#houseofddaeng

Uncomfortable.

It’s the only word to describe the situation, whether it’s the fact that he’s alone in Miso’s car without Miso, whether it’s her constantly silent driver Seungkwan’s eyes boring into Yoongi through the rearview mirror, or whether it’s the knowledge that this entire situation could’ve been avoided if he’d just been disciplined enough to get his engine oil checked on time.

He laments the comfort of his Range Rover that’s currently in the shop, where it’s likely to be for a couple of days until they can fix the engine. Miso’s father’s Mercedes is cold and grey, and the ride offered to Yoongi from HYBE to his meeting just doesn’t seem worth it right now.

The traffic light turns green but it takes Seungkwan a few seconds to catch on before he inches forward, and the light turns red again. Yoongi closes his eyes and sighs inwardly, sneaking a look at the driver whose face stays unchanged. The silence is revolting. Yoongi bites his lip and decides to risk it.

“The traffic is something, huh?” he ventures, trying to keep his voice light.

“It’s the same as every day, sir,” Seungkwan replies listlessly.

Right. “Thank you for the ride, though,” Yoongi says afṭer a moment, just like he has at least three times this afternoon.

“Miso ma’am asked, sir.”

That she did. Yoongi couldn’t decide if he’d imagined her smirk but she’d been remarkably deadpan when offering up her car. Perhaps she’d just been looking to be free of Seungkwan’s shadowy presence for a while; that possibility had been the only thing that had gotten Yoongi to agree.

He sighs inwardly, looking around at the leather interiors of the car, waiting for this ride to end. Clearly he’s condemned to it, conversation is a non-starter and he only hopes that Miso will stay late tonight, enough that he can spend it annoying her into apologising.

She’s not likely to do it, though, he realises a moment later, only partly-peeved. His eyes fall to the floor of the car to see something white poking lying by the corner of the seat; reaching for it, he realises he’s seen it before. 

Months ago, on a night that had changed their relationship irreversibly, Miso had taken off her contact lenses and carefully placed them into this very case before hesitantly climbing into bed with him. Yoongi swipes it and slips it into his pocket, glad for another memory he can teasingly leverage over her. 

After what seems like a hundred years and countless missed traffic lights, he finally reaches Hybe. “Thank you again, really,” he says again, bowing as he exits. 

“You’re welcome, sir.”  

He barely waits for Yoongi to shut the door behind him before turning the car around. When Yoongi glances back, he does a double take to see Seungkwan glaring at him through the side mirror just before he turns the corner and disappears.

—

Yoongi is hard at work when Miso stops by his studio later that evening. “Hey,” she says, cracking open the door and sounding slightly breathless. “Are you busy?”

“Kind of,” he admits, standing up and walking towards her anyway. “Are you?”

“Not busy enough to come here and bother you, obviously.”

Yoongi hooks two fingers around her belt loops and tugs her gently forward. “It's become about twelve percent less bothersome over time,” he admits softly, before lowering his head to kiss her.

She grins and kisses him back, slender full-sleeved arms coming around his neck as he backs her into the wall. Her mouth tastes of candy; it's ridiculously attractive and he pulls her hips to his, feeling a semi rising.

“You don't seem too busy either,” she murmurs into his mouth.

“I can be persuaded to take a quick smoke break,” he says, breaking away. “You know, regale you with the adventures of Yoongi and Seungkwan painting the town of Gangnam red,” he adds dryly, giving her a knowing look.

She laughs, her normally guarded face lighting up for an instant. “I’m sure you had a great time but I actually came here to say goodnight.”

“Good -” He checks his watch, frowning. “It’s five-thirty.”

“Yes, but I got a call from my father and…” She shrugs deliberately, her palms facing the ceiling. “He’s having guests over or something so I have that to look forward to. But I’ll see you tomorrow.” She gives him a quick kiss on the cheek and slides out from between him and the wall to leave.

“What? Wait -” He darts after her, walking her to the lift. “Are you serious? I was kind of hoping - I mean, I moved a meeting to tomorrow so we could -” He stops abruptly, his cheeks heating up.

Miso smirks. “It’s not like I want to go,” is all she says which, coming from her, is about as close to a declaration of love as he’s likely to get. “But with great family baggage comes a great need to not make it worse, so I have to go.” 

They step into the lift together. “I get it,” he sighs, leaning against the wall.

“Yeah?”

“No. But also, yes.” He nudges her shoulder with his. “Even if you will regret losing this chance when I’m gone soon.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll be devastated,” she replies, sounding a bit like she means it. “Have you got a date yet?”

“No.” It’s an awkward topic but unavoidable, given the amount of last minute filming and recording he’s rushing between.

Miso nods, and they’re silent for a few moments. “Did anything exciting happen this afternoon?”

“Did it ever,” he says dryly. “Aside from the fact that your driver hates me.”

“He’s my father’s driver, not mine,” she corrects him as she retrieves a lip balm from her bag. “Driver, helper, staff, whathaveyou. But I don’t think he hates anyone. That would involve… I don’t know, emotion? A thought of his own?” She shrugs. “Seungkwan is a stoic soldier. I don’t know why else he would stick with my family for as long as he has.”

“Some people have a masochistic streak,” says Yoongi wisely.

“Hell of a streak to carry on for thirty years.” When the lift doors open, they walk out together towards the parking lot. “He’s not here yet,” she observes, coming to a halt. “Looks like that smoke break might just work out.”

Yoongi grins as they both bring out their packs and light their cigarettes in practiced moves. “So what is this exciting dinner you have tonight?” he asks. “Dad’s business partners?”

“Something like that. I am to be demure.” She catches his eye and shakes her head. “His words, not mine.”

“Mhm.” He doesn’t say anything else, but something feels uneasy. He remembers the last time he’d seen her with one of her father’s business partner types and what had proceeded to unfold. It’s a night he still relives sometimes but he isn’t about to bring it up now. He watches her instead, her cigarette between two fingers while she rummages in her bag for something.

“What am I forgetting?” She clicks her tongue and lets her bag fall to her side. They finish their smoke in comfortable silence when Yoongi spots the familiar Mercedes arriving and Miso drops the stub of her cigarette on the ground, stepping on it.

“Time for me to disappear,” he mutters, finishing his cigarette as well.

Miso gives him a look indicating that it’s too late for that when the car stops in front of them. “I’ll, uh…”

“Yeah.” Yoongi nods. It takes every fiber of his being to not touch her right then so he shoves his hands into his pockets and takes a step back. “See you.” His fingers brush against something. “Oh, the thing you forgot - was it your contact lens case?” he asks.

She frowns. “No, I’m pretty sure mine is… yep, it’s here,” she notes, looking inside her bag.

“Really? But I found it in -”

“My charger!” She knocks the ball of her palm against her forehead. “I knew it - I left it in the meeting room. I’ll be back in a minute,” she says to Seungkwan, who’s stepping out of the car, before dashing back inside the building.

Yoongi catches the driver’s eye momentarily before looking away and falls silent, his fingers closing around the case. The silence is incredibly awkward, especially since it hasn’t even been two hours since he was dropped off. After a moment, he bows slightly in acknowledgment. In response, Seungkwan's gaze shifts and rests on him, before slowly moving back to where Miso disappeared.

Why am I so uncomfortable? He pushes his tongue into his cheek, wondering if he should light another smoke. Maybe he should offer one to Seungkwan - that ought to bridge this horrendous gap between them. Or better yet -

“Shit.” Seungkwan mutters under his breath, making Yoongi jump slightly. He watches as the driver turns around and ducks into the car, opening the glove compartment and rummaging under the seat.

“Did you - did you lose something?” Yoongi asks, gingerly making his way over to the back of the car where he'd been seated earlier this afternoon.

Seungkwan simply grunts in response but doesn't elaborate, barely looking up when Yoongi opens the car door and looks around despite having no idea what he's looking for. It takes only a moment later that something occurs to him, something that makes him feel so stupid that he almost curses out loud.

He's about to say something but thinks better of it and simply tosses the lens case under the passenger seat where he'd found it. “I -” He clears his throat. “There's something… there,” he says, pointing innocently.

Seungkwan frowns and leans over, freezing when he spots it. He retrieves it and straightens up, giving Yoongi an appraising look, as though he hadn't ever expected him to make himself useful. He doesn't thank him, though, opting only to nod briefly.

Something akin to approval floods through Yoongi's chest, making him want to smile widely. The whole situation is ridiculous, he knows, but he hadn't quite realised just how much Seungkwan's apathy had been bothering him this entire time. Something must show on his face - maybe the unanticipated thrill at locating a knick-knack or the sight of Miso exiting the lift inside the building - for Seungkwan glances at him and rolls his eyes before looking away, seeming thoroughly unimpressed.

Yoongi catches sight of his reflection in the car window and straightens his face, getting ready to walk by Miso perfectly nonchalantly, possibly brush against her on the way, maybe spot a blush in her pale cheeks -

He turns to give Seungkwan a nod of farewell when the driver finally speaks.

“Keep your distance.”

For a moment, Yoongi doesn't know if he's heard him correctly. It's the most number of words Seungkwan has ever spoken to him unprompted but his face is so still, gaze fixed on Miso, that Yoongi is reduced to simply staring at him. “What?”

“You heard me.” This time his eyes meet Yoongi's for a fraction of a second, and they're hard and unwavering, but also imploring. He's serious, Yoongi thinks. “This ends here.”

Before Yoongi can respond, Miso joins them, her bag hitched on her shoulder. She looks a little surprised to see Yoongi still there but doesn't let on. “Min PD,” she says formally, bowing and standing aside as Seungkwan opens her car door.

“Miso sunbaenim,” he responds automatically, his eyes for once not on her. He waits for any hint from Seungkwan as to what the hell he's talking about but their little interaction may not have happened at all for all the notice Seungkwan gives him.

— 

Miso stares at her reflection in the mirror, her stomach turning a little, the way it has for as long as she can remember in this house. She tucks a choppy bang behind her ear, wishing she hadn’t been so impulsive when choosing to cut off her hair over her bathroom sink.

Smoothing down her brown pencil dress (“Decent and demure,” her mother had informed her loftily when Miso had arrived home early, instantly dismissing any other option she might have chosen instead), Miso sighs. She’d been hoping to stay late at work tonight and get some writing done, possibly get ahead before Donghyuk went on holiday, maybe to also taunt Yoongi about his rather unexpected afternoon.

She knew the CEO her father was entertaining tonight, she knew about his company and she knew that this wasn’t as simple as just any merger. For better or worse, she was a chaebol; a lifetime of being around these people and reading between the lines had given her the ability to decide that this was no ordinary dinner.

Her phone lights up where it’s charging on her dresser. From here, she can see a bunch of texts from Yoongi. Heart slowing slightly, she reaches for her phone when a single knock sounds on the door.

“Miso!” Her mother’s furious whisper is loud enough to reach her. “It’s time. Stop skulking around in your room - it’s rude.”

“Far be it from me to be rude,” Miso mutters under her breath but obeys, slipping her phone into the singular pocket of her knee-length dress.

“They’re here,” Kang Sera says instantly as Miso steps out of her room, already in a slinky black dress and hair perfectly curled around her collarbones.

“Already?” Miso asks, wrinkling her nose slightly. “That’s… eager.”

“It’s polite,” her mother corrects her, although Miso can detect annoyance in her voice as well. “I was almost done getting the silverware polished anyway. Would have been nice to get the plants rearranged but Seungkwan was out all day. He only managed to get to the ones in the front yard.” She turns to Miso, surveying her critically. “I will never understand why you did this to your hair,” she mutters, pretending as though she doesn’t remember the screaming match between them that had led Miso to do this. “I don’t suppose you thought of earrings to cover it up?”

Miso flinches away. “Mother, please. I don’t like dangly earrings.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to make an effort, you know? At least wear the pearls.”

