to build him the luxury concrete slab of his dreams on a plot of land he’d acquired. 

Situated by Songdo Beach, the distinctive modern structure - built at ground level - boasts the most gorgeous view of the Yellow Sea… 

And it’s also far easier to break into than a penthouse suite.

Amusing that such a boast of wealth would be what would fuck him over. 

Getting past the armed guards sounded like it would present the biggest challenge to the scheme, but upon their closer inspection, the security wasn’t as tight as one would expect. In fact, on the numerous occasions Jungkook had scoped it out, it was surprisingly poor. Two men patrolling outside and two inside. 

So poor it’s almost easy. 

But then again, who would be dumb enough to try and steal from Pan Jinyoung? 

The three idiots giggling in the back of their parked van, architectural drawings of Jinyoung’s mansion spread in front of them. Notes already drawn, plan already made, just going through it one last time. That’s who.

“I still can’t believe it worked,” Jungkook huffs with dumb disbelief. He runs a tattooed hand to push the tumbling, dark stands out of his face and watches Yoongi’s fingers trace the lines of each level of the floor plan.

Yoongi shoots him a knowing grin. “Thank god Namjoon-ah has terrible taste in men.”

“ God , would you stop?” Namjoon moans, knowing exactly where this is going. “I didn’t know he was into that shit when I met him, alright?” 

Namjoon had fucked Jinyoung’s architect. A delightful coincidence from the vault of his past.

Distinguished, striking and charismatic. It was truly a very memorable two nights that they had spent together… but not in the way Namjoon had hoped. 

The architect had a very specific kink that made him impossible to forget. 

Impossible for Yoongi to forget too when Namjoon had told him and Jungkook about it. So, you can only imagine how delighted Yoongi was when he found out Kim Heechul, of all people, was the designer of Jinyoung’s home. 

His secrets already known, ready to be exploited for their gain.

Blackmail is always a messy business. It’s laborious as well as being obviously morally wrong. Plus, Heechul’s only guilty of having a very particular, but overall, rather harmless kink. He didn’t deserve to be blackmailed.

Phishing, however, is a lot easier. 

You just need to know how to reel in the bait. Once you have them hooked, you’re in. Ready to access their files and take as you please. 

Jungkook merely had to dangle the address of a niche little trap of a website he’d mocked up and Heechul gobbled it up. Munched on the grub within seconds of receiving the email.

“He seemed mature, like he had his shit together,” Namjoon continues to defend. Knowing the onslaught of teasing is about to commence but trying hopelessly to prevent it anyway.

Heechul was both of those things. He’d charmed the pants off of Namjoon, quite literally, on their first meeting at a bar where they’d locked eyes. Namjoon had never fucked an older man before, the power dynamic intrigued him, though he didn’t want to think too deeply as to why. 

He knew why, Namjoon’s a smart guy, he just didn’t want to think about it.

“Here come the daddy issues,” Yoongi mutters with a roll of his eyes in an attempt to make Jungkook scrunch his nose in a giggle, which he does.

An ironic quip, as Yoongi’s a fine one to call out daddy issues. He has his fair share of his own.

Heechul scratched Namjoon’s itch for rebellion that first night they met. It wasn’t until their second date where things took an unusual turn.

“Fuck you,” Namjoon says, trying his best to remain pissed at the two snickering idiots in front of him. “He was pretty vanilla... at first.”

Jungkook scoffs. “Yeah, until he tried to make you fuck a balloon whilst he watched.”

Balloons. 

Kim Heechul likes to watch people fuck balloons. 

Each to their own, but it really wasn’t Namjoon’s thing. Yoongi and Jungkook found the entire situation an endless source of entertainment and mockery. A bad joke that would never end.

And now here they are, with the full layout to Pan Jinyoung’s home, swiped from his architects files, plan ready to go, all because Namjoon fucked someone who has a kink for fucking balloons.

It’s funny how the universe works.

“Which I didn’t, for the record,” Namjoon purposefully declares for what must be the thousandth time. “I didn’t fuck the balloon.”

“But you fucked the balloon boy,” Yoongi counters as Jungkook bursts into another fit of manic laughter next to him.

“Before I knew he was a balloon boy! As soon as he started blowing that shit up I excused myself.”

Yoongi ceases his snickering to process the new information for a moment. “You let him get as far as blowing it up?”

“I was in shock,” Namjoon says defensively.

Jungkook lets out another delighted giggle, only stopping himself when Namjoon clenches his jaw in annoyance. Clearing his throat, Jungkook attempts to drop it, until he catches Yoongi’s mirth filled eyes, egging him on, and finds the temptation to tease too hard to deny. 

“You still fucked the balloon boy.”

The two tormenting little shits erupt into more sniggers as Namjoon lets out a deep sigh. Over it.

“Yeah, and it helped us in the end, didn’t it?” he says, raising a challenging brow.

“True,” Yoongi admits. They would never have gotten this far so smoothly without Namjoon’s former frolics. “You’ve got us there.”

“It better be worth it,” Namjoon grimaces, nervously adjusting his beloved black beanie as he shifts in his seat. He always hates this part of a heist.

“It will be. Now, we’re good on the plan, right?” Yoongi checks in, tapping the drawings that lay spread out on the foldaway table.

“Yes, hyung we’re good on the plan,” Jungkook repeats back in a playful drone.

Bumping the younger with his shoulders, Yoongi continues on, “Good. It should be relatively simple.”

Namjoon stands up with a stretch, elongating his broad, tall body in an attempt to disperse some of the anxiety prickling under his skin. “Never been a fan of the word ‘ should’ in situations like this, hyung.”

Yoongi stands to join him, not nearly as tall in comparison, and gives Namjoon a firm pat on the back. “Ah, suck it up and be a big boy, Joon-ah.”

“I heard he’s good at that,” Jungkook chimes in, large doe-eye gleaming with mischief. “Or blowing if you consider how we got here.”

Namjoon doesn’t give them the privilege of a response. Instead, he simply glares at them until he can’t help but break with an amused breath. Idiots . 

The plan is pretty simple, but sometimes simple is best. 

Sure, it isn’t exactly the most original or ingenious plan they’ve ever crafted. 

And yes, dolling Jungkook up as part of Jinyoung’s cleaning team and sending him directly into the lion's den with just a tote bag of cleaning supplies and the rose petals Namjoon had collected earlier that day, may seem almost crude in how plain it is, but the plan doesn’t need to go down in the history books, it just has to get him in.

Jungkook ties his hair into a low ponytail and reaches into one of the bags for the gloves he’d requested. He frees them from their packaging and stretches the yellow rubber over his tattooed knuckles, covering the ode to their mantra.

He’d gotten the piece just over a month ago. On the right, the English word ‘FAIR’ separated over each knuckle, the cross of the A removed to look like an upside down V. The same word repeated over onto his left hand, though this side read as, ‘FVIR’ . Inked on his skin permanently to celebrate six years of scams and cons together. Marking himself with a tribute to the simple phrase that’s stuck with them since the beginning, ‘Fair is fair.’

“Aren’t the marigolds a little overkill, Jungkook-ah?” Yoongi jests.

With a snap , Jungkook pings the cuff of the second glove. “How many cleaners in Busan have tattoos on their knuckles?”

“I wouldn’t have a clue.”

“Naver didn’t come with much either, but I think it’s safe to assume there aren’t many, so I had to take some precautions.” 

Jungkook grabs the final touch to his outfit, a black cap branded with Jinyoung’s cleaning company. He pulls it down low, shielding as much of his face as possible, then stands and walks over to the van's double doors.

With one final turn, Jungkook twists back to face his team, gesturing at his ensemble for a moment of reassurance. “How do I look?”

“Squeaky clean,” Namjoon says, smiling wide as he rolls up the floor-plans and tucks them away out of view.

Yoongi takes a moment. Cool, dark eyes scanning over Jungkook’s frame, taking his time to behold each detail. 

“You look cute,” Yoongi admits, his verdict making him a fraction shyer than his usual self.

“Cute? ” Jungkook doubts, glaring down at the powder blue long-sleeved polo shirt he’d also nabbed from the cleaning company a few days ago.

“Yeah, your little uniform,” Yoongi teases with a point, grinning at Jungkook’s commitment to the finer-details. How he’s mimicked the exact same way he’d seen the head cleaner tuck his shirt into his slacks, despite how ridiculous it looks on him. “It’s cute.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, fighting a smile. “Do I look believable?”

“Believable enough,” Yoongi replies with a shrug.

“Don’t forget this,” Namjoon reminds him, passing Jungkook the small pink bag and tote full of various cleaning supplies.

“Thanks.” Jungkook takes them with one hand and wraps his gloved fingers around the handle of the back door with the other. The beating of his heart finally starting to pick up now that things are becoming real. “See you in thirty?”

The two nod in confirmation and Jungkook opens the door and hops out. 

The fresh sea air hits Jungkook as soon as his feet meet the asphalt. He takes a drink of it, appreciating its briny zing as he makes a quick note of his surroundings. The car park they’d chosen is near empty, making it the perfect spot for tonight. 

Jungkook doesn’t have a habit of rating the views from car parks (why the fuck would he?), but this one is noticeably worth admiring. It sits above the coastline, jutting above it like a pier, waves crashing below its edge. Over its lip, an endless expanse of indigo twinkles the moon across each gentle lull of its heaving breath. 

It’s peaceful. Juxtaposing the kick of adrenalin that’s starting to stutter in Jungkook’s chest. He takes one more sip of air, a final moment of peace, before making his way up the hill to Jinyoung’s home. 

The others will sneak around after him shortly, but for now it’s just Jungkook. Jungkook and his jittering heart. Ready to channel all that excited, nervous, fearful energy and mould it into another confident con.

The trick to a good con is confidence. 

If you believe in the con, then the fool you’re trying to dupe will too. Today Jungkook believes. The unflattering uniform, at least doing its job in helping to ground him into the role. 

It doesn’t take Jungkook long to get to Jinyoung’s front gate. He’d moved past the boisterous kids playing ball outside and bashed the first security code he’d attained on his rounds into the keypad. It opened and he continued, walking straight to the front door and tapping in the second without hesitation. Relaxed, as though entering his own home. 

