Chapter Text
I.
Jeonghan eyes the office, shifting slightly in the lumpy armchair. Seungcheol sat in the one to his right, a smile fixed on his lips as he looked at the counselor. The balding man in front of them kept a mask of indifference over his face, pen tapping against his clipboard. Jeonghan rolls his eyes internally, huffing mentally at the waste of time this appointment would be.
“Let me first start by saying, we don’t really need to be here.” Jeonghan rolls his eyes externally this time, at his husband’s words, but says nothing. “See we’ve been married five years-”
Jeonghan cut across him, eyes narrowing at the mistake. “Six”
“Five, six years.” Seungcheol continues after pausing at Jeonghan’s words. “And this is like a checkup for us. A chance to poke around the engine, maybe change the oil. Replace a seal or two.”
“He gets it.” Jeonghan cut him off again, crossing his legs.
The counselor continues, ignoring the subtle tension in the air. “On a scale of one to ten, how happy are you as a couple?”
“Eight.” Out of the corner of his vision, Jeonghan can see Seungcheol glance at him, then turn back, raising both hands slightly.
“Hold on, ten being perfectly happy and one being totally miserable, or..?” Seungcheol trails off.
“Just respond instinctively.”
“Okay. Ready?” Jeonghan nods as Seuncheol’s question.
“Eight.” “Eight.”
The counselor nods, scribbling a short note into his clipboard.
“How often do you have sex?” Jeonghan blinks, tilting his head to the side, gaze questioning.
“I don’t understand the question.” He says, twining his fingers together absentmindedly, thumbing at his wedding ring.
“Yeah. I’m-I’m lost-” Seungcheol sits up straighter. “Is this a one to ten thing?”
Jeonghan continues. “Right, because, like, is one very little or is one nothing? Because, you know, technically speaking, zero would be nothing.” The counselor hums, tapping his clipboard again.
“This week?” They both shake their heads, “How about last week?” Jeonghan looks down, pressing his nail into his palm.
“Including this weekend?” He looks back up at Seuncheol’s question.
“Sure.” Neither say anything, looking in separate directions. “Okay. Let’s try this. Describe how you first met.” Jeonghan smiles at that, stomach unclenching slightly.
“It was in Argentina.”
“Buenos Aires.” Jeonghan adds.
“Five years ago.” Jeonghan clenches his jaw.
“Six.”
“Right. Five or six years ago.”
————
Buenos Aires, Argentina, five or six years ago.
The sound of gunshots rang loud through the air. An explosion rattled the ground. Jeonghan leaned against the wooden bar, a daiquiri by him. He turned, gesturing to the bartender.
“What’s happening?” He asked in Spanish, shaking his long hair from his face, sniffing as he brushed the dust from the sleeve of his white silk shirt.
“Someone killed the dictator.” Jeonghan raised an eyebrow.
“Bianchi?” The bartender nodded.
“The police are rounding up single tourists, that’s who they think did it.” From his peripheral, Jeonghan could see the front door to the hotel burst open, a line of police filing in, another explosion rattling the windows in their frames. One policeman spun, spotting Jeonghan, who turned, slipping a hand behind to rest his fingers along the grip of the gun in his waistband.
“Are you alone, sir?” The police called out, hand moving to the baton at his hip. Jeonghan leaned forward, pulling a confused look over his face. The policeman repeated his question, stepping closer cautiously.
Then the doors burst open. The man who entered paused, looking around, lips parted slightly until his gaze came to rest upon Jeonghan’s form, eyes locking. The crowd of police approached him.
“Are you alone?” The man didn’t answer for a few seconds, only responding after they continued to probe. “Sir, your passport, please.. sir are you alone?” He shook his head.
“No.” The man moved, making his way past the police, and towards the bar. Jeonghan slipped his hand away from his gun smoothly, standing straight. The man was his height, but broader, with a wide chest and wide shoulders, with strong arms corded with muscles. He made Jeonghan look skinny, and though he was sure of his strength, it still made his senses hone in on the comforting weight of the gun at the small of his back.
He shot a wiry smile at the man, reaching out one hand.
“No, no. He’s with me.” Jeonghan leads the man away, looping one arm around his waist, the man slinging an arm over his shoulder to hold him close. Jeonghan led them away from the main lobby and through the dark wood doors to his room.
The sun filtered through the open window, making the room glow gold, only disrupted by the fluttering of the thin white curtains. They lean against the door, ears to the wood, listening closely to the crowded footsteps to disappear. Jeonghan sighed, relaxing. His eyes flickered up, and he inhaled sharply as he suddenly realized their proximity. Something heated passed between them, sharp and zapping before they both pulled away.
The man cleared his throat, turning to rest his back against the door, looking at Jeonghan from the corner of his eye.
“Seungcheol, Choi Seungcheol.” Jeonghan’s lips twitched at the familiar characters. Another Korean in Argentina wasn’t something he’d expected. He reached out a hand.
“Yoon Jeonghan. Nice to meet you.” Seungcheol’s hand lingered on his wrist, skin heated against Jeonghan.
The dive bar they ended up in later that night was near empty, just the two of them, two other couples, a group of five men, and the three members of the band in the corner. They sat at a table, a bottle of tequila between the two of them. Jeonghan raised his shot glass, leaning in closer to Seungcheol, tongue flicking over his lips, watching as Seungcheol followed the movement.