“The diamonds. And studs.”

“Fine,” sighs her mother. In light of this rare compromise, Miso obliges. By the time she leaves her room again, her mother has vanished, leaving only the faintest trace of Chanel No. 5. She can hear people downstairs in the living room; there’s her father’s voice with another man’s, the housekeeper’s occasional soft words, the clinking of glasses and the sudden polite laughter of women.

Miso takes a deep breath and descends the staircase, wondering if she can hang around in the hall on the way to the living room, delaying this night for as long as possible. She passes by the dining room on her way out, counting six place settings. She frowns even though her heart hammers lightly, for she thinks she knows who the sixth place is for. As she reaches the top of the last few steps, the hall comes into view - and Miso freezes.

Ten feet away from her, by the hallway table with an untouched glass of whiskey before him, is Min Yoongi. Right next to him stands her father, suit crisp and one hand in his pocket. Both of them look up to see Miso at the same time, giving her almost no time to compose herself.

“Father. Yoongi,” she says, hearing her voice sound as disinterested as possible. “I wasn't aware you were joining us,” she adds, as though it makes no difference to her.

“He isn't,” says her father at once. “But there was something the company needed me to sign and Min Yoongi here was kind enough to bring it to me personally.” He gives Yoongi an icy smile.

Kind, my ass. There is no doubt in her mind that Yoongi was made to come here, possibly to throw them both off, potentially to threaten her into behaving tonight. She meets her father's eyes, cold and unforgiving, letting nothing slip. She can feel Yoongi next to her, his faint cologne, his hair growing past his neck. She wants to snap at him for not giving her a warning when she remembers the half a dozen texts from him, all unread.

Giving him a cursory nod, she turns back to her father. “Should I go greet our guests?”

“Ah, our guests.” He turns around and as though they’ve been conjured, a duo who can only be father and son approach. “Please, Yoongi, you must meet our esteemed guests tonight. This is Choi Seung-ho, CEO and chairman of Hanseong Collection, the most luxurious chain of hotels in Korea.” He pauses as Yoongi bows “And this is his bright young son who will one day run his company.”

“Not any time soon, I hope,” Choi Seung-ho jokes and the three men laugh politely.

“Although I'm sure there's no one better,” says her father, clapping the son - Jaehyun, she remembers vaguely - on the shoulder. “Running a company would be in his blood.”

Next to her, Miso can sense the disgust and judgment from Yoongi. She feels terribly uncomfortable, with Yoongi and her father's acquaintances together, the silly dress and the blasted diamonds on her ears she knows probably cost more than many people's cars.

“Jaehyun here,” her father continues, “has just returned after completing his Master's at Harvard. That's a university in America,” he adds, clearly for Yoongi's benefit. 

“The best in the world,” Jaehyun's father chimes in. Next to him, Jaehyun has the good sense to look embarrassed as he lowers his head and pushes his horn-rimmed glasses up his nose.

“One of the best, yes. In fact, Jaehyun and Miso have known each other their whole lives. They even went to school together before Miso left for Australia.”

It's a gross exaggeration; Jaehyun had been a couple of years ahead of her in school and as far as Miso could remember, they had probably had one conversation that entire time as teenagers, likely at some dinner like this. 

“If you'll excuse me,” she says hurriedly, doing her best to not turn towards Yoongi at all, “I'll go see if my mother needs any help in the kitchen.”

“She usually does,” her father jokes, leading to some more polite laughter, but gestures his permission for her to go. As she walks away, she hears Yoongi say “I'll take your leave, too, sir”, followed by some vague response. 

She can barely focus as she makes her way to the living room where she finds her mother and another older lady who can only be Jaehyun’s mother. The former spots her instantly, beckoning her with bejewelled fingers.

“Miso! Come meet Choi Dahyun!” 

With no choice but to comply, Miso approaches them while giving their guest a tentative smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” she mumbles, bowing.

“Oh, she’s gorgeous,” squeals Choi Dahyun, helping Miso straighten up and fingering the bottom of her hair. “These young people have such interesting hairstyles - I fear we’re too old to understand them!”

Both women titter loudly, and Kang Sera wraps an arm around her daughter and strokes her arms in an award-winnning performance of maternal affection. “I keep telling her, sometimes the classics never go out of style,” she remarks with ease, her fingers digging deep into Miso’s arms and making her wince.

“It’s probably a generational thing,” says Choi Dahyun, oblivious to her host’s disdain at being referred to as old. “I’m certain it’s a style in America or somewhere - Jaehyun, son! Come here!”

To Miso’s horror, Choi Jaehyun, heir to the Hanseong Collection, approaches them. She’s a bit relieved to see how tentative he is as well, walking into the living room with his shoulders slightly hunched and his hands behind his back. 

“Yes, Mum?” he asks politely, bowing to Miso and her mother. He glances at Miso and averts his eyes respectfully while behind him, Kang Jaesung and Yoongi seem to still be in some kind of a stilted conversation.

“We were just talking,” says his mother enthusiastically, reaching out to grab Miso’s hand and gently pull her to stand next to her so she’s now facing Jaehyun. Behind them, Seungkwan is unloading bottles of Prosecco from a barrel and laying them out on the bar. “And we were saying -“ She breaks off, coughing. Her son instantly rushes to her side but she waves him off gently. “But I suppose you two will have much more in common,” she manages finally.

Jaehyun looks rightly confused but Miso is mostly thankful that he wasn’t asked to opine on her hair while she stood there like a mute mannequin. “Um,” he begins, bowing slightly, “it’s good to see you again, Miso.”

“You, too,” she says automatically, but her gaze is fixed over his shoulder where Yoongi finally seems to be leaving. Just as he’s about to disappear behind the huge wooden door, his eyes meet Miso’s, his expression unreadable. 

“So, how is everything going in here?”

Startled by her father’s commanding voice, she looks away. Her father stands before her, hands in his pockets, and she doesn’t like the hint of smile on his face. Part of it is for his guests, to be sure, but there’s just the slightest amount that is for her. It’s the smile that threatens to appear when he’s preparing for war.

She locks eyes with her father and he sustains it, and Miso knows she has already lost.

—

The next morning, Miso wakes up with her head pounding. She checks her phone for the time and groans softly, dropping her head back on the pillow before wincing. 

She hadn’t intended to drink so much; indeed, in front of guests that were clearly important enough to be courted this way, she’d needed to keep her wits about her. Her father and Choi Seung-ho had started off as potential partners before transcending into quiet competition over whisky and cigars. 

On the other hand, Mrs Choi, while not unkind, had been incredibly transparent about her lifelong desire for a daughter, giving Miso more compliments than she’d ever received in her thirty years. It was almost like she’d been presented with a real-life doll, the way she continued to marvel over Miso’s choppy bangs (each time quietly angering her mother more, she knew), smoothing invisible creases on her dress and at one point, asked Miso and Jaehyun to stand next to each to each other so she might click a picture on her phone. Admittedly, Jaehyun seemed as mortified as she felt, half-heartedly protesting as his mother held her phone two feet away from her face and squinted at the screen, one finger hovering while the leather case of the phone swung open.

It was around this time that Miso had started pounding back the alcohol. She hadn’t made it too obvious but once her mother too had begun praising Choi Jaehyun for being such a fine young man with a stable career and sure to achieve great things, Miso had mentally clocked out. She was no stranger to being compared to her parents’ friends’ children and neither was she oblivious to her mother's growing embarrassment at having a thirty year old unmarried daughter. She'd been quiet and sullen after that (and quite drunk), the only thoughts in her mind being the time remaining before these guests would leave, and texting Yoongi to find out what on earth he'd been doing here.

The thought of Yoongi makes her head hurt even more. He’d responded to none of her texts last night, not until she had called him and he’d cut the call, finally messaging her a few moments later with a single-worded text: Working.

Miso stands up and sways for a moment. She reaches for the bottle of water the housekeeper always keeps refilled every night on her bedside table and drinks, concentrating on the cool liquid spreading through her chest until she’s finished more than half the bottle. After that, the shower helps some and she locates an Aspirin in her bathroom cabinet, slipping it into her pocket to pop in after some breakfast.

The thought of food makes her stomach churn. She leaves her room, contacts in and sunglasses on, bag slung over her shoulder and stops by the kitchen to pick up a single croissant, ignoring the rest of the breakfast spread. On her way out, her mother accosts her.

“Where are you going?” she demands, sounding genuinely curious as she cradles a cup of tea in her hands.

“Work?”

“Oh.” Kang Sera pauses. She looks polished even this early in the morning in black trousers and a white silk button down, not a hair out of place. “I thought you might like to talk.”

Miso hasn’t the energy to even try and decipher what her mother could possibly mean. “Er…. no, thank you, mother,” she says brusquely, sidestepping and continuing on her way.

“But -“ Her mother follows her, down the steps by the gardens and out to the entrance where Seungkwan is waiting with the car, polishing the windscreen when they arrive.

“I’m getting late, mother.”

“You haven’t even heard what I was going to say.” Sera stops, her face tight. “This is important, Miso. Stop behaving like such a child.”

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Miso comes to a slow halt in front of the car. “What?”

Her mother frowns. “And enough with the attitude. I want to talk to you about your future.”

About my career plans, no doubt. “Oh?” she asks innocently, for suddenly this makes sense.

“You’re almost thirty,” Sera begins, “and not getting any younger.” While Miso squints through her sunglasses, bewildered, her mother continues. “And you’re still living here, with your parents.”

“You talk like I have an option.”

“You do. You’ve simply never exercised it.”

“I lived by myself once,” she reminds her mother, taking off her sunglasses and ignoring the sudden jolt of pain between her eyes at the light. Despite the clouds, her head hurts. “In Australia, remember? I was happy,” she adds without meaning to, hearing her voice harden.

“Happiness,” her mother repeats, sipping her tea, “is luck of the draw. I’m talking about your future.” Then, as though she’s changing the topic entirely, her mother shakes her head slightly. “What did you think of Jaehyun?”

“Oh, mother, not this again,” groans Miso, her cheeks heating up as Seungkwan enters their earshot, wiping the sides of the car with single-minded focus. “I don’t want to be -“

“But you have to be,” says her mother simply. “Eventually. It’s part of life, all our lives. Be glad you’re even being consulted about it. I wasn’t.”

The casual admission makes Miso’s heart stop briefly but her mother’s face stays unchanged. She’s aware of the  croissant wrapped in a tissue in her hand, all but forgotten. “I have to get to work,” says Miso eventually, slowly. “Can we talk about this later?”

Kang Sera observes her, taking another slow sip of tea. Next to them, Seungkwan has evidently finished cleaning the vehicle, for he opens the driver’s door and climbs in, rolling down the window and starting the car.

“I had hoped you were wiser than this, Miso,” she remarks, barely-disguised disappointment in her voice. “These choices can shape your entire life. Make the right one.” 

Why? So you can ship me off to another family that controls my every move? Miso is about to retort but her mother beats her to it.

“Unless your dalliance with Min Yoongi is further along than I'd thought.”

The mention of Yoongi sends a jolt of anger through Miso's chest. Her mother's face remains unfaltering; she didn't feign ignorance of his name or use the opportunity to put him down. She was blunt and straightforward and it throws her off. “Mother,” she states firmly, “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

Her mother scoffs, clearly not fooled. “You're behaving like a child,” she repeats with disdain. “You are already too old and time goes by in the blink of an eye. Do you have any idea how important it is that you choose correctly here?”

“Did you?” Miso fires back, relishing how her mother recoils as though she’s been slapped. “How happy are you with your choices, mother?” 

For once, her mother seems to have no response except for her jaw clenching. Miso takes the chance, placing her sunglasses back on and hurrying into the car. There will be hell to pay for this, she knows, as the car Seungkwan drives out of the compound. Whether it's days of passive aggressive insults or pure sabotage with her father, Kang Sera is not one to be shut up by her daughter. 

