Chapter Text
Sometimes, Yoongi fantasized about shooting Kim Namjoon in the face.
It was never a violent fantasy. He didn’t care for causing pain and getting his hands dirty, he had men for that. His fantasy was more about pulling the trigger and Namjoon falling like a doll, and finally, finally having some sweet, well-deserved, peace and quiet.
This was one of those moments.
Kim Namjoon was going on and on about borders, districts, and profit margin. He wanted a piece of Yoongi’s port down in Busan. He was urging the families to rearrange the imaginary city lines so he wouldn’t have to pay Yoongi for letting his shipments into the country. As if Yoongi would ever let that happen.
Yoongi looked down, bored, seconds away from spinning in his chair. Hoseok's shiny white sneaker blinked back at him. It was so new, and so white . Yoongi smirked. He moved slowly, not to alert his right-hand/assistant/best friend. The chair creaked as he moved, and Hoseok shot him a side eye. It was a sit still for five fucking seconds, not an I know what you're doing side eye, so Yoongi ignored him. Slowly, he lifted his left foot and let the dirty sole of his shoe drag over Hoseok’s pristine, white, probably very expensive sneaker.
“Motherfucker…” Hoseok grunted, pushing his chair back.
Yoongi tried not to laugh, but still, a deep chuckle came from his chest. Namjoon stopped talking, turning away from his very detailed presentation, and glared. Yoongi smiled at him, swinging his chair into the back legs and twirling a pen between his fingers.
Say a thing, asshole.
“Do you have a problem, Hoseok-ssi?” Namjoon asked, looking away from Yoongi, his face a careful mask of politeness as he regarded Hoseok. God, Yoongi would love to punch him in the face. Just once. Maybe twice. Just to let it sink in.
“The problem, Namjoon,” Yoongi said, foregoing honorifics just to see the annoyed twitch of the man’s jaw. Kim Namjoon was not going to talk to Hoseok in that tone. “You are making this meeting unnecessarily long. Borders are borders for a reason, and I doubt anyone, especially me, is willing to let go of their ports just for the Kim’s to have more leeway for your smugglers. Pay the fee, or find some other way to get your goods into the country.”
Yoongi smiled, too big and only with his mouth, before he stood up.
“That’ll be all for today, gentlemen. See you in a few weeks.”
The sound of moving chairs and casual conversation echoed against the slick walls of the restaurant behind Yoongi’s back as he made his retreat. Today was one of those days when Yoongi was happy to host this meeting. Hoseok caught up to him with a light jog.
“You should be nicer,” the man mumbled, a frown creasing his smooth forehead. “You’re fishing for trouble if you keep dismissing the Kims like that.”
“The only thing Kim Namjoon can do without causing a full-blown war is blocking my antique smugglers, and he’s already doing that.”
“Yes, but—”
Yoongi waved a hand, and Hoseok sighed.
“It’s fine. He’s too ‘ honors student’ to do anything.”
They made it to the car, and both of them stopped walking. Yoongi sighed, scratching the side of his nose with his thumb.
“Are you sure about that?” Hoseok asked, looking at the flat tires of the car.
“Oh no, Yoongi-ssi,” Namjoon spoke in a mock of concern. Yoongi turned and found him playing with an ice pick next to his own car, a young-looking boy diligently waiting by his side. “What a shame. I’m guessing you don’t have three spare tires in there. Do you?”
Yoongi watched him climb into the back seat of his car, anger flashing red and hot up the back of his neck, and suddenly he missed the weight of his gun against his ribs. The boy shut Namjoon’s door before moving briskly to the driver's side and speeding away.
“I’m calling one of our shops for help,” Hoseok mumbled, already scrolling through his phone.
“I’ll go for a walk. I don’t feel like sitting here.”
“Without security?”
Yoongi was unsure if Hoseok meant bodyguards or his guns; he had neither.
“It’s No one’s land, Hoseok. I’ll be fine.”
Hoseok frowned at him disapprovingly, but Yoongi was as much his boss as he was his best friend, so he said nothing and only watched him walk away.