Not bothering to check for the company of others, Jungkook lets himself inside. And why would he check? He’s meant to be here. He believes it with no doubt at this point. The walk up the hill giving him enough time to fully delude himself to his advantage.

Just as the pictures in Heechul’s files had shown, the entryway is open and light. Cool toned wood bouncing the dim light of the moon throughout the hallway, grey stone slabs lining the walls. Sleek, cool but hardly homely - not even a hint of art or greenery. The focus, the fine architecture itself and that alone. 

Jungkook toes off his shoes and turns on the hall light. Making sure to let his presence be known when he hears the soft padding of feet approaching him from down the hall.

Looking out after the sound, Jungkook observes the large man coming to greet him, the causal presence of an assault rifle strapped against his robust chest. 

Not exactly Jungkook’s ideal welcome wagon, but no bother for a simple cleaner trying to work his shift. 

“Hey! Who are you?” The man questions, jerking the awful looking gun towards Jungkook in warning. “What are you doing here?”

“Nobody told you I was coming?” Jungkook replies, mouth puckered as if the man with the gun is the inconvenience, not the thief who’s just entered through the front door.

It catches the brute off guard. He hasn’t been told anything. Should he have been? Jungkook can almost hear the slow mechanisms of dull cogs turning beneath the man’s skull.

“No,” the man replies. “And you haven’t answered my question.”

“I’m Lee Shiwoo, I’m part of the cleaning team,” Jungkook bluffs. “I thought someone would’ve told you I was coming? I was asked to do a final sweep of the place for Jinyoung-nim. To make sure the atmosphere is most enjoyable for him and his guest, you know.”

The crony stops to contemplate. It sounds like something Jinyoung would request, and the man in front of him answered with no hesitation at all. Tone even airing on impatient. 

“No one said anything to me.”

“Typical for them to forget,” Jungkook moans. “Look, I just need to check over the bathrooms and the master suite and scatter these rose petals through the house.” He holds up the pink bag and gives it a shake. “I’ll be quick. I’m just trying to do my job.”

It sounds legit.

It sounds confident .

“Fine.”

Confidence is all it takes, after all.

And just like that, Jungkook’s in.

The man turns back to leave him to it, giving Jungkook free rein of the house. 

He needs to kill some time whilst Namjoon and Yoongi make good on their part of the ploy. Jungkook also needs to keep an eye on the first floor, which isn’t as simple as it sounds. There are so many stairways and split-levels dotted all over this place it’s practically an Escher painting. 

Jungkook heads to where he knows one of the bathrooms is on the ground floor. He isn’t about to clean Jinyoung’s toilets for him but he needs to at least give the impression he’s doing something.  

So, Jungkook rustles around in his bag, opens the toilet seat and spritzes the room with whatever room spray is on the side, making sure every action is loud enough to be heard should someone be walking past.

The unexpected scent of Piña colada mists throughout the small room. Jungkook didn’t have Jinyoung pinned as someone who would be into something so fruity, nor so sweet. Wafting the distractingly thick tropical scent away with a cough, Jungkook catches his bearings, mapping out where exactly he needs to go from here. 

First, he needs to make sure the double back doors in the kitchen are open. Then, he can make his way to the master bedroom on the second floor, scattering the petals quickly in a romantic display. 

Next steps are easy too, simply making himself busy on the first floor whilst he waits for the guard manning the security cameras to leave his post. Hopefully Yoongi’s and Namjoon’s meddling won’t take too long to budge him, as it’s crucial. Because once the guard is out, Jungkook will be free to slip inside and hack the footage. 

It’s a clever little trick that’s worked for them a few times - looping sections of the surveillance to hide behind. They don’t need to loop every feed, just the ones they’ll occupy. A technological veil, creating an endless stream of the empty basement as they crack Jinyoung’s safe.

Pineapple and coconut still catching in his throat, Jungkook takes a calming breath and heads out. 

First stop - the kitchen. 

There’s no one there, but regardless of that fact, Jungkook still wipes down the polished concrete countertop on his way to the double doors. To his luck, they're already open when he tries the handle. 

First tick checked and onto the next, Jungkook proceeds to find his way through the maze of stark hallways to the second floor. And it’s a good thing he took his time to study the floor-plans, he knows the layout so well it’s like he’s worked there for months.

Once in the master suite, Jungkook begins to carry out their ‘complimentary’ rose petal service for Jinyoung. Trailing the petals up some of the stairs, across the carpet and over the satin bed sheets. Desperately trying not to imagine the various sordid activities that have no doubt taken place here. 

Though probably not tonight. 

Getting fucked this royally would be enough fucking for one evening. 

He finishes up his work, even makes a heart on the bed, and heads back down to the first floor. 

The timing is perfect. Met with the click of a door opening and a man sulking out of the security room, grumbling to himself under his breath. 

“Fucking kids.”

With the guard now out of sight, Jungkook nips inside the empty room and glides behind the desk. System exposed and vulnerable, ready for Jungkook to hack in and do his magic, marigolds and all. 

Just like that.

***

It’s hard not to look at the sky as Namjoon and Yoongi make their way up the hill.

Despite the sun setting over an hour ago, the purple tinge still hangs within its grasp. Dark orchid rather than the lilac it was before. A soft smattering of stars punching through the visage with plummy, vivid bursts.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen it like this before,” Namjoon observes as they reach the top, the sight of Jinyoung’s mansion finally coming into view. Ground floor lit up and Jungkook hopefully safely inside. “A purple sky, I wonder what it means.”

“I think it’s good luck,” Yoongi replies, words contrasting with his face. Now frowning upon noticing the two kids playing loudly and carelessly with a basketball in front of Jinyoung’s gate. “A sign that everything's gonna work out just fine.”

The statement tinges sarcastic on Yoongi’s tongue at the sight of the evident complication.

They need to get to the camera by the gate. Mess with it in some way to draw out the security guard from his office - that was the plan. But unlike the plan, they hadn’t anticipated the presence of a couple of random brats scrappily playing outside at 9pm on a Thursday. 

They need to move. They need to fucking go.

“Why do I feel like you’ve just jinxed us?” Namjoon asks, looking over at their predicament.

The two walk closer, trying to scope out the situation, hoping that inspiration will strike at any moment. Mindful not to get too close to the house, to avoid the view of the main camera facing out from the property.

“You need to have more faith in me, Joon-ah,” Yoongi announces, glancing towards the kids. 

An irritating shriek mars the air as the ball is lobbed violently against a streetlamp. The kids then diving loudly with another scream to avoid its brutal rebound. 

They really don’t have a lick of control over that ball. Mostly sheer, clumsy force. 

Trying to ignore the irksome soundtrack behind him, Yoongi turns back to Namjoon. “You know I’ve got your ba-”

“Shit!”

Yoongi doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. 

The ball hurtles towards them like a cannon, target locked on Namjoon’s pretty dimples. 

In a split second, Yoongi reaches just in time, catching the ball in his large hands and sparing Namjoon’s dimples from being savaged.

And it’s a good thing Yoongi caught it. The heat and graze of the catch, felt in Yoongi’s palms. If that would’ve struck Namjoon, it would’ve knocked his fucking head off. Or at least broken his nose.

And then does hit. Opportunity.

Some ideas strike like a light bulb. Others like a basketball to the face of your friend.

“Hey!” Yoongi calls out to the little shits who don’t look half as apologetic as they should. “You kids should be more careful.” 

“Oh yeah?” The taller one of the two calls back. Far too much attitude for someone who isn’t much older than twelve.

Yoongi beckons the two over with a gesture of his fingers, the other hand lowering to bounce the ball effortlessly against the tarmac. For some reason the two youngsters are inclined to follow. Making their way over to Yoongi with shuffling feet and nervous glances. Unsure of this stranger with sharp, sly eyes.

“Yeah, you could hurt someone,” Yoongi says with a smile that purposefully feels false. He stops playfully handling the ball and snatches it into his palms. “You have quite the power behind that throw, what if it had hit my friend here? That could have ended badly .”

The last word hangs in the air between them. The suggestion that Namjoon wouldn’t be the worst affected is rather evident. And of course, Yoongi isn’t about to beat up some kids, he isn’t sick, but they don’t need to know that. And they don’t.

The shorter of the two dips his head, trying to appear even smaller than he already is. Whether he’s running his own little con of wracking up some sympathy or genuinely is sorry isn’t clear either.

“We’re sorry, sir.”

“That’s okay, you lost control. It was a mistake.” Yoongi shrugs, tone low but consoling. “Though it makes me wonder...” 

He pauses with lips pursed, as if to contemplate and flicks the ball into the air, catching it on his finger - as natural as a reflex. It spins controlled at the tip of his index, well practiced. A perfect demonstration of physics and finesse. 

The two boys gasp in awe of the display as Namjoon crosses his arms and rolls his eyes. 

Yoongi knew they’d be impressed. He would’ve been too.

Giving the ball a further spin, Yoongi peers at the two excited, small faces in front of him. “How well could you throw this ball if you had some intention behind it?” 

The two sets of wide eyes stay locked on the blur of orange, eager to see if it will slip from Yoongi’s control. It doesn’t.

“What do you mean?” The taller one asks, letting himself look away for a second to study Yoongi’s face for clues.

Yoongi catches the ball before the momentum of the moment lets up, resting it under his arm as he makes his inspired proposal.

“I’ll give you a hundred thousand won if you can hit that camera up there.” He points to the camera above the gate. “That one right there by that post.”

“A hundred thousand won?” The shorter scamp questions. “That’s easy!”

Yoongi beams and passes him the ball. “Then show me.”

The kids race off, giddy at the promise of a very generous amount of won to fill their pockets with. 

The first try is a mess. 

It bounces right off the wall and comes tearing back, nearly taking out the smaller one. 

As Yoongi imagines the ball hitting into the little guy’s stomach, limbs hugging around it as he flies through the air and hurtles into the sea, he worries if this stroke of genius is actually even smart at all. 