“To dodging bullets.” Seungcheol’s lips tug into a crooked smile.
“To dodging bullets.” They threw back their drinks, and Jeonghan reveled in the burn of the liquor. Then he stood, offering his hand. “I can’t dance.” Seungcheol said, taking his hand anyway, Jeonghan dragging him to the center where the other couple were sashaying across the room.
“Just keep up with me.” Jeonghan led Seungcheol into an admittedly disjointed salsa, letting the man spin him around clumsily.
When they got back to the hotel, Jeonghan found himself pinned to his door, Seuncheol’s thigh between his legs, mouth sealed over his own. Heat washed through him, hips bucking, head falling back. Seungcheol’s lips trailed down his neck, tongue flicking out to taste Jeonghan’s skin. Jeonghan weaved a hand through Seungcheol’s long black hair kissing him firmly, demandingly.
They made plans to meet again in Seoul, first at the Han River, then at a fair. Jeonghan took great pleasure in the shock on Seungcheol’s face when he nudged him out of the way to shoot down each little ball with the toy rifle at a stand, winning a large stuffed bear.
“Beginner’s luck.” He’d said, slipping his hand into Seungcheol’s.
Weeks later, he stood in the private gym of his company, punching at the bag hanging from the ceiling, held in place by Jisoo, who was speaking in a low tone, cautious of Junhui, who stood a few meters away.
“Okay, slow down, Jeonghan. You’ve known this guy for what? Seven weeks?” Jeonghan huffed, punching at the leather again.
“I know, Jisoo. Look, He’s totally amazing. He’s smart, he’s cute,” He pauses for a moment, a nasty thought flickering across his mind. “He’s great with his co-” Jisoo cut him off, faking a gag.
“Okay, okay! I get it! What does he do anyways?” Jeonghan snorted, sending another series of hits to the bag.
“I’m telling you he’s perfect. He’s in construction, it’s great. He’s away as much as I am, so everything works out.” Jisoo hummed.
“Are you sure, Jeonghan? I mean, it’s pretty risky stuff, getting into a relationship in our line of work.”
“Joshuji, I’m telling you, when you know you know. You just have to listen to your instincts.”
“I did that once, now I have a scar across my ribs after he nearly killed me when I accidentally scared him. We broke up and I haven’t seen him since.” Jeonghan sighed, stepping back and brushing his sweaty hair back.
“I’m marrying him, Shua.” Jisoo let out a strangled sound as Jeonghan turned around.
“Hold on, hold on! I don’t think I heard you correctly! Can you say that again?” Jeonghan turned back around, exasperated.
“I’m getting married, Shua! Ring and everything!” He leaves the room, Jisoo gaping at his back.
————
Just South of Itaewon-dong, South Korea, Five or six years later
They had been lucky to find a house just south of the city. It was Western style, a two-story building. Nestled in a neighborhood, all the houses look similar, with large front lawns, and long driveways. Jeonghan rolls out of bed, entering the bathroom as Seungcheol steps from the shower, towel around his waist.
“So, what d’you think of Dr. Kang? I thought his questions were a bit wishy-washy.” Seungcheol hums, pulling a shirt over his head. Jeonghan clenches his jaw in frustration.
“Yeah- Not the most insightful.” Jeonghan makes a noise to let Seungcheol know he’s listening, moving to button up his own shirt, and tucking it into his pants.
“No, and his office is clear across town. You know the five o’clock. It means we hit rush hour. Not too crazy about that.” Jeonghan buckles his belt, bending to slip on his heeled boots as Seungcheol responds, moving away from the closet and around the corner, back into the bedroom.
“Right. So that’s settled then, yeah?” Jeonghan calls after his husband, disappointment settling low in his stomach.
“Okay.”
Jeonghan clatters around the kitchen as Seungcheol moves around their bedroom, finishing getting ready for the day. He presses the number code into the oven, and the grill slides back, a silver box rising through the small gap. It slides open, and Jeonghan selects a .45 and his favored Elishewitz switchblade, turning after pressing the button to replace the oven grill, and kicking the door closed.
Jeonghan slips on a pair of sunglasses as he opens his car door, Seungcheol doing the same behind him.
“Oh-” He turns, catching Seungcheol right before he slides into his car. “Dinner’s at six.”
“Yep. I’ll be there, here.”
Jeonghan can feel his eye twitch as they speed out of the garage, only for him to be cut off by Seungcheol’s car as it slides by his and onto the one-way drive and out onto the street. Jeonghan turns the opposite way, starting his drive into Seoul.
II.
It’s ten past six when Seungcheol’s headlights flash against the windowpanes of the kitchen. Jeonghan flips the knife in his hand and tosses it gracelessly onto the chopping board, heaving a sigh at the excruciating hours to come.
The door to the house rattles as it’s unlocked and pushed open.
“Hey babe.” Seungcheol sounds tired.
“Perfect timing.” Jeonghan calls back to him, pulling the pan from the oven and setting it down on the counter.
“It’s pissing rain out there.” Seungcheol says as he moves into the kitchen, kissing Jeonghan’s cheek lightly, before stepping around him to round the counter.
“How was work?” Jeonghan looks back down at the slab of beef on the tray, picking up the meat knife.
“Eh. So-so.” Seungcheol plods into the living room, shoulders bunching as he yanks his soaked coat off.
