September, 2018. Berlin. 

Gold everywhere. 

Bubbling in the champagne flutes, chromed on the bars of the enormous crystal chandelier hanging low, plastered all over the ceiling like faded specks of past glory. 

Golden fabric shimmering on the curvaceous waitresses, gold pulsing in the veins of the busy patrons. 

Through the bars of the second floor balcony, Taehyung steals a glance at the clamoring crowd below. It’s all too much, the waves of murmur and chatter that ebb and flow. Secrets spilled over weak cocktails, fate of nations altered by casual words.

He turns back to the bar, and dips his head towards the drink at hand again. Pimm’s cup, one of the few drinks he can name to the bartender. Taehyung tugs on the collar of his starched white shirt, the fabric stiff in its newness, just like him. 

Jimin didn’t assign him a specific task for the night. Go and observe, he had said, everyone will be there. Some top tier intel being traded. 

The building looked like a decrepit mid-rise from the unlit street, all graffitied walls and broken windows. Not that unusual on the streets of east Berlin, really. The taxi sped away behind him without a pause, light beams wobbling away from the darkness. Once his eyes adjusted, he spots the few cars parked in front, ghostly silhouettes immoble under the faint moonlight. 

The interior is as bland as the drowsy pop tune drifting overhead. Oak panelled walls, wooden dining chairs, a few people milling about the scattered tables. But at the very back of the room, there's a small door guarded by one bored looking old man leaning against the wall.

"Kommst du rein?" The man asks, crinkled eyes flitting up and down. Cursive tattoo letters climb up his neck and swirl into his white hairline.

Taehyung utters the phrase he's practiced, "Da kannst du Gift drauf nehmen."

The old man nods and opens the door, letting the clamor spill out. Taehyung pushes out a stuttered exhale and walks through, right into another world.

He's almost grateful that Jimin didn't share any detail this time. Half an hour, and if nothing exciting happens, then he's allowing himself to go home.

The thought loosens his shoulders a little. By the second drink, his head is plopped up on the bar  in his palm, eyes droopy. His fingers dig into the tight collar, scratching, pulling on it absently.

"Just it, nobody will notice." A voice next to him startles.

"Hmm?" Taehyung turns around and eyes the stranger hesitantly.

Tanned skin, black jeans, dark eyes poring inquisitively at him. As if to put him at ease, the stranger reaches for the collar of his own silk shirt and loosens it, "It's fine. Most people are preoccupied with their own thoughts, you might as well be comfy."

There's warmth in his eyes, and Taehyung can't help but smile in return, "Yeah. I've never liked dress shirts."

"Me neither." The stranger pulls up a stool and waves the bartender down.

They sit in silence for a beat, and Taehyung can’t help but steal a look when the stranger talks to the bartender. 

Fluffy black hair curling just a tad bit by his ear, expensive looking watch, but the way he leans over the bar casually is youthful and relaxed. Their eyes meet, and Taehyung looks away and feels his cheeks flush. 

“You come here often?” 

Taehyung shakes his head, “Just visiting the city.”

“Oh. This is pretty far from the touristy spots.”

“I - um, I felt like a drink.” Taehyung blinks, and looks back at him hesitantly, “And you?”

A thoughtful grin, “Same. I talked to that old dude by the door for a bit, and he let me in.” He shrugs his shoulders.

Hmm.

Taehyung’s gaze glides over the sharp jawline and warm eyes. And it dawns on him that the stranger has been speaking English all along, as if he knew something about him.

Taehyung keeps his expression impassive, “My name is Taehyung, nice to meet you.”

The stranger taps the rim of his drink, “Freut mich, Taehyung. You can call me Jungkook.” 

Jungkook. He mulls over the name, and relaxes when it doesn’t match with any profile he’s memorized. 

Even if he’s here for the trade, he can’t be that important, socializing with a nobody on the sideline. 

“How did you know I spoke English?” Taehyung asks.

A Cheshire smile, “Isn’t it the American way to assume everyone does.”

“You’re American then?” 

Jungkook tilts his head noncommittally. The cufflinks on his expensive looking black shirt glint under the barlight - small silver cameras. 

“So what’s your favorite spot so far in Berlin?”

Taehyung hesitates, “Haven’t seen much yet. Where do you recommend I go?” 

