Why Siyeon? That’s the one thing this file doesn’t mention. Nor did your brother Yoongi, when he issued your orders, though that’s been the trend for the last while. Tonight is the culmination of months of extensive planning, and Yoongi made it clear that this mission was not one you could afford to fuck up. Especially not after the last... incident.

Inhale.

Exhale.

It’s been a while since you were in action, but you’ve pored over the documents. You know Siyeon’s face, her habits. And this is not your first kill.

You drop the mini-com back into its home with your handkerchief and lipstick. The watch on your left wrist reads 7:31pm. The charity event downstairs started thirty minutes ago, and now you will be perfectly, fashionably late. Thoroughness (or perhaps paranoia) dictates you take one last look in the mirror. Then you slip into your nude heels before reaching for the door handle.

“Lights, off.”

By the time the steel elevator doors slide open to deposit you on the luxury hotel’s ground floor, the mingling is in full swing. Confidence radiates from your every step as you stalk to one of the men standing guard before the entrance. “Good evening, ma’am.” You offer a stolen invitation in response to his outstretched hand. “Thank you. Please enjoy your night.”

“Thank you.” You step inside, blending in effortlessly as you lift a flute of fizzy champagne from a nearby waiter’s tray. You have less than an hour before the main event begins to make contact, to make use of the hidden syringe that will render Siyeon incapacitated exactly twenty minutes after injection. It will look like a heart attack, a sudden tragedy brought on by unfortunate circumstance (stress being the usual suspect). By then, you will be safely miles away, retreating into the shroud of your underground headquarters.

You return smiles and head nods to those who toss them your way, probably assuming you are another one of the countless business associates in this flood. Weaving your way through the crowd, you sip at the bubbly drink.

“I haven’t seen you at one of these events before. What’s your name?” A deep voice interrupts your search. You turn to find a pudgy man grinning at you. Well, more like leering. You rattle off a fake name. “That’s pretty. Which company are you with?”

You feed him another false tidbit. He starts rattling on about how his company knows yours, how he’s senior executive whatever, and would you like to get a “business” lunch sometime? You’re not actually listening, too busy landing eyes on the lady of the night. Siyeon stands near the front of the room, draped in exquisite Chanel and a glittering shawl. Though her back is turned towards you, you catch enough of her face when she turns to greet someone who approaches her. Perfect.

“Of course, I’ll have my office call yours.” All the creep gets is one perfunctory nod before you step away, ignoring his protests that you didn’t even give him a card.

It is just your luck that there are a few tables set up near where Siyeon stands. You pick the one slightly to her right, in earshot of her conversation with an elderly woman. You need the perfect opportunity to cause a quiet commotion, just enough to distract her from the slight pinch of inevitability.

“Oh, please, you flatter me! I didn’t start my company alone. I have a lot of people to thank for all of this, truly.”

Hearing Siyeon’s voice in person is somewhat jarring, as you’ve only listened to it in surveillance footage. But if it bothers you, it never shows on your perfectly-crafted face.

“Always so humble, Siyeon. That’s why we all like you so much. By the way, I hear congratulations are in order! How far along are you now, Siyeon?”

“Thank you, thank you. I’m about eighteen weeks in now!”

Your breath catches. No... Purposefully, you shift. You swivel just enough to catch a better glimpse of Siyeon’s body. Your stomach drops.

Looks like the file left something else out.

Siyeon has loosened her shawl. The midnight of her dress bulges over her stomach. It’s not too obvious yet; you perhaps wouldn’t have noticed at first glance. But now, you can’t ignore the growing swell, no matter how much you want to. Siyeon cups the underside of her belly with dreams in her eyes.

Damn it. You’re no expert, but eighteen weeks doesn’t sound like very much. In fact, it doesn’t sound like much at all. Medical advancements in the past century have been vast, but a tiny infant of eighteen weeks might just be impossible to save on its own.

...But that’s not your problem, is it? You were given orders. Orders that have to be carried out, or else.

You spot someone walking purposefully towards the pair from the other side, probably to pull her speaking companion away. This transition would provide the perfect chance for you to make your move. You will only have a few seconds, not enough time or space for hesitation.

This is what you’re supposed to do. This is what you’ve always done. You finger the ring on your hand as you shift in your shoes, moving just an inch closer. You find the activation switch, though you don’t press it yet.

“Siyeon, are you feeling alright, my love?”

You fight the urge to spin towards the voice as your thoughts are interrupted. You recognize the tone, one smooth and self-assured. It comes from beside you. The owner, suit-clad, slim, brushes your arm as he passes by. Kim Seokjin. Siyeon’s husband of a few years, another company head and one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen.

Through your peripheral vision, you watch Seokjin slide an arm around Siyeon’s waist to pull her in close. He presses a kiss to her cheek, turning her towards him as his other hand comes down, slides over her belly. “You’re not tired? Do you want to sit down?”

“No, no, I’m just fine, honey.” Siyeon beams at him.

“Ah, Seokjin! Siyeon was just telling me about the baby.”

Seokjin’s smile blossoms into utter bliss. “Our favorite topic! We just renovated the baby’s future bedroom, actually.”

“Jinnie here is going to build the cradle himself when we get to England. Can you believe it?” A burst of laughter, like chimes.

“Anything for my baby girl.”

You want to curse but hold your tongue. You press your eyes closed, squeeze in irritation at yourself, at Siyeon, at chance. You could still do it. Erase the light from her eyes and his. It would be simple. Too easy, in fact. But your thumb falls away from the ring like dead weight. It would take a strength far greater than what you possess to find the switch again, no matter what logic dictates.

The unknown guest reaches the trio to pull the older woman away as you predicted. But you stand rooted to the spot as you let them go, watch the opportunity slip away like sand through half-heartedly cupped fingers. Seokjin and Siyeon are still trapped in their bubble of pure joy, gushing about baby clothes or names or something you can’t stand to listen to any longer. You turn away.

Excuses whirl through your head, knowing there’s going to be hell to pay but there’s probably worse if you carry out the orders. You’ve found another damn line you can’t bring yourself to cross. Another line that reminds you that you’re weak, no matter how you try to hide it. Your footsteps feel too loud on the marbled floor despite the music and the chatter as you surge through the bodies in seek of the exit.

Then your instincts kick in.

The raise of a hand to an ear, from one of the suits standing against the wall: the telltale sign of a hidden ear-com. You whip your head around, spot another woman in a short dress speaking into a com that looks far too official for your liking. You don’t even make it ten more steps before you spot a man with a bulge in his jacket that can only belong to a holstered weapon. They would be invisible, well-camouflaged to the layman’s eye. But you’re a professional.

To make it to the exit, you have to pass the man near the wall. But now he’s on the move, seemingly headed to the same direction you are. Have you been made?

You reach for your communicator. Now you’re less than fifty steps away from the exit. He’s less than thirty from you. There would have to be something from HQ if they caught even a whiff of danger, especially from the NIS. The National Intelligence Service has always been a pain in your ass, trying their best to ruin what you and your family have built. But the mini-com you pull out is devoid of any new info. You fail to notice your handkerchief coming out with it, falling onto the floor as you shove the com back into your purse.

Close. Freedom is so close. You speed up.

“Ma’am?”

A man’s voice comes from behind, but there’s no way you’re going to stop for him. If you turned, you might have noticed him pick up the bit of cloth. Instead, you rush past the guards, keeping a pace that just looks like you have to run to the washroom for some emergency. But instead of going deeper into the hotel, you head for the automatic double doors that part quickly for you.

“Ma’am, you dropped something!” But the words aren’t loud enough to surpass the music to make it to your ears.

Onto the street, you’re hit with the last rays of sunlight. You blink, mind working overtime. You can’t outrun them; hiding is your only option.

You decide right instead of left. Two doors down from the hotel, you find a store overflowing with flowers in the storefront. You ignore the almost-sickly saccharine perfume as you yank open the entrance and throw yourself inside.

A glance at the counter tells you that any employees here are thankfully absent. Hidden behind several, giant potted plants, you watch as your pursuer runs out past the glass window. He looks around, turns a few times, but can’t find who he’s looking for. Afraid he’ll look into the shop, you turn as well, focusing on the table behind you. Which just so happens to be laden with flowers, delicate and exploding with color.

It occurs to you that you’ve never been in a flower shop before. While the scent of the blossoms was overwhelming at first, your nose is steadily becoming accustomed to the sweetness that is nature coming to life. There’s no harm in taking a few more minutes here, you think as you take steps towards the table. You have to wait out the man outside anyway. And curiosity has always been one of your vices.

The flower that catches your eye is circular in shape; its oval, almost-spikey petals are dyed in a soft pink. It sits elegantly in its pot, a single floret amidst a bed of green. You reach out for it with a palm, not wanting to crush or ruin anything as you cradle it in your warmth. You don’t notice the soft smile waning your lips as you memorize its curves. You haven’t the slightest idea what kind of flower it is, but you can’t remember the last time you saw something this beautiful.

“I see you’re fond of the dahlia.”

“Oh!” Caught off guard by the sudden voice, your hand jerks up. The pot shakes violently from the sudden movement. It spins, wobbling over and—

“Whoa!” All you see is a flash of dark hair and flying clothes as the speaker hurtles towards you. He catches the pot just as its about to tip over. Then he sets it back onto the counter. “Phew... That was close.” He’s squatting, tall enough to still comfortably reach the pot as he gives the dahlia a light pat.

“Sorry! I’m sorry.” You hide both hands behind your back, not wanting to accidentally ruin anything else.

In response, he offers you a dimpled smile that does the opposite of setting your heart at ease. “No worries. I’m sorry I scared you. Are you alright?” He stands up, faces you.

“Yes, I’m fine. But is the flower okay? The, uh, dahlia?” You’re trying your best not to stare, but that’s a difficult task when he goes to brush his bangs back, taut arm muscles shifting along with it. His outfit is simple, a white tee and black jeans, with a stained black apron thrown overtop, but there’s something oddly attractive about it.

“She’s fine too.” There’s a fondness when he stares at the bloom, a tenderness that makes you feel more like the intruder you are in this precious space. “She’s been giving me trouble during growth so I’m a bit overprotective. Haven’t you, girl?” He chuckles lightly at himself, covering his lips with his palm as if he’s embarrassed.

“That’s cute,” you blurt out before you can help yourself.

“Is it?” That makes him smile again, and you swear your cheeks flush. He makes sure the dahlia is secure before he looks back at you. You follow his eyes as they rake across your outfit, taking in the formal dress and diamonds. “It can’t be comfortable walking around in that all day. Me, I prefer jeans over heels.” He laughs, and you can’t help joining him.

“No, no, I was at an event.”

“Oh, at the hotel?” You raise your eyebrows, not expecting him to know of it. “A few people came in to buy bouquets and wreaths for it earlier.”

“Ah, right. I remember seeing them. They’re beautiful. You did a fantastic job.”

“Thanks.” You’re beginning to realize it makes him shy to receive compliments, from the way he breaks your gaze to stare distractedly at the dahlia with lightly pinking cheeks. “So, why aren’t you there now?”

“I can’t stand those kinds of events.” It’s not technically a lie. “They’re always boring.”

“Why do you go then?”

“...Family obligation.” You cut this line of questioning short by focusing on another flower, this one multiple spheres of small purple blossoms. “What’s this one?”

“Oh, that one? It’s a hydrangea. If you look here...” He continues to talk as he closes the distance. A scent like fresh linen and soap cuts through the floral perfume, a summer’s day at its most stereotypical but you find yourself drawing closer for more. There’s something so soothing about his voice and the love weaved into every syllable as he gushes about the flower. Yet, you don’t even know his name. And it should stay that way for your safety, and for his.

When he takes an elongated pause for breath, you realize enough time has probably passed. You don’t see the NIS agent outside any longer, and the best course of action is to make your way back home as swiftly as possible.

Yet you find yourself asking, “why do you love flowers so much?”

He looks taken aback, like he wasn’t expecting the question. Then excitement glows in his warm eyes. “Stop me if I’m rambling too much, okay?” He smiles as if he already knows you have no such inclination. “At first, I was interested because there’s something so satisfying about watching a plant grow. About raising it from a tiny seedling or rescuing it from dying.” He reaches for a nearby pair of scissors to lightly trim off some greenery. “But the more I learn about nature and flowers, the more fascinated I am with how much they really understand and silently absorb from us.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, for example, if you talk to a plant every day, it’ll grow much better than a plant left in silence.”

You look absolutely bewildered. “Really? That can’t be true. There’s no way they understand us.”

“It is!” He’s becoming more and more elated as he talks, his entire face brightening at your inquiry. “Research has proven it. And I know the latest tech in 2105 is that self-watering, self-growing planter but I think that’s all bull. Those flowers will never grow as beautifully as these ones. Plants are just like pets, or people. They need care, affection, and interaction too.”

“Hm. I’ve never thought about it that way.” You’ve never thought about flowers at all before today, actually. But his smile and clear enthusiasm is infectious, making one of your own bloom on your lips. “I think you might just be right.”

Before either of you can say anything else, your phone buzzes. A succession of three pulses, like the quick-quick-slow of a dangerous tango. “Sorry,” you mumble, grin faltering as you pull out your com. Come back. Now. Three short words spell your doom. You let it fall into your purse, keeping neutrality on your face even though there’s disappointment in your heart. “Um, I should get going. It’s getting late.”

“Right.” Is it your imagination or does he look just as upset to let you go? “Wait, just a second. Let me give you something. A gift for letting me talk all over you.”

“Uhh, no, that’s alright. I was happy to listen.”

“Please. I insist.” He disappears for a few moments behind the shrubbery to the back room.

You stare at the door, feeling your communicator and the words on its screen spurring you to leave right now. You just walk out the door, and this florist will never find you again. That’s the logical thing to do. ‘Never get attached’ is practically lesson number one. Right up there with ‘don’t accept anything from strangers.’ But you’ve already broken one rule today. What’s another?

“Here.” The man returns with a small cardboard box, the top flaps yet to be closed. You tilt your head, look inside to find a tiny plant with rounded petals, almost like a lotus, but swathed in dirt instead of water.

“What is this?” You take the box though, mimicking how he held it – like something precious.

“A succulent.”

“I really can’t—”

“Just take it. It reminds me of you and... I get the feeling you need it.” There’s that smile again, the one that makes your heart weak, its doors pliable. “Take good care of it. I know it’ll be safe with you.”

“Ahh, fine.” You fold up the box, feeling like you’re standing on the cusp of something wholly new and rather terrifying. You’ve never been responsible for another living thing before, even if this is just a plant. “Thank you.”

“Joon. I’m Joon. And you?”

You purse your lips. “...Dahlia.”

That makes Joon laugh, and you half-expect him to question you over the obvious pseudonym but he doesn’t. He just nods his head. “I hope I see you again, Dahlia.”

You’re not afraid to return his grin before you push out into the fresh air, knowing too well that this meeting will be your first and last.

“Where have you been?” The second you plunge into the darkness that is the underground headquarters, your arm is grabbed. The voice belongs to Taehyung, one of the members of the family. “Yoongi hyung is really angry.”

“Shit.” You hurry through the dimly-lit hallway, familiarity trumping illumination as you head towards the meeting room. “I didn’t know it was so late.”

Another body comes up to join you on the other side, this one belonging to one of your younger siblings, Jun. “Hey, what’s that?” He indicates at the box in your hands. “Food?” He grins with cheeky hope.

“No. Uh, can you put it in my room?” You pass it over to Taehyung, careful not to jostle it too much lest the small pot overturn. “It’s fragile, okay?”

“Mhm.” Taehyung nods, taking it from you.

Jun’s eyes soften with pity. “Good luck.”

You know you’re going to need every ounce of that luck as you continue on alone. Rounding the corner, you’re a few feet away from the dark door of Yoongi’s office. You gulp, desperate for any sort of excuse to delay your entrance, but you know that reckoning is inevitable.

You knock. Twice. Short raps before you let your hand fall.

When the door opens, it’s Hoseok that greets you instead of your brother. His face is somber, betraying no thoughts as he backs up to grant you entry. Yoongi utters your name like a curse as he pushes up abruptly from his chair. It rolls backwards, colliding with the wall to rattle before joining the tense silence that follows as you walk inside. “Where have you been?”

“Out for the mission.” You gesture at your dress.

“Oh, right, right. The mission.” Yoongi’s fist lands on the desk with a crash. His old-fashioned fountain pen jumps an inch to the right and you’re seconds away from doing the same. “The one you fucking failed.”

You stay silent, because that look in his electric eyes says he’s not done yet.