They clearly lack skill, so there’s a large chance that they’ll lob it over the wall and lose the ball completely. Though, Yoongi supposes if they do lose it they’ll move along and go home. 

Maybe it is smart. Win-win unless one of them dies in the process.

In a stroke of dumb luck they get it on the third try.

“You’re naturals,” Yoongi lies, digging deep into his pockets and handing over their prize. “Don’t spend it all at once.”

“We won’t, thank you, mister!” The munchkin one replies gleefully, big eyes like saucers on his chubby face. 

He gives a deep, flustered bow. The taller one bows with him, though slightly more reluctant.

“Don’t mention it. Now, shouldn’t you be on your way?” Yoongi asks with a smile that’s more genuine this time. “It’s not safe to be out so late. You don’t know what kind of lowlifes could be about. I’m sure your parents are worried.”

The taller kid snickers and pulls his friend to walk away. Money in pocket alleviating any need to play nice. 

“Sure, we’ll get moving along,” he says with zero effort to even mask the sarcasm. “Thanks, sir.”

Little shit.

The two young boys move slightly further up the road in an attempt to appear as though they’ve heeded Yoongi’s advice, before stopping to continue to play anyway.

“Could you sound any more like an old man if you tried?” Namjoon mocks in hushed tones as they sneak down the narrow side street in between Jinyoung’s walled home and a closed café. 

“Shut up,” Yoongi whispers back with a smirk, making their way down the alley and examining the thick screen of bamboo peaking over the top of Jinyoung’s wall. “They’re not going to listen to me anyway, it's just better for my conscience.”

“Ah, so the criminal has a conscience.”

“I like to think my moral compass is in pretty good working order, thank you.”

“He says, as we’re about to break into someone’s home and rob them.”

“Jinyoung deserves it,” Yoongi states, entirely assured without a suggestion of doubt to his judgment as they approach the section of wall where the bamboo is thin enough to climb through. “He profits out of people’s misery.”

“So now we’re going to take those miserable profits for ourselves.”

Technically, it isn’t just for themselves. 

Most of it will go back into the communities Jinyoung’s businesses are so set on exploiting. The parts criminally underfunded and neglected by the politicians and the ridiculously wealthy of the city. 

It’s an attempt to provide some aid. A small solution to the sickening disparity of wealth that’s rife in Busan. A Robin Hood act indeed.

“You fuck other people and you get fucked back, it’s the circle of life,” Yoongi says, stopping in front of the wall, inspecting the small gap in the screen of landscaping.

“Isn’t that karma?” 

”Yes, and we’re the ones delivering.” Yoongi turns to face his friend and smirks, cocking his head. “Fair is fair, Joon-ah.”

“Fair is fair,” Namjoon agrees with a sigh, already in way too deep. “Right. Let me give you a boost.”

Namjoon bends to lower, holding his hands together for Yoongi to step into. He does and Namjoon lifts until Yoongi’s arms are hugging the top of the wall with enough purchase to swing his legs and hook himself over. 

The wall is fairly thick, enough for Yoongi to balance on top as he reaches to help Namjoon climb up.

“You having regrets about this then?” Yoongi asks, voice strained with the effort as he pulls him to.

“I just think we’re playing with fire,” Namjoon puffs when he gets to the top, shifting to dangle his long legs over the side of the wall. The coast is clear and Namjoon jumps down first. “There’s a reason why no one has tried this before.”

“Which is?” Yoongi asks, crouching above him on the wall like an alley cat before springing down to join him.

“Because it’s fucking stupid.” 

Yoongi smiles, tickled by his frankness.

“And yet here you are,” Yoongi replies, guiding them both through the dark passage by the side of the house, heading for the back doors Jungkook should have left open for them.

“Here I am,” Namjoon repeats back, almost regrettably as Yoongi reaches his arm around Namjoon’s shoulders, his fingers finding their way to rest at the back of his neck.

“Breaking into the most dangerous man in Busan’s home and helping yourself to his safe,” Yoongi croons, giving Namjoon’s nape an encouraging squeeze.

They stop before they turn the corner onto the main garden and back of the property. They haven’t met any guards yet, and the security might be lacking, but there’s no way they’d blindly walk out into the open.

“When did things go so wrong for me, hyung?” Namjoon asks, pausing at the precipice of their cover.

Beneath his thumb, Yoongi can feel Namjoon’s hammering pulse, clearly nervous.

“Mm.” Yoongi puckers his bottom lip and brings his hand to his chin, hamming up his consideration in an attempt to settle his friend’s nerves with more light teasing. “I’d say things went south when you got caught blowing that guy in your dad’s-”

He’s cut short by rustling close by.

“ Shh ! Someone’s coming.”

The two jump to hug the wall. Hoping that the covering of darkness will be enough to shelter them from view. Though, if someone were to properly investigate the passage by the side of the house they’d be absolutely fucked, no doubt.

The rustling evolves into the clear sound of footsteps on concrete. 

Not a welcome sound at all. 

If the guard on the other side of the wall decides to take even a peek around the corner they’ll be, as mentioned per the above notes, absolutely fucked. Big fat fucked, in fact.

Then three things happen. 

There’s a gut-wrenching scream. 

An explosion of laughter.

And then a cry of extreme irritation.

“FUCKING KIDSSSSSSSSSSSS!” 

All coming from out the front. 

The footsteps stop. There’s a short pause and then the crackle of a walkie talkie cuts through the silence. It sounds from an uncomfortably close distance to where Yoongi and Namjoon are standing, shitting themselves.

“They fucked the camera and broke my fucking nose. Get out the front and help me!” The voice at the other end demands.

A loud groan sounds from the crony out the back and the torturous footsteps fade into the distance, giving Namjoon and Yoongi a chance to catch their breaths and mentally thank the snot-eaters for helping them a second time.

“Want me to continue where I left off?” Yoongi cracks after dipping his head around the corner and seeing their undisturbed path ahead.

“No, I want you to shut the fuck up until we’re in that basement,” Namjoon hisses back as they turn the corner and shoot straight towards the back door.

The door clinks open for them and they make their way inside the kitchen. A brutal but beautiful haven of even more gleaming concrete and the highest spec of every appliance known to man. 

Credit to the balloon boy, its position in the floor-plan is perfectly thought out. The design makes the most of the lush garden, immaculately kept. Framed gorgeously by the pristine floor to ceiling windows and double doors.

The placement is perfect for this scheme too, as tucked away behind an impressive oak door are the stairs down to the basement. 

Jungkook is already there waiting for them, cap and marigolds off and discarded in the tote bag of cleaning supplies as he scrolls casually on his phone.

“You made it,” he says, beaming up from the screen before tucking it into his pocket.

“Of course,” Yoongi replies, looking over the small, plain hallway between the storage room and the garage.

“Where’s the safe?” Namjoon asks, wanting to get straight to it.

“It’s back here.” Walking towards one of the doors, Jungkook leads Namjoon though. “I tried to give it a listen but I can’t figure that shit out to save my life.”

The storage room is a neatly organised arrangement of shelves and large, labeled plastic boxes. A dull sight, apart from the striking piece of modern art that now sits leaning against one of the shelves. The spot where it once hung, exposing Jinyoung’s safe. Dial gleaming from the centre, sitting there prettily, ready for the subtle caress of Namjoon’s careful fingers.

Namjoon might specialise in many things, but he’s the master of cracking safes.

“That’s okay, Jungkook-ah,” Namjoon tells him. “It’s a subtle art.” 

Namjoon makes his way into the room, finding his supplies laid out neatly for him on one of the shelves, courtesy of Jungkook - easily smuggled in amongst the cleaning products. 

He picks up the stethoscope and loops it into his ears, his shoulders loosening as he relaxes into his position in front of the safe. He turns back and smiles. “It takes years of practice.”

Jungkook pauses and slumps against a collection of stacked boxes. “You’re like, two years older than me?”

“Ah, but you forget I went to boarding school. The best weed was always the weed you cracked from people's personal safes.”

“So I’m not a bad influence,” Yoongi chimes in as he stands beside Jungkook and watches Namjoon place the stethoscope to the heart of the safe. “You've always been a thief.” 

“I prefer to think of myself as more of a chancer,” Namjoon replies with a wicked grin. His disposition, far more confident now at home, in the comfort of what he does best.

“Look,” Yoongi says with a jokily disgruntled point, turning to Jungkook. “He’s all cocky now he’s in his element.”

Namjoon twists his head back and huffs, though his eyes are full of levity. “My element requires quiet, so if you two wouldn’t mind…” 

There’s a strange intimacy to manipulating safes. Listening to it murmur, retrieving each pulse and click of information it provides until it’s keening open. Not a task helped by a crowd of two mocking jesters though, and they need to get this done sharpish.

Jungkook and Yoongi happily leave him to it.

“This the garage?” Yoongi asks when they get back to the hall, motioning towards the only other door they have yet to explore.

“Looks like it.”

Yoongi presses forward and turns the handle, opening the door onto what could only be described as a small underground car park. One where only luxury cars are deemed the privilege of parking.

“He has quite the collection,” Yoongi remarks, staring at the rows of gleaming steel. 

His lips part without his permission. Agape and in awe, despite his loathing for the repulsive display of wealth. There must be at least ten cars here and lord knows how much each one of them is worth. They sit together neatly in a variety of styles. Ranging from slinky sports models to much bigger, bulkier beasts.

“Anything here take your fancy?” Jungkook asks, deliberately bumping against Yoongi as they make their way down the few steps into Jinyoung’s home showroom. He raises his brow a fraction, more playful than suggestive.

“I can’t say I’m much into cars,” Yoongi replies with a shrug.

It’s true, Yoongi’s preference for what could be considered the most eye-catching thing in the room certainly isn’t limited to the cars. 

He’s always liked when Jungkook ties his hair back. The contrast of the sharp and soft planes of his face on full display. Comforting, masculine and yet, sweet . 

Maybe, he’d go as far to describe him as attractive if he let his mind linger over his features for long enough. Which is strange considering that he’d never truly noticed it when they were growing up together. Not until now.

