Chapter Text
The doorbell rang, pulling Kim Namjoon, private investigator, out of thought. He had purposely installed a doorbell with an old-fashioned, authoritative sound. Jeon Jungkook, his assistant, had been driven crazy by Namjoon’s insistence on finding a particular bell, wincing theatrically at every new test. But this bell was the first impression his clients had of their service, and he wanted to give a feeling of importance and dignity. The proper bell, now installed at their front door, had a deep resonant dongggg that resonated in the pit of your stomach.
Today the bell echoed in his ears for an extra heartbeat. Namjoon shook it off and readied his leather-bound notebook and quill pen. Out in the hallway, Jungkook’s footsteps thudded past and rattled down a short flight of stairs to the entryway. Having Namjoon’s assistant answer the door was not only about appearances; it allowed the detective time to smooth his shirt and make sure the collar was not wrinkled, no buttons undone. Peering into the large mirror that rested on a mahogany bookshelf on one mirror, Namjoon also patted his carefully combed hair.
In another life, Namjoon might be a songwriter or poet, seated in the center of a room scattered with scribbled papers, his hair disheveled and clothes rumpled and fingers inkstained. But in this lifetime, he had to earn his clients’ confidence that he could answer their questions.
The front door opened, and Jungkook’s voice echoed around the corners of the hallway to the detective’s office. The door clicked closed, there was a rustle of coats, and two pairs of footsteps climbed the short flight of stairs. The shoe sounds disappeared into the soft carpet of the detective agency’s “reception room” - or, the sitting room of the house.
As Jungkook approached the office, Namjoon’s slapped his own cheeks lightly and gave the mirror his most charming smile. The face looking back at him was dimpled and youthful, even with the swept-over hairstyle that Jungkook said made Namjoon look older and cool.
Jungkook’s head appeared around the edge of the office door. “Client, sir.” He only called Namjoon that when it was a new customer, as any returning guests always gave into their urges to coo over the boyish assistant and he cheekily dropped all pretense of formality.
Namjoon nodded and followed, walking down the hallway with measured steps to give the weight and tempo of confidence. He lips were pulled into a rehearsed smile, which was lucky - as he rounded the corner and saw their client, he forgot how to function.
The reception held a beautiful man, seated on the worn couch with the grace of a king. His hair was the color of cinnamon, skin a golden porcelain color, lips a peachy pink. Namjoon blinked to make sure he was awake.
The beautiful man meet Namjoon’s dazed handshake with a gentle smile and a soft hand. Namjoon’s stomach flipped. He hoped he wasn’t catching a cold, and cleared his throat to check whether it was sore. Nope.
“Welcome to Monster Private Eye. I am Kim Namjoon.”
Namjoon could hardly remember a time before he had gained the nickname of Monster at school. Always quick to read, quick to blurt out answers, other students gave him the moniker in equal parts teasing and respect. “IQ of 148? Valedictorian, and good at everything? What a Monster.” His parents had hoped their brainy child would become a doctor or a lawyer. However, even awkward teenage Namjoon was not interested in following expectations. After completing the pre-law track in college, he finally announced his decision to his parents. When they asked what he would do instead, he blurted out being a private detective, for no reason other than that he had read a mystery novel the night before. And here he was, five years later, still running his own agency out of a house inherited from an uncle at his mother’s pleading.
“What assistance do you need?” Namjoon asked as they settled into the couches on opposite sides of the center coffee table.
“My name is Kim Seokjin. I’m a model, and as a successful celebrity figure, I of course need any information disclosed here to be entirely confidential.” His voice was clear and confident, and as flawless as his visage.
“Of course,” Namjoon said, more smoothly than he felt. “Many of our clients are public figures. As a private detective, I promise to work with complete discretion.”
Seokjin looked at him with dark eyes that seemed to pierce Namjoon’s soul. After a long moment, in which Namjoon’s heart didn’t beat once, Seokjin ran a hand lightly across the hair falling over his forehead and let out a small sigh. With that, Namjoon felt the perfectly manicured mask slip off and the man sitting in front of him finally looked human. There was a small wrinkle in his forehead, a slight purse of the lips. Namjoon wasn’t sure it was possible, but Seokjin might have looked even more beautiful as a human than as the front cover of a magazine.
“I have a stalker,” Seokjin said quietly. His hands were now clenched in his lap.
Namjoon’s stomach dropped. “Pardon my asking, but a matter this serious seems appropriate for the police.”
“The police generally don’t believe victims of stalking and sexual abuse. Furthermore, models live and die by their public image - I can’t allow this to become common knowledge.”
Namjoon nodded. Many of his clients were similar: celebrities and jilted lovers not wanting the world to know the sordid details of their lives. “What do you wish for us to do?”
Seokjin lifted a manila envelope from the seat beside him and passed it to Namjoon. “I get a lot of fan mail and paparazzi attention, of course. But for the past few months, there has been one person sending candid photos and possessive notes. The folder you hold is merely a sampling. They clearly follow me outside of normal pap and fan photo ops. The notes warn me about my personal meetings, saying to stay away from anyone outside of professional circumstances.”
Namjoon frowned at the photos and typed notes that he pulled out of the envelope. He didn’t really follow celebrities or collect their photos, but he wasn’t sure how this was different from what he heard of normal fan and press attention. Weren’t people often a little possessive, imagining idols as their own lovers?
“You don’t believe me.” Seokjin’s voice had an edge, and when Namjoon looked up, the perfect mask was back on and his arms were crossed.
“No, I...uh… isn’t it usual for fans to show this kind of attachment? And to photograph you or follow you when they see you...well, you are gorgeous.”
There was a gasp beside him. Namjoon suddenly noticed Jungkook had arrived with the usual tray of tea and cookies for a client meeting. The assistant looked back and forth between the two men with wide eyes, slowly placing the tray down on the coffee table.
In the long pause, Namjoon replayed his own words inside his head. Shit. Monster is more accurate than I ever thought before.
Seokjin slowly rose to his feet, his icy stare not leaving Namjoon’s face. “I no longer need your services. Good day,” he said in a flat tone.
Namjoon felt frozen in place, as the other man walked past and down the stairs. Suddenly a finger poked his leg. “What are you doing?” Jungkook hissed.
“Wait!” Namjoon’s legs shot up his own accord, his voice too loud for the room. The coffee table shook and the tea cups rattled in their saucers as Namjoon stumbled past. Seokjin stopped with one hand on his coat.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s not your fault. You don’t owe anything to anyone, no matter how you look, no matter if you’re a model. I’m sorry.”
Seokjin’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “I accept your apology,” he said softly, more breath than tone in his voice. He slipped the coat off the hangar and took another step.
“Please let me make it up to you!” Namjoon cried out, tripping over the final step, landing on his hands and knees. “Please, let me help you.”
Seokjin turned around and stared down at the man practically kneeling at his feet. A flash of anger lit up his eyes.
“Please!” Namjoon made no move to get up, just looking imploringly up at him. “Let us take your case. For free. I will get you proof for the police to arrest whoever is hurting you, I will protect you until they do.”
The air sizzled between them. Namjoon felt his heart pound and his mouth go dry.
Suddenly Jungkook was between them, offering to take Seokjin’s coat back. The younger man cocked his head and gave the model a crooked grin. “We won’t let you down, hyung.”
Seokjin barked out a laugh. “You better not, boy.” He tossed Jungkook his coat and walked over to Namjoon, holding out a hand to help the detective stand up again.
I will make this right, Namjoon vowed to himself. Everything that I am supposed to be - confident, intelligent, mature - I’ve failed already. I will protect this beautiful man, and I will earn back his trust