The cool night air felt good, a lot better than that stuffy restaurant. Yoongi walked with his hands in his pockets, the anger slowly fading with each step. He knew Hoseok was right to worry about Yoongi going too far. He had a tendency to get carried away when he was angry, and that landed him in trouble more often than not. He always got himself out of it, of course, but there could be some… strain in the process.
Pissing off the Kims, especially Namjoon, was a risky move. But Yoongi just didn't have the patience for all that fake politeness. They handle drugs, guns, and prostitutes, just because the Kims feel like their horse is higher for only dealing with the rich, doesn’t mean they were any better. This world was sliced up by families, not by laws. And in this world, the Min family, Yoongi’s family, had a lot of pull. More than the Kims, though he’s sure Namjoon and his brothers would disagree.
These meetings, always held in the No one's lands (neutral spots made specifically as havens between the families' territories), were always a careful dance. These areas were sprinkled all over the country, like buffer zones where no one was allowed to start shit openly. Today's meeting, led by the Min family, was intended to establish some order in the constantly shifting borders and districts that had become a mess due to the illegal trade and ongoing disputes between families. Instead, it turned into Namjoon trying to sneak his way into Min territory.
He thought he was so slick, so smart, but Yoongi always saw through his bullshit. The Kims were good, driven, but they were relatively new to the game that Yoongi had been raised playing. After his father died and Namjoon appeared out of thin air with his stupid art smuggling operation, the monthly meetings had turned from an actual productive space into Namjoon’s and Yoongi’s playground.
No one’s lands were the only places where they could be mildly hostile face to face, and even then it was only annoying petty shit. Like stabbing Yoongi’s tires, or the time Yoongi ordered only seafood because he found out Namjoon hated the smell, or that other time when a shit stained diaper mysteriously found its way into the back of Namjoon’s car. Whispers on the street were that it took two or three days to find the damn thing, and two weeks for the smell to disappear.
The streets were quiet, just the faint hum of a car somewhere in the distance. Streetlights made weird, stretched-out shadows, making everything look a little off. Yoongi liked the quiet. It gave him space to think, to plan. He wasn't scared of Namjoon. He was just tired of all the constant scheming, the endless fighting, and looking over his shoulder.
Up ahead, a bright, glaring light cut through the dark. A convenience store, its insides colorful and alight, hummed with a low, inviting glow. Yoongi slowed down, then stopped. A pack of his usual cigarettes and maybe a beer sounded nice right about now. He crossed the street and pushed open the glass door, and the little bell above chimed as he stepped inside and made eye contact with none other than Kim Namjoon. Great.
“Decided to walk home, Yoongi-ssi?” he smirked.
He was leaning casually against the check-out counter, like this was something he did routinely. On the other side, a young and very handsome man looked between them with a slight smile.
“Is he your friend, Samchon?”
Yoongi saw the smile falter in Namjoon’s face; he snorted.
“He wishes.” Yoongi offered.
“He’s no one.” Namjoon turned to smile brightly at the young man. The way the boy blushed clicked in Yoongi’s mind.
He walked to the back of the small store and perused the shelves, listening in to their conversation, looking at them over a display of snacks like a prying ajhumma.
“Hyung is fine,” Namjoon cleared his throat, leaning a little closer to the boy.
“So, you work here often?” Namjoon asked, his voice suddenly softer, like he was trying to purr.
Yoongi almost gagged.
The young man, who looked like he was barely out of high school, nodded.
“Yeah, most nights. Helps with tuition.” He gestured vaguely around the cramped aisles. “It’s quiet, mostly.”
“Quiet can be… nice,” Namjoon drawled, leaning a little closer. “Especially after a long, noisy day. Sometimes, you just want to find a little peace, you know? A calm presence, a friendly face.” He paused, letting his gaze linger on the boy’s face. The kid just blinked.
“Oh, yeah, definitely. It’s way better than, like, a crowded café. And the boss is pretty chill about me studying between customers. Sometimes my roommate keeps me company for a while.” He gestured to a textbook tucked under the counter.
“What kind of noisy day did you have, Samchon? Was it a tough meeting?”