Jungkook thinks for a second with a serious look on his face, “Kreuzberg. I think you would like Kreuzberg. Streets after streets of graffiti and dive bars. There’s a place called Franken - their tables spill onto the sidewalk. Run by two girls from a punk band. Great live music.”

Taehyung chuckles, “I thought you’d say the Reichstag or something more iconic. You know, like important, historical stuff that a tourist shouldn’t miss.” 

Jungkook waves his hand casually in the air, “History. It’ll always be there, ain’t going anywhere. But good music and a place to hide from the rest of the world-“ he arches his brow meaningfully, earning another soft chuckle. 

“That does sound fun.” Taehyung concurs, “But what after? I can’t just keep drinking from bar to bar, you know?” 

“I disagree. But yes, hmm.” Jungkook sips on his scotch on ice, “markthalle neun during the day then. It’s an indoor market that’s been around for a century, and feels older when you walk through. Good ice cream there.” 

“You got me at ice cream.” 

“They put up twinkling lights around Christmas, and the whole place smells like spiced hot wine.” 

An audible aww escapes Taehyung’s lips, “I love Christmas, I love the sound of this place so much.”

“I can tell.” Jungkook leans in a little closer, and Taehyung spots a faint scar on his left cheek. 

How thoughtful of him, to be so friendly to a stranger. Taehyung thinks to himself, but the corner of his lips curls up all the same, “You make Berlin sound so… cozy.”

“I think it’s the way you interpret my words.” Eyes that you could get lost in, like the starry night outside. 

“Keep going though. What else... what else do you think I’d like in Berlin?”

The gaze traces Taehyung’s lips for just a moment, making his cheeks flush, “Swimming in Lake Halenense, sunset cocktail at Klunkerkranich, walking through abandoned soviet buildings in Haus Der Offiziere… I can think of many places to show you.” 

“How do you know I’d like all these places?”

“Because. I’d make sure you always feel- what’s the word… cozy.”

The last word lingers, like the saccharine fragrance of unwrapped candy. Taehyung gulps and continues, “How do you know Berlin so well? Do you travel for work a lot?” 

“Yeah.”

“What do you do, if you don't mind me asking?”

“Sales.” 

Taehyung knows he should stop, but something urges him to push just a little further, “What kind?”

“Industrial. Mechanical parts for construction, and maintenance equipment. I’m a distributor for a few vendors. Berlin has always been a conduit for trade historically, it's no different in this day and age.”

The reasonably detailed answer puts Taehyung at ease again. He feigns a small yawn, “You lost me at industrial.”

Jungkook chuckles, “We need your job to be more glamorous to save this conversation. What is it, fashion model? Jetsetting heir? International spy of mystery?” 

Taehyung blinks rapidly at the last words and averts his gaze, letting the rehearsed words spill out calmly, “Mine is worse, just a lowly business analyst at a bank. Bean counting, slightly less exciting than watching paint dry.” 

“I see. Well-” Jungkook leans in and clinks their glasses together, “Here’s to boring jobs and chance encounters.” 

Taehyung hums and sips on his drink, the pale green cucumber slices in the highball glass trembling between half melted ice cubes. 

The rest of the night is a bit of a blur. 

Taehyung loses count the number of drinks after the fourth one, or is it the fifth. The glittering barlights start to shiver in his vision, and the heat of Jungkook’s muscular frame seeps into his space. Closer, and closer, until he can no longer tell if the flushing of his skin is from the booze, or the touch of his hand on his arm. Subtly, but unmistakably there, lingering, ghosting, a timid flame from within. How Taehyung wishes to lean into the touch, just to lose himself for one moment. Just one night. 

They talk about everything, from gilded european palaces to the strange tastes of American tap water, from which type of coffee is best (Taehyung swears by Americano with honey, Jungkook espresso) to all the Monet paintings scattered throughout the world. Taehyung catches himself staring at one point, at the tiny mole underneath Jungkook’s lower lip, suddenly wanting to graze it with his fingertip. He’s pretty sure he stops himself just short, but maybe not. The night is all hazy with amber liquor and unspoken greed by then, as the world spins dizzily in his peripheral. 

