There’s a 9mm pistol tucked into Yoongi’s sock.
The constant pressure of the cold metal into the thin flesh and delicate tendons of his inner ankle ground him to the job, take him out of his body. When he walks into the manor, he's greeted by a butler with a bald head and a tiny mustache who offers to take his coat. Yoongi would say yes, if it wasn't for the risk of the butler mishandling the garment and spilling the small vial of arsenic he has tucked into his inner breast pocket. (Yoongi always has a backup plan, of course.)
Instead, he shakes his head with a polite smile, and carries on into the ballroom where the sounds of fake, tinkling laughter and the rubbing of elbows can be heard coming from.
It’s a huge room, a high ceiling with tall marble columns holding it up and intricate archways dispersed throughout. There’s even a stage that’s been set up on the far side of the room, and tables lining the walls, covered in tiers of food and fountains of molten cheese and melted chocolate. Within moments of entering the room he’s offered a flute of champagne. This, he accepts.
“Just received confirmation that the target is on site.” Namjoon’s voice in his earpiece is comforting. As grounding as his pistol.
Yoongi take a sip of his champagne, eyes constantly scanning the room. He lifts his hand, pretending to wipe a drop of alcohol from the corner of his mouth while carefully blocking his moving lips from view, to avoid rousing suspicion when he responds: “Copy. Crowd is small so far, it shouldn't take too long to flush him out.”
Namjoon tells Yoongi to make it quick, because he hasn’t eaten dinner yet and he’s ‘so fucking starving, his stomach is beginning to eat itself in retaliation’. Yoongi hides his smirk behind another sip of his drink. His partner’s brain was unparalleled in the agency, but fuck could he be a drama queen sometimes.
A woman to Yoongi’s left lets out a high-pitched squeal of laughter that makes his ears ring and his teeth clench. Fuck, but he hates mingling with these types of crowds. Everything was a sparkling facade, from the chandeliers to the bleached-white smiles. He would bet good money everyone in this goddamn room had some sort of dark secret.
Himself included, of course.
He much preferred hits on pimps or drug dealers: there was no fake smiles, no required tux, and no dumb fucking fundraiser events where people’s pockets were only as deep as the front page story they were hoping to land for their “generosity”.
He migrates over to a table of food now. He doesn’t want to start looking to suspicious, lurking in one spot all night, and also he needs a new vantage point. The target still escapes his sight.
He’s just taken a bite out of a mini quiche when he sees a flash of deep red hair out of the corner of his eyes.
Li Hyun-Su really was quite the idiot, standing out so blatantly with his fiery hair and emerald green suit, like some sort of tacky Christmas tree topper. Yoongi snorts, raising the quiche to his lips and covering his mouth.
“Finally. Let’s wrap this up and go home, eh?” Yoongi wants to snap at Namjoon that perhaps he would like to put on a tux and come do Yoongi’s job for him.
The words die on his tongue.
Someone’s stepped right on front of him, and he would be more concerned about the fact that he hasn’t got eyes on the target anymore if it wasn’t for the particular man blocking his view.
The first thing that registers is dark, intense eyes so fierce they practically have Yoongi faltering a step back. Then it’s the smooth, porcelain skin, the plump, glossy lips. Silvery-grey hair parted, and pushed artfully back from his face, accentuating the soft curves of his cheeks.
He’s wearing a silky black shirt with a deep, plunging neckline that skims his collarbones and a black and gold jacket, intricate patterns woven throughout the fabric.
God, he’s a fucking vision. Even when he’s looking at Yoongi like he’s mentally listing the most painful ways to kill him. Which, if Yoongi knows him, he’s actually doing at that very moment.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Jimin’s voice is low and tight as he obviously struggles not to make a scene.
Yoongi shrugs, aiming for nonchalant even as his stomach somersaults at the unexpected appearance of Jimin.
“What are you doing here?” He shoots back in a low drawl.
Jimin’s eyes widen comically and he stares at Yoongi for a beat, as if trying to decipher some sort of hidden message in his words. “What am I - you’re kidding right?” Jimin waves a hand in the air dramatically, gesturing around the room. “It’s my event, Yoongi!”
Yoongi tries not to flinch outwardly at the sound of his name. It humanizes him too much for the job he’s about to do. He prefers shedding that identity when he’s on the job. Of course, Park Jimin was never one to follow Yoongi’s rules.
Yoongi glances around the room at the banners he hadn’t bothered reading before. ‘Park Children’s Foundation Fundraiser’. Jimin’s eyes are now narrowed dangerously and Yoongi swears he’s going to kick Namjoon’s ass for sending him in without a proper heads up.
“I didn’t realize,” Yoongi says apologetically, straining to get a glimpse over Jimin’s shoulder at the spot he’d last seen Hyun-Su. Tearing his attention away from Jimin is no easy feat, but the metal pressed against his skin reminds him of his purpose tonight.
“How on Earth could you not realize it was my event? Have you forgotten how to read, for fuck’s sake it was on the invitations! Wait…” Jimin’s voice goes from verging on hysterical to suspicious in the blink of an eye. “How did you even get in? I don’t remember anyone putting you on the guest list.”