Yoongi had to bite back a laugh. Namjoon’s carefully constructed comment had flown right over the kid's head and landed somewhere around college student worries. And the ‘Samchon’ again. Namjoon’s jaw twitched, almost imperceptibly this time.
“I said hyung is fine, lovely,” Namjoon insisted, recovering smoothly, though his smile seemed a little more forced.. “And something like that. Just… a lot of talking. About things that aren’t nearly as interesting as, say, the latest trends in convenience store snacks.” He picked up a brightly colored bag of chips, turning it over in his hands. “Are these new? I feel like I haven’t seen them before.”
The young man’s eyes lit up.
“Oh, yeah! They just came in yesterday. They’re, like, super spicy. We’ve been selling a ton of them. You should totally try them, Samchon. They’re really good if you like heat.”
Namjoon chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that was probably meant to be charming.
“Spicy, huh? I do enjoy a challenge. Perhaps you could recommend some other… bold choices for me? Something that really stands out?”
He held the chip bag out, his fingers brushing the boy’s as he took it. The kid beamed, completely missing the lingering touch.
“Sure! We got this new ramen, too, it’s like, five times spicier than the regular kind. And those new energy drinks are pretty wild, too. They taste like… bubblegum and regret.” He rattled off suggestions, genuinely enthusiastic about the store's inventory. Yoongi shook his head, a ghost of a smirk on his face. Namjoon was trying to be "bold" and "challenging," and the kid was just recommending the spiciest junk food. It was almost sad. Almost.
Yoongi took a beer from the cold display behind him and headed for the counter, ready to worsen Namjoon’s misery, and made it just in time to see Namjoon winking and the boy making a confused expression.
“Is there something in your eye, Samchon?” The real worry in his voice made Yoongi's mouth tremble. “There are eye drops on aisle 3.”
Yoongi couldn’t hold it in anymore. He burst out laughing. It was one of those laughs that leaves you breathless and messes with your balance. Yoongi held on to Namjoon’s shoulder so as not to fall, and the man glared at him.
“Did I say something?” the poor boy asked, eyes wide and innocent.
“No, Sweetheart,” Yoongi wiped his eyes, the last fit of laughter leaving him in a sigh. “You are perfect, you just made my day.”
Namjoon made a quick gesture, a knee-jerk reaction, and Yoongi knew he wanted to sock him right there.
“No one’s land, Samchon,” he reminded him with a smirk.
Namjoon gritted his teeth, glaring at Yoongi, and walked away towards the back of the store.
“Can I have a bag of those super spicy chips you mentioned, please?”
The boy took the bag of chips, studying the bright purple packaging.
“Can I get you anything else?”
Yoongi asked for his favorite brand of cigarettes, studying the boy as he rang him up. He was more than handsome, as he had previously thought. He was breathtakingly beautiful under a mop of dark curls. His smile was child-like, his jaw defined, and the bridge of his nose tall and framed by almond eyes. Yoongi could understand why the other man was a regular.
Yoongi grabbed his cigarettes and the super spicy chips the kid had recommended, heading for the door. Namjoon was in the way and when Yoongi tried to side-step him, Namjoon moved, subtly but intentionally, stepping into his path. Yoongi didn't have time to react. Namjoon’s shoulder connected firmly with his, pushing Yoongi towards a display of toothbrushes and scattering them across the tiled floor.
“Oh, my apologies, Yoongi-ssi,” Namjoon said, his voice dripping with fake concern, but his eyes glinted with satisfaction. “Clumsy of me.”
Yoongi just grunted, biting back a sharp retort. It wasn't worth the effort. He flicked off Namjoon’s retreating back, kneeling to pick up the colorful packages. As he gathered the mess, he heard Namjoon walk to the other side of the store once more.
“Well, it was certainly a pleasure meeting you again,” Namjoon purred, and Yoongi gagged, separating the brushes by color. “Here, take this.” A soft rustle of paper. “My number. In case you ever need… a recommendation. Or just want to talk about spicy snacks.” Yoongi could practically hear the wink in his voice.
“Oh, thank you, Samchon!” the boy chirped, sounding genuinely pleased. “Kim Namjoon?” reading Namjoon’s card, Yoongi assumed.
