Hana

I cross my legs tightly, sipping at my wine cup, “Tell me some good news, Jungkook.”

“You mean after you stunt yesterday.” There’s a knowing grin spreading across his face. “Well, you got us a lead that seems promising, in more ways than one.

I sigh a little at the mention of last night’s events, because it seems to be all everyone is talking about, “All in a night’s work.”

“And speaking of a night’s work, someone just walked through the door,” Jungkook’s eyes light up. “Don’t turn around.”

“Why would I?” I retort back. If someone from the ball is here, the best idea would be to ignore him or her. But Jungkook isn’t intimidating, despite of our line of work, and people find him to be enjoyable company. Whoever it is would probably come over and try striking up a conversation.

Our weekly outings to the same restaurant are simply a formality. We could easily meet somewhere else, or even meet at home, but then Jungkook wouldn’t be able to leave work behind at all. Despite his insistence that it isn’t necessary, I know that he has grown to like the outings.

But regularity causes predictability, and that explains why Jung Hoseok is trailed by Jin to the bar. My eyes meet Jungkook’s out of surprise, and he lifts his eyebrows in acknowledgment, but hides his growing smile behind his water glass, taking a generous gulp. He had been referring to them. Without a doubt, they are here on purpose because Jungkook and I are here. I’m just not sure why they think that this excursion is worth their time.

Joke’s on them; we don’t explicitly talk about work here. There’s too much of a risk. Someone of importance could be sitting nearby or if I’m to be really cynical, our table could be bugged.

The waiter places our food on the table, and the mouthwatering aroma makes me use all of my self-restraint to not dig in immediately.

“Poor Jimin,” I murmur, smiling at the thought of him begging for food when we would go home. He never comes to dinner unless he has a reason to.

“Poor Jimin,” he agrees. “I found him passed out the other night without food. He needs someone to take care of him. Or a girlfriend.”

Our eyes meet again and we laugh. It isn’t like Jimin doesn’t try to get a girlfriend. It’s more that our profession lives get in the way.

“Do you ever feel like we are forgetting a whole other part of our lives?” I push the food around my plate at the though.

“Every day.” But his brief answer is always the same. He doesn’t talk much when he gets uncomfortable, or too thoughtful, especially in a public setting.

“I wonder what it’s like to be normal,” I muse. If I was normal, I don’t know where I would be. Maybe I would be trying to climb up the ladder in the corporate world instead of being handed the seat on the top rung.

“It doesn’t exist.”

He isn’t wrong, and he usually isn’t. Jeon Jungkook is good at everything he does. And his response lets me know that I need to get a grip on myself, especially because we’re in public and being watched.

He changes the conversation to small talk and we eat, indulging ourselves. I sip my glass of wine as he watches, mainly because he’s stuck with water since he’s driving later. But he knows that there are eyes on us, so we pretend that we’re just ordinary people out for a dinner.

“I have more good news for you,” Jungkook sets his fork down on the plate, and the waiter comes by and whisks our plates away.

I raise an eyebrow and he slides a black velvet box on to the table and slowly opens it, smiling slightly as he reveals a ring. Or to be more specific, it’s mom’s ring; the gold design swirls around a shining diamond. I inhale sharply. When she had died, no one had been able to find it.

“I found the pictures of it, so it’s just a copy, but I thought that you would like it,” he says softly, almost shy.

I swallow thickly and stick out a hand, “Well, are you going to make me put it on myself?”

My words are teasing, but they hold back the swirl of nostalgia that the ring evokes from the pit of my stomach. He laughs, playing along, but slides the ring on to my finger.

The splintering of glass from across the restaurant catches my attention, and I whip my head towards the sound. Jin looks furious. And I know why. My happiness is his source of anger.

“Let’s get out of here,” I whisper, chewing on my lip.

Jungkook stands, offering his arm. For once, I take it. We walk straight out of the restaurant, smiling with acknowledgement at the front-of-house telling us to visit again and that the bills would be sent to our account.

We hold on to the fake smiles and the closeness until we slip into Jungkook’s car, allowing us a cover to shed our façade, “What did you actually find out last night?”

“Support for your lead. Although I don’t know what the