“Not even the Porsche?” Jungkook asks with a mischievous grin, skipping over to the shiny allure of the black convertible parked slightly further down. 

Yoongi finds himself mindlessly following after him.

“Yeah, it’s nice, but-”

Then something catches Yoongi’s eye. Not the Porsche, nor Jungkook’s playful eyes. Something that takes him by surprise for the second time that night.

Sleek and yellow, parked neatly at the end of the row - the McLaren.

Yoongi’s amazed he didn’t notice it sooner, it’s so fucking yellow .

“Mm.” Yoongi stops in his tracks and bites his lip. Eyes now only for the car. Locked.

“What is it?” Jungkook asks, his own wide eyes flitting between the car and Yoongi.

“It’s interesting,” Yoongi muses, crossing his arms over his chest, tilting his head as those familiar swooping curves reveal themselves from behind the guise of a Rolls Royce Phantom. “He didn’t take the McLaren out tonight, I thought he’d want to show it off.”

Jungkook pauses to ponder the curiosity. “Maybe he let his date pick their ride for tonight?”

Yoongi meanders to stand in front of it, steps slow and deliberate as the high headlamps on the front fender stare back at him behind glossy lids.

“It’s a shame. It really is a beautiful car.”

There’s an idea coining in Yoongi’s serrated mind. 

A fucking risky one at that.

It would be petty. Deliciously so, actually. Almost childish in how juvenile the thought is. 

But what if...

“Hyung, I don’t like that face,” Jungkook notes, spying the malicious glint in the blackened coals of Yoongi’s eyes.

“You don’t like my face, Jungkook-ah?”

“Not when it’s scheming.”

The thought has moved past dumb or even stupid at this point.

It’s so very, very wrong . Ridiculous to even imagine it, let alone do it.

And yet, there’s no way in hell Yoongi’s going to leave this place without the McLaren.

“I’m just wondering…” Yoongi rasps as he steadily reaches into his pocket. “If this little thing works for McLaren’s?” 

He slips a small device out of his pocket and holds it up for Jungkook to see. 

“We tested it on a couple of Mercs and it worked, didn’t we?”

Yoongi had picked the device up from a dark corner of the internet. The unassuming little thing didn’t look too different from the actual fob Jinyoung had used that evening. It was originally purchased to open the garage door and gate, but who's to say it couldn’t be used for this too?

After all, its intended purpose is meant for stealing cars. 

The influx of fancy fobs replacing the mundanity of keys created a market for thieves to exploit. Gone are the days of faffing about physically hot-wiring when the only thing you need sits in the palm of your hand, ready to tamper with the vehicle's signal. 

You don’t even have to touch the car until you’re in it.

“We’re not taking it. Who the hell are we selling it to? No one will touch it if they know it’s Jinyoung’s,” Jungkook argues. But looking at the way Yoongi’s tongue is eagerly running across his lip, he already knows it’s futile.

“I’m not planning on selling it, this is just for fun. But only if this works...” 

Yoongi clicks the fob. The lights wink back at him as it unlocks for him. Too enticing to deny. Too easy.

“ Oh , would you look at that?”

He walks over to the side of the vehicle, Jungkook still eyeing him warily. “Where’s the handle?”

Yoongi lets his fingers roam the smooth arch of its waist, before running them under the panel he'd seen Jinyoung reach for earlier. There are two buttons underneath. 

“This is like some Batman shit,” he tells Jungkook before trying one of them. It pops open.

The door is surprisingly weighty in his hand, more so than he expected. 

“Fuck, this door is heavy” Yoongi groans, pushing its wing up. He turns back around to find Jungkook still watching him. 

And Yoongi’s not sure if it’s the McLaren or himself, but Jungkook looks pretty impressed.  

“At least now we have our ride out,” Yoongi announces with a twisted gummy grin. He leans back against the car.

“Jinyoung is gonna hate this,” Jungkook warns as he steps closer.

“Yeah, I suspect he isn’t gonna be too thrilled about it,” Yoongi replies, inviting himself into the driver's seat, shocked to see two more seats that he hadn’t noticed earlier. 

It’s an unusual configuration. He’s never seen anything like it. The driver's seat centred in the middle with the passenger seats set further back on each side. Batman shit and sci-fi shit all in one extremely pretentious ride.

He grips the wheel, appreciating the leather against his palms. The sturdiness of its hold.

“How does it feel?”

“Well, it’s not the Hyundai, that’s for sure.”

“Hey, don’t talk shit about the Avante!” Jungkook defends, chuckling as he takes a few steps back to admire Yoongi from the front. “She’s doing her best.” 

“She’s more comfortable at least,” Yoongi admits, fidgeting awkwardly in the seat. They might look good, but they’re a lot harder and stiffer than he’d anticipated. “How’s Namjoon doing back there, you reckon he’s nearly done?”

“I’ll check.”

Jungkook disappears from view, leaving Yoongi to tap beats against the steering wheel as he waits. 

It takes another fifteen minutes until Namjoon and Jungkook return, a fat briefcase of cash in Namjoon’s successful grasp, his face lit up with the steals of his success. 

Until he spots Yoongi beaming back at him from Jinyoung’s new baby.

“Oh, god no,” Namjoon groans, stopping in his tracks, face dropping straight to full on disapproval. “What’s he doing in there?”

“Does the colour suit me, Namjoon-ah?” Yoongi quips from inside.

“No,” Namjoon retorts bluntly before turning to face Jungkook “You let him do this?”

“I didn’t let him do anything, he just did it.”

“Do you have a death wish, hyung? This-” Namjoon dangles the briefcase in the air as he walks over “-is bad enough.”

Good point. What’s the damage they’ve done anyway?

“How much is in there?” Yoongi queries, curious to find out if their scheme is as abundant as they’d hoped. 

“If I had to make a guess.” Namjoon’s voice trails off, making a considered calculation. “About half a billion won.”

Not bad at all. What’s a supercar on top of that?

“And how much do you reckon this is?”

“No clue, but it doesn’t matter,” Namjoon says dismissively in an attempt to coax Yoongi away from the monster. “Stop messing around and let’s go.”

“Alright, get in.” 

“Come on.” 

“Get in.” 

“Will we even fit?” Jungkook asks, interrupting the pointless back and forth. 

They all know this is happening, there’s no way to fight the inevitable. 

There are a few simple laws of this earth. A similar force to gravity, as certain as death. Something that Namjoon and Jungkook know all too well.

Whatever Yoongi wants, Yoongi gets.

“Take a look.” Yoongi invites the younger to peer his head in.

Jungkook follows, stepping away from an internally screaming Namjoon to pop his head around the open gull-wing door. 

“There are three seats?” 

“Think of it as fate, Jungkook-ah. Or are you disappointed you don’t get to sit on Namjoon’s lap? I’m sure his thighs are softer than these seats.”

Namjoon scoffs.

“Why would I be sitting on his lap?” Jungkook counters, holding himself in the doorway, still trying to show some reluctance. “I’m taller than you. It would make more sense for you to sit on his lap.”

“Get in.”

“Fine.” Jungkook gives in and crawls inside.

“This is the worst idea you’ve ever had,” Namjoon says as he watches Yoongi lean over and open up the other wing for him.

“Possibly.”

Namjoon grudgingly climbs in, silver briefcase in hand. He places it onto his lap and reaches for his seatbelt, nose twitching. “It smells fruity in here, is it scented or some shit? Is that... pineapple?”

“It’s me, don’t ask,” Jungkook confesses, clicking his own seatbelt into place. “That fob will open the garage door and the gate too, right?”

“It should do, or we’re fucked,” Yoongi states plainly as his eyes roam across the dash, making note of the array of controls, his hand already hovering above the gearstick to his right. 

It all looks brand new, perhaps even completely re-fitted. Upgraded with the very latest tech. 

Jinyoung’s going to cry. 

“You ready?”

“As we’ll ever be,” Namjoon replies with bated breath as Yoongi closes each door.

Yoongi licks his lips in anticipation and clicks the fob in the direction of the control panel mounted on the side of the wall. 

He’s expecting a racket of doors rattling opening, a need to move fast, but the sophisticated system kicks smoothly into action immediately. So nice of Jinyoung to pay all that money for something so fine tuned it’s almost silent.

Popping the fob into the cupholder, Yoongi flicks the control panel up and presses the start button. 

The McLaren wakes up in a steady growl, a monster waking. A fickle beast that clearly answers to any master. 

Yoongi swerves out of the spot, surprised just how responsive the car is to his command. 

He definitely isn’t in the Aventes now.

The garage and gate open up as one - perfectly synchronised - and to Yoongi’s delight, the kids aren’t playing outside. No sign of the guards either. 

Completely clear, smooth roads ahead.

As satisfying as fate.

Yoongi wastes no time getting the fuck out of there. Speeding out past the gate with the most delicious low purr from the McLaren. It doesn’t seem as loud as it had been earlier. Perhaps Jinyoung was showing off, or maybe the beast is calmer in Yoongi’s control. 

But, God it’s fast.  

It’s only going to take a few seconds to make it down the hill. Far too quick. Doesn’t feel like enough time to appreciate the capabilities of such a sublime instrument. Bittersweet that their time together will be so fleeting, when every second’s so delectable. 

Yoongi’s tongue creeps to the side of his mouth, enjoying every taste of the fever the McLaren licks through him like a flame. Intoxicating. 

The appreciative whoops and hollers from the boys either side sound drunk with the thrill of it all. Whether from the successful heist, the ride or both. It makes for a heady cocktail that’s hyping them into a frenzy. Smelling strangely like a Piña Colada. 

The three of them cry out like over-excited school boys as Yoongi suddenly turns the corner and screeches into the carpark. 

Taking his every demand so well.

Maybe Yoongi could see the value in this beast after all. The thrill of commanding it is like nothing he’s ever felt before. 

It’s a shame. It really is a shame he has to ruin it. 

“Hyung!” Namjoon exclaims as Yoongi drifts past their getaway van and continues to race straight towards the sea. “What the fuck are you doing!?”

“Taking the McLaren for a dip.”

“Fuck! With us in it?” Jungkook manically questions when Yoongi shows no sign of stopping.