Hyun-Su’s red hair begins bobbing across the room and Yoongi’s eyes carefully track the movement over Jimin’s shoulder instead of answering the questions. Jimin doesn’t miss it. He doesn’t usually miss anything.
“And who are you staring at!” He whips his head around, following Yoongi’s line of sight. “Hyun-Su?” There’s an edge to Jimin’s voice now, a bitter tinge of jealously that Yoongi knows all too well.
Hard not to recognize a warning sign like that in someone you once dated for two years.
“It’s not like -“ Yoongi attempts to diffuse the situation, but Jimin’s on a roll now.
“Is that how you got into the party? You came with him? As what, like, his date?” Jimin takes a step closer, into Yoongi’s personal space, and firmly plants his pointer finger into Yoongi’s chest. From this close, Yoongi can see the faint brush of golden shadow across Jimin’s eyelids and smell the sharp citrus of his cologne.
“If you came here to embarrass me tonight, I will fuck. You. Up.” Jimin hisses, jabbing his finger harder into Yoongi’s chest with each word, eyes hard and blazing like molten rocks.
Fuck, Yoongi needs to force himself to breathe.
“It’s not like that.” Yoongi pushes Jimin’s hand away from him, and the other man steps back though his face doesn’t lose it’s suspicious expression. He turns and looks over his shoulder again at Hyun-Su, then back to Yoongi. His eyes subconsciously drift down Yoongi’s body until stopping. Right at his ankle.
“You’re here for work, then?” Jimin’s voice is carefully neutral now. Yoongi shrugs, his jacket suddenly too hot and stuffy, weighing down on his shoulders. An emotion, something close to sadness flickers in Jimin’s eyes. Yoongi didn’t know he and Hyun-Su were close.
“I’m sorry.” Jimin’s eyes widen at Yoongi’s apology. “I honestly didn’t know this was your event.”
“Just-“ Jimin’s hands flutter between them vaguely. “Be quiet about it. I only do this event annually and all of my biggest donors are here.”
Yoongi nods in acquiescence, and Jimin just continues to stare at him for a few moments, chewing on the inside of his cheek like he wants to say something, but they’re interrupted before he gets the chance.
“Jimin-ssi, the Zsu family is here, did you want me to - oh!” A younger man with dark brown hair streaked with blonde highlights approaches Jimin and stops short when he sees Yoongi, eyes widening in recognition.
“Yoongi-hyung,” Song Sungwoo lets the familiarity slip so easily out of his mouth, and Yoongi has to bite back a grin when Jimin’s face immediately goes tight and unhappy. “I didn’t know you’d be here tonight!” Sungwoo grins, wide and toothy, cheeks turning pink.
Song Sungwoo. Vice President of Jimin’s organization. Far too young for the position to be of any real use to the company besides a pretty face to charm potential donors. Far too obsessed with Yoongi for him to ever gain Jimin’s favor.
Even back when he and Jimin were together, the kid never knew how to hide his crush on his boss’s boyfriend. It was cringey and annoying, but almost worth it for the look on Jimin’s face.
“Sungwoo,” Yoongi greets. He’s saved from having to say anything more by Jimin planting himself firmly between himself and the younger man.
“Yoongi was just leaving,” Jimin grabs Sungwoo by the shoulders and turns him around. “And you were just going to kiss the Zsu family’s ass. Ask about their lavender farm, they love that stupid thing. Off you go,” Jimin gives him a sharp push, and Yoongi has to bite down on his lip to stop his grin.
“You still haven’t fired that kid?”
“He inherited the position,” Jimin shoves an agitated hand through his hair. “I fire him, I have the entire board of directors riding my ass until they push me so far, I fucking resign. Or hang myself. I’m pretty sure someone down the line has hung themselves over this fucking company.”
Yoongi hums thoughtfully. “Maybe he’ll grow out of it,” he offers.
Jimin snorts. “Not likely. I’d better go make sure he doesn’t run my organization into the ground. For the sake of the children.” Jimin rolls his eyes and turns to walk away.
An idea suddenly strikes Yoongi, and he stops Jimin with a hand around his wrist.
“Actually,” Yoongi tries to calm to violent rolling in his stomach at what he’s about to do. “I could use your help.”
Jimin’s eyebrows only twitch upwards, mostly unfazed by Yoongi’s request. It takes Yoongi back to a time he’s been trying to forget, an easiness between them. An understanding. A partnership.
“What did you have in mind?” Jimin asks calmly, taking a long sip of the drink in his hand. Yoongi can’t stop the smirk that curls the edges of his smile as Jimin meets his eyes over the rim of his champagne flute with no hesitation in his gaze.
Twenty minutes later, Yoongi’s standing out on the back balcony. The pistol isn’t in his sock anymore.
He waits off to one side, hidden by the shadows.
Suddenly, the door opens, bringing with it a burst of sound and a sliver of light - just enough to illuminate the two people walking through it.
