Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hey! don’t smoke here.” Jeongguk’s frown deepens as his gaze fixes on the hand lazily flicking cigarette ash into the plant pot by the railing, grey flakes settling into the soil. “Hey, hey,” he snaps, irritation crawling into his voice, “you’re killing the plants. Are you an idiot?”

For a moment, nothing happens then the flicking stops.

The man stills, the cigarette hovering between his fingers, and Jeongguk notices the scar on the back of his hand, the kind that doesn’t fade no matter how much time passes. He can’t see the man’s face yet, only his broad back, his posture infuriatingly calm. 

He’s taller than Jeongguk, maybe only by a little but the sharp heels of his shoes make him loom, like he’s looking down even without turning around.

The man shifts slightly, his weight rolling from one foot to the other and for a second it feels like he’s deciding whether Jeongguk is worth the effort of his attention. Jeongguk almost scoffs at the thought that this stranger might ignore him entirely, he’s used to that, used to being overlooked, talked over and treated like background noise.

Finally, the man exhales, clenches his hand, and drops the cigarette to the ground. He crushes it beneath his shoe with a slow press, and then he turns.

Jeongguk’s scowl only deepens, but this time it’s not fueled by anger alone.Because the man in front of him is not what he expected.

He had braced himself for roughness, maybe a beard, something careless or jagged but instead he’s faced with sharp, elegant features softened by an almost unfair beauty. There’s something composed about him and Jeongguk hates that the thought even crosses his mind.But it’s the eyes that undo him.

The moment their gazes meet, Jeongguk has to swallow, his throat suddenly dry, because there’s nothing soft about them, only darkness and a sharp, dangerous intelligence that feels like it could cut if it wanted to. Junhyeon is always mixed up with shady people, and through him Jeongguk has met his fair share of men who operate in the shadows, men who think they’re dangerous because they dress the part or talk too loudly about power but this man is different.

This man doesn’t need to announce it. The way he stands and looks at Jeongguk without a hint of hurry, without a trace of curiosity it all screams quiet authority.

His gaze drags over Jeongguk slowly, from head to toe, unashamed, assessing, and when he finally sighs and tips his head back, looking bored, disappointed even, Jeongguk feels heat rush to his face.

What an asshole.

Did he seriously just check him out and look unimpressed?

“It looks like it’s going to rain,” the man says at last, like the conversation bores him already. “That should wash the ash away.”

That’s it.

That’s all he has to say.

And then, with the audacity of someone who has never been stopped in his life, he turns and starts walking toward the balcony exit.

Jeongguk reacts before he can think. “Hey!”

He steps forward and blocks the man’s path, extending his arm, and suddenly he’s hit with the scent of him, expensive whiskey and tobacco, threaded through with the clean, sharp bite of aftershave. It fills his lungs, settles into his senses, and for one dangerous second, Jeongguk forgets exactly why he was angry in the first place.

Not the time to think about how he smells.

Jeongguk forces his shoulders back, jaw tightening as irritation crawls up his spine again, “Are you not even going to apologize? You think being an asshole is cool?”

Something shifts.

The man who had looked bored to the point of indifference just seconds ago stills in a way that makes Jeongguk’s skin prickle. His eyes widen just a fraction, barely noticeable, but enough to signal that something about Jeongguk’s words has caught his attention. 

There’s a dark heat there now and then, confusingly something else entirely.

Amusement.

Jeongguk sees it clearly, the corner of the man’s mouth twitching ever so slightly, his gaze sharpening with interest as though he’s just been offered a game he hadn’t expected. 

And then his eyes drop.

Not to Jeongguk’s face.

To his neck.

Specifically, to the exposed side of it, where skin is thin. The man’s stare lingers there with an intensity that makes Jeongguk’s breath hitch, an instinctive urge rising in him to cover himself.The amusement in the man’s eyes deepens, flashing with something unhinged enough to make Jeongguk’s stomach twist.

Okay. Maybe he really should’ve listened to Junhyeon and stayed inside like he was told.

“It’s dying already,” the man says calmly.

His voice is low, and Jeongguk hates that he can feel it right in the pit of his stomach. “You overwatered it,” he continues,“Root rot.” A pause.“Fungal decay. I’m just speeding up the process.”

“Huh?” Jeongguk blurts out, intelligently.

For a brief second, the man’s gaze flicks back to his face,and then it moves past him, attention shifting with sudden precision to someone behind him.

Jeongguk hears it before he fully understands it.

“Jeongguk.”

Junhyeon’s voice is furious, every word ground out between clenched teeth. “I fucking told you to stay inside. Why don’t you ever fucking do what I ask for once?”

Jeongguk winces and turns around. He rubs the back of his neck, shoulders drawing in slightly as guilt creeps up on him. “Look, I’m innocent, okay? But your friend is literally killing my plants, so I had to come out.”

The silence that follows feels loaded. Junhyeon’s eyes widen. They flick from Jeongguk to the man standing behind him, and only then does Jeongguk realize how close the man has come to stand, close enough that he can feel heat at his back, close enough that turning even an inch would mean brushing into him. Whatever Junhyeon sees in that distance between them makes his expression change instantly, like a switch being flipped.

The color drains from his face.

“Just… just go inside now, Jeongguk,” Junhyeon says, voice exhausted.

Jeongguk’s stomach twists.

He’s never seen his brother like this. Scared, sweating, looking like every breath costs him something. 

Who is this man? And more importantly what could he do to Junhyeon to make him look like this?

Behind him, the stranger speaks again, voice almost amused.

“Junhyeonnie,” he says lightly, as if they’re old friends. “Your brother really does seem very sweet. I wouldn’t have guessed he’s your brother at all.”

Junhyeon’s jaw clenches so hard Jeongguk can see the muscle jump, but he doesn’t respond.

And that’s what scares Jeongguk the most. Junhyeon always talks back.Silence has never been his defense.

“I’m not sweet,” Jeongguk snaps, irritation flaring hot.

“Jeongguk,” his brother breathes, the sound strained, “Please. Go inside.”

For a moment, it looks like Junhyeon might actually cry, and that alone is enough to make Jeongguk hesitate.

He furrows his brow and turns his head slightly, glancing back at the stranger.

The man is already watching him.

His face is unreadable, lips set in a neutral line, eyes dark and steady, so steady it feels like they’ve never left Jeongguk at all. 

Jeongguk prides himself on being good at reading people, on catching the small tells that give them away.

But this man gives him nothing.

And somehow, that unsettles him more.

“He even cares for a plant’s life, huh?” the man says mildly, “I wonder what he has to say about your work.”

The irritation spikes instantly. Truthfully, he doesn’t really know what Junhyeon does, only that it’s shady, only that it pays too well and comes with too many late nights but this man meddling in their business crosses a line all the same.

“And who are you?” Jeongguk fires back, “That’s none of your business.”

“Jeongguk!” Junhyeon snaps, voice cracking with panic. “Inside. Right fucking now!”

Jeongguk freezes, startled by the desperation in his brother’s tone, and then his frown deepens as stubbornness takes over. He stomps his foot once in frustration, before shooting the stranger one last glare, unafraid in a way that feels reckless even to himself.

Then he turns and storms inside.

Just before the balcony door slides shut, their eyes meet again.

For a heartbeat, everything else disappears. The man’s gaze locks onto his, dark and knowing, like he’s already won something Jeongguk didn’t realize he was offering.

“We’ll meet again, Jeongguk.” He says.

The door closes.

It’s only then, standing alone in the sudden quiet, that Jeongguk realizes his skin is prickling, a crawling awareness spreading over him, his pulse still racing from the way the man said his name.

Like it already belonged to him.

Junhyeon enters the room just as Jeongguk is lying upside down on his bed, head hanging off the edge, staring lazily at the world in reverse. At the sound of the door, Jeongguk straightens up, pushing himself upright with his elbows.

“Who was that?” he asks.

“Do you have a death wish?” Junhyeon snaps at the exact same time.

They freeze.

Then Jeongguk breaks into a grin.

Junhyeon only sighs, dragging a hand down his face like he’s suddenly aged ten years. “It’s not funny, Jeongguk, I’ve told you so many times, never interact with the people I work with, never talk to them, never even acknowledge them. And you had to go ahead and do it with none other than him.”

Jeongguk’s smile fades just a little. “And who is him?”

Junhyeon groans, pacing once before stopping,. “You don’t have to know that, Actually, it’s better if you don’t. Just remember his face. If you ever see him anywhere, you run. You hide. You don’t end up face to face with him again. You never cross his path, Jeongguk. I’m serious.”

Jeongguk watches him for a long moment.

The tension in Junhyeon’s shoulders, the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin.

“Okay,” Jeongguk says quietly, the fight draining out of him all at once. “Is he going to kill me or something?”

Junhyeon just stares at him for a moment, long enough that Jeongguk starts to regret asking, and then he exhales and shakes his head. “No.”

Relief rushes through Jeongguk so fast it almost makes him dizzy.

“But that’s what I’m finding strange,” Junhyeon continues, brow furrowing slightly.

Jeongguk blinks. “Finding what strange? That he hasn’t killed me yet?”

“Yes,” Junhyeon says, slow and thoughtful, like the answer bothers him.

Jeongguk lets out a short  breath. “Hyung, are you being serious right now?”

“The way he behaved with you was strange too,” Junhyeon murmurs, more to himself than to Jeongguk, eyes unfocused as if he’s replaying the scene in his head. He shakes his head after a second, dismissing the thought,  “Whatever. Just…don’t get into trouble, Jeongguk. Once you get involved with people like that, there’s no coming back from it.”

Jeongguk swallows and nods. Then, softer, more careful, he asks, “Hyung… are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

Junhyeon’s eyes widen. He shakes his head quickly. “No,” he says, swallowing hard. “No, he didn’t.”

But the way he says it doesn’t feel reassuring at all.

When Junhyeon finally leaves, the room feels too quiet.

Jeongguk lies back on his bed and stares at the mirror across from him, his reflection staring back until his eyes drift to his neck. He watches the steady beat of his carotid artery beneath his skin, the rhythmic pulse impossible to ignore.

Slowly, almost unconsciously, he raises his hand and presses his fingers there, feeling his heartbeat beneath his touch.

For a split second, the man’s eyes flash through his mind again and a chill runs down Jeongguk’s spine, settling deep in his bones.

A week later, Jeongguk notices a new plant. It sits on the balcony where the dead one used to be, occupying the same spot by the railing, the soil dark and freshly turned, the leaves a deep, healthy green stretching toward the light, alive in a way the last one never really was.

And dread fills Jeongguk, because he should have been forgotten by the stranger, not remembered like this.

[A year later]

Jeongguk stands in front of the door far longer than he should, fingers tapping against the chipped wood in an uneven rhythm that grows steadily more irritated with each unanswered knock, until tapping turns into firm raps and firm raps turn into outright pounding, the sound echoing down the narrow hallway and bouncing back at him , because no matter how hard he knocks, the door stubbornly refuses to open.

He exhales sharply, scrubbing a hand down his face before groaning out loud, annoyance bleeding into his voice.

“Ugh, what the fuck?” he mutters to no one in particular, glaring at the peeling number screwed crookedly above the door. “This is the right apartment. I know it is. So why is no one opening?”

He clicks his tongue in irritation, and waits a few more minutes anyway, because waiting feels more reasonable than giving up, then tries knocking again but still nothing. With a frustrated huff, he paces the length of the hallway once, twice, the dull fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead, before returning to the door and giving it one last, half-hearted knock that earns him the same result.

Just as he’s about to curse his luck and turn away, a door opens but not his door.

The one beside it creaks open instead, and a man steps out, filling the doorway with his presence alone.

“Oh…” Jeongguk straightens instinctively, posture snapping into place as he offers a polite half-bow out of habit. “Ajhussi, um– do you know the person who lives here?” He glances down at his phone, the screen so badly cracked that it fractures the name into spiderwebbed lines, forcing him to squint. “His name is Jim– Jimi–”

The man stares at him.

“What did you just call me?”

Jeongguk blinks, brows lifting slightly, genuinely confused. “Uh… ajhussi?”