“Oh, I got new curtains.” When Seungcheol doesn’t respond, he follows him into the renovated bar area, finding his husband rattling around the cocktail shaker. “Well?” Seungcheol glances dismissively at the new curtains, grunting before turning back to his drink. “They’re a bit blue, so I think we’ll have to reupholster the sofas… and get a new rug, maybe Persian.”
“Yeah. Or we could just keep the old ones, so we don’t have to change anything.” Jeonghan takes a deep breath, and sucks in his cheeks, clucking his tongue as he looked away from Seungcheol, anger fluttering around his stomach.
“We talked about this, remember?”
“I remember. Because we said we’d wait.” Jeonghan hated that Seungcheol was technically right. He turns on his heel, stepping back into the kitchen.
“Oh, and Seungcheol, the gardener left the mower out again.”
Seungcheol stepped out to move the lawn mower, and Jeonghan took the time to fiddle with the curtains, hopping up onto the arms of a chair, and leaning, tilting the chair onto one leg and balancing, prodding at the folds of the fabric. He steps down again as Seungcheol reenters, moving to the dining table.
“This is really good Honey. You do anything new?” Jeonghan looks up for a second.
“Mhm. I added mushrooms.” Seungcheol lets out a little huh, as he eats another spoonful of sundubujjigae. For a moment, there is peaceful silence, until Seungcheol speaks up again.
“Can you pass the salt?”
“It’s in the middle of the table, Seungcheol.” Jeonghan responds dismissively.
“Is that the middle?” Jeonghan nods, chewing a soft bit of tofu, and loading kimchi onto his spoon.
“Well,” He swallows, looking back up at his husband. “It’s between you and me.” The chair screeches as Seungcheol pushes it back to stand. He grabs the plate of salt and heads back to his chair. Jeonghan allows himself a little smile, a small victory. A smile that was quickly wiped off his face as Seungcheol drowns his soup with the salt. The dining room falls silent, the air a tense coldness, and they don’t speak again.
Jeonghan strode past Seungcheol, who was lounging on the couch, and into his office, the door clicking shut. The incessant buzzing of his work phone caught his attention. He picks it up as he opens the lid of his laptop, waiting for it to boot up.
“This is Jeonghan.” Jihoon’s voice filtered through the phone, a little annoyed.
“I’ve been trying to reach you for the last hour, Yoon. What the hell?” Jeonghan clucked his tongue and bent over, typing in his password onto his computer.
“I was eating dinner, Jihoonie. And you know it’s Choi now. It has been for the last six years.” He could practically feel Jihoon’s eye-roll from past the screen.
“Whatever. We’ve got something for you.” The sent files automatically pop up on Jeonghan’s screen. “Park Eunwook. Thirty-seven-year-old Chaebol son.” Jeonghan sits in his office chair, carefully reading over the information Jihoon provided him. “Third son.” The hacker amends. “Insignificant really. But has started to use the family’s underground brothels as cover for human trafficking. Those humans include a group of over twenty kids under the age of eight.” Jeonghan frowns, stomach clenching unpleasantly. " We’ve already got Jisoo, Jun, and Soonyoung going in undercover for the vics, but you need to take out the big guy. He’s staying the night in The Four Seasons, Room 2705, Floor twenty-seven. Oh, and the room has a balcony.”
“Perfect. I’ll get this done as quickly as possible. When are they going in?”
“They’re already there, posing as guests at the strip club above. And Jeonghan?” Jeonghan hums in response, waiting for Jihoon to continue. “They brought Changbin with them. His first undercover.” Jeonghan grins, shoulders lifting with pride.
“Good for him. He was itching to get out there. They all were, but him most of all. I take it Chan- the older one- is with you?” Jihoon snorts.
“Yeah, He wanted to supervise his kid. But we’ve really got to figure out the whole two Chans thing.” Jeonghan agrees with his hacker. “By the way, there’s an overseas one after this. Should be simple, probably only over the weekend.”
“Okay. Send me the details. I’ll leave tomorrow.” And then he hangs up.
It was easy to slip into the mindset he needed, as he dressed, slipping on the fishnets, the tight leather tube top and shorts, and the high-heeled boots, adding a good four inches to his height, before throwing his black trench coat around his shoulders. It cinches prettily at the waist, and Jeonghan adds a silk scarf around his neck, slinging his bag over his arm. His shoes click as he hurries down the stairs, snatching his keys from the marble counter. Seungcheol looks back, an eyebrow raised.
“I need to go, Seungcheol. One of the guys just crashed a server at a law firm. It’s chaos. They’ve lost everything. Absolute mayhem. They need me.” Seungcheol stands, stretching his arms over his head, and Jeonghan can’t the way his eyes flick down to catch a glimpse of the sliver of skin that appeared as his shirt rode up. He swallows heavily, and looks away, moving to the door.
“Remember, Nine o’clock. The Kims. We promised we’d be there.” Jeonghan scrunches his nose, and Seungcheol actually laughs, making Jeonghan’s blood pulse.
“Y-Yep. I’ll be there. I won’t be long.”
He parks his car along the road sixteen minutes away, calling a taxi from his phone for the drive into Seoul.
The Four Seasons loom over Jeonghan as he steps out of the taxi. His heels are muffled by the red carpet laid outside as he walks to the door, bag hanging from his elbow. The elevator is thankfully empty when he gets on. Jeonghan looks himself over in the mirror, slipping his wedding ring off and into the top of his leather top, carefully folding his coat back over to hide his bare shoulders. He ties his hair back into a bun.