As they meander through the familiar roads, the same traffic signals and passing the same shops, Miso's mood only dampens. The sky is overcast which she grimly approves of, and the ride is spent in the typical silence she has come to expect of Seungkwan. 

They finally reach Hybe and Miso barely waits for the car to come to a complete stop before throwing the door open and hopping out. In the rush to grab her bag, the contents spill out and scatter across the ground.

“Goddamnit,” she swears, falling to her knees to begin gathering her stuff. She sees Seungkwan's leg appear and before she knows it, he's helping her as well, obtaining a tube of sunscreen where it had rolled under the car. “Apparently I can't do anything right,” she mutters to no one in particular.

“It's okay, Miss Miso,” says Seungkwan quietly, retrieving her notebook and a pen from near the front tyre and handing it to her before they both stand up. “I'm sure your mother does not mean to be harsh.”

Nothing can surprise Miso at this point, not even the first opinion she has ever heard her driver provide. “I'm sure she does, ahjussi,” she replies, adjusting her bag back on her shoulder. “Otherwise she wouldn't use every opportunity she can to try and shame me for every choice I have ever made, from my hair to my career.”

“She does not mean it,” he insists. He glances at the Hybe building for a moment. “And neither does she deserve it.”

He bows and gets back into the car, smoothly driving away while Miso grits her teeth and clenches her entire face, refusing to let any emotion slip in her workplace. There's a helplessness creeping in her chest as she stands there, staring long after the car has disappeared. I am alone, she realises, not for the first time.

It’s everything - her father's bullying and mind games, her mother's constant judgement, their driver's unsolicited comments in defense of her, the unexpected involvement of Yoongi… Miso seethes. Yoongi. What the hell was he doing there last night?

—

At Hybe, Yoongi taps his pencil on the table furiously. Nothing is going to happen in time, he thinks with annoyance. Not this song that needs to be wrapped up in the next couple of days, not all the filming that's been squeezed in over the next couple of weeks in anticipation of his enlistment date, not the enlistment date his manager swore would be out any day now. 

“Yoongi.” Donghyuk knocks but enters the studio before Yoongi can answer. “Is Miso coming today?”

“How should I know?”

Donghyuk raises his eyebrows. “Because you two are… I mean, aren't you?”

Yoongi finally looks up, looking him straight in the eye. “We're not dating, if that's what you're implying,” he says coolly. Not if her father has anything to do with it.

Kang Jaesung had not mentioned Miso once in the entire time Yoongi had been in his company the previous day. He had invited him via a phone call from his secretary on some thin pretext involving some documents that he’d required to send back to Hybe. A car had picked him up (mercifully not Seungkwan's) and taken him to the Kang estate in the most affluent area of Gangnam. When he'd reached, he'd been ushered in by the housekeeper to wait for Mr Kang, during which time he'd texted Miso yet again, wondering why she hadn't responded yet.

The wait was one thing. When Miso's father had finally greeted him and offered him a drink in a tone that suggested it was more of an order than anything, Yoongi had silently obliged, if only to finally understand what the hell he was doing here. There were guests in the house - that was plain to see. The house looked fancier than most hotels, his glimpse of the kitchen offered a view of multiple courses being prepared, and even Kang Sera had passed by him in a designer dress, sparing him only the most cursory of glances.

“We're hosting some important people today,” Kang Jaesung had informed him casually, as though talking about yet another item in his schedule.

“I should probably get out of the way, in that case,” Yoongi had replied, hoping he would get to the point before Miso arrived so he could just forget this strange evening.

Evidently, Miso's arrival was exactly what her father had been waiting for, for after the initial shock and the faux introductions of his guests, Kang Jaesung had quickly retrieved whatever document he needed, signed it in a couple of places, and sent Yoongi on his way.

Just before he’d left, Yoongi had caught a glimpse of Miso in the living room with their guests, including the chaebol son who would be inheriting a multi-billion dollar company as reward for the great achievement of being born. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why Yoongi had been brought to witness this spectacle, particularly how Miso simply… belonged. This was her world and Yoongi had no place in it.

The pencil snaps between his fingers and the sound jerks him out of his ruminating. 

Even Donghyuk notices. “Wow,” he whistles. “Bad morning?”

“Just…” Yoongi shakes his head. “What do you need? What - how can I help?” he adds, not wanting his general irritation to spill out on everyone else.

“Just need to know where Miso is. She sent the wrong sound byte to Marketing last night, for the new Le Sserafim promo,” he reveals, taking a seat and stretching his long legs under the desk. “It's supposed to go live today and they had to pull it back last minute.”

Yoongi stares, all annoyance briefly forgotten. “Maybe she meant to send it. I mean, she’s been working on it for weeks, right? Maybe… maybe she didn't even send it.” He's aware he’s rambling, but if there's one rule every single producer in the company - or any company - is familiar with, it's the importance of double and triple-checking everything sent to Marketing. Hoseok had once accidentally sent something without everyone's approval and the fallout had been bad. 

The Marketing team had complained about not being taken seriously by the creative types and it had taken the combined forces of Namjoon, Yoongi and the group's entire management team (and one lenient Marketing executive - Mia or something or the other) to douse that fire. The only reason a tearful Hoseok had escaped reprimand was because they'd been about to embark on tour and that had taken precedence over everything else.

But Miso is not about to go on tour. Donghyuk's thoughts seem to be along the same lines, for he simply shrugs in a defeated manner. “Go-live's had to be pushed to next week. They’ve escalated it to the mafia.”

The mafia. That was their decade-old, pre-debut nickname for Bang PD and the rest of the suits, derived from their harsh obsession with money and the visible disapproval every time they spotted any of the idols or producers in baggy or ripped jeans. It had spurred Namjoon to practice facing them during meetings, Donghyuk to thrift shopping for the most dreadful jeans he could get his hands on, and Yoongi to refer to them dryly as the mafia.

“She's screwed,” mutters Yoongi. He half-heartedly debates telling Donghyuk about the stress she's been under - her expression when she'd come face to face with Yoongi last night floats in his mind - but he knows he can't. It would be an invasion of privacy and Donghyuk doesn't need to be burdened with it anyway. Plus, neither of those things compare to the pure fury Miso would unleash on him if he ever told.

“She's screwed,” agrees Donghyuk, nodding sagely. “I'll do what I can to smooth it over but…” He shrugs again and pushes himself to stand up with effort, beckoning Yoongi to join him. “Before you pull another Kim Namjoon,” he quips, picking up one half of the broken pencil and tossing it into the trash. They head out of the studio when Donghyuk's phone rings and he swears. “Wish me luck,” he mutters in a tone that indicates it's pointless to do so, and moves away.

Almost at that very moment, the elevator doors open and Miso steps out, looking ruffled and annoyed. A huge pair of sunglasses are perched on the bridge of her nose and in her hand - Yoongi has to squint - is a half-crushed croissant wrapped in a napkin. She seems to catch sight of Yoongi before scoffing and making a beeline for the coffee station instead.

All of a sudden, the annoyance is back. He struts over to where she is, muttering under her breath while fiddling with the machine and deliberately not looking up when he stops next to her. 

“Something wrong?” he asks stiffly. “Because what you're doing there isn't guaranteed to make the coffee come out any -”

“What do you think you were doing?” She interrupts him, her head snapping up with such force that Yoongi takes a step back. “Yesterday,” she prompts, when he doesn't answer immediately. “I know my father instigated it but was there really no way you could've avoided it?”

Yoongi can't believe this. She's mad at him? “Me?” he exclaims, feeling distinctly like he could snap another pencil. “Do you think I wanted to be there? Standing there while your father talked my ear off about his fancy guests and their silver-spooned kid who, if you must know, studied in America,” he says mockingly. 

“Then why were you? And I know you texted me and I know I should've checked -” She breaks off, turning away to pick up her coffee. The first sip she takes is evidently too hot, for she flinches and Yoongi immediately catches the cup before she can drop it. She'd properly end up burning herself and maybe that would be his fault, too, he thinks sullenly.

“It was such a shitty night,” she mutters, taking off her sunglasses and pressing a knuckle into her eye. “I didn't need to be worried about what you were doing there, too, you know?”

“Maybe consider the fact that I didn't have a choice, princess,” he snaps, ignoring how she glares at him at the nickname. “Aside from being your daddy, he's one of the biggest stakeholders of this company. My company,” he tacked on sharply. “I can't just ignore what he asks, much as I'd like to. I'd think you'd know that, considering the number of times you've warned me about him.”

“I've warned you about situations like this one. To stay out of them. It's never just about one meeting, Yoongi,” she carries on, sounding troubled. “If he's had one conversation with you, it means it's part of a ten-step plan that's already been in motion for weeks.” She shakes her head as though tired of explaining something to a teenager, and it infuriates him. “You could have said no. Or made an excuse. He’s a shareholder in a hundred companies; Hybe’s management is the least of his concerns.”

“It should be your concern,” he bites back without thinking. When she shoots him an inquisitive look, he sighs. “You… you sent the wrong sound byte for the Le Sserafim promo thing. Marketing's thrown a fit and it's gone to -”

“No,” she breathes, eyes widening. “The mafia?”

Yoongi nods, a small part of him proud at how the nickname has caught on. He almost feels sorry for her but the injustice of her anger and the subtle humiliation from last night hasn't faded away. “But, hey, maybe your father can make it go away. I'm sure it'll be a huge stain on his family's honour if his precious daughter gets into trouble at work.”

“Bite me, Min Suga,” she hisses as Donghyuk approaches them, tucking his phone into his pocket. “How much trouble am I in?” she asks him instantly, wasting no time on small talk.

“Less than you might think,” he replies, stopping next to them. “You need to send the corrected version in before one pm.”

Miso frowns. “That's fine,” she says dismissively. “How much trouble am I in?”

“Apparently you have a secret weapon many admire and fear.”

“What?” Yoongi and Miso ask in unison.

“Apparently - “ Donghyuk drags the word out and leans against the coffee counter, as though letting them in on some top-secret gossip “- the issue magically resolved itself when Marketing revealed that it was you who sent the clip,” he tells Miso. “Evidently, no one in the mafia wants to piss off Kang Jaesung by being the one to reprimand his daughter.”

The coincidence is so absurd that Yoongi scoffs loudly, hardly able to believe it. He spares Miso exactly one pointed look, noting her dropped jaw and her pale cheeks flushing, before turning around on the spot and marching away. “What just happened?” he hears Donghyuk say behind him, but he doesn't stop until he's reached his studio, slamming the door shut behind him.

—

“Here.” Miso pressed the send button before tapping Donghyuk on the shoulder. “Listen to it and tell me if it's right.”

“Miso, I just heard it. We're sitting right next to each other. Do you think the file changed from your laptop to mine?”

“Listen to it,” she insists. “Please, Donghyuk. I really don't want to get in trouble again.”

“But you didn't get into -” Something in her expression gives him pause, for Donghyuk sighs and switches to his email. “I'm sure it's the right one,” he murmurs reassuringly as he sets the file to download.

Miso says nothing, chewing on her lip as she watches Donghyuk listen to the clip. Focus, she tells herself. For the last hour, it had taken every ounce of energy to put all other thoughts out of her mind to pay attention to this clip, editing every microsecond to ensure it was absolutely correct.  

“It's perfect,” says Donghyuk, and she breathes an audible sigh of relief. “Send it.”

“You send it,” she says, shaking her head. “I don't want to fuck it up again.”