“Park Siyeon is on a private jet as we speak. She’s not coming back. Not for years. Tonight was the only chance we had and you let it go.” You want to shy away from the anger in his expression but he rounds the desk to trap you in his glare. “Why didn’t you kill her?” The question sits in the stale air; you can taste its bitterness on your tongue. “Why didn’t you complete one of the simplest jobs we’ve ever had?”

“She...”

“She, what?” Yoongi leans in. You can see Hoseok in your peripheral vision, but he's not about to intervene. “Speak up.”

“The files. The case files...” You squeeze your fingers until they ache. “They didn't say she was pregnant.” Right now, the truth is the only thing you have. You cling to it like a lifeline. But it’s going to be the thing that drowns you.

Yoongi stops, as if frozen on a screen. You actually see mirth seep into his eyes, false as it is. “Pregnant? She’s pregnant?” His bark of laughter rings out like a bullet. It makes you jolt back, instinctively needing distance before-- "Who the fuck CARES if she’s pregnant? You had one task. One fucking task and you just cost us three hundred. Million. Won."

"B-But it's just money, Yoongi." Your hands twist together as you cast a look at Hoseok only to gain a frown of sympathy. "We can get it back with the next job, I promise! There'll be other contracts."

"Bullshit. Your promises mean nothing to me right now. We need the cash!" Yoongi scatters the stack of silver credits on his table with an angry swipe. "We need as much of it as we can goddamn get."

"Do we? Do we really?" You try to stand your ground, despite trembling legs. "We're all doing decently. Well, even! Isn't that enough, Yoongi?"

"No!" His voice surges. It’s an explosion in the taut space. "It's not enough! When will you understand it will never be enough if we want to be on top? Those damn Foxes have already been stealing clients and contracts from us, getting more powerful by the minute!"

"But when did it start being about who’s on top?” Frustration leaks through your every word as your pinned hair comes more undone by the second. “You never even told me why we have to kill Park Siyeon anyway! Is it really that important? What if she did nothing wrong? We have to punish her baby too?”

Yoongi makes a face so vicious that you know if you were anyone else, you’d already be violently punished. “We are not the police. We are not the fucking NIS. We’re assassins. It’s not our job to question why.” His voice has quieted but lost none of its intensity. You’d prefer the yelling. It’s this coolness that truly frightens you. “We just carry out the hit. And then we get paid.”

“But I—”

“I don’t have the time to argue with you anymore. Bottom line is, you fucked up the job. Again.” Yoongi pauses, inhales deeply. When he speaks next, he does so deliberately, enunciating every word. “If you fuck up one more time, you’re out of the family.”

“Wait, what?” You blink. “Yoongi, I’m your sister. Your blood sister, I—”

“Family is who you kill for. Family is who you die for. If you don’t understand that, then you’re out.”

He turns, forcing the conversation to come to an end even though you’re far from done.

Your voice trembles. “The NIS. They were there tonight too. They looked like they knew that someone, like they knew I, was going for Siyeon. If I had done anything...” You don’t even wait for an answer before you whirl on your heel. “Maybe I should have just let them take me.”

You steel yourself, managing to keep your head high as you stalk out of the room. Your pace quickens as you speed towards your room, heart pounding in your ears. You crave sanctuary, somewhere you can just wilt without witnesses. Somewhere along the way, you started sprinting. You don’t stop until you burst through your door.

Off go the shoes. Then the purse, tossed onto the floor. You unravel the rest of the bun, let your locks fall freely, haphazardly. Your fingers claw at the zipper of the expensive dress, uncaring if some seams are ripped apart in the process. You just need to get out of this. Out of this constricting fabric and out of this makeup and out of all of this.

The dress collapses into a puddle around the shoes. It’s joined by your bra, then the thin knife taped to your thigh. Your heart thrums, pulsing like a livewire that causes jitters to spark beneath your skin and they won’t stop, they won’t calm down because your mind is just as much of a mess as your breath and—

You spot the box when you whirl around to grab an old t-shirt.

A tiny box, inconspicuously perched on top of your cabinet. You pull the shirt on as you walk towards it, prying open the top like a gift even though you already know what’s inside. A succulent. Sitting delicately at the bottom, its teal leaves are gentle, soft.

With great care, you lift it out of its cardboard cradle. You force yourself to inspect it, your trembling hands stilling more with each ounce of care you pour into the action. You remember Joon, with his soft voice and kind eyes.

“Um... Hi?” You mumble at the pot, feeling a bit silly. You pat one of its leaves, and it wobbles a bit to the side. “Hi. Guess you’re mine now.” Of course, there’s no reply. But there’s something oddly cathartic about this whole process nonetheless.

Before you can do anything else, you hear three quick raps at your door.

“Come in.”

You know it’s Hoseok even before his face appears. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

You manage a sort of shaky half-smile, meant to put that worried look on his face at ease. It doesn’t work. “Can I stay for a bit?” He asks, already settling himself on your bed.

“Yeah. Always.” You join him, the bed creaking under your weights.

“Boss was pretty hard on you.”

“He’s right though. I failed the job. I cost us a lot of money. I knew that when I walked away.” You stare at your hands. “But when I saw how happy she was... And the baby... I just couldn’t do it.” Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. “Isn’t that pathetic? That lately, I can’t do something that I’ve been doing all my life?”

Hoseok says nothing. He just wraps his arm around you, lets his warmth and cologne comfort you.

“Hoseok, it... It never used to be about the money.” You have no qualms taking out a corrupt politician or a criminal set free by a failed system. What laws cannot govern, you take into your own hands. But just a few weeks ago, it was a nameless father whose life you ended. And it was that father whose three-year-old you spared, leaving a potential witness. Yoongi had found out about that too. Before the father, it was an inventor, a professor, an heiress. All these people. And you were given no reason for their demise. Only promises of deep pockets and the jingle of ill-gotten credits.

“I know.” Hoseok squeezes you tighter. “But we do as we’re told. Those are the rules. Those have always been the rules of being a Nightingale. You, of all people, know it best.” He frowns. “Besides... We can never escape death in this world. If we don’t kill, someone else will. That’s the way it goes.”

You bite your lip. You don’t think that’s good enough of a reason, but there’s truth behind it. Exhale. “You’re right, Hoseok. This family... You guys are all I have. You’re what’s important. I can’t lose you.” You’re not related by blood except to Yoongi, but they’ve been with you since you were barely two feet tall.

“Then you know what you have to do.” Hoseok’s eyes harden. “This is the legacy we have to uphold. Family is—”

“Who you die for,” you finish. “Yeah.”

“And for what it’s worth... We didn’t know about the NIS. There were no signs that they planned to be there, and no information leaked. Yoongi would never have sent you in if he knew about them.”

“I-I know. But these jobs just keep getting riskier. Our chances of getting caught keep going up and I’m worried that...” You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. “Anyway, thank you, Hobi.” You slip easily into the childhood nickname you created when you first met him, when you were five and him a couple years older. When you knew nothing of this dark world, and he already knew too much. “Truly.”

Hoseok holds you for a few seconds more before he lets go. “I still have to scout a location tonight, so I can’t stay any longer. Are you going to be okay? Should I get Tae or Jun to keep you company?”

Instinctively, your eyes flicker to the succulent on the dresser. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for checking in on me.”

Hoseok follows your gaze. “That’s new,” he chuckles. “Never pegged you for a gardener. But alright. Whatever works, as long as you feel better.” He stands, pats your head. “Don’t forget to water it!”

You summon the strength to smile back. “I won’t.”

It is two weeks before you are sent on another contract, though you’re certain it is only because you are the sole member of the family with the right appearance and time for the job. Still, it’s a sign that Yoongi’s irritation with you is lessening with the passage of time.

Tonight, the plan is a seduction, leading to a sudden, fatal ‘heart attack’ in a locked hotel room.

You sip on a glass of wine as you watch the target pull up and park his car outside the bar. He looks like an average man in every sense of the word, a suit in tie corporate drone, and you wonder who would pay to have him gone. The ring on his finger glints in dull gold. His shiny oxfords look well polished, expensive. You finish the last dregs of your drink, setting the long-stemmed glass on the counter as he enters the bar. You compose your mask. Time to make the approach.

Hours later, the job is completed. Your escape is safely secured and executed. Everything has gone to plan. You return to headquarters with a desperate wish for a scalding shower because you feel utterly disgusted. Chiefly by the haste in which the target followed you into the hotel, then with how he made for you with his ring-clad hands without a trace of hesitation. Finally, it was how eager he had looked when you flashed him a bit of skin to distract him from the needle.

You need to wash the feel of him off. But first, you have a report to make.

“Yoongi, the job is done.”

Yoongi looks up from his computer. “Good.” He’s buried back in the work for about a second before he locks eyes with you again. “You okay?” Maybe he’s caught on to how much paler you look.

But what can you say? You just end up nodding, a few curt dips of your head. “Fine.” You close the door firmly shut behind you as you leave.

Back in the safety of your own room, you let the fatigue wash over you. Each contract seems to take more and more out of you, no matter how easy the actual task is. “Do it for the family,” you remind yourself as you strip from your dress. Each job fulfilled just solidifies the Nightingales’ position further, ensures that you will prosper for the years to come. This is bigger than you. This is what you have to do.

After the relief of a hot shower, you change into dark jeans and a hoodie.

As is your new nightly routine, you pad through headquarters in sneakers, making your way upstairs to the ‘house’ parts of the space that act as camouflage towards the rest of the public. You’ve been moving the succulent between these two worlds every day, for you figure it needs sun that your basement room cannot offer. But you can’t seem to sleep without it at night, without the comfort that there’s something growing, thriving in life just a few feet away.

“Time for your watering.” You fill a small cup with water, dousing the succulent until its soil is pooling, collecting the excess liquid before it sinks in. You watch the dirt suckle at sustenance, lips twisting into wistfulness. Joon was right again. Something about sustaining a life tugs so fondly at the pit of your stomach. “I’m sorry,” you end up whispering, an apology that the family of tonight’s target will never hear. You pour another splash of water in.

It is when you pick up the pot that you realize something is off.

The leaves on the side facing away from you are puffy. You capture one petal lightly between your fingers, but its squishy where it once was hard and sturdy. “Lights on, 80%.” You’re stunned when the room floods with light and the succulent’s once teal color has yellowed, becoming almost translucent. “What the...” When you nudge a leaf aside to check on the ones at the bottom, it falls clear off.

Even with your limited plant knowledge, this is one thing you can diagnose too well. It’s dying.

He trusted it to you and now it’s dying.

Strange, overwhelming panic douses you like a bucket of ice water. Instinctively, you grab a tote bag, nestling the plant inside. You swing the straps over your shoulder, one hand placed on the pot to ensure it won’t shake too much as you rush out the door. Your destination: the quaint flower shop you swore you’d never visit again.

It isn’t until you’re standing right outside the flower shop that you realize it’s half past ten, and no reasonable person would still be at work. All the shops around you are closed, neon signs turned off for the night. The streetlights blinking red and green and the cars flying over your head are the only illumination. You should probably just go home.

But you’ve come all this way. And your succulent needs saving.

Stubbornness and panic dictate you peer inside the glass door. The plants that are normally decorating the storefront have already been brought in for the night; they obscure your vision, but you think you can just faintly make out a light in the back.

You knock, biting your lip as you wait. When there’s no answer, you knock again, harder this time. Please. Please be here.

It’s another minute before a familiar face appears through the plants like a woodland spirit. You step back as the door swings open. “Hi, sorry, we’re closed...” Joon’s sweet eyes meet yours; recognition flickers. “Oh. Dahlia?”

You don’t blame him for the question mark. The last time you saw each other, you had a full coat of makeup on. Right now, you’re bare faced and a sweaty mess. “You’re still here!” you breathe in relief.

“You okay? Come in.” You follow him into the maze of flowers. “What’s wrong?”

You wipe away the perspiration coalescing on your forehead with a sleeve. “The plant. The succulent. I messed up somehow, I must have...” You’re almost ashamed to show him the pot, but you unwrap it from the bag. He takes it gingerly to place it on the counter, before crouching down beside it. “I’m really sorry! I’ve been trying to give it sun and water and I’m even talking to it, but it’s just...”  Your babble trails off as he inspects the leaves, then touch a finger to the soil. The poor succulent looks even more sickly in this light. “I know you’re closed. I just didn’t know where else to go.”

When Joon looks at you next, he’s smiling so softly it stirs your heart. “Don’t worry about it. I’m usually here working late anyways.” He straightens, dusts off his apron. “And the succulent is just overwatered.”

“Overwatered?” You repeat, incredulous. “Plants can be overwatered?” You were under the impression of the more the better.

Your surprise makes his eyes crinkle with a chuckle. “Yup, they can be. Especially succulents. They’re used to much drier climates. It’s my bad, really. I should have given you better instructions.”

“So... it’s not dead, then?”

“No, just weakened. If you dial back the watering and let it stay in the sunlight, it’ll become nice and healthy again. Don’t worry, it’s a good thing it’s summer! This little guy will recover quickly.”

“Wow... Thank god...” Your tired muscles finally relax as you lean against the counter, relief spreading through your veins. You never could have imagined feeling this way about a plant of all things, but there’s no denying that it’s become a sort of companion to you in the last few weeks. The only thing that listens without demanding, without commanding.

An adorable, low-toned chuckle makes you turn your head to him; Joon is all dimples with a grin so wide it makes you bashful. “Now who’s the one that’s all cute, fretting over a plant?” He doesn’t seem shy now, keeping the eye contact between you so steady you’re afraid he can see right through you.

“I just panicked, okay?” You mumble, playing with an errant lock of hair as you feel a heat on your cheeks. You wish he’d stop staring. “It’s my first time taking care of anything like this. Ugh, I really should have at least looked it up online or something. It was careless of me.”

“Well, don’t beat yourself up about it. Your heart was in the right place.” Joon pats the succulent fondly. “This isn’t easy.”

“No, it sure as hell isn’t.”

He laughs, his easy, pure-hearted mirth addictive. “You can ask me for help anytime. I live in the apartment above the shop, so I’m usually around. But try not to come out so late! It’s not safe. You never know what’s out there in the dark.”

The weight of the hidden blade taped to the back pocket of your jeans reminds you that you know perfectly what secrets the shadows hold. “Right. Thanks.”

Joon turns back to your succulent, snipping away a curled leaf you hadn’t even noticed was there. “Had a long day at work?” He asks.

“Mm, something like that.”

“What do you do, anyway?” It’s a casual question, but it sends you for a spin. Thankfully, he’s too focused on doing something to the soil to notice how you tense. “Definitely nothing to do with gardening, huh?”

You roll your eyes. “No... I’m in the family business.”

“Do you like it?”

It’s clear nobody could love their job as much as Joon does. You know you should lie to him, but somehow that makes you uncomfortable when he’s always been straightforward and honest with you. “It’s alright, I guess. I never really thought about doing anything else.”

“Why not?” Joon cocks his head to a side. “I mean, I know family obligations are strong, but it’s your life. You should live it how you choose.” He grimaces. “Not to be preachy or anything.”

“... It’s complicated. But my family needs me. Even though we may yell at each other or want to bite each others’ heads off, they’re still all I have.” You bite your lip. “And I owe them everything.”

“But what do you want?”

You stare blankly at Joon, mind searching for words that only come up muddled. When is the last time someone asked you that? All the letters, the languages that you speak yet there’s nothing coherent enough to be sent out on your heavy tongue. You’re barely aware your hands have clenched into fists, nails carving crescents into your palm. You don’t even realize you’ve begun to hold your breath.

Then your com buzzes.

[11:01pm] hoseok: where are u?

“Everything okay?” Joon asks as you shake yourself out of your stupor after reading the text on the tiny screen. Reality calling yet again.

“Yeah! Yeah. Sorry. I was just...” You slide the com into your pocket. You give an awkward laugh, not sure who you’re trying to convince more, yourself or him. “Anyway, I should get going. I shouldn’t be keeping you here this late.” You throw a glance towards the door.

“Hah, you had to leave early last time too. Are you Cinderella?”

“Can’t let my jeans turn back into a pumpkin. Is that how it goes?” You smile, turning back for your succulent. You weren’t expecting Joon to be right beside you. He’s standing so close you can feel his warmth, smell the scent that makes you think of home. Not yours, but what you always imagined the magazine depictions would be like in your childhood.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’d look adorable as a jack-o-lantern,” he murmurs. Those sweet midnight eyes could hold a galaxy’s worth of stars within them, but tonight, they reflect only you.

...You could kiss him right now. It would be so simple for you to touch those gentle lips with your own and leave a trace of yourself behind in this oasis forever. But you know better than that.

