Jeongguk stares at the floor as Yoongi’s questions ring in his ears. He ignores the guilt stinging  in his eyes.

 

Was it worth it?

 

Is he worth it?

 

He’s jolted out of his doubt when Jimin slings a casual arm around his shoulder, which he promptly shrugs off. Undeterred, Jimin says, “I can’t believe he almost got you killed, Yoongi.”

 

Yoongi, leaning against the wall across from Jeongguk, glares at him.

 

Jimin holds his hands up in defense, “I’m just saying, he doesn’t seem very…” He pauses, searching for the right word. “Dangerous,” he finally settles on.

 

Yoongi bristles, “You don’t know what he’s capable of, Jimin. Don’t underestimate him.”

 

Jimin shrugs.

 

“That’s how people like us get killed,” Yoongi warns, and as if an unspoken agreement settles upon them, the trio turn to look at the closed door.

 

Muffled voices waft through the thick slab of wood, but nothing distinguishable.

 

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Jimin asks softly.

 

“Probably figuring out the logistics of his death,” Yoongi replies coolly, not missing a beat. “To be honest,” he turns to look at Jeongguk, “I think he would have had a better chance of living if you had left him to die.”

 

Jeongguk looks away, unsure of whether to feel guilty or relieved. To be honest, Jeongguk hasn’t known what to feel since he first laid eyes on Taehyung.

 

Hesitantly, Jeongguk asks, “Do you think Namjoon’s really going to kill him?”

 

He must sound like he cares more than he’s supposed to because Yoongi gives him a strange look. “Does it matter?”

 

It’s a good thing the door happens to open at that exact moment - diverting Yoongi and Jimin’s attention from a very confused and conflicted Jeongguk - because Jeongguk doesn’t have an answer.

 

Yoongi looks at Namjoon expectantly, but Namjoon brushes by them without a word, muttering to himself under his breath. A split second later, Seokjin emerges, throwing him an apologetic smile before hurrying after Namjoon.

 

Yoongi is the first to move, slipping quietly through the open door. Jeongguk and Jimin hesitate, turning to look at each other. Something passes between them, some shared understanding, and then they turn to follow Yoongi inside.

 

Jeongguk is not prepared for Taehyung to be even more breathtakingly beautiful than the last time he saw him.

 

He looks a lot different. For starters, there’s no more blood. His cuts are covered with soft gauze and the bruises littering his skin look a lot less harsh. He must have also showered at some point, damp hair hanging messy and matted against his forehead, droplets of water forming at the tips of the strands, gathering and gaining weight before finally letting go. A fluffy, white robe hangs loosely from his shoulders, his soft hair gently falling to frame his glowing face. He looks younger, livelier. Less exhausted. Less tired of the world.

 

But he’s still the same. Still the same defeated air of something draining him, holding him back, keeping him grounded. Still the same defiant jut of the chin, still the same mischievous tilt of the lips, still the same brazenly bright eyes.

 

Still quite indisputably the most beautiful human being Jeongguk has ever laid his eyes on.

 

Taehyung’s face lights up when he sees them.

 

“Seokjinnie made me pancakes!” Taehyung beams from his place on the bed. That’s my bed, Jeongguk’s brain supplies unhelpfully.

 

A plate of fluffy pancakes sits on his lap, half-eaten and now forgotten.

 

Jimin shoots Yoongi an incredulous look and mouths Seokjinnie?

 

Yoongi ignores him and approaches Taehyung wordlessly. Taehyung, not realizing the imminent danger coming his way, smiles even wider.

 

“Wanna try some?” Taehyung offers a forkful of mangled pancakes dripping with mucilaginous syrup.

 

Jeongguk inhales sharply as Yoongi pauses and narrow his eyes.

 

The block of silence that follows feels like an eternity.

 

Finally, Yoongi speaks.

 

“So it looks like you’ll be staying with us, huh?”

 

Jeongguk exhales.

 

“Yup!” Taehyung shoves the fork into his mouth and grins around the food. Yoongi reels back slightly in disgust. “According to Namjoon, I’m too smart to kill!”

 

“Is that so?” Yoongi mutters, looking at Taehyung with a renewed curiosity.