“I just wanted to thank you privately for your generous donation,” Jimin is saying, voice dripping and sweet as honey. Hyun-Su follows Jimin out into the cold night, not looking like he has a single objection in the world.
Yoongi presses close against the stone wall of the building and watches Jimin lead the red-head over to the railing overlooking the yard.
“It’s my pleasure Jimin-ssi,” Hyun-Su drawls. “You know it’s always my pleasure…” He wraps a hand around Jimin’s elbow and Yoongi feels a wolf howling in his chest. Jimin laughs, high and tight. Just as fake as the laughter that had been grating on Yoongi’s nerves all night. He hates the sound of it coming from Jimin’s mouth, but luckily Hyun-Su doesn’t seem to notice at all.
“Oh,” Jimin says, as if the thought just hit him. “I’ll go grab us some new drinks. Wait right here, I’ll be back in just a moment.”
Hyun-Su agrees easily enough. Watches Jimin walk away. Leers to himself when he’s sure no one can see him.
Yoongi steps out of the shadows, the wolf clawing at his chest now.
“Shit!” Hyun-Su clutches at his heart when he sees Yoongi approaching. “Jesus, were you there the entire time? What the fuck are you doin-mmph!” Hyun-Su’s protests are quickly muffled behind Yoongi’s hand as he smothers any screams the other man might make. The pistol is pressed to his temple, as Hyun-Su begins to shake, thrash in his arms. Yoongi holds tight.
He shoots. The silencer on his gun and the hand over his victim’s mouth has the crime entirely unnoticed by the partygoers only a few feet away. Yoongi tosses the body over the railing, before walking down there himself and dragging it across the yard, further from the building and less likely to be discovered too soon.
Jimin never comes back with those drinks, and Yoongi smiles to himself, despite the violent shakes wracking his entire body.
From his spot in his car down the street, Yoongi watches three cop cars pull up to the manor a few hours later when Hyun-Su’s body is presumably found. He watches the frantic mass of people rushing from the house, the crowd bathed in red and blue lights. He thinks he can hear someone wailing from here. He doesn’t see Jimin.
It’s a few more hours before the cop cars all finally pull away. Twenty more minutes until the passenger side door of his car is being pulled open and a familiar body lowers itself into the seat.
Yoongi hadn’t told Jimin to meet him here, but Jimin knew where he’d be anyways.
“Just like old times, huh?” Jimin greets him.
Yeah. Too much like old times, Yoongi wants to say. But he can’t speak yet.
They sit in silence for a few minutes, neither one looking at the other. Yoongi thinks about moving his hands from the steering wheel to hide the way they shake. It happens every time, a mixture of the adrenaline and the fact that doing a job never gets easier. Still hurts once he comes back to himself.
Before he can move, Jimin reaches out and settles a strong, smaller hand over his. His fingers are tight and cool, intertwining with Yoongi’s. Yoongi had forgotten that there was nothing worth hiding from Jimin, the man already knew all of his secrets, his weaknesses, his demons.
They still don’t look at each other.
“Were you questioned?” Yoongi finally asks when he’s sure his voice won’t waver. He sees Jimin nod out of his periphery, silver bangs brushing his temple.
“They couldn’t find a murder weapon on my person or anywhere in the area, and witnesses vouched that I wasn’t gone nearly long enough to kill him, drag his body across the yard, and stash a gun. They’re going to start questioning people on the guest list in a few days.” Yoongi feels Jimin’s eyes cut over to him. “A guest list that you, conveniently, are not on.”
“That’s good. You did good, Jimin.” Jimin always did good. “Thank you.”
Jimin chews on his bottom lip thoughtfully. “So… Is that check he wrote at the beginning of the night still good?”
Yoongi barks out a laugh, throat feeling rough and raw as sandpaper. It’s been a while since he laughed. Jimin smiles softly at him, thumb starting to brush gently across Yoongi’s knuckles.
They sit in silence a few minutes more as Yoongi struggles to come back down from the kill. Tries to put himself back in his body. Jimin doesn’t let go of his hand, doesn’t stop his gentle caresses even though Yoongi is sure it’s killing Jimin just as much as it’s killing him.
“What’d he do?” Jimin’s voice breaks the quiet.
“You know they don’t tell me that kind of stuff.”
“Right,” Jimin’s voice is sharp as glass. “They just tell you who to kill, and you do it. No questions asked. Like you’re some kind of mindless weapon.”
Yoongi knows Jimin’s anger and the sting of his words aren’t meant for him, but they hurt nonetheless.
“I’m sorry.” Fuck, his voice shakes.
Jimin sighs sadly. “Yoongi, I just wish…” He doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn't have to, not out loud. Yoongi knows.
“I should go. Do you need a ride home?”
Jimin shakes his head. “Hoseok is on his way to pick me up.”
When Jimin lets go of his hand to step out of the car, Yoongi’s fingers itch desperately to follow him. He just grips the steering wheel tighter.
“Well,” Jimin says slowly as another car, presumably Hoseok’s, pulls up behind Yoongi. “It was…” he pauses and searches for the word, “interesting seeing you again.”