Taking the succulent from his hand, you force yourself to walk to the door. At it, you bow, grateful for how he’s saved the life of the plant, grateful for how he listened to you ramble, grateful for him. “Goodnight, Joon.”

His eyes sparkle. “See you soon, Dahlia.” You don’t, can’t, respond.

It isn’t until you get home that you discover he slipped a dart of hardened paper into the pot, hiding just beside a petal. When you unfold it, ten numbers in raven ink stare back at you. And at the end, a single word: Anytime.

“Ugn! Hah! Yah!”

Sweat drips in rivulets down your forehead as you slam your glove-wrapped fists into a punching bag. You relish the bite of the friction, the soreness in your muscles as you whip around and kick the side to a satisfying thwap. Evening training has always been your favorite. Especially these days, when your body feels like one of the only things you have control over. Well, your body and the cute succulent you’ve named Moon.

“Hey, boss called a meeting!” Hoseok’s voice blares out just as you land another hook on the abused sandbag. He pokes his head into the training room, his expression carefully neutral.

You lower your fighting stance. “Okay. I’ll be right there.” You peel the moist gloves off your hands. Why a meeting? Weird.

When you walk out of the room and into the common area, the familiar faces of your family are already gathered. All fifteen of them look nervous as they mumble amongst themselves, probably trying to guess what this is about. You fill the open space between Hoseok and Taehyung. Yoongi stands at the head of the room, inspecting documents.

“Where’s Jun?” You quietly ask Taehyung.

“Mission.”

“Okay.” Yoongi straightens, drops the papers on the table before him. “Listen up, Nightingales. I’m sure you’ve noticed that we’ve been losing contracts. To the Foxes.” He spits the name out like poison. “Those assholes have been taking what’s rightfully ours. The money that should be in our pockets. I found out today that we were passed over for the assassination of that visiting VP of GCF Industries.”

“Shit.”

“Shit is right.” Yoongi paces a few feet before he whips his cold eyes to behold his brothers and sisters. “We have to do better. We have to be faster. But we still have to be careful. As if the Foxes aren’t enough of a pain in my ass, the NIS have been poking their noses where it doesn’t belong again.” Yoongi rests a strained hand on the table. “If any of you are caught by them...” His gaze finds yours.

Slam!

The sound of a door being violently thrown open makes all your heads snap up.

Within seconds, Taehyung’s off, his lazer pistol in hand. You’re right behind him, extracting your switchblade. Nobody would be stupid enough to attempt an infiltration of your headquarters. But lately nothing surprises you.

This long hallway seems to go on forever.

You can’t see what’s right in front of you. Taehyung’s form blocks the bulk of your vision, but you trust him to be your eyes. You focus on silencing your steps.

“Jun!”

When you pool into the foyer, Taehyung bolts forward like a bullet. “Jun! Shit!”

You see the puddle of blood first. Then you see Jun at the foot of the stairs, clutching at his leg. His top is stained dark crimson, his breathing too haggard. That sweet face is contorted in pain, as if living itself hurts him more than anything else.

Rushing to the wall, you smash the hidden switch for the secret cache. You’re not going for the weapons, but instead the first aid kit. You drag the whole bag to Jun’s side. Immediately, you inspect the wound. A deep slash scars his thigh. Your thoughts sharpen into hyperfocus: you have to stop the bleeding.

“What the hell happened?” Yoongi bursts into the room, eyes blazing. “Jun?!”

Jun automatically tries to push himself up a little further. He’s so earnest, always trying to impress Yoongi, even at a time like this. It almost makes you smile. “Foxes... Park J-Jimin...” Jun takes huge shuddering inhales. You try to shush him, to tell him to conserve his strength, but he shakes his head. “Client must’ve given them the same contract. I got in his way so...” He waves a hand over his wound. “Fuck, that really... hurts...”

“No shit, you got stabbed!” You spit out as you clean the wound. Your hands are trembling because the energy is draining from Jun’s usually bright eyes.

“Let me do it,” Hoseok says, taking over. You acquiesce.

“Fuck!” Yoongi slams his fist into a wall. When his hand comes away, his knuckles are scraped and bloody. He hardens his jaw, clamping down so aggressively on his lip you’re afraid you’ll have to treat him next. “Fuck...!” For a moment, just a flicker of a second, you think you see the brother you once knew. Fearful, uncertain, worried.

But Min Yoongi, head of the Nightingales, is back just as soon as he was gone. “You. And you.” He points at Taehyung, then, surprisingly, at you. “Tomorrow... Tomorrow, you two have a hit to do.”

“On who?” You’re bewildered that he’s still thinking about contracts at a time like this. “Can’t we talk about this later?”

“On that Park Jimin’s girlfriend. The one he thinks he’s kept hidden from all of us.”

“W-What?” You stutter in surprise, almost biting your tongue. “Why her?”

“You have to teach him a lesson. You have to teach him not to fuck with us. There are consequences for taking our hits. And hurting our men.”

If Jimin’s hiding his girlfriend, she has to be a civilian. An innocent. One who just happened to fall in love with the wrong man. “No, Yoongi, I’m not going to take his girlfriend out! There are other ways to send a message.”

“No, there aren’t. So just listen for once and do as I say.”

No, no, you’re not getting this go without a fight. Even if you have to resort to a low blow, a gutter punch. “Mom and dad would have never—”

“Mom and dad are gone!” Yoongi actually draws blood when his teeth sink into his lip this time. “They left the family to me. And I’ll be damned if I let it die in my hands!”

You fling yourself to your feet. “You’ve gone too far, Yoongi! Min Yoongi!”

“Just take a look at Jun and tell me if it’s too far.”

You don’t have to look. You don’t think you’ll ever forget Jun’s face, losing color by the second.

“Or what? Are you going to wait until they kill one of us next?”

Yoongi turns his back on the silence he’s created. You watch him stalk out, shoulders slightly hunched, cradling his bruised fist. It’s a sight you’ve become familiar with after all these years. But for the first time, it’s like staring at an utter stranger.

“I’m sorry you had to come.” Taehyung’s voice is doused in pity. “I could have done this alone.”

“No, you need backup just in case. And besides... Yoongi gave me the order.” In the darkness of your hiding spot, you offer Taehyung a tight smile. “I’m doing this for Jun.”

“I know.” Taehyung turns his attention back to the tiny, obscure café across the street, where Park Jimin’s girlfriend has the closing shift every Tuesday night. You had to travel quite a bit outside the city to get out here. He really tried to hide her well, though he should have known it could come to this one day.

The plan is straightforward. You are to approach when she is alone, and you are to activate the fast-acting poison that has none of the subtleties of the heart-attack mimic. No, this poison is one specially developed by the Nightingales. The traces of it left behind will let Jimin and the rest of the Foxes know exactly who carried out the hit. And they’ll ensure the police don’t catch a whiff of this, lest it be traced back to them.

You watch the girlfriend wave goodbye to her coworker with a sunny smile. “We’ll wait one more minute, then we’ll go,” you say. She’s already begun pulling the blinds down for the night.

“Okay.”

There are two exits to the café, which bodes well for escape. You and Taehyung, arm in arm, looking like a picturesque couple, take the one to the right when you enter. You pretend to be taking in the quaint décor, but you’re actually scoping out any potential hazards, any signs that the Foxes have put protective methods in place. You don’t see anything. Did Jimin hide her from his family too?

“Hello! Welcome!” She greets you both, grinning widely. “Sorry, we’re closing in a few minutes, but I can still help you until then.”

You force yourself not to look at the nametag pinned to her apron, because you don’t want to know. You don’t want to remember. Instead, you squeeze Taehyung’s arm twice before letting go. All clear. You hope he also gets the message to do this quickly.

“Thanks. Could you tell me about this cake here...this one in the display?” Taehyung chooses a dessert that’s not so easily seen from behind, forcing her to come around the other side. While she’s distracted, you flip the open sign to closed.

“Of course!” She leans down, bending to see what cake Taehyung’s referencing.

She never sees it coming, but you do. The quick flash of a silver needle.

“Ow!” A gasp. A squeal. Her doe eyes widen as she jerks back and stumbles.

You swallow guilt with a dry throat. “Let’s go,” you harshly whisper, grabbing Taehyung’s hand. You don’t want to stay here any longer than you have to. He nods.

You’re about to take the second exit when the door chime jingles again. Shit. A customer?

“Honey? Surprise!”

A voice that’s full of love rings out just as the woman crumples to her knees.

“What... What the hell?!”

The person that enters, you’ve only seen once before. Park Jimin. But you might as well be seeing him for the first time. Anger corrupts his face when he recognizes you. When he realizes who the hell you are.

“Nightingales!” He growls, his blade in his hand in an instant. You reach for your own knife, shifting into a defensive crouch. You’re sure he’s going to rush you. Certain he’s going to do whatever it takes to sink his own silver into your flesh in another twisted cycle of retribution. You wouldn’t blame him for it.

Jimin takes five steps and falls beside her. His weapon clatters to the ground.

He reaches for the woman with desperate hands, cradles her close against his chest with a rough fragility, a brutal elegance. “No,” he sobs. “No, no...” It’s a wail. A carnal howl that claws at your shattering soul.

“Please, stay with me.” He’s dropping desperate kisses against her forehead, against her cheeks, anywhere he can reach as if to capture the last remaining warmth in her veins. But her hazy eyes refuse to focus. Refuse to acknowledge his existence even with the tears he weeps on her paling skin. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Please...!”

“Let’s go!” Taehyung’s yell yanks you back. He forces you out the door. Even though Jimin makes no effort to give chase, you’re running as soon as you hit the cool night air, sprinting at full speed towards the hidden car. You need to get as far away from this place as possible. As if that could make you forget.

You shiver in the front seat as Taehyung speeds away. This. This is why you’re taught never to stay. Never to see the aftermath. Because ignorance is such sweet bliss and now even that’s been ripped from you. And it’s your own damn fault.

It is no wonder you cannot find comfort in sleep later that night.

You don't deserve it. You're haunted by the images imprinted in your mind, stubborn and too real. You can feel the weight of them crushing your heart but you're more afraid of who you'd be if it weren't there at all.

The hour has stretched past midnight, and you are no closer to relief. Sick of staring at the concrete of your ceiling, you turn to a side. Catch sight of the space where your plant usually sits, except you've forgotten it tonight in your haste to bolt into bed. But your communicator sits nice and handy bedside.

Before you can stop yourself, you're thumbing through the screen for a certain number saved beneath the sole symbol of a leaf. And by the next second, you're calling it.

Brrrrng.

You should probably hang up.

Brrrrng.

Your breath is coming quicker.

Brrrrng.

It's almost two in the morning, he's not going to--

Click.

"Hello?"

The comfort that floods you is instantaneous, palpable.

"It's me," you say, before realizing that's not helpful at all. "Dahlia. I'm sorry, I know it's late..."

"Dahlia." He breathes the word. It's not even your name, but there's such a fondness in his tone that you can't help but flush. "I said anytime. I meant it. What's up?"

"...Can I come over?" You end up asking. "You can say no."

"I'm unlocking my door right now."

"Thank you."

"Thank me when you get here, yeah?" You can hear the smile on his lips.

It takes your hasty steps and a short Skytrain ride to deposit you in front of the floral shop less than twenty minutes later. There's a strange sort of anticipation, a thrill humming beneath your skin that makes you more and more nervous with each step you climb, up the stairs that lead to Joon's front door. Just as he promised, you find it unlocked.

It still feels like you’re intruding, even though he gave you permission. But you forage ahead. You knock on the door after you close it behind you to announce your arrival. Then you turn to catch your first glimpse of Joon’s apartment amidst the dim, muted lights.

It’s a simple space, sparser than you would have imagined. But the warm, earthy colors of the wooden coffee table, the couch, come as no surprise. The only decorations that Joon seems to have are plants, in all shapes and sizes as they scatter across every open counter, flourishing and well-nourished with their crisp greens and exploding scarlets. And among them, he stands, tipping a mini watering can over a succulent.

“Dahlia.”

“Hi.”

The light casts shadows over his handsome face, over the full lips you force yourself not to stare at. The white shirt and grey sweatpants fit his lean frame nicely, though you’re not sure if the top is half-tucked out of fashion or carelessness. “Is it too dark?” He asks.

“No,” you murmur, “it’s perfect.”

Joon sets the can down. He washes his hands as you inspect a nearby purple bloom. Then he beckons to you with a hand like one would a stray cat as he pads to the sofa in his slippers. “Come, sit. I made tea, if you drink that.”

“Sure.” You peel off your shoes.

You’re not quite sure what you’re doing here, really. But when you join him on the couch, when take your first sip of hot tea surrounded by his scent, overwhelming normality hits you. A feeling that’s familiar yet so foreign all at once. Like some ancient crevice inside you is being filled.

“Dahlia.” He waits for the tea to spread its way through your veins, heating your chilled system before he calls your attention to him. To him and to the doleful eyes that always behold you with such care. “What happened?”

“It’s just... Family stuff again. I know, I’m a broken record.” You pull your legs up onto the couch and rest your cheek on your knees. “But I just had to get out of there. I couldn’t sleep.”

You take Joon’s silence as encouragement to go on.

“It’s not like they were trying to hurt me.” Yoongi’s face floats in your mind. How ashen he’d looked when he saw Jun. How the doctor said he’d visited the infirmary more than a handful of times over the course of a single day. “They try to do what’s right for everyone. I just... I don’t agree sometimes.”

“You don’t?”

“No. And I don’t think I ever will. Not with some things.” You let your eyes trace the lines of the floorboards. “But that doesn’t matter, in the end. What matters is that I do as they say. For the good of everyone. How I feel about it... That’s just my problem.”

“That doesn’t sound right.”

A small exhale that’s almost laughter escapes you. If only he knew. “No, to me, family... Family is who you die for.”

“But if they care for you, if they love you,” he whispers, “wouldn’t they want you to live?”

Your tongue finds naught but silence in response; you make no move to rectify that. The truth is, you don’t dare to search your mind for the answer. Like how a child fears what might lay beyond a closet door, beneath a four-frame bed. Not the monster itself, but the possibility.

“Dahlia.” You can’t bear to meet his eyes, to accept the intensity within their dark depths. “Are you okay?”

Maybe it’s the knowledge that you don’t have to lie for once, to say that you’re fine. Maybe it’s that Joon doesn’t need you to be strong or stoic. Or maybe you’re just tired of it all. But that question, so plain, so easy, is what breaks you.

You fight the sobs that surface, swallow them down with each stuttered breath. You have absolutely no right to let the tears fall, damn it. No right when they belong to Jimin as his grief, his sorrow. But still they choke you like hands wrapped tightly around your throat. Squeezing, squeezing until they’ve stolen every last vestige of oxygen from your exhausted lungs.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you babble brokenly, closing in on yourself as if that would make you disappear.

You feel the weight of the sofa cushion next to you as Joon reaches for you, wraps his arms around you for the first time. Warmth. All-encompassing warmth that could rival the sun that you’ve spent so long hiding from. “Don’t be sorry. Never be sorry.”

Now you give yourself to the heat, let it melt away the fatigue that drips down your face as salty droplets of rain. You can’t recall the last time you let yourself cry, and in front of someone else, nonetheless. But now you can’t imagine why you’ve held yourself back, not when every tear you shed eviscerates another burden, at least until you’re made to leave this sanctuary. But for now, in this blessed now, you just let go. You memorize the rhythm of his breath against your skin, and you let go.

When you finally muster the courage to meet his eyes with your own, red-rimmed and watery, he just smiles. It’s a gentle smile to reassure you, and tell you that he can withstand anything. “I’m here for you,” he says without decorum, just a plain stating of fact as if anything else would be a ridiculous notion.

And before you can control yourself, you’re kissing him.

He’s so soft, lips tasting like oolong tea and promise as you drag him closer with hands carded through his hair. You shift. Your feet hit the floor in a bid to remove any obstacle between you. Why haven’t you done this before? Your mouths come together like miscolored puzzle pieces, never meant to belong but somehow sliding into place all the same for a perfect fit despite logical reasoning. He groans into the kiss, a delicious noise that stirs at your heart.

Here, you feel something different. Something so terrifyingly visceral that you can only describe it as being alive.

You want more.

But Joon is already pulling back, guilt in his expression. “No, Dahlia, you’re upset, we shouldn’t—”

“Please, Joon.”

