Chapter Text
Min Yoongi learned from an early age that people follow money.
Maybe it comes with the territory, as a descendent of the royal family. People have swarmed over their coin since the Joseon Dynasty. And now, in 2021, as a chaebol. Yoongi was admittedly born with a silver spoon in his mouth and, for as long as he can remember, he’s always had whatever he wished for. He’s never known how to want for something.
It's a good life, but with its own brand of struggles. Unlike most kids his age, Yoongi's fixation with self-actualization came very early: he grew up obsessed with carving out an identity beyond his parents' money, making a name for himself, creating wealth through his own efforts. He's rich, yeah, but not lazy. He hates that people are quick to assume the latter.
And so, just to shut them all up, he did it. Self-actualized the young age of 28. Or something like that.
He refused to inherit his father's business and instead founded MYG Enterprises, all on his own. It started with raw materials, then branched out to manufacturing and construction, and most recently, tech. He made it look so easy.
The public ate it up, too. Young, feisty chaebol breaking away from the family business to forge a path of his own and successfully amassing billions? The story sells itself! The press is even kind enough to throw in words like “self-made” and “courageous” as if decades of generational wealth and capitalism had nothing to do with it. Whatever the case, Min Yoongi lands on a Forbes 30 Under 30 list and subsequently, the Forbes Billionaires List, and everyone’s attention is on him.
He loves it and hates it, all at once.
People stick to him like flies to honey—boldly offering friendship, business opportunities, sex—all dumb enough to think Yoongi can’t see right through them. As if there was anything they could give that he couldn't get for himself.
Yoongi prefers his circle small, his money safe, and everyone else watching (preferably, green with envy) a good distance away. He consciously avoids anything that could lead to unwanted drama: he doesn’t sleep around, he doesn’t get piss drunk, he doesn’t make "friends." He doesn’t give anyone the chance to get close to him, because in his world, getting close means getting vulnerable and despite all the money he has, he can never afford that.
So none of that explains why he is letting this tall, attractive stranger pin him against the corridor and kiss him senseless.
Yoongi threads his hands through the stranger’s off-pink, almost blond hair, aware only of the man's soft lips. His steady grip. His intoxicating scent. He smells nice. Like pine, he thinks.
How did this even happen?
“Which door?” The stranger asks, breathing heavy against his ear.
Yoongi blinks, coming back to his senses, and flounders for his room key. He grabs it from his pocket and holds it up, too far gone to notice the way the stranger’s gaze lingers on his hand for a second too long.
He opens the door and leads them inside, bodies crashing desperately, fingers moving to get the other into a less modest state of undress.
When Yoongi had overheard a displeased comment about his party's subpar menu, the last thing on his mind was that it would lead to this.
“Terrible.” The stranger had said earlier in the night, to no one in particular, after biting into an hors d’oeuvre.
Yoongi had just so happened to be there, right next to him at the buffet table.
He wasn’t supposed to be. A man of his stature never usually mingled with the non-VIP guests, much less leave his post to grab some finger food.
But he was never one for parties, despite the many extravagant ones he throws, and tonight had felt particularly suffocating. So he had given Namjoon a look and weaved through the crowds on his own. Without the bodyguards drawing attention, he looked just like them in his simple suit and tie—common folk.
He had only intended to clear his mind, maybe get a breath of fresh air for a minute or two, but had gotten sidetracked by the particularly inviting buffet.
It's a small thing, but he could no longer remember the last time he had gotten anything for himself, too accustomed to having it served in front of him on a golden platter.
The stranger had noticed Yoongi reach for an appetizer and immediately shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“It’s that bad?” Yoongi asked.
The stranger shrugged, the action emphasizing his broad shoulders and elegantly-tailored suit. Yoongi gave him a once-over, eyes scanning his crisp white outfit and landing on his dramatic, dazzling loafers. His shoes were bespeckled in what looked like real diamonds.
Maybe on anyone else it would have looked tacky, but there was no denying the man’s extremely good looks, and that alone was enough to carry the whole outfit. Yoongi wondered offhandedly if this man was an actor. Or a model, at the very least. It was odd that Yoongi couldn't place him; he usually made it a point to know everyone in the room, even if only by face.