 

“Mmhmm,” Taehyung nods vigorously. Suddenly, his eyes fly open like he’s just remembered something.

 

“SHHHH!”

 

He brings a sticky finger to his lips and leans in like he’s about to tell a secret.

 

“Technically,” Taehyung whispers, pausing just slightly for effect, “I’m not actually alive.”

 

Yoongi gives him a blank stare and there’s a suspended silence. Then, Taehyung giggles delightedly, waving a noncommittal hand through the air. “… At least on paper.”

 

Jimin gives Taehyung a weird look. “Wait, what?”

 

Taehyung’s eyes widen almost comically and he nods enthusiastically, “I know, I know. Wild, huh?”

 

Jimin waits for him to elaborate.  

 

Taehyung’s face suddenly morphs into one of indifference and he shrugs casually. “Namjoon’s working out all the details right now - the paperwork, the files, the legalities, et cetera, et cetera.” He brandishes his fork carelessly.

 

“Apparently,” he continues, drawing out the word and shifting his focus to Jeongguk, his voice becoming increasingly dramatic, “I realized the true tiness of my life after my near-death experience and finally succumbed to the inescapable lull of hell, jumping off of a bridge and drowning, thus meeting a very watery end to my tragic life.” A pause. “Poetic, right?”

 

He winks at Jeongguk. Startled, Jeongguk promptly flushes and looks away.

 

Without waiting for an answer, Taehyung moves on, “Anyway, I guess I’ll be staying here for now, since I have no where else to go… Hope that’s okay with you guys.”

 

Jeongguk is overwhelmed.

 

Taehyung’s lightning quick mood changes are too fast for him to keep up with, and everything about Taehyung seems to be constantly shifting, adjusting, morphing into something that Jeongguk can’t read. He feels like he’s out of breath, still trying to process all of Taehyung and failing quite spectacularly. His mind can’t seem to process the words coming out of Taehyung’s mouth in time for him to formulate an acceptable response, and he’s still a beat behind when he suddenly blurts out, “You’re in my bed.”

 

Three pairs of eyes turn to stare at Jeongguk and he immediately feels heat rush to his face.

 

“I mean… You’re… I just-“ Jeongguk stutters, painful awkwardness pricking at his skin under the attention of everyone at once.

 

“That’s… That’s my bed,” Jeongguk finishes lamely, acutely aware of how petulant his voice sounds.

 

Taehyung blinks once. Twice.

 

Then his face breaks out into a wide smile, “I guess we’ll have to share then!”

 

Jeongguk’s heart thuds painfully in his chest, but before he can protest, Jimin cuts him off, “So, are you, like… some sort of super-genius or something?”

 

Taehyung shrugs and echoes, “Or something…” He shoves another forkful of pancake into his mouth.

 

“I mean,” Jimin continues, “You managed to hack into Namjoon’s files. That’s practically unheard of!”

 

There’s a genuine amazement in his eyes and Taehyung grins. “You know what, Jimin? I think I like you!”

 

Jimin beams and Jeongguk ignores the way his gut lurches in violent protest.

 

“How did you do it, though?” Yoongi asks, eyes narrowed.

 

“It was easy,” Taehyung shrugs. “To keep it simple, Namjoon set up his defenses so well that when I had found a tiny hole to slip in through, his own security blocked him from noticing me.”

 

“Woah…” Jimin breathes.

 

“It was nothing,” Taehyung says, feigning bashfulness and fluttering his lashes coyly.

 

“It almost got me killed,” Yoongi intercedes dryly.

 

Before Taehyung can respond, Seokjin bursts into the room, startling all four of them.

 

“Namjoon wants to speak with all of you…” Seokjin pauses and turns to Taehyung, “Except you, Taehyung. You need to stay and rest.”

 

Taehyung pouts, but Jin ignores him, promptly turning around and leaving. After a beat, Jimin and Yoongi follow. For some reason, Jeongguk finds himself rooted to his spot.

 

Jeongguk’s not sure why he says it - he’s not sure why he saved Taehyung in the first place, why he didn’t kill him when he had the chance, why he didn’t finish his mission like he was supposed to, like he always did - but he finds the words stuttering shyly out of his lips before he can stop himself.