He is the one secret that is yours, and only yours. That knowledge alone makes you want to be irrefutably selfish. Because you know damn well that he’ll let you. You know by fleet gallop of his heart and by the arms that hold you like precious blades of nightshade, blooming silently in this pensive dark. “You asked me what I want before,” you mumble against his lips, cupping his cheeks in your calloused palms. “It’s you.”

You can no longer register the tears that roll down your face for he whisks them away with his thumbs. All you want to focus on is the feel of him against you, his hands sliding down to find your waist. There’s a clumsiness to how he acquaints himself with your body, but you find it utterly charming. Nibbling on your bottom lip, he coaxes the first moan from your hoarse throat. You respond by tracing the outline of his mouth with the tip of your tongue, encouraging him to open and to let you in.

When he draws your hips towards him, you let yourself fall. Your back meets the plush couch, welcoming the weight of him on top. What you think is his cock presses fervently against your thigh, but he makes no move to seek his own relief. Instead, he trails his lips down your jaw, across the smooth column of your neck.

You pull him back to your mouth, seeking the warmth you’ve already become addicted to. Every kiss stokes the urgency in your veins further, turning it into an insatiable, impatient beast that cannot be reigned in. “More,” you exhale, afraid of what might come back if he stops. “Give me more, Joon.”

“More...?”

You guide his broad hand to the waistband of your terrycloth shorts. “Yes.”

“Are you sure?” He refuses to cross that barrier while he searches your eyes for hesitation. But he’ll find none. Only the desire to lose yourself in this moment and his touch.

“Completely.”

He swallows before he slides his hand inside for his first intimate contact. You arch into him when his fingers brush past your fabric-covered clit, testing the waters. That seems to give him confidence, as do the silken moans that drip from your tongue. He hungers for more, knowing every ounce of pressure he lavishes pushes you closer to the edge. Intentionally or not, the underwear becomes a kind of torture, dulling the friction of the fingertips you want against your bare skin.

“You’re so beautiful.” His voice has dipped lower, gathered a husky quality that stirs you, rouses like no other. What poetry could that tongue could pen against your clit? “I’ve thought so from the first time you walked into my shop.”

“What if I never returned? You didn’t have my number.”

He chuckles. “I knew.” He nudges aside the cotton to find you soaked. “I knew you would come back.” He collects arousal with upward swipes, parting and teasing the petals of your lower lips until you can’t stand it any longer. You moan into his ear, feeling his hot breath brush against your neck in return.

“Liar.”

“You tell me.” And he plunges in a finger. Before you can become accustomed to the stretch, he adds another, curling ruthlessly against your walls. His digits are much longer than you thought as they fill you so, so well. You can only dream of how his cock must feel, but there’s no time for fantasizing when his thumb finds your clit again.

Even your shorts cannot staunch the soaked squelch of your cunt, made thoroughly subservient to his agile fingers. You haven’t any idea how he manages to find your sweet spot in seconds, dancing around only to suddenly zero in on it again. You’ve never been one for whimpering but it’s a natural reaction when he scissors in tandem with the relentless strokes. Every pump forces you closer and closer. All the while, his mouth makes love to your tongue, sucking hard as if to claim it as his.

You know you’re not going to last long.

Clinging to him, you scrunch his shirt in a tight fist as climax sweeps you away in its fury. You don’t know how noisy you are with the moans that burst forth, but you can’t control them. Can’t hold anything back as he thrusts through the pulse to elongate the high. Even your legs are trembling in their strain, but god, you’re purring with pure pleasure and delight.

When the peak finally wanes, it’s a tiredness that settles in, renders you immobile while you just let everything melt away. All your worries and stress that have built up seem to go along with it, a welcome change even if it’s only temporary. You just breathe him in, let his scent wrap you in ease.

He doesn’t push you further.

Perhaps he can tell that you are exhausted, not only in your muscles but your mind, weary of this long night and of thinking. Despite his own need, he just holds you until your breathing calms. Until you are truly spent, shuddering against him while the last throbs of your core peter out, but leave you so satisfied.

He wipes his fingers on a tissue then drops a kiss to your forehead. “Will you stay?”

You sigh. “No. I can’t.” You have to be home for the morning, before they discover you’re gone. In fact, you’re already probably late. Still, you take your time re-doing the tie on your shorts. “Joon... I’ll see you again.” Another rule now utterly broken. But one you don’t think you can bear to uphold any more anyways.

“Okay.” You don’t know if he recognizes that this is the first time you’ve promised a future possibility, but he smiles all the same. “I’d really like that.”

You stand, the soon-to-rise sun marking the end of this tryst. He walks you to the door, watches as you pull on your shoes. “Goodnight, Joon. Thank you for listening to me, again.” Your heart flutters as you can’t resist turning back for one last swift kiss on his full mouth. “I’ll text you.”

“Goodnight.” He leans against the frame, arms crossed, expression content as you start down the steps. “Be safe.”

From that night on, Joon becomes your most cherished secret, a treasure of which you are fiercely protective. For him, you slip the confines of your headquarters, of your family, and become simply Dahlia for a handful of hours. Dahlia, who is ironically more yourself than you have ever been. It’s a mask that you’ve grown comfortable in over the past three weeks; it and he are the only things that keep you sane through the contracts Yoongi sends your way.

“No, no, look there! See it?”

Lying on a picnic blanket, shoulder to shoulder, you follow the arm Joon points up at the midnight sky. “Mmm, nope. Still don’t.” You turn, snuggling into his side. “Just looks like stars to me.”

Joon turns too, but to plant a kiss on your cheek. Then he captures your fingers, laces them together with his own. “Here.” Raising your linked hands, he walks you through the trail his sleepy eyes have found. “They look like flowers, don’t they?”

You squint. “I guess... Is that even a constellation?”

“No.” Joon grins, never letting go of your hand. “I just wanted to give you a bouquet tonight.”

“How very on brand of you.”

Joon pops a grape into his mouth. “I’m always consistent, huh? Or maybe you just know me too well.”

“Not well enough, I don’t think.” That’s the truth. With Joon, you’d gladly become an encyclopedia of information, voracious for every tidbit you can uncover about him, about the entire world that he seems to treat with such fascination. Just last week you listened to him describe the allure of crabs with rapt enthusiasm. You, in turn, gushed about the facets of language, how interesting it was the way a tongue wrestled with a foreign sound and structure. Conversations that could go on for days but must end when the first rays of sun peep over the horizon.

“We’ll get there.” He holds up a grape to your lips.

“I hope so.” You open, drop a flirty kiss on his fingertips before biting into the exploding sweetness. “Let’s start with you telling me why you chose to go stargazing. Besides the opportunity to feed me fruit, that is.”

“Heh. While that has its own charms… I like to come out here at least once a month.” He runs fingers through his dark hair. “It reminds me that my problems aren’t as big as they appear to be. There are just so many stars and so many universes out there. It seems like a miracle I was even born in the first place. So, shouldn’t I try to shine the brightest before my time is up?”

You didn’t expect a less eloquent answer from him. You swallow his poetics, imagine them settling in the cavity of your chest, right next to your thudding heart. With wide eyes, you stare at the twinkling lights that wink at the two of you, wind-cooled and half-drunk on life. “I think I’m glad I was born in this galaxy,” you softly confide. Something you never thought you could feel. “In this world, that is.” In this world that has brought you to him.

Joon squeezes your hand as if he’ll never let go again. “Me too.”

You creep inside headquarters just as the sunlight begins to filter through the windows above ground. You’ve made it two feet past the stairs when a hand slaps down on your wrist. You whip your head towards it. You have the good sense to clamp your lips shut before any noise can betray you. A low voice mutters your name.

“Where have you been?” Taehyung’s eyes come into view in the darkness. They’re not filled with anger, but worry instead.

“Tae. Uh, I was scouting,” you lie. You hate to do it, but the truth is far too caustic to reveal. “It took longer than I thought.”

Taehyung’s fingers release you from the hold as he sighs. “Okay. You weren’t answering your com. So. I just. I got scared. Especially after…” He trails off, but you know what he means. It’s only now that Jun has really started to heal; the stab had been immensely deep, the blood loss great. But he had escaped with his life.

“I know. But I don’t think the Foxes have made any moves against us. And they probably don’t plan to. Not if it’ll lead to more death on both of our sides.” You can still recall Jimin’s face with startling clarity. It still comes to you in the depths of particularly quiet nights, when you are alone with your all-too-active thoughts. “Maybe we’ll be okay.”

Taehyung looks off into the darkness aside your ear. The gauntness in his eyes suggests he hasn’t been able to forget either. Biting his lip, he utters, “…I’m not so sure.”

You are so accustomed to seeing (your friend? your lover?) your Joon beneath the cover of night that it is almost startling when you run into him by pure chance a week later on your quest to fetch coffee. And to gather intel on a future target.

“Joon?”

He turns at the sound of your voice, face brightening with surprise, then delight. “Dahlia! What’re you doing here?”

“Just getting some coffee,” you say, holding up the cup. The target has settled in to eat his scone, so you have a few minutes. He’s practically beaming at you, and you imagine you look the same. You can’t seem to control the smiles around him. “You?” It’s then that you look beyond Joon and realize he’s sat at a table for two. There’s a young, bright-looking man on the other end, staring curiously at you. “Oh, sorry, I’ve interrupted you!”

“No, no, don’t worry, you haven’t. This is my friend.”

The man stands politely to offer you his hand with a sweet smile. Hm, he’s handsome, in an effortless, boyish way. “I’m JK. Nice to meet you.”

You take the hand, find his grip strong. “Are you a florist too?”

“Nah.” He sits back, relaxes in his seat again. “Personal trainer.”

Considering the muscles that bulge from beneath his dark t-shirt, it most definitely suits him. Maybe Joon catches you slightly ogling, because he cuts back into your field of vision with a subtle tilt. Too cute. He’s always cute, today especially in his blue jeans, a casual button-up thrown over top that’s just a little dressier than his usual tees. Impossible to resist.

“What are you doing later tonight?” You surprise even yourself by asking, but you seem to be riding on the instinct that you want to see more of him; this small run-in just reminds you of how much you’ve missed him in the past few days. Headquarters feels so empty when his presence is only in your mind, for you’ve been too busy even for your whispered midnight calls. Your outburst makes JK’s eyebrows raise in cheeky amusement.

“Well...” Joon ignores JK as a smile stretches across his plush lips, flashing you those dimples that have become your greatest weakness. “I usually go to the gym on Thursday nights with JK but...” He gives his companion a look. “I’ll stay in for you.” Joon trails his fingers lightly down your bare arm. “Why don’t you come over and I’ll try to make us dinner? Or order us takeout when I mess up the cooking?”

You laugh. “Okay. I’ll be by around eight?” The target has now scarfed down the scone, and is pushing up from his seat. Time to go.

“Perfect.” Joon gives your arm a last squeeze. “See you then.”

“See you. And nice to meet you!” You wave to JK before quickly turning away, feeling actually giddy, like the schoolgirl you never were. It feels like your first ‘official’ date instead of a stolen moment here and there. It feels like you’ve taken one huge step towards the realm of normalcy, something you thought was something outside your grasp. And you wouldn’t give that or Joon up for the world.

It is half past seven that night that you slip from your room, a dark trench coat pulled over the dress that you finally settled on after much agonizing. Normally around this time, most of your siblings are in the training room or in their rooms, working on their skills. Jun is among them now, recovering slowly but well. Yoongi has the habit of locking himself in his room immediately following dinner (or sometimes without it), so it shouldn’t be difficult for you to slip out. You’ve never left this early before, but you hate making Joon stay up so ridiculously late every time. You owe him at least this.

You chose flats tonight for the ease of movement. You move through the familiar halls silently, hurrying along because you are just too damn excited. You wonder what he’s attempted to make. Then you wonder what he ended up ordering after he burnt his attempt. Just the image of him standing over a smoking, charred pot puts a silly grin on your face.

“You’re heading out?”

“Eep.” You skid to a stop, emitting a noise of surprise. You turn to find Hoseok advancing from a side corridor, head tilted to a side. “Sorry, what’d you say?”

“What’re you thinking so hard about?” Hoseok asks with a hint of a smile. “I just asked if you’re going out.”

“Oh. Yeah, I am. Just for a bit. Just… want to go for a walk and get some air. Clear my head.” Being with Joon does exactly that.

“Ah… Okay.” Hoseok doesn’t look too convinced, but that’s probably because you’ve never been one for walks. Usually, you prefer the sanctity of your room and the heaps of blankets. “I... won’t hold you any longer then.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you later.”

You hurry along, taking the steps up two at a time. You make sure to check on Moon before you leave. You give her a few ounces of water, watching with satisfaction as the soil eagerly accepts the liquid. “Grow up big and strong,” you say, eyes tender, full of hope.

You are unsurprised when a thin layer of smoke greets you from the cracks of Joon’s apartment when you get there almost right on the dot at eight. You snicker as you knock on the door, wondering just how much of a panic he must be in right now. Poor guy. He’s amazing at a lot of things, but anything in the kitchen sends him into a tailspin.

He opens it seconds later, sweating in a dark apron, his bangs falling down. “Hey! Dahlia!” He sniffs the air, watching as a small cloud of smoke billows out. “Oh god. Sorry about all of this. Come in.”

“What happened?”

“Turns out, making pasta is pretty hard.” Joon grimaces. “I managed to put out the fire though.”

“There was an actual fire?” That’s impressive, even for him.

“Uh… no? Nope. Definitely no fire at all…” He chuckles awkwardly, using a hand to break up the smoke. “I lit some candles to get rid of the smell.” He’s cracked open a window a few inches. And by ‘some’ candles, he means about fifteen, that all fill the space left by the plants he seems to have moved aside for the night. Joon clearly doesn’t do anything in moderation. “Good news is that we have takeout coming. So, we’ll still get Italian. Actually edible Italian.”

You giggle at how he flusters. Watching him run around, you leave your shoes by the door, then undo the knot of your coat to hang it up.

“How’s a glass of red wine sound?” He asks, rattling something in the cabinets.

“Sounds perfect.”

You make your way to the kitchen island. You slide into one of the barstools that faces the stove. Joon pops the cork, pouring crimson liquid into a tall-stemmed glass. It’s when he turns to give it to you that he gets his first good look at your outfit, at how you’ve dressed up for the evening. His hand jolts so much that he almost drops the glass entirely.

“O-Oh!” He (unusually) manages to catch himself at last minute. He sets the wine down on the table with a loud clatter. “Shit, sorry. I just. God.” He grabs a towel from the side to soak up the stray droplets that spilled. “Wow. You look amazing.”

You smile as you tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “Thank you.”

“No, seriously, like… wow.” He takes in the tease of a neckline, purposefully curved over your chest. Subtlety has never been his strong suit but now he’s abandoned it entirely as he practically drinks you in like the wine in his hands. You don’t mind. Quite the opposite really. It bolsters your confidence when he reacts like this, as if he hasn’t been knuckle-deep inside you while you cried out in release.

You lean forward under pretext of reaching for the glass, giving him a bit more to dream about. Joon almost chokes on his sip of alcohol. You just grin in response.

“A-Anyway… Honestly, I’m surprised your evil stepmother and stepsisters let you out this early.” He turns and effortlessly throws the towel into the sink.

“Hehe. I did an extra good job of cleaning the house.”

“I’m sure even the floors are sparkling.” He’s about to take a seat when the doorbell rings. “Ah, that has to be food. Be right back.”

Minutes later, he returns with takeout boxes in hand. “Give me a sec. I’ll make it nice.” He moves swiftly, moving like he has much practice with plating the food. That amuses you too, as you wonder what other ‘special’ skills he has hidden away.

Joon adds one last sprinkle of parmesan. Then he sets it down in front of you with all the flourish of a gourmet. “Tada. Dinner is served.”

“Why, thank you.” You take up your chopsticks. “You have excellent taste.”

“Ah yes. I cooked it with my credit card.”

You can’t help laughing along with him. “Well, my compliments to the chef!”

Between bites of creamy linguine and a soon-depleted bottle of wine, the evening passes quickly. Too quickly for your liking as the hours slip by, counted by peals of laughter and flirty grins. The plates have long been emptied, sitting messily in front of you both. The conversation has winded down to a temporary lull as you both drain the last dregs of wine from your cups.

You’re fairly certain you haven’t drunken enough to be tipsy, not that you’d allow yourself to become so inebriated in front of him, so you decide it’s not just your imagination that he keeps looking aside your ear at something behind you. The first two times, you just figured he was searching for the next conversation topic. But now, you’re seriously convinced it’s either a ghost or you’re boring him.