“Of course not.” Yoongi pulls to an abrupt halt. The beak of the canary coloured car peering past the brim, tasting the salt of the mists below. “Get out and help me push.”

They scramble out, careful not to lurch it forward knowing that Yoongi clearly hasn’t used the handbrake. 

They gather at the back of the vehicle. Jungkook at the centre, pressing his back to the rear, letting his thighs do most of the work as Namjoon and Yoongi take each side and push forward. 

“Jinyoung is going to kill us,” Namjoon huffs, the car heaving with the first slip of the wheels moving off of the edge.

It doesn’t take much after that. It’s streamlined design, ready to dive into the waves below with a spectacular crash. Soaking them slightly, despite jumping back to avoid it.

“If he finds out it's us,” Yoongi says, pushing his wet hair back off of his face, enjoying the refreshing pettiness of the McLaren’s demise. “Hey, do you know what sea this coast meets?”

It takes Namjoon a second to realise before he’s shaking his head. “It’s the Yellow Sea this side of Busan, isn’t it?”

Yoongi grins. “Fitting, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, it’s perfect,” Jungkook smirks. “Now let’s get the fuck out of here.” 

So they do. 

The plan was stupid. 

Really fucking stupid. 

A plan just dumb enough to work. And it worked.

***

There’s one final task they have to do this evening - be seen. 

Their alibi won’t be perfectly timed, but if they’re seen out in public it will create doubt. 

Most people laid low after pulling off something like this. They didn’t go out and celebrate trashing someone’s most prized possession and robbing them of a half billion won, but Yoongi, Namjoon and Jungkook aren’t most people.

So, they ditch the old van, drop the cash home, freshen up and head out to West Egg, a new club that just opened up in Seomyeon. One of the few queer spaces in Busan, though more seem to be popping up with their growing success. All owned by the same guy who’s found a rather lucrative gap in the market.

When they get inside the club, the rush from the con is still humming in Yoongi’s chest, mixing with the apprehension for the night ahead. Why is he more nervous for this than the reckless thieving?

Yoongi doesn’t really do clubs. It’s been the best part of a year since he's last dragged himself out to one. They’re not his favourite. Too many people, too crowded, too hot. Quiet, cosy haunts tend to be far more suited to his personal taste. 

West Egg is the complete opposite. Quiet and cosy, West Egg is not. 

They could tell that from outside. The music, already bursting through the pavement, pulsing under their feet. 

The club is huge, spread over two floors. The top floor open like a colosseum, for the VIP’s to peer down voyeuristically upon the peasants tearing into one another below. And there might be intimate corners scattered in purposefully dimly lit halls, but none of them cosy . 

Geometric threads of neon light map over the vast space, scattering light throughout each floor like a perfect glittering web. Something Art Deco about their form, the way they zig zag across the walls and the ceiling to meet across the crowded room. 

The most unique element of the interior is the use of floor to ceiling mirrors, tactically placed within the patterned map of every wall. Making the space feel even bigger, as well as seedier. Unable to shake the feeling of being watched. Catching sordid, shameless eyes staring at you from each reflection. 

The perfect place to be seen, even if it’s unnerving as fuck.

Namjoon heads off to get the drinks, leaving Jungkook and Yoongi to find a table. The few tables that are free appear to be reserved or in the upstairs VIP area, but Yoongi manages to find a small empty standing table not too far from the main dance floor. 

Good enough. 

He leans against it, tapping his fingers on the surface, pleased to not find it sticky, as Jungkook scans over the room, checking out the collection of neon cages dotted throughout both floors. 

West Egg is predominantly marketed more towards queer men, though an array of go-go dancers occupy each gilded cage. Men, women, those who have ditched the binaries of gender completely. As long as they’re hot and can dance, they’re there in each cage. The beautiful birds of West Egg.

“Shit,” Jungkook curses, hastily twisting away from the direction of the VIP area, flustered when he faces Yoongi. “I know that girl.”

“Which one?” Yoongi squints to look.

“The one in the cherry dress,” Jungkook admits, cupping his hand over his brow as though it will hide him from being seen. “I fucked her once.”

“Fancy a repeat performance?” Yoongi grins, looking over to one of the strategically placed platforms on the VIP floor. The kind that allow any club goer confident enough to command the stage to have a go. 

He immediately spots the girl in a black dress, sequin cherries reflecting back the lights as she happily puts on quite the show. Grabbing the pole and bending forward, letting her ass and thighs jiggle for the keen crowd of three that sit watching her closely from their private booth. Cheering loudly and jokily raining notes at her feet. 

“Not tonight,” Jungkook replies, chancing another look back at the raucous group. “She was amazing but... a little aggressive,” Jungkook mutters, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “And besides, I don’t often do repeats.”

“I forget you’re a fuckboy.”

“I’m not a fuckboy. I don’t sell dreams, I just…”

“Fuck?”

“It sounds bad when you put it like that,” Jungkook scoffs sheepishly before flashing his gaze up with a roguish gleam. “We can’t all be fucking simps like you, hyung.”

“Fuck you.”

Yoongi can’t help but smirk when he says it, met instantly by another giggling nose scrunch that feels like a win. Like another huge stolen briefcase of won in his grasp or the growl of the McLaren.

Their eyes meet, in a strange mix of familiar comfort and something else. Something entirely unfamiliar that he can’t risk pinpointing in this moment, but it’s giddy in Yoongi’s chest. He hasn’t even had a drink yet. 

It must be the leftover excitement from Jinyoung’s causing the delirium, Yoongi concludes, before quickly looking away from Jungkook’s deep, twinkling pools. Stopping the madness of sinking in a little deeper. 

He searches for a distraction, now curious to see what might have caught Jungkook’s eye about the girl in the cherry dress. 

She doesn’t seem to lack confidence, that’s for sure, and Yoongi can definitely see hints of an aggressive streak with the way she handles the pole. He supposes she’s quite beautiful, the sort of beauty that radiates from a carefree spirit. Nothing like Yoongi.

She finishes her routine with one last spin of the pole, met with a chorus of rowdy, enthusiastic shouts from her audience and slinks her way to join them. 

A delicately strong hand reaches out towards her, a couple of silver rings glimmering, catching in the light from a baby blue sleeve. The man pulls her to sit next to him, though he already has the most petite of the women sat happily on his lap, with the other arm snaked around the waist of the third. 

Yoongi can see his smile from here. Bright and inviting but a dark lure behind the veil of white teeth - wolfish . The man guides each girl in for a kiss, chaste in appearance, but Yoongi swears he can see the hint of his tongue as he brings his heart-shaped lips to each one of his dolls. 

Who the hell is that guy?

As though he can hear Yoongi’s thoughts, the man catches him observing and smiles . Wicked as he tilts his head and raises his eyebrows, catching Yoongi out in the act.

Yoongi averts his gaze, extremely grateful to find Namjoon approaching the table with their drinks. He can already feel the excitement of being out starting to wear a bit thin, and by the looks of it, he’s the only one. 

The two others talk animatedly, letting themselves move to the interesting blend of disco and EDM that bleeds out of the speakers. Swaying as admiring glances flicker across them like strobes through the reflections of the many mirrors.

Of course it doesn’t take longer than forty minutes of casual chatter until Jungkook catches the eye of someone. He’s trying to be subtle about it, but there is very little subtlety in constantly checking over your shoulder and trying to mask goofy smiles behind sips of drinks. 

It’s made even more obvious when Jungkook decides he wants to dance, agreeing to meet Namjoon and Yoongi later. Yoongi doubts he will. Especially when he sees the tall, handsome stranger following after him. Meeting him under a curated sky of dimmed sunburst chandeliers and mirror balls that hang above the floor. Lit by rose tinted auroras, setting suns and strawberry moons. Sultry.

There are a few seats free at the bar, so Namjoon and Yoongi decide to make their way over, not keen on watching their childhood friend grind like there’s no tomorrow on an overdressed Gucci prick. 

Yoongi still picks the seat with the view of the dance floor, regardless. Just to keep an eye, of course. He’s so used to watching over Jungkook, it’s habitual at this point. Best friends look out for one another, it’s what they do, and that’s all Yoongi’s doing...

Though, he admittedly does hate the other man already.

Golden brown hair, swept out of his face to reveal intense, darkened eyes. Wide mouth with plummy, full lips, entirely too close to Jungkook’s neck already. 

The man has an elegant air wrapping around him like an embrace. A pull as seductive as his long fingers gliding over Jungkook’s tight waist, guiding him in and pressing their bodies to meet. 

Fucking prick. 

He’s clearly a fucking prick. The Gucci suit says as much. 

“You alright, hyung?” Namjoon asks, noticing the seething energy surging from his friend, crashing in waves and catching the fierce current across the top of the bar like bitter cold foam.

“Mm? Yeah, I’m fine,” Yoongi mumbles. He motions to the bartender for another whiskey and downs the last three sips of his current drink in one.

Namjoon observes. Funnily enough, he’s not convinced by the incredibly unconvincing display, but he doesn’t push further.

“Good,” he says, giving Yoongi’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom, I’ll be right back.”

Yoongi grunts in response, twisting the empty glass in his hand as he tries not to look. He’s failing hopelessly, but only because he can tell the man is bad news. Of course he has no evidence to back those claims, but Yoongi can feel it tightening in the back of his throat.

It’s only because Yoongi’s protective. It’s only because Jungkook is sweet and ever so slightly naive. Though, the way he’s expertly grinding his hips against that handsome fuckwit without shame, suggests otherwise.

Yoongi tears his eyes away. Relieved to have to face the bartender to pay for his drink as he’s handed over another whiskey. 

Then he looks out at the room and hopes that something, anything, will catch his eye and distract him. 

If only for a moment.

And something does.

A different stranger. 

Moving through the room like a viper. With a look that threatens to consume as he walks through the tangled throng. Watching the people part for him instinctually, without even knowing they’re succumbing to his whim and want of them to scatter. 

Hips swaying, feet almost dragging in his Chelsea boots as he rolls through each step. 