 

“I-I’m glad you’re here.”

 

Jeongguk flees - blushing furiously and mentally digging himself a grave to die in - but not before he manages to catch Taehyung’s soft, “Me too…”

 

-----

 

“Taehyung will be staying with us for the time being - for how long, I have no idea,” Namjoon explains calmly, looking out at a sea of unreadable faces. Seokjin nods encouragingly from beside him.

 

They’re gathered in the small kitchen of Namjoon and Seokjin’s shared apartment, the six of them seemingly taking up all the space within the cramped room.

 

Yoongi leans casually against the wall, an arm draped protectively over Hoseok, eyes focusing on the small piece of metal Hoseok fiddles with between his delicate fingers. Jimin sits on the counter, legs dangling over the edge loosely, feet knocking a steady rhythm against each other. Jeongguk stands next to Jimin, running his thumb over the familiar barrel of his glock, familiarizing himself with the already-memorized grooves in the metal, the solid steadiness of the grip, the slight resistance of the trigger pushing back on his finger.

 

None of them are looking at Namjoon, but he knows they are all listening, hanging carefully onto his every word.

 

Namjoon continues, “He’s been moving from place to place for the past few years, running from basically every other gang in the country and picking up whatever small jobs he can to get by-“

 

“Small jobs… as in, trying to get me killed?” Yoongi cuts in.

 

Namjoon throws him a look - it almost seems like a silent plea - and Yoongi rolls his eyes but shuts up nonetheless.

 

Namjoon sighs, “He said that he can help us… in return for protection.”

 

“Protection from who?”

 

The words come out of Jeongguk’s mouth before his brain has time to react.

 

Namjoon pauses and takes a moment to think before answering.

 

He starts slowly, “There are a lot of people who want Taehyung dead. He’s hacked into a lot of files, worked with many different groups… knows a little too much for everyone else’s liking. To them, he’s a wild card - no demonstrated loyalty, no sense of honor or dignity. He works for money and bails the moment a better offer appears. It’s not really surprising he has so many enemies.”

 

“And how, exactly, do you plan on protecting him?” Yoongi asks, voice hard. Almost unnoticeably, he pulls Hoseok a little closer to himself. “It’s six of us against every other gang member in this country. What’ll happen to us?”

 

Namjoon puts both of his hands up and shrugs, “All he wants us to do is vouch for his death. Our word for his help. He said it was enough to keep him safe and I figured it was a good deal.”

 

“And you think that’ll appease the other gangs? Our testimony to his death?” Yoongi asks skeptically.

 

“He could have faked his own death years ago, but no one would have believed it. However, we’re a credible source. If we say we killed him, no one will question it. Bangtan may not be numerous in members, but we’ve built up quite a reputation around these areas. Most people are smart enough to stay out of our way,” Namjoon answers. Jeongguk detects a hint of pride in his words.

 

“And how do we know he’s not going to turn his back on us the moment we do what he wants us to do?”

 

This time, it’s Hoseok who speaks, the piece of metal now forgotten in his hands. He frowns. “Isn’t he known for playing more than one side? How do we know we can trust him?”

 

Namjoon sighs, scrubbing his hands over his face. Reluctantly, in a resigned voice, he says, “We don’t.”

 

There’s a split second of silence, and then Jeongguk flinches as the quiet kitchen erupts in protest.

 

“What are you thinking-“

 

“Do you know how risky-“

 

“You’re going to get us all killed-“

 

“We can’t trust him-“

 

“This is suicide-“

 

“HEY!”

 

Everyone jumps, slowly turning to stare at Seokjin in surprise, startled at the sudden outburst.

 

“Now look here,” Seokjin begins angrily, glaring around the room, “No one is saying that this is permanent. No one is saying that this is the only solution. But Namjoon is trying his best to make the most out of a bad situation. And if you really think that he would let anything, anything, put you guys in danger, you don’t know him at all.”

 

Seokjin pauses, silently daring anyone to challenge him. No one meets his eyes.