“You’re not going to -” He sighs, and she’s unsure if she's imagining a note of annoyance in it. “Miso. You made one mistake. It's not the end of the world. In fact, it could've been way worse, if you -”

“Okay, fine,” she says quickly. She can't hear it again, how she could've got in trouble, should've got in trouble, but didn't because she was a privileged little chaebol whose last name solved everything. My father's last name, she corrects herself, cringing when she remembers Yoongi's face. Indeed, the worst thing about this situation was how unequivocally right he'd been.

Donghyuk leaves then for a smoke break and Miso sets down to draft a response to the Marketing team, rethinking every word to toe the lines between apologetic, humble and professional. It's another twenty minutes before she actually sends the email, her heart pounding uncomfortably. 

Exhausted, she closes her eyes and stretches out on the chair. She wishes she hadn't had so much to drink last night. She wishes she'd eaten that stupid croissant instead of throwing it away, she wishes she hadn't snapped at Yoongi and she wishes she hadn’t spent half of last night texting him, only to be ignored. 

His fancy guests and their silver-spooned kid who, if you must know, studied in America. Miso had known, even last night, how much that would sting Yoongi. It was designed to - for once, her father's actions had been fairly transparent and it was a blow to find out they had worked. She should've been supportive this morning, she knows. But her mother, her driver, her father, her hangover… she’d been at her breaking point already when Yoongi had sidled over.

He lumped me in with them, she realises, knowing that that was what hurt the most. It was as though the last year had been wiped away, and he was back to seeing her as a shallow, privileged nepo kid with no substance. Princess, he’d called her. Angry tears well up in her eyes and she brushes them away impatiently. 

She was always angry, she reflects. Angry or sad or mean or straight-up unpleasant. It had taken the better part of two years for Min Yoongi to find her bearable and even that seems to be a thing of the past now. Happiness is luck of the draw, her mother's voice echoes, smug and superior. Without another thought, Miso stands up and gathers her bag and jacket, storming out of the studio. She does have a choice, she thinks as she texts Seungkwan, and she means to exercise it.

Thirty minutes later she sits in the lobby of the top floor of Kang Industries. The office always had a certain quality that made her stomach squirm involuntarily, all the way since she'd been a teenager and was made to sit through her first board meeting. An investor had thrown her a question without warning and she'd been caught like a deer in headlights. It's still one of the scariest moments of her life, the knowledge that she held her father's reputation in her hands while he watched on from the head of the table, menacing as a mountain lion.

Not anymore, Miso tells herself, trying to be louder than the anxiety. She will ask her father, point blank, for her freedom. For her passport, her life, her sole access to her bank account. There is no doubt in her that it will come at a price, but anything feels worth it at this point. Being imprisoned in her room for a while, being financially cut off (her savings are meagre but will suffice for the time being), being made to suffer any number of insults, cutting as they are sure to be. She can survive a few slaps, too, she tells herself, if it means she will finally be free of her parents and of the prison that is their estate.

She glances at her watch. She won't have to wait more than five minutes, she knows. My daughter can never be seen waiting, he'd said once. No matter what I'm in the middle of. There was a subtle threat there, too, that while she had the rare access to his time, she had better hope she wasn't wasting a second of it.

She's about to run through the speech in her mind one more time when the secretary gestures to her and Miso starts, but she quickly recovers and makes her way to her father's office. Glad to have worn a blazer and heels today, she smooths her jeans and knocks, waiting for his deep voice to allow her in.

Kang Jaesung sits behind his desk, flipping through a report. “Aren't you supposed to be at work?”

“I was hoping for an audience with you. It won't take long.”

“That's not what I asked.”

Miso swallows. Not off to the best start. “It's my lunch break.”

“Lunch break,” repeats her father, chuckling. “Astonishing.”

She doesn't respond. She's not meant to, even if it makes her want to roll her eyes. Of course he would find the concept of lunch breaks alien. For all she knows, her father has never eaten lunch a day in his life. She stands straight, waiting for him to speak again when he eventually exhales and sets the report down on the table.

“What is it?” he asks, interlinking his fingers and placing them on his lap. Despite him looking up at her, his presence looms. 

“I -” It was happening, just as she'd feared. Now that she's here, her words are failing her. “I want to make a proposal.” When he says nothing, she continues, trying to keep her voice steady. “I… would like to move out of the house. To start my own life.”

Kang Jaesung takes this in, his face giving no hint to his reaction. “Is there something you feel is lacking in our home?”

Yes. A home. “Of course not. I just… it's time I became independent, is all.”

“Independent?” The word seems to amuse him. 

“Yes,” she replies, resolving not to falter. “Like you did, before you started the company. I want to… I want to try, father.”

His eyes narrow. He knows, she thinks fretfully. She had considered this detail in the hopes it would touch the one thing her father values - pride - but she must have worded it wrong, for he seems to have picked up on the attempt at flattery. Fuck.

“Is that what you think you're going to do?” he asks. “Start another company?”

“If everybody could start a company like this, everybody would be a billionaire,” she murmurs honestly. “I just want… I want to do it on my own. Something… on my own.”

Her father considers this. “And when it gets out that my daughter has suddenly left the family home, living in some district somewhere and working as an assistant producer in one of my shareholdings, what then? I don't suppose you've thought of that?”

“You have a PR team, father,” she replies, for she actually had thought of that. “I have no doubt they will find a way to spin it that will only benefit the company and your name. And if they need me to do anything as well,” she adds after a moment, “I will… I would be happy to.”

He raises one eyebrow, as though watching a mildly interesting television show. He's not buying this, she thinks desperately. Take it all away. The trust fund, the car, the company, everything. Once upon a time, the two hundred billion dollars that could be hers were the anchor that kept her sane, mostly out of spite. Then, after one night in a motel, she had somewhere let go of that as well.

I don't care. I'm done. But she doesn't want to give it away either; her father can sense desperation. Just as she's mentally flailing for something else, her father nods.

“And your friend… Min Yoongi? He has nothing to do with this?”

Miso's heart stops. “No,” she answers, as firmly as she can. “Father… we really are just colleagues. I swear.”

Her father makes an expression that's somewhere in between a roll of the eyes and dismissing a conspiracy theory. “To be young again,” he murmurs, standing up and slipping his hands into his pockets. “Independence,” he repeats one more time, chuckling softly. “You young people have no idea what the word means. You think it's something good, something freeing, to do what you feel like with a never-ending bank balance you haven't worked a day in your life for.”

“I’m not asking for your -”

“My money? Really? After thirty years of living, travelling and thriving on my life's work, now you’re not asking for my money?” His face is still smooth, but his tone is beginning to change. “You're going to live off your earnings from Hybe, is that it? Until some tabloid photographs you living in some slum and the rumours begin that I'm secretly going broke and before you know it, my stock price crashes?”

What the fuck? “I won't be photographed,” she promises weakly. “I'll do my best not to.”

“It's the disadvantage of growing up with everything,” he says, ignoring her. “That boy, last night, he had a similar thought, did you know? He had plans to marry an American girl, some classmate of his. They wanted to settle down there, in the backyard of the country, on some farm. Can you imagine that? A farm? When his father threatened to cut him off, he told him he'd give up the company for that girl.”

Miso feels a silent stab of pity for him, Jaehyun or whatever his name was. She wants to sigh and cry. It's a no, a firm one, and running away in the dead of night seems like the only likely option left to her. Until Seungkwan catches up with me, loyal hound that he is.

“Ludicrous,” her father continues, oblivious to her musings. “Only someone who hasn't had to build a company like that can give it up so easily. Anyway, it didn't last,” he adds, his voice suddenly becoming business-like. “His father put his foot down, his mother cited her failing health and somehow or the other, the boy was back in Seoul with his tail between his legs. Two weeks later he's leading the company's latest joint venture and dining with a potential contract.” 

Miso stares at the potential contract standing across from her, part of her reeling from the two weeks of it all, but mostly hearing the answer loud and clear: Not a chance in hell.

“You were at dinner last night,” he says, coming around the table to stand in front of it. Nothing separates them now but air. “Did you hear that asshat Choi Seung-ho talking about his first merger?”

There was no choice but to answer. “The one where he refused to change the logo of his company even though they would've gone under without it?”

Kang Jaesung nods once. “What does that tell you?”

“That he's proud.”

“And?”

“And… possibly a bit short-sighted.”

“That’s a polite way of saying idiot, but I'll allow it. But, yes, he's proud.” He crosses his arms across his chest. “And did you happen to note his son's reaction to it?”

Miso sees now where he's going with this. Their discussion about her freedom is over, and they've moved on to the only thing he cares about. “He disapproved,” she answers, defeated. “Not openly, but he looked away. But he agreed to add your name to the headline sponsors for their new chain of resorts if you give him a reasonable price for his contract.”

Kang Jaesung tilts his head, a peculiar expression on his face. It's not one she can remember seeing before. “Yes, he did. A silly romantic he may be, but the boy might have a better sense for management than that pompous father of his. Still, he's a green boy,” he remarks, clicking his tongue. “He asked for something else, too, if you recall.” 

He's testing me, she realises. More than that, he seems impressed. It's a tightrope, unfamiliar territory, especially because this was the point during the discussion that she'd begun drinking. “He asked for a non-severable contract. Not in those words exactly, but that's what he meant. Highly binding, lower scope to exit… that's what he wants.”

“He would've been a fool to use those exact words,” her father agrees. “What does it tell you? If he's asking for these things?”

That he doesn't trust you. She looks her father straight in the eye, hating him… and yet, wanting to answer correctly. “That he's cautious.”

Kang Jaesung’s face moves slightly in what she imagines may be a hint of a smile. “You look more like your mother every day,” he muses, surprising her. “But you have a mind for business that she lacks. And an ability to not care what people think of you.”

She isn't sure if it's a compliment. The mention of her mother is also strange; she almost never comes up in conversations with her father.

“It's a shame,” he continues, walking back around the table and taking a seat once again. “You might have even been a great asset to this company.”

That settles it then. Miso had suspected for years that the company would never be hers. There was a time when he'd been actively grooming but somewhere along the way, that had stopped. She’d never known why but she’d forced herself to look at the bright side: she wouldn’t have to be attached to Kang Industries for the rest of her life, and she wouldn't be associated with her father’s legacy forever. She'd known - and yet, the confirmation feels like a blow. Her eyes sting with sudden tears but she dare not cry. That's what he wants.

“You're correct, as it happens. He is cautious.” Her father pauses, sitting back and crossing his legs. “Jaehyun's father called me this morning, asking if I would permit his son to take you out to dinner tonight. I said yes.”

Miso's blood runs cold. No, not again. “No,” she blurts, the fear clawing its way up her chest. “I mean - father… please don't make me -”

“You said it yourself. He's cautious.” He shrugs. “This is how we assuage that.”

“We?” she exclaims without thinking, realising how loudly she's spoken only when her father's jaw clenches. But her mouth won't stop. Not again. “I won't do it. I… not again. Father, I'm a thirty year old woman - you can't make me -”

“You're my daughter!” Kang Jaesung raises his voice at her for the first time in years, on his feet in a flash. “You live in my house, on my money and you carry my name. My name!” he repeats, slamming his hand on the table so suddenly that she flinches backwards. “You will go tonight and you will do what my company needs. And make no mistake,” he snarls, leaning forward. “If I need to, I can and will make you.”

Miso’s hands are frozen and her throat hurts as she struggles to not break down in tears before him. “Father,” she manages hoarsely, so afraid. “Please. I'm asking you, please… I’m your daughter.”

“Yes, you are,” he agrees quietly. “And as long as you carry my name, you will do as I say.” He sits back down and picks up a different report. “You may see yourself out.”

