Archive of Our Own ^beta

13.06.1921
London, Hampshire, The Horse & Hound Auction House

The first time Jungkook meets Kim Namjoon, it's on the tail end of an auction.

No one misses them in the viewing gallery— The Peaky Blinders are far from subtle on their best days, and the ragtag family has been rising in notoriety in the past 2 years for racketeering. Rumor has it that they're led by the youngest brother – Kim Namjoon – rather than the oldest, Min Yoongi. Their second brother – Jung Hoseok – completes their trio, and they've amassed quite the empire back in Small Heath, Birmingham.

Jungkook turns to his butler, frowning as the auction master announces the sale of a Friesian stallion to a man in the bracket on the first floor. "Why do people always show up to these things late?"

"If they know what they want, they have no need to be here for the entirety of the auction, sir."

The next horse that's guided into the compound is a grey filly. She's beautiful – can't be more than a couple of years old – and Jungkook's hands curl on the banister as he leans over with his mouth slightly gaped. "A Gypsy Vanner," he murmurs knowingly, even before the breed is declared.

He wants this horse.

Unfortunately, so do the Peaky Blinders— Or rather, so does Kim Namjoon.

They bid with subtle nods, piling pounds atop one another by the hundreds. Jungkook feels his neck grow hot beneath his starched collar, beads of sweat forming at his temple as he makes eye contact with Kim Namjoon across the auction house. The man looks imperiously unfazed by the climbing demand, even as his older brother smacks at his shoulder for him to see sense— They've entered the thousands now, and soon, not even Jungkook can justify the volume of his expenditure on a single grey filly.

Put out, he gives up on the horse and lets Kim Namjoon take her at 2,300 pounds.

(Petty and a little bitter, Jungkook hopes she misbehaves for him.)

"We're leaving," he declares irritably to his butler, turning on his heel.

Except, of course they don't.

Kim Namjoon accosts Jungkook in the corridor to the nearest exit, barring his departure with a guarded smile. "You bid well," he comments easily, eyes half-lidded as he tugs on the lapels of his overcoat. "Are you a collector?"

Jungkook glances over his shoulder at his butler, who has narrowed eyes. "I breed racehorses and train them," he answers Namjoon warily, stepping slightly to his left to hide his staff's obvious prejudice. This man is the leader of the Peaky Blinders, for god's sake, not the devil himself. "What is it you do?"

"I rarely answer questions, is what I do," Namjoon says, but it's with a chuckle that makes something in Jungkook bloom with warmth. The elder holds out a hand, drawing a step closer. "My name is Kim Namjoon—"

"Nams," Yoongi barks from the end of the corridor, "will you fucking get on with it? We've got shit to do back at the Garrison."

Namjoon sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he ignores his brother.

Wow. "Jeon Jungkook," he introduces himself quietly, taking the man's hand and giving it a proper shake. Since they've come to this point, the younger decides to take the opportunity, cocking his head. "Well, Mr. Kim Namjoon, if you ever decide to put that filly out, I'd be interested to have her for my stud."

"I'm intending to race her."

Race the filly? Really? "Do you have a trainer?"

"I know people."

"As do I," Jungkook murmurs, reaching into his pocket for a card. He's been in business for a long time, and if Kim Namjoon is liable to be in need, why not? "My father and I, we used to— We trained 3 ascot winners together."

"Nams," Yoongi yells, waving a fist at Namjoon as Hoseok holds him back by his other arm. "Shit! To do! At the Garrison!"

"We know very different people, I'm guessing," Namjoon speaks over his brother's booming voice, looking mildly apologetic as he takes Jungkook's card. He gives it a look before slipping it into the inner pocket of his coat, humming under his breath.

Jungkook feels a little antsy under the intensity of Namjoon's gaze. "Will you consider me?" He ends up blurting, before he immediately tries to tamp down his mortification by crossing his arms and taking a step back. He almost trips against his butler, but thankfully manages to remain steady on his feet. "As a trainer, for the filly."

Namjoon looks at him for a long time – he seems to be a fan of extended silences – before he nods, once. "I will consider you," he says succinctly.

"You promise?"

"I don't make promises," Namjoon informs him kindly, a vague smile playing on his lips. "A man is only as good as his word— As a rule, I make every effort to avoid binding myself to someone else in that manner," he adds, right before turning on his heel to join his brothers at the end of the corridor.

For some reason, Jungkook finds it within himself to ask one last thing. "You haven't told me what it is that you do," he calls after Namjoon, who pauses in his step and looks over his shoulder.