For a moment, the man simply looks at him, mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to decide which reaction to commit to, before a sharp laugh bursts out of him. “Are you kidding me?” he scoffs, eyes narrowing with something that looks suspiciously like offense. “Are you trying to pick a fight, newbie?”

Jeongguk only blinks again.

“Who are you trying to fight, hyung?” another voice cuts in, amused and curious all at once.

A second man appears beside the first, leaning casually against the doorframe, and Jeongguk’s attention is instantly, traitorously drawn to the bright orange hair that practically glows under the hallway lights, his gaze lingering just a second too long before he realizes it and snaps himself out of it.

He shakes his head lightly, refocusing, lips pressing together before he speaks again. “No, I’m not trying to pick a fight,” he says, tone polite, “I just want to get inside. My roommate isn’t opening the door.”

The orange-haired man hums softly, eyes sweeping over Jeongguk in a way that makes him suddenly aware of how young he must look standing there with his beat-up phone and travel bag at his feet.

 “Oh,” he says slowly, a grin tugging at his lips. “You’re Jiminie’s new roommate?"

Jeongguk nods.

“Wow,” the man continues, openly studying him now, “you look really young. How did you even manage to get in here?”

“Can we focus on more important things here?” the broad shouldered man cuts in at last, pointing an accusing finger at him now. “He just called me ajhussi.”

Jeongguk frowns, confusion knitting his brows as he looks the man up and down again. “Then what am I supposed to call you?” he asks, tone honest rather than apologetic, as if this is a real logistical problem he’s trying to solve.

“Ah, this little rascal,” the man mutters under his breath before stepping forward abruptly, shoulders squaring in a way that instantly sets off Jeongguk’s instincts, he flinches and takes a step back without thinking, but before anything can escalate, the orange-haired man smoothly shifts forward and plants himself between them, one arm subtly blocking the other’s path.

“Jin hyung, calm down,” he says, half-laughing, glancing back at Jeongguk as if trying to read him. “The kid looks young. He probably just said it without thinking.” Then, with a small tilt of his head and an amused raise of his brows, he adds, “You’d probably call me ajhussi too, right?”

Jeongguk doesn’t hesitate. He shakes his head. “No,You don’t look that old, so I’d just call you hyung.” Then, as an afterthought, far too casual for the tension in the air, he gestures vaguely toward the man’s head. “Oh. And your hair color is cool. I like it.”

Silence.

“I’m going to punch this kid,” Jin growls immediately, already lunging forward again. “Hoba, don’t stop me.”

The orange-haired man reacts on instinct, pushing him back with a hand to the chest before he can get any closer. “Stop it,” he snaps, though the corners of his mouth twitch. Turning back to Jeongguk, he rubs the back of his neck, smiling awkwardly, lips unconsciously forming a small heart shape as he mutters, “Well… thank you.”

“I swear,” Jin continues, still seething, “I’m going to kill him before anyone else does. Or before V does.”

Jeongguk just blinks at that, expression blank, as if he’s not sure whether that was a joke or a very real warning. 

“How old even are you?” Jin demands.

“Twenty five,” Jeongguk answers easily.

“Thirty,” Jin shoots back immediately, pointing at himself. “That’s only five years apart. You’re still going to call me ajhussi after that, huh?”

“Yes,” Jeongguk says, not missing a beat.

“That’s it, I’m doing it, hoba–”

Before Jin can finish the sentence, the man he just called hoba shoves him bodily back inside the apartment, the door slamming shut with a sharp finality before the lock clicks into place.

Jeongguk watches the door for a few seconds after it slams shut, brows furrowing as he exhales softly. “Well,” he mutters under his breath, “that was weird.”

Hoba’s gaze lingers on him again, as if he’s trying to place Jeongguk into a category that simply doesn’t exist yet, before he lets out a quiet sigh and murmurs, almost to himself, “How did they even let you into the gang…”

Jeongguk hears it anyway but chooses not to comment, shifting his weight as a dull ache creeps into his legs from standing too long. “My legs are kind of tired,” he says after a moment, “Can I come in and sit inside at least until Jim–”

“Jimin,” Hoba corrects immediately.

“until Jimin-ssi opens the door?” Jeongguk finishes, nodding once as if committing the name to memory.

Hoba hesitates, glancing at the closed door beside them before rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Jin-hyung’s pretty mad right now,” he admits. “but let me call Jiminie. He usually naps around this time. He probably went on a night mission, came back at dawn, and knocked out completely.”

“Oh,” Jeongguk says, relief softening his shoulders. “Okay. Thank you.”

He bows politely again, the gesture automatic and sincere.

Hoba blinks, clearly surprised, then lets out an awkward little laugh as he pulls out his phone and steps aside to make the call. The first ring goes unanswered. Then the second. By the third, Jeongguk is already wondering if this is going to turn into another long wait until the call finally connects.

Thankfully, it only takes another ten minutes before the door clicks open again.

Jimin stands there swaying slightly on his feet, eyes barely open, hair sticking out in every direction like a bird’s nest that’s lost a fight with a storm, one hand disappearing under his night shirt as he scratches absently, completely unbothered by the fact that he has company.

Jeongguk’s mouth turns down without him realizing it,disbelief flickering across his face.

“Is… that the newbie?” Jimin asks, voice hoarse and heavy with sleep, blinking slowly at Jeongguk like he’s trying to decide whether he’s real or part of a dream.

“Yes,” Hoba says easily, his grin widening until it looks almost too bright for a place like this.“Wait– what’s your name, newbie?”

“Um… Jeon Jeongguk.”

“Oh, sweet. I’m Hoseok,” he says, smile still wide and open. “And the one I just locked inside is Jin.”

Jeongguk nods, committing the names to memory, and for a fleeting moment he finds himself wondering how someone who works in a gang, someone who talks about missions and violence so casually can smile like that, as if none of it ever stains him.

“Name’s Jimin,” his soon-to-be roommate mutters, stifling another yawn as he leans heavily against the doorframe. “Come inside, new–” He squints, clearly forcing his brain to cooperate. “Jeongguk.”

Jeongguk nods once in acknowledgment, then with the kind of blunt sincerity that doesn’t soften itself for politeness, “I hope you don’t make me wait that long next time. You should try being more responsible.”

And with that, he steps past them and into the apartment.

Behind him, the door closes with a soft click, Hoseok watches his back for a moment before leaning closer to Jimin and muttering under his breath, “How long do you think he’s going to last?”

Jimin huffs out a quiet, sleep-rough laugh, rubbing at his eyes. “Not even a week,” he says flatly, “with a mouth like that.”

The apartment isn’t bad , not bad at all  and Jeongguk’s room, surprisingly, isn’t either. He had walked in fully prepared for the worst, for cramped spaces and stale air, for clothes thrown carelessly over chairs and the suffocating smell of sweat and cigarettes soaked into the walls, for the absolute nightmare of having to share a house with someone else, which, frankly, he would not have survived because he is painfully sensitive about smells, about laundry, about personal space.

But instead, he’s standing in a room that’s… decent. A bed that doesn’t look like it’s about to collapse under him, a desk tucked neatly by the wall, a wardrobe large enough to properly organize his clothes, and  most importantly his own bathroom. No sharing. 

It’s clearly good.

And it’s then, as he takes it all in, that something uncomfortable settles in his chest , the quiet understanding of why desperate people end up joining gangs in the first place. When the conditions are like this, when you’re fed and housed and given space that feels almost normal, it’s easy to forget what you’re paying for in return. Looks like V takes care of his people. Keeps them comfortable enough not to question things too deeply.

After unpacking as much as he can bring himself to , he’s not ready to fully settle , Jeongguk freshens up, changes into clean clothes, and drops onto the bed with a tired exhale, staring up at the ceiling . He wonders, briefly, if this is what his brother’s life had looked like too, if this is the kind of place he had lived in before everything went wrong.

He doesn’t quite know how he feels right now. This place is nothing like what he had imagined for himself, and yet it isn’t as terrible as he had braced for either. He can’t call himself happy, that would be a lie  but he isn’t completely miserable, not yet. He hovers somewhere in between, suspended in a strange, uncomfortable neutrality.

Maybe he’s a little worried.

Maybe he’s a little scared of everything that’s still waiting for him.

But he doesn’t let himself dwell on it for too long, because there’s no point, really. It’s not as if sitting here and overthinking will magically make things better, will suddenly open a door back to a life he no longer has.

With a quiet sigh, he pushes himself off the bed.

He’s hungry.

Hoseok had mentioned earlier that he had invited Jimin  and him over for dinner, something about Jin cooking and everyone eating together, like a normal group of people. Jeongguk isn’t sure how he feels about that. He has a nagging suspicion that Jin won’t be particularly thrilled to see him, and there’s a very real chance he might get thrown out before he even makes it through the door. Still, hunger outweighs pride, and if he does get kicked out, he’ll deal with it later. One problem at a time.

He hears movement out in the living room and assumes Jimin must be awake now. Jeongguk steps out of his room and opens the door just as Jimin walks past, towel draped around his neck, hair still damp as he rubs at it absentmindedly. Jimin glances up when he notices him standing there, pauses, and then smiles lightly.

“Oh, you’re awake?” he says, voice easy, casual. “I thought you were taking a nap.”

“Nope,” Jeongguk says, rocking back and forth on his heels, restless energy making him sway. “Can we go to Hoseok hyung and Jin hyung’s place? I’m hungry.”

Jimin pauses, really looks at him then, something like mild disbelief crossing his face “Wow,” he says slowly, lips twitching. “You really don’t have a filter, huh? I mean… it looks like you’re already comfortable here, which is impressive, but also kind of strange.” His gaze lingers, studying him in a way that feels more observant than judgmental.

“What’s so strange?” Jeongguk mumbles, brows pulling together in confusion. “I’m just saying how I feel.”

Jimin lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah,” he says, amused, “I guess you’re right. Come on. Let’s go.”

The cold air hits Jeongguk the moment he steps outside, sharp and biting against his skin, and he instinctively draws his jacket closer as Jimin locks the door behind them. His eyes drift across the apartment block , this place they call a base, the quiet, looming structure that houses the Kim gangsters  and suddenly it feels much larger than it did from the inside. 

He wonders who all these people are, what circumstances dragged them here, how many of them arrived with nothing but desperation clinging to their heels. He wonders how many won’t make it to tomorrow.

“How many people live in this base?” Jeongguk asks eventually, the question slipping out.

“No one really knows,” Jimin replies as he falls into step beside him. “The number keeps changing. But you do start recognizing some faces. You see them around every day.”

Jeongguk doesn’t bother asking why the number keeps changing. The answer feels obvious enough.

If this were a magical sci-fi movie, Jeongguk would already be dead by now, because Jin would have absolutely shot laser beams out of his eyes and reduced him to ash without a second thought.

Jeongguk, however, seems entirely unconcerned by the murderous glares being sent his way and just slurps his noodles unapologetically, because honestly? Jin is a pretty good cook, and he’s starving.

“Wow,” Hoseok says, beaming as he watches him eat, clearly pleased. “You really eat well, huh, Jeongguk-ah?”

“I do tend to have a big appetite,” Jeongguk replies easily, barely pausing between bites. “Thank you for the food, Jin-hyung. It’s delicious.”

Jin freezes. His eyes widen as if he’s just been personally attacked. “Oh, this brat,” he scoffs. “So now I’m hyung just because I made delicious noodles?”

Jeongguk only shrugs, completely unbothered, and eats even more.

Beside him, Jimin lets out a giggle, clearly entertained by the whole exchange. “He’s kind of cute,” he says fondly, reaching over to pinch Jeongguk’s cheeks.

Jeongguk frowns, immediately batting Jimin’s hand away before grabbing his bowl again and doubling down on his eating like that will solve everything.

Jin clicks his tongue, offended and amused all at once. “Did you come out of your mother’s womb this hungry?” he grumbles, then pushes his own bowl toward him. “Here. Take mine too.”

Jeongguk glances at the bowl, considers it for exactly half a second, and then pulls it closer to himself.