Yoongi just nods, and Jimin purses his lips before closing the door and walking away. Yoongi still doesn’t move, watching Jimin get into Hoseok’s car in his rearview mirror, and then as they pull around him and drive away.
“So,” Namjoon says carefully, voice crackling in his earpiece. “That sure was something.”
Yoongi drops his head onto the steering wheel. “I’m going to kill you,” he informs his partner.
One wouldn’t assume Yoongi was a hitman just by looking at him. That’s what makes him so good at it.
He’s not big, tall, broad, and covered in bulging muscles. He’s slight, soft looking. Aside from the sharp cut of his eyes (his ‘murder look’, as Namjoon calls it), Yoongi doesn’t scream “danger” when you look at him. He goes largely unsuspected on his missions, and when his victims underestimate him because of his size, it just makes it that much easier.
Yoongi didn’t plan on becoming a hitman. It wasn’t like he filled out an application, turned in his resume, and came in for an interview or anything. He wanted to be a police officer, to help people. He entered the police academy after graduating high school, but after two years of getting the highest marks they’d seen in years, far surpassing his peers and some of his superiors, he was sought out by the agency.
The Agency didn’t really have an official name, it didn’t necessarily work under an official branch of the government, and it wasn’t explicitly legal. But it paid well. And Yoongi was young, only twenty years old, and high off the idea of the adventure, of being good enough to be part of something so exclusive.
The Agency got their orders from somewhere high up - too high for Yoongi to even be allowed to know about. Hits on drug lords, dirty cops, scheming politicians, and thieving businessmen. Yoongi didn’t care for any of them, so he thought he wouldn’t care about killing them. It was what he was good at, after all.
Another year of training at The Agency, and he was sent out into the field.
He was twenty-one when he made his first kill.
He was twenty-two when he met Park Jimin.
He’s late to work today, the office already buzzing with people when he finally makes it in, messenger bag slung haphazardly over his shoulder and a coffee that’s too hot and already burned his tongue in his hand. He’d slept like shit the night before - not uncommon after completing a job.
But he could’ve sworn the person in his nightmare with the blood splattered across their face had silver hair, not red.
He woke himself up with his screaming.
He knows he looks as bad as he feels, if the sympathetic gaze the woman at the front desk gives him as he hands over his key card to one security guard at the door, handing over his bag to be searched by the other is anything to go off of.
He can see people hanging around him and Namjoon’s desks when he walks off the elevator, and he’s just too tired for the maknae team’s never-ending supply of enthusiasm and pep today. But he adores Taehyung and Jeongguk, and he knows they admire him, so he musters up a smile.
“Yoongi-hyung!” Jeongguk notices him first and Yoongi practically has to squint in the face of the younger man’s blinding smile. It’s almost painful when Taehyung joins in and doubles the effect.
Jeongguk and Taehyung - affectionately referred to as the maknae team - were the youngest partners at the agency.
They made an odd pair. Taehyung himself, was a contradiction of a man. A huge fucking dork with the face and body of a high fashion vogue model, and an oversized pair of wire-framed glasses always perched on his nose. He dressed in a way that Yoongi thought would look incredibly odd on anyone else, but on Tae, the slim-legged, colorfully printed trousers and loose white collared shirt somehow worked.
Jeongguk, on the other hand, had a sweet, simple appearance. He was strong, built like a professional athlete from all the hard physical training he did. But you’d never know it just by looking at him, as he dressed in just jeans and a simple sweatshirt.
They were fucking, Yoongi was pretty sure.
It was generally frowned upon for partners to get involved with each other romantically, but if anything, Yoongi thought the relationship made them a stronger team. Taehyung’s brilliant mind was second only to Namjoon’s, and Jeongguk was brilliantly lethal in the field. His sweet baby face distracted from the impressive musculature of his body.
“You’re late,” Namjoon hums, but doesn’t comment on the dark bags under Yoongi’s eyes.
Namjoon looks like - well, he just looks like Namjoon. Tall, lanky, thick-framed glasses and long brown cardigan. Just a soft fucking nerd, Yoongi thinks affectionately.
“I’m already in trouble anyways,” Yoongi grumbles, dropping his bag onto his desk and slumping in his seat.
“Ooh, what did you do this time?” Taehyung asks, with a cheeky grin, earning himself a swat on the thigh from Yoongi.
“Involved a civilian.” Yoongi shoots Namjoon a glare. Traitorous bastard.
“So? Yoongi always used to involve a civilian when he and - ouch!” Jeongguk rubs at his arm where Taehyung had just punched him, giving his friend a pointed look. “Uh, sorry.” Jeongguk looks sheepishly down at his feet.
“Jin told me to let you know he wants to see you in his office.” Namjoon quickly changes the topic. Yoongi would be thankful, if the new topic wasn't something equally unpleasant. Jin was a generally amiable boss most of the time. He was fair and made lame jokes all the time that only Namjoon laughed at. But when he got mad? He had even Yoongi shaking in his boots.