And Yoongi feels like he’s about to be swallowed whole. So he takes another sip and watches the beautiful stranger come forth. 

He must come from money. The way the light catches the ice that adorns him says as much. Glinting from his neck, flickering from the large dangling diamond from his lobe, sparkling from his fingers as he pushes his ashy blonde hair back off of his face. 

They must be diamonds, costume jewellery doesn’t catch light like that, not even the good stuff. 

His shirt, clearly silk not polyester, draping over his petite yet muscular frame, highlighting every defined line that lies beneath. Making him look nothing but inviting, ready to be unwrapped. Too many buttons undone to suggest that isn’t his plan all along. 

Looking every part a trap. 

But his most striking feature is his face. Heavy lidded eyes, low and sleepy with the flush of seduction. Dripping with allure. A mix of soft and strong features sculpted perfectly out of smooth golden clay. 

And then those fucking lips .  

Soft pink tongue licking over those glossy, pillowy lips. 

Lips so pillowy, Yoongi can’t help but wonder what it would be like to catch that bottom lip between his own and suck .  

He pushes the thought away and lets his own pout linger against his glass a moment longer. Watching intently as the stranger takes the seat next to him.

Yoongi finally takes another sip.

“Who are you?” The stranger asks bluntly.

Yoongi licks his lips, tasting the trace of whiskey that remains and sets his glass down on the bar with an affronted huff. “Are you usually this direct?”

“You didn’t answer me,” the stranger continues, bringing the sweeping scent of fine florals mixed with sweet musk to cloud Yoongi like an intoxicating haze. Filling Yoongi’s lungs like plumes of nicotine he’ll later crave.

“Min Yoongi, and you are?”

“Oh, that’s funny,” the stranger purrs with a smirk. “Don’t act like you don’t know who I am.”

To tell the absolute truth, Yoongi doesn’t have a fucking clue.

All he knows from the few lines of conversation they’ve shared so far, is that the beautiful stranger is unapologetically conceited, unbearably self-important and that his aura is smothering. A delightful combination for a rich boy. 

The fine-tuned performance might work with other shallow men, but not with Yoongi. 

This stranger is Yoongi’s absolute nightmare. A fucking demon sent for him and all his sins. And god, Yoongi has too many sins to count.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Yoongi drawls, unimpressed, flitting his gaze to the wandering eyes, drinking in every sip of his frame. “Enlighten me.”

The demon hums, amused and bares his teeth. Tilting his head as his lips spread into a smile. “Nice try.”

Yoongi notices his two front teeth are slightly crooked. The subtle imperfection somehow only makes the smile even more enchanting.

“So, you get to know my name and I don’t get to know yours?” Yoongi asks with an angled brow. He takes another taste of the warm amber burn, distracting himself from charming crooked teeth.

“You already know my name.”

“So that’s how we’re playing this?”

The stranger sways forward, his lips glistening. Enticing and wet with irritating words spilling out. Yoongi can’t help but succumb and lean closer too, curious to feel the flutter of hot, sweet breath on his skin, like the wings of a butterfly. Chaos. 

“It’s better this way, I like games.”

Yoongi pulls away, not entirely bewitched and scoffs. “I don’t.”

“Not even when there’s a prize at the end?” The other asks, eyes still focused and steady on Yoongi, his voice lilting like an incantation.

“What’s the prize?” Yoongi asks, sneaking another glance at the stranger's lips and hating himself for it.

He smiles, catching the slip of his gaze, and Yoongi can see how this little act would work. Impossible not to be drawn in by him. A real life honeypot.

The stranger answers in a low tempting murmur. His lips wrapping around every syllable like a curse. 

“Taking me home.”

Yoongi nearly chokes.

“Wow. Okay. Shit.” He sucks in a sharp, amused breath, caught off guard by the sheer bluntness of the demon with salacious, drooping eyes. “So you really are this forward.” 

“Only when I see something I want,” the demon explains, dropping his gaze to feign innocence. Though there’s nothing innocent about looking directly at Yoongi’s crotch. He flicks his half-lidded, glazed eyes to meet Yoongi’s and leans in. “You should know, if I see something and I want it, I get it. I always get what I want.”

“So you’re spoilt.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement. Yoongi’s sure of it.

“I can’t help it if people want to spoil me.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m one of those people,” Yoongi replies into his glass as he takes another well-needed sip of his single malt. 

He looks out onto the room, growing tired of entertaining the stranger, despite the heat simmering under his pale skin in a flush. 

He finds the couple he’s searching for still on the dance floor, now entwined around one another. Mouths hungrily exploring as Jungkook kisses the man with intensity. As though every thud of adrenaline from the risk of the heist needs to be reclaimed now with his tongue.

“Sure you’re not.” The stranger catches Yoongi’s change in disposition and turns around to look. “Oh, is that the reason?”

“What?”

“Are you together or something? He looks a little bit preoccupied if you ask me,” he teases, turning back around to face Yoongi.

“Well I didn’t ask.”

“You seem sensitive, did I hit a nerve?”

Yoongi doesn’t reply, he simply grimaces and avoids the pathetic sinking feeling that sits heavy in his chest. 

“We could make him jealous?” The other offers, suddenly inspired.

“Aren’t you tired of throwing yourself at me and getting nothing back?” Yoongi sets his glass down hard on the bar top. Leaning more irritated than intrigued.

“I’m getting something. You think you’re playing hard to get but you’re reacting to me,” the stranger states plainly. “For starters you can’t stop staring at my lips when you talk to me.” He tips his pretty blonde head, challenging, knowing that he’s found a weakness. “What is it about my mouth that has your gaze lingering, hm? ”

So full of it.

Yoongi exhales in amusement and smirks. 

“It won’t stop talking,” he replies flatly, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “I’m amazed that you won’t stop talking.”

The little demon pouts, not expecting a rebuttal to his teases. “You’re mean.” 

It’s almost cute. And it’s strangely enough of a human response to make Yoongi feel a little guilty for being so frank. Maybe he’s getting soft, or maybe it’s the sight of Jungkook clearly leaving with that guy that has Yoongi lowering his guard.

“I’m sorry, it’s been a weird night, I’m flattered but-”

The man takes a quick look back at the dance floor, his face no longer smug when he turns back.

“Yeah, no problem,” he says plainly, the heat of his smothering aura now dropping to a dull chill.

“What?” Yoongi asks, surprised at such a quick shift.

“You’re not interested, I won’t waste my time.”

“It’s not that I’m not-”

“Okay, great. Well, now I’m not interested.”

“Just like that?” Yoongi asks, trying to avoid sounding at all disappointed. He isn’t of course, just so damn confused at how quickly he can switch.

“Do I look like someone who gives second chances?” 

“I guess not,” Yoongi thinks out loud as the stranger sidles out of his seat. All Yoongi can do is pathetically trace the rim of his glass with his finger. “I feel like I’ve got fucking whiplash from this conversation.”

The man hums a melodic laugh, somehow pleased at the outcome of this exchange. 

“Have a good night, Min Yoongi.”

“You too…” Yoongi’s voice trails off, still clueless.

“You’re really going to keep pretending you don’t know who I am?” he replies with a grin, leaning into his hip.

“I guess you’ll remain a beautiful stranger,” Yoongi says, taking the last sip of his whiskey.

The stranger likes the compliment. His eyes flicker with his like of it. Arrogant, entitled, a picture of excess and narcissism, and everything Yoongi doesn’t like. 

But still, a beautiful picture. 

“I guess I will.”

The stranger turns on the heel of his boot, cockily looking over his shoulder knowing he’s being admired as he glides off. Yoongi can’t help himself but watch him walk away. Disappearing back into the crowd until he’s just a memory. 

A bad one.

Yoongi half-feels like he’s imagined the entire thing. 

Snapping him out of the daze, Yoongi’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He checks it to find a notification in the group chat. 

Jungkook :

🏇👀 

Usually Jungkook would at least form words to let them know he’s going home with someone. Clearly he’s so distracted only crude emoji’s will do. Great. What a way to end the night.

A warm hand finds itself on Yoongi’s shoulder. He’s half expecting it to be the stranger but is relieved to be met with dimples instead of smouldering eyes.

“Who was that?” Namjoon asks, only catching the back of him.

“God knows,” Yoongi groans. “We should go.”

“Where’s Jungkook?”

Yoongi waves his emoji filled screen. “Already left.”

“Then let’s go.”

They head out. Barely passing the bar before they’re nearly bumping into a guy making his way back to the VIP section, walking with the conviction of owning the place. 

Yoongi recognises him as the man with the girls. Baby blue suit contrasting with his kissed skin. He doesn’t even acknowledge them, too set on his course to care about Namjoon stumbling back from the sweep of his dominating presence.

“Who the fuck is that?” Namjoon asks, turning back as the man stops and shoots sunbeams at the security by the VIP and smiles, slapping him on the back fondly as if he knows him.

“I don’t think we even want to know,” is all Yoongi can muster. Still recovering from the whiplash of beautiful strangers.

***

Park Jimin is not having a good night.

It started with Taehyung. They’ve been bickering ever since he moved to Busan from Europe. The new found unavoidable closeness of their arrangement called for some distance - on Jimin’s part. 

And that meant games .

Of course, Jimin always picks the rules for them, and Taehyung’s always happy to play along, but tonight feels like losing. And Jimin hates to lose. 

Perhaps he shouldn’t have told Taehyung to get the fuck out of his face. 

That was a poor start to the evening. Admittedly, it wasn’t the best choice of words either.

It was a joke in his head. The champagne had told him to say it and the coke didn’t help. Maybe it wasn’t as funny when it shot past his lips, tagged onto the end of a threat that dared Taehyung to flirt with strangers.

Usually when they play these games they set rules, but tonight the lines are starting to blur. No clear intentions or limits, just a dangerous free fall. 

And Taehyung really dived in. Straight down the throat of that guy with tattoos vining all over toned, sinewy arms.

Idiot .

It wouldn’t be so bad if Jimin had a decent distraction, but things aren’t going his way tonight.