Jin’s eyes blow wide open. “Hey– I was joking,” he snaps. “Give it back.”

Jimin throws his head back and bursts into laughter, nearly tipping his chair over in the process. “Ah, this is so entertaining,” he wheezes.

Hoseok chuckles softly, trying to keep things light. “At least it’s not as awkward as when Heeseung was around, right?”

The air shifts instantly. Conversations stop mid-breath, chopsticks freeze, and for a moment, no one says anything at all until Jin groans, dragging a hand down his face.

“Did you really have to bring Heeseung up right now, Hoba?”

Jeongguk slows his chewing, suddenly very aware of the tension he’s stepped into. “Who’s Heeseung?”

Three pairs of eyes turn toward him at once. After a beat, Jimin sighs.

“My previous roommate,” he explains. “He never really got along with us. Or with anyone, actually. Always kept to himself.”

“Yeah,” Jin adds, his expression darkening as he scoffs. “And now we understand exactly why. That traitor.”

“Traitor?” Jeongguk asks, genuinely confused now, brows knitting together as he looks between them. “What did he do?”

Hoseok pushes his fork through the food on his plate without much appetite, eyes unfocused as if he’s seeing something far away. “He betrayed us. Leaked information. Said things he shouldn’t have. Put everyone here in danger by handing it over to rival gangs.Not that they could do much with it. We’re the Kims, after all.”

“Oh.”

Jeongguk wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, hesitating only a second before asking, “So… where is he now?”

The table goes quiet.

Then–

“Dead,” Jimin says calmly.

Jeongguk gulps. “How?”

“V killed him, of course,” Jin answers, tone maddeningly casual. “Shot him straight in the forehead. Instant death.”

Jeongguk’s fork slips from his fingers and clatters against the bowl, the sound loud in the sudden stillness as he stares at them, something cold crawling up his spine.

Jin lets out a short laugh. “Guess we scared the kid.”

Jeongguk swallows hard, his throat tight. “That’s… that’s cruel.”

Hoseok lifts a brow, surprised. “No, actually. He let him die easily. Instantly. Around here, we say V showed him mercy.”

Jeongguk frowns deeper, unease twisting in his chest. “What do you mean?”

Jimin exhales softly, expression sobering as he looks at Jeongguk. “V doesn’t usually let people die that fast. He tortures them. Starves them. Keeps them alive just long enough to squeeze everything out of them.” His voice drops, darker now. “By the end, they’re barely breathing, just a living corpse.”

A pause.

“And then,” Jimin finishes quietly, “he kills them.”

Jin shivers, visibly uncomfortable despite the way he tries to play it off. “Remember that rumor about him laughing maniacally after killing his friend and eating his heart because he betrayed him?”

“Okay,” Jimin cuts in immediately, shaking his head, “I think the heart-eating part is an exaggeration.”

“Yeah,” Jin agrees, lips twisting. “Same. But the laughing? Maniacal, unhinged laughing? That part feels very real.” He exhales slowly. “He always gets that crazy glint in his eyes when he kills someone.”

Hoseok lets out a quiet laugh that sounds more like a nervous breath and rubs at his arm. “Last time, he plucked someone’s eyeballs out right in front of me,” he says, voice dropping. “And when the blood splattered all over his face… you should’ve seen his smile.” He shivers. “Kept me up for days.”

“Sometimes,” Jin adds thoughtfully, “I think he actually waits for someone to betray him, just so he has an excuse.”

“Or,” Jimin says dryly, “maybe he just kills a few people for fun.”

“Okay,” Hoseok adds quickly, glancing at Jeongguk, “let’s not scare the newbie too much. He just got here.”

Jin looks at Jeongguk for a long moment before scoffing. “Well, I’m sure he’s at least a little aware of all this.”

No.

Jeongguk wasn’t.

He knew V was dangerous , everyone knew that  and he had heard rumors, whispered stories passed around like warnings, but nothing like this. And even when he had heard things, he had always brushed them off as exaggerations. No one could really be that monstrous right?

Apparently, he was wrong.

“You said I wouldn’t survive here,” Jeongguk mutters quietly, his gaze fixed on his bowl.

“Oh,” Jimin says softly, realization dawning. “You heard that.”

Jeongguk’s fingers tighten around his fork until his knuckles pale, metal biting into his grip as something  harder settles in his chest , fear.

“But I don’t give up easily,” he says.

“It’s not about you giving up,” Jimin says, scratching at his back as he lets out a nervous laugh. “We just… hope you don’t get killed by V.”

Jeongguk frowns at that, unease flickering across his face.

“You’ve got a mouth on you, newbie,” Jin adds bluntly. “And V doesn’t like that.”

Jeongguk thinks back to their first encounter, the way V’s gaze had lingered on him longer than necessary and yet, he had survived. 

“It’s nothing to worry about too much,” Hoseok says, clearly trying to soften the edge. “Just stay out of V’s way, do whatever job you’re assigned, and you’ll be fine.And don’t ever try to betray him.”

Jeongguk nods slowly.

He guesses he can do that.

A beat passes before Hoseok tilts his head, curiosity getting the better of him. “Wait,” he says, “how did you even get in here, Jeongguk?”

Jin smirks. “Let me guess. Gambling?”

Jeongguk shakes his head.

“Drugs?” Jimin guesses immediately. 

“Or did you kill someone?” Hoseok adds, only half joking.

Jimin leans forward, eyes lighting up with curiosity. “Wait– are you good at fighting or something? Taekwondo? Karate? Kung fu?”

“Um… no,” Jeongguk says, shaking his head slowly. “It’s just that my brother disappeared. He used to work for V.”

The table stills.

“And then a few of your people came to our place,” he continues, voice steady but distant, like he’s reciting something he’s already told himself a hundred times. “They said if we didn’t pay off my brother’s debt, they would kill us all. Me, my mother and her husband. Or,” he swallows, “I could just replace my brother instead.”

“Oh,” all three of them say almost in unison, the sharpness in their expressions softening into something closer to sympathy, maybe even pity.

Jeongguk notices it but he doesn’t feel as broken about it as they probably expect him to. It isn’t that his life back then was good. it was just… familiar. His relationship with his brother had been the only real thing he’d had.That counted for something.

His parents, on the other hand, had never really cared. Not in any way that mattered. His father died, his mother remarried. The moment he turned eighteen, he left, and after that it was just him and his brother, sharing a small, rusty apartment that barely felt like home.  Junhyeon worked most of the week and was barely around, only came back on sundays, knowing someone would eventually come back made the place feel less empty.

Now even that was gone.

“Well,” Hoseok says gently after a moment, “at least he’s not dead, right?”

“He could be,” Jeongguk admits quietly. “But I don’t think V killed him. At least not yet. I think he ran away.”

Jin exhales through his nose. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t get caught by V then.”

“Yeah,” Jimin adds, grim. “Because if that happens…”

Jin finishes it flatly. “Then he’s definitely dead.”

The words hang there, and Jeongguk stares down at his bowl, realizing that somewhere along the way, his brother’s debt became his life.

Jeongguk gets used to it, which is the most surprising part of all, because when he first stepped into the gang’s world he was almost certain he wouldn’t last a week, maybe a few days at best but somehow three weeks slip by and he’s still here, still breathing, still showing up when his name is called. They assign him work like they’re testing the waters with him, sometimes making him the runner who delivers messages or packages without asking questions, sometimes putting him on patrol where he walks unfamiliar streets with his shoulders tense and his eyes sharp, and sometimes on the days that leave a sour taste in his mouth, sending him to collect money or threaten people.

The first time he does that, it goes wrong in every way it possibly can. He gets beaten up, no, not just beaten, but crushed under fists and boots until the pain turns white and distant, until he’s convinced this is how it ends, bleeding out in a filthy, narrow alley in Seoul that reeks of piss and old drugs, the kind of place no one looks twice at even when someone is screaming. 

He would have died there, he’s sure of it, if Jeongmin hadn’t shown up at exactly the wrong or maybe right moment and dragged him out of it.

Jeongmin is… well, Jeongmin is a nice guy, which feels almost absurd to say in a place like this. Jeongguk doesn’t really know him, he keeps to himself, does his work, doesn’t talk more than necessary, but he’s kind in the quietest way possible. He saved Jeongguk’s life, once, and then never mentions it again, like it was nothing more than a small inconvenience. Sometimes, when they eat dinner in the base cafeteria, Jeongmin slides half of his honey hotteok onto Jeongguk’s tray without ceremony, muttering that Jeongguk reminds him of his younger brother, and Jeongguk never knows what to say to that, so he just eats. Because who says no to extra hotteok right?

And then there are the others, Jimin, Hoseok and Jin, who, whenever they’re assigned missions together, always move a little ahead of him, always keep him at the back  like they’ve silently agreed on it without ever saying the words out loud. 

“You’re too young to die,” Jin says once, half joking but not really, and Hoseok laughs like it’s nothing while Jimin gives him a look that says don’t argue. Jeongguk doesn’t argue. He lets them do it, lets them shield him when things get ugly, because for the first time in a long while it feels like someone is watching his back. And maybe that’s not so bad. Maybe, in a place like this, that’s everything.

Also Jimin starts dragging Jeongguk to the gym every chance he gets, fingers locked tight around his wrist , there is something relentless about it, the way Jimin insists on training him as if this is not optional.

The gym smells like sweat and old rubber mats, the place where the walls have seen too many bodies slammed into them, and Jimin wastes no time easing him in.

“Jeongguk-ah,” he says, voice calm, circling him like a predator sizing up prey, “go for the weak points. Always. Throat, fingers, eyes, groin.” He steps in close, suddenly behind him, arm locking around Jeongguk’s neck.

Jeongguk panics for half a second before instinct kicks in, and he jerks his elbow back hard, the impact landing solidly against Jimin’s ribs. Jimin releases him immediately, stepping away with a satisfied grin like he’s just watched a student finally solve a difficult problem.

“There,” Jimin says lightly. “That’s your opening.”

Jeongguk barely has time to register the praise before Jimin lunges again, faster this time, grabbing his wrist and twisting until pain shoots up his arm.

“Now what?” Jimin asks.

Jeongguk grits his teeth, forces himself to remember instead of freeze, and slams his heel down with everything he has, catching Jimin square on the foot.

Jimin hisses, grip loosening just enough.

Jeongguk throws a punch and it connects, barely, but enough to make Jimin stumble back a step.

“And now?” Jimin prompts again, eyes sharp, expectant.

Jeongguk doesn’t hesitate this time. He turns and runs.

Jimin’s laughter echoes behind him, “Good!”

Jeongguk skids to a stop near the wall, chest heaving, hair falling into his eyes as sweat drips down his temples, his whole body buzzing with leftover adrenaline. “That’s it?” he pants, half-disbelieving. “That’s fighting?”

“That’s surviving,” Jimin says, walking over and tapping Jeongguk’s forehead with two fingers, not hard. “You get out of the hold. You land one or two hits. And then you disappear.”

Jeongguk scowls, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “This is so boring,” he pouts. “Why can’t you teach me something interesting, like–” he throws an exaggerated punch in the air, “bam, and then I knock them out?”

Jimin just stares at him for a long moment, expression unreadable, before shaking his head and muttering, “Stupid kid wants to die,” under his breath as he grabs his towel and walks out without another word.

And yeah. That’s how the gym has been.

Well, there is one good thing. V doesn’t even know he exists.

Jeongguk has seen him a few times, of course always from a distance, always in passing but never close enough for their eyes to meet, never close enough for V to really see him, and that alone feels like a blessing. He looks older now, more put together in a way that makes it obvious he belongs here, his posture relaxed and confident like the place bends around him instead of the other way around, and he’s definitely changed his hair since the last time Jeongguk saw him, it’s styled better, cleaner, with a few strands falling over his forehead while the rest stays exposed. Jeongguk is pretty sure V used to keep his forehead hidden before, and the difference it makes now is unfair, because his eyebrows, sharp, defined and almost cruel-looking give him an edge that Jeongguk finds himself stupidly jealous of.