—

Emails come and go, but not the one Yoongi is waiting for. It's not so much that he's waiting for it, he reflects, but he just wants to know. There are plans to be laid, things to be completed, peace to be made…

He bites a nail and glances surreptitiously at Donghyuk's studio, where the door remained stubbornly shut. He'd caught a glimpse of Miso going in there a few hours ago, huge sunglasses on her face and walking with a clear destination in mind. He knew she was alone in there (Donghyuk had left for a meeting) and he'd even gone up to the studio a little while ago, hoping to air things out, but the sliding sign on the door had been set to ‘Do Not Disturb’. 

Yoongi wasn't conceited enough to think that the sign was for him specifically, for they'd had worse fights. He respected her space in any case but after a while, even that had begun to annoy him. It really wasn't that big a deal, he argues even now, standing by the big windows overlooking the city. Trust her to hold a grudge.

He’s just debating heading home for an early night, maybe picking up his Range Rover from the damn shop if it's ready, when he sees her appear from around the studio hallway. Without warning, his heart skips a beat, but he doesn't move. She has her phone to her ear, tucked in the crook of her shoulder, while her other hand fiddles with her cigarette pack and a lighter as she hurries towards the glass doors leading to the outdoor smoking area.

She hasn't seen him; he's too far away and in any case, the phone call seems like a stressful one. Yoongi frowns; is it her father? That would explain the hunch in her shoulders, her stiff pacing outside as she nods into the phone and the long drags she’s taking. Kang Jaesung, one day I will kill you. He feels a grudging regret for how he'd snapped at her this morning. She'd snapped as well, but maybe if he had a super villain like her father constantly breathing down his neck…

Outside, Miso nods wordlessly before hanging up and stopping abruptly. She stands there, in the middle of the balcony, and finishes the entire cigarette until it's down to the stub. She stays frozen in place, almost like a statue with the stub still dangling from in between her fingers. Then she takes a deep, visible breath, as though to calm herself, and drops the stub before retrieving another cigarette.

Something's wrong. Yoongi can feel concern taking over now as he walks over to the balcony, just as she's walking over to the edge. The wind is stronger than he'd expected, brisk and sharp and smelling of rain. The clouds are thick and grey as well - and low, taking over the sky as he reaches her. She makes no motion of acknowledgement, none at all, but there's no way she hasn't seen him.

“Are you okay?” he asks, even though that wasn't the first thing he was meaning to say. He has to raise his voice a bit over the wind, pulling his jacket tighter around him. 

Miso on the other hand doesn't seem to be even feeling the cold. Her short hair blows back in tangles but her face is unnaturally pale. Somehow, the cigarette is still lit. She doesn't answer him… but she isn't quite ignoring him either.

“Miso,” he begins, before sighing and stepping forward to stand shoulder to shoulder at the railing. “Was that from the mafia? Or your father?” When she doesn't speak, he changes tacks. “Look, I don't blame you for being stressed this morning. And I know I was taking some stuff out on you that was… not about you. Well, not about you, specifically, but… Miso, c'mon, are you icing me out or something?”

It's a small movement, but she shakes her head. It's something. Encouraged, Yoongi continues.

“Do you want to… talk about it? Or argue about it?” he adds, trying half-heartedly to lighten the mood. “If you're staying late, I'm sure we’ll have the time.”

“I can't,” she says finally, although her voice is so quiet that for a moment he isn't even sure she's actually spoken, not until she turns momentarily to face him, dropping her half-smoked cigarette on the ground and stamping it out. She meets his eyes briefly and he's taken aback to see them rimmed in red. “I have a date.”

The way she says it, he knows instantly it's not a date by choice. The memory of her last “date” floods through his mind and he's reduced to staring at her in shock while she listlessly turns away, leaving Yoongi alone in the balcony while the clouds seal the sky like a coffin.

He stands there for a few moments, maybe minutes, maybe hours, processing her words. I have a date… Miso’s expression had been blank, as though all the emotion had been sucked out of her. It feels like a long time ago, the last time he’d seen her on a date with a corporate type, smug and slimy in an expensive suit, hovering around Miso and steering her away like he owned her. Yoongi had spied her disappearing into a car with him…

By the time Yoongi hurries inside the building, ignoring the stupid sign on Donghyuk's studio, Miso is gone.

The rest of the evening goes by agonizingly slow. Yoongi can't bring himself to go home, not when he knows Miso is God knows where with God knows who. Just like last night, his texts and calls to her go unanswered. Call me or text me when you can please. Please Miso. Even if you're mad at me. Send me an emoji flipping me off if you must. He sends it like all the others, desperate and useless.

He drops his head into his hands. If he hadn’t picked a fight with her this morning, she may have confided in him. Or maybe not. He remembers the midnight after the last date, when he’d sought her out here, in the office. She’d acknowledged his attempts to reach her. But don’t ever do that again, she’d told him.

But that was different, a voice insists. We were barely friends back then but now we’re… Yoongi bites his lip. There’s no time. Miso’s life was always on a different trajectory than his, a whole different world of torment and danger. She’s on a date with that chaebol from last night, he’s sure of it. And her father had rubbed every last moment of it in my face, before it had even happened.

The fury rises in him, so immense that it almost chokes him. Suddenly, he can't stand to be inside his studio anymore. Feeling suffocated, he gets to his feet in an instant and collects only his phone before getting the hell out of there and out into the night.

It's not polite to smoke in polite but Yoongi can't give a fuck. He'd had the foresight to also grab a snapback before leaving; lowering it over his head he lights a cigarette and walks along the pavement, his mind swimming with smoke, wind and Miso.

It’s beginning to drizzle by the time he realises where his feet are taking him. It’s dark and he's half a pack down when Yoongi slows down at the edge of the row of affluent estates. There's never any danger of running into anyone he knows here; this isn't a place where a celebrity would buy a house. This is old money - this is wealth. Generational wealth, not the kind built on art or passion but cold, calculating businesses. He wonders where Miso is right now, and what she would think about what he’s planning to do.

What am I planning to do? All he knows is that he needs to be face to face with this man who hates him - but the moment he steps onto the estate, he falters. What is he meant to do now? Walk up and ring the doorbell and ask for the CEO of Kang Industries?

It all suddenly seems like a bad idea, especially when he recalls the number of times Miso has asked him to stay away. Yoongi is just about to reconsider and maybe try to call her when he spots a figure in the garden - and the figure spots him.

No turning back now, Yoongi thinks as Kang Jaesung steps into view, phone to his ear and cigarette in the other hand, almost a mirror image of his daughter a few hours ago. Yoongi takes off his cap as the older man strolls over, still murmuring into the phone, and is momentarily thrown into the light as the gate opens behind Yoongi and the hum of a car carries over softly.

“Min Yoongi,” he says, after he ends his call. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Without waiting for an answer, his eyes dart to where the car approaches the driveway and stops just behind them. Yoongi turns automatically to see Seungkwan in the driver’s seat and Miso stepping out of the car. Her hair is in soft waves and she's wearing a navy dress that stops above her knees, with a black leather jacket on top. She catches sight of her father first and then Yoongi. Just like yesterday, her face looks alarmed for only a fraction of a moment before it goes slack.

“Father,” she mutters, not sparing Yoongi another glance.

“How did it go?” her father asks, as though asking for a marketing report.

Miso seems to think about it for a moment. “Good,” she says. “It's late,” she adds after a moment and even though she doesn't look at him, Yoongi has a feeling it's for his benefit.

Kang Jaesung smiles coldly but says nothing. “Where did he take you?”

“La Yeon.”

“And?”

“The salmon was overcooked,” is all she says. Her face is as blank as it had been earlier this evening, except for the faint glow of make-up covering her paleness.

Her father looks like he's about to respond but eventually nods once. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” he promises softly, and it's a clear dismissal. Miso nods and turns to leave but - and Yoongi knows he hasn't imagined it - her eyes dart to his in a flash before she walks away.

Yoongi tries not to watch; there's a flood of something in his chest, something light and simultaneously painful and he realises it's relief. He doesn't know what happened on her date but she's here, she's okay. He stares at the ground until she's out of his peripheral vision before tearing his gaze away and looking up at Kang Jaesung, whose cold eyes seem to pierce him.

He's waiting for me to speak. Yoongi feels a shiver go through him but clenches his teeth through it. “Why did you invite me here yesterday?” he asks finally.

“Why do you think?”

“I don't know. That’s why I asked.”

It's bordering on insolence; Yoongi can sense it in the way the corners of Kang Jaesung's mouth turn down slightly. “I think you do,” he answers, very clearly.

Why am I afraid of him? Yoongi thinks in frustration. “You could've sent anything you needed to Hybe. You could've asked anyone to come pick it up from here.”

“But why did I ask my daughter's colleague, hm?” He frowns, his tone patronizing, as though asking a ten year old a question with an obvious answer.

“She has plenty of colleagues.”

Kang Jaesung nods and then exhales, his eyes shuttering over, as if this farce with Yoongi is no longer worth his time. “I think you know exactly why you were brought here last night, Min Yoongi,” he says again, his tone far more business-like. “You saw what you did last night. And you saw what you did just now,” he adds, tilting his head in the direction of his enormous house. “And now you know, I hope, that you have no place here. My daughter thinks she’s subtle when it comes to you but she needn't waste her breath. I couldn't care less about how she passes her time, but her path lies elsewhere. You are not worthy of my daughter, and I expect I only need to say this once.”

Yoongi holds his gaze, determined not to look away. He knew, he realises. Of course he knew what this was all about - he'd known it the whole time. He doesn't know why he needed to hear it or why his stomach feels like it's being squeezed to death. These are his words, he thinks silently, forcing his face to remain motionless. But, to his horror, he can feel his vision blurring. He blinks and exhales as nonchalantly as he can, reminding himself that Kang Jaesung does not know his daughter at all.

“She does deserve better,” he spits, registering how her father's face stays stony and unmoving. For a wild moment, he reminds Yoongi of Taehyung, of his smooth and impassive face in moments of true anger. But any humanity or vulnerability that Taehyung has in abundance is missing from this man’s face. And this is the man that controls Miso's life.

“Thank you for your candour,” he says flatly, but just as he turns to leave, Kang Jaesung stops him. 

“You're still a guest, Yoongi. And it's about to rain. Seungkwan will drop you.” He tilts his chin again and the driver appears at their side from the shadows.

“That's not -”

“Yes, it is.”

Yoongi wants to refuse. He wants nothing from this man, but the raindrops start falling on cue. Both the older men are still looking at him so Yoongi gives a small shrug, as though he couldn't care either way. Seungkwan presses the button on the car key and the car beeps and Yoongi, unable to look at Kang Jaesung any longer, turns and lets himself into the backseat of the car.

Kang Jaseung watches him enter and run a hand through his growing hair. “Drive him home,” he tells the driver. “And make sure he doesn't come back here again.”

—

The rain pours outside, coating the windows and making the city a blur as Yoongi rides in the same damn car he's come to heavily resent by now. The heat in the car is on but it makes no difference to him - his extremities feel numb, his cap still dangling from his frozen fingers.

You have no place here. I couldn't care less about how my daughter passes her time, but her path lies elsewhere. Yoongi doesn't think he'll ever forget these words, nor how Kang Jaesung had leaned close to him with his cold, stony eyes that flicked up and down, as though Yoongi was beneath him. Well, I haven't got my Masters from Harvard, the university in America.

His fingers clench around the rim of his cap. His face burns, with anger, with hatred, with the humiliation of knowing he had gone to Miso's twice in two days, once out of choice, only for it to be drilled into him each time that he was not worthy.

Miso doesn't think like that, he tells himself. It's not her fault she’s born into this… and yet, she'd gone on the date tonight. Yoongi is almost completely certain that it wasn't her choice to do so, but was anything her choice anymore? Her path lies elsewhere. He tries, tries to imagine Miso being his girlfriend - going on dates, living together, planning trips, cooking in pajamas… it seems like a badly written movie.