When he knocks on the door, a towering bodyguard answers, brow furrowed. The bodyguard scans Jeonghan up and down.
“What’s in the bag?” Jeonghan smiles sharply, opening the clasp to reveal the riding crop, leather handcuffs, and a multitude of other objects that he can’t be bothered to investigate further.
“Don’t be long. We have a plane to catch.” Jeonghan nods and lets himself be shown into the room. The door closes behind the bodyguard as the toilet gurgles, the bathroom door swinging open.
Park Eunwook was wrapped in a silk bathrobe, open at the front. He stares at Jeonghan confusedly, until Jeonghan pulls the tie of his coat, letting the fabric fall off his shoulders and to the floor. Park Eunwook’s mouth drops open.
It only takes Jeonghan a minute to truss Eunwook up, fastening his hands around the headboard, face down, silk bathrobe thrown somewhere behind them. He trails the riding crop up Eunwook’s thigh, dropping his voice into a dark sultry tone, bending over to let his loose hair tickle between the man’s shoulders.
“You’ve been a bad boy, haven’t you?” Heady power rushes through him at the full-bodied shudder that goes through the man’s body.
“I-Yes, I have.” The response is muffled by the pillow, so Eunwook twists his face to the side, letting out a shuddering exhale as Jeonghan swings the crop down to leave a red welt at the small of his back.
“You know what happens to bad boys?” When the man doesn’t answer, Jeonghan swings the crop again, twice, up his back and on his right shoulder. “They get punished.” He answers himself, an eyebrow rising.
“Oh yeah, punish me.” Eunwook’s voice cracks and Jeonghan wrinkles his nose in disgust, hitting him with the crop again, and again, and again. He moves, straddling Eunwook, leaning low, lips close to the man’s ears.
“Have you been doing bad things?” Eunwook nods. “Have you been selling young children to bad people?” Below him, Eunwook freezes, but before he can yell, Jeonghan positions his knee in the space between his shoulders, his hands under the man’s chin, and jerks up, a loud crack echoing through the room. Jeonghan stands, clears his throat, and moves to slide his coat back on, dumping the contents of his bag onto the floor.
The balcony is positioned just so, the street just below. Jeonghan secures the hook of his now unraveled bag to the railing as the knocks at the door get frantic, transitioning into banging. He stands atop the railing, spotting the moment the door caves in, and he jumps back, the woven Kevlar cord controlling his descent into the swarming crowd on the street, his coat billowing about him.
He lands calmly, crouched in the shadows of the hotel, releasing the handle, his bag bungee snapping back into the air. The doorman hails a taxi as Jeonghan walks up to him, sliding into the seat as the door opens, pulling his ring out, and sliding it back on.
They stand in front of the Kim’s door, both shivering slightly as snow flurries around them, Jeonghan wrapped around Seungcheol’s arm. He had unfortunately been unable to change out of his fishnets before Seungcheol had returned home from the sports bar, leaving him having to pull on a knee-length dress instead of the pants and shirt he was going to wear. It wasn’t often he wore dresses or skirts, but he was sure in the fact that Jimin was most likely also going to be wearing something similar, possibly Hoseok too. The black-heeled leather boots were a little mismatched with the mint green of the satin dress, and if he was careless, a slice of his fishnets would be seen.
He jerks his head up as the door swings open, fixing a smile on his lips as Seokjin and Namjoon grin at them happily.
“Welcome, neighbors!” Seokjin reaches out, pulling Jeonghan into a hug. He pats Seokjin’s back awkwardly until he’s released, leaning over to share a quick handshake with Namjoon before slipping off his black coat. Seokjin coos over his dress for a second before dragging him through the house, leaving Seungcheol at Namjoon’s mercy.
Sure enough, Jimin stood between Taehyung and Jungkook, dressed in a pretty, flowing pink skirt, and a loose white shirt, tucked into the waistband and secured by a black belt. Jeonghan greeted the trio briefly before he was dragged along again by Seokjin. He was introduced to a multitude of people, including Kim Yongsun, Seokjin’s older sister, and Jackson Wang, Namjoon’s best friend, who was manning the music.
He ends up on a couch with Seokjin, and facing Yoongi, Hoseok (who was also in a dress), Youngjae, and Seokjin’s sister-in-law, Moonbyul.
“Anything to drink, Jeonghan?” He sits up, crossing one leg over the other.
“Yes, a Chardonnay please.”Seokjin’s gaze flicks down, and Jeonghan realizes that his dress rode up with his movement, fishnets visible. He clears his throat and flushes, pulling the hem of his dress down to cover the exposed skin. But Seokjin says nothing, and neither do the others. He lets his mind drift as they chatter on about mundane life happenings.
“You know, Namjoon got the promotion! I mean, we expected him to rise high, but CEO! That’s not what we expected!” The other four chirp, gasping and offering congratulations.
“What about you, Jeonghan? Any promotions in your future?”
“Ah, I got a promotion six months ago, a doubt there’ll be another one so soon. And Cheol is the CFO of his company, he’s earning plenty.” They continue to chatter after that, mindless and boring.
Behind, Jeonghan can hear Seungcheol talking with Namjoon and three other men.