 

Seokjin huffs, blowing out a puff of air in exasperation, and then continues, this time a little gentler, “This is the best way to diffuse a threat like Taehyung - a threat posed not only by him but from other groups looking for revenge. If we can save Taehyung from a never-ending witch hunt intent on killing him while gaining a potentially invaluable ally, I don’t see why we should have reservations.”

 

Everyone is silent. Hearing the usually soft-spoken man raise his voice is enough to have even Yoongi sober up.

 

“I know Namjoon’s asking a lot of you,” Seokjin admits softly, “But have a little faith in him. He knows what he’s doing.”

 

He slips his fingers between Namjoon’s and squeezes his hand in reassurance. Namjoon gives him a weary but grateful smile.

 

Yoongi is the first the break the silence. Stepping forward, he nods in acceptance, “I trust you, Namjoon. You have yet to do anything to deserve anything else.” He hesitates. “But how come you didn’t ask me before making such a big decision? I mean, technically, you’re not obligated to, but still…”

 

Namjoon quickly explains, “I was worried that your judgement may have been swayed by the fact that he tried to kill you.”

 

Yoongi gives him a wry look, “You know me better than that.”

 

Namjoon nods sincerely, “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

 

Yoongi shrugs, “It’s fine.”

 

Namjoon shakes his head, insisting, “No, it’s not. You’re right - you’ve been doing this longer than any of us here and you should have been the first person I went to for advice.”

 

Yoongi finally cracks a smile. “Namjoon, you know I’m not fit for the whole ‘leadership role’ thing… That’s your territory.” He winks and Namjoon chuckles slightly.

 

“Alright, fine,” Namjoon concedes, grinning and raising his hands up in defeat. “But in all seriousness,” Namjoon says, dropping his hands and taking on a more sober tone, “You know your opinions matter to me, Yoongi. You may not like it, but you’re as much of a leader as me. I may deal with all the missions and the paperwork, but out in the field, you’re the one they listen to.”

 

Yoongi smiles softly, “Thanks, Namjoon…”

 

“But seriously,” Yoongi rolls his eyes, joking, “You couldn’t have just killed him? For me? He did nearly get me killed, you know.”

 

“I thought you were over it!” Namjoon yells, and the tension dissipates as everyone laughs, the atmosphere finally relaxing.

 

The knot in Jeongguk’s stomach loosens just marginally, and he allows himself to smile as Jimin bumps into his shoulder playfully.

 

“Let’s hope Taehyung doesn’t prove us wrong,” Jimin jokes.

 

Jeongguk thinks about the desperation in Taehyung’s eyes, thinks about the genuine gratification in Taehyung’s voice when he admitted he was glad to be here. Jeongguk thinks about the second chance that he was offered a few years ago, the way he had been given a chance to turn his life completely around. Jeongguk thinks about the way the members of Bangtan had saved him from his own destruction.

 

“He won’t,” Jeongguk says firmly, silently praying that he’s right.

 

-----

 

Taehyung nearly messes up.

 

He hadn’t expected it to come from Hoseok, of all places. He had anticipated Yoongi - he had made his reservations very clear from the start. Maybe even Namjoon - after all, he had the rest of Bangtan to worry about. Taehyung had even considered Jimin, although Jimin seemed to like him. But Hoseok, of all people? Taehyung hadn’t realized how bad his psychoanalysis had gotten.

 

The bed - Jeongguk’s bed, his brain reminds him usefully - is warm and comforting underneath him, a grim reminder that he doesn’t belong here. Hands folded beneath his head, Taehyung stares straight up at the ceiling, the plaster splintering above him and leaving behind a spidery web of cracks and lies.

 

The lingering terror of nearly being discovered still clings to his skin like the invisible blood that will forever stain his hands.

 

Taehyung forces himself to close his eyes and the scene replays in his mind.

 

“You’re even more ed up than Jeonggukkie.”

 

Hoseok’s eyes are unnervingly piercing, and for a split second, Taehyung swears that he knows. Panic sparks in Taehyung’s brain and he blanches, reeling back and dropping Hoseok’s hand like it had burned him.