“What’s your name, Lovely? It’s only fair.”
“Kim Taehyung.”
Inbreeding , Yoongi mumbled, ignoring the fact that it was the most common last name in the country.
Yoongi started pushing the brushes into their correct slots. Namjoon gave him another smug smirk as he walked by him before finally sauntering out the door.
Yoongi was arranging a second line of emerald toothbrushes when he heard the familiar sounds of a phone call. Taehyung, still behind the counter, clearly thought Yoongi had left with Namjoon.
“Jungkookie, you won’t believe who just came in!” he gushed, his voice hushed but excitable. “Okay, so, remember the really hot ajhussi?” Yoongi almost laughed again. “The regular I told you about. He looks super rich, like, his watch alone could probably pay our rent and living expenses for a couple of months, no joke! And he was totally flirting with me! He gave me his number! Can you believe it?”
There was a pause. “No, I’m at work. I couldn’t join them today.” Pause. “Because I’m broke. I don’t even have money for rent, I’m not spending on disgusting craft beer just because they feel fancy today.” Pause. “No, I’m okay. With a couple more night shifts, I’ll cover rent, and if I do the whole month, I’ll chip in more for groceries and to get that stupid sink fixed.”
Yoongi paused as an idea sprang into his head, then dismissed it almost instantly. No, too stupid. He never really experienced this side of youth, with piling bills and instant ramen out of necessity. But his father did cut his cards for a couple of months when he was younger because of a deal Yoongi botched. That was not nice.
He placed the last toothbrush in the display just as Taehyung said his goodbyes, and took it out again. He jumped when Yoongi stood up.
“I’m sorry, sir,” his cheeks tinted red. “I didn’t know you were there.”
“No worries.”
Yoongi placed the toothbrush on the counter.
“Just that?”
Yoongi nodded.
Taehyung rang him up again, and Yoongi handed him all the bills in his wallet. He looked puzzled.
“Keep the change,” Yoongi mumbled, pushing the money across the counter when Tahyung didn’t take it. Startled, he looked up, his eyes wide. Yoongi gave him a small nod, then turned and walked out, leaving the gushing boy behind, with a new toothbrush and spicy chips that had cost him almost a million won.
Yoongi’s father used to say he was made of luck and stupidity, and more often than not, Yoongi tended to agree.
Especially on moments like this, when a single, terribly stupid, and possibly deadly idea wouldn’t leave him alone. He kept turning it over, holding it in his hand, examining all the little ways he could make it happen, how fun it would be. And this one in particular would be exceptionally fun.
Yoongi shook his head, looking away from the fish tank on his office wall.
The idea was a pebble in his shoe, a loose thread he couldn't snip. It clung to the edges of his vision, almost painfully distracting with its insistence. During his morning coffee, the scent of fresh brew did little to banish it; instead, he found himself tracing patterns on the condensation of his mug, each swirl a variation on the same delightfully bad idea. He could almost feel the thrill of it, the sharp, exhilarating edge of something reckless and entirely his own.
On Tuesday, the quiet hum of his office was punctuated only by the click of his keyboard, each key a testament to his feigned productivity. His screen was a blur of spreadsheets and reports, but his mind was far away, dissecting the idea from every conceivable angle. He’d pause mid-sentence in an email, his fingers hovering over the keys, lost in the possibilities. He even caught himself sketching crude diagrams on a notepad during a particularly dry conference call, lines and angles that, to anyone else, would seem like abstract scribbles, but to him were blueprints, escape routes, potential outcomes for something that felt both wonderfully liberating and utterly ill-advised.
Wednesday brought with it a slight drizzle, mirroring the persistent drip of the idea in his head. He found himself staring out the window more often than not, watching the rain streak down the glass, each drop a tiny, momentary distraction before his thoughts inevitably circled back. Lunch offered no respite. The clatter of fork against plate, the low murmur of conversation around him, all faded as he chewed, his eyes distant, fixed on a point beyond the restaurant wall. He picked at his food, the flavors bland against the vivid taste of the idea. It wasn't just a fleeting thought; it was a physical presence, a hum beneath his skin, a twitch in his fingers, impossible to turn back from even when Hoseok pinched his thigh under the table to make him pay attention to an investor. He’d shake his head, as if to dislodge the thought, but it simply settled deeper, an unwelcome but intriguing guest that promised a burst of delightful chaos.