“You sure you don’t wanna go take my spanking for me? I’m sure you’d enjoy it more.” Yoongi raises his eyebrows suggestively. Taehyung and Jeongguk burst into laughter as Namjoon’s cheeks flush bright red.
“Just go before you get fired,” Namjoon grumbles under his breath. Yoongi walks away from the two younger boys teasingly poke at his partner’s flaming cheeks.
In the end, Jin isn’t too mad, mostly because the civilian was Jimin. It’s hard for anyone to be angry at Jimin, he has a way of being the exception to every rule. Especially Yoongi’s rules.
Before Yoongi can leave, Jin calls Namjoon in to give them the details on their next assignment. Another fundraiser ball in two days time. Yoongi had assumed Hyun-Su wasn’t an isolated problem. It was probably some sort of money embezzling ring, a way for rich people to hide their money, move it around, pretend to “donate” it and funnel it somewhere else entirely.
That’s what Yoongi would guess is going on, but it’s not like anyone is going to tell him for sure.
All he has is a time, a place, and a name.
Woo Yong-Hwan, prepare to meet your maker.
Yoongi doesn’t sleep again that night.
Yoongi had blood on the bottom of his shoes the day Jimin met him, and Jimin had no idea.
All he knew was that the most delicious looking man he had ever seen in his life was sitting a few seats away from him at the bar, sinful lips wrapped around his beer bottle as he took swig after swig. His eyes were sharp, full of heat as his they scanned the room, flickering to the door every once in a while as he probably looked for whoever he was meeting.
Jimin himself had been waiting for Hoseok to finish with his night classes and drive downtown to meet him for a few drinks. He had just received a text saying his friend would still be another twenty minutes because of the rain, and he couldn’t stop staring at the stranger down the bar.
Jimin nearly choked on his drink when Yoongi’s sharp eyes scanned the room and landed on him, widening only slightly when he realized Jimin was looking right back at him.
There was a brief, pregnant pause where the two simply stared at each other. Jimin fondly remembered the way Yoongi, who had previously looked so unaffected and cool, quickly looked away. Tips of his ears turning red as he busied himself with another pull of his beer. Jimin was going to look away, too, but he got hypnotized by the way Yoongi’s throat worked as he tipped his head back and swallowed the last of his drink.
Jimin had known, somewhere deep in his bones, as he picked up his drink and walked over to Yoongi, with his bleached blonde hair glowing under the bar lights, that his life was about to change.
They spent that night together, and many nights after. Jimin was still in classes at the time, finishing up his business degree and working part time at an underprivileged children’s non-profit organization. He didn’t know what his boyfriend did for a living, and he was so captivated by Yoongi and his sharp wit and good looks, that he found he didn’t really care.
Six months into their relationship, Yoongi had surprised Jimin by showing up at one of his organization’s fundraiser events that he was working. But Yoongi hadn’t come to see him.
In hushed voices and faces pressed so close they practically shared the air between them, Yoongi told Jimin what he did for a living, what he was there to do that night. Jimin’s boss, the head of the children’s foundation, had been squirreling away major donations and funneling them into his illegal prostitution and drug ring.
Jimin helped Yoongi carry out the job by slipping poison into his boss’ drink. Three months later, he had his boss’ job.
They carried on like that, not always, but often enough. When Yoongi was sent out on a hit at a fancy gala or fundraiser, he would bring Jimin along with him as a cover and an accomplice. It was quicker, easier, quieter with two people. And no one would ever suspect Jimin, the head of an underprivileged children’s non-profit.
Jimin hated what the job did to Yoongi. It made him withdrawn, gave him anxiety, had him waking up screaming with nightmares. Jimin never knew quite what it was that gave himself the strength to never crumble under the job. He suspects it was out of necessity - Yoongi needed him to care for him, so Jimin remained unaffected by the kills. He also was never the one to directly kill anybody.
Jimin hated Yoongi’s job, but he hated the idea of Yoongi doing it without him even more. And Yoongi was good at his job, had it drilled into his brain that it was the only thing he was good at. So, he wasn’t leaving.
They were good together most of the time, but they were young and hot-headed. They fought and fucked and killed, fought and fucked again. Sometimes they were so in sync it was like they shared a telepathic link, and sometimes it was like Yoongi was on the other side of the world.
They were wild and reckless and made love covered in other people’s blood. The chaos caught up with them, wore on their souls. The arguing got worse. So, they broke up.
Jimin hasn’t spent a single day since then without thinking of Yoongi. Wondering what he was doing, if he was okay, if he was thinking about Jimin, too.
Three nights ago was the first time he had seen Yoongi in eight months. Yoongi looked tired. As beautiful as ever, but tired.
Jimin looks up at himself in the vanity mirror now. His blazer for tonight’s charity event is navy blue with black lapels, so he picks up a silvery shadow and brushes it carefully over his eyelids. Applies a colorless gloss to his lips that he knows tastes like watermelon because Yoongi’s told him so after licking it off countless times before. Jimin chokes down his heartache.
After what he’d seen the other night, there was still nothing to be salvaged of his relationship with the only man he’d ever loved. There was still a darkness that surrounded every corner of Yoongi’s life, and Jimin would kill himself trying to save his love.