 

Taehyung knows everything about everyone - has read files on everyone worth reading about and everyone not, has seen things he hasn’t supposed to see, has broken into way too many systems to count - knows way more than he’s supposed to, knows enough to get him killed. But for the first time in his life, he feels like his own privacy has been invaded.

 

Hoseok’s unreadable eyes stare back at him as his heart skips a beat and he stumbles backward, struggling to salvage his self-control. His defenses instinctively go up as he nearly trips on Jeongguk who is standing behind him.

A warm hand settles on his shoulder but Jeongguk’s low voice, a concerned “Hey, are you okay?”, seems a million miles away - the only thought that runs through Taehyung’s mind, that repeats over and over until he’s practically inhaling and exhaling the words, the familiar lilt of the syllables quickening his pulse as they catch on his tongue, swirl in his mind, haunt him no matter how far he tries to run: They know. They know. They know…

 

Taehyung’s eyes fly open, his chest heaving in panic. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart. He’s unsuccessful.

 

Get it together, Kim Taehyung.

 

It’s only been a few hours since he first woke up. A few hours since jolting awake to an unfamiliar setting, surrounded by unfamiliar faces that regarded him with distrust and hesitation and curiosity.

 

Sometimes Taehyung forgot where he was. He had moved so many times in his short time on the ty plane of Earth, had become so accustomed to living out of his pocket and scraping by with only the knowledge in his brain and the scars littering his skin, had spent his entire life on the run, never staying in the same place for more than a month - sometimes Taehyung forgot where he was.

 

The word “home” was irrelevant. Held no meaning. Was only a place to hide until he was found.

 

And besides, Taehyung didn’t like being tied down - it was too risky, put himself in danger, put everyone else around him in danger.

 

But Namjoon had offered him an alternative, one he had never thought possible.

 

You could stay here, Namjoon had said, eyes disarmingly sincere and honest, You could stay here with us. We could keep you safe.

 

At first, Taehyung could only laugh. What an adorable idea. What an adorably idiotic idea. It was an absurd suggestion and to even consider it was ludicrous.

 

But Taehyung had considered it. Thought about it. Considered it some more.

 

Perhaps he was crazy but it wasn’t that bad of a plan.

 

After all, he had heard of Bangtan before.

 

In the world of organized crime - in the world of far-flung international networks of mob empires dominated by those with the most connections, those with the most influence, those with the most power - it was rare to hear of smaller, independent groups that had gained acclaim by their own means. But Bangtan had managed to do just that - an exclusive, autonomous group of assassins that killed who they wanted and when they wanted, working with nobody except for themselves. Moving up the ranks through sheer talent and skill alone, they had managed to earn a reputation for themselves that kept most other groups out of their way. Anyone who had been in this business long enough to know their way around had heard of Bangtan.

 

Their word could keep Taehyung safe. At least temporarily.

 

Taehyung knew it wouldn’t last forever. Nothing ever did. They would want to see his dead body for themselves, would want see his cold, lifeless eyes in person. They would want to make sure he was dead, would want to make sure every trace of his existence was destroyed. Erased. Deleted.

 

But it would be a while until they figured it out, until they figured out where he was and who he was.

 

A quiet knock interrupts Taehyung’s train of thought and Jeongguk’s head peeks shyly through the doorway.

 

“Can I come in?”

 

Taehyung laughs lightly, forcing himself to sit up and look at Jeongguk.

 

“It’s your room, Jeongguk,” Taehyung says, his heart giving a small lurch as the younger man’s name rolls smoothly off of his tongue, inexplicably perfect in every way possible. “You don’t have to ask me if you can come in.”

 

Jeongguk gives a curt, robotic nod, refusing to look Taehyung in the eye, and moves to walk into the room. Except he ends up tripping on his way forward, gracelessly stumbling into the small space that only seems to shrink with the addition of another person.

 

Taehyung bites his lip to suppress a laugh as Jeongguk flushes.

 

“Are you… Are you okay?”

 

Jeongguk coughs awkwardly, eyes fixated on an apparently-riveting spot on the floor, “I’m fine.”