What happens next seems so natural, so matter of fact, that he doesn't even remember them talking about it. Fragments of memory, of the warmth of Jungkook’s hand as he grabs on tight. Taehyung giggles to himself at the thought of it, feeling the shiver all over again. Hot and cold, staggering and giddy. There’s a jacket draped over his shoulders, smelling of cedar and cigarettes. He scrunches his nose, and catches the glint of shock in the old man’s eyes as they step out together. 

Dark streets, warm car interior, streetlights whooshing by before he can acknowledge each one of them. It’s not until suddenly, as the silence of a modern hotel room falls, that Taehyung allows himself to finally register Jimin’s reprimanding voice on the back of his mind.

Tsk tsk tsk, so sloppy, so careless. As usual. 

He blinks away the broken images of sun parched village houses, and the heartache it brings.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook’s breath hits his cheek, hot and tickling. 

It is Jungkook, right?

Taehyung frowns and shakes the thoughts away, “Nothing. ‘m cold.” 

“Come here.” A set of arms embraces him, grounding and comforting. Taehyung nuzzles his face into the soft black shirt, greedy for the heat. When was the last time he was held? His mind searches through flashes of memory, and draws a blank. 

Just for one moment. Just for one night. 

Taehyung leans in and kisses the hesitation away. Free falling into the moment.

Jungkook’s lips taste bitter, skin smells of warmth and pheromones. His hands are unhurried, tracing up and down Taehyung’s flushed body, exploring its weaknesses at a maddenly lazy pace. 

Like a play-thing, unravelling one fiber at a time. Letting go. 

Strings of moans fall from Taehyung’s lips, whimpering and low, surprising himself. His body arches into the touch, revelling in the delicious torture. 

“Pretty…” Jungkook murmurs, as he kisses down his torso, leaving a trail of blooming marks. Taehyung writhes in vain, thoughts floating, punchdrunk on desire.

“Please…” he blinks away the mist, and tugs at Jungkook’s shirt desperately. He bites at his lips, searching for purchase, wishing for his own need to be reflected in those dark eyes that him right in.

His half sobs are swallowed up by kisses, careful, enveloping, as if they have all the time in the world, as if the dizzying moment will last forever.

You’ll be ok. 

It’ll all be ok, I promise.  

Taehyung is unsure if those are words on his mind, or whispered from Jungkook’s lips. No matter, his body is on fire, lips ruddy and limbs trembling at each touch. And he feels more relaxed, more taken care of than he’s ever felt in a long time. 

When his body finally snaps under the touch, his vision is blinded by white stars, limbs shivering in the revelry. Petite mort: Taehyung has the sudden urge to dwell in it, to stay away from the living for just a minute, and drown in the mindlessness.

But inevitable, it ends, and he sinks back to reality, body spent, next to the unfamiliar torso of a stranger. Taehyung sighs and pulls on the blanket by his feet, tugging to cover himself up. 

What now? He makes a meek gesture to get up, but a firm arm cradles him, pulling him back into bed, “Sleep. There’s no rush.” 

Taehyung nods, eyelids drooping at the weight of the voice. He leans into the chest, luxuriating in the faint heartbeat. 

This is not real. None of it is. 

But how comforting, how absolutely sublime to let it all go, and fall asleep in the embrace of another. 

Taehyung in a deep breath of Jungkook’s presence and stops resisting. His mind untethers and slips into darkness, the moment the blanket is draped over his shoulders gently. 

A headache awaits him, when he finally wakes up. Through his squinted vision, the monochromatic room is dim, illuminated only by the gap between the thick curtain panels. 

To his relief, nobody is around. Taehyung tucks his foot under the blanket, and buries his face in the pillow to snuff the sudden tinge of loneliness. A faint artificial draft brushes his bare shoulders, drawing out goosebumps.

Despite his best effort, Taehyung finds himself grinning sheepishly through the headache, thoughts lost in reverie. 

It takes him a long moment to muster up enough strength and find his phone, miraculously still in his jean pocket. A long audible sigh escapes his throat, when he spots the dozen messages from Jimin.

-I heard a rumor, tell me it’s not true.

-Tae

-Tae

-Don’t ignore me.

-Agent Kim Taehyung

Taehyung rubs his eyes, and types up a response, reluctantly.

-I’m fine. 

He pauses and blinks hard, before adding:

-Sorry. I’m fine though, nothing happened.