By Thursday, the idea had solidified, no longer a vague whisper but a demanding shout. Yoongi paced his office, the polished floor cold beneath his socks. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit, as if trying to smooth away the persistent thought, but it only seemed to dig its roots deeper.
Life, of course, carried on. Yoongi kept to his routine, the days blurring into a familiar pattern of meetings, reports, and the endless logistics of his rather unconventional business. But the idea, that perfectly silly, exhilaratingly fun idea, was a constant undercurrent, a low thrum beneath the surface of his composure. He'd find himself grinning for no apparent reason, a spark of pure, unadulterated mischief in his eyes when he should have been frowning over profit margins. It was a secret weapon against the monotony, a future promise of utter, beautiful chaos.
Then they had another Families meeting, a different No one’s land, and Namjoon had been… polite. Strangely so. It miffed Yoongi more than any display of his usual annoying self.
“Good night, Yoongi-ssi,” Namjoon said, with a soft smile (was it a smirk?) on his lips. “Hope you have a restful night.”
Yoongi narrowed his eyes at him, distrustful.
“Let’s go, sir,” Hoseok said, opening the car door for him.
Yoongi stepped inside and yawned while Hoseok made his way to the other side. He hated when the Families all got together. It was fucking exhausting. He just wanted to get home, take Holly for a walk, and crash until midday.
That’s when the call came through.
The caller ID flashed Busan Logistics . He answered, a knot already tightening in his gut. The voice on the other end was clipped, frantic.
"Boss, we've got a problem. The latest shipment... It's been swapped."
Yoongi’s knuckles whitened.
“Swapped with what?" he asked, his voice low, deceptively calm.
A pause, then, "Mint candies, boss. Hundreds of kilos of them. And the actual product has been relocated. To a warehouse in the old district. Down by the docks."
The words hit like a physical blow. Not just the audacity, but the sheer, calculated inconvenience of it. Busan. That meant days of re-routing, new bribes, an intricate dance of retrieval and re-smuggling, all while his timelines stretched and his profits bled. This wasn't just a mishap; it was a blatant, deliberate kick to the teeth, designed to delay his operations and cost him a small fortune in the process.
“Hoseok.”
“Please don’t say it.”
“We have to go to Busan.”
The words killed Hoseok’s hope for sleep.
Four hours later, Busan's city lights were a blur outside the car. It was 4 AM. Yoongi was tired. That tiredness was turning into pure anger.
They stood in the big, dark warehouse by the docks. It smelled like fish guts and mint candy. Boxes of it were stacked everywhere. It was a monument to how much Namjoon liked to annoy him. Yoongi walked through the candy maze. His expensive shoes crunched on wrappers. He was so fucking tired and angry.
In a back corner, away from the candy, their actual drugs lay on a tarp. By the time they hit Busan, the area managers had finished pulling all the merch out of the old district. They still could make the deliveries on time, but it cost Yoongi so much money that it almost wasn’t worth it. He picked one of the candy bags from the closest table and popped one into his mouth, tasting. His lips curled downwards. It was cheap mint candy at that. That almost made him angrier.
Hoseok, always careful, was already checking the seals of their actual shipment. Yoongi just stared at the piles of product. The low light made the colors dull. He felt tired to his bones. This whole stupid, expensive trip was Namjoon’s doing. Yoongi knew it for sure. He knew there wouldn’t be a single lead tying it to the asshole. But he didn’t need it. He knew. Yoongi rubbed his temples. His head started to hurt.
"Tell me it's all there, Hoseok," he rasped. The words were a threat. Even for Namjoon, messing with the actual drugs was a line.
Hoseok sighed, running a gloved hand over a brick of product. "Looks like it. Quality's good, too. Just... in Busan. Surrounded by too much candy."