“I give it a two out of ten.” The stranger replied. There was something candid about the way he spoke to Yoongi, almost like he didn’t care about who he was talking to. A refreshing contrast from the rest of the evening’s formal affair. “But honestly, what can you expect from these rich assholes, am I right?”
“Excuse me?”
“None of them know how to throw a good party.” Yoongi had not had anyone address him so informally in a while; he didn't know whether to find it amusing or downright rude. The clueless stranger continued oversharing as if he was talking to a friend. “They spend all this money on presentation, but hardly pay attention to quality. Like, look—yes, the champagne tower is divine, ” He gestured at the spectacle in question, “but at least put some seasoning on your bruschetta. Don’t attempt Italian if you’re not going to add flavor to it. I could whip up better-tasting pasta with a hangover.”
That was enough.
“Well.” Yoongi didn’t even try to hide his condescension. “I’m sorry if my party isn’t up to your standards.”
The guy raised a brow, as if only then putting two and two together. He didn't bother hiding the shock on his face, and Yoongi thought it was quite adorable. Genuine, even. Like he really didn’t know who Yoongi was. In any regular conversation, this would have been the part where people gathered their bearings. They would've showered him with compliments to overcompensate for their faux pas and give him the special treatment he was due.
But instead, the stranger had surprised him by putting on a playful smile. “Buy me a drink, maybe I’ll forgive you.”
One thing had led to another and now here he is, tasting the whiskey he bought on the beautiful stranger’s tongue. It might be the alcohol talking, but Yoongi’s never had anything that left such an addicting aftertaste. He’s shamelessly chasing the high—lips desperate, hands determined—but in the end, it’s the bold, broad stranger who pins him down the bed, every touch sparking fireworks inside him.
In the morning, Yoongi feels a weight in his stomach even before he opens his eyes.
Part of it is disbelief—did he really just hook up with someone last night and did it really feel as magical as it did, or was it all an exaggerated wet dream? Part of it is disappointment at the inevitable reality check—and so what if was? One (mind-blowing) night with a charming stranger changes nothing in the grand scheme of things.
When he shifts his head to look at the other side of the bed, it hits him harder than he anticipated.
It’s empty.
It feels like someone punched a hole through his stomach. Why’d he leave, just like that?
Yoongi sits up, taking in the hotel room. Acting on instinct, he checks his valuables: the bags on his couch are untouched, the safe is unopened, and his Rolex and phone are on the side table beside him. He grabs his slacks, discarded on the floor, and checks the pockets. Wait—where’s his wallet?
There's an initial panic, but he pats down the carpet and eventually finds it all the way underneath the bed. He opens the black leather wallet and finds all his IDs, his cards, and even his spare change intact. So the guy wasn’t a thief. (Not that he looked like it, but Yoongi could ever be too sure.)
He tries to rub the sleep from his eyes and inwardly hopes the disappointment will go away, too, when something glittery catches his attention, hidden even further under the bed. Is that…a shoe?
As he’s reaching for it, his phone buzzes. Yoongi’s not all too eager to answer, already knowing that couldn’t possibly be the stranger calling. They didn’t even exchange numbers.
Yoongi holds the shoe in his hand, watching the light refract against the sparkling crystals, and glances around the room for the pair.
His other hand grabs the phone on the side table.
“Hyung.” Namjoon speaks, voice too panicked for eight o’clock in the morning. “Code Red.”
Yoongi sighs. “It’s too early to talk in codes, Namjoon. Just spit it out.”
“The Kim Group released a prototype that looks too close to our Hybe Project.” He says. “International investors are already buying it. Their stocks are skyrocketing. We ran some projections, it’s not looking good for us.”
Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose, anticipating the worst. “How much?”
“Approximately 100 billion won.”
He curses under his breath. The Kim Group was never a threat because they were fairly new to the corporate scene; their technology and development arm was only in its initial stage at best, and no one expected much out of the newly-appointed CEO—he was too whimsical and childish to compete with the big dogs. Maybe in a few years' time, Yoongi had thought before. But apparently they all underestimated him.
Yoongi laughs dryly.
“What if we buy them out?” Namjoon thinks out loud.