The response is back before the screen dims.

-Where are you

Taehyung yawns.

-A hotel room, I think.

He considers getting up to check the stationary for the name of the hotel, but the thought alone tires him out. 

-Are you alone?

He smiles sheepishly.

-Now I am.

-Are you sure? Is it safe to talk?

-Yes. Don’t worry, I told you I’m fine. 

The phone rings the second he sends the text out. Taehyung picks up and sinks head back onto the soft pillow. 

“Tell me every detail of what happened.”

Taehyung chuckles wearily, “Nothing happened. The event was a bore, nobody paid attention to me. Nobody important anyways.”

“That’s not everything, what else? Who did you talk to? Why do you sound drunk?”

“Well, there was one guy. But you can't blame me.” He pouts and stretches out his legs, “It was honestly so boring and I was all jetlagged and he seemed so friendly-”

“A guy.” Jimin’s voice becomes quieter. “And you were with him the whole night?”

Taehyung’s cheeks flush, “Yeah. I mean, it’s not a crime to have some fun once in a while, right? He’s a salesperson, some really boring day job.” Surprisingly strong for a paper pusher, Taehyung reminisces, biting his lip. 

“Name and physical description, please.” 

An eye roll, “Jimin, he’s a nobody, I swear. I didn’t see him talk to anyone else at the bar.” 

“Name and physical description.” The voice turns a hint quieter, making Taehyung gulp nervously. He complies, “He said his name is Jungkook. Asian American, no noticeable accent. A bit under six feet. Black hair, dark brown eyes. Small scar on left cheek, small mole under lower lip. Muscular built, in his mid 20s.” 

Silence. Then Jimin adds, “Is there anything else? Anything else that could identify him?”

Taehyung hums, and sits up to scan the room. Empty chairs, nothing on the floor except his wrinkled outfit and shoes scattered about, nothing on the writing desk under the gleaming mirror with chromed frame. Wait-

He stumbles out of bed and walks to the desk, picking up a piece of paper on the surface. 

The handwriting is neat and spaced out evenly, each curve gentle and unhurried: 

Stay for as long as you want. Feel free to order breakfast. I’d love to show you Berlin if you ever have time.  

Jungkook 

The signature has a slight right slant, but carefully produced and legible, with a phone number written underneath. 

Taehyung reads the number to Jimin. 

“I’ll run this number through the database. Probably temporary though. And the payment for the hotel, I’ll look it up also…”

“Jimin, what is it? Do you know that name? Who is he?” 

A long pause, just when Taehyung thinks Jimin will make up some excuse to end the call, he responds. The seriousness in his tone is unmistakable, “We heard a rumor that the Golden Key was at the bar last night briefly.” 

The Golden Key. 

Taehyung cards through his hair and tries to remember what he knows of the subject, “Is that even possible? We don’t know much about that code name, do we?”

“Correct. There is no identifiable photo of the individual in the SOG database. But what we do know is, sometimes he goes by the initials JJK, and has been speculated to be of Asian descent.”

Taehyung frowns, “You’re not sure though. This could just be - the person I was with, he could very well just be a random. I mean -“ he seemed so sweet, so gentle. Ice cream and summer lake. It can’t be-

“Agent Kim, I feel the need to remind you. The Golden Key is at the very top of the CIA high value target list. As a double agent between the Russians and US, his clandestine existence possesses tremendous threat to our organization.” Jimin in a deep breath, “For years, we’ve never been able to identify him and to analyze his motives properly, not even a proper headshot. Then out of nowhere, I get notified that on the night he possibly picked up someone at the bar, you happened to go home with a stranger with similar descriptions… Taehyung, last month when he leaked information to the other side, it caused an air strike in Georgia that killed thousands of civilians. The most dangerous, most covert spy of the industry, and he chose to spend the night with you and let you live...” 

The air suddenly feels stifled in its artificiality. Taehyung swallows, and the ventilation kicks in with a groan, startling a shiver out of him. 

-

December, 2018. Prague 

His memories of Prague, will always be shrouded in the scent. 

Woodsy and filled with christmas spices, like a warm scarlet fog that drapes over the Old Town Square, over the hundreds of red-tented vendors, over the scattered pedestrians with ruddy cheeks and rubbing hands.