Yoongi closed his eyes. He pictured Namjoon, probably sleeping soundly in his perfectly organized apartment. Namjoon didn't care about the mess he'd made.
"This is his fault," Yoongi mumbled. He wasn't talking to Hoseok. Just the warehouse, the candy. "He just had to make it annoying."
“Hyung…” Hoseok tried. “We don’t know…”
“Oh, I know.”
Yoongi laughed, feeling a little insane.
He was done playing nice.
"Hoseok," he said, turning to the driver, a cold glint in his eyes. "Find me the number of the convenience store boy. His name is Taehyung."
A few days later, back in Seoul, Hoseok dropped a slip of paper onto Yoongi’s desk. "The convenience store kid. Taehyung. This is his number."
Yoongi picked it up, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. He pulled out his phone.
Yoongi: Is this Kim Taehyung?
Taehyung: Uh, who is this?
Yoongi: The man who wants to offer you a job.
Taehyung: lol
Taehyung: a job?
Taehyung: what kind of job
Taehyung: are u a scammer or something
Yoongi: No. I'm not a scammer.
Yoongi: I have a proposition for you. Very well paid. Temporary.
Taehyung: what do i have to do
Yoongi: Kidnap someone.
Taehyung: lol
Taehyung: ok this is a joke right
Taehyung: like a prank
Yoongi sighed. He’d expected disbelief, maybe even some immediate refusal. But this level of wide-eyed, innocent skepticism was… unique. He looked at the ceiling of his office. He was trying to be petty, and it was already proving to be a headache. He just needed to get this kid to understand.
Two weeks of texting the boy from a burner phone later, Yoongi persisted. He didn’t even know why he was trying so hard.
Yoongi’s second phone buzzed again, lighting up with a new message. Another one from Taehyung. This was, he calculated with a groan, the three hundred and eighty-seventh message in just under two weeks. His finger hovered over the screen, already anticipating the particular brand of baffling naivete that awaited him.
Taehyung: but like…
Taehyung: who’s the dude?
Yoongi: Just some rich kid. Don’t worry about it.
Yoongi: Just give him a little scare. That’s it.
Yoongi: It won’t be dangerous, and it’ll be a quick job.
Yoongi: So, you're in?
Taehyung: ?
Taehyung: wait are u serious still
Taehyung: bc if this is a prank it's kinda mean
Yoongi: It's not a prank. I told you. This is a job offer.
Taehyung: lol
Taehyung: what job tho
Taehyung: just to make sure i understand
Taehyung: because like, u sound crazy dude
Yoongi: I wouldn’t be this persistent if I were just trying to prank you.
Taehyung: how do i know u are who u say u are tho?
Yoongi: What do you mean?
Taehyung: what if it’s not a prank
Taehyung: but a setup
Taehyung: like in the cop movies
Yoongi leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his face. He felt a vein throb in his temple. This boy. This boy. He had his number, he had money, and he had a perfectly legitimate, entirely harmless, albeit highly unusual, job offer. And Taehyung was still stuck on the i s this real life? stage.
Yoongi stared at his phone, the last message from Taehyung mocking him with its sheer, unyielding skepticism. Fifty million won, he said, and the kid still thought it was a scam. Yoongi scoffed. There was only one way to prove his wealth, and it was the most direct, least subtle way he knew.
Yoongi: Give me your bank account details.
Taehyung: wait why
Taehyung: r u gonna hack me lol
Yoongi: Do you have enough money for me to bother robbing?
A long silence followed. Yoongi wondered if he had been too harsh, or if the actual offer of money had driven the boy away. Finally, a new message popped up.
Taehyung: ... ouch
Taehyung: ok fine
Taehyung: [attachment]
Yoongi quickly typed in the numbers, his fingers flying across the screen. He initiated a transfer – a modest sum, just enough to make a point, but not so much that it would overwhelm the kid before the main payment. A few seconds later, he sent a confirmation screenshot.
Yoongi: Check your balance.
He waited, a small, triumphant smile playing on his lips. This was it. The moment of truth.
The reply was almost instantaneous, a rapid-fire burst of capital letters and exclamation marks.