“Throwing money at a problem won’t make it go away.” Yoongi counters. “Let’s not make things worse with a premature move. Give me everything you have on their new program, I want it on my desk as soon as I get to the office.”
“You got it.”
Yoongi drops the call and sits on the bed, absorbing the news.
To be honest, 100 billion won is not much where Min Yoongi's finances are concerned. After all, he’s a multi-billionaire: with his wealth, money was more an abstract concept than something anyone could really grasp. If you accounted for all the won he had to his name, you wouldn’t be able to finish counting it in this lifetime, even with all the billions he just lost.
If Namjoon hadn’t informed him, he probably wouldn’t even have felt it. But it’s more the principle that bothers him: he doesn’t like being blindsided. The Hybe Project, although a mere side venture for his company, was something they had been brewing for a few years. They even hired that tech hotshot Jeon Jungkook to help them develop the system. The fact was that, more than financially, it was Min Yoongi’s ego that was slighted and that was what left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He’s never been one for losing.
Yoongi’s about to get up from the bed, calculating his possible action plans, when the worst realization of the morning hits him.
He didn’t even catch the stranger’s name.
✧
The Kim Group's youngest CEO might be unassuming at only 25 years old with a knack for pranks, sweet strawberry desserts, and playing on his phone during board meetings. But what people don't know about him is that he can be serious when he wants to, and that his normally cheery disposition can just as easily shift to threatening—like a tiger about to pounce. He's capable of so much more than he lets on, and is not above an unlawful scheme or two if it means proving people wrong.
At this moment, though, he's not that. Quite the opposite, in fact: he's like a child throwing a tantrum.
“Hyuuung,” Kim Taehyung whines. “I didn’t tell you to sleep with him!”
Seokjin glares at Hoseok. He had very clearly instructed the other to keep his mouth shut.
“What?” Hoseok looks at him innocently. “You lost the two million dollar diamond-encrusted shoe that I custom-made just for you. With my bare hands, hyung. Honestly, I’m offended.”
Jung Hoseok is one of the most sought-after designers in Korea. There aren't a lot of people who could get on the exclusive list to enter his shop, and even fewer could afford a private consultation with him. But as the childhood best friend, Seokjin enjoyed (and took for granted) a lot of perks. One of which was commissioning his pair of diamond loafers—Hoseok’s favorite work to date (and coincidentally, the most expensive).
So imagine Hoseok's disdain—nay, his outrage—when he’s seated at the hotel lobby, waiting for Seokjin who is uncharacteristically 30 minutes late, and sees him emerge looking like a disheveled mess, and not in a cute way. And missing a shoe. That one shoe alone had approximately 12,000 full-cut round white diamonds, and Hoseok wasn’t exaggerating when he said bare hands, because something of that quality couldn’t be handled appropriately by big, burly machines. Hoseok had considered it a work of art, and Seokjin had left it behind without so much as a proper apology.
“Yeah, well, you could have just said that and not mentioned the other part.” Seokjin rolls his eyes.
“Ah, but where’s the fun in that?” Hoseok grins.
Seokjin turns to the CEO seated behind his desk, and explains coolly. “Taehyung-ah, you know I don’t work with a plan. It just happened.”
“I still can’t believe you, hyung. My first-ever high-stakes orchestrated crime and my conman sleeps with the enemy!” Taehyung grumbles, crossing his arms. “Didn’t you consider evidence? What if they find your DNA in the room? Trace you back to me?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that.” Seokjin sounds so certain that the two can't help but look at him in question. “You could say it was his DNA that was all over—”
“Or you could just not say it.” Hoseok cuts him off, scowling.
“Ah, but where’s the fun in that?” Seokjin echoes his words with an equally teasing grin. “Fine. Anyway, I don’t get what the big deal is. I got the key, didn’t I?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“And you got your billions, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“So just wire me my cut and we’re good to go.” Seokjin wraps up smoothly, ever the professional.
“Don’t let him fool you, Tete,” Hoseok gives him a knowing look. “Hyung secured Min Yoongi-ssi’s fingerprint way before they even got into the room. He just wanted to get laid.”
Seokjin shrugs, unapologetic as ever. “Do you know how hard it is to get a decent lay given my line of work? I take what I can get.”