The locals say it’s from the special holiday incense, but Taehyung would rather believe that it’s collective joy of the whole city materializing into a lovely fragrance. 

There are twinkling lights everywhere, outlining the tents, strung about the clothed tables filled with food and merchandise, peeking through the enormous christmas tree at the center of the square. And all the lovely sounds that beckon for his attention - from the walking choir singing pretty czech carols, to the laughter of the children on the antique carousel.

Taehyung exhales a shallow breath, thoughts drifting as he stands amidst the clamor. 

“What you thinking about?” The voice next to him is soft, like an echo of his own mind. 

Taehyung turns around to face Jungkook in a grey wool jacket, with two steaming cups in hand. 

He switches on a small smile, “Nothing. You know me, just useless thoughts.”

“They never seem useless to me.” He hands one cup over, and Taehyung peeks at the content within. Hot wine with the sweet aroma of cinnamon and orange wafting through. A sip confirms that it tastes just as divine as it smells. 

“You can always rely on wine to clear your mind.” 

“Why does it feel like you’re constantly trying to get me drunk.” Taehyung loops one arm through his, and tugs the collar of his brown hooded jacket together. 

Jungkook throws his hand out casually, earning a giggle. Taehyung takes a bigger sip of the warm fluid, and feels his shoulders loosen up.

“What else should we eat?” 

“I think we have pigged out enough.” Taehyung thinks of his fingers that are still sticky from all the pastries they’ve bought. 

“Souvenirs then, you were staring at the crystal Christmas ornaments back there.”

Taehyung shakes his head, “I don’t need it. I have no tree to put them on. Besides, it’s already Christmas Eve, nobody buys ornaments on Christmas Eve.”

“Well, purchases don’t have to always be rational, you know. If you like them, if you think they are pretty…”

“I find many things pretty, I don’t need to own them all. This-“ Taehyung gestures all around them, of the festivities and the baroque and gothic architecture surrounding the square, “- all this is more than enough. Thank you.” 

The last two words were quiet, whispered into the space between them. But Taehyung knows Jungkook hears him. 

“I should thank you, if you didn’t agree to meet me here, I’d be spending Christmas alone on a business trip.” 

Taehyung’s tongue is heavy. What would this feel like, if it was really just an innocent date? Not the premeditated trip that’s being scrutinized to death by a small monitoring team somewhere over a military satellite. 

He swallows and leans into Jungkook’s arm, trying to find words of sincerity, “Whatever the circumstances, it’s been an amazing trip, and I’ll never forget it.”

It’s barely been two days, and they’ve visited the Prague castle up the hill, artisan breweries outside the city walls, even a boating trip on the Vltava River. As with all their rendezvous scattered across Europe in the past three months, the days are filled with more romance and adventure than Taehyung thinks he ever deserves.

Jungkook’s fingers graze by the side of his face, brushing back his overgrown wavy bangs delicately, “Couldn’t agree more. And it’s just the beginning.” 

Taehyung blushes, and pretends to focus on the merchandises that they stroll pass, “You don’t always have to do this, you know? The exotic trips, fancy hotels… I mean, it’s amazing and such a dream, but-“

He pauses when he feels Jungkook’s gaze upon him, making him blink faster and slur his words, “What I’m trying to say is - I’m incredibly grateful, but I don’t have to have all this, you know? We could also just hang out? Like in a boring American town, maybe close to your house or something? I’d be happy as long as I get to see you.” 

It’s only after the words tumble out, that Taehyung feels the clench of his heart. He dips his head down, trying to ignore the sudden tinge of bitterness in his mouth. 

There’s a beat of silence. When he finally looks up, he’s met with jungkook’s gaze, unflinching and with thoughts he can’t quite decipher. 

Jungkook chugs from the small steaming cup and murmurs, “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

They keep walking, arms linked, strides slow, until the crowds thin, and they are in front of the clock tower on the edge of the square. 

It’s an imposingly tall structure with weathered stone blocks. Two enormous circular clock faces are in brilliant yellow, azure and burnt sienna, keeping track of time in different systems as well astronomical movements. Wooden statues adorn the edges of the tower, of angels and death, saints and warriors. 

Taehyung remembers witnessing the figure of death nodding at noon, when the clock strikes on the hour and all the figures come alive in an intricate dance.