“-ow’d you do this quarter, Seungcheol? You take a beating?” Seungcheol laughs, so obviously fake it makes Jeonghan wince.
“Actually I got all my dough buried under the toolshed.” The group laughs, and Jeonghan rolls his eyes.
“I liked your dress tonight.” Seungcheol says as they slip into bed, making the warmth in Jeonghan’s stomach stir.
“Thank you.” They say nothing for a few minutes, the air nearly stifling. “Oh, I forgot to mention, but my Appa is feeling a bit unwell, and my Eomma is worried. I was thinking of heading down there tomorrow to check up on them.” Seungcheol rolls onto his back.
“That’s fine, I got an e-mail from our Australian office about the financial statistics for that hotel they’re building. I’ll be flying over there to supervise for the next couple of days.” Jeonghan heaves a sigh of relief internally, curling onto his side, and letting himself drift off.
III.
Low morning light filtered through the thin curtains, streaking across the bedsheets. Outside the window, Jeonghan could hear birds singing and spot the gentle flow of clouds. He heard the muted rumble of a car engine fading into the distance, as Seungcheol drove away. The moment he was no longer able to hear the car, Jeonghan swung his legs out of bed, hurrying to change.
His sleek suit hugs his lean form, body thrown into sharp contrast by the light hitting him through the tall windows of the company building. The elevator ride to the 58th floor was smooth, and he steps out into a seemingly dead-ended tunnel. The small tile whirs when Jeonghan presses it, sliding down to reveal the black screen. Jeonghan leans forward, into a retinal scan, and the wall slides open.
The automatic movement of the floor when he steps through the doorway makes the scanning process much quicker, and within minutes, Jeonghan is pushing open the next door, to be greeted by Jihoon, an Ipad clutched in his grip.
“Gentlemen.” The greeting was curt, but the men still grinned at him anyway. Jisoo waved from where he had been talking with Junhui. “What have you got for me?”
“An opp in the Chuncheon branch went wrong, two dead and one in custody.” Chan lists the info from his phone, exasperation clear in his tone.
“We’ll get him out two days from now.” Soonyoung nudges Chan out of the way, striding next to Jeonghan.
“Four cases of the F-30’s, and the grenade launchers just arrived.”
“Order fifteen more, stock up.” Soonyoung nods and moves away, letting Jihoon take his place once more. Jeonghan slides into his chair, spinning it to face the projector.
“Alright. Go, Jihoon.” Jihoon doesn’t even glance down at his Ipad, a testament to his memorization.
“The target’s name is Oh Siwoo. He’s being moved from Jeonju to Gwangju, to a federal facility in two days. The only point of vulnerability for a strike is just north of Gwangju. There’s a forest they’ll be moving through..”
Jeonghan sighs, looking at the screens of the location. “I want SAC and GPS of the place, and the weather reports of the area.” The room jumped into action.
“The target will rendezvous with the helicopter at an abandoned private airstrip. There’ll only be one chance to strike, Jeonghan. Don’t miss.” Jeonghan scoffs at Jihoon’s doubt.
“I never do, Jihoon.”
The sun was burning bright, beating down on Jeonghan’s shoulders where he sat on the roof of the abandoned shack that stood a mile away on the side of a steep hill. It was the perfect vantage point for Jeonghan, as he peers through his binoculars at the deserted airstrip.
The pavement had cracked, plant life peeking through. The wind swept over him, catching the flaps of the makeshift shelter of ratty canvas and plywood he had built for himself on the roof.
He stood, ducking under the edge of the canvas and back into the shade, tapping at the mousepad of the computer he had with him. The charges were set in place. In the distance, Jeonghan could see the faint trail of dust the armoured vehicle was kicking up into the air on the dirt road through the forest. He felt sweat trickle down his spine, dampening his white tank top. Jeonghan hums as he arms the charges. Jihoon’s voice suddenly picked up through his earpiece.
“Are we green?” Jeonghan hums again.
“Perimeter is armed. We are up and running.” The small dust cloud got closer. Jeonghan moves to the edge of the roof again, swinging his legs over, to wait. Boredom weighed heavily on his eyelids, the oppressive heat of the sun making him drowsy. He tilts back on his hands, head dropping, eyes closed, to allow the sun to wash over his features when a sudden blast of music reaches his ears. He sits back up quickly, eyes squinting at the sudden change, scanning for the intrusion.
Annoyance and frustration stab at him when he spots the four-wheeler swinging around the opposite hillside, racing towards the airstrip. Jeonghan curses as the vehicle swings around again, the back wheel striking one of the charges, setting off the timer early, stopping on the slight raise near the airstrip. He leaps to his feet, scrambling for his binoculars. Jihoon’s voice reappeared.
“Countdown was just initiated. Convoy is not in the zone yet!” Jeonghan’s mouth twists into an annoyed snarl.
“There’s an idiot in the field. He’s gonna blow the charges.” He clicks at the computer, blood rushing as he pauses the countdown. He raises the binoculars again, watching as the man steps out of the vehicle, tugging off his helmet, and revealing the blue beanie underneath. The music cuts off, and the man looks around for a second, before sliding over to a rusted metal fence, standing alone by the hillside.
Jeonghan watches in disgust as the man unzips his cargos, head tilting back as he pissed, unaware of his disruption of Jeonghan’s plans.