“Joon... Why do you keep looking behind me?” You ask as you turn. Your eyes fall onto the couch you became quite familiar with just a few weeks ago. Oh. Oh…

“Um, sorry,” he mumbles when you look at him again. He puts both hands over his lips, as if that could hide the slow blush creeping across his cheeks. “I, uh, can’t seem to stop thinking about what happened the last time you were here…” You decide he’s probably too honest for his own good. You stay silent, and he seems to take that in the worst way possible. “Is that awful? Oh god. I don’t want to make this night about that or anything. That’s not why I invited you over for dinner. Seriously. You don’t have to—”

“Joon.” You push your seat back and let your feet hit the floor. “It’s not weird. It’s not awful.” You feel more nervous than you have in ages with each step you take towards him. “I’ve been thinking about it too.” His hands drop at your words. You seize this chance and press your mouth to his.

He tastes like cream sauce and the dizzying sweetness of wine. By now, you’re no stranger to his lips, to the chaste kisses he drops like butterflies during your brief pockets of time together. But these kisses are more, much more as you push yourself up on your toes. Every cell in your body seems to be tingling, sparking to life to urge you closer to those plush lips.

You try to deepen the kiss but can’t shake the feeling there’s some hesitation on his part; he’s merely responding to you, not taking any initiative when you want the opposite. “Come on, Joon.” You rest your forehead against his, let your tone dip around his name. “What’re you afraid of?”

He knows he’s been caught. His large palm comes up to cup your cheek. “Sorry... It’s just, last time things were so strained and—”

“This isn’t the same. This time, I’m here because I want you.” You lick your bottom lip, torturously slow so he has to watch. “And I’m not as delicate as you seem to think.”

“...Fuck.”

That’s all the warning you get before he’s finally, really kissing you. He’s half-falling out of his chair but it doesn’t matter when your tongues are moving in tandem, matched in desire. One hand finds itself in your hair, threading through the locks while the other stays on your cheek like reassurance that he isn’t going anywhere. That there is no place in heaven or hell he would prefer.

He moans when you coax his tongue between your lips, when you hollow your cheeks to suck. “Let’s move this to the bedroom,” he mumbles, “please.” The obvious bulge in his pants is convincing enough on its own, but you appreciate the need in his tone all the same.

“We should blow out the candles first. We don’t want to cause another fire, right?” You laugh, pulling away with all the grace of a fairy as you flit around the room, dousing flame after flame. He helps you out, too eager to feel you against him again not to.

When you blow out the last flickering candle, he scoops you into his arms. You take it a step further, daring to wrap both legs around his waist, trusting him to hold you aloft. He cups your butt securely as he maneuvers the familiar darkness to his room. All the while he can’t keep his mouth off your skin, tasting anywhere and everywhere.

Once inside, he kicks the door closed behind you with a little too much force; it slams closed before he’s pushing you against it. Neither of you bother with the lights, too enraptured in the feeling of the other, using touch to understand instead of sight. What soft moonlight drifts in the half-open blinds is enough to cast a glow upon your bodies, tangled in heat. You both seem to acknowledge that some things are better left to be experienced, like the lush of his lips against the crook of your neck, the need in every nuzzle ineffable.

When the hands beneath your ass squeeze with the excuse of finding a better grip, you grin. Then you grind against the clothed bulge you didn’t get to sample before. It makes him chuckle right back – a rich, delicious sound. “Like what you feel?”

“Very much.”

You squeal in delighted surprise when he spins around to make you both fall onto the softness of his bed. His weight on you feels so natural, so effortless that you could just cuddle here for a lifetime and be content. But the wetness between your legs longs to be slathered over his shaft.

“Mm, I want to feel more of you,” you whisper, pushing your hips up to meet his bulge.

“Patience, baby.” He gives you one more kiss before he shifts down to the edge of the bed, settling right between your thighs. “Let me have a taste first.”

“You’re still hungry after all that pasta?”

Joon flicks his gaze up and you instinctually swallow at the darkened lust in his eyes, lit by beams of moonlight slashed across his face.

“Starving.”

His nose indents your thigh as he breathes in your scent. You silently pray he won’t take his time nibbling his way up your legs, because you’ll be even more of a mess by the time he reaches your sex. Thankfully, he seems every bit as impatient as you. Too eager to even deal with your dress as he scrunches the fabric up. He exposes the dark lace that clings to your core, sticky with viscous arousal. He pauses at the sight, fingers stuttering to a complete stop.

That makes you nervous. You’ve only worn this set once before though it’s your favorite; you didn’t want to taint it with the hands of your targets, didn’t want guilt staining the delicate stitching. The sole other time had been for a hookup, just a quickie to sate bodily needs before you realized it didn’t matter what you wore because it wasn’t about you. It was only about what your body could offer. But Joon’s touch replaces your memories of that man with every stroke.

“…Is something wrong?” You whisper.

Joon shakes his head. “No. Of course not. You… You’re so damn beautiful.” He traces the fabric stretched across your mound. “You just keep drawing me in more and more.” He slips a finger into the waistband, crushes the elastic as if he’ll rip it off. “It makes me want to say things I shouldn’t.”

You can feel his breath swirling over your skin, making you whine in anticipation. “Like what?”

“Like how much I’ve been missing your pussy.” The word sounds almost too dirty for him but god, what it does to you is undeniable. Especially when he eases the underwear down, removes it entirely and you barely notice in the process because you’re too distracted by the infuriatingly gentle kisses he plants around your clit.

“Joon…”

“Mmm, like how I’ve been dreaming about you so slick, dripping around my fingers.” Perhaps it’s the wine that’s so loosened the tongue that hovers above where you need him most. You’re already drunk on the honey it produces. “You sang so prettily when you came. I want to hear it again.”

You obey with a heady moan when he finally dips his mouth enough to swirl the tip of his tongue around your clit. You scrunch his bedsheets in tight fists, pushing the back of your head against the firm pillow as he follows up with long, reverent strokes, splayed like his calloused fingers across your quivering thigh. He smears your wetness across his mouth without care, only focused on the hitch of your breath, the guttural song wrenched from your parted lips.

Your legs jerk, tense around him when he drags the flat of his tongue against you again and again, sliding along down the folds to tease your cunt with a shallow dip. Then he’s right back at your clit, suddenly sucking so hard you whine. You automatically buck into him as the need for something to fill you eviscerates everything else.

“God,” you gasp when he releases with a noisy pop, leaving you breathless and wanting.

His eyes slide up the gorgeous canvas of your body, finding your gaze. He holds it with a certain, thrilling confidence as he gathers wetness on his finger, coating himself thoroughly. “God can’t help you here,” he teases. “So just cum for me, baby.”

You wait for the delicious stretch, but he turns those slick fingers on your needy clit instead. You’re still sensitive from his mouth but he walks the fine tightrope, instinctively knowing what’s too much by your spilled whimpers. His tongue teases what’s to come next as it plunges inside your cunt, lapping at the walls that contract so tightly around. His fingers just keep circling, the pressure building in relentless crescendo with the blinding pleasure between your thighs. You know you’re no match for him. Him and that mouth, those hands, fuck...! You let yourself fall with hands fisting his hair.

A sharp expletive and the sudden cinch of your walls mark your peak as everything skids to a standstill. You’re vaguely aware that he’s watching you cum but you haven’t the mind to care, not when you’re grinding into his mouth, deliriously needing his heat. Sweat pricks your skin, proof of the bliss that is white hot through your veins: merciless.

Finally, you drop back onto the sheets on a tremulous exhale.

Joon extracts himself lazily, a trail of saliva clings to his lip before he licks it off. “Just as incredible as I remember,” he groans, grinding his bulge into the bed as he indulges in the scent of your lost control. “Hope you don’t mind. I plan on giving you more.”

“Not without you inside me,” you say, still finding it hard to speak properly but you pull you up to kiss. You taste yourself on the tongue that tangles with yours.

“Your wish, my command. Let me get this dress off you first.” He rocks back on his haunches after a nibble on your bottom lip. “It’s gorgeous, but right now, it’s in the way.”

Gladly. He could ruin it for all you care. Still, you spin around to expose the zipper holding the outfit together. You stretch out upon the sheets that are drenched in his scent, fleetingly wishing you could stay here forever. Then you’re distracted by the broad hand that finds the steel clasp and starts to pull. His bangs tickle your skin as he leans down, kisses every inch of skin he exposes in a languid, mesmerizing trail down your spine.

You feel the cool air fan across your body when the last of the dress falls away. His broad hands cup, then part your ass cheeks, admiring the bounce, the glisten of your soaked cunt. “Do you even know how wet you are?” He mutters. “So ready to be taken.”

“Mmm... Fill me, Joon.”

You hear the thump of his clothes landing on the floor, then a rustle, a hurried rip of a package. Then his weight advances, knees on either side of your legs as he slides his hands down your waist. His thick cock presses against your cunt with such firm urgency you moan at the expectation alone. He drops one kiss on your back and plunges his cock inside.

“Oh, fuck, you’re so damn tight,” he groans the second your walls accept him, squeeze him for all he’s worth. You sink deeper into his pillow, but it can’t staunch your moans from the stretch. Incomparable to anything you’ve ever had before, you can only tremble with pleasure as need builds in your stomach again.

“Fuck,” he swears again, unable to even form words with how good you feel around his cock. He feeds you well, sinking in deeper with every thrust until his crotch presses firmly against your ass. Length translates to him nestled right against your cervix, nudging against your deepest core. And his first full thrust makes you cry out, not expecting the jolt of pain when the head smacks roughly against the tight nerves. He pauses. “Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

“No, no, never.” You feel him shift, the friction tantalizing. “Joon, I don’t think it’s ever been this good.”

“For me too.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “Never.”

There’s no more time for speaking, only fervent moans when he falls into the pattern of brutal pumps, drawing your wetness every time he slams into you to the sound of a fresh slap. His hands can’t keep off you; they caress the slope of your back, the curve of your waist, finally finding home over your breasts while his breathy groans define the nape of your neck. You’re addicted to him in this form, unrestrained and desperate like you’ve never seen him before.

Every stroke of his cock is devastating to your cunt, carving the shape of his cock into your walls as you spur him on for more. You want him to ruin you until you can never forget the feeling of him even if it’s deep, too deep it hurts, because that’s the ache of being so fiercely alive. You throw your hips back, forcing him further still.

“Mm, I really want to see your face.” That’s all the warning you get before the pressure disappears, and he rears back to give you space to flip. You’ve barely been on your back for a second before he’s between your thighs again, grinding the entire length of himself against your sodden slit.

“Are you teasing me?” You laugh, knowing he’s torturing himself in the process too. You reach down, capture the swollen cock head between your fingers and pressure his frenulum enough to wrench a heady gasp.

“Not half as much as you tease me with those little moans.” He lets you guide him back to your cunt, dips himself in your ambrosia.  “So,” a thrust, “fucking,” a delicious stretch, “hot.” He palms a breast while his mouth finds the other, tongue toying with your taut nipple while his hips work ceaselessly.

He’s forced to let go when his pumps become too rough, too frenzied in their lust for him to stay bent. He’s slamming himself into you, hooked his arms beneath one of your knees to give himself the space to fuck against your core. The bed is practically vibrating beneath you from the sheer strength of every plunge. He drags over your upper wall every time, ensuring you haven’t a second’s rest. Not that you’d want it.

You are reduced to mewls by the time his rude fingers find your clit to rub. “Too... Fast... Joon...!” You can already feel your undoing rising but he doesn’t slow even though you want this to last. Thank god he lives alone as your voice climbs in volume, feet curling, back arching—everything is heat and everything is him.

“Let go, baby.”

He forces you into climax before you know it, cock battering against the sweetest, most wanton spot as the ultimate thrill rushes through you. His fingers never relent upon your clit because he’s high on how you sing for him, how your throbbing cunt accepts him whole for a perfect, damning fit.

Your orgasm drags him into his own, one so blinding he hardly recognizes his own voice as he drops down over your body. He gives you his deepest thrusts yet, shoving himself as far as you’ll allow and then some more. His groans come out choked as he empties his cum inside your walls, wishing there wasn’t this flimsy plastic in the way so you could truly feel him. But you squeeze him all the same, clutching him close so your heartbeats match and his mouth never leaves yours, not even for air.

“Joon, god, Joon,” you mumble, palming his cheeks and returning every kiss until the crest has ebbed into lazy waves of bliss that lap at your shores. You are exhausted and sated, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

He flashes the dimples at you as he straightens, wipes a few droplets of sweat from his brow with the back of his head. He disposes of the condom with haste, so he can collapse at your side seconds later, breathing deeply to quell his thrumming heart. You smile deliriously as you turn to face him, to slip yourself into his embrace again despite the sweltering heat. Satisfaction and fatigue pull at your eyelids, but you fight their siren call. You need to savor every last moment you have in this space where you are naked—wholly, completely so in every sense of the word.

“Hey. Stay with me tonight,” he whispers, tracing your cheekbone with the backs of his fingers as if he knows what he’s asking for is too much. “I think... I think I need you by my side.” They are words like glass, so fragile it is as if they’ll disappear if he dares to utter them any louder.

“Joon, I...”

The arms that shelter you tighten, longing in every flex. “Forget your family. Your curfew, the rules. Just—everything. Please. Forget it all, at least until morning comes.” Intimate kisses brush across your forehead. “Then... I promise, I’ll let you go.”

You can find no argument. You never could against those sombre eyes, their darkness alight with the moon, betraying just how deep his affection runs. Though you’ve never said it aloud, you are certain your gaze reflects the same. Something you’ve been afraid of feeling all your life, but now you can’t imagine why, when it’s so precious.

“Okay. I’ll stay.” For tonight, one single night, you’ll pretend that the rest of the world has disappeared.

He grins, the dimples making their appearance as if to reassure you that you made the right choice. He presses one last kiss on the tip of your nose. Consequences are a problem for tomorrow. You watch his eyelids droop and his breathing slow. Smiling, you lay your palm over his chest to feel the strong beats of his heart. Your own vision blurs, slumber finally coming easily against his steady rhythm.

The next thing you register is a clatter.

Instantly, you’re alert.

You didn’t hear the front door open, but that could have just been a symptom of the sleep working its way through your body. You quiet your breathing and listen. The walls shake almost imperceptibly in time with silent, foreign footfalls, undetectable to anyone else. It’s an intruder. And they’re a professional.

You need to get to your dress. A hidden pocket sewn inside contains your knife. It’s not the best, but it’s better than no weapon at all. Thank god the candles are out. It has to be the Foxes. You were a fool, really, to think they wouldn’t try something. You just... never thought they’d find Joon.

But that’s what Jimin had thought too.

You untangle yourself from his arms as subtly as you can, but he stirs the second you move off the bed. Damn it. “Dahlia? What’s wrong?” Joon’s voice is hushed, sending goosebumps up your spine.

You swallow with a dry mouth. “I heard something.”

“A noise...? Let me go check it out.” He rubs at his sleepy eyes.

“No!” You snap it, a harsh whisper that makes his eyes widen. “No, I mean, I’m sure it’s just the wind...”

Joon’s already moved the blankets off, dropping to a crouch like you are. “Well, if it’s just the wind, then I’ll just close the window. I am taller than you.”

You roll your eyes in mock amusement. “That means nothing to me.” You pull the dress on, then fumble through its fabric. You slip the switchblade into your hand, one finger on the trigger.

“Just stay back, Dahlia.”

Damn him and his heroics. Still, there’s no use fighting him. Not when that increases your chance of being heard. He creeps towards the door. You shadow him; he doesn’t have to know you’re ready to fling yourself in front of him at moment’s notice.

You hold your breath when he reaches for the doorknob.

He knows how to turn it silently. The wood doesn’t betray him as he eases it open a sliver. You can hear the footsteps clearer now. They’re roaming through the kitchen. What the hell are they searching for? Is this not a hit but a heist instead? You stay carefully out of view.

Before you get any answers, Joon suddenly straightens. He whips the door open. It slams into the wall with a thundering crash. “Whoever the hell you are, get out!”

Your heart stops. What the fuck—

You catch the glint of steel in Joon’s hands.

A shot rings out before you can react. Is it coming or going? All you know is there’s an enormous clatter, like all the pots tumbled to the ground in the intruder’s unfamiliar haste. What the fuck is Joon doing with a gun? He holds it with practiced fingers, a proper grip.

Another shot. Definitely going. You recognize the telltale muted snip of a modified pistol; one with an excellent silencer. The kind those in your business routinely use. The kind Joon has pointed right at your uninvited guest.