“So pretty. To bad we couldn’t go inside the tower.” He whispers, thinking of the huge lineup during the day.

“It’s ok, most areas are probably off limits to tourist anyways.”

Taehyung nods, but his gaze stays fixed on the clock faces, watching as the various arms click away rhythmically.

“When you really think about it, clocks are an amazing thing.” Jungkook comments.

“How so?”

Jungkook’s arm is still looped with his, “It materializes an immaterial thing - time. And this clock is even more ambitious, tracking astronomical behaviors like movements of the sun and the moon. It must’ve felt bold at the time, to be able to track something so celestial, so heavenly.”

His serious tone makes Taehyung look towards him. His face is cast in the shadow, the twinkling holiday lights a gleaming blur behind him. 

“Probably. Bold, and in control.” Taehyung observes, and scoffs softly, “But are we ever?”

Jungkook hum, and Taehyung finds words blurting out before he realizes, “It’s not real. None of this is real. It’s beautiful and elaborate but none of it is in our control - time, life and death, the celestial and earthly…”

The light in Jungkook’s eyes flicker, “Is that what you prefer? Control?”

The words linger in the chilly winter air, mixed with the faint fragrance of cinnamon and pine cones. Absently, Taehyung thinks of the last encrypted email he received from Jimin, right after he landed in Berlin:

It’s been three months, and we have nothing useful on him. Prod deeper, make him trust you and share his world with you.  

Taehyung grimaces, but responds, “Isn’t it what everyone wants? To make decisions for themselves, to matter?”

There’s a pause, but Jungkook eventually responds, eyes unflinching, voice calm, “Then that’s what you should have.”

Such a simple answer, yet his words are spoken with weight. Taehyung turns silent.

They walk around the building, Taehyung trailing half a step behind, past the medieval facade, until they reach the back with a dim alleyway and an unassuming aluminum door. 

Jungkook walks over to examine the door knob.

Taehyung’s eyes widen when Jungkook pulls a hotel card out to slot it through the door gap. His fingers busy with the knob, and after a few swipes of the card, the door unlocks.

“College trick, luckily the lock is so old.” An innocent smile. 

Taehyung thinks of the Golden Key’s reputation in the industry, of being able to gain access to the most impenetrable resources - old soviet war secret, new American mission lists, nuclear technology details even the CIA is not privy to... He suppresses the urge to chuckle at the absurdity of the pretence. 

Taehyung smiles instead, and plays along, “Crazy, you should teach me one day.” 

They step in. Jungkook lets the door swing close behind them slowly, dimming the streetlight peeking through the opening. Right before the door slams the space into darkness, he finds the switch on the wall.

Flick. 

Dim rays of amber light are cast from above. Taehyung lifts his head, and his gaze travels up and up. There’s a spiralling metal staircase in the middle of the tower, patches of rust mottled between faded black paint. The light is beaming through gaps of the structure feebly, and dust motes float aimlessly. 

“Probably shouldn’t be here.” Taehyung observes, rather superfluously. 

“Probably not. But since we’re already in…” Jungkook takes one step up the staircase, and turns to look at him, brow arched bemusedly. 

Taehyung looks up again, into the unknown, feeling its pull. He bites his lips, and follows, “If we get arrested for breaking and entering, I’m telling them it was your idea.”

Jungkook’s voice echoes up ahead, “Some risks are worth taking. Hold on to the railing.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, “I’m not a kid. This is fine, just a staircas-“ Suddenly the step under his feet creaks and wobbles, making him swallow the rest of his sentence and in his breath.

A low chuckle, “Maybe we should’ve stuck to the touristy sections during the day.”

“Stop it. I’ll be fine.” Taehyung grumbles, but grips onto the rusted handrail, “How did you know about this access anyways?” 

“I didn’t.  But structurally, this is about the right place for it.” 

“For what?” 

“For a service access from behind the clock face. The tourist entrance back at the square accesses through the old town hall, probably just for a distant look of the clock internal from the side. This - this will get you inside it all.” Jungkook pauses to look up, “Listen, we’re getting closer.”

He’s right, the mechanical hums and clicks are becoming louder. Taehyung finally realizes that the beams of light emanating from above are not just from modern light fixtures. There are other openings up above them from the side of the tower wall. 