The most maddening - that Min Yoongi. Jimin can’t believe that kitten looking fucker had played so hard to get. Sure, he was hot. A clear brooding, bristly charm with a soft edge to his features, but he wasn’t that hot. Not hot enough to turn him down. 

Admittedly, who is? 

Jimin draws a blank.

He’s not used to people playing hard to get. He’s meant to be the one who plays the games, who rolls the dice and deals the cards. 

And cheats when things don’t go his way.

But Min Yoongi wanted him - that, Jimin could tell. It wasn’t a rejection, as such, they just hadn’t spent enough time on the board. 

Though it doesn’t matter now, Jimin’s just watched him leave. 

Shame. He was pretty… and he had the nicest hands.  

Large and rough by the look of them, veins running over tendons. The kind of hands made for palming roughly over flesh. And yet, the way he traced his lips with his fingertips was so gentle. It’s difficult to pin down what he’s really like. Gentle or rough, maybe a little of both? 

Well, Jimin would never know now. Min Yoongi’s gone.

Speaking of, had Taehyung actually left ?  

It wasn’t part of the plan. Not that they even had a plan. And if they did, it was out the window and on fire at this point. 

Taehyung wasn’t meant to take someone home tonight. Not in Jimin’s mind, at least. 

But when Jimin glances down over the heaving waves of people below, he fails to spot him in the sordid, swarming sea, nor at the bar. All the mirrors of the club, and not a hint of those dark eyes mirroring back to him in any of them.

However, there are one set of eyes on him now, and a light pastel blur of colour moving through the horde.

Blue. 

Not just any blue, almost the exact same shade of baby blue of his own Porsche 911 Carrera.  

Baby blue making a b-line for his VIP booth. 

Jung. Fucking. Hoseok.

It really isn’t Jimin’s night.

“Waiting for someone?” 

“Not you,” Jimin retorts, flicking to unlock his phone rudely as Hoseok slides into the booth next to him. Jimin frowns when he sees there are no messages waiting for him. Only a million other pointless notifications he doesn’t even want. 

“Why you gotta be like that, beautiful?” 

Jimin can hear the pout in Hoseok’s voice, he doesn’t even need to look at him. 

The question is then followed by Hoseok’s arm draping around him and hot breath tickling against the shell of his ear.

“So pretty with the sharpest tongue .”

Jimin locks his phone and pockets it, allowing Hoseok to have some of his attention.

This is another game of Jimin’s. It’s what they do. 

Hoseok wants to fuck him, there’s no doubt about it. And Jimin likes to make him work for it. A part of him, set on leading Hoseok along forever, just for the fun of being yearned for. Another part wants to fuck Hoseok right back.

Jimin runs his tongue over his top lip, watching Hoseok follow its trail intently. “I thought you liked my tongue?”

“Quite frankly, I don’t think I’ve been well enough acquainted with it,” Hoseok replies with a cocky tilt of his head.

“But you’d like to be.”

Hoseok’s just so fun to play with. The exact opposite of what Jimin needs or even what he wants. Vulgar. New money. But something about him creates sparks. Volatile chemistry that Jimin can’t help but dangerously provoke, wanting to see how hot it burns.

“I think that’s obvious, Jimin-ah.”

“ Jimin-ssi, ” Jimin reminds him, deliberately turning his head to one of the mirrors to watch the spectres of them in the reflection instead.

Hoseok tuts, his eyes scanning over Jimin’s face and lingering on the diamond hanging from his lobe. 

“You’re so cold.” Hoseok reaches out to touch, admiring the way the stone twinkles in the blushing lights. “Everything about you is ice .”  

“Is that a bad thing?” Jimin turns back to face the tempting eyes scorching him.

“No,” Hoseok replies, trailing his fingers to stroke against Jimin’s soft cheek. “Ice feels good when it melts against skin.”

Jimin leans into the touch, enjoying the shivers each stroke of Hoseok’s fingers send across his skin. Their faces growing ever closer with every brush. 

“You think you can make me melt?”

“I think you’re warming to me,” Hoseok replies, a wide, sly grin spreading over his inviting heart-shaped lips.

In a snap, Jimin pushes Hoseok’s hand away. 

This is always the best part of what they do. The pushing back. Letting Hoseok think he has a chance and ripping it away like a toy. 

“What about your dolls, or whatever the fuck you call them?” Jimin fires off. “Not spending the night with one of them?”

Jimin had seen him cosying up to them - the three girls Hoseok often nestles between. All with ridiculous fucking names one could only assume they’d got off of the first stripper name generator they could find. Cherry, Bambi and Angel? Please .

“If I was, do you think I’d be talking to you?” Hoseok questions, grabbing Jimin’s hand and pulling him back into him.

“I’m not a second choice, you know. I’m no one’s second choice.”

“I know that, that’s why I’m here, taking your shit. Do you think I take shit from anyone else?” Hoseok asks, watching Jimin’s face for any sign of him softening. “You know you’re not a second choice. Everyone comes second to you with a face like that.” 

“Just my face?” Jimin ponders, inviting him to say more.

Hoseok’s eyes roam him greedily with every word.

“Face, lips, ass...” He runs quick, nubile fingers up Jimin’s leg. “ Thighs .” Squeezing to illustrate his point, air crackling with his touch. “You’re elite, Park Jimin.” Hoseok bites his lip and takes another breath of him in, the space between them thinning enough to almost taste him. “No one even comes close. Not to me.”

And Jimin has to give it to him, Hoseok makes a good argument. The feel of his hand kneading Jimin’s thigh only makes it more persuasive. 

This is usually as far as their game goes. They haven’t even kissed. But it’s growing harder not to fall into the temptation of kissing those heart-shaped lips and nipping at the freckle so perfectly positioned on top. 

What they have is like tag. Hoseok chases and chases, and Jimin runs into the wind, only turning back to admire those hungry, determined eyes upon him. He just looks so goddamn good angry and frustrated, wanting him.

It wouldn’t be fun if Hoseok was just desperate, but he isn’t. He knows it’s inevitable and carries himself with unwavering confidence. A wolf who knows he’ll get to sink his teeth into him eventually. Not one to ever lose.

Jimin doesn’t know what would be more fun, letting himself get caught or continuing to sprint ahead. 

Keep running into the wind. 

“I know what you’re like, you have a reputation, Hoseok-ssi,” Jimin hums, leaning into his ear as if he’s telling him a secret. “I know you just want to fuck me.”

“Is that so bad? You just want to fuck me too.”

“That’s quite the bold assumption.”

Jimin’s so very good at running, but something about Hoseok tonight makes him want to stand still and be devoured.

“You haven’t moved my hand off your thigh, I think you like the way I touch you,” Hoseok purrs in a low husk of a voice. There’s something magnetic between them too. Lips inches apart, just following each other's sway. Teasing without touch, like two butting forces repelling between mingling breath. Waiting for the pull. “You’ve thought about it before, haven’t you?”

“Only in my sickest , most fucked up musings,” Jimin murmurs, brushing the tip of his nose against Hoseok’s before coldly pulling away. 

The frustration almost escapes from Hoseok in a growl, but he exhales it with a smirk. Tongue resting against his bottom lip, he takes it out on Jimin’s thigh, fingers roughly massaging hard muscle and soft flesh. It’s almost painful. And it’s almost enough to make Jimin hard. 

But not quite. 

Not yet.

Jimin glances out to the room, trying to repel and feign disinterest as he scans it one last time for Taehyung.

It’s not subtle. Hoseok knows exactly what he’s doing.

“He’s not coming back, you know,” he tells him, tone softer than the scratched rasp of it before. “I saw him leave with that guy and he’s a fucking idiot for leaving you.”

So, he had left. This changes things.

Jimin makes a decision. One he hasn’t considered making before, not until tonight. 

If Taehyung wants to really play, then Jimin will play.

“Is there champagne at your place?” Jimin asks.

“Is that even a question?”

Jimin grabs Hoseok’s hand from his thigh, linking it with his own, letting himself be caught. He stands from the plush seat of the booth and turns back, ready to face him. “I want it on ice . ”

Hoseok grins up at him, tongue licking against white teeth in anticipation of his prize. “Consider it already done.”

***

It was a weird night, that’s for sure. 

Yoongi’s drained by it, but he still can’t sleep. Still jittering with a million whirling thoughts and the aftershocks of each fleeting thrill. 

Thrills and temptations. 

He rolls onto his back and is rudely interrupted again, this time by his own twisted mind. 

He watches as the outline of glossy, pillowy lips smirking, emerge from the darkened cave of his mind. Haunting him. 

That stranger. 

He was so bold and arrogant, rude and entitled. Spoilt little rich boy. Everything Yoongi despises and yet, he can’t stop thinking about him. He hadn’t left Yoongi’s mind the entire taxi ride back, no matter how hard he tried to push him away.

It’s uncomfortable. 

Physically uncomfortable. Yoongi reaches down to adjust himself in his briefs, hoping to settle into sleep. When he does he can’t help but notice the reason for his need to adjust. 

Even more so when his fingers brush against his semi erect cock. 

He can see the face, the glinting eyes on the beautiful stranger as he leers, victorious to have riled him, even from the safety of Yoongi's warm bed. Yoongi can almost feel his hot breath on his face. Exhaling in heavy, smug amusement as Yoongi slips his hand beneath the fabric of his briefs, grips around his base and starts to slowly tease himself for him. 

Stroking himself hard at the thought of those lips, of the little whimpers he imagines slipping through. Sounds he could pull from that velvety lilt. 

Yoongi hears his own voice quietly moan, envisioning the roll of sauntering hips against his. Greedy for the feel of his cock. As greedily as Yoongi’s fixing his own pace, pumping himself harder. 

He gives himself a wanton squeeze at his head, imagining soft lips wrapping around. Thumbing over the slit of his cock at the thought of that wet pink tongue, teasing over it. 

Wet. So fucking wet.

Yoongi pushes the covers back, as well as his briefs, and spits into his hand. Coating it to slick down over himself as he works himself. Harder, quicker, hungrier. Wetting himself to fit the mess of his thoughts. 

He can hear the voice. Can feel the breath against his ear as his teeth latch to trap his bottom lip.