✧
It's not looking to be a good morning for MYG Enterprises.
The hallways are eerily quiet—no one dares to make a sound—and everyone is glancing nervously at Kim Namjoon, Executive Assistant and basically Min Yoongi's right hand, waiting for him to signal that the CEO was on his way up.
Their latest project had been compromised; yesterday, it had an estimated value of at least a hundred billion won, and just like that, it's worth zero now. No one really knows how Min Yoongi will react, and it's the not knowing that makes things feel ominous.
Finally, he arrives, moving through the corridors without so much as a glance at anyone's direction.
Somehow, that's worse.
When he finally gets to his office, away from curious eyes, the first words he speaks are: “Kim Seokjin.”
Namjoon looks at his boss, confused. With a finger pointed towards himself, he says, “No. Kim Namjoon.”
“Not you, idiot.” Yoongi shoots him an annoyed look. “Do we know a Kim Seokjin?”
He's impressed at how casually it rolls off his tongue, as if he didn’t spend a good hour talking to numerous staff members trying to land that name. Thankfully, the stranger was a stunner; if it wasn’t the light pink hair and the gorgeous face that made people do a double take, the shining shoes he wore definitely did the trick.
It took about five minutes to describe the guy to his events planner and another 30 minutes to talk to a waiter who talked to security who pulled up footage from the cameras and caught a screenshot of Seokjin walking down the hallway (thankfully they had chosen a frame that was right before the moment he had pinned Yoongi to the wall and rendered him useless with his mouth). Even in 720p, the guy looked straight off a high-fashion runway.
Security had then forwarded it to the events planner, who sent it to a group chat or two, and voila—a name.
“Doesn’t ring a bell.” Namjoon replies, fingers clacking away at the keyboard. “Want me to run a background check?”
Yoongi considers this for a moment. “Yes.”
“On it. Who is this guy, anyway?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where’d you meet him?”
“At the party.”
“…and you don’t know anything about him?”
“We didn’t get to that part.” Nothing besides the fact that he had given Yoongi one of his most memorable orgasms to date. A shame, really. “Any news on the Kim kid’s prototype?”
“All on your desk.” Namjoon says without looking up.
Yoongi flips through a flimsy-looking folder. Most of them were just news articles dated the night before. Disappointing. “How did none of you see this coming?”
“There was literally no trace of them developing anything before yesterday. Whoever does their backend must be paid quite a lot.” The secretary explains. “Word is, they’re throwing a gala soon. Probably to rub elbows with all the investors. Do you think it’s worth a visit?”
“Hm. Why not.” Yoongi mutters noncommittally. There was nothing helpful in the file. Might as well see what he was dealing with firsthand.
His thoughts are interrupted when Namjoon opens a new document on his computer. “Hyung, here’s what we have on Kim Seokjin.”
"That was fast." Yoongi raises a brow, looking at a white screen. “It’s empty.”
“His records are scrubbed clean.” Namjoon chuckles, almost impressed. “All we have is a birth certificate. Born fourth of December 1992, in Gwacheon. Whoever this guy is, he doesn’t want to be found.”
If that was supposed to discourage him, then it backfired. Tremendously. Because now, Yoongi’s interest is dangerously piqued.
Just who was this mysterious stranger?
✧
Is he about to get arrested?
For a second, Seokjin imagines the headlines: Conman Steals 100 Billion Won from MYG Enterprises
Well, maybe more like: Worldwide Handsome Conman Behind Bars; Photocards For Sale
He wasn’t supposed to cross paths with Min Yoongi ever again. But as luck would have it, there he is, right in the middle of the banquet hall at Taehyung’s company event. That kid was playing with fire.
“Do you think he knows?” Seokjin asks, though he’s doing a good job at concealing his nerves. The Kims may not be one of the founding families, but they were still well-known on their own accord. Anyone looking from the outside could see that the Mins were not too far from their circle, so his presence wasn't too much of a surprise.
“No. Of course not. I wouldn’t invite him here if they did.” Taehyung responds, and Seokjin can't tell if he's right to sound so assured, or just plain naïve. “Trust me. They don’t even suspect a thing.”