The fundraiser tonight is for a veteran memorial foundation, he’s pretty sure. He’s been contemplating not going the entire month since he received his invitation, but since seeing Yoongi, Jimin desperately needs something to distract his mind.
He rubs a smoky, floral cologne on his wrists, applying extra to the pulse point behind his ear. That was always Yoongi’s favorite place to kiss and smell him.
Force of habit.
“Can you believe she’s wearing that gown again!” A high-pitched voice hisses to Jimin’s left.
“Forget about the dress, do you see who she’s come with? I’m pretty sure that guy was dating her mother a few months ago!” A tittering voice squeals to his right.
Jimin takes a deep breath, nearly coughing as he inhales the too strong smell of perfume clouding around the women gathered near him. He finishes off his glass of champagne, his second of the night already, and spares the women a flash of a smile and a courteous excuse as he escapes to find another drink.
This was not the distraction he had in mind for the night.
Jimin swiftly grabs two full flutes of champagne off of the tray of a server walking past him, raising one to his lips but stopping cold when he catches sight of someone entering the room.
Someone he was here trying so very hard to avoid.
But fuck does Yoongi look good in that suit. It’s a deep burgundy - one might even say blood red - and he's got a thick black choker around his slim throat. His legs look long and lean in his perfectly tailored pants and Jimin suddenly wishes he had three hands so he could’ve grabbed another glass of alcohol.
When Yoongi catches his eye across the room (and fuck Jimin hates how familiar the feeling is), he makes a beeline for Jimin immediately.
Yoongi looks at the two glasses of champagne in Jimin’s hands and quirks and eyebrow, but his expression remains otherwise neutral when he says: “I swear I didn’t know you’d be here. Your name isn’t even on this one.”
Jimin scoffs and looks away, trying to appear casual as he calms the stampede in his ribcage. “I didn’t assume you were stalking me, Yoongi-hyung.”
Yoongi’s facial features tighten for a moment. Jimin forgot about the name rule.
“Should I be concerned about the fact that you seem so well acquainted with so many people on my list?” Yoongi asks coolly.
“That would require you caring about me,” Jimin shoots back before he can think better of it. Yoongi’s expression goes from casually neutral to closed off in an instant.
“I’d better go. I’ll leave you to your,” Yoongi nods at the glasses in his hand, “mingling.”
“Wait!” Jimin panics and tries to reach out and grab Yoongi, stop him from walking away, but forgets that he doesn’t have a free hand to spare and instead ends up splashing champagne all over the other man’s wrist.
Yoongi whips his head around and scowls, but damn if angry isn’t better than no expression at all.
“Sorry,” Jimin grimaces. “I just -“
“I was just wondering if you need any help!”
The words hang heavy between them. Jimin knows he can’t take them back, but he meant them. Even after all this time, he’d rather share the burden with Yoongi if he can.
“You, fuck,” Yoongi runs a hand through his midnight black hair and tugs. “You shouldn’t do that, Jimin.”
“Why not?” Jimin is pouting but he doesn’t care.
“You shouldn’t want this! You don’t want this anymore. It’s why we broke up, remember?” Yoongi’s voice is controlled but his fists are clenched tight.
“That isn’t why we broke up. Idiot.” Jimin downs one of his flutes of champagne, placing the empty glass on a passing tray.
Yoongi stares, not saying yes, but not saying no, either. The sounds of the party around them are still swirling around them, fluttering across all of Jimin’s senses, but he only sees Yoongi in clear focus.
“I can handle it myself,” Yoongi says. Jimin rolls his eyes.
“Obviously. But like you said, this is my crowd. You’re in my world now, so just let me help you, you stubborn ass.” Yoongi’s lips tilt into an almost-smile.
“If anyone’s stubborn, it’s you, sunshine.” Jimin barely has time to get a grip on his rapidly beating heart before Yoongi is leaning in close and laying out the plan.
Jimin thinks he might feel Yoongi inhale a little deeper than normal when he whispers in his ear, nose tucked just over Jimin’s pulse point.
Stupid. Yoongi is so fucking stupid. He wishes he were two people just so he could kick his own ass right now.
How could he play right into Jimin’s hands like that? Why doesn't he ever have a choice when it comes to something Jimin wants?
The answer is obvious and sticks behind Yoongi’s tongue. Three words. Three stupid fucking words.
They decided to go for the cellar instead of the balcony today. The fundraiser was being held in Yong-Hwan’s own home, and according to Jimin, the man was famously boastful about his wine collection. All Jimin had to do was bat his eyes a few times and ask for the grand tour. He assured Yoongi the man would be easy bait.
Yoongi thought a nice clean neck break would be sufficient, but his pistol is tucked into his jacket just in case.
Finally, he hears the cellar door open and Jimin’s familiar, warm voice, as well as an unfamiliar one. He ducks behind a rack of wine bottles and waits. Jimin walks past his hiding place, spicy citrus smell of his cologne left behind in his wake, and after Yong-Hwan walks past him as well, Yoongi steps out behind the man.