“Get out!” Joon roars. He turns, using the doorframe as leverage. He uses practiced point swivels to keep his advantage. One more shot. This time, it results in a strangled choke of a noise. The shadow hurtles towards the front door in the moonlight. The door is yanked with so much desperate ferocity it almost rips off its hinges. Seconds later, the shadow is gone, disappeared into the darkness of the night.

When Joon looks back towards you, he finds himself on the business end of your knife.

“Dahlia, I—”

“Save it.” You’re trembling. Your legs are shaking harder than they’ve ever been. You despise the worry on his face. You hate the fact you still feel the ache he left between your thighs. “Don’t fucking say a word to me.” You don’t know who the hell that person was, and apparently you don’t know Joon either. Assassin that he is. The Fox has been by your side all along.

“Why didn’t you just kill me when we first met?” You circle the room. Blood pumps hot through your veins. “Why? You wanted intel on our family? Is that it? Is that why you asked all those questions?” You’re moving towards the door like a caged beast. Were you the one that lead to the stolen contracts? Has it been your fault all along?

“I’m not trying to kill—”

“Bullshit! That’s bullshit! You just shot at whoever the fuck that was, and you...” You blink away a hot tear, wishing it’s from fury, not grief. “You just...” Even now. Even now you can’t understand why the hell he doesn’t just shoot you where you are.

You’ve reached the bedroom door.

One quick sprint and you’ll find the freedom from him you never thought you would need. You take one last eyeful of his frame, frozen solid like ice. You can’t bear to look into the false constellations in his eyes. “I hope you got what you wanted.”

You turn.

You run.

You burst through the doors of home like a mess, hair wind-blown and feet blistered, jacket pulled tight around your body. You’re afraid you’ll definitely be caught this time. Excuse after excuse pop in your head, none of them sticking or coherent as you rush down the stairs. When you reach the bottom, you realize that didn’t matter at all.

Headquarters is in an uproar.

“What’s going on?!” You ask one of your sisters, who seems to be rushing from the infirmary.

“Hoseok. Hoseok was shot!”

“Badly?” You ask, but the look in her eyes is answer enough. “Got it.” You head right towards the storm.

First thing you see: Hoseok lying prone on a white bed, blood staining his stomach and sheets. They didn’t even bother to undo the harness strapped across his chest. His black turtleneck is yanked up to give your in-house doctor space to work. Hoseok groans, sweat dripping from his pale forehead and matted bangs.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Yoongi’s eyes blaze as they take in your dishevelled appearance.

You ignore him. Your shoes clatter on the tile as you speed to Hoseok’s side. “What happened? Where were you? What did you send him into?” You glare at Yoongi, certain he took another unnecessary risk. Another gamble with someone else’s life.

“Not his fault...” Hoseok breathes out. “A scout. Supposed to be... empty...”

“You got shot scouting? Where?”

“Stop talking if you want to live through this, Hoseok. Save your energy.” The doctor holds up forceps. “We have to take it out. It’s a modified bullet. Can’t leave it in, you’ll get poisoning.”

“Fuck.” Hoseok leans back, squeezes his eyes shut.

You look away, not wanting to watch the doctor work. “Where, Yoongi? Where did you send him?”

Yoongi grits his teeth. “Where else? To find one of those NIS dogs that’ve been on our ass.”

“NIS?” You repeat. Your brow furrows. Not the Foxes?

Hoseok fights for strength. “Asshole had... pistol. Nice one. With a silencer.”

“Hoseok, shut up!” The doctor is terrifying in his own right, and Hoseok finally falls silent.

You, on the other hand, want to scream.

Because this is too much of a coincidence.

Because you just saw the dull light of a silenced pistol thirty minutes ago.

No. Your mind instantly rejects your next thought as you stumble, reaching behind you to grasp desperately at anything to support your falling weight. Joon... There’s no way. He has to be a Fox. Or someone from another family. Not a NIS agent. Anything but. No. No. No—

“What’re you doing?” Yoongi snaps.

You whip your eyes up, then bolt in lieu of answer out the door. The room is too suffocating despite your aching feet. You need time to think. You need to figure out what the hell is happening. You need to know the truth, god damn it, and not just the twisted mess your mind is making of every little piece of evidence that just seems to lead to the worst conclusion.

“Hey!” Taehyung calls, but you blow past him.

You finally find safety in the form of your room and a slammed door. You slide down against it, cradling your drooping head in your arms. Don’t be stupid. Think! You force yourself to focus on the evidence, on the knowledge that you know for a certainty, not the way he smiled into your kisses with lips lethally sweet. Or how he held you close as if he could be your safety, your world instead of the very knife that slices across your heart. You close your eyes.

One fact remains absolute.

He has betrayed you. No amount of feelings, regardless of how complicated and intense, changes that. He is your enemy. He has always been your enemy, even if you only feel alive, truly alive in his arms.

“...I have to tell Yoongi,” you whisper to yourself, but you can’t bring yourself to move, unknown whether from sorrow or fatigue. Your breathing slows. “He needs to know.” But sleep is heavy on your body, refusing to release its hold. You don’t fight it. You let your head fall another few inches. You’ll tell Yoongi in the morning, in a couple of hours. The settling darkness decides this for you.

This is the last shred of kindness you’ll give to Joon.

You wake to cold steel pressed against your forehead.

It is crammed with enough strength to leave a pink indent, a painful swell that you instinctively shift away from. You are still disoriented from slumber, blinking, trying to gather yourself. But the tapered end chases you down like a relentless hound.

Something shoves your arm. You wince when you hit the floor, forced from the door. Your instincts finally kick in, and you propel yourself away, as far away as you can. Who the hell... You let out a strangled noise when you see.

Yoongi stares down at you, ice in his eyes, a gun pointed squarely at your head.

“Yoongi, wh—”

“You betrayed us.”

You immediately shake your head. “No. No, I haven’t!”

“You think I haven’t noticed you sneaking out?” Yoongi takes a step, bringing his gun closer. “Creeping around like a rat.”

He... knew? You made sure you weren’t being followed each and every time. But did you slip up in your haste?

“I let you go. I know you’ve been having issues. But tell me, is it fun to spill all our secrets to your friends at the NIS?” A delirious grin is stretched across Yoongi’s lips. Your quivering eyes shift between that and the barrel of the gun. “Is it fun to watch the rest of us flounder in the dark? You hate what’s been left to us so much?”

“No, Yoongi, please, you have to believe me, I didn’t—”

“Then how did the NIS know Hoseok was coming?!” Yoongi shakes the pistol, tilting it on its side. “Every Thursday, they have a meeting. A mandatory meeting. Yet there he was, waiting for OUR MAN to appear.”

Your tongue is fat in your mouth. He said he was free. He said he was going to the gym. He— Oh god, it’s your fault. It’s your fault Hoseok was shot.

“No answer, huh? Just as I fucking thought.” Yoongi snorts. “Maybe you should be more careful the next time you talk to ‘Joon’.”

“H-How...”

He holds up your com, the triple lock utterly bypassed. “Or should I say Kim Namjoon. Agent of the NIS.” Your stomach lurches. “I told you not to trust anyone outside of the family, and look what you’ve done! You’ve compromised all of us. You’re out, sis.” Yoongi raises his hand and he cocks the gun.

Do you knock it out of his hands? Do you run? Or do you just take the punishment you deserve?

You suck in a breath that could very well be your last one.

“Get down!”

A scream hurtles through your open door. “Get the fuck down!” Explosions like fireworks blast from far away, sounding like they’re coming from the foyer.

A body dashes past your room. “What’s going on?” Yoongi yells as he turns, his hand faltering. “What’s happening?”

You see your chance. You lunge forward and wrestle the gun from his grip. “Hey!” You twist your body to avoid a shot but none goes off as you shove Yoongi to the floor.

“I’m sorry!” You gulp as you speed past him in bare feet. “I’ll explain everything later, I promise!” You can’t die yet. You can’t die here. You know Yoongi has other weapons on him. He’ll be fine if it comes to that.

You run towards the source of noise, staying in the shadows of corners, of tiny hideaways. The shots just keep firing, peppered with yells and cries so muddled you can’t recognize any of them. You are a turn away when you spot Jun in the foyer.

“Ju—”

“Aaagh!” Jun crashes to the ground, skids. A suit has one knee on his back, yanking his arms behind him to slap steel handcuffs on. NIS. So clearly NIS with that uniform. How did they find you? How did they get here?! You’re rooted, your face half hidden in the dark, half lit with the bleary, unchanging light. You desperately want to save him, but you only have one gun.

The agent on Jun suddenly whips his head up. His eyes connect with yours, and you recognize him. JK. Joon, no, Namjoon’s ‘friend’. They really played you for a fool and you ate it all up. But now JK’s arm is coming up, about to betray your location.

“Get out!” Jun screams at you before his cheek is forced to the concrete again.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, knowing your voice is too quiet to reach him. Then you go.

The agents swarm your headquarters, spreading like flies across the space. You spot them down the corridor leading to the infirmary. Hoseok must be compromised too. You keep running.

There is one exit deep within that is bound to be safe. There’s no way they’ve penetrated so deeply. Not yet. It’s hidden in the office that used to belong to your parents: a tiny tunnel. You just have to get past the dining hall first. A wide open space.

“Get the fuck back!”

Yoongi’s voice cuts across the hall as soon as you reach the doors. You duck, taking shelter behind a wall. Yoongi is locked in a stalemate, staring down an agent with his lazer pistol. They’re taking steps back, slowly moving closer to where you are. He’s trying to get a vantage point, knowing this space much better than the NIS.

Then you see the agent coming from his blindside.

No! You leap out, instantly aiming your gun at the agent’s arm. You pull the trigger.

No shot comes out. You desperately pull it again, but it’s too late.

“Fuck!” Yoongi finally spots the suit but by the time he spins, an electric shock pulses through the air from the agent’s immobilizer. It smacks Yoongi right in the side, coursing through his system as he shakes uncontrollably before collapsing. And he stays down.

You blink away the tears as you rip yourself from the scene. The breaths come up in great shuddering gulps as you try to keep calm but your hands just keep shaking. They shake so badly you can barely pull the bullet chamber out. It’s empty. God damn it. God damn your brother and his bleeding heart.

You claw at your coat collar, trying to loosen what feels too tight around your constricting throat. Adrenaline makes your head pound, and you know you have no more time to spare. You have to go. You have to leave Yoongi behind.

The dining hall is out, but there’s one more pathway to the office. It’ll take longer, but you have no other choice. You change directions, tucking the gun into your pocket like a safety charm.

A handful of excruciating minutes later, you find yourself in front of the office door. You haven’t been here in years, unable to bear the emotions that surface but you’re already so frazzled it doesn’t matter anymore. You slip inside.

The entrance is only accessible via fingerprint, built into the wooden desk that looks so ancient no one would suspect the technology it holds. You approach, instantly swept with relief. Thank god. On the desk, you see a tiny V drawn in red. Taehyung was here. Taehyung is safe. Three dots are haphazardly smeared next to it. Three others made it out with him. You’re going to be the fourth.

You flip the cover and press your thumb to the scanner.

Then someone calls your full name. Your real name. The voice is a rich baritone, one you could never forget. “Please. Wait.” The door shuts again with a click.

You face him, hoping every line of fury is carved in your expression. “Kim Namjoon.” Your hands curl into fists. “NIS agent.”

“...Yeah. That’s me.”

Namjoon stands before you in one of those tapered black suits that look so odd on him when you’re used to the slacks, the baggy tees. His hair is slicked back, and he holds that same pistol you saw in the darkness of his apartment.

You scoff. “I have nothing to say to you, Namjoon.”

“What about to Joon?”

“He doesn’t exist.”

“Neither does Dahlia.”

You press your lips together into a thin line. “What do you want with me? I’m useless to you now, aren’t I?”

“No. Never.”

You rake an exasperated hand through your sweaty hair. “I don’t know what you want me to say, really.” You want to scream at him, to let out every ounce of frustration but you just feel exhausted. “I fucking slept with you, Namjoon. Meanwhile you and all your buddies were probably laughing your asses off at how stupid I was. I broke every rule to be with you and you were just lying to me. About everything.”

“Well, I broke protocol too! It’s not like I went in there trying to sleep with you. I would never use you like that.”

You scoff. “Forgive me for finding it hard to believe you right now.”

“Please.” He tries to step closer, but you shake your head, glare at him to keep his distance. “Tonight and every night we’ve spent together. It meant something to me.”

“It meant you were getting the info you wanted.”

“No. My duties as agent ended the second I kissed you tonight. What came next was all me. It’s always been me with you on the drives. The picnics. Watching the stars.” You have to give him credit, he actually looks apologetic. Maybe ‘actor’ should be on his resume too. “Please.” He repeats your real name, and it sounds so foreign in his mouth you almost want to recoil. “You felt something tonight too. You can’t deny it.”

“Don’t talk like you know me.”

He shakes his head. “But I do know you. I know how your eyes sparkle when you talk about all the things you want to see, all the world you still want to explore. I know that you laugh at stupid puns and that you love the smell of stale movie popcorn like a weirdo. And I want to know so much more. I always do.”

You swallow the emotion that you can’t make entirely disappear, hating that he’s so goddamn right. “Look, Joon, Namjoon, whatever. None of that matters anymore. I... I have to go.” The trapdoor in the floor is still open, standing by. And the longer you wait, the more agents infiltrate your family, corrupt this space.

“Okay.” Namjoon sighs, and you think he’s going to arrest you. But instead, he just looses his grip on his gun. “You can leave. I’ll let you. I’ll pretend I didn’t see you, that I was too late.” He lets the pistol fall. It hits the floor with a dull thud. “But just know that you’ll be running forever.”

He suddenly extends his arm to you, palm up. “Or you can come with me. And you’ll have to face the consequences, but I’ll fight for you. I promise, I’ll fight damn hard. And at the end of it all... It might take months, it might take years, but you’ll be free.”

You stare at the pitch black of the tunnel.

Taehyung is waiting for you on the other side with your family. The people you’ve grown up with, the people responsible for giving you life. Or at least, the façade of life you’ve lived up until now. How much do you still owe them? When will it be enough?

On your exhale, you find Namjoon’s eyes. See the flicker of light reflected in their depths.

Trembling, you place your hand in his.

a/n: thank you for reading. truly. this is my first time writing something so ambitious. i wanted to present a world where things are all various shades of grey, where there is never a right answer. some characters were so difficult to write, but i hope their reasons for their actions were clear enough in the end. i would love to hear your thoughts on the piece & any feedback is always greatly appreciated! 

special shout out to @jeonshome who fed my insanity throughout the writing & kept me from imploding. please send her tons of love. i would give her all the star flower bouquets in the sky if i could ✨

You were bored to tears.

Blinking sleep away from your eyes, you stifled a yawn as you sat cross-legged in the shadow of the chimney. Leaning against it, you watched the window of the inn where your target was currently getting ready to sleep. 

You never understood Yoongi's concept of having an impromptu exercise the day before any assassin's mission. It didn't make it any better when you didn't know what the exercise would be. So every time he approached you about the next target, you were quite often consumed with mixed feelings of anticipation and dread.

Popping another chocolate and hazelnut ball into your mouth - part of the treats you'd seen resting on your dressing table when you awoke that morning, with a card that read 'Sorry not sorry for what I did. Spar with me today?' - making you laugh at the memory, you waited another hour in the shadows, the sweet treats keeping you up and energized until it was time to move.

The kill had been far too easy and most of the sugar-fuelled energy still hadn't worn off, so instead of reporting to Yoongi immediately, you approached a door you usually wouldn’t when you were in your right mind. Knocking lightly, you bounced on your feet, feeling way too restless. 

"The fuck you want- oh."

Your wide eyes met with his and you cleared your throat. 

"Sorry, uh...you probably don't want to be-"

"Oh, no, it's okay. It's just that Daniel has been bothering me since evening. How was your mission?" He asked, still at the door. You rocked back and forth on your heels as you rubbed the back of your neck, giving him a sheepish smile. 

"Too easy?" He laughed, reading your posture instantly. He knew you like he knew the target he practised archery on. You didn't know if to be insulted or be pleased. 

You nodded, "I still haven't reported yet. I was wondering if you wanted to spar?"

You weren't surprised at his raised brows, given how late into the night it was. "Now?"

When you just shrugged in response, he smirked. 

"I don't see why not."

"So haven't you gotten a new mission yet?" You asked, panting as you tried to keep up with him. You could feel your energy declining rapidly. You would be exhausted soon and then you could go sleep. The thought of a warm bath and silk sheets almost made you moan out loud but you caught yourself. 

Jungkook's sword clanged loudly against yours, the sudden force making your arm shake a little. You frowned at his furrowed brows. 