“Who do they think it is, then?” Hoseok asks, more for his hyung's sake than his own. He wasn't really involved here, outside of the designer shoes Seokjin had worn (and lost) for the night.
“Park Jimin.” Taehyung snickers.
Hoseok cocks a brow. “You’re kidding. How’d you manage that?”
“My friend Jungkook took care of it.” He says nonchalantly. “Hacked into some systems here, planted false evidence there, IP theft allegations on queue. Maybe they’ll publish it on Monday.”
Hoseok shakes his head bitterly. “There’s something about Park Jimin that just screams guilty, even when he isn’t. Such an easy target. Poor guy.”
“Who knows? Maybe after prison, he’ll finally notice you.” Seokjin elbows Taehyung, who frowns.
“Hyung, he’s not going to prison.” Taehyung gives him an offended look, as if Seokjin was the one who went overboard. “Besides, it’s not exactly incriminating evidence. Just…enough to throw them off our tracks.”
“You think it’ll work?” Seokjin asks, looking up to where Yoongi had been. Except he's gone. His eyes quickly scan through the crowd. Where'd he run off to?
“Yes, hyung, when has my plan ever—”
“Excuse me.” A fourth voice interrupts.
The three shift their attention to the most powerful chaebol of their generation, making heads turn as he walks up to them. Min Yoongi. Despite his average stature, he exudes unparalleled confidence that makes him seem larger-than-life. He doesn't bother greeting the other two, cat-like eyes fixed on Seokjin.
“Min Yoongi-ssi.” Taehyung bows automatically, a perfect 90 degrees. “Thank you again for gracing us with your presence. In behalf of the Kim Group, I’d like to extend—”
“I’m not much for formalities.” Yoongi says, his gaze on Seokjin unmoving. “Can we talk?”
Hoseok's eyebrows shoot up. This man was brave. That was no way to address the CEO whose event you were invited to. Then again, if you had an unfathomable amount of money and power to your name, that probably wouldn't stop you.
Taehyung flashes him his signature boxy smile, too kind to be offended, and takes Hoseok by the arm. Seokjin hears them giggling as they go.
“That wasn’t very nice of you.” Seokjin tsks when the two are out of earshot.
Yoongi looks unfazed. “I like to cut to the chase.”
“So do it, then. What do we have to talk about?” Seokjin asks, intending to keep the conversation short before he draws any more attention. He really didn't want to be linked with this chaebol personality right before lawsuits and headlines placed a target on his back.
“I don’t know, lots of things.” Yoongi exhales, loosening up a bit. He’s not particularly in a rush. His voice is low, meant only for Seokjin to hear. “The weather. Breakfast. How good I was in bed. You left before we could cover any of that.”
Seokjin laughs. Was this guy serious? “Didn’t know you were into pillow talk, Yoongi-ssi.”
“If it’s with you, I don’t mind,” He punctuates the next four syllables carefully, “Kim Seokjin-ssi.”
Seokjin stills, conscious about not letting his features betray him. That was definitely unexpected. Seokjin has never been one to let his guard down during assignments, no matter how good a kisser the target is, and he's positive he didn't slip up and give out his real name last time. He’s not that careless.
Yoongi seems aware of the reaction he pulls even though Seokjin remains unreadable. He keeps going, “I have something of yours.”
“Oh?”
“An expensive-looking shoe.” He says. “Swarovski crystals, size 9.5. Sound familiar?”
“Are you blackmailing me or something?” Seokjin jokes, trying to lighten the mood. The only thing the shoe could plead him guilty of was an amazing one-night stand with Min Yoongi, nothing more. There was nothing incriminating about it in the court of law.
“Well. That’s one way to phrase it.” Yoongi fidgets with his tie a bit. Seokjin doesn’t know where he’s going with this. “I was just going to ask you to dinner.”
Seokjin lets that sink in for a moment. “What? Like a date?”
“Sure. Whatever you want to call it.”
Apparently, jail was nowhere near the conversation. A rush of relief runs through Seokjin, and then something else entirely at the thought of Min Yoongi asking him out on a date. “I’m sorry, Yoongi-ssi, I’m more of a one and done kind of guy.”