Taehyung: HOLY SHIT SIR
Taehyung: WHAT IS THIS
Taehyung: OH MY GOD
Taehyung: SIIIIRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
Yoongi leaned back, satisfied. Finally. The boy had seen the light. The disbelief had, at last, crumbled. Now, maybe, they could actually get to the fun part.
Yoongi: Want to talk business now?
Taehyung: omg sr, whatever you need.
Taehyung: ill give you my firstborn child.
Taehyung: ill birth a whole baby out of my anus just for you.
Yoongi made a face. That was several kinds of disgusting. He decided to ignore the message and focused on what was important.
Yoongi: Take notes.
Yoongi: Because you have a lot to do.
Yoongi: Do you remember the rich Samchon from the convenience store?
Taehyung: wtf
Taehyung: how do you know about that??!!
Yoongi put the phone face down on his desk and looked at his ceiling. It felt like every few minutes of conversation with Taehyung was taking years off Yoongi’s life. It was going to be a long process, but he was already halfway through, and Yoongi wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. Especially a stupid one.
The next few days were dedicated to planning and logistics. Given the right motivation, he was much more receptive. He even asked if he could get help from his roommate. Yoongi allowed it. It didn’t matter. Is not like he was expecting them to succeed.
Please, a gay quirky little twink kidnapping one of the most dangerous men in the country? Don’t make him laugh. Yoongi mostly wanted to give Namjoon a scare, make a statement using the same pretty boy Namjoon had been fanning over. Yoongi sighed, smiling at the ceiling. He would give an arm and a leg to see Kim Namjoon’s stupid face when his eye candy tried to kidnap him after a family meeting. Besides, Namjoon currently had the upper hand. It was tit for tat kind of thing, and Yoongi hated losing.
He picked up the phone again, thinking for a second before he started typing a new message. He was so engrossed in his conversation with Taehyung that he didn’t notice Hoseok coming right up next to him.
“What are you smiling at?” Hoseok asked. “You got a new phone?”
Yoongi fumbled to lock his screen, which gained him a suspicious look from Hoseok.
“Nothing, just a meme.”
Hoseok arched an eyebrow.
“A meme? Since when do you know what a meme is?”
“Soobin showed me.” Yoongi made a vague hand gesture as an explanation. “Anyway, how are the clubs doing?”
The next few days were a blur of meetings, calls, and the usual grind of running the Min family’s operations. Yoongi moved through it all with a familiar efficiency, but there was a new, subtle undercurrent of distraction. Every time his phone buzzed, he’d glance at it, a flicker of anticipation he’d quickly suppress. And every time he crossed paths with Namjoon, which, irritatingly, seemed to happen more often than usual in their overlapping circles, Yoongi found himself narrowing his eyes. Namjoon would offer that same infuriatingly smug smile, like he held all the cards, and Yoongi would just stare back, a silent challenge. Was this a good idea? Was getting involved with that naive kid worth the headache?
He was in his office, sifting through reports, the soft click of his mechanical keyboard the only sound in the room, when his phone vibrated. Not the usual email notification or group chat ping of his personal phone. This was a text. On the burner. Yoongi picked it up, his hand almost shaking. Suddenly, he had the urge not to know how things were going.
He would pay the kid anyway, he just… had a bad feeling.
Instead, the screen lit up with a name he had saved while high on spite and thirst for revenge.
Taehyung: Sir, we got him!
Below the text, a picture loaded. Yoongi stared, mouth agape and unblinking, thoughts stuck together like discarded gum. It was Namjoon, alright. Blindfolded and gagged, his jeans and coat rumpled and dirty, lying awkwardly on what looked like a Sakura Card Captor-themed comforter. The room in the background looked like a small, dimly lit bedroom, not the storage that Yoongi had suggested to Taehyung.
Yoongi let out a slow, controlled breath. Well. That was certainly… unexpected. He slowly reached for his personal phone, a small, humorless smirk, more like a grimace, playing on his lips.
"Hoseok," he said into the receiver. "Clear my schedule for the rest of the day, and get Mina to trace a number for me… I think I fucked up."