"I do bad things," Namjoon tells him after a beat, eyes as gentle as his new filly's while his mouth curves with amusement. He tips his cap, the brim glinting with a razor that's been curiously sewn into the fabric. "But I think you already knew that, Mr. Jeon Jungkook."

02.07.1921
Birmingham, Small Heath

Namjoon does reach out to him, much to Jungkook's surprise.

He's standing along the canal in Small Heath a couple of weeks after the auction, waiting for the owner of the grey filly to show up. Jungkook doesn't typically make a habit of fretting over what he wears— He spends more time out on the green with his horses than he does in the public eye, and considers himself to be relatively reclusive. It's been that way since…

Well.

Still, the elder had been so put together and well-dressed the last time they'd met that Jungkook finds himself wanting to… Match up, somehow. Maybe he even wants to impress Namjoon a little, because he's no stranger to being patronized for what he lacks in years. The Jeon family is aristocratic, which has granted Jungkook a front row seat to the elitism and backstabbing that runs rampant within high society. He's never been fond of playing the rich young bachelor on a whole other level— His parents had taught him better, though he does appreciate the land they have and the priority his bids now command at the auctions.

(It must seem childish, but having lost the filly to Namjoon still makes him somewhat irate.)

The man comes around the corner just a half hour shy of noon, long but leisurely strides swiftly taking him across the yard to where Jungkook stands. "I'm sorry I'm late," Namjoon opens with wisely, holding out his hand. The younger takes it; notes every callus and scarred knuckle, too. "There was a family matter that required my attention."

"That's alright."

"I'll show you around."

"I'd appreciate that," Jungkook murmurs quietly, glancing over his shoulder at his car. It's nothing fancier than the average automobile on the streets, but had he not received help, it'd still have been a chore to park it somewhere inconspicuous. "When I drove into Small Heath, I thought I might have gotten myself into some trouble."

"Well, you're certainly far from home."

"And then I mentioned your name."

"Ah," Namjoon says knowingly.

"After that, it was like I was being escorted to see the king himself," Jungkook muses, lifting an eyebrow. "Your men by the canal saw to it that I wasn't bothered for as long as I've been waiting."

At this, the elder chuckles and shakes his head. "I'm hardly as rich as the king," Namjoon defends himself rather good naturedly, and the warm timber of the man's laughter is enough to loosen some of the tension in Jungkook's shoulders. "And certainly nowhere near as pompous."

"You've been here for all of 2 minutes, and we're already slandering the king, are we?" Jungkook smiles, amused.

"Now, would a decorated man who fought at the Battle of Verdun and Somme do such a ridiculous thing?" Namjoon retorts, eyes twinkling mischievously as he puts his hands in his pockets. He gives Jungkook a onceover that makes the younger's face heat, but luckily, the man's focus shifts to business soon enough. "As much as my valor in the war makes for perfectly good conversation, you've come here to see my girl, am I right?"

"Of course," Jungkook nods, taking cues from Namjoon as the man starts towards their right. He follows step, unable to help the way his eyes wander— Birmingham is in greyscale; the buildings are aged and creaking with history, and the people are cynical lest they're drunk off the night. As an introverted boy born to the colors and pizzazz of London, it's hard for Jungkook to tamp down his curiosity.

"You seem very intrigued, Mr. Jeon," Namjoon observes.

"Nothing gets by you, Mr. Kim," Jungkook hums absently in response, watching a man load a boat with cargo that strains his back.

Namjoon remains silent for the time being, though the curve of his mouth informs Jungkook that the man finds his behavior novel. Once they round a rather dilapidated shed, the elder calls out to a young man whose hand is on the crest of the grey filly Jungkook's come to collect. "Taehyung."

Turning around, the brunette beams. "Captain," he greets Namjoon candidly, coiling the horse's rein in his hand. Walking the horse towards them, his gaze settles on Jungkook. "So this is your prized trainer for your prized girl?" He grins widely, pearly teeth bared. "Bit young, but you sure know how to pick them."

Much as he doesn't want them to, Jungkook can feel his cheeks coloring.

"Manners, Taehyung," Namjoon chides, sounding far fonder than he probably means to. "Till Mr. Jeon's box van arrives, I'll have someone else see to it that the filly is safe here. You can read and write better than most of the others in the den, so go give Jimin a hand; I'm sure he could use some help on a Friday morning."

"You're the boss," Taehyung shrugs, palming the filly's reins off onto the elder. He gives Jungkook a cheeky, two-fingered salute before he leaves, winking suggestively.

"See to it that you remember that," Namjoon mumbles, eyes narrowed as he watches the brunette go.