A genuine look that’s a cross between surprise and offense flashes across Yoongi’s face. Clearly, he’s not used to being denied what he wants. He hopes he didn’t misread their chemistry, the night they spent together. Surely that passionate tryst wasn’t one-sided? With his brows furrowed, he holds on to his last bit of leverage: “And your shoe?”
“That’s nothing. You can keep it.” Seokjin says, and decides at the last second to keep the handsome billionaire on his toes. “Besides, I took something of yours, too.” He holds Yoongi’s gaze for a moment longer and winks before disappearing back into the crowd, leaving Yoongi stupefied. (Worth it.)
Yoongi doesn’t know what to think. Was that just banter, or…?
He was so sure he didn’t lose anything.
So what did Seokjin get?
Unless…
✧
A few weeks later, a tip is leaked to the local newsrooms.
Something about suspicious activities going on behind the MYG network: a hacker, most probably, had reportedly "sold" parts of the Hybe Project data in some shady under-the-table deal. The IP address had been traced to someone who worked for Park Jimin. Which was weird, considering the Parks have made their bank as tycoons in the hotel industry for generations, and not once did they ever express any interest in tech. It didn’t make sense.
(In a video of Park Jimin being ambushed by news reporters outside his hotel, he can be heard saying, “I don’t know anything about technology! I own a chain of 5-star hotels and, most recently, a new nightclub! Which, by the way, is opening next week. Everyone, I invite all of you to visit Magic Shop, located at—” The clip ends there.)
“I can’t believe this idiot is using his allegations to plug a new club!” Hoseok bursts out laughing, reviewing the footage on his phone.
Seokjin nods in approval. “Bad PR is good PR. He knows his stuff. I respect that.”
“We’re going to laugh about it someday.” Taehyung sounds determined as he spritzes his signature cologne on his wrists.
Park Jimin said to come visit his Magic Shop, so Taehyung reeled in his two hyungs and got them all ready to party.
They don’t usually do this. Seokjin prefers to stay below the radar given his lawless profession, and if he's not going, Hoseok usually opts out, too. But Taehyung had successfully convinced them with an effective three-pronged argument: one, they get to dress up, which is Hoseok's weakness; two, Seokjin still owed him for sleeping with the enemy (which he knows will get old soon, so he wanted to milk it for all it's worth); and three, he needed their moral support since he was finally going to man up and talk to his "soulmate."
Taehyung hopes the Magic Shop will spare him some of its spells tonight. He already knows what to do: give a quick but heartfelt apology to Park Jimin—it was just business, nothing personal—then offer to help him deal with the legalities, and proceed to charm the blond off his socks. And then they’ll live happily ever after. Or so he imagines.
“Sure.” Seokjin humors him. “It’ll be a funny story to tell at your wedding. Not your typical love story—the groom planted false evidence in the other groom's hotel business, so Seoul’s wealthiest chaebol doesn’t know who stole his precious tech.”
“Right?” Taehyung sounds earnest. “Someone call Netflix!”
“Now, if only you’d maintain this kind of confidence when you're actually in the same room as him.” Hoseok sighs. Taehyung has the tendency to be all talk and no follow through, and he's been pining over Park Jimin for years.
“I will! Tonight!” The younger smiles. “I practiced it and everything. How do I look?” He poses in front of the two, his bespoke suit making him look every inch like an eligible bachelor.
“Perfect.” Seokjin’s not really looking at him; instead, he grabs his coat and heads to the door. “Let’s go. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave.”
“Hyung, at least try to have fun!” Taehyung’s voice bounces from the hallway. “For me and my future husband?”
Hoseok’s bubbling laughter trills through the room as he links an arm with his hyung.
Magic Shop looks like a promising little spot. It's dramatically lit, with pops of neon purple and pink giving the place a dreamy kind of glow, and a slew of magical-sounding drinks that come in dainty goblets, very much in theme.
As soon as they get there, Taehyung leaves Seokjin and Hoseok's side the moment he spots Park Jimin (Seokjin slides Hoseok a bill; they had made a bet and he had foolishly wagered on Taehyung chickening out last minute). Seokjin hates crowds, so Hoseok has an iron grip on his arm, knowing full well that if left alone, his hyung wouldn’t hesitate to go straight home.