 

Jeongguk’s hand reaches behind him without thinking, as if to grab something, but he stops himself before his fingers can touch anything, his hand freezing before coming back to curl rigidly at his side. There’s a pause and Jeongguk still refuses to make eye-contact.

 

“Right,” Taehyung begins hesitantly, breaking the silence, “Okay… Right. Well… Was there something you wanted to see me about?”

 

Jeongguk finally looks up at Taehyung, and although his face doesn’t change, there is something painfully fragile about the way he looks at Taehyung, something profoundly deep and intense that leaves Taehyung winded.

 

An indescribable weight seems to hang in Jeongguk’s gaze, something inexplicably terrifying yet compelling at the same time, and Taehyung finds himself unable to look away. He almost expects Jeongguk to ask for the entire world delivered in the palm of his hand, and when Jeongguk finally breathes out a soft and casual, “Nothing, really,” Taehyung knows it’s a lie.

 

Taehyung knows what Jeongguk is capable of, has seen Jeongguk fight before, has watched security footage of Jeongguk tearing through dozens of men, ending lives with a single, almost-indifferent press of a trigger. He’s watched from afar as Jeongguk did what Jeongguk did best, killing without remorse, without mercy, without any discernible sense of regret or hesitation, exuding an aura of power and control apparent even from a crackling video playing on a low-quality computer screen. Slick with the blood of his enemies, a dangerous thirst in his eyes. Crazed and terrifying and unstoppable. An assassin, a killing machine, a monster.

 

But something tells Taehyung that Jeongguk is not a bad person.

 

Over the years, Taehyung has gotten good at reading people. As if the infinite data files and digital bits of information weren’t enough, Taehyung developed a certain knack for mental manipulation and psychoanalysis that resulted from careful observation as an objectively unbiased third-person party.

 

After so many years of practice, it doesn’t take Taehyung much to determine someone’s strengths, someone’s weaknesses, what gives them power and what strips it from them.

 

And it’s these years of practice that allow Taehyung to see past Jeongguk’s quiet indifference and inclination to kill.

 

It’s because of this that Taehyung knows Jeongguk is a lot weaker than he seems, a lot less sure of his own abilities than he lets on and a lot more terrified of the world than he admits. A lot more terrified of himself than he knows.

 

“Come sit with me,” Taehyung says, forcing himself to keep his voice light and unaffected, patting the empty space beside him. He grins playfully, “I don’t bite.” As an afterthought, he adds, “Usually.”

 

Jeongguk blinks back at him with doe eyes that say more than he probably realizes, and Taehyung understands that he might be pushing it. What it exactly is, Taehyung has no definitive idea (perhaps some vague inkling and nothing more) but he knows he’s toeing a thin line. Something in him wants to push a little further, test how far he can go before it blows up in his face.

 

After what seems like forever, Jeongguk finally grunts out a low and reluctant, “Okay,” and stiffly moves to sit next to Taehyung on his bed, the mattress dipping slightly as Jeongguk’s weight settles.

 

“Do you mind if I lay down?” Taehyung asks, and before Jeongguk can answer, he’s scooting himself over so he can rest his head in Jeongguk’s lap facing outward, curling his legs to his body and tucking into himself.

 

Jeongguk’s body tenses underneath Taehyung’s head, but to Taehyung’s satisfaction, he doesn’t move away. There’s a few seconds of silence, broken only by the sound of quiet, puffing breaths and Taehyung’s thudding heart.

 

Then, Taehyung says, keeping his voice soothing and gentle, as if speaking too loud might scare Jeongguk away, “I never got to thank you, you know? For saving my life, I mean.”

 

“You mean ‘thank you for not killing me?’” Jeongguk answers lowly, and Taehyung detects a tone of bitterness in his voice.

 

“No,” Taehyung says, voice firm, “I mean thank you for saving my life.” He pauses to think before speaking again. “You could have killed me. You could have left me to die. I think you were planning on at least one of those choices. You had options. You could have done a million and one things that would have ultimately resulted in my death… And yet, you chose to save me.”

 

Jeongguk’s voice is deceivingly steady when he says, “I didn’t do anything. You should be thanking Yoongi. He’s the one who really saved you.”