“You gotta be kidding me.” Jihoon made a questioning noise but decided not to say anything. “Civilians.” Jeonghan scoffs and swings his head around to locate the target, just outside the perimeter of the airstrip. He looks back to the civilian and his heart drops when his computer lets out an alarm, picking up the feed of his binoculars.
“We’re picking up a weapons signature. A C6-Widowmaker.”
“Shit!” Jeonghan curses. “Not a civilian!” He scrambles for his rifle, readying it against his shoulder, and spotting the man through the scope. The gun jerks in his hand, and the man topples back.
The target moves onto the airstrip, setting off the charges again. “Convoy is in the zone, countdown has been initiated.” Jihoon’s voice held a subtle tinge of relief. Jeonghan turns back around, letting out a small gasp as he looks down the scope of the rocket launcher, the man clearly not dead, and determined to get rid of Jeonghan.
He scrambles from the roof, jumping down and rolling into the mess of leaves and dirt piling up against the sides, sprinting away from the shack. A wave of blistering heat washes over him, and fire licks between the trees, singing his hair. The force of the blast sends Jeonghan stumbling, slamming into a tree, making his spine pop uncomfortably. Shrapnel shoots in all directions, slicing him across the arm and face, hot blood trickling from the wounds.
When he looks back up, he can see another cloud of dust rising, his own charges exploding. He tilts his head back to rest against the tree, sighing heavily, body trembling. That was too close of a call, and he knew Jihoon would have his head when he got back.
He storms into Headquarters, blood boiling, hand clutching at his left bicep, wound bleeding profusely. Jihoon stood near the conference table, frowning at his Ipad. Jisoo rushes towards him, the two Chans and Minho following behind him.
“I want to know who that bitch is!” Minho pries his hand away from his arm, pressing a wad of gauze to the bleeding. He turns to Bang Chan, eyes blazing. “Get me that tape.” He rushes off, Felix following behind dutifully. Jisoo clicks his tongue.
“You could be a bit nicer to him, he’s newer after all.” At the scathing look Jeonghan shoots him, he rolls his eyes. “At least apologize to him later.”
“Get me that tape.” Rage fills him, his jaw clenching in an attempt to hold back from screaming in Jisoo’s face. He storms up to the computers behind Bang Chan, stopping to let Minho and Chan work on his shoulder, alcohol and thread at hand. The bustle picks up as Junhui approaches him, phone bared in Jeonghan’s direction.
“Jeonghan, it’s Boss.” Jeonghan clenches his fist, and snatches the phone from Junhui to hold to his ear.
“The NIS secured the package. The window’s closed, sir.” The disappointment in the Boss’s voice was nearly tangible.
“I told you we couldn’t afford any mistakes on this one.”
“There was another player.”
“We don’t leave witnesses.” Jeonghan flinches, both at the scathing hit to his abilities, and as Minho pulled the last stitch through, tying it off and dabbing it again with alcohol to ward off infection. “If this player ID’d you, well, you know the rules.” Jeonghan’s stomach drops. “You have fourty-eight hours to clean up, Jeonghan.”
A smirk passes over his face, blood pounding at the opportunity for revenge. “I’m looking forward to it, sir.” He snaps the phone closed, and hands it to Chan, before straightening, cracking his neck.
“All right. We have a new target. Let’s find out who the hell he is.”
Hours later, he stands in front of the screen, Jeongin and Bang Chan moving through the footage from his binoculars. He furrows his eyebrows, watching the man unclip his helmet, sliding it off. Something about the scene was vaguely familiar. He tilts his head toward Bang Chan.
“Why don’t you both go make some coffee.” Bang Chan raises an eyebrow but gestures to Jeongin, and they both move away. Jeonghan slides into the rolling chair, clicking through the video again. He rewinds the footage, watching the man step from the vehicle, taking off his helmet, and zooming in. And he rewinds it again.
His stomach drops. Because it couldn’t be. He knew that beanie. Knew the stain on the right side. And he knew that familiar gait. A phone rings in the background.
“Jeonghan.” Minghao covered the phone speaker. “It’s your husband. He’s back, and he wants to know about dinner.” Jeonghan tears his eyes away from the screen, looking slowly at Minghao.
“Tell him- Tell him dinner’s at six.”
It can’t be Seungcheol, Jeonghan reasons on his drive home. His fingers grip the steering wheel with all the force he can muster until his knuckles whiten. His spine is rigid, and he can’t help the nerves that twist and turn in his stomach. It can’t be Seungcheol.
Not Seungcheol.
But it is. Jeonghan knows it is, because everything adds up. Seungcheol told him he would be absent this weekend, and this isn’t the first time he’s done so. Jeonghan can’t even count all of the times Seungcheol went off on work trips or spent weekends at friends. Jeonghan has never been suspicious because he hasn’t cared enough to look into it further, but the lack of details Seungcheol provides is enough to alert him now.
How many times has Seungcheol taken advantage of Jeonghan’s own absence to head out on a job himself? How many people has Seungcheol killed? Has he always known who Jeonghan is—or is this a coincidence?
Jeonghan shakes that thought out of his head as quickly as it comes. There’s no way this is a mere coincidence. The likelihood of it is slim, and the universe wouldn’t be that cruel. It feels like a terrible joke. Jeonghan marries Seungcheol for the sake of a cover only to discover that Seungcheol has played him right back. The reality is that Seungcheol has likely been trying to find out more information about Jeonghan’s company through Jeonghan, or the alternative, which is that he’s been biding his time before having to kill Jeonghan. Either option doesn’t bode well for him. Either option means trouble. And so he plots while he prepares dinner.