“Next left,” says Yoongi automatically, sounding hoarse, just as Seungkwan drives past it. Yoongi fights the sudden urge to punch the seat in front of him and yell I said next left! But he controls it with effort, gritting his teeth as the car takes the next turn, the one that leads to the back gate of the complex, possibly in some shitty power struggle to make him walk the long way to his building. 

Something catches Yoongi's eye and he looks down. Somehow, the same familiar contact lens case is on the floor again, having rolled back from under the driver's seat. In a fit of petty vindication, Yoongi picks it up and pockets it. Keep searching for it now, he thinks savagely.

The car comes to an abrupt halt a few feet away from the back gate. Yoongi frowns, but Seungkwan is already unstrapping his seatbelt and throwing open his door. Yoongi follows, the torrential rain drenching him in seconds.

“What's going on?” 

He looks around to see that they’re even farther away from the gate than he'd thought. It's just the tall boundary wall and the mud path that leads down to the gate that residents of the complex use when they're being followed by Dispatch or crazy fans. Yoongi can't remember ever entering through here, not since the realtor had shown him this road when he'd bought the place.

Yoongi turns back around. “Why are we -”

A blow hits the side of his face, knocking him off balance. His hands come up automatically to break his fall, the cap dropping into a puddle. He punched me, Yoongi thinks, surprisingly clearly as his hand comes up to feel his face. His whole face feels like it’s vibrating and his ears are still ringing through the din of the rain.

“What are you doing?” Seungkwan exclaims, standing over him. “I told you to stay away from her,” he says urgently. 

Yoongi frowns, confused - and angry. He scrambles to his feet and lunges forward to grab the driver's collar. “Me? What are you -” 

This time he sees the punch coming and is able to block most of his face but feels a searing pain in his mouth as the driver’s fist catches his chin and his lip splits open over his teeth. He stumbles backwards and falls to one knee as he gingerly touches his lip, wincing in pain as his sleeve comes back bright red.

“Good, there's blood,” mutters Seungkwan, taking out his phone and shielding the top from the rain before snapping a picture of Yoongi. “Take my damn advice, kid,” he says roughly, “and stay away. It's not worth it.”

Stay away, Min Suga. “What is your problem?” he shouts, tasting blood and rain water streaming down his face. “This is none of your -”

“I work for him so yes, it is,” Seungkwan interrupts, taking a step towards him. His face is less angry now, more pitying. “I bear you no ill will. And I'm sorry.”

Before Yoongi can react, a kick to his solar plexus knocks him to the ground, and the world goes dark.

—

He walked her over to the other two members. The one with long hair stood up with an incline. “I’m Min Yoongi.”

She stuck her tongue between her teeth while keeping her hand steady with the mascara wand. The sound of another voice made her pause.

“Unnie, are you almost ready?”

The young woman looked up from the vanity mirror, mascara wand in mid-swipe, to see her friend entering the bedroom. “Almost, Jiwoo. What time did the car service say it would arrive?”

The other young woman glanced at her phone, nibbling her bottom lip. “Within the next five minutes.”

She hummed in agreement and finished her makeup. “Where are we going again?”

Jiwoo rummaged for her lipstick while sitting on the couch. Sighing, she looked toward her friend, “It’s a surprise.”

She turned, raising an eyebrow. “You know how much I hate surprises. Seriously, where are we going?”

Jiwoo rolled her eyes. “I’ll give you a hint. W Korea is hosting it. Happy Unnie?”

She sucked her teeth and grabbed her purse. “You're lucky you’re my best friend and favorite designer.”

Jiwoo giggled and grabbed her coat. Her phone vibrated as she hummed. “Good. Let’s go. The car’s here.”

=*=

The men stood on the stage, repeatedly reviewing their sound cues. Jung Hoseok felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and glanced at the message across the screen. His eyes sparkled as he typed a quick response. Another male with dark hair and a more diminutive stature walked over.

“Everything alright, Hobi?”

“Yeah, Yoongi. My Noona is coming to the show.”

Yoongi smiled. “Ah, I haven’t seen Jiwoo in ages. How is she?”

Hoseok gave a bright smile. “Great! She’s launching a new line for the spring in a few weeks, and her muse is back.”

“Whose back?”

Hoseok and Yoongi looked up as the third unit member walked in. His hair, now a lavender tint, was pushed back off his face and under a baseball cap. Hoseok turned his eyes to Yoongi and said cautiously, “My sister and a friend are coming to the show.”

The third member’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, Jiwoo? She’s bringing a friend?”

Hoseok's lips shaped into a frown. “I know what you’re thinking, Namjoon; she’s off-limits.”

Namjoon’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?! I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to say it. It’s written all over your face.”

Namjoon shrugged as a crew member ran over to help him put on his mic. “Whatever. I’m innocent.”

Yoongi snorted as he put in his in-ear. “Innocent, my ass. We barely got your name out that gossip rag cause of that–”

Namjoon scoffed, waving his hand away. “Water under a bridge. Let’s just get back to the rehearsal.”

“Uh-huh,” Hoseok murmured. “Just focus on the music.”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

=*=

Winter glanced out the window as the butterflies in her stomach fluttered erratically.

Why was she so nervous?

She’d been to numerous events, so why was this one different from the others? Half-listening to Jiwoo, she added one-word answers every so often. Her friend noticed how distracted she was and gently patted her hand.

“Unnie, breathe. It’s going to be okay. I’m happy you’re here in Seoul. This is going to be great for your career.”

She nodded as some of the tension lifted from her shoulders. “I’m excited, just nervous to start something new.”

It was a step in the right direction, and it made sense to start anew. Expanding her brand overseas was just the boost she needed. Unnecessary drama back home only added to her stress. It was time for a change.

As the car stopped at the building's entrance, Jiwoo gave her a warm smile before opening the door, making Winter shake her worries away. “This is the first step.”

The ladies stepped out of the car as flashes went off. Photographers were already getting entrance photos. She looked at her outfit, feeling insecure about how it looked. Jiwoo made it specifically for her, accentuating her assets perfectly, but it wasn’t too revealing. Jiwoo and Winter waved as they walked in. The creative director greeted the duo, ushering them down the carpet to take more photos in front of a media backdrop.

A person stepped forward with a smile. Jiwoo noticed who it was and ran up to him, waving. “Changkyun!”

The tall man smiled widely as he stepped forward. “Jiwoo-nim! Good to see you!”

“I didn’t think you were gonna be here! I thought you were touring overseas?”

He shook his head with a smirk. “I came back a few months early for a shoot. They wanted me to host the entrance event.”

His eyes finally fell on Winter as his posture straightened a bit. “Jiwoo-nim, who is your friend?”

She smiles, motioning to Winter. “This is Winter. She’s one of my closest friends from the US. She’ll be in my fashion show this spring.”

Jiwoo gestured to Changkyun. “Unnie, this is Im Changkyun. He did a few photo shoots for me last year.”

Winter tilted her head toward him in greeting. “Oh, I remember! It was around when you released a solo album, right?”

He chuckled, brushing his hair back. “Yeah. I’m surprised you’d know that.”

Winter shrugged nonchalantly. “I might have listened to it.”

His eyes sparkled. “A woman after my own heart.”

Jiwoo glanced at her watch and patted him on the hand. “We’ll have to catch up more, but we gotta get to the stage.”

Disappointment crossed his face, but he nodded. “Fair enough. I don’t wanna hold you both up. I’ll see you at the after-party?”

Winter bobbed her head as her braids swayed slightly. “Maybe. We’ll see how the night goes. Nice meeting you.”

“You too.”

Once they were within earshot, Winter let out a small giggle. “He’s kind of cute.”

“The way he was staring at you, I’m pretty sure the feeling was mutual,” Jiwoo responded.

“Really?”

Jiwoo gave her a skeptical look. “He was practically drooling when he saw you.”

Winter shook her head. “The last thing I need is something complicated. I plan to focus on my career while I’m here.”

Jiwoo nodded in agreement. “Smart move. Now, let’s enjoy ourselves tonight. The best is yet to come.”

The night went on as Jiwoo and Winter mingled with the guests. While Winter was having a great time, she knew she was networking with the leading industry people. As she grabbed another glass of champagne, Changkyun walked up the stairs to the stage as the music died. Applause rang out as he bowed to the crowd.

“Welcome to W Korea’s event Love Your W. I’m Im Changkyun, and I will be the MC tonight. Again, let's thank W Korea for hosting this event and giving to a great cause.”

He paused for the applause before continuing. “It is my utmost pleasure to introduce this act; they’ve taken over the underground scene, and with their single “UGH,” it flew up the charts. I present the members of gu239: RM, JHope, and AgustD!”

The crowd roared deafeningly. Winter watched as three men entered the stage, and the first beats of the intro came on. Her eyes widened as she noticed Hoseok dancing on the stage.

“H-Hobi?!”

Jiwoo giggled as she clapped. “Surprise! I knew you’d love this!”

Seeing her best friend’s little brother grow up was a surprise. Winter knew he was in the music business, but not to this caliber. He seemed in his element, vibing with the crowd as he effortlessly rapped his verse. She couldn’t help dancing to the beat as they whipped the crowd into a frenzy until she laid eyes on him.

Oh damn.

They locked eyes.

Namjoon was having the time of his life on stage. Whatever nerves he had left were gone as soon as I.M. introduced them on stage. He, Hoseok, and Yoongi began with a fan favorite, “Cypher Medley," showcasing each rapper's lyrical skills. As he got to his verse, Namjoon worked the crowd, getting them to dance and rap with him. As he came to the middle of the stage, he saw her. He almost tripped over his last verse. She stood out from the crowd for all the right reasons. Shaking off the feeling, he brought his focus back to the set. To his surprise, she met his gaze more than once. It seemed her eyes bore into his soul.

As he reached his verse in “Ddaeng” and began his rap stutter, something seemed to awaken in Winter. That fluttering feeling returned. She blinked once, then twice. It wasn’t until the music ended and the applause started that she was shaken from her trance. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Jiwoo looking at her in concern.

“You alright, Winter?”

She laughed and nodded. “Yeah. That performance was amazing! I can’t believe that was your little brother!”

Jiwoo smiled as she pointed towards the stage. “Wanna head backstage and meet them? Hobi gave me passes.”

“Um, hello. Yes, I wanna go!”

Moments later, Winter followed Jiwoo backstage toward the green room. The door was slightly ajar, and she knocked as someone opened it wider. Hoseok’s bright smile appeared as he ushered them inside.

“Noona!”

He wrapped his sister in a hug as he laughed. “I’m so happy you came!”

Jiwoo laughed as Hoseok set her down. “You know I wouldn’t miss a performance from my favorite little brother.”

Hoseok beamed as he gestured to Winter. “Don’t think I see you hiding there, Noona. C’mere.”

Winter smiled as she hugged Hoseok and gave him a once-over once pulling back. “You’ve grown up, Hoseok. I can’t believe that the assassin of a rapper used to run around filming those Hope on the Street videos.”

He felt his face turn flush as the other two guys laughed. “Guys, this is Winter. She’s a long-time family friend.” 

“Nice to meet you,” she said.

Namjoon stood up next. Their eyes locked, and suddenly they became only aware of each other’s presence, having forgotten about everyone else. Time seemed to move in slow motion as he walked over to her. 

"I'm Kim Namjoon; nice to meet you."

She looked even better up close. "Nice to meet you, too, Namjoon."

Damn. 

Her smile mesmerized him, which made it obvious how attracted he was to her. The whole room felt it. Hoseok stepped up, clearing his throat. 

“Got any plans for later on?”

Jiwoo shook her head. “Not really. I know there will be a few after-parties, but none caught our interest.”

Namjoon’s eyes twinkled as he cleared his throat. “Why don’t you both come out with us?”

“What?” Hoseok stared at him curiously. “We’re not doing anything fun. Just getting food and drinks.”