But none of that really matters, because the important part is this, they’ve never come face to face.

They’ve never spoken. They’ve never crossed paths properly. V has never looked at him long enough to register his existence, and honestly, Jeongguk doubts he would even remember him if he did. He’s just another body in the background, another name that doesn’t matter, another face that blurs into the rest, and that’s exactly how Jeongguk wants it to stay.

Until the cafeteria mishap happens.

The kind of stupid accident that shouldn’t mean anything at all, except it does because it’s the moment everything shifts, the moment Jeongguk’s carefully maintained invisibility shatters, and the exact second his life takes an irreversible turn.

Monday arrives like a personal insult. Mondays are the worst because its like your body is still half-draped in Sunday laziness and your mind hasn’t yet accepted that rest is over and the next day off is an unforgivably distant thought. Most of the guys leave the base on Sundays as soon as they’re allowed, heading home if they have one, slipping into lives that exist outside these walls. Jimin goes, Jin does too while Hoseok and Jeongguk stay behind, not because they want to, but because there’s nowhere else to go.

Jeongguk doesn’t really know much about them beyond surface-level things, jokes shared over meals, habits noticed in passing, the way familiarity begins quietly before you realize it’s there, maybe, if they’re still around long enough, if they still remain… friends, can he even call them that yet? he might ask someday.

Jimin groans dramatically as he scoops rice onto his plate, shoulders slumping as if the mere act of eating on a Monday is a personal burden. “Can’t we just skip Mondays, man?” he complains, voice thick with exhaustion. “This is so damn annoying.”

Jin doesn’t even look up when he replies, tone flat. “If you skip Monday, then Tuesday becomes the new Monday, so technically you can never skip Mondays.”

Jimin stares at him for a second before huffing. “Okay, fine. Then how about we get two days off instead?”

Jin shrugs. “Why don’t you bring that up when V visits next time.”

Jungkook freezes slightly. “V visits the base?” he asks, unable to hide his surprise.

“Yeah,” Jimin says easily, “At least once a month. Comes by to check things, see how stuff’s running, ask what’s going on.”

Great. Just great.

Jeongguk immediately files that information away under things to fear, right next to don’t get noticed and keep your head down, because that’s it, he needs to stay invisible, blend in, never stand out, never give anyone a reason to look twice.

“Wait, that reminds me,” Jeongguk says suddenly, trying to sound casual even as his heart thuds a little too loudly in his chest. “Do we, like, get a tattoo or something when we join? You know, like a brand? I’ve seen that in movies and stuff.”

Jin hums thoughtfully, then smiles just a little too slowly. “Well, branding does happen,” he says. “Usually if you fuck up bad enough and get killed by V. They cut off your limbs, brand your body, and dump you somewhere. So yeah technically, you get branded that way.”

Jeongguk flinches but forces his face to remain blank because showing fear here feels like blood in the water. He is, in fact, fucking terrified, but no one needs to know that.

He just shrugs and mutters, “Too bad. I wanted a free tattoo to look badass or something.”

And it’s not even a lie.

Jeongguk loves tattoos, has always loved them, the art etched into skin, the way they tell stories without words but they’re expensive as hell, and wanting one has always stayed firmly in the realm of someday, along with a lot of other things he doesn’t quite let himself hope for yet.

“Hey, kid, want the hotteok today?”

Jeongguk turns at the sound of the voice, glancing at the man beside him, Jeongmin, whose tone is easy like this is a routine they’ve slipped into without ever acknowledging it out loud. 

Jeongguk hesitates only for a second before bowing slightly, polite instinct kicking in, “If it’s not a bother,” he says.

“It’s fine,” Jeongmin replies, already shaking his head. “I told you, I don’t really like sweet stuff.”

He presses the warm hotteok into Jeongguk’s hands, the heat seeping through the paper, and before Jeongguk can say anything more than a quiet thank-you, Jeongmin turns away and walks off to sit alone at one of the empty tables,attention already elsewhere.

“Well,” Jin mutters, eyes following Jeongmin with narrowed suspicion, “if he wasn’t old, I’d think he was flirting with you.”

Jeongguk blinks, genuinely confused, and looks back at Jin. “Isn’t he your age?” he asks, tone innocent enough.

Jin lets out a low grunt, clearly unimpressed. “Yeah,” he says flatly, “maybe next time I should just let you get beaten to death.”

“I can handle it, thanks,” Jeongguk replies, flashing a shit-eating grin that makes it obvious he enjoys pushing buttons, before turning away and heading toward an empty table with his food.

He sits down and immediately digs in, eating fast, not just because the hotteok is good, but because he knows it’s going to be a long day. There’s work waiting. Run here, hand this over to someone you’re not supposed to remember, don’t linger, don’t ask. He doesn’t know what he carries, and he knows better than to want to, because not knowing is safer.

He feels it before he hears anything, the shift in the air, the way conversation thins and then dies altogether, the tension stretching tight like a wire pulled too far. Jeongguk freezes mid-bite, shoulders stiffening as his ears perk up, every sense sharpening at once.

He doesn’t even need to turn around.

He already knows who’s here.

But he still gulps and turns, and that’s when he sees V walking in.

There’s nothing grand about the entrance, no dramatic announcement, just V stepping inside the cafeteria with another man trailing a pace behind him, silent and watchful. Jeongguk notices the clothes first, it’s impossible not to. V has always had a thing for fashion, a preference for looking out of place, like right now, wearing a tailored suit indoors, a long, plush coat draped over it, hair styled perfectly , black gloves pulled on as if he hasn’t stepped foot into a base full of sweat and steel.

He walks calmly like he owns the place.

Which he does.

And yet he’s always walked like that, like he owned rooms, people, lives just like he did a year ago, standing in the doorway of Jeongguk’s apartment, the one he shared with his brother.

Chairs scrape against the floor as everyone stands at once, heads bowing in practiced unison, and Jeongguk follows immediately, because he remembers the rule better than anything else.

Don’t. Get. Noticed.

Taehyung gives a single nod in response, his face straight, almost bored, does he always look like that, like nothing around him is ever quite interesting enough?

“Choi Jeongmin,” he says, voice low and even, not raised,  yet loud enough that every corner of the cafeteria hears it clearly. “Come forward.”

Jeongguk swallows.

Also– wow. His voice is… deep. Lower than Jeongguk expected, steady in a way that settles unpleasantly in his chest.

Wait.

Did he just call Jeongmin?

Hotteok Jeongmin?

Jeongguk’s eyes widen as they flick instinctively to the table Jeongmin had been sitting at only moments ago, only to find it empty, the chair pushed back slightly, abandoned.

And then there’s movement.

By the time Jeongguk looks back, Jeongmin is already lunging.

There’s a sharp intake of breath across the room as Jeongmin throws himself at V, face twisted with something wild and unhinged, but V doesn’t even look surprised. He barely reacts at all, just shifts his weight, twists smoothly to the side, catches Jeongmin’s arm mid-motion, turns it with brutal precision, and shoves.

Jeongmin hits the floor hard, landing on his ass with a dull thud that echoes in the sudden silence.

The room gasps.

Jeongguk included.

It all happens so fast that for a second it looks almost unreal, but Jeongguk knows better, knows it only looked easy, especially when Jeongmin is now scrambling on the floor, eyes burning with something feral.

V straightens.

Then, calmly, almost absently, he flicks at his coat, brushing off invisible dust from the spot where Jeongmin dared to touch him.

“Jeongmin,” V says at last, his voice almost disappointed, “I misjudged you. I thought you were smart but you’re only foolish.”

“You monster,” Jeongmin spits, fury shaking his voice as he glares up from the floor. “You think you’re a god just because people are scared of you?”

V looks down at him, and for a moment his gaze isn’t human at all, sharp and assessing, like an animal studying wounded prey, and then slowly, he smirks.

A chill crawls straight down Jeongguk’s spine.

“Why did you do it?” V asks simply, a strange glint in his eyes, something almost delighted as he continues to stare Jeongmin down.

“You accessed internal routes you don’t have clearance for,” the man standing behind V says then, voice clipped and efficient, unmistakably the right-hand man. “Two days later, someone else had our shipment schedule.”

“Impressive timing, isn’t it?” V adds smoothly, as if commenting on the weather.

Jeongmin’s body starts to shake, and Jeongguk notices it, the way his hands tremble violently. Jeongguk’s brows knit together, his breath catching in his throat as realization hits.

In the next second, Jeongmin has a gun in his hand, arm snapping up as he points it straight at V and fires.

The sound is deafening.

Jeongguk flinches hard, ducking instinctively as he squeezes his eyes shut and covers his head, already bracing himself to open them to blood, to V collapsed on the floor.

But when he dares to look again, that’s not what he sees.

Instead, a table lies overturned and slammed into Jeongmin, its surface splintered where the bullet crashed into it, the impact echoing through the room. Somehow in the split second it took Jeongmin to draw his gun, V had already moved, dragging the table into place and shoving it forward with brutal force, turning it into a shield.

Jeongguk’s chest tightens.Now he understands. He understands why people call V a monster, because no normal human should be able to see, decide, and react like that in a single heartbeat.

Jeongmin stares up at him, shock written all over his face.

And V…

V still looks bored.

The only visible result of everything that just happened is a few loose strands of hair slipping free from V’s perfectly styled head, falling onto his forehead like a personal insult.

“Ah, this is bad,” he mutters, irritation lacing his voice as he runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back. “It took so much time to style this.”

Jeongmin, on the other hand, looks like a man who has accepted he might die today but acceptance doesn’t mean surrender. His breathing is ragged, eyes wild as he scrambles to his feet, and before anyone can fully process it, he lunges again, a knife flashing in his hand, arm arcing toward V’s neck with desperate precision.

V ducks easily.

There’s no strain, just a smooth shift of his body as he steps inside Jeongmin’s reach, twists his arm with practiced brutality, and flips him around in one clean motion. In the same breath, the knife, still clenched in Jeongmin’s hand is redirected, its blade pressed against his own throat, resting exactly where the artery pulses beneath the skin.

His eyes lock onto the thin line of blood beginning to trickle down Jeongmin’s skin, bright and obscene against flesh, and Jeongguk knows with terrifying clarity that one second, one slight increase in pressure and Jeongmin would be dead.

And no one would stop it.

Jeongguk looks around wildly, searching for movement, for protest, for anything but no one intervenes. Some faces are pale with fear, others twisted with unsettling grins, entertained. His gaze lands on Jimin, Jin, and Hoseok. Jimin and Jin wear tight frowns, tense but still, while Hoseok looks genuinely shaken, eyes wide and shoulders drawn in.

No one moves.

Jeongmin is stupid, Jeongguk has realized that much but what he does next is something even worse, something catastrophically idiotic.

His eyes flick to the gun lying a short distance away on the floor, just close enough to tempt fate. Jeongguk doesn’t think. His body moves before his mind can catch up.He runs.

He doesn’t think about consequences or survival or how this single decision will probably haunt him for the rest of his life, he just moves, grabs the gun off the floor, spins, and raises it, arm locking as he points it straight at V.

His hand trembles, just a little. He forces it still. Behind him, he hears the sharp intake of breath, more gasps, the low ripple of murmurs spreading through the cafeteria like a wave of panic.

V’s eyes finally leave Jeongmin. They move to Jeongguk slowly, as if savoring the moment. And then they light up.

Not with anger, not even surprise but with unmistakable amusement, a glint of a smile tugging at his lips that makes Jeongguk’s stomach twist violently. Is he fucking insane?

Because even with that smile, V’s eyes remain dark, bottomless, dangerous in a way like he could reach out and rip Jeongguk’s heart from his chest just to see what it looks like beating in his hand.

Jeongguk catches movement behind V, his right-hand man finally reacting, lifting his own gun and aiming it squarely at Jeongguk.

Before Jeongguk can even process the threat, V clicks his tongue softly.

He raises his free hand without turning around, a lazy, almost bored gesture and instantly, the man behind him freezes, then lowers his gun and bows his head.