Yong-Hwan gasps and flails when Yoongi comes up from behind, fixing the man’s neck right in the crook of his elbow, holding it in place with his other hand tight on his forearm. Yong-Hwan aims a lucky kick at Yoongi’s shin, and he curses, tightening his hold on the man’s neck, hoping to speed up the process.
Yoongi looks up at Jimin, who watches, eyes never leaving Yoongi’s. Fuck, he forgot how much of a thrill this could be.
His brief distraction causes him to loosen his grip just enough for Yong-Hwan to gasp out, “Pl-ease. Pl-Please.” Yoongi frowns. He hates last words. “My - wife.” Yoongi’s blood runs cold as ice in his veins. “Tell h-her, I lo-love -“
It’s too much. Suddenly it’s all too much, Looking into Jimin’s eyes, hearing this man’s final pleas for the love of his life. Yoongi can’t breathe.
He makes a nearly fatal mistake - he loses focus.
Yong-Hwan breaks free of Yoongi’s grasp. Yoongi’s watches Jimin’s eyes widen, then watches in horror as Yong-Hwan grabs a nearby wine bottle and smashes it against the shelf.
Instead of turning on Yoongi, Yong-Hwan advances straight towards Jimin, broken bottle aimed dangerously close to the man’s chest.
Yoongi acts without thinking. He pulls the pistol from his jacket pocket, take a step closer so that he’s nearly point blank with the back of Yong-Hwan’s skull, and shoots.
His silencer was on, but Yong-Hwan cries out in agony. It’s loud. It’s so fucking loud.
Jimin stands frozen, eyes still blown wide. But he’s safe.
Yoongi feels a wetness on his cheek. When he reaches up, his fingers come away sticky with fresh blood. He falls to his knees, hands barely catching his fall, right into the growing puddle of blood beneath Yong-Hwan’s head.
He’s shaking so hard he can’t see straight. He thinks he hears Jimin call his name over the roaring sound in his ears.
There’s blood all over his hands.
“Yoongi!” Jimin shouts, immediately springing into action. He rushes over to the collapsed man, cupping Yoongi’s face in his hand, completely ignoring the blood that now stains his fingers.
Yoongi is shaking like a leaf, the tremors seeming to come from the very core of his being like an earthquake. Jimin gently lifts Yoongi’s face, tries to get him to focus and look him in the eyes. “Yoongi! Hey, Yoongi, come on, baby.” Jimin doesn’t think as the pet name slips from his lips. All he’s worried about right now is keeping Yoongi safe.
He thinks he hears footsteps above, and looks around for the exterior exit of the cellar to take them out through the backyard instead of back into the party. He spots it in the opposite corner of the room.
“Baby, please. We have to get out of here, can you hear me?” Jimin jostles Yoongi gently by the shoulders. His eyes are still glazed over and far away, but he manages a small nod and Jimin is filled with relief.
“Come on, sweetheart, you gotta stand up now, yeah? Let’s get you on your feet.” With a little more coaxing and his hands around Yoongi’s waist, Jimin manages to get the other man into a wobbling, but upright position. Jimin removes his hands to go and open the cellar door, but stops in his tracks when Yoongi lets out a sharp, wailing cry. Silent sobs begin to wrack his frame and Jimin can’t figure out what’s happened until he follows Yoongi’s line of sight.
He’s staring at Jimin’s bloody hands.
“Oh, oh, shhhh, darling it’s okay, I’m okay,” Jimin holds out his hands, palms out so Yoongi can see he’s uninjured.
“I - I did this… To - to you,” Yoongi’s breathing is erratic and the whole cellar seems to fill with the sounds of his chest heaving.
“No. No you didn’t Yoongi, I did this to me, okay? You didn’t do anything bad to me. Not ever.”
“Yelled.” Yoongi croaks. It’s not hard to figure out that he isn’t talking about tonight.
“Yeah,” Jimin whispers, throat constricting. “I yelled, too. We both yelled a lot, but it’s okay now, right? We’re okay.”
“‘m not. Not o-okay.” The bottom drops out of Jimin’s world. He grabs Yoongi and pulls him close, crushing him into his body.
“Fuck.” Jimin’s voice cracks. He lets himself hold Yoongi, one hand possessively cradling the back of his head and carding through his hair, for just a moment. There’s a loud peal of laughter from somewhere above their heads and it kickstarts Jimin back into action.
Luckily, no blood had gotten on the bottom of Yoongi’s shoes, so they leave no footprints as they move across the cellar floor. When Jimin reaches up and lifts the cellar door open wide, there’s a strong breeze of cool, night air that makes Yoongi shiver harder. Jimin pulls the other man tight against his side
Jimin reaches into Yoongi’s jacket pocket for his car keys, knowing that there’ll be a car parked just down the street, as is Yoongi’s usual routine.
He heads for his apartment without a second thought.
Jimin thanks whatever gods are out there that he lives alone now, because explaining his bloody ex-boyfriend having a panic attack on his kitchen floor right now would be pretty difficult to do.