It takes Jungkook a while before he feels he can trust himself to speak again. "She looks good, considering she hasn't been out on the gallops," he chooses to say, careful to keep his tone professionally neutral. Resting his hand on the filly's flank, he's gratified to see she possesses a calm temperament— More than anything, he'll need to coax her into staying that way once she's on his turf back in London. "She's beautiful."

When he looks up, Namjoon has his knuckles stroking against the curve of the horse's cheek. The flat brim of his cap shadows his eyes, but his face is relaxed and open as he gentles his touch on the beautiful beast. "Well, she is of the best stock," the elder murmurs, the words somewhat dismissive of his obvious affection for the filly.

"I'd rather have a colored pony myself," Jungkook confesses sheepishly, even as he finds Namjoon's latest project gorgeous. "Mixed blood is stronger."

"Not to win the Derby."

"Perhaps not," Jungkook allows noncommittally, giving himself a moment to truly appreciate the one that had gotten away. The horse is healthy – appears rather enthused, in fact, under his attentions – and she's attentive and bright. For all that his family's business has been bred into his bones since the day of his birth, Jungkook truly does love horses; he finds them highly intelligent, and empathetic in spades.

Namjoon lets Jungkook have some time to bond with the filly, though he doesn't remove his own hand. After a few minutes of the younger appraising the horse, he speaks up. "She's already been fed and watered by Taehyung, I imagine," he says softly, as though he's wary of disturbing the peace that encapsulates the moment. "What time will your box van be here?"

"Midday."

"Huh. That gives us some time yet…" Glancing at his pocket watch, Namjoon tugs off his peaked cap and Jungkook gets a glimpse at his slightly tousled hair, the intense set of his eyes. When the elder lifts his head eventually, he has a slightly sheepish look on his face. "I don't suppose you'd like to take a look around, maybe stop by the Garrison? I did say I'd show you around."

Running a hand through his hair, Jungkook wonders at the anticipation that bubbles in his throat. "I'd like that," he tells Namjoon, surprised by the honesty in his words despite the dangers he's been told of places like Small Heath as a child. He's never had much in the way of self-preservation, his mother used to say. "Why not?"

If nothing else, it's worth it for the way Namjoon's cheeks dimple with mirth.

The Garrison is a drinking hole, apparently.

It's one hell of a pub; there are shelves upon shelves of liquor lining the wall behind the raised marble counter. There are tasteful hints of gold, lavish curtains that drape and polished brass fittings for the standalone tables and chairs. Everything is gleaming and gilded— As far as statements go, the Garrison makes a fairly powerful one about the social and financial status of the Peaky Blinders in Small Heath.

"We've just had this place done up again," Namjoon tells Jungkook easily, guiding him through the doors with a hand at the small of the younger's back. "There was a fire," he elaborates vaguely, pocketing the keys to the place. "We're reopening it sometime in the next few weeks."

"It's very… Ostentatious," Jungkook offers lamely, uncertain of what else to say. He faces Namjoon, watching the man breeze behind the counter. "It's… Something."

"Yes," Namjoon chuckles, a note of understanding in his tone. He doesn't allow a lull of silence between them, gesturing for Jungkook to sit on one of the elevated chairs across from him as he peruses the alcohol they have on the first shelf. "Now, what would your poison be, Mr. Jeon?"

It's kind of uncomfortable, hearing his last name like that. "Gin," Jungkook decides neutrally, hoping Namjoon isn't too put off that he has a particular taste for it. Most men, he knows, prefers whiskey. "And tonic, if you have any."

Namjoon must not have heard the latter of his comments – or perhaps he isn't accustomed to the concept of having a mixer – because he sets a glass on the table in front of Jungkook and casually fills the glass with gin.

Entirely with gin.

"Jesus," Jungkook breaths, because Small Heath must be a lot more fucked up than Namjoon's been making it seem since he got here. It's lucky that he manages to catch the elder's attention this time, and he warily taps the rim of his glass. "No, I just— I usually take gin with something. Do you have tonic water? Or…"

It takes a while for the request to sink in, and Namjoon clears his throat as he turns around to face the shelf again. "We have… Cordial," he murmurs shortly after, pulling on the bottle by its neck and drawing it out.

Jungkook lowers his head and smiles, lacing his fingers in his lap. "Cordial is fine," he says, absently wondering if Namjoon is actually embarrassed. It would be quite the role reversal, he thinks. "Thank you."

"Not at all; I should have asked," the elder shakes his head, tipping a measure of Jungkook's gin out of its cup so there's room for more than a teaspoon of cordial. He mixes it in as requested, before pouring himself a whiskey. "I suppose people in London tend to have milder palates."