“Namjoon-ah,” V says mildly, the smile still in his voice as though he’s teasing a misbehaving child, “how many times do I have to tell you to only intervene when I ask you? You never learn. And it’s starting to piss me off.”

But V’s eyes never leave his face.

Jeongguk swallows, his gaze lifting , and every time their eyes meet it feels like something clicks into place, like V’s attention sharpens, as if Jeongguk is the most interesting thing in the room now.

It’s so fucking weird.

And also, Jeongguk is definitely going to die by the hand of this psychopath.

Why couldn’t he just follow the one rule that mattered? Why couldn’t he stay quiet, stay small, stay unnoticed?

So stupid, Jeongguk. So fucking stupid.

“Jeongguk,” V finally says.

He says his name carefully like he’s tasting it, like he’s always known exactly how it should sound, and the way it lands makes Jeongguk feel transparent, like V can see straight through his skin and into everything he’s trying to hide. “I was wondering when you’d stop hiding and finally come out.”

Fuck.

He remembers.

He remembers his name.

He never forgot.

Jeongguk grits his teeth, forcing the words out past the tightness in his chest. “Let… let him go, Do you… do you really have to kill him?”

V smiles. It’s a sweet smile, the kind that would fool anyone who doesn’t know better.

“What do you want me to do instead?” V asks gently. “Water him? Feed him?”

Jeongguk’s stomach twists.

Is that a jab about the plant?

He frowns.

What an asshole.

“He probably had a reason,” Jeongguk says, forcing the words out, concentrating so hard on keeping his voice steady that it almost hurts. “So why not ask him to explain first?”

“I really hate this, Jeongguk-ah.”

Jeongguk’s heart stutters, then starts racing so fast it feels like it’s trying to break out of his chest.

He’s scared.

God, he’s so stupid.

He’s going to die here, and it won’t even be for something noble,it’ll be because of Jeongmin, a moron who couldn’t even manage being a traitor properly.

“I hate it when people meddle,” V continues calmly, “when it’s really not their business.”

Jeongguk gulps, his throat dry, the gun suddenly feeling heavier in his hands.

“It would be such a shame,” V adds softly, “if I had to just kill you instead. Right?”

Jeongguk tightens his grip on the gun until his fingers ache, heart hammering wildly, the sound of it roaring in his ears as he stares back at V, knowing that one wrong breath might be all it takes.

And then it happens.

It all takes only a few seconds, but to Jeongguk it stretches out into something slow , like the world has decided to punish him by letting him see every detail. Jeongmin’s free hand moves too fast, too desperate as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out another knife, lunging blindly and this time the blade comes close enough to almost graze Taehyung’s skin.

Taehyung doesn’t hesitate. There’s no wasted movement he simply drives the knife forward, burying it deep into Jeongmin’s neck, and blood sprays instantly, warm and violent, splattering across Taehyung’s face.

Jeongmin’s body crumples.

It hits the floor with a dull, final thud.

Jeongguk startles hard, his breath catching as his eyes drop to the body now lying motionless on the cafeteria floor, blood pooling rapidly beneath it, spreading dark and obscene across the tiles. His hand loosens automatically, the gun slipping lower, because it’s over.

It’s done.

Jeongmin, you stupid cow.

He’s dead and somehow, even in death, he’s managed to make things worse, leaving Jeongguk standing there in an even more impossible position than before.

What is he supposed to do now?

The thought barely forms before Jeongguk’s breath hitches and his gaze lifts again, dragged helplessly back to Taehyung. He watches as Taehyung wipes the blood from his face with the back of his gloved hand, irritation flickering across his expression as the red smears across the pristine black of his glove.

He looks annoyed. And his eyes never leave Jeongguk.

So this is how Jeon Jeongguk gets fucked in the base cafeteria on a Monday.

“He is going to die.”

The words hang in the air like a bad omen.

“He is definitely going to die.”

“Oh my god, he is going to die,” 

“He was just twenty-five. Twenty-five. That’s practically a baby. He’s going to die so young.”

Jeongguk finally frowns, irritation cutting through the fog of panic in the room as he looks around at them like they’ve all collectively lost their minds. “I’m not dead yet, you know,” he says, arms crossing over his chest.

Jin immediately points a finger at him, eyes wide and unblinking. “But you are going to die.”

Jimin lets out a long, suffering groan and drags a hand down his face, “Do you even understand what you did back there, Jeongguk? Like, even a little?”

Hoseok, who has been pacing back and forth, suddenly stops and bites down on his nail, eyes darting to the door as if V might materialize out of thin air. “What if he knows we’re your friends?” he says, voice shaky. “What if he finds out and decides to kill us too?”

Jeongguk rolls his eyes so hard it almost hurts,“Then just say you want out of the friendship. No need to rehearse my funeral.”

Jin ignores him completely, already spiraling again as he throws his hands up. “You know what actually surprises me?” he says, pacing now, words tumbling over each other. “That you’re still breathing. It’s been an hour since that happened, an entire hour, and you’re still alive, and you didn’t get shot right in the middle of your forehead for disrespecting V like that.” He makes a crude shooting gesture with his fingers, complete with a dramatic sound effect, because of course he does.

Jeongguk exhales slowly and pushes himself to his feet. “I didn’t really disrespect him,” he says, running a hand through his hair, tone calmer than the situation probably deserves. “I just thought… maybe there was a better way. A calmer way. One where we didn’t immediately jump to violence and could actually talk it out.”

Jimin stares at him for a beat, then snorts. “And who exactly do you think you are? Gandhi?”

Jeongguk frowns, pats his hair down like that’s the real issue here, and shrugs. “No.”

Hoseok straightens abruptly, anxiety written all over his face as he gestures helplessly around the room. “This is freaking me out. V doesn’t let things like that slide. Ever. And the fact that he just walked away?” He swallows. “That’s worse. That means he’s thinking.”

Jeongguk pouts, lips jutting out in a way that would almost be endearing if the situation weren’t so dire, “Why?” he asks, genuinely puzzled. “Has he ever tortured you people?”

There’s a beat of silence before Jin scoffs, “No, Jeongguk, he hasn’t because we don’t pull shit like that.”

Jeongguk doesn’t look convinced. He tilts his head, brows furrowing as he presses on anyway, stubborn as ever. “Okay, but have you actually seen him do anything like that? Like, torture someone just for saying, hey, maybe we should try a different approach?”

Jin stares at him like he’s lost his last functioning brain cell. “Jeongguk, are you kidding me right now?” he snaps, “You pointed a fucking gun at him, and V is a fucking psychopath–” He abruptly cuts himself off, glancing around before lowering his voice, “That was disrespect. And he doesn’t let disrespect slide. Ever. He kills people as easily as you eat hotteok every day, so just–” Jin drags a hand down his face, clearly at the end of his patience. “God. Just be careful.”

The room feels smaller somehow after that.

Jimin raises his hand slowly, as if he’s in a classroom instead of a conversation about imminent death. “So,” he says cautiously, “if he doesn’t come back after today’s work, we can just assume he’s dead, right?”

Hoseok nods without hesitation, still chewing on his nail, eyes unfocused. “Definitely.”

Jeongguk doesn’t argue.

Well.

Maybe today really is the day Jeongguk finally dies.

Jeongguk goes on with his mission exactly the way he is supposed to, because that is how things work here, you do your job, you keep your head down, and you pretend the blood on the floor from a few hours ago never existed. Everyone else does the same, moving through the base with practiced efficiency, no one really stopping to mourn the fact that one of them died earlier that day, because death is common enough to be inconvenient rather than tragic, and caring too much has never kept anyone alive. Still, fear lingers in the way they all move, in the extra caution, the sharpened focus, the hands that hesitate for half a second longer, no one wants to be next.

Just like everyone else, Jeongguk goes about his day.

Today’s assignment is simple, a clean run, a briefcase to deliver, a location to reach and leave without asking questions. He does it without incident,and as the hours pass he starts to think that maybe the tension earlier was for nothing, that maybe V doesn’t even remember his face, that whatever line he crossed simply wasn’t worth the effort. After all, Jeongguk isn’t important enough to hold a grudge over, not to someone like V.

By the time evening rolls around, he’s almost convinced himself that everything has been forgotten.

He steps into the apartment, toe barely crossing the threshold, when he freezes.

Two men dressed in black stand in the middle of the room, their eyes already on him as they turn in unison. His stomach drops.

“Um… what’s happening?” Jeongguk asks, confusion slipping into his voice before he can stop it.

Behind them, he catches sight of Jimin, hovering near the wall, face pale and tight with worry, and that’s when something inside him twists sharply.

Before he can say another word, the men grab him by the arms, their grips iron-strong, and start dragging him back toward the door.

“Whoa– whoa, what the fuck, let me go!” Jeongguk thrashes instinctively, panic exploding in his chest as he struggles, but it’s useless. Both men are taller, broader, stronger, and they barely react as he fights them, lifting him off the ground like he weighs nothing at all, his feet kicking uselessly in the air.

“No, no… no, look, we can talk this out,” Jeongguk blurts, the words tumbling over as his pulse roars in his ears. “Are you taking me to V? Is that what this is? What’s happening, Jimin hyung, help.”

Jimin’s face crumples in a way Jeongguk has never seen before, all humor stripped away, eyes glassy with fear as he shakes his head. “Oh, they’re going to torture you,” he says softly, almost apologetically. “God, I can’t believe this is the last time I’m seeing you.”

“What?” Jeongguk snaps, twisting violently in their grip to look back at him. “Don’t say that. Don’t fucking say that!”

They don’t slow down. They don’t even look at him.

A few people step out into the corridor, drawn by the noise, watching with quiet pity etched into their faces like they’re witnessing something inevitable rather than cruel. Even Jin and Hoseok appear near the doorway, eyes heavy with sympathy.

Jeongguk kicks his legs wildly, heel slicing through empty air as rage bubbles up, hot and reckless. “Fuck you!” he shouts. “Fuck V. Let me go!” If this is how he’s going to die, then he’s going to curse every last one of them on the way out.

The world jolts violently as he’s shoved into the back of a car, the door slamming shut before he can react, the sudden silence ringing in his ears as the engine roars to life.

The ride feels endless.

When the car finally stops, it’s not where he expects. They drag him out again, boots crunching against gravel as the air changes, colder somehow, and his stomach twists as dread coils tighter around his ribs.

“Okay, damn, there’s no need to grab me like that,” he snaps, yanking one arm free as he stumbles forward. “I can walk. I am walking, aren’t I? Hey– stop touching me.”

He barely has time to straighten before he’s shoved again, this time into another car, his head smacking painfully against the frame as he’s forced inside. “Ow– what the fuck?” he snarls, vision flashing white. “Why did you push me like that?”

The door slams shut in his face.

Jeongguk grits his teeth, lifts his hand, and flips them off through the tinted window.

“That’s really graceful.”

Jeongguk startles violently at the sound, breath hitching as he twists in his seat, only to freeze when he realizes he isn’t alone after all.

The man beside him lounges with infuriating ease, long legs stretched comfortably, posture relaxed in a way that makes it painfully clear who holds all the power here. He’s wearing a different suit now, his hair still perfectly styled and Jeongguk’s gaze betrays him as it drops to the heavy rings adorning his fingers, the panther-shaped one catching the dim light, the watch on his wrist looking like it costs more than Jeongguk has earned in his entire life.

Jeongguk swallows hard and turns his attention to the window instead, watching the road blur past, jaw tight.

“Are you planning to jump?” V asks calmly.

Jeongguk glances back at him, and this time V’s eyes are already on him,one brow arching slightly in quiet amusement.

“No,” Jeongguk mutters, voice low. “I was just thinking if you were going to push me out.”

Taehyung lifts both eyebrows now, tilting his head as he studies him properly, fingers, adorned with that panther ring coming up to brush against his lips in a slow gesture that feels like being measured, “I don’t like your clothes,” he says eventually, tone thoughtful. “You need to change them.”

Jeongguk blinks, thrown off balance. 

“Wait– why didn’t you say no to that?” he blurts, panic spiking again. “Are you actually planning to push me out of a moving car– mmph!”