They exchange niceties with a few friends, and even spot Jeon Jungkook in a corner. The young tech mogul looks at them with wide eyes, recognition crystal clear, then looks away. His wholesome expressions often give away whatever emotion he's processing—in this case, guilt, maybe—and they had previously agreed not to interact in public just in case people might notice. After all, he was the common link between MYG Enterprises and the Kim Group, though his friendship with Taehyung was a well-kept secret.
At around midnight, the dance floor lights up and a special performer takes the stage. Some up-and-coming idol group that's opening with an addicting pop song that gets everyone hyped up. Hoseok’s feet are itching to be right in the middle and Seokjin knows it. He can even feel him bopping by his side.
“Hyung, what if we—”
“Hobi, you don’t need my permission to dance.” Seokjin smiles and tilts his head towards the stage. “Go.”
“But you—”
Seokjin brushes him off reassuringly. “I won’t leave. Promise. I’ll grab a drink and wait for you by the bar.”
Hoseok looks skeptical (and he’s right to be). “The last time I left you alone at a party, you lost a—”
“—2 million dollar shoe, I know.” Seokjin finishes for him with a roll of his eyes. “How many times are you going to use that card on me? I won’t leave without you. Now, go. I can see Jackson Wang calling you with his eyes.”
Hoseok glances behind him and giggles before running off to the dance floor.
Clubs have never been Seokjin’s scene. The sweat, the noise, incoherent pick-up lines from drunk people. None of that ever really appealed to him.
He’s thankful for a deserted bar—everyone had flocked to the dance floor right when the performance started—and orders a simple martini. He doesn’t mind being alone, really.
But all of a sudden, Seokjin feels someone's eyes on him. He doesn't bother looking up, knowing full well that whoever it is will end up disrupting his solitude anyway.
"Fancy seeing you here."
Seokjin knows straight away who that deep, honey voice belongs to. At this point, he could recognize it anywhere.
"One more and I'm convinced you're following me." Seokjin responds easily, finally meeting his eyes.
Min Yoongi, pale skin glowing like the brightest light in this dim club. He's wearing a sleek, all-black suit with the lapels decked out in glittering crystals, and his black hair falls softly across his eyes.
Seokjin wasn't supposed to see him again. After Taehyung's party, he had made a personal promise to stay away, just to be on the side of caution. It's not like they were in the same scene, anyway; Park Jimin's Magic Shop was the last place he'd think to bump into him. He didn't know Yoongi as the type to frequent clubs, either.
“Was that your boyfriend?”
Apparently, Yoongi had been eyeing him for quite some time, long enough to note that he had spent the entire night with Hoseok in his arm.
“You have your men, I have mine.” Seokjin replies, quirking a brow at Yoongi’s shadow: Kim Namjoon, standing a safe distance away with his arms crossed, trying his hardest to blend in. His gaze is set somewhere else in the room, but Seokjin knows he’s watching them closely from his peripheral. Though he's wearing a simple get-up of a black tee tucked into a pair of black slacks, his broad build proved it difficult to remain inconspicuous.
Yoongi spares a glance at Hoseok, who’s lighting up the dance floor. He's engaging the crowd effortlessly, every move of his body hitting the beat in perfect timing while his spectators whoop in delight. He hardly seemed like a capable bodyguard. “Yours doesn’t look like he’d do a good job protecting you, though.”
“And why on earth would he need to do that?” Seokjin laughs, taking a sip from his martini. He looks up at Yoongi, eyes dancing. He offers both a question and a challenge: “Are you going to hurt me, Min Yoongi?”
If Yoongi looks like he's weighing his options, it's only because he's trying to decide whether or not it would be a good idea to kiss Seokjin right now.
He hasn't really been able to stop thinking about his lips.
Not even waiting for an answer, Seokjin finishes his drink and stands up to leave.
The crowds part to let the man pass, his presence large enough to command even the tipsiest of partygoers, and Namjoon looks at his boss in question, waiting for a word or a signal.
Yoongi’s eyes follow Seokjin until he’s just a tiny figure across the room. He walks free and disappears into the night. Yoongi doesn’t even lift a finger.
There goes his gorgeous, 100 billion won liability.