If anyone asked, Namjoon's life started at eighteen, when he had begun living his youth with a heavy heart. He made hits for strangers with money, collecting expiring names on restaurant napkins or through public phone booths. He made a living out of death, and he wasn't proud of it, but he was good at it; at ignoring the pull of his conscience on his heartstrings as he pulled the trigger. He doesn't remember why he'd started doing this, or when. As far as he knew, he had no name and no past. All he'd been able to recall was a gun in his hand, a splash of deep red, and the hollowing of his heart.

Two years in, Big Hit came knocking on his door, asking that he work for them. He'd declined, closing his door on the heavy-set man with deep-set eyes, before the man had tossed Namjoon a file full of his photos, all of him caught red-handed. Namjoon made the only choice he had.

The first thing Big Hit did was to assign Namjoon a partner, an older boy with blunt words and a sharp tongue. His name was Yoongi. It was difficult at first, working together with someone else on something Namjoon had always done alone, it was like he'd grown an extra limb he didn't know what to do with. They'd messed up the first three missions, still awkward and unsteady in each other's presence, but they soon grew fond of each other, and their hits went considerably smoother.

Yoongi was amazing, in many ways that Namjoon was not. He'd been in the business far longer than Namjoon had, and had essentially taken him under his wing. He'd learnt a lot from just being around Yoongi and his laid-back attitude. He learnt that he wasn't as good as he thought it was. Yoongi made an extra effort to remind him of the fact often.

Yoongi also made fun of him for breaking things, because honestly, it was ing hilarious. ("Don't pull the trigger too hard, Namjoon.") But Yoongi always cleaned up after the messes Namjoon made in his reckless haste and ambition, and Yoongi liked that Namjoon needed him, that he was finally doing good for someone.

(Their lives were destructive, but at least together they weren't entirely, completely, broken.)

Of course, all good things must come to an end. They'd been partners for twelve months when Yoongi went down in blazing gunfire, the only way he would've ever wanted to go down, when a mission had gone far too wrong and Namjoon was too occupied (too helpless) to have made a difference. Back-up came only a second too late. They'd hustled Namjoon into a black van and tucked Yoongi into a black body bag. Namjoon looked away, and didn't ask what they did with the bodies.

He was given two weeks off, a break for his mental health, and he'd spent them in a car and on the road. He drove in the day, with nowhere to go, and slept in the car at night. He didn't stop until he reached the halfway mark, a week in, and took a different route home.

Days went by, and he was back in headquarters, clothes still dirty and hair unkempt. He worked solo, mainly clean-ups and dirty work, for a couple of months. Enough time to really let the weight of his job sink in, to let his conscience have its way with the insides of his skull. He'd hit saturation point when a batch of rookies entered the organisation - Taehyung, his partner Hoseok, and Seokjin. He'd met them in a conference room, where they were assigned new partners, and they're good people, as good as murderers could be, but he'd tried not to let their names fall too comfortably, too familiarly, out of his mouth.

Seokjin was his new partner, a boy Namjoon thought was much too pretty to be a killer, but there's an edge to his soft smile, and the shadow of a twinkle in his eyes. As far as hitmen go, Seokjin was exceptionally kind. He wasn't guarded and unfriendly the way Namjoon had become. But something told Namjoon that Seokjin had lost much more than Namjoon could ever hope to own. Maybe it was the way he laughed like he'd never get another chance to, or they way he walked with light steps, like he was running away from a past still biting at his ankles, but Namjoon doesn't pry.

Like with Yoongi, he was awkward around Seokjin. Except that now he knew how partnerships should work, what they're for, but he was torn between shunning Seokjin to protect himself from another round of heartache, and letting Seokjin in so he could finally heal from the last. Seokjin stepped into his comfort zone anyway, like he could hear Namjoon's internal debate whenever Seokjin was near. He'd glided into Namjoon's life easily, with soft touches and a simple warmth, a reminder of what's left of the good in this world.

Seokjin's calloused hands pressed memories of Yoongi into the back of Namjoon's head, and it didn't take long for Namjoon to open up, to let go of the past in favour of the warm, warm, present. Seokjin slept with his arm around Namjoon's waist, laughed at all of Namjoon's dumb jokes, cleaned up the blood from Namjoon's wounds after particularly dangerous hits, and made Namjoon feel less like a monster, and more of a human again.

Namjoon thought he might be in love for the first time, and he had never been so afraid.

But, as always, all good things come to an end. And the end, this time, came when Seokjin took a bullet for him, one meant for his own chest. Namjoon felt his heart rip to shreds, as it should have, anyway. They were covered in blood, sitting on the concrete pavement behind a warehouse, where Namjoon held Seokjin in his arms, and sobbed into Seokjin's red, red hair, as he watched the light leave Seokjin's eyes, and the curve of a smile disappear from his lips.

He was recovered by the Recon team after five hours in the cold with Seokjin's colder body. He mourned, and thought about ending it all, not for the first time, but it was the closest he'd ever come. But three days after, Taehyung had lost Hoseok, and Namjoon held on to dear life, for Taehyung's sake.

They didn't give him time off, even when he'd asked, saying they were too under-staffed. Instead, they'd quickly assigned him and Taehyung a new partner each, and told him to let go, to move on. Taehyung had met Jimin, young blood with a smile wide enough to hide behind, and Namjoon got Jungkook.

Their first meeting went terribly. Namjoon shook Jungkook's gloved hand firmly, and they made small talk for a while, before Namjoon had excused himself to use the bathroom, leant over the toilet bowl and threw up, after he'd learnt Jungkook's age. He quit.

He stopped working, disappearing into cigarette smoke and bottles of alcohol. He thought about hitting the road again, but he knew it'd only unearth the memories of Yoongi he'd sent to the grave. Instead, he wandered around the city picking fights, and sobbed himself to sleep in a drunken stupor in bars at night. He had nothing to live for, once he'd stopped living for death, and every night plagued him with the same thoughts about who he was and who he'd become and who he could have been-

(Sometimes, when he was sober enough for Seokjin to appear clearly behind his eyelids, he'd press the barrel of his gun firmly to his temple. But he never pulled the trigger.)

He dreamt a lot, he dreamt of Seokjin alive, and dreamt of Jungkook dead. The morning after which he'd wake up with wet, bloodshot eyes. He tried not to sleep anymore.

Namjoon was only a little surprised to see Taehyung and Jimin in his living room, three weeks in. Big Hit would never have let him leave, so he'd been expecting this, but he hadn't expected Taehyung and Jimin waiting for him in his flat, guns in leather-gloved hands with solemn expressions. Jimin rose from Namjoon's couch and Taehyung turned around as he took off his shoes at the front door. They lowered their eyes, and smoothened out their black suits and black ties, grim, as if they were at a funeral. Namjoon laughed, feeling a dull ache in his chest, because it shouldn't have to be this way. Jimin tilted his head in apology, and raised the gun in his left hand. Taehyung turned back around, eyes squeezed shut.

At least they're alive, at least they're still together, Namjoon thought, before he took his last breath.

He thought of Taehyung, Hoseok, and Jimin, and their friendly banter.

He thought of Jungkook, his wide eyes and youthful naivete.

He thought of Yoongi, and the time he'd spent in his honest, blunt presence.

He thought of Seokjin, the sound of his voice, his laughter, his warm hands and his soft lips.

They'd be together again soon.

Namjoon smiled as he heard a soft click, as Jimin pulled the trigger.