Something soft smacks into his face, cutting him off mid-sentence as fabric obscures his vision. He fumbles, heart racing, and pulls it away, staring down at the shirt now bunched in his hands.

It’s expensive. The kind of brand Jeongguk used to see on television, draped over models who looked unreal.

“Get changed,” V says without looking up, his attention already claimed by his phone as if this is the most ordinary instruction in the world.

Jeongguk frowns immediately, confusion knitting his brows as he glances down at himself and then back at V. “Wait… why?” The question slips out before he can stop it, suspicion curling in his gut, because surely V isn’t planning to drag him somewhere messy and kill him right?

“We’ll reach in three minutes, Jeongguk,” V replies coolly, his tone flat but edged with impatience, finally lifting his eyes just enough to pin him in place. “Get changed, or I’m dragging you inside naked.”

Jeongguk’s eyes widen. “Where do I even get changed?”

V gestures vaguely, not even bothering to look around. “Here.”

“Here?.Right now?”

V fully turns, and just stares at him, his gaze going sharp, slipping into that familiar, dangerous stillness that always means his patience has snapped. It’s obvious he’s annoyed, and not even trying to hide it.

“Fuck, okay,” Jeongguk mutters under his breath, surrendering as he reaches for the first button of his shirt, but his fingers hesitate when he feels the weight of someone watching him far too closely.

He frowns and looks up.

V has put his phone away now, arms folded across his chest, his full attention fixed on Jeongguk like he’s observing something important, something he refuses to look away from.

“Are you being for real?” Jeongguk asks, disbelief sharpening his voice. “Are you seriously going to watch me change?”

V only shrugs, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Are you shy?”

Then, almost lazily, he adds, “Two minutes now, Jeongguk.”

Jeongguk clenches his jaw, irritation burning hot in his chest, but he starts unbuttoning his shirt anyway, refusing to break eye contact as if that alone is an act of defiance. One button, then another, until the last slips free and the shirt comes off his shoulders, leaving him fully bare from the waist up.

V’s eyes drop, tracing over Jeongguk’s chest, lingering on bare skin, on muscle and the steady rise and fall of his breathing, before sliding lower over his abdomen, his torso, taking everything in with a focus that makes Jeongguk suddenly, acutely aware of himself.

Heat rushes to Jeongguk’s face, to his skin, pooling somewhere uncomfortable and impossible to ignore.

He can’t read V’s expression , it’s blank  but his eyes never leave him, and that somehow makes it worse.

Flustered, Jeongguk yanks the new shirt on and hurriedly buttons it up, fingers clumsy now, his irritation tangled with something dangerously close to embarrassment. He clears his throat loudly, an obvious hint, but V still doesn’t look away.

Jeongguk glances down, trying to figure out what he’s staring at, and realization hits him, his cheeks burn when he sees it. The silk shirt clings to him, thin enough that it leaves very little to the imagination, his nipples faintly visible beneath the fabric.

What a pervert.

Jeongguk opens his mouth, teeth gritted, fully prepared to snap at him when something lands squarely against his face.

A coat.

“Don’t take that off,” V says sharply.

Jeongguk doesn’t argue this time. He shrugs into the coat immediately, pulling it closed like armor, covering himself as his pulse races, painfully aware of V’s gaze still lingering.

The car comes to a smooth stop, the engine going quiet, and V steps out without a word, already adjusting his suit.

Jeongguk exhales slowly, letting his head fall back against the seat for a brief second as he drags in a breath, trying to steady himself. When he turns his head again, V is already bent down beside the open door, close enough that Jeongguk startles.

“Get out.”

The command is simple, final.

Jeongguk straightens immediately, pushing himself out of the car and falling into step behind V without protest.

The building in front of them looks like a hotel, tall, polished, all glass and quiet luxury but something about it feels colder, more closed-off than any place meant for comfort.

He follows V through the entrance, through turns and corridors he doesn’t bother memorizing, into an elevator that smells faintly of expensive cologne and something metallic underneath. V doesn’t step inside at first, only gestures once, and Jeongguk gulps before obeying, his shoulders stiff as the doors slide shut.

He has no idea why he’s here, no idea what’s about to happen, and the silence stretches until his thoughts spiral, V wouldn’t kill him here, right? Not while wearing a suit that probably costs more than Jeongguk’s entire existence. Surely he wouldn’t want to ruin it.

The elevator opens into the VIP area, and the shift is immediate.

The lighting is low, soft amber strips lining the walls instead of overhead lights, casting long shadows across dark wood panels and plush carpeting that swallows their footsteps. The air smells expensive, scented with leather and the space feels isolated from the rest of the world, as if nothing done here ever leaves these walls.

They pass through it, deeper inside, until another door comes into view.

Inside, Jeongguk catches sight of a man already seated, posture relaxed , hands folded as if he’s been waiting for a while, waiting specifically for V.

“Stay outside the room,” V says, not even turning his head.

Jeongguk stops instantly, nodding once as the weight of the order settles over him, and V steps inside,  leaving Jeongguk alone in the dim, hushed corridor, heart thudding too loud in his ears as he waits.

Jeongguk doesn’t understand a single word they’re saying.

From the brief glimpses he catches through the partially open door, the man sitting across from V doesn’t look Korean, too sharp-featured, too pale, something foreign in the way he carries himself. Russian, maybe. 

Meanwhile, V speaks the man’s language fluently like it belongs to him, and the realization makes Jeongguk’s brows furrow in quiet frustration.

He wishes he could do that too.

All he knows is Korean and English, and even then his English is broken, stitched together with guesswork, though he really does try. 

With a tired sigh, Jeongguk leans back against the wall, the cool surface seeping through his coat. It’s been a long day, work, then whatever this is supposed to be and his legs ache in protest. He shifts his weight slightly, wishing there was somewhere to sit, wondering what V even thinks he is. A servant? Furniture? Still, he tells himself, this is better than being tied to a chair and tortured somewhere underground.

At least for now.

Something shifts inside the room, and Jeongguk feels it.

He glances up and freezes.

The other man is looking directly at him, open curiosity in his expression, eyes lingering far longer than polite. Jeongguk frowns, suddenly self-conscious, acutely aware of his posture, his clothes, the fact that he’s just standing there like an idiot.

Then V turns too.

Jeongguk instinctively fixes his hair, smoothing it back, his heart thudding as a question presses at the back of his mind.

What are they even saying about him?

V watches him with that dark, unreadable gaze, studying him in a way that makes Jeongguk’s skin prickle, before turning back to the man and chuckling softly, shaking his head as he lifts his glass and takes a sip.

Oh.

They are definitely talking about him.

A stupid idea forms before Jeongguk can talk himself out of it. Should he try translating it? Just… a little? His phone is already in his hand before he fully commits, fingers opening Papago, hitting record as both men continue speaking inside the room.

For a brief, hopeful second, nothing happens.

Then–

A robotic female voice bursts out in loud, clear Korean, echoing down the quiet hallway.

Jeongguk’s blood turns to ice.

He panics, fumbling with the screen, lowering the volume far too late.

Fuck. He forgot to turn it down.

He squeezes his eyes shut, humiliation crashing over him, because he doesn’t even need to guess whether they heard it. Of course they did. When he opens his eyes again, both men are staring at him.

The foreigner looks amused, lips curved into an easy smile.

V looks… interesting. Which, in V’s case, means his usual blank expression giving nothing away.

“Jeongguk-ah,” V says calmly, as if nothing embarrassing just happened, “you can go to the balcony and stay there. I’m almost done.”

Jeongguk bites the inside of his cheek, his face burning as he nods quickly. “Sure,” he chirps, the word coming out far too bright for how mortified he feels, and he turns on his heel, retreating toward the balcony.

The air on the balcony is cold enough to bite through his clothes, and fuck, Jeongguk is hungry. He didn’t get to eat anything earlier, got dragged straight into this mess, and he’s almost certain he missed dinner at the cafeteria by now, his stomach twisting in complaint as if to punish him for it.

Right on cue, it growls.

Jeongguk groans quietly and pats at his pant pocket, fingers searching out of habit until miraculously he finds a half-crushed pack of Pocky. He pulls one out, stares at it for a second, and then, out of sheer boredom and exhaustion, holds it between two fingers and brings it to his lips, pretending it’s a cigarette.

It almost makes him laugh.

But then the smell hits him,.real smoke, bitter and heavy and Jeongguk frowns, pulling the Pocky out of his mouth immediately and squinting at it as if it might have somehow caught fire on its own.

“Is that how you relieve your stress?”

Jeongguk startles, nearly dropping the snack as he whips around to see V standing there, cigarette between his fingers, exhaling slowly as smoke curls into the cold night air.

His face heats up instantly. Why does he keep embarrassing himself in front of this man? Why is V always there the exact moment he does something stupid?

Jeongguk turns back toward the railing and takes an aggressive bite of the Pocky just as V flicks his cigarette and comes to stand beside him, close enough that Jeongguk can feel the warmth radiating off him despite the space between them.

“I don’t smoke,” Jeongguk says instead, like that explains everything.

V hums and nods once. “Why?”

The question catches him off guard. Isn’t that a little nosy?

“Because my dad died of cancer,” Jeongguk says anyway, the words coming out more plainly than he expects. “He used to smoke a lot.”

The silence stretches, heavier than before.

“Is that your way of telling me to stop smoking?” V asks, his tone unreadable.

Jeongguk finishes the rest of the Pocky and dusts his hands together, crumbs falling uselessly to the ground. He catches V’s eyes flicking down to the gesture, a faint look of distaste crossing his face, and that oddly makes Jeongguk feel a little satisfied. It’s nice, seeing him annoyed. Seeing anything other than that constant blank stare.

“Nope,” Jeongguk says simply.

“So you want me to die?” V asks.

Jeongguk lets out a small giggle and turns to look at him, only to freeze when he realizes V isn’t smiling at all.

“Oh,” Jeongguk mutters, the humor draining out of him as he clears his throat awkwardly. “You’re not joking. No, I didn’t mean that. Those are… your words.”

V stops then and turns to face him fully, studying him with that same look again. After a moment, he looks away, lifting the cigarette to his lips and taking another drag, smoke curling between them as the night swallows the rest of the city below.

“I once poked a man’s ear with a pen,” V says casually, as though he’s talking about the weather, “made sure it went deep enough to damage his eardrum, all because he thought eavesdropping was a harmless hobby.”

Jeongguk’s eyes widen before he can stop himself, his throat working as he swallows thickly, panic flaring in his chest, but he forces it down just as quickly because no, this is not the time to get scared, not the time to shrink back and act small.

He draws in a steadying breath, lungs burning a little as he steels himself, and says, “Well… it looked like you were both talking about me, so,” he hesitates, awkward and painfully aware of how stupid it sounds now that it’s out loud, “um… I did that.”

V doesn’t react right away. Instead, he leans back against the balcony railing, metal creaking softly under his weight as he looks down at the city below, and Jeongguk’s gaze betrays him by drifting on the obscenely expensive watch hugging V’s wrist, on the rings catching the night and throwing it back in sharp little glints.

“We were,” V says at last,almost amused.

Jeongguk snaps his head up, eyes darting to V’s face. “Um… what were you talking about?” 

“Ivan was curious,” V replies, lifting his hand to take another slow drag. “You’re a new face. He wanted to know if you were my new boy toy.”

Jeongguk chokes on the air. “Boy… boy toy?”

“Mmh,” V hums, unbothered, exhaling smoke like it’s nothing more than breath.

Jeongguk stares at him, pulse roaring in his ears. “What did you say?”

V finally turns to look at him, and when he does, his gaze doesn’t rush, it drags, moving over Jeongguk’s face like he’s cataloguing him, starting with his eyes, sliding down the bridge of his nose, lingering for a fraction too long on his lips, tracing the line of his jaw before settling at his neck again, and staying there long enough for the same chill to crawl down Jeongguk’s spine, the same instinctive dread that had haunted him a year ago.

Then V lifts his eyes back to meet , “I told him not to insult me like that,” he says evenly, “and to take another look at your face,” his eyes flick once,  “ and that you would probably be the last person I’d ever want to fuck.”