Yoongi had only made it as far as the kitchen before his knees gave out and he collapsed, Jimin’s arm around his waist carefully helping lower him to the ground so he didn’t hurt himself. The hitman was curled in on himself, back against the wall and hands stretched out in front of him as he stared, transfixed, at the blood staining them.
Jimin sat down right next to him, putting an arm around Yoongi’s shoulders and holding him tight, murmuring soothing words into the crown of his head.
“I’m so sorry,” Yoongi’s whisper is broken and raw. He’s still shaking, but he seems a bit more clear-headed.
“Come on,” Jimin whispers back, planting a kiss that he hoped Yoongi is still too out of it to notice on the top of his head. “Let’s get you cleaned up and in bed, hm?”
Yoongi nods, finally looking away from his hands and into Jimin’s eyes with a look so open and trusting, Jimin feels like he’s travelled back in time.
After stripping Yoongi out of his blood-soaked dress pants and suit jacket, Jimin puts down the toilet seat and sits Yoongi on top of it, wearing only his boxers and black dress shirt. Grabbing a washcloth and wetting it with warm water in the sink, Jimin crouches down in front of Yoongi.
He takes Yoongi’s hands first, wiping away all of the blood there, gently working the cloth over Yoongi’s long, slender fingers. Fingers that Jimin knows intimately, that he’s loved and kissed and had pressed inside of him. Fingers that were never meant to be those of a killer.
He rinses out the washcloth, wringing out the red water down the drain, and this time crouches even closer, taking Yoongi’s chin gently in one hand as he runs the cloth over his face. Jimin is so focused on his work, that he doesn’t immediately notice the way Yoongi looks at him. When he does look up to meet Yoongi’s eyes, he’s nearly floored by the expression on his face.
The first thing that comes to Jimin’s mind is how young Yoongi looks. There are no hard lines, none of the sharp edges that Jimin has grown to expect. His face is relaxed, lips parted slightly, and a look so soft, so adoring and fond in his eyes Jimin thinks he might go into his own panic attack pretty soon.
They’re close, so close. It would be so easy, Jimin knows, to kiss Yoongi right now. To capture his soft lips, to slip his tongue in the sweet opening left for him. But Yoongi’s still shaking beneath his fingertips, and Jimin refuses to ever be someone to take something from him. To take a choice from him.
But… Jimin isn’t a perfect man. He can’t stop himself, no matter how hard he tries, from leaning forward on the balls of his feet and pressing a soft kiss to the skin of Yoongi’s cheekbone, just below his eye. He thinks he hears Yoongi draw in a sharp inhale, but he can’t be sure because he can literally hear his heart pounding in his ears. Yoongi, fingers shaking, grabs at Jimin’s shirt.
When Jimin pulls back, there are a million questions flitting across Yoongi’s face. Jimin just smiles gently and pries his hands from the fabric of his shirt, leading Yoongi into the bedroom instead.
Without his dress shirt now, Yoongi is left in only a a white t-shirt and his boxers. Jimin goes into the bathroom to change into his flannel pants and t-shirt, and when he comes back he finds Yoongi already curled up beneath the comforter, tremors still wracking his body.
Jimin wants to curl up around him, to smother him in warmth and comfort, to cover every part of him and protect him from the fucked up world they live in.
“I’ll be right out there sleeping on the couch if you need me,” he says, instead.
It feels like a sick trick of his imagination when he starts to walk out the door and hears: “Stay.”
Jimin turns slowly, and Yoongi’s staring defiantly at him, cheeks flushed a bit pink. But he doesn’t look away. He has Jimin’s fluffy white comforter pulled nearly up to his nose, dark lashes lining his sharp eyes and inky black hair spilling in a beautiful contrast over Jimin’s pillow.
He knows he shouldn’t agree. He knows they’ll both regret it in the morning, it’ll only make things hurt so much worse than they already will. But in this moment, Jimin can’t find the strength to deny Yoongi anything he asks for. To turn him down when Yoongi so desperately needs him.
Jimin climbs in on the other side of the bed, not too close. He doesn’t know what the boundaries are between them right now. He doesn’t know what anything between them is right now.
Yoongi rolls over so that he’s curled up facing Jimin now, only a few inches separating them. Jimin’s on his side as well, hands resting between their bodies. Yoongi reaches forward with shaking fingers and intertwines their hands together.
His eyes bore a question into Jimin and he just smiles back, placing a small kiss onto Yoongi’s knuckles. Yoongi lets out a small, torn whimper and Jimin remembers. Remembers how not too long ago those hands were covered in another man’s blood. Yoongi’s eyes are wide and burning.
Jimin pulls their hands back to his mouth and kisses another spot on Yoongi’s hand. Then another. Another.
The tears finally fall from Yoongi’s eyes as Jimin presses kisses to every inch of Yoongi’s hands he can get his lips on, trying to chase away the ghost, the pain of what Yoongi had done with them. Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut tight and lets out a broken sob. Jimin keeps his lips pressed to the fluttering pulse point of Yoongi’s wrist until the other man, exhausted in so many ways, cries himself right to sleep.