"Kook?" It was during these moments when you'd both forget you weren't competing against each other for a title of 'The Best Assassin in the Land' or some shit like that. 

"Huh?" He grunted as you easily disarmed him in a few heartbeats. 

You watched him in confusion as you gasped for breath, the last few movements having taken out every bit of your energy. He still hadn't answered. 

"A new mission?" You repeated. 

He shook his head, a hand rubbing the back of his head, before brushing gently at his hair. He only did that when he was nervous. 

"Yeah...yeah- hey, don't you have to report to Yoongi? It's been an hour, he's probably expecting you."

You cursed, instantly forgetting what you were talking about as you shouted over your shoulder, a request for him to keep your stuff back, running out of the training room and to Yoongi's office. 

When you reached his office, you were about to knock when you heard a muffled voice say "It's wiser to send Jungkook for that. Namjoon isn't somebody to be handled by Y/N...not yet, at least. Don't reconsider your choice."

You frowned before knocking loudly, the person going silent as you entered. 

You and Jungkook had trained together ever since you were little and you couldn’t remember the first time you’d tackled him to the floor with just your bare hands. Well, he did too, number of times more than you could care to admit but that wasn’t the point.

Jungkook was a skilled young man with equally good looks. Although you hated to admit that part, there were enough instances that happened along the way that made you want to squirm thinking about it. His raven black hair shone like obsidian everytime the sun hit his locks, and his chocolate brown eyes dazzled every time he wielded a sword. And not to mention how easily he could imitate the look a kicked puppy, his eyes doe-like, that you found yourself falling into his trap multiple times before you'd grown immune to it. But it was the way his toned body filled his tunics, or the way he went shirtless during combat training that you found tough looking away from.

His talent in swordsmanship and archery, in addition to that, made you wonder how he was good at almost everything. Too good.

Of course, you were as good as him, just a tad less. He'd been training ever since the age of five whereas you'd only begun at nine. With two years of age separating you, it didn't take too long for the rivalry to develop. One was always ready to outshine the other. In every field. 

You were skilled in swordplay and archery but more in hand to hand combat. You’d had more wounds from those combats than scars from sword or dagger cuts to display, unlike a certain somebody.

You both were, nevertheless, equally feared and known in the country for your skills and work, although, nobody knew either of your faces. If they did, it was under an alias. 

While you weren’t exactly a freelance assassin and could take on assignments and targets only that your employer cum trainer deemed fit, Jungkook basked - no, bathed in the wealth he received from being more available to the merchants who wanted their dirty work done for them. Of course, he only did it if their trainer, Yoongi, allowed him to take up.

Maybe that’s why he was a freelance - because he was ready to follow rules and guidelines, take calculating steps and plan before moving ahead. While you, on the other hand, constantly got high on the adrenaline each assignment gave you, from the risk of getting caught or being absolutely, fucking ruthless.

“Devil help me if you ever get caught,” Yoongi grumbled at a meeting causing others to snicker, Jungkook being the most obvious out of them all. You shot daggers with your eyes, shutting them up instantly, only Jungkook daring to keep his smirk.

You were angered by that. By the fact that Yoongi didn’t seem to trust you enough or believe that you were more than capable to get out of a problem on your own. That conversation you’d heard two days ago echoed in your head as you took another bite of your food.

“I will have you writhing on the floor, begging for mercy,” You grunted as you pushed the flat side of your blade against his, causing him to take a defensive stance.

He grinned, “How about you actually do it than talk. All I see is you losing miserably.”

You snarled as you went tip first into him, ready to pierce his armour, his sword coming up to counter your attack. That’s when you ducked, catching him off guard before you swept your leg clean on the floor beneath him, the clanking of his armour against the stone floor satisfying your hunger for victory. Most of it, at least. 

Jungkook groaned, a hand coming to his shoulder as you watched him, your chest heaving before turning away.

“Why are you so pissed anyway?” He called as you walked to the bench where water and some snacks lay in wait.

Grabbing a bottle, you twisted the cap so harshly Jungkook gulped when the cap landed on the floor, knowing full well there was still some part of that temper that was burning, ready to consume anything that was unfortunate to tread along its way.

“I don’t know.” Came your clipped answer as you breathed heavily after two gulps of water.

“Bullshit,” You heard the sword whining as it went back to its sheath, his footsteps sounding as he came towards the bench. “You never beat me unless you’re absolutely pissed, and from you wanting to stab me, I can tell something’s bothering you. And it's not because you're running short on chocolates.”

You hated him. You hated his brain. You hated how much of a smart ass he was, observing you every step of the way. He knew you way too well for your own good.

“You imply one more time that I don’t beat you at sword fighting more than you do, I will shove mine down your throat so you don’t talk again.” You crushed the empty bottle in your hands and threw it into the bin. 

Jungkook took a gulp of water, grabbed a banana and took a bite off it before talking, “That’s because you don’t beat me at this more than I do-“ he stopped chewing when you turned around, anger flashing red in your eyes, your hand on the hilt of your sword in emphasis on your threat. “-you’re just a sore loser.”

You turned back around, trying to calm your breathing as you walked towards the door.

“At least you’re the second best!” He called out as you exited the training room.

Taking another bite of the fruit, Jungkook laughed as he heard a faint shattering of a glass vase. You’d be answering to Yoongi about that at dinner tonight.

You threw your bedroom door open and launched yourself onto the bed. Inhaling deeply, you screamed into the pillow, the soft material muffling most of the frustration. 

When you were satisfied, you turned around to face the ceiling. You weren’t pissed at Jungkook, per se, you were pissed at Yoongi.

Although you heard - eavesdropped, kind of - about it from somebody else while they were talking to Yoongi, he had confirmed it right the next day when you were hoping you'd misheard it. Jungkook was given the duty to take down Kim Namjoon, one of the leading rivals of Yoongi, who was also a genuine threat to the kingdom.

You wondered the night following the news if it was that what had made Jungkook feel nervous - either facing Namjoon or telling you about it. You didn't blame him, both the options were daunting.

Kim Namjoon was the most sought-after hitman and leader of the deadliest assassins in the country. You scoffed when you’d first head of that, claiming nobody could beat Yoongi’s assassins, but one look at their victims told you they got their job done thoroughly. Without a trace, they left the scene - and their victims were left mauled and unidentifiable. They followed recklessness while Yoongi followed caution. You snorted at the irony of your choice of leader. 

It was rumoured that Namjoon was the one who was responsible for the death of the Duke a month ago, although it was believed that Namjoon never took on the victims personally. But if he did with the Duke, then perhaps he must have done something that pissed Namjoon off to an extent that was unforgivable. Since then there’s been chaos in the country. Nobody knew whether the rumours were true, nor did Namjoon or his assassins bother to confirm or deny them. Why would they, when the chaos clearly gave them the upper hand?

The King not long after had put up an announcement: anybody who’d bring the dead body of Kim Namjoon would be heavily rewarded. There had been attempts on his life since, but the number decreased over the weeks as the people who tried their luck were found dead at the gates of the castle. For the last week, the world was silent as Namjoon slept soundly every night.

But the fact that Yoongi had more belief in Jungkook than you did something to you. It felt close to betrayal because - and you remember this very clearly - he’d promised to give you a target that was worthwhile. And you were hoping it would be Namjoon. Not some petty fool like the corrupt courtesan you'd taken care of three days ago. You weren't exactly questioning his authority, but rather you were tired of the men of the keep whispering behind your back about how Yoongi only kept you for....other purposes. If you could shove your sword down their throats and squish their eyeballs under your feet, you'd gladly do so. But...they were Yoongi's men. And you were his lone female assassin. He wouldn't want you going rogue.

You didn’t realize how quickly the time flew by until the housekeeper, Rosa, patted your cheek to get you to have a bath as you were “stinking up the entire room”.

Yoongi drummed his fingers on the table as he awaited an answer from you. The rest of the assassins at the table had their eyes on the floor, the tablecloth or the food which was slowly getting colder with every minute that passed with you staying silent.

“Y/N, I’m not going to repeat my question.” His voice was stern as he addressed you regarding the damned vase you’d pushed over on the way to your room.

“I was pissed.” You muttered, eyes on your shaking hands. You fought to keep your temper at bay. 

You could feel half of the tension at the table lifting as the others let out a steady breath. Jungkook’s eyes burned two holes on your forehead.

“Why?” Yoongi asked, eyes still hard on you.

You could hear the underlying question. Why is the assignment I gave Jungkook bothering you? You breathed heavily through your nose. 

“Have I not proven enough of my worth for you to give me better targets?” You blurted, eyes wide and set on your trainer. His jaw ticked and you knew you were testing his patience. But you weren’t letting down. No, not this time.

“Y/N-“

“No, I don’t care that Jungkook is better than me or that he keeps taunting me for being second best-“ you noticed him straightening at that, “-but why am I never sent for anybody higher than a harlot or a fucking courtesan. Am I that useless? Heck, even Jimin gets important targets and he's just been here for a year."

Jimin visibly gulped at this, his eyes focusing elsewhere. 

“Or wait,” your voice was calm, a bitter laugh sounding before you said, “is it because I’m a girl?”

Yoongi’s eyes were brewing anger, his fingers curled tight into a fist. Jungkook cleared his throat, but Yoongi’s hand came up, signalling him to keep his trap shut.

“You are worthy of even the king, must it ever happen to require to kill him, Y/N, but you fail to understand. First, you will not question me, ever again. Second, you will get your assignment when it’s time. Third, this is for your own good.” He came closer, the vein on his forehead popping as he barely contained his temper. “Am I clear?”

You clenched and unclenched your jaw. Your foot bounced and your palms began sweating. You could feel Jungkook’s eyes on you.

Glancing at him briefly, his eyes were soft yet stern as he raised his brows. Don’t you dare.

That ticked you off.

“No.” You breathed.

Yoongi blinked once. He narrowed his eyes. The tension rose again.

“What?”

“I said no, you are not clear. I am done being your lackey and you telling me what to do. Let me be clear, Yoongi, I know what I’m doing. And I’m going to prove that to you.”

You turned to Jungkook, “And you.” You pointed at him accusingly, then at the rest, “And the whole lot of you misogynistic assholes. You think I can’t take a man down. Could you get any more patronizing than that? Watch the castle gates tomorrow morning. Then let me see who has the balls to laugh behind my back and call me a ‘prostitute in disguise’.” You glared at one of the guys, Daniel, him cowering under your look. Hmph, they couldn’t even own up to their own words. Pathetic! 

And with that, you stood up with so much force, the chair you were sitting on toppled over, breaking the silence in the room. Storming out of the place, you went to your quarters to get ready. 

You’d show them who you were. You couldn’t wait to see their faces when they’d see the result. 

You were armed to the teeth, checking yourself once more, making sure you had all that it would require to take down one man and his watchdogs. There was a tendril of nervousness that caught hold you but you pulled away before you prodded it further. 

You had stepped right out your door when you almost crashed into somebody. Looking up, your frown dug deep as you recognized him. 

“What?” You growled, your hand already at the hilt of your dagger, ready to hurt him should he try to restrain you. You’d stop at no length. 

Jungkook, however, only watched you. He was looking into you, really looking, as though he could break down the wall you kept putting up. In his dreams. 

Your patience was teetering over the edge, you ready to yell at him when he spoke. 

“Why are you doing this? What are you trying to prove? That you’re better than me?” 

Sometimes, you really wished you could skewer him on the poking stick and grill him over the fireplace in your room. 

You narrowed your eyes, laughing humourlessly, “Look here, pretty boy, don’t think you’re somebody worth worshipping for your skills. I have no interest in proving you wrong about anything.” You began walking away. 

“Then why are you risking your life? You know Namjoon is a guy not to be reckoned with.” 

His question stopped you in your tracks. Fury ripped through you and it flowed in waves, your hand itching to punch something, anything. 

“Oh, okay,” You turned around, “So when you do it, you’re saving the whole damn world and damsels come running to you squealing how strong you are and you get patted on the shoulder for being so fucking brave, but when I do it, I’m risking my life and it’s too dangerous and men look at me like I’m a piece of meat ready to be pounced on when I'm weaponless. Why? Because I'm a fucking girl. Can your dumb brain sort through what’s clearly so messed up?” 

Jungkook’s eyes widened. He’d never thought you’d been bottling up so much anger and tolerating such actions. Now he felt like he should have punched those men who made snide remarks about you when you left the room. 

“Look, all I’m saying is, don’t go now. It’s snowing, and you wouldn’t be able to see a thing out there! Just stay, you can go when the snow clears.” He wished, no, hoped you would heed him. But after that little storm you brew in the dining room, he doubted you would. 

And he doubted right. 

“As fucking if. You will stay here. If I even get a sniff of you following me, I swear to all Hell, I will not hesitate to kill you.” You snarled, baring your teeth at him before you stormed away and out of the keep. 

“Y/N...” Jungkook’s voice trailed away as you jogged farther into the streets. 

You crouched on the roof, your fingertips stinging against the cold as you waited for the harlot to come out. They were taking way too long - and worse, they hadn’t exactly shut the blinds. So it was pretty much a free show if you wanted to look. You scanned the house again. More like a mansion; you’d taken about fifteen minutes to scour the place, which was ten minutes longer than you usually took. 

Namjoon’s union was in the wealthier part of the town so it was understandable.

It was pretty big for just one person, but you knew it was just like your keep, shared with the other assassins. It was a mansion that had the essential rooms on the ground floor, with a verandah and a set of staircase that led to the front door. Two hours ago, you’d seen the girl walk in through there, just as another exited. Talk about adventurous. It absolutely disgusted you. 

The living room was to the right, a wide window revealing much of the interior decorations and couches that adorned the room. The dining room was to the left where some of the watchdogs - okay, assassins - sat and played a game of cards while two guarded the door. And they hadn’t failed to check out either of the women that left and entered. You had sneered at that, a hand itching to hurl a dagger towards them.

There were two guards on either corner of the house, patrolling the sides where the alleyways between the houses were dark enough for you to be able to dispatch them easily. And when you’d studied the back of the house, you found two other at the back door. There were no maid quarters on either side or the back so you safely assumed the rooms on the second floor belonged to the housekeepers.

The first floor seemed to have at least five rooms, judging by the size, while the second had three. Namjoon’s room was on the first floor, the first door to the right. The roof was definitely not to be considered an entry safe place given how steep it was. Clever of him. 

The storm had calmed considerably, your fingertips at the mercy of your warm breath as you blew into your hands. You crossed your legs and waited for your chance. 

It was well into early dawn, around 3 am perhaps, judging by the quiet road and darkness of the sky - save the full moon that shone furiously - when the two guards moved from their posts at the front door for another two to replace them. So they rotated every two hours, while the ones on the sides and back every three. They wouldn’t expect an assault at the back then, but this was Namjoon’s men you were talking about. You’d seen they were capable of, so their lax bodies didn’t let you believe that they were truly relaxing. 

You didn’t mind. Besides, you were aching for some good action. You’d be honoured to take them on. 

When you looked back again, you saw the woman in Namjoon’s room did not leave and in fact decided to stay, much to your annoyance. If it was going to get violent, then you might have to kill her as well. You hoped silently that it wouldn’t come to that. 

Inhaling deeply, your breath curled into the air as you breathed out, rolling your stiff shoulders and bouncing on your feet before sliding down the roof. Catching hold of the drain pipe, you easily slipped down, the metal stinging your fingers as you did so. You remained against the wall of the house whose rooftop provided you visibility access to the assassin’s keep as you walked towards the alleyway where you’d seen the guard turn the opposite way. 

Making sure both sides were clear, you jogged across the street, your feet silent on the gravel as you made it onto the sidewalk on his side of the house. 

You walked closer to the manor, eyeing the side of the house to see if you could find an open window. You pursed your lips when you realized you would have to get in through a door - either front or back.

Noticing the light catching on the hilt of the sword that remained sheathed to the side of the guard, you walked as quiet as death towards him. 

Anchoring yourself a few inches away, you smirked at the guard’s wide eyes when he turned around, “Surprise.”

Before his hand could reach for his sword, your palm thrust against his nose, causing him to stumble a few steps back before your hands came from the sides and slapped him on his ears. Grabbing onto his face, you swung it down where it met your aiming knee, the loud crunch of his nose breaking quenching a particularly sadistic part of you. 

Aware of how loud the melee was to alert the guards at the back door but not the front, you let his body thud against the gravel before strutting around the corner of the house, two blades by your side, ready to spill some blood.

