Hana

          I growl, sliding open the hospital door. Normally I was in a rotten mood when I left the hospital room (thanks to a certain Min Yoongi), but not when I entered it. I had tried to talk to information services of the hospital I wasn’t allowed to get any of Ahyeon’s personal data from the hospital because I was not family. I still no idea why her records showed her as Ahyeon when she really was Taeran.

          But as I step through the doorway, the amusement on Min Yoongi’s face flashes across his face, I can feel my mood get even worse. “Don’t say anything.”

          “That’s a good look for you.” Naturally he ignores my remark, smirking. “You might not want to wear white on a rainy day next time.”

          “It’s solid,” I snarl back. “Stop being a ert.” I was sopping wet from the storm outside, and I hadn’t brought an umbrella. The walk from the parking lot to the hospital building had made me soaked, and as I look down, I realize that my blouse is definitely no longer a solid white but a translucent white.

          I curse, untucking the fabric from my pencil skirt and attempting to wring out the bottom while falling into my usual chair. My hair isn’t fairing much better and I try to sweep the strands plastered to the sides of my face back into a ponytail.

          I ignore the shivers through my spine as the cold dampness starts to settle in my bones.

          “The Christmas gala. You and your little group are going, right?”

          “Don’t we go every year? If I’m not mistaken, we’re not exactly hard to forget, as your group always ends up arguing with ours.” I bite back, “Is Jung Hoseok bringing a date this time?”

          “Why? Is Park Jimin planning on kissing his date if he brings one?” His eyebrow quirks up. “That’s not very gentlemanly of him.”

          “You’re right. Jimin won’t stoop to the levels of your group,” I yawn, covering my mouth. “For the record, it really was an accident the first time.”

          “Our levels? Kim Namjoon somehow is able to talk people to death, and we’ve never tried to kill anyone.” He chuckles, voice low and husky.

          A shiver runs through my spine again. They may not have directly killed someone, but the shooting in Busan still had a tie to them.

          “You sure? You’re boring me to death right now.” I snap, and I instantly know that was a mistake as his eyes flicker, growing darker as he leans forward across the hospital bed.

          “Is that so?” His voice is smooth and dangerous. “Is that why I can see you tense every time I open my mouth?”

          “I’m cold, you moron.”

          “Moron? Haven’t been called that before.”

          “Perhaps not to your face.”

          “This no warzone thing isn’t working, is it?”

          “No, it’s not. But I bet you’re not used to your ideas not working.” My defiant attitude was probably not doing me any favors, but he humors me and
laughs dryly.

          “Okay. Subject change. How was your day?”

          Seriously? How was my day? “Nice try. Not talking about my company to you.”

          “Darn. Now I see what you mean by my ideas not working.”

          I can’t tell if he’s genuinely enjoying my verbal abuse or not. Is he a masochist? “Did you get your car fixed yet?”

          Min Yoongi winces, “It’ll be in the shop for another week.”

          “Oh no. You’re stuck driving an Audi instead of an Aston Martin. The shame.” I roll my eyes at his excessiveness.

          “Says the girl who relies on taxis and a motorcycle.” He folds his arms and sits back in the chair. “Why don’t you just drive a car?”

          I shrug. “I’ve never really needed one.” Most of the time, one of the guys left the villa around the same time I did, and our workplaces were all close by to one another. “Why do you drive a fancy car when an average one would do the same job?”

          “Why not reward yourself?”

          Because it was a waste of personal finances. Was his ego that large? I say nothing, hugging my arms around myself. The wet fabric wasn’t doing me any favors.

          “Now you have a sense of how cold your words can be.” His words are light, as if he’s just poking fun of me. But it’s Min Yoongi and he’s a cunning and dangerous man.

          “They’re not nearly as cold as your heart.”

          Silence falls over us. He doesn’t try to counteract that statement, and we both know that it’s true.

          “Here.” He shrugs off his jacket, and I eye it suspiciously as he hands it to me over the hospital bed. “You’re grouchier than usual when you’re cold.”

          Was this a trap? It looked warm, but I didn’t want to owe him any favors.  I turn my cheek. “I have more pride than that Min Yoongi. You’ll have to try harder than that.”

Suga

          She reminded me of an alleycat. The more roughed up she got, the more that I wanted to reach a hand out.

          Every time I did, she had no issue shredding that hand to ribbons.

          There was something so delightfully funny about the way my responses elicited a snarl of a response or a huff of derision. In a world of poise and underhanded tactics, her outright disdain was something new.

          The only time that I had seen anything like it was at the Christmas gala, where everyone was drunk and letting out their pent-up anger from throughout the year. That was half of what made the gala both cringe worthy and amusing.

          She sat across the hospital bed, shivering and frigid-in more ways than one-because she was watching out for either her neck or her pride. My vote was on both.

          “Wake up soon, Ahyeon.” A ghost of a smile flits across her face as she rises to her feet. That was the only glimpse of any genuine care during the visiting hours, but it was enough to make me force the typical disinterested Min Yoongi face on myself as I fought back my lips curling up out of interest.

          Byun Hana was truly a puzzle. And if I was ever going to beat her, I had to figure her out.

Hana

          I send a quick text update of the work situation to Jimin before open Jungkook's door. He turns, looking up from the dining table, only to blink back at me.

          “What?” I grouch, still wet and miserable. “Should I change?”

          He pauses, eyes growing darker as he scans my soaked clothes, making me