“All the more reason. We can catch up and chill.”

Winter glanced at Jiwoo for an answer, and her friend nodded with a wink. It was settled. 

She turned to Namjoon with a smile, “Send us the address, and we’ll see you there.”

=*=

Everyone watched in amusement as Namjoon and Winter chatted. They all decided to meet at a mom-and-pop restaurant, conveniently away from any potential prying eyes. Luckily, no one else was there, so they could all eat and drink peacefully. The owner, a man they had known since their trainee days, bought them a large platter full of beef and pork.

Jiwoo and Yoongi volunteered to cook the meat while Hoseok went to get the soju and beer. Namjoon watched Yoongi start the grill and glanced at Winter.

“Ever done kbbq?”

“Oh, all the time. Jiwoo and I would go and pig out after her fashion shows.”

Namjoon grinned as he sipped his water. “Really? You’re full of surprises.”

Winter scoffed as she grabbed a piece of brisket with her chopsticks. “Why does that seem so surprising to you?”

Namjoon shrugged sheepishly. “You’re a model.”

“Models have to eat, too,” she said matter-of-factly before getting up to help Hoseok with the beer and soju bottles. 

Okay, that was dumb. Namjoon wanted to kick himself. The last thing he wanted to do was mess things up with her. There was definitely a mutual attraction between the two. He could see that, but what would it take to take it to the next level? She wasn’t like these other women. This was going to take some serious finessing. By the time they returned to the table, he had devised a plan. If he was patient, the results would be fruitful.

“Miss me,” she teased, placing the bottles down.

“Actually, yeah, I did,” he answered, surprising himself as well as Yoongi and Hoseok.

The other two rappers exchanged looks but kept their thoughts to themselves. Hoseok made a mental note to chat with Winter at some point while she was in town. The last thing he wanted was to see her become a notch on Namjoon’s bedframe.

The night continued as the old and new friends enjoyed each other's company until they were all full and slightly tipsy.

Once the bill was paid — at the insistence of Namjoon — Yoongi was convinced it was another way to impress Winter. They thanked the owners before walking outside.

“How you getting home, Noona?”

Jiwoo flashed her phone screen to reveal the rideshare app. “Setting up a ride in a few minutes.”

Namjoon stepped over to Winter, feeling nervous all of a sudden. “Have you got a place here yet?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. I’m staying with Jiwoo until they get it arranged.”

“Your agency?” He asked, wanting clarification about who ‘they’ were.

“Uh-huh. When I’m not in photoshoots, I work part-time as a makeup artist.”

His widened. “Wow, that’s impressive.”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “Modeling is fun, but it’s not a job I’d want to retire from. It helps to learn other aspects of the job.”

If he wasn’t already smitten, he was for sure now. There was more to her than she let on. She wasn’t like any of the women he normally hit on. Her answers surprised him for sure. Nothing seemed superficial about her; it felt genuine.

“Unnie, the cars here.”

Namjoon tried to hide his frown as she turned her attention to Jiwoo. She nodded before looking back at Namjoon with a small smile. “It was nice meeting you, Namjoon.”

“Likewise, Winter. Maybe we’ll see each other another time.”

“Possibly, especially since Hobi is your friend.”

He nodded as his dimples appeared. The car pulled up, and he opened the door for the ladies. Jiwoo slid in, followed by Winter. She paused, giving Namjoon another smile.

“Thanks again for a great time. Y'all were amazing on stage. I hope we get to see another performance.”

“You liked me that much,” he flirted, pleased to hear her praise

Winter couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “I enjoyed all three equally. Goodnight, Namjoon.”

“Goodnight, Winter.”

He closed the door after she was situated inside. The group began to walk to their apartments. While Hobi and Yoongi chatted, Namjoon remained quiet. All he could think about was Winter.

That woman had cast a spell over him…

=*=

“Perfect. Turn this way, love.”

The bulbs flashed as Winter turned for a three-quarter profile. She had a slight smirk on her face as the garment she wore fluttered in the breeze from the fans. She ran her hand through the curls on her head, giving a wink to the camera.

The creative director looked up from her screen and gave a thumbs-up. “We got the shot.”

Everyone clapped as Winter smiled brightly, mindful of the train on the dress as she went to the dressing room. One of the assistants helped her out of the garment as she removed the curly wig, letting her locs fall and running her fingers through them. Winter put back on her clothes—a pair of sweats and a crop top—and started removing the makeup from her face. 

The creative director arrived as she was finishing her moisturizer.

“I just had to come by to say you were a joy to work with. Jiwoo spoke highly of you, and we were not disappointed.”

Winter grinned, pulling her locs into a low ponytail. “She said the same thing. I appreciate all the kindness. This was the smoothest photoshoot I’ve done in a long time.”

“That’s so good to hear. I hope we work with you again, Winter.”

She waved as she walked out. Winter gathered her things and exited the building. She put on her mask and hat and headed down the street. The chill from the cold hit her instantly. She wrapped her scarf tighter around her throat and headed to a cafe near her apartment.

The warmth wrapped around her as she walked inside and greeted the owner. She found a seat near the back and looked over the menu. The barista came over, and Winter gave her an order. She was handed a pager and settled in her chair, looking at her phone.

“Winter?”

Something in the timbre of that voice sounded so familiar. She felt a shiver run through her body as her face warmed. 

She looked up to see Namjoon walking towards her. She almost didn’t recognize him because he was so bundled up from the cold. She would have been clueless about who he was if she hadn’t seen the lavender bangs peeking from the beanie.

He walked up, holding a coffee cup and grinning beneath his mask.

“Hey. I thought I saw you over here in the corner. Mind if I sit?”

Winter gestured to the empty seat, shaking her head. “Be my guest.”

He settled in, getting comfortable as he removed his jacket and pulled down his face mask. He glanced over at her across the table as he sipped his drink.

It had only been a few weeks since he’d seen Winter that faithful night, and he was still just as smitten. He could only talk about her to the point that Yoongi and Hoseok tuned him out every time.

Not that he cared. He was patient in his planning. Maybe he had some help. Jiwoo unknowingly gave away the location of Winter’s modeling gig. The rest he figured out on his own. The coffee shop was a bonus.

“What have you been up to?”

Winter sipped her water before answering. “Just finished a shoot.”

“Oh? How did it go?”

“It went really well. Thanks for asking.”

The pager went off, halting the conversation...or lack thereof. Winter stood, going to grab her order, leaving Namjoon to his thoughts.

Maybe he read her wrong. Perhaps she didn’t like him that much. He frowned to himself, sipping his drink. Not to brag, but it didn’t take much effort with most women.

But she’s not most women.

Winter returned moments later with her iced latte, sandwich, and salad. Namjoon glanced at her food curiously. She held up half of the sandwich, and he politely declined. 

“So what brings you to this side of town?” she asked before taking a bite of her sandwich.

Namjoon sipped his drink before answering. “Oh, my studio is down the street. I come here almost every day.”

Winter’s eye lit up with interest. “Oh? Were you working on some new music with the group?”

A tinge of red covered Namjoon’s cheeks. He coughed slightly. “Actually, it’s still pretty new. Just working on the lyrics currently.”

She nodded in understanding. “I get it. But I’d love to hear something once you’re comfortable sharing.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

They exchanged soft smiles as something shifted in the air between them. This couldn’t have been just in his head; there was definitely an attraction between them.

Winter wiped the corners of her mouth with a napkin before meeting his gaze once more. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Namjoon nearly choked on his coffee, coughing for a few moments. He glanced at her in surprise, trying to figure out if this was another daydream.

“Namjoon, are you alright?”

“Y-Yeah,” he coughed once more before shooting Winter a reassuring grin. “I’m good.”

“Do you want to get out of here?”

Oh, she was serious. Winter wouldn’t have asked a second time if it wasn’t. He nodded, getting up and grabbing her tray for her. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

He threw her trash away as she put on her coat and followed him out of the cafe. 

“My place is near here,” he offered.

Winter bit her lip in thought. “Is that smart though? Would we run into anyone on the way?”

Damn. She had a good point. Namjoon had promised his bandmates there wouldn’t be any issues. If he were caught taking Winter to his place, things wouldn’t go well for either of them. Those sites would be out for blood.

She reached for his hand, giving him a gentle squeeze. “I’ll get a hotel. Less suspicious if it’s under my name.”

He shook his head. “I’m paying–”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not arguing this. It’s cold out here, and we’re wasting time. I’m putting the reservation under my name and that’s it.”

There was no use arguing. Soon they were sitting comfortably in a suite, sharing a bottle of red wine. Namjoon gave Winter her props. This was a much better idea. No one questioned it, and he slipped up to the suite after she settled in, making sure it was up to both their standards.

“How’s the wine?”

Winter set her glass down with a nod. “It’s good. Not too dry.”

They sat in the silence, each in their own thoughts. Winter glanced over at him, leaning into her arm.

“You like me?”

Namjoon finished the contents of his glass and set it next ot hers. “Yeah. I’m guessing the feeling is mutual.”

Winter smirked, running her hands through her locs. “You’re correct in your observation.”

“You want to know something?”

“Hmm?”

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “During our performance, I almost tripped up during my rap when I saw you in the audience.”

He met her gaze and laughed in disbelief. “And I can’t believe I just admitted that aloud.”

Winter scooted closer, patting his knee. “It’s kind of adorable in a way.”

“R-Really?”

“Uh-huh,” she answered, biting down on her lip. “It shows you’re not just a fuck boy.”

Namjoon snorted as he laughed. “Damn, I really give off that vibe?”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ve heard some things.”

“Oh? Do share, please.”

Winter straddled his lap, running her fingers down his chest. She noted the boardness as the muscles flexed. “What fun would that be?”

Without a thought, he leaned in, brushing his lips against hers. Winter deepened the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck as the pair continued making out. His tongue flicked across her lips, making her lips part as their tongues danced.

Sounds of content passed through them as they part for air.

His hands traveled from her shoulder blades down her back until they rested above the swell of her ass cheeks. He rested his forehead against hers, softly kissing the tip of her nose. "You're beautiful; you know that," he said breathlessly.

"Thank you," she murmured shyly at his compliment. Beautiful. It wasn't a word often used to describe her. Pretty, hot, and sexy–she heard that often. But the word beautiful had never been used, even if she was in the fashion industry.

His fingers played with the hem of her crop top, lightly tugging at the waistband of her sweats. Namjoon wouldn't go any further than the kiss if Winter stopped it altogether. He cupped her chin, their eyes meeting.

"Would you like to keep going? Just say the word, I'll back off if you want me to.”

He was giving her a choice.

"Let's continue," she answered after a beat.

He took her hand and led her into the bedroom. As they reached the bed, he pulled the top over her head, discarding it on the floor. His lips found hers with ease as he tugged her sweats down slowly. They pooled at her ankles, and she kicked them away without a single thought. His pulse quickened at her standing before him in her lingerie. He bit his lip and glanced back into her eyes.

So very enticing. 

How did he luck out with her? 

Namjoon pushed his thoughts aside as that nagging feeling returned. Yeah, he got around quite a bit, and maybe a few scandals were under his belt. It wasn’t like they were in it for the long haul, so it shouldn’t be that big of a deal. 

Focus, you idiot.

“Joon?”

He blinked, staring at Winter as a dimpled grin formed. She made herself comfortable on the bed, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Fuck it, there was no way he was passing up with her. His clothing was stripped off in a frenzy until only his boxers remained. He leaned in as his lips brushed hers, climbing on top of her as his hands caged her in.

She welcomed his kisses and wrapped her arms around his shoulders to pull him closer, lightly nibbling his lower lip. He pulled away, kissing a path along her jaw and to her neck. She tilted her head up, giving him better access. Sounds of approval passed her lips, followed by a hiss as his teeth bit into her skin.