Jeongguk’s mouth falls open before he can stop it, eyes going wide with pure, stunned horror, and he snaps it shut again just as quickly, fingers tightening painfully around the cold metal railing as his mind scrambles to catch up, and a laugh bubbles out of him before he can swallow it down, born purely out of how absurd the whole thing feels.But the laugh dies just as fast, his jaw clenching hard as the words leave his mouth before he can think better of them.

“Well, that’s good,” he says, voice tight, “it’s a relief, actually, because if you really wanted that, then I’d be miserable.”

For a split second, the air shifts.

Jeongguk is digging his grave, isn't he?

Jeongguk sees V’s hand move toward him, smooth and sudden, so close to his face and he squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself for the slap or the punch or whatever it is that finally knocks him to the ground.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, Jin’s voice echoes, ‘your mouth is going to get you killed one day’ and Jeongguk thinks he might have been right.

The punch never came.

Neither did the slap.

Jeongguk lies there staring up at the ceiling, the silence pressing in on him as his mind circles back to that moment, to what actually happened back then, because at the time his thoughts had gone frighteningly blank, wiped clean by shock and adrenaline.

Did V really reach out and tuck a loose strand of his hair behind his ear?

Did that really happen, or is his memory filling in the gaps with something softer than the truth?

He remembers freezing completely when it happened, his body locking up, and he remembers how V did it so casually, so thoughtlessly gentle, before pulling his hand away and returning to his cigarette as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, as if he hadn’t just short-circuited Jeongguk’s entire nervous system and sent his heart spiraling wildly against his ribs.

Even now, Jeongguk can’t tell if that reaction was born out of fear, or if his stupid, traitorous brain had mistaken V’s brief touch for something dangerously close to affection.

The thought unsettles him enough that he bolts upright and moves to the mirror, standing too close as he scans his face for any sign of damage,redness, bruising, anything that would make more sense than this lingering unease but there’s nothing there, his skin untouched, unmarked.

Then his eyes catch on his reflection again.

His hair is still tucked neatly behind his ear.

Jeongguk frowns, fingers hovering uselessly at his side, because he knows he hadn’t fixed it himself, hadn’t even thought to touch it after V dropped him off in front of the base apartments and left without a word.

And somehow, that small detail unsettles him more than any bruise ever could.

The moment Jeongguk stepped into the apartment, Jimin screamed.

Not a startled yelp or a confused shout, but a full-on, soul-leaving-the-body scream, that had Jin and Hoseok sprinting in from the other room with their hearts in their throats, fully prepared to fight a murderer or a ghost only to freeze when they realized it was just Jeongguk standing there, very much alive.

Jimin stared at him like he was witnessing the impossible. “I… I thought you were dead,” he gasped, hand clutching his chest. “I thought I was seeing your ghost.”

That was all it took for chaos to erupt. Hands were suddenly everywhere, Jin lifting Jeongguk’s shirt without warning while Hoseok tilted his face from side to side, inspecting him with frantic precision, fingers hovering as they searched for bruises, blood, anything that would explain how he could have possibly walked back in one piece after disappearing with V.

But there was nothing.

No marks and no evidence of violence at all, and their confusion only deepened when they finally took a proper look at him and realized Jeongguk was wearing clothes that looked… expensive, ridiculously so, fabric that sat too well on his shoulders, a coat that probably cost more than all their monthly salaries combined.

When Jeongguk muttered that the shirt and coat were from V, Jimin nearly dropped to his knees right there on the floor.

“From V?” he croaked. “You disappear with the most dangerous man on base and come back dressed like a rich man’s kept secret?”

So yeah, almost everyone was stunned. Including Jeongguk himself.

Because instead of being killed, he returned unharmed, draped in expensive clothes that didn’t belong to him.

But Jimin did cook him ramen, and Jin brought out kimchi from the back of the fridge as if it were an offering, while Hoseok ruffled Jeongguk’s hair gently and told him, with a soft smile, that they were just glad he was alive.

Jin, of course, couldn’t leave it at that. “It almost feels like you’re one of those animals,” he said thoughtfully, passing him a bowl, “you know the ones that are fed really well right before they’re sacrificed in the end.”

Jeongguk promptly choked on his ramen, coughing hard enough that Jimin smacked his back and yelled at Jin to shut up, but even as his eyes watered and his chest burned, the thought settled heavy.

Still he was alive and for tonight, that was enough. Tomorrow could wait.

Maybe Jin wasn’t wrong after all about Jeongguk being an animal fed well only to be sacrificed later, because lately Jeongguk has started to notice something, something he really wishes he hadn’t.

It’s been two weeks since the night he stood in front of V with a gun pressed to his head, two weeks since he crossed a line that should never have been crossed, and ever since then the missions he’s been sent on have felt less like assignments and more like death sentences.

He doesn’t realize how bad it is at first. The first week blurs together in a haze of adrenaline and survival, of being beaten until his ribs ache, of bullets flying close enough that he can feel the air split beside his skin, of watching a few of the men he ran with drop right in front of him, their blood soaking into the ground before he’s even processed that they’re gone, and somehow he convinces himself that this is just how things are.

The second week is harder to ignore. A knife slashes him across the stomach during one of the missions, the pain sickening, Jin has to patch him up afterward with a tight mouth, muttering that Jeongguk is still new, that rookies aren’t supposed to be sent into operations like these.

Jeongguk hears him.

He just doesn’t really listen.

Because admitting that someone could be setting him up to die feels far more terrifying than pretending it’s all just bad luck, and for now, denial is the only thing keeping him upright.

But it’s the third time, the third near-death that finally breaks something open inside Jeongguk.

A knife presses against his neck, the cold edge biting just enough to draw a sharp line of fear through his spine, and in that moment he knows with clarity that this is it, that this is where he’s supposed to die, quietly and conveniently, another body no one will bother to count.

Then one of the goons hesitates.

“Wait,” the man says slowly, squinting at Jeongguk’s face as if a memory is trying to claw its way out of him, “doesn’t he look too much like Junhyeon?”

Jeongguk’s eyes widen.

Another voice follows, curious and cruel all at once. “Is he going to get beaten up and die just like him? He died didn't he? I mean we don't see him anymore.”

The words slam into him harder than any punch ever has, knocking the air from his lungs as memories flood in , Junhyeon stumbling home late at night with split lips and bruised ribs, blood crusted under his nails, Jeongguk hovering helplessly as he cleaned his wounds with shaking hands, asking him over and over what kind of work did this to him, begging him to quit, to leave, to choose anything else.

And every time, Junhyeon had only smiled tiredly and said he didn’t have a choice, that this was the only way, that this was how they stayed alive.

Now Junhyeon is gone.

Vanished so completely that no one even asks his name anymore, no one searches, no one cares, and Jeongguk doesn’t know how it happened, only that it feels like he might be the only person left in the world who still cares.

And suddenly, something inside him hardens. He is not going to die here. Not today. Not before he finds his brother and sees him again.

The decision comes instinctive, and before the man holding him can react, Jeongguk twists just enough to drive the knife into him not deep enough to kill, but deep enough to make sure the bastard won’t be chasing him anytime soon and then everything he’s ever been taught kicks in all at once.

Jimin’s voice in his head, telling him where to strike and when to run. Jin’s steady hands, showing him how to break free. Hoseok’s quiet insistence ‘survive first, think later’

Jeongguk moves on pure instinct after that, landing what he needs to, dodging what he can, and when the opening finally appears, he doesn’t hesitate.

He runs. Breathing ragged, heart slamming against his ribs, blood pounding loud in his ears.

And when he finally drops to his knees, hidden and certain no one is chasing him anymore, Jeongguk folds in on himself, lungs burning as he drags in air after air, his hands trembling against the ground while his vision blurs, tears gathering despite his effort to hold them back.

Because who is V, really, and why does surviving in this world seem to demand this kind of obedience, this kind of blood and fear and sacrifice? Why does Jeongguk have to work himself to the brink of death just to stay alive, just to keep breathing another day, and why does it feel like his life is something he owes, something already claimed by V?

The questions claw at him all the way home.

The base apartment door opens under his shaking hand, and when Jimin sees him, his eyes go wide in shock at the sight of the bruises blooming dark across Jeongguk’s skin, at the blood staining his clothes, and he doesn’t even bother hiding his panic as he calls for Jin and Hoseok.

They’re on Jeongguk immediately after that, sitting him down, cleaning his wounds, patching him up with worried eyes, the apartment filling with the quiet sounds of care and tension.

And somewhere in between winces and bandages, as Jin presses gauze to a fresh cut and Hoseok steadies his shoulder, Jimin hesitates before voicing the thought that’s clearly been gnawing at all of them.

“Do you think,” he asks carefully, eyes flicking between them, “that V is sending him on these higher-level missions… as punishment? For what he did?”

The room goes still.

Hoseok only shrugs, helpless and frustrated, while Jin keeps working with steady hands, pressing gauze to Jeongguk’s wound a little firmer than before, enough that Jeongguk can’t stop the sharp hiss of pain that slips past his clenched teeth.

“Well,” Jin says after a moment, voice calm but grim, “these missions aren’t his level, and Jeongguk isn’t even properly trained for them yet, so… it could be.”

Jeongguk’s jaw tightens, muscles locking as he stares at a spot on the wall and forces himself to stay still. He doesn’t say anything at all.

His requests to meet V are denied again and again, wrapped in excuses that feel anything but polite. He's busy, he’s out of Seoul, he’s unavailable today, tomorrow, maybe forever  and sometimes there isn’t even an excuse, just a flat refusal like V is denying him simply because he can, until one day, finally, V agrees to see him.

What an asshole.

Jeongguk is picked up on a Saturday, a sleek black car arriving without warning, and he doesn’t bother asking questions as he gets in because he already knows where he’s being taken. The drive is quiet, the city slowly giving way to something grander, until the car turns through iron gates and Jeongguk’s breath catches because V’s home, no, V’s mansion rises in front of him like something unreal, all stone and glass , so enormous it makes him feel small before he’s even stepped inside.

His mouth falls open the moment the gates close behind them, and he tells himself he should have expected this, that of course V would live like this, that he probably already imagined something just as excessive, just as intimidating, and yet the sight of it still manages to surprise him, the scale of it pressing down on his chest in a way he doesn’t like.

The car stops in front of the entrance, and Jeongguk takes it as his cue to get out, his feet hitting the ground a little too firmly.

Inside, a butler greets him with a polite nod and a neutral expression , informing him calmly that he’ll be taken to V, and Jeongguk follows without a word, his eyes drifting everywhere, taking in the interior despite his efforts not to stare. The mansion is immaculate in a way that feels cold rather than welcoming, all high ceilings and muted colors, expensive art lining the walls, marble floors that reflect the light too cleanly, every detail whispering money, power, and control, until it all blurs together into something overwhelming and faintly suffocating.

They stop in front of a massive door, dark wood polished to a mirror sheen, and the butler gestures for him to enter, and Jeongguk already knows, this has to be V’s office, because of course it is.

He opens the door and steps inside, and the first thing he sees is V.

V is leaning back against his desk, seated casually on its edge as he studies a spread of papers, his posture relaxed in a way, his suit still perfectly in place even at this late hour, it's like he exists in a state of permanent composure. Jeongguk has the absurd thought that V must always look like this, like the world bends itself around him just to make sure he never looks anything less than perfect.

The contrast makes Jeongguk painfully aware of himself , his hair still messy from sleep and stress, his shirt half-tucked and wrinkled, the faint ache in his bruised face and split lip, the soreness in his knuckles that hasn’t quite faded yet and the awareness sits heavy in his gut, sharp because standing here, in this room, in front of V, he feels out of place in a way he can’t ignore.

V doesn’t even look up.

He keeps his attention on the papers, flipping a page and somehow that feels worse than outright dismissal, because Jeongguk doesn’t know how V manages it, how he can make him feel so utterly insignificant without saying a single word, like Jeongguk’s presence is optional, like he could disappear from the room and nothing would change at all.

“Are you here to stare at me the entire night, Jeongguk?”