Jeonghan takes a deep breath, swallowing down the lump in his throat. The tonkatsu lay in a dish, banchan already laid out on the dining table. The weight of the knife against his hip feels heavy at the prospect of the evening’s end. The crunch of wheels in the driveway alerts him of Seungcheol’s arrival, heart thudding painfully. The door opens, and he hears Seungcheol enter, footsteps surprisingly quiet against the wood flooring. He runs his hands down the front of his white shirt, tucked into tan trousers, slightly clammy.
He pulls a mask of practiced calm over his face as Seungcheol rounds the corner, picking up the martini glasses, a gentle smile directed at his husband. Seungcheol freezes, nearly imperceptible to anyone who wasn’t a trained assassin.
“Perfect timing.” Seungcheol’s eyes crinkle as he forces a smile on his face.
“As always.” He moves forward, taking the glass Jeonghan hands him. “This is a nice surprise.”
“I hope so.” Jeonghan turns with Seungcheol, watching as his husband moves deeper into the kitchen. “You’re home early.”
“I missed you.” Once the words would have stirred a deep heat in Jeonghan’s belly. Now, suspicion only rises further.
“I missed you too.” He tilts his head towards the dining room, moving past Seungcheol, hips swaying. “Shall we?”
“Yes.” Jeonghan watches the way Seungcheol eyes the table when he follows Jeonghan in, catching their special chopsticks and silverware.
“I thought you only broke these out for special occasions.” They hadn’t been used in the last two years. Jeonghan smiles gently, pulling out Seungcheol’s chair slightly.
“This is a special occasion.” Seungcheol sits, and Jeonghan notes the way the drink has been emptied. He plucks the toothpick from the glass, and bites off one of the olives, humming as he walks briskly back to the kitchen to retrieve the tonkatsu.
Seungcheol makes a small noise, standing as Jeonghan sets down the tray. “Tonkatsu? My favorite.” He moves around Jeonghan, sliding the knife from his hand. “Allow me, Hannie. You’ve been on your feet all day.” Jeonghan relents, stepping to the other side of the table, whipping out the bread knife to slice the loaf that sat opposite his husband. Seungcheol dished out the meat, sitting down again, gaze assessing.
“So, how’s work?” Jeonghan nearly stiffens at the question, pulse spiking, tension nearly palpable, thick in the air. He clears his throat.
“Actually, we had a little trouble with a commission.” He plops down in his chair, brushing his hair from his face, meeting Seungcheol’s eyes. “Double booking with another firm.
“Well, I hope everything works out okay.” Jeonghan sniffs as he takes a sip of his drink, flicking his tongue over his lower lip.
“It hasn’t yet. But it will.” Seungcheol says nothing else, and looks down at his plate, dishing out the sides, before clearing his throat.
“Sweetheart, will you pass the-” Jeonghan hides a small smile behind his glass. Seungcheol glances up at him, picking up the salt shaker without breaking eye contact. There was another bout of silence, only filled but the clattering of utensils.
Jeonghan gazes at his husband through hooded eyes, swallowing his mouthful before speaking. “So, how was Australia?” Seungcheol wipes his mouth with a napkin.
“We had a few problems ourselves. Some figures didn’t add up.” Jeonghan watches cautiously as he stood, picking the wine bottle up from the center of the table, holding his hand out for Jeonghan’s wine glass.
“Big deal?”
“Life or death. Wine?” Jeonghan lifts his cup, watching as Seungcheol pours the wine, deep purple-red swirling. He finishes, and Jeonghan twists slightly to place the glass down.
He didn’t mean to. For years his instincts had been honed to the most detailed of movements. Maybe that’s why it was so automatic to catch the wine bottle as it slipped from Seungcheol’s grip.
Time seemed to freeze, and it felt as though a stone had dropped into Jeonghan’s stomach, blood rushing through his ears. He turns to look at Seungcheol. His husband, an assassin. Understanding dawns in his eyes, meeting Jeonghan’s before they both sprung into action. Jeonghan released the bottle, wine splashing onto the cream carpet, staining it.
“I got it.”
“I got it. I’ll get a towel.” They both ran in separate directions, Seungcheol disappearing into his office space as Jeonghan ran towards the garage. Anger and humiliation burn through him, heart thundering painfully.
Jeonghan hears the pounding of footsteps against the stairs, and he doesn’t wait for them to return. Instead of grabbing the mop, he slips on his shoes in a hurry, and he ditches the house. Even though the temptation to go back for his stash of weapons is strong, he has enough to suffice, back at Headquarters. His priority right now is putting enough distance between him and his husband.
The wheels of his car squeal loudly as he speeds down the driveway, catching sight of Seungcheol through a window, a glimmer of silver in his hands.
He turns left onto the main road, pressing his foot to the pedal, picking up speed. The front door slides open, and Seungcheol stands there, a gun in his right hand with a silencer, pointing at Jeonghan’s car.
Jeonghan slams on the gas as the car lurches forward, and the headlights beam in front of him, brightening up the deserted street. He almost misses the loud, “Hannie, wait!”