Oh, now he feels slightly bad for having found any amusement in the situation. "I highly doubt that," Jungkook pipes up quickly, folding his arms on the table as Namjoon turns around to face him again. Picking up his glass, he lifts it for an amicable toast with a small, shy smile. "Just me, I think."

The elder looks at him for a long while, leaning over the counter. "Cheers, then," Namjoon declares lowly, lifting his own glass and tipping it in the younger's direction. "To the horse, and to the Derby."

It's probably as good a toast as any, Jungkook reflects, and he tips his drink the same way. As he sips, he looks at Namjoon over the rim of his glass. "I must admit that I'm curious," he ends up blurting, because this question's been on his mind for the past week since he's accepted the elder's invitation to Small Heath. "You're paying me 500 pounds a month to train your horse for the Derby. That's an exorbitant fee, and I'd like to know why."

"People don't typically question good things, Mr. Jeon."

"Jungkook," the younger corrects once and for all, apparently surprising Namjoon, if the elder's raised eyebrow is anything to go by. "And I've been raised to question everything, Mr. Kim."

"Namjoon," the other corrects in turn with a small smile, setting his glass down on the counter of the bar. He reaches into his pocket, and brings out a pack of cigarettes. "And I suppose that's a fair enquiry to make. For what I'm paying you, Jungkook, I want a horse that'll pay out at Epsom on an each way bet."

Hmm. "You're fixing races."

"If I don't fix them, someone else will."

Theory's sound, sure, but if Jungkook gets caught helping a man who fix races, his career's in the dirt. This isn't new information to him, though; he's done his fair share of research on Namjoon and his operations with the Peaky Blinders. "Before I took your account," he says softly, carefully, "I did some credit checks on you."

The elder seems entirely unsurprised by this as he pulls a cigarette from his pack.

"And apparently," Jungkook continues, watching Namjoon purse his lips around his stick to light it, "you don't exist."

"My existence is questionable."

"That is definitely one word for it."

"And yet, here you are," Namjoon murmurs, leaning over the counter. He's far closer than the younger anticipates, and Jungkook has to consciously put in the effort not to withdraw. Smoke plumes from the elder's lips, and they quirk with something a little less mirthful, and little more dangerous. "And I wonder, why is that?"

"Why is what, exactly?" Jungkook rebuts, hating the way his eyes are drawn to the swell of the elder's lips as he smokes. Namjoon is just— He has a presence about him, an undeniable pull of charisma, and Jungkook is only human. Much as he's loathe to admit it, he notices Namjoon in a way he hasn't noticed anyone else in a long time.

(This is all beginning to feel like a rather cruel joke at his expense, but one of his own creation.)

"If you've done credit checks on me, then you'll have done other checks on what I do," Namjoon points out quite fairly, looking more amused than offended as he reaches for his glass of whiskey. "I can't imagine that your investigations have turned up much good, so I find it curious that you would come to see me nonetheless."

The elder isn't wrong. More of the information Jungkook's amassed about Namjoon comes from gossip than he likes, but all of it points to the man being trouble. When put on the spot like this, Jungkook can't find a reasonable excuse for why he's chosen to take the elder up on his offer anyway. As the only son born into an aristocratic family, finances are of no particular consequence to him, which can only mean he's doing this for one reason.

He'd wanted to the opportunity to know Kim Namjoon.

Of course, it isn't something Jungkook can ever see himself saying aloud— Not if he wants to preserve the last vestiges of his pride, anyway. It's beyond inappropriate, for one thing, and he also has no inkling of Namjoon's… Preferences, and whether or not they align with his own.

"I," he stumbles weakly, truly reaching for a Hail Mary excuse out of a hat, "really… Wanted your filly."

Now Namjoon seems to be flat out holding back laughter. "So this is all on account of my horse?"

"I was born riding," Jungkook says defensively – desperately – as he cups his glass between his hands. He takes a greedy sip, wishing he were drunk and that the earth could swallow him whole. God; he's sure he's red to the tips of his ears. "And as you've mentioned, that horse is of the best stock."

"I see," the elder chuckles, ashing his cigarette against the tray by his hand.

"I am being quite serious, Namjoon."

"I don't doubt the severity of your feelings for my horse, Jungkook—"

The door to the pub swings open, and a stranger steps in with a soft smile on his face. "Namjoon," he calls out gently, "Yoongi sent me to get you. He says that the box van for the filly is here, and that you're needed at the house once you're finished with all this horse business."

Straightening up, Namjoon tugs on the lapels of his coat and nods. "Thank you, Jimin. Tell him I'm sending Jungkook back to his car, and then I'll be right there."