‘You’re touching yourself.’ 

‘For me.’ 

‘You must have wanted to fuck me.’

Yoongi continues the frantic rhythm, his hips twitching to lift and buck into his tight fist.

‘Such a smart mouth on you,’ Yoongi hears himself quip back inside his mind, before his filthy desire takes charge. Overcome with the feel of his rolling fist, teamed with the image of the stranger on his knees for him. ‘Better filled with my cock.’

Head rolling back at the thought, Yoongi lets another husk of a groan escape. Biting his lip harder as his stomach begins to pool with that aching debauched want for the stranger he doesn’t even like. 

He fucks into his hand harder. Fingers gripping himself as they would in icy blonde locks, grabbing as he uses that relentless mouth. Smouldering eyes now wide and teary with the force of Yoongi's cock hitting against the back of the stranger's throat. Deep and sloppy, choking on it with every pounding stroke. 

Yoongi spits on himself again, letting it string down from his lips, needing it to feel more real as he takes that mouth again and again and again. Hate fucking the beautiful stranger into his own hand.

Admittedly, future-Yoongi will feel a little disgusted with the place his mind has gone. 

He’ll judge the excitement of degrading the spoilt little slut like this in his head. He’ll judge himself for even wanting him in the first place. 

But something about the hovering disgust gives him a kick. Makes him want to chase his impending climax faster until he’s quickly spilling into his own hand. Chest panting, lip throbbing from his focused, unrelenting teeth. Bitten bruised in his frenzy of fist. 

The haze of his orgasm only makes the throb feel more blissful.

Then the haze fades away. A warm blanket ripped cruelly away, leaving Yoongi with just the disgust. 

Now he just feels wrong. And sticky. 

Yoongi wipes his hand on his underwear, mopping up the mess. Then he kicks off the now extremely uncomfortable briefs and throws them into the laundry. 

Disappointed that he can’t throw himself away too.

‘Better filled with my cock?’ Really? What the fuck?

Yoongi cringes at his prior lust-filled thoughts and turns over to his left, hoping he’ll have better luck on this side. 

Hoping the beautiful stranger will finally let him rest.

***

Yoongi is allowed to rest. Only woken by the sound of Jungkook leaving to go to the gym. He didn’t know at what point Jungkook had come back home, but he found some comfort in the fact he hadn’t stayed the night. 

It’s mid-morning when the two bump into one another in the kitchen. Yoongi on his way out, after deciding that home brewed coffee is never as good at the cafe down the road. At least they have a few won to spare for it, thanks to Jinyoung. 

He catches Jungkook fresh out of the shower. Sweatpants slung low, a towel resting around his neck, protein shaker in hand to fuel him after his workout. He turns around when he hears Yoongi approaching, his long hair a stringy, wet mess, pushed back off of his face.

It’s a little bit distracting seeing him like this. Yoongi’s used to this sight, but still, it doesn’t stop his brain from whirring into overdrive. Buzzing like an old dial-up modem. 

Jungkook’s tattooed skin, exposed and shining with the few stray droplets that drip down from dark strands. Highlighting small details of the illustrations scripting across both arms, as well as his chest, in glittering flecks. 

Yoongi tries not to let his gaze dawdle too long across Jungkook’s decorated form - even if the artwork is meant to be admired. Nipple piercings too. So much is an invitation to look. Glinting metal bars, warning Yoongi to stop and focus on large doe-eyes instead.

It’s funny to think that Yoongi used to protect this guy from the mean kids on their street. When Jungkook used to be two big eyes on a face with bunny teeth, instead of the pierced, tattoo-covered, muscular specimen that stands dripping before him now.

“Good night last night, Jungkook-ah?” Yoongi asks, voice slightly more strained than usual as he takes a seat on one of the barstools.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Jungkook replies, biting his lip coyly. He glances down at the counter instead of Yoongi. “I had fun. Did you?”

“No fun for me, you know that.”

Jungkook laughs and gives his protein one last shake. “I forgot you’re a boring prick.” He grins, puckish. “Though that blonde didn’t seem to think so.”

“Oh him? Not my type,” Yoongi dismisses as though he hadn’t knocked one out to the thought of him. 

Twice .

“Do you even have a type?”

“Not really, but shallow, mindless and rich has never done it for me.”

Apart from last night. 

And this morning in the shower. 

Jungkook was out pumping iron and Yoongi was just pumping himself.

“Not even the pretty ones?” Jungkook probes, brows wiggling suggestively.

“Hard pass.”

“I swear you always cock block yourself, hyung,” Jungkook chuckles, leaning back against the counter. “Are you ever gonna get laid?”

“I’m sorry that I have to at least like someone to fuck them,” Yoongi counters, watching Jungkook take a swig, Adam's apple bobbing as he gulps it down.

Smacking his lips in satisfaction, Jungkook places his shake down beside him. “You’re so soft.”

“Fuck off.”

“Do you even give yourself the chance to like people before you judge them?” Jungkook asks, crossing his arms over the hard, smooth contours of his embellished chest.

“I like lots of people,” Yoongi pouts.

“Name three, no direct family members allowed.”

Shit . Maybe he doesn’t like people.

“I like Namjoon, I like you. I like-”

“Are you considering fucking us?” Jungkook grins. “And I said three.”

“I like myself.”

“Well, I guess that’s one person who’ll fuck you.”

He isn’t wrong.

“Hey!” Yoongi protests as Jungkook giggles - nose scrunch and all, and Yoongi can only sigh before the thought of the guy from last night pops into his head. The curiosity is unavoidable. “Think you’ll see that rich boy again?”

“Not planning on it. Who knows?” Jungkook replies with a shrug before his face returns to that perfect smile, starry eyed. “You should have seen his apartment, hyung. It was ridiculous .”

“Take a souvenir?”

“Of course.” 

Jungkook gleefully makes his way into his room to fetch it. He comes back with a small, black velvet box and places it on the counter in front of Yoongi. 

“Here, my gift to you.”

Yoongi eyes Jungkook warily, before reaching to open it. 

Neatly placed within it are a set of cufflinks. Black coal-like stones wrapped in white gold, encrusted with neat rows of diamonds caging the coals in. They stare back at Yoongi from amongst the suede lining, Jungkook’s eager face in the periphery of his vision, dazzling a view far prettier than whatever’s in the box.

“Cufflinks?”

“Tom Ford,” Jungkook tells him proudly, resting his hips against the counter next to Yoongi. “I looked them up, guess how much.”

“With a face like that I’m guessing... two million won?”

“Fourteen and I rounded it down.”

“Shit. For these little things?” Yoongi questions as he carefully takes one out of the box and twists it between his fingers.

“Diamond and onyx, white gold.”

Yoongi supposes they’re nice. They catch the light magnificently, just like the jewels that dangled from the lobe of the stranger last night. 

Beautiful, expensive and pointless.

“I don’t get diamonds,” Yoongi thinks out loud. “Sure, they’re nice but fourteen-million-won-nice? For this? ” He snatches his palm closed and drops the little offender back in its box. “That’s like a year's rent for some people. Just to sit at the end of someone’s sleeve. Whatever happened to buttons?” Yoongi questions, bottom lip puckered as he ponders. “Buttons work.”

“But buttons don’t look like that .” Jungkook points back at the overpriced gems. “No one notices buttons.”

“I don’t notice cufflinks either.”

“Then maybe it’s not about who notices. Maybe it’s more about knowing ,” Jungkook muses. “Knowing that what holds the end of your sleeve together is worth more than what the valet you hand your keys to will see in a month. In a few months, even.”

“That’s sick.”

“Pretty though,” Jungkook replies with a shrug. “They’d look good on you.”

Yoongi huffs an embarrassed smile. “I’ll call my guy and pawn them off, pay some peoples rent instead.”

“Generosity looks good on you too, hyung,” Jungkook says, his eyes meeting Yoongi’s deliberately in a moment of boldness, holding their gaze. 

Then the moment’s gone. 

Jungkook looks away and that familiar shy smile returns to his lips. Yoongi gives him a fond pat on the arm. It’s a touch similar to so many they’ve shared before, but it somehow feels different today. Awkward for Yoongi to reach out, as though he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. He hopes Jungkook doesn’t notice any different and slithers away from the barstool, excusing himself.

“I’m gonna grab a coffee, you want anything?” Yoongi asks as he takes his khaki army jacket out of the closet and shrugs it on.

“Nah, I’m good.”

Yoongi slips on his slides and gives Jungkook one last wave before leaving the apartment. 

He hops down the stairs, contemplating with each step why he’s such an awkward prick today. He’s been best friends with Jungkook for thirteen years, but recently he can’t help notice … notice small moments he shouldn’t be so fixated on. 

It’s very possible that Yoongi does just need to get laid. Snap out of whatever he’s feeling and stop projecting it onto one of the few people in his life that he actually cares about. Clearly Yoongi isn't great with people. He couldn’t even name three that he likes.

It’s warm when Yoongi gets to the street, the smell of the hangover soup restaurant they live above wafting in the summer air. Mingling deliciously with the scents of the few cafes and restaurants dotted along the street like the spread of a feast.

Yoongi makes his way across the road in the direction of his go-to café . Iced americano and the cookies that Jungkook likes, the only things on his mind. 

Until his thoughts of coffee, cookies and grateful, fond smiles are interrupted by the screeching of wheels and brakes.

He doesn’t have time to think about it. 

The bag is already being shoved over Yoongi’s head before he can even glance back. 

Bodies and hands swarm him from all sides. Binding his arms behind his back and pulling him into, what Yoongi assumes, must be a van.

This isn’t part of the plan.

Being kidnapped on a Friday morning in broad daylight is never part of the plan. 

But Yoongi had played with fire last night. He’d lit the match and caught the flame between his fingers. Liking the thrill of the heat, of the risk of hot leather beneath his palms and growls from fickle beasts. Confident that he knew the flames well enough to tease them and not get burnt.

The sharp kick to the ribs - now burning - cruelly suggests that he didn’t quite know them well enough.

In fact, it suggests that Yoongi doesn’t know anything at all.

Ah, shit.