Jeonghan looks out of the side window long enough to see Seungcheol sprint across their lawn. He doesn’t slow even as he starts onto the street, tearing after the car in a rapid chase. Jeonghan’s never considered this. He always thought Seungcheol’s physique came down to all his time spent in the gym. He was technically right he just hadn’t been correct in the assumption of why.
“Hannie!”
Jeonghan’s foot presses down on the gas even more as he tries leaving Seungcheol in the dust. As he turns onto the next street, one quick glance into the rearview mirror tells him Seungcheol isn’t as close behind as before, but Jeonghan doubts that’s the last of him.
“Stupid,” Jeonghan says to himself, shaking his head. “How could I be so stupid?”
He shouldn’t have caught the bottle. He should have let it fall. Seungcheol might have suspected, but he didn’t know for sure until Jeonghan did that.
“I’m an idiot,” Jeonghan mutters as he turns onto the next street. The car cuts the corner as closely as possible to keep up speed, and Jeonghan keeps glancing around to see if he can spot Seungcheol. He can’t hear him anymore, but that means nothing. He can’t let Seungcheol get the better of him again.
Seungcheol is more clever than Jeonghan ever gave him credit for.
Just as Jeonghan turns onto the next street, he recognizes a figure bursting across someone’s front lawn, and his stomach clenches as he watches Seungcheol trip onto the sidewalk. That isn’t what makes his heart stop.
It’s the bullet that shoots through his windshield.
Jeonghan’s foot slams down on the brake, and his body launches forward into the steering wheel from the force. As the car screeches to a complete stop, he stares at the hole in the glass. It’s the perfect size for a bullet. The fissures spread outward from it. It could have gotten Jeonghan in the head.
Jeonghan can’t believe this. Seungcheol really wants to kill him. Scratch that, Seungcheol has already tried to kill him. He almost did.
“Wait, Hannie,” Seungcheol cries out. He rolls over as he stumbles to his feet, and his eyes flick back and forth between the gun in his hand and the hole in the car’s windshield. “That was an accident. I didn’t mean it.”
Jeonghan nearly screams at Seungcheol, anger bright and aggressive. His lip curls, his grip tightens around the steering wheel. The glare he aims at Seungcheol is poisonous, so much so that Seungcheol holds his hands up in surrender.
For all of Seungcheol’s bravado, he somehow still manages to act with his usual level of idiocy. He walks out into the street in front of the car, his arms still held up high, and his gaze follows Jeonghan with a hint of hesitation.
Jeonghan’s eyes narrow.
“No, no, no.” Seungcheol emphasizes each no with his hands. “That was an accident. Han, don’t you dare.”
Jeonghan does dare. He slams his foot onto the gas pedal, and the car starts forward. The face Seungcheol makes is almost comical as his eyes widen and he points a finger straight at Jeonghan, almost like he’s reprimanding him.
“Han, stop the car.”
Jeonghan doesn’t. In fact, when Seungcheol doesn’t dive out of the way, the car slams straight into him, and Jeonghan hisses as Seungcheol rolls over the top.
He expects that to be the end of it. Seungcheol will fall off, and Jeonghan can drive away. But the sounds of Seungcheol’s limbs banging against the top rain down, and the weight of him shakes the entire vehicle.
Jeonghan knocks his fist against the top of the car. “Get off, Seungcheol!” he shouts.
“No,” Seungcheol yells back. “You’re overreacting’.”
Jeonghan almost scoffs at that. Seungcheol nearly took his head off with a bullet, and he’s overreacting. Though to be fair, Jeonghan did try to plow Seungcheol down with the front of his car. He guesses they’re as even as can be right now. He spins the wheel in a desperate attempt to shake Seungcheol off, but even as the car turns from side to side, Seungcheol maintains his grip.
“Hannie,” Seungcheol calls. His head leans over the side, and Jeonghan catches a glimpse of him through his window. It’s a great show of strength that Seungcheol can hold himself over the side of a moving vehicle without falling off. “C’mon. Let’s talk. We should talk. That’s what couples do. We’re not supposed to go to sleep angry with each other.”
“Asshole,” Jeonghan calls back. “Get off my fucking car.”
“Pull over,” Seungcheol insists. His hair starts to fall into his eyes. “Pull over, Han.”
“I’m not pulling over.”
“Fuck!” Seungcheol’s head disappears, and Jeonghan hopes that’s the end of it. “You’re a pain in my ass, Han. C’mon!”
When Jeonghan doesn’t dignify him with a response, there’s a brief respite of pure silence.
The back window shatters, and Jeonghan’s chest seizes, as Seungcheol throws himself through the broken glass to topple into the back seat. He pulls himself into a sitting position, pointing at Jeonghan with his gun. “Now, look, Jeonghan-”
Jeonghan doesn’t deign to listen to him, kicking open the door and throwing himself out. The second his body hits the ground, the wind is knocked out of him. He rolls a good distance, his exposed palms cutting at the tarmac, and his knees twinging with pain when he pushes himself up.
The car continues rushing forward, and he sees the outline of Seungcheol’s figure clambering towards the trunk until his face presses up against the window. “We need to talk,” he shouts. A split second later, the front of the car slams into one of their neighbor’s fences, and Seungcheol ducks to avoid the worst of the collision.
Jeonghan stands on shaky legs, looking after the destroyed vehicle, and he wipes the back of his hand across his face. A few streaks of blood run across his cheeks, and his shoulder screams in pain. He casts one last look in Seungcheol’s direction before taking off on foot.