His heart thrums excitedly at the discovery, lips curling into a giddy grin. Wait until Jimin reads his report on this trip, what a night.

They keep climbing, the stairs creaking badly, and the air stagnant and smelling of dust, but soon Taehyung no longer cares. They reach the location of the first clock face. There’s no opening to peek out of, but an enormous jumble of old mechanical gears and new electrical motors and wires. 

They step onto a small wooden platform, and watch in trance as the various parts turn and tick away in the dim light. Taehyung feels Jungkook looping his arm around his waist, “Is this what you imagined it would look like?”

He responds, eyes widened and voice a little raised over the noise, “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel real, it’s... amazing.”

Jungkook nods and turns silent. After a moment, they step back onto the staircase and resumes the climb. Another few minutes later, Taehyung sees the openings ahead of them, and feels a chilling draft in the air. His hand suddenly grips onto air, and he looks down, to realize the railing has ended. 

“Keep going?” Jungkook asks. 

Taehyung in a deep inhale, and nods, trying not to think of the precarious drop in the dark beyond the steps. Jungkook’s steps slow down, and Taehyung focuses on the firm silhouette of his back, comforting in its rhythmic motion.

Up, up, and up. Never look back. 

The second clock face reveals itself next to them, an endless circle with a glass crescent portion shining dimly through outside light. The scale of it is mind numbing, as Taehyung gazes into it, it’s as if he’s fallen into the amber glow of the moon. He stands there, stunned, with the ticking of the mechanics growing louder on his mind. 

Like a dream, a surreal dream. 

Above him, the staircase ends. Wooden scaffolding ties into the staircase instead, extending towards the clock face. Taehyung steps up slowly, and watches as Jungkook walks through the scaffolding, onto a platform next to the clock face. Behind him, two windows open through the clock face onto the square outside, and a dozen wooden statues twirl on two overlapping horizontal rings. 

Taehyung remembers seeing the statues from the square as they each circle past the openings. But up close, they tower over Jungkook’s figure like silent giants, their carved faces vivid as light and shadow dance across. 

The scaffolding across is narrow and without railing. 

Jungkook reaches his hand out towards him. Taehyung steps onto the scaffolding, and the cold draft from the windows kisses his skin. 

C’mon, it’s only a few steps. He urges himself, but his feet pause. A fragment of memory suddenly flashes across his mind, of a sun parched village covered in thick dust, of a small boy’s sparkling eyes as he beams at him. 

There are few moments in the past, when taehyung feels the strange sensation that the trajectory of his life is about to change irrevocably. A choice always has to be made in the moment, right or wrong, of whether to dive into the unknown, or to run away at the sight of danger. 

The light in Jungkook’s eyes swirl, and his hand stays extended out, calling to him. 

Taehyung frowns, and against his better judgment, starts to walk across the scaffolding. One, two, three. His steps are slow and careful, and his eyes stay fixed on the wooden surface under his feet, not minding the voids on both sides of it. 

Taehyung is a few steps away from the platform when he hears a loud click. Looking up, he realizes that the clock arm has struck midnight. Taehyung’s heart clenches when the clock begins to chime - thundering, overwhelming chimes, one after another, shaking up the whole tower and making his head dizzy. 

Taehyung’s foot slips towards the edge of the scaffolding. 

Suddenly, a set of hands grabs him by the torso and pulls him to the platform, into the safety of a warm embrace. He looks up, dazed. Jungkook’s profile is dark against the amber light, solemn saints looming above in an eternal dance. The clock chimes, louder and louder, knocking on Taehyung’s mind, claiming his thoughts. 

Jungkook’s voice is low and gravely, as he leans in and whispers in Taehyung’s ear, making him shiver, “I got you.” 

-

Two days later, as Taehyung sits in a plane seat alone, enroute home, he pushes out a stuttered exhale, and types up an encrypted text to Jimin, fingers trembling:

-I can’t continue with this. I’m asking you, not as my superior, but as my oldest friend, to assign me to a different case. Please, Jimin. I'm begging you.

Ten and a half hour later, when the plane lands on US soil, Taehyung receives the response:

-Request denied. We just received confirmation that Russia has offered him three million dollars for a list of our top covert agents in Europe.

-You are the only one that can get to him, 

Tae, time is running out.