 

Taehyung shakes his head slightly, the fabric of Jeongguk’s pants rubbing against his skin, “You were the first to believe that I was worth saving, Jeongguk. It’s been a while since anyone’s actually believed in me.” After a slight pause, Taehyung admits, “I’d almost forgotten what it felt like.”

 

Something light touches Taehyung’s head and it takes him a few seconds to realize that Jeongguk’s playing with his hair, absentmindedly the soft strands with a delicate gentleness. It’s endearingly tender and sweet, a clear indication of Jeongguk’s softhearted nature, and warmth blooms throughout Taehyung’s chest as he closes his eyes.

 

“Everyone deserves a chance,” Jeongguk breathes, voice sounding very far away. “Everyone should get a chance to redeem themselves.”

 

“Even someone like me?” Taehyung whispers, hating himself for the way his voice trembles. Because even though he knows Jeongguk better than Jeongguk probably knows himself, even though he knows everything worth knowing and not about everyone, no one knows anything about him.

 

And when Jeongguk’s voice, pure and certain, rings out, “Of course,” Taehyung can only squeeze his eyes shut and remind himself to breathe as he imagines what Jeongguk’s response would be like if he knew who he really was.

 

-----

 

“Sir…”

 

A faceless figure, dressed in a stygian-black, fitted suit, stands with his back to the man who has just spoken. Silhouetted against one of the high-reaching windows casting the expansive room in a ghostly luminance of moonlight, he is barely discernible from the swaths of inky shadows that seem to stain the glowing air.

 

“You may speak.” His voice rings with authority.

 

“There have been reports of a young man who goes by the name of Kim Taehyung, sir.”

 

He pauses, waiting for further permission.

 

“Continue.” The command echoes within the room, reverberating on the glossy, wooden surfaces of the wall and dark ceiling high above.

 

“He is allegedly one of the most dangerous hackers in the world. As of now, he has no known ties to any particular group or family, instead working as a freelancer. However, here are rumors that he bears an incredible resemblance to…” He hesitates, and when he continues, his voice drops to a hushed whisper.

 

“… The fifth Kim.”

 

The silence that follows is dangerously calm. Illuminated by the pale gleam of the moon, the man’s lips curl in distaste.

 

“Do you have pictures?”

 

Wordlessly, a creamy manila envelope is presented to him. There is a certain weight to the package, and he hesitates, almost as if preparing himself. Slowly, moving with a calculated deliberation, he opens the package and slides out a stack of glossy headshots.

 

He fingers through the pictures delicately, humming pensively. Indifferently.

 

The only thing that gives him away is the slight tremble in his hands.

 

It’s him.

 

He knows in his gut that this is the man he’s been looking for.

 

It starts off slowly. An almost unnoticeable spark of heat in the palms of his hands. A chill that runs down the length of his spine. Slowly, it swells, evolving into something grotesque and amorphous, a mind-numbing rage that boils through his veins like a virulent poison, that makes him want to scream, break something, kill someone.

 

It would be so easy to simply crush the pictures. Shred them. Pulverize them. Destroy them. He could give a word and have the entire country dissolve in anarchy. Two and he could have the world laid to waste.

 

But Kim Taehyung would still be out there, lurking, ready to prey on his weaknesses, just waiting for the perfect time to strike.

 

And so, he forces himself to take a deep breath. Inhales, exhales. Composes himself.

 

In a deceivingly calm voice, he says coolly, “It seems as though we’ve finally found the traitor’s son.”

 

Pulling a lighter out of an inner pocket of his suit, he wills a flame into existence, watching it dance for an enthralled second before bringing it up to kiss the stack of photographs in his hand.

 

The heat catches quickly, curling the insubstantial material immediately and flaring that much brighter, the scent of char suffusing the air. Dropping the images on the varnished table beside him, the man watches with dark and unreadable eyes as the flames over Taehyung’s frozen face, consuming the photographs with a spiteful hunger.

 

“Very well. We shall take care of this… problem, at once.”

 

The click of his shoes on the floor is jarringly loud as he walks out of the room, leaving behind a dark room, a man with his head still bowed in deference, and a pile of smoking ashes.