The voice cuts through the silence without warning, and Jeongguk startles like he’s been caught doing something wrong, his gaze snapping up as his hand comes up to scratch at the back of his neck, the other still gripping the bag like a shield.

“Um…” he starts, then clears his throat, straightening a little. “I’m here to return this.”

He pushes the bag forward, arm stiff, the gesture awkward.

V finally sets the papers aside, placing them neatly on the desk before folding his arms over his chest, and Jeongguk hates that his eyes betray him, dropping immediately to where V’s biceps strain subtly against the fabric of his suit sleeves before he forces himself to look up and meet his gaze. It’s unfair, really how V can make him feel so unimportant one moment and yet, when their eyes meet, make it feel like nothing else in the world exists, like everything could be burning down around them and V would still be looking at him.

“And what is that?” V asks, his head tilting just a fraction. “A gift? My birthday isn’t anytime soon, you know.”

Jeongguk frowns, because he hears the mockery loud and clear, the casual cruelty wrapped in something almost playful. 

“It’s not a gift. It’s the clothes you gave me to wear that day. I’m here to return them.”

The air becomes heavy.

V’s eyes narrow into slits so suddenly it sends a chill down Jeongguk’s spine, and he still doesn’t understand how V does it, how he can go from effortlessly composed to something inhuman in the blink of an eye, like a switch has been flipped, like a predator deciding whether or not to bare its teeth. 

“Why?” V asks, his voice calm enough to be dangerous. “Were they not to your liking?”

Jeongguk doesn’t pull the bag back. If anything, he pushes it forward a little more, “It doesn’t matter, I just don’t think I’m worth wearing these.”

Silence stretches between them.

V raises an eyebrow slowly and Jeongguk recognizes it immediately for what it is, a demand for explanation so he swallows, shoulders tensing because he already knows once he starts talking, he won’t be able to stop.

So he clenches his free hand into a fist, nails biting into his palm as his jaw tightens hard enough to ache, and when he speaks his voice comes out strained, like it’s being dragged out of him against his will. “You know, for someone who treats my life… our lives like a joke. I don’t think you should be spending so much money on clothes for us. Or oh, wait, sorry, maybe money doesn’t even matter to you, right?”

V just stares at him. His eyes are dark, unreadable, heavy with something that makes Jeongguk’s stomach drop, something so oppressive it presses down on his chest until, for one weak moment, he wants to shrink back, wants to turn around and leave and hide somewhere far away from that gaze. He knows he should stop talking, knows this is the exact moment he should shut his mouth but the words keep coming anyway, like they’ve been waiting too long to be said.

“And if you want me to die,” Jeongguk continues, “then why don’t you just kill me? Why send me on missions I’m not even trained for, missions where I’m just waiting to die?”

He notices it then, the slight tick of V’s jaw, the tension tightening but V still doesn’t say a word, and the silence feels punishing.

Jeongguk lets out a bitter, hollow laugh, the sound ugly even to his own ears. “You think you can play with anyone’s life,” he spits, “just like you did with my brother’s life. You really are an animal–”

He doesn’t get to finish.

The world shifts violently, his words cut off by a sharp inhale as he’s yanked forward without warning, one of V’s hands locking around the wrist that was still holding the bag, the other gripping his waist with bruising force, and suddenly Jeongguk is no longer standing at a distance but pulled straight into V’s space, so close it feels like he’s been swallowed whole.

V’s presence engulfs him, the scent of his cologne hitting Jeongguk’s nose immediately something dark and spicy that burns just enough to make his breath hitch. He’s pressed in close now, trapped between V’s legs, painfully aware of the heat of his body, of how solid he feels, how impossible to push away, and the realization settles in Jeongguk’s chest that whatever line he’s crossed just now, there is no undoing it.

V’s eyes move wildly over Jeongguk’s face, dragging slowly from the split at his lip to the darkening bruise along his cheekbone, then back again, as if he’s trying to memorize every mark with greedy urgency, like he doesn’t have enough time and it’s driving him mad. He releases Jeongguk’s wrist abruptly, but the relief lasts barely a second before that same hand comes up to grip his jaw, two fingers pressing carelessly against the frantic pulse in his neck, right over the vein that betrays him by beating far too fast.

V’s hand is large enough to cover most of his face, fingers digging in as he grips roughly and pulls him closer, forcing their proximity until Jeongguk’s lips part involuntarily from the pressure, his breath catching as he feels V’s breath against his skin now, terrifyingly close.

Jeongguk swallows hard.

God. He did this to himself. He’s really going to die.

“You’re so stubborn,” V says softly, and there it is, that unhinged glint in his eyes, like something has finally snapped into place. His grip tightens just enough to hurt, and Jeongguk has to fight the instinctive sound clawing its way up his throat. “I let go of the disrespect you’ve shown me so many times, but I can’t keep doing that. You’re crossing limits now.”

Jeongguk’s hand comes up on instinct, fingers wrapping around V’s wrist in a futile attempt to pull it away, his teeth grinding as he forces the words out. “Let me go.”

V doesn’t move. Not even an inch. Instead, his other hand tightens at Jeongguk’s waist, pulling him closer with effortless strength, sealing him in. “I did let you go,” V chuckles quietly, the sound making Jeongguk’s blood run cold. “But it seems like I have to remind you of your place.”

He shifts Jeongguk with practiced ease, angling his body, tilting his jaw upward until Jeongguk has no choice but to look up at him, until V is looming above him, all shadow and control.

“Look at you,” V murmurs, eyes dark as they drag over him again. “All bruised.” His gaze lingers, “Don’t you look pretty like this? Red and blue, all marked up.”

His thumb moves then, brushing over one of the bruises with a touch that is almost gentle, achingly so, completely at odds with the words he’s speaking, and that contrast makes it so much worse.

“So pretty,” V finishes quietly.

“You’re sick,” Jeongguk spits, the words trembling with fury and fear all at once. “So fucking sick.”

V smiles.

It’s a wide but it doesn’t soften his face at all but instead makes him look unhinged and the sight of it sends those familiar shivers racing down Jeongguk’s spine.

“You know, Jeongguk-ah,” V says lightly, as if they’re having a casual conversation, “if I really wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t bother sending you off to die at the hands of others.” His thumb presses harder into Jeongguk’s jaw as he speaks, fingers digging in mercilessly. “I’d rather do it myself.”

Jeongguk’s breath stutters.

“I don’t want to see you die by someone else’s hands,” V continues, voice dropping. “In a way, I believe they’re not worthy of it. I think your blood would look better on mine.”

The grip on Jeongguk’s jaw tightens further, and his vision blurs as his eyes water, pain blooming sharp along his face. He winces, a helpless sound escaping him before he can stop it, and for one terrifying second he’s certain that with just a little more pressure, this is where he actually dies.

Then suddenly V lets go.

Jeongguk stumbles back as he’s shoved away, the sudden release making him gasp as air finally rushes into his lungs, his chest heaving violently as he bends forward, breathing hard like he’s just run a marathon.

The room goes quiet again.

V turns away as if nothing happened, returning to his chair with infuriating calm, sitting down and adjusting himself neatly, composed once more, like he didn’t just have Jeongguk seconds away from breaking. When he speaks again, his voice is cool.

“If I give you pretty clothes, you wear them and look pretty. If I send you on a mission, you go. If I ask you to accompany me, you accompany me.” His eyes lift, pinning Jeongguk in place. “And if you don’t want to… then you still do it.”

There’s no anger in his tone now. 

“You don’t have a choice,” V continues. “Your brother made that decision for you, and he was well aware of what it meant. But blaming me is easier, isn’t it?”

Jeongguk fists his hands at his sides, knuckles whitening as he glares at V, and for a split second his eyes flick to the bronze phoenix statue sitting innocently on the desk. He imagines it, grabbing it, swinging it hard enough to crack bone, hard enough to end this, to end him, to end everything, but the thought dies almost as soon as it forms because something in his gut tells him the truth, he wouldn’t even make it halfway across the room before he was the one bleeding out on the floor.

And he is not dying. Not yet. Not before he finds out what really happened to his brother.

“Now,” V says calmly, already losing interest, “if we don’t have anything left to discuss, you can leave.” He doesn’t even bother looking up as he speaks, eyes returning to his documents like Jeongguk is nothing more than a minor interruption.

 “I assume you’re not expecting dinner. Though,” he adds lightly, almost amused, “if you’re a good boy, maybe you can look forward to it next time.”

Jeongguk stares at him for a long moment, jaw aching from where V’s fingers had been, every insult clawing at his throat, but he says nothing. 

So he turns. He walks out with the bag still in his hand, shoulders stiff, his hands shaking. He makes his way down the grand staircase, past the silent walls and polished floors, through the front doors, and only then only when the cold night air hits his face does he finally breathe.

He stumbles a little before lowering himself onto the edge of the lawn, sitting there with his elbows braced on his knees, dragging in deep,  breaths like his lungs are still learning how to work again, his fingers trembling no matter how hard he tries to steady them.

Fuck.

He lets his head fall forward, laughing weakly under his breath, because of course he’s going to have to walk back to base, there’s no way V would bother ordering a car for him now, not after that.

Ugh.

He is going to kill him.

Not today.

But someday.

He hears the crunch of stone behind him, footsteps cutting through the quiet, and when Jeongguk looks up, he finds a man standing a few feet away, wearing a suit, of course, because apparently everyone in V’s mansion wears a suit like it’s some kind of unspoken dress code.

The man is shorter than him, pale under the cold lights spilling from the house, with sharp eyes and a thin scar cutting across his face that makes him look perpetually unimpressed with the world. He doesn’t say anything, just steps closer and holds out a bottle of water.

Jeongguk eyes it suspiciously before lifting a brow. “Did V send you after me to check on me?”

The thought alone feels ridiculous, V doesn’t check on people, he breaks them.

The short man doesn’t answer.

That settles it.

“No thanks,” Jeongguk says flatly, turning his face away. Who knows what could be in it, anyway.

The man simply nods, pulling the bottle back as if he expected the refusal. He turns to leave, footsteps retreating, but then he stops. Jeongguk hears him hesitate, hears the soft shift of weight, and when he looks again, the man has turned back, mouth parting slightly like he wants to say something.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he exhales quietly, turns away again then stops once more.

“My name is Min Yoongi.”

Jeongguk blinks and looks up at him. “Okay?” he says after a beat. “Uh… nice to meet you, dude?”

Yoongi frowns, like that wasn’t the reaction he expected, then gives a small nod and finally walks away for real, disappearing back toward the mansion without another word.

Jeongguk watches him go, brow furrowing.

…What a weirdo.

Jeongguk lets out a long sigh, dropping his head forward again as he massages his temples with both hands, exhaustion pressing down on him now that the adrenaline has finally worn off, he’s going to have to walk all the way back, and by the time he reaches base it’ll probably be close to three in the morning, which means maybe three hours of sleep if he’s lucky.

“This sucks,” he mutters,  the words heavy with misery.

Then he hears it again, the unmistakable crunch of gravel under approaching footsteps.

Jeongguk groans, already irritated. 

“Yoongi-ssi, what is the prob–” he starts, half-turning

And stops dead.

His breath catches as his eyes widen, the words dying on his tongue as the man in front of him comes fully into view, his heart skips a beat.

“Yeonho…” he whispers, disbelief slipping into his voice before he can stop it.

Yeonho stares at him like he’s just stumbled across something impossible, brows knitting together as his expression twists into shock.

“Jeongguk,” he says sharply, “what the fuck are you doing here?”

Of course.

Of fucking course this would happen because apparently Jeongguk’s life isn’t content with just being terrible, it has to actively kick him while he’s already down. Seeing Yeonho standing here, in V’s mansion of all places, feels like the universe laughing directly in his face.

“This really sucks…” Jeongguk groans again, dragging a hand down his face as he lets himself slump back slightly, because naturally, the night he almost gets killed by the most dangerous man in Seoul is also the night he runs into his ex, the same ex who dumped him without mercy and apparently decided to reappear now, of all times.

Yeah.

His life is brilliant.