The two men were hurtling towards you in seconds, a thought spared to praise their speed before you met the first one’s blade with both of yours, them crossing to trap the sword before swinging your arms so wide that it sent the sword flying onto the grass, disarming him. But it didn’t faze him. A fist came swinging towards the side of your head, your hand coming up to block it, before sliding down your hand so swiftly that he didn’t realize his wrist was slashed until you kicked him square on the chest, knocking him out. 

The other had crept up behind you, a rogue arm agaisnt your throat before you could duck out of the way. His bicep crushed your throat mercilessly, but you turned the daggers in your hands, before sending them behind you, impaling the sides of the guard. His arm loosened and you fought the urge to cough as you twirled around and landed a punch that surely killed him. 

Almost wheezing, you coughed into your elbow before you pulled yourself onto the landing of the back verandah and landed quietly on your toes. You just hoped the guard on the other side hadn’t heard any of it.

Catching your breath wasn’t too hard. With a hand brushing over the hilt of your sword that calmed your nerves, you walked through the back door hat hadn’t been locked. 

Foolish. Just utterly, disbelievingly foolish.

“Some assassins you are,” You scoffed, closing the door behind you.

Jungkook paced in his room, the crackling fire no longer burning, bits of ember floating through the chimney as he rubbed his hands together. He couldn’t remain still. 

Partly because of the cold and partly, well, because you’d just gone out on a death mission. He didn’t know what kind of power had possessed you, and although, yes, he did find you hot during the training session earlier for some apparent reason, he couldn’t shake off the uneasiness he had felt since the moment you stormed out of the training room. 

He’d never realized all of this had bothered you so much. If he did...if he did, he actually didn’t know what he would have done. 

Jungkook was standing next to his window when he heard two voices outside, right under the window. One of them was laughing as he spoke, “I don’t know what she thinks of herself, we’re probably going to find her body at the gates tomorrow.”

“Not probably, for sure.” And they snickered again. 

That’s it. He would take no more. 

Striding to his closet, he ripped out a coat from its hanger and was out of his room before he had his coat on. Rubbing his shoulders and knuckles, he trudged towards the front door. 

Jungkook was going to have a nice, long chat with those boys outside. 

You easily slipped through the lobby, the men in the dining room too busy smoking a cigar to see a black-clothed being passing by. You tiptoed up the stairs, remembering where the leader’s room was. You kept reminding yourself to make it as quiet as possible so the lady beside him wouldn’t wake up. 

You treaded slowly and quietly, knowing you had enough time till dawn to prove your point to the men in your keep. 

But you froze when you noticed a guard patrolling the hallway where Namjoon’s room was. You were still on the landing, an extra set of staircase left to cover before you could reach the guard. 

When you reached his door, you remembered to control your breathing, before rubbing your legs together to make sure you had your daggers there, strapped to your thighs, the sheath by your waist housing your beloved sword that never let you down. 

You swore silently. How had you not noticed the man? And this guard wasn’t as lean built as the rest. He was bulky and his muscles looked ready to rip through his shirt material. You rubben a hand over your face. What would you do about him?

You felt a sudden calm filling your nerves when you realized what you could do. 

You were right, the threat made to one of the guards to call the burly assassin down worked. 

You stood pinned against the wall as you awaited his arrival, the thudding footsteps softer than how you’d imagined it would be, forcing yourself to strain to hear. 

When you were certain he was just two steps farther from turned to the dining room, you launched yourself, the sword singing in the dead silence of the room as you swung it, the edge cutting deep into the chest of the unsuspecting assassin, whose eyes only widened as he realized what had happened.

When you reached the assasin’s door, the one you’d not been assigned to kill, you remembered to control your breathing, before rubbing your legs together to make sure you had your daggers there, strapped to your thighs, the sheath by your waist housing your beloved sword that never let you down.

But for tonight, a dagger would do. A clean slit across the throat would do. He would have a slower death than a stab to the heart. Than the rest of his men.

Turning the knob as slowly as you could, you opened the door, praying it wouldn’t creak. Although you’d planned for a masterful and extra entry, this would do. The element of a surprise toned down a little. 

You glided expertly over the carpeted floor - big mistake on his side - and reached the bed. Only a single body could be seen under the sheets. Hopefully, that meant that the girl was in the bathroom. 

You clenched your jaw before grabbing the end of the quilt and with a quick flick of your wrist, you had the blanket off the bed, the bloodied dagger poised to cut his throat- 

Wait. 

You found yourself pointing the dagger at a bunch of pillows. Your heart stopped.

“Looking for someone?” A whiff of cologne wafted to your nose before you felt his breath on the back of your neck, but the next thing you saw was blackness as the hilt of his sword met with your head. 

You groaned as you felt a heavy pounding in your head, as though someone was hitting you with a sledgehammer. It might as well be happening. 

Your eyes were slow to adjust to the light, and you slowly realized what had happened. 

You had come to kill Kim Namjoon, one of the most wanted criminals of the kingdom, who was an expert at his job. You knew that because you’d seen what he was capable of. Most of his guards were easy to dispatch save for the final kill, that was him. Now you were in his bedroom, bound to a chair and completely vulnerable. To be alive after being caught was a miracle in itself. 

“Well, would you look at that.” You heard a voice croon from somewhere behind you, your ears ringing from the force of the blow he’d given. You felt blood trickle down the side of your head.  

“And here I thought, Jungkook was a male,” Namjoon chuckled, his dagger glinting against the moonlight that shone through the window. That’s when you noticed the rooftop of the opposite house, the one where you’d been spying from. He could see you directly from his room. 

So much for being discreet. 

“I’m-” You coughed, your throat dry. How long had it been since you were knocked out? Judging from the darkness and quietness outside, it seemed like 4 am at the most. 

“I’m not Jungkook.” You finished your sentence. 

“Oh?” Namjoon leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with amusement. He smiled, the smile not reaching his eyes. 

“The who are you, girl? Some amateur trying to earn recognition? Desperate for attention, is that it?” 

Your pride hurt as the words rolled off his tongue. If you hadn’t been so indiscreet about your hiding spot, he’d have been dead. You had sworn an oath to the keep and to Yoongi that under no circumstances were you to reveal your name and neither your connection to him or any other assassin. 

“Wait a minute - you’re that girl of his. What’s his name, ah, I forgot.” He laughed, the dagger glinting at you again as he paced in front of you. You remained mum, but the look in your eyes perhaps gave you away. 

“Aha, that ruthless little assassin who doesn’t know how to follow rules...but has got quite the skills, considering how you took one of my best men out.” He brought his dagger to your cheek, the tip biting into your skin. You clenched your jaw at the stinging sensation. 

“You call him one of your best? I think we both have different definitions of that word.”

He chuckled, “Got quite a mouth. You’re the girl...” He trailed, the dagger digging further.

“...who begs to be noticed. Jungkook must be your companion. Is he here tonight?” You resisted the urge to shake your head. 

“No? Okay, then, I guess this will be a long night for the both of us.” He smiled cunningly, and then before you could react, he slit a long cut down your cheek so swiftly you screamed only when the pain registered a moment later. You felt blood drop onto your arm that was tied to the chair, your feet a gone case as well, as they sat with one ankle over the other underneath you. 

Your heart hammered in your chest as you saw him grab his sword. You couldn't go down like this. No, you wouldn't let your impertinence to Jungkook and disrespect for your occupation cost you your life. 

Jungkook hissed as he ran hot water over his knuckles, the gashes nothing compared to what he’d received so many times before. But then the entire time, his thoughts were on you. On your safety. He glanced at the clock. 

If you didn’t return by 9 am, he’d look for you. He just didn’t want to go too early and piss you off if you were really getting the work done. He hoped you’d be alive for him to find. 

You bit a shriek as his sword gashed your thigh, blood spilling quickly onto the carpet. It was carefully aimed, you realized, noticing the shallowness of the wound. You had to blink a few times for the stars in your vision to go away. Yoongi had trained you better than this.

“Tell me, who sent you?” He probably knew that already if he knew Jungkook’s name. But how did he? Was there somebody on the inside? A mole? 

Perhaps he didn’t. Maybe all he knew was that Jungkook was from Yoongi’s guild. Maybe...maybe that night when you’d overheard that man telling Yoongi not to reconsider his choice to send Jungkook was for another reason. Not because you were incompetent, but because it would be easy to kill another threat to Namjoon’s life.

When you didn’t respond, you felt a blow to your jaw, and then to your stomach, making you cough out blood as the breath knocked out of your lungs. 

“Speak!” His hand pressed on your thigh, right where he’d gashed it open, making you scream in agony. He smiled all the while, his dark eyes glinting with nothing but never ending darkness. You wished you hadn’t stepped out of the safety of your keep. 

But as he removed his hand from your thigh, you remembered. 

“I’ll tell you.” You breathed, your wrist twisting as discreetly as possible where it remained tied behind your back. 

You breathed again, your blood almost choking you, “I’ll tell you,” you said again, still eyeing him as you flicked your wrist. 

Namjoon only watched you through narrow eyes, suspicion clear in them as he knelt on the floor in your front of you.

Big mistake. 

“But you have to let me go,” You whispered, the blood rolling down your chin as the security of the blade that slid to your palm calmed you. 

Namjoon laughed, and you began slicing into the rope, cutting it whenever you or he made a sound. 

“Okay, darling, I will. As long as you tell me your name and your employer's.” You could see right through the lie. But you pretended not to. 

“My name’s Y/N, and I work for Min Yoongi. Jungkook is my companion but he isn’t here to kill you-” You felt the blade snap the last of the rope, your thigh burning as you tensed it, readying yourself. 

Namjoon’s brows knit together. 

You smirked, teeth shining red with your blood.

"I am," And with all the strength you could muster, you raised your tied legs to your abdomen and kicked him square on the chest, his head hitting the wall as he fell over, the dagger in his hand flying across the room.

Quickly bringing your hand to the front, you cut as fast as you could through the rope that had your ankles tied together, the wound on your head thrumming for you to work faster, and your thigh burning as you stood up. You were losing a lot of blood, you could tell from the way you were instantly lightheaded. 

You noticed your weapons on the desk across his room and made a run for it. But Namjoon was too close and grabbed onto your ankle, causing you to fall face first to the floor, but you braced yourself, palms coming out to catch your fall. He scrambled on the floor and began climbing over your body, your thigh rendering you almost helpless. Almost.

You waited for a second longer before turned around and raised your knee to his crotch, causing Namjoon to curl away, groaning, your leg fighting out of his grip before kicking him on his face, a sickening crack sounding as you broke his nose. 

“You bitch!” He snarled as he grabbed onto his face.

Dragging yourself from under him, you stood up and gathered all the strength you could. 

Your daggers could be replaced, but you couldn’t leave your sword behind. And neither could you leave him. 

Spitting out the blood from your mouth, you felt your anger flare inside you. Anger directed not just at him and the men at the keep, but at yourself. Because you didn’t take better precautions. Because you were impatient.

You stalked over to Namjoon where he remained crouched over. 

“Hey,” You poked at his shoulder with the tip of your sword. He rolled over.

You were angry at yourself for being so fucking ruthless. More than usual.

“That was very bold of you to think I’d let you live after learning my name.” And you brought your sword down on him, slashing his stomach open. 

He screamed. The feral shriek had the windows shaking. You felt angry at yourself for leaving Jungkook like that. 

The housemaids ushered to the room and did nothing but watch as you finished Namjoon off right there, his head cut off clean as you brought down your sword again. Blood splattered all around, your face nothing but a canvas of your own and your victim’s blood. 

Carrying his head by the long locks of his hair, you strode to the door, the housemaids gasping as they made way for you. They didn't scream for help but rather watched you in silent understanding. Like they were thanking you. Thanking you for ending that tyrant’s life.

You felt your vision lightening, stars getting more and more clear with every step you took. 

As you left the house, you noticed the rest of the assassins knocked out cold, along with the ones at the front door. 

You raised the head to your face, it still contorted into a silent scream. 

“Guess somebody had a temper, huh?” Your voice was slurred as you spoke.

The cloth was tight enough to stop the bleeding for a while, but not enough. Your head was bleeding as well, and you occassionally spit out blood and saliva on the side of the street. The wound on your cheek had begun to scab, but you knew it would leave a new scar. 

The cold bit at your cheek and thigh, a dull ache on your other cheek from the punch following soon after. You moved your jaw just to check if it was broken. Thankfully it wasn’t. 

It was early dawn by the time you’d reached the door of your keep. And just as you were about to knock, Jungkook opened the door, his eyes wide and alarmed at the sight of you. You didn’t even want to know what state you were in. Dried blood all over your face, hands and legs, wounds throbbing from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

“Oh my God, Y/N!” 

“Hey...” You breathed, almost falling into his arms as you walked through the door. And you would have if it wasn’t for Yoongi standing right there. 

“So, did you prove yourself?” His eyes were cold as he eyed you from head to toe. 

You smirked with what little energy you had. 

“You can always look out your window at the gates of the castle like I promised. It’s a trophy to behold, after all, he’s finally taken care of. There’s also somebody who works for him among us so you might want to look into that.” 

He walked towards you, his face set hard. You stood your ground, ready for the reprimanding blow. 

Yoongi raised a hand, and you remained there, unflinching, to his fair surprise. He smirked, “You’ve learnt a lot in one night. I wonder when you’ll learn to sleep with it.” His hand went down. 

He was right, partially. The physical pain you’d gone through made you so numb you wondered if you no longer had any feeling left in your nerves. But he was wrong about losing sleep because of the rampage you’d gone out on. 

You glanced at Jungkook with a small smile. Now that you knew his life was no longer in danger, you could sleep way more soundly than you did before. For a moment, you wondered why that was.

Jungkook had rushed to your aid instantly. He had you sitting on his bed, not yours, claiming his room was far warmer than yours and closer. 

All you did was snort as he made you sit on the mattress. You watched him run about, grabbing bandages, disinfectants and plasters. 

His eyes glistened as he worked on your cheek, the stinging put off with a gentle blow of air from Jungkook after every dab of the disinfectant. His jaw ticked, clenching and unclenching as he worked on your head. His fingers trembled ever so slightly as he worked on your thigh. Thankfully the gash wasn’t too deep to warrant stitches. 

But you noticed the change in his demeanour. And you made a sick attempt at improving it. 

“You know, Jungkook, now with this kill, I’m going to be the talk of the town for a while.” When he didn’t respond to you, and kept his head down and focused on your thigh, you went on, assuming he didn’t understand what you meant. 

“So, like, what are your thoughts on being second best now, huh?” You chuckled softly as you noticed his shoulders tremble. But when it went on, you frowned, “Kook, it’s not that funny- wait,” You grabbed his shoulders. 

You struggled to bring him up, his sagging body being too heavy for you. But you managed to pull his face up, the tears on his cheeks catching you off guard. 

“Why are you crying!?” You asked incredulously, you eyes searching his for answers.

But rather than a reply, he threw his strong arms around you, pulling you close to him, his chest firm against your cheek. You heard his heart beat rapidly, mirroring yours. But yours sped with embarrassment.

“Jung-”

“I thought I lost you.” He mumbled into your hair before kissing it. You were so taken aback your mouth sealed shut. He was showing you affection. Something you weren’t exactly accustomed to. But...

“Fuck, Y/N, do you know how scared I was?”  He pulled back, his puffed face coming into view, his nose running as his lips trembled. There was anger lacing his voice, but relief overlapped it.

Shit. You never realized how much he worried about you. 

“I...Jungkook, I didn’t- I’m sorry, I was stupid,” Your eyes darted to the floor, while your cheeks flushed with colour and a fresh bruise. 

“You were even more stupid than you usually are!” 

“Hey!”

But he hugged you again instead, his nose nestling into the crook of your neck, silently breathing you in. His hand remained strong on your back, and you couldn’t handle the way it made you feel. So you said-

“You look super ugly when you cry, by the way.” 

He laughed softly, his breath hitting your neck, making the hair on your arms stand. 

“Well, you look even more ugly when you’re all beaten up.” He smiled through his tears, a hand caressing the cut on your cheek. 

You rolled your eyes, “Oh, Jungkook, thank you for your sympathy, I appreciate it.” 

When he didn’t respond, you asked quietly, a hand coming to hold his. 

“Are you upset with me?” 

He crossed your fingers with his, holding onto your hand so tight as though you were going to disappear any moment. 

“Very. And I’m going to be clear about that the next time we train.” 

You feigned a hurt look, earning a chuckle from him, the sound relaxing your bones, warmth radiating through you.

When he embraced you again, you realized he was the one who was always there for you. You had proved a point today, but in some way, he had proved one, too. 

"You know I love you right?" He mumbled into your hair.

You blinked.