"Fuck, that feels good. K-Keep going," she whimpered.

Namjoon growled softly in his throat as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Winter could feel his cock rub against her lower lip through the material. Between the moans spilling from her lips and the sensation of their clothing on his erection, his arousal was at an all-time high. He wasted no time unhooking her bra and throwing it somewhere on the floor. With a slight smirk, he bent down, kissing around one of her nipples. His free hand gave the other equal attention. He took the nipple in his mouth, suckling it while Winter squirmed under him, dragging her nails through his scalp.

Damn, he knew what the hell he was doing. The friction between her legs was becoming too much to bear. He had to feel the wet patch forming between her legs.

He let go of her erect nipple with an audible pop and gave her a grin. The pout on her lips made him grow even harder as he nibbled on her bottom lip. 

"That won't be a problem," he murmured. His fingers dragged down her stomach, feeling the contours and dips, appreciating the art that was her body.

They were entering dangerous territory. 

Was this so wrong?

They knew what the night would bring, but they didn’t care.

One-night stands weren’t problematic. Nothing complicated could ever come from this.

⧖⧗Circa Opal⧗⧖

The Darlaean uniform weighs heavily on your body. You reason it’ll take time to grow accustomed to the tight and hueless fabric paired with the stiff leather boots. The silver and purple stitchings that run up your limbs are an exception, but they’re nothing like the scarlet red and vivid gold of the Solarian uniform. 

Jungkook promptly picks you up from your door at 6 o’clock, and the two of you begin to venture to the training grounds. The morning greets you with cool mist and the sweet smell of grass. The sun is just barely peeking over the horizon, ready to make its debut and splash the sky with color. It’s still chilly from the night—your cold breaths materialize in the air. 

The cadets are already lined up in perfect formation, ready to take orders. They all salute in the presence of you and Jungkook. You fidget with your trinket, always having felt uncomfortable with formal military norms. Jungkook, on the other hand, is pleased. He shouts instructions to them, their morning drills, and gestures to them to begin. As the sun continues its ascent, the soldiers dance across the training ground, busy with strenuous exercise, their exertion keeping them warm despite the biting air. You and Jungkook walk around and survey the soldiers, encouraging them when their fatigue hampers their pace. By the time the sun climbs to its peak in the sky, the cadets are finished with their drills. Jungkook orders them to take their lunch break. The two of you have spoken minimally this morning, and you believe it has everything to do with how your conversation ended last night. You’re unsure now if Jungkook trusts you anymore. At what point will he fall completely out of love with you? Will he protect you then?

“—eat?”

You blink. “Oh, I’m sorry… I missed what you said,” you admit to Jungkook, but he probably knew that you were distracted anyway.

“I asked if you wanted a bite to eat,” he says. “Best to eat now when you have the time. I’ll go get us some—”

“SIR!” 

Your and Jungkook’s heads simultaneously whip around to the sight of Lieutenant Kim Seokjin running in the distance. He’s panting, frantically waving an ivory envelope in his hand. Seokjin skids to a stop in front of you and Jungkook, presenting his urgent delivery. It’s adorned with a delicate, scarlet seal. You immediately recognize it as the one Solarian officers use. 

“Sir,” Seokijin says, gasping for air. “I took the first carriage to the 12th city when I received this. A phoenix delivered it overnight.”

Without a change in expression, Jungkook takes the envelope, turning it over and inspecting it with scrutiny. “Ah, from the Solarian General. Addressed to the Darlaean General.”

Your heart shatters into a million pieces. Yoongi? Your Yoongi? Acquiring the assistance of a phoenix? No, it must be a fire bird—a sol. Your mind begins to race.

“What a surprise,” Jungkook says, dryly. “It’s too early for him to bring up talks for a winter truce. Perhaps he is finally coming around. He must know that his helluvian nation can never win this war.” 

Jungkook breaks the wax seal and slips out a letter. You can recognize Yoongi’s handwriting through the thin material where the ink had bled through. The letter is short—only several sentences long. But it’s provocative enough for Jungkook’s expression to morph into anger. “How dare he!” he yells, his fist immediately crumpling up the paper.

Your stomach sinks.

“What did it say, sir?” Seokjin asks, seemingly startled at one of Jungkook’s rare outbursts. Even he’s aware that it takes a lot for Jungkook to express his emotions.

“He wants to bargain war prisoners.”

Seokjin’s brows furrow. “Isn’t that… in our favor, sir?”

“Y/N’s on the list.”

Your jaw falls open. “Me?” you gasp in disbelief. 

“Temporary Lieutenant General Kwang???” Seokjin mirrors your disbelief. “What—”

“Absolutely not!” Jungkook scoffs. “Who the fuck does he think he is?”

All you can think about is that Yoongi thinks you’re a war prisoner. Does he think you’re stuck in Darlae against your will? Does he not suspect you to be Darlaean at all? He wrote a letter to get you back. He doesn’t hate you. He doesn’t think you betrayed him at all! Relief floods into your system, breathing life into every muscle in your body, until you realize Yoongi might be lying. He has to know you’re not a prisoner. There were too many obvious clues pointing to your true identity. So is he sending this letter because he doesn’t care that you’re a betrayer? Is he sending you a message? Does he know you used to be the Darlaean General? No, he must have taken a leap of faith—that whoever is the General would relay the message to you. It worked, you’ll give him that. 

“Seokjin,” Jungkook says sharply, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Write a letter to the Solarian General for me. Tell this treehugger that we will not partake in any exchange of war prisoners. Send it off using that phoenix of his. Those fucking helluvians! Stealing our animals, too.”

You bite your tongue to keep yourself from rattling off that there is a difference between a phoenix and a fire bird. But it’s not enough to keep you from asking, “Wasn’t the letter addressed to you, Jungkook? Maybe you should write it. General to General.”

“No,” he replies curtly. “It’d only be a waste of time.”

Your eyes close momentarily to help compose yourself. It’s okay, you repeat in your mind. Yoongi wants you back—even after indubitably knowing you’re Darlaean. Perhaps this is his method of contacting you, testing the waters to see if you’ll respond. Your heart pulls its shattered pieces back together. 

Giddiness settles in. 

He’s looking for you. He wants to communicate with you. It’s like the weight of a thousand fire sols has been lifted from your shoulders. Now all you have to do is figure out how to contact him back.

The answer comes after a long day of following Jungkook around to meetings and cadet surveillance. You collapse on your bed, exhausted, not even bothering to get out of your uniform. Enyx lands on your pillow, cocking his head.

“I’m okay,” you tell him. “I have a lot to think about… just didn’t get the time to do it all day.”

Enyx ruffles his feathers. 

“Well, for starters, I think… someone I care about from um, far away, tried to contact me.”

Enyx lets out a trill.

“Yes, I know! I couldn’t believe it either, Enyx, and I want to tell him that I’m alive and I’m well and I don’t want him to worry, but I…”

The phoenix hops over to you, clearly invested in your troubles. ‘But what?’ he seems to say.

“But I… it’s complicated. I don’t know where he is. No, that’s not true. I do know where he is, but I don’t know how I’d ever write him back. I have no means to… I just…” Your heart feels heavy. “I just want to tell him I’m okay.”

Enyx nudges you. ‘Perhaps I may be of assistance.’

“You?” you say, smiling sadly. “I appreciate the offer, Enyx, but he isn’t exactly from Darlae.”

Enyx cocks his head. ‘An even more interesting development!’ he concludes.

“So, unless you magically know the way to the nation we’re at war with, it’s just not possible,” you sigh, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hands. “Thanks, though… For the offer.”

There’s a flutter of wings, then you feel Enyx’s claws grip around your wrist. He trills loudly, insistently. Your hands come off your eyes. “How?”

Enyx chortles. 

“Okay, fine, you don’t have to tell me. But you’re serious? You can go there? I mean, isn’t it dangerous…? You’re not exactly um… Well, to put it lightly… No, there’s no way to put this lightly. You’re a delicacy around here.” If Enyx could roll his eyes, you imagine he would’ve right then and there. “I’m sorry! Don’t risk your life over this. Remember? I saved you from the royal butcher years ago. What if I’m unable to do it this time?”

Enyx ruffles his feathers in annoyance. ‘Do you desire my assistance or not?’

“I do, I do! I’m just… I trust you. I trust you! Maybe I’m also nervous, deep down inside. This man… Yoongi… I mean, I’ve mentioned him to you before. I’m assuming he wants to communicate with me, but there’s also a small chance that I’m wrong, you know? That he really thinks I’m a war prisoner, and he doesn’t know that I’ve betrayed him and Solaria.”

‘Ah,’ Enyx seems to say. ‘But it doesn’t hurt to try, child. I have friends in that nation. I’ll visit them on the way. And I won’t be eaten. I promise.’

You don’t need any more urging. Quickly, you rip out a page in a random notebook and scrawl, I’m fine. Please don’t worry. Things are complicated and I don’t know how much I’m allowed to say. Your hand hovers over the paper, quill pen in hand. Do you write more? Can you even say more? An ‘I miss you’ feels incriminating—if the message is intercepted, they’ll have evidence of your treason. You set the quill pen down. You’ll keep it short and simple. 

Enyx nuzzles you as you tie the rolled-up message to his leg. ‘I’ll see to it that it’s delivered,’ his bright eyes tell you.

“Thank you,” you say. “Truly.”

You watch the phoenix fly off into a red sunset, blending in with the blazing sky, and for the first time since you’ve come back home, you feel hope.

There’s a knock on the door at 8 o’clock as promised. Punctual as always. You’ve washed and changed, and Jooeun and her team had already set up dinner in your chambers a few minutes prior. 

“Come in,” you tell Jungkook.

He emerges from behind your door, dressed fashionably, with his sword attached to his belt as usual. The blue birthstone glints in the warm candlelight. “Thank you for agreeing to have dinner with me tonight.” He glances at your pale green silk gown. “Elegant as always.”

You nod, sitting in the seat that Jungkook pulls out for you. “Thank you. I didn’t want to break tradition.”

The corner of his lips pulls up in a small smile. “Good, good,” he comments, sitting in his own seat across from you. The food looks delectable, whipped ricotta with herbs and honey paired with a basket of fresh bread, a tomato and cucumber salad tossed with fragrant seasoning and the main course: peppered pumpkin risotto topped with sage and thyme. “Let’s eat.”

Over food, Jungkook makes small talk with you. He asks you how your day was, that he tried to keep your schedule light since it was your first day back on the training grounds. You reply honestly, that it was a lot. He nods. “You’ll get used to it,” he says. “Eventually, I’d like to get you back into training, instead of watching others do it.”

You hum. Reasonable enough.

There’s a bit of silence. The food is delicious, the risotto melting in your mouth, the savory pepperiness contrasting beautifully with the sweetness of the honey and ricotta spread. Then, Jungkook speaks up again.

“Did the Solarian General know you personally?”

Your spoon freezes halfway through its journey to your mouth. You set it down. You knew this was coming; it’s rare that nations exchange war prisoners—they’re usually sentenced to death—and it’s suspicious enough that Yoongi suggests this now of all times. But you can’t blame him. He did it for you. He wants you back, regardless of your allegiance. 

“He cherished all of his soldiers,” you say, hoping the response is neutral enough to placate Jungkook’s suspicions. 

He raises an eyebrow. It’s futile. You cannot possibly deceive a divinist, and especially not a divinist who knows you as well as Jungkook does. “I see…”

The rest of the dinner proceeds in silence. You have trouble looking up to Jungkook’s face. He must know you’re keeping something from him, but he doesn’t pry. Instead, when he leaves, he bids you a polite goodnight. You can feel him pulling away from you, but what can you do? Your heart reaches for someone else, and you await his reply.

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⨰ a/n: shorter chapter but the next one will make up for it! (side note, i love autumn so much)

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