"I will," Jimin says sweetly. He doesn't leave immediately, chewing on his lower lip and blinking at Jungkook curiously. Eventually, he walks over to offer the younger his hand. "Hello," he introduces himself, kind and friendly. "Before you go, I'm Park Jimin— Namjoon's personal assistant. I think I actually spoke to someone at your residence in London about you coming up today."

Must have been his butler. Jungkook feels kind of strange about that; his staff are still trying to train him out of answering all of his own phone calls – training him to let them do their jobs – and they've been known to be sneaky about it. "I must have been down at the stables," he says apologetically, taking Jimin's hand in his. "I'm Jeon Jungkook, but, well…"

"Yes; I already know that," Jimin grins, shaking his head. Turning to Namjoon, he nods towards the door. "I'll go back to the den now, if that's alright with you? I can drop by the house after I lock up the place with Tae."

Namjoon nods, easygoing as he tosses back the rest of his whiskey. "Sure," he says after setting his glass in the sink, glancing at Jimin. "I'd actually prefer it; Yoongi is so much calmer when you're around."

Jimin flushes a little, glancing at Jungkook with wary eyes. "Um…"

Jungkook feels a bit like an eavesdropper, which is kind of ridiculous considering everyone's speaking at normal volume.

"I'll see you tonight," Namjoon dismisses Jimin clearly, though he's far from unkind about it. He actually watches the doors sway on the man's departure, laughing under his breath before he turns to Jungkook. "I'm afraid duty calls," he says, eyeing his cigarette as it continues to burn on the ashtray. He stubs it out meticulously, making sure the embers are extinguished. "I'll walk you back to the canal."

"If you have to rush somewhere, it's fine," Jungkook shakes his head. He adjusts the strap of his bag on his shoulder, picking up his glass and trying to finish his drink. Eventually, he has to abandon it with a subtle wince; too much gin, too little cordial, and he's going back on the road. He looks at Namjoon instead, who's frowning. "I can— I'm sure I'll be able to find my way back on my own—"

"No," Namjoon insists, firm and brooking no arguments. He pulls the keys to the Garrison out of his pocket, and rounds the counter as he gestures for Jungkook to leave his glass and follow him. "I will escort you."

Jungkook's mouth gape around words that don't come, and he closes it eventually. He's thankful he doesn't actually scramble to get up at the commanding tone Namjoon takes, but it's a damn near thing.

The elder seems satisfied that Jungkook's being compliant, and it's only after they're out of the pub that his eyes soften. "Besides," Namjoon adds quietly, standing entirely too close to Jungkook in the younger's opinion, "I'd like to talk to you about more things— The name of my horse, perhaps, or when my first visit to your estate will be."

"First visit?" Jungkook echoes, feeling somewhat slow as he blinks at Namjoon. "To my estate?"

"Of course," Namjoon nods easily, resting his hand at the small of Jungkook's back as he smiles. They begin walking just like that, and the younger swallows thickly at the warmth that coming through the thin fabric of his shirt, branding against his skin and making his neck heat. "I'll be dropping by regularly to check on the filly. I'd like to make sure she knows who her owner is, even if she spends most of her time on her trainer's premises."

He's gone and done something stupid, hasn't he? Agreeing to this and everything. "Right," Jungkook can only say, his mouth dry as he thinks about all the ways this could go catastrophically wrong. "Of course."

"We're going to be seeing a lot of each other," Namjoon smiles at him, his eyes catching the light as they venture onto the main street. "I'm looking forward to it, Jungkook."

"I— Yes," the younger manages to say, doing his best not to flush once more at the implications. Namjoon dropping by his home could put him in a multitude of situations neither he nor his libido are prepared for— Not that he's going to mention that. "I'm looking forward to it, too."

'Namjoon hadn't meant it that way,' Jungkook reflects, and even if he had—

No.

He's just… Not going to go there.

23.07.1921
London, Hampstead, The Jeon Estate

By the time Namjoon's first visit rolls around, Jungkook's long since forgotten the man and fallen for his filly.

He has less than 3 months to make sure she's ready for the Derby, so he's been spending more time with her than his other horses. She's a sweet and lovely creature, though slightly mischievous. Still, that's par for course; she's young, just a little over 2 years of age, like he'd predicted back when he'd first laid eyes on her at the auction.

Namjoon's decided to dub her the Anias French 75, after the cocktail— It's a subtle, cheeky salute to his time in the king's service, too.

Jungkook calls her Nia when they're out on the green, and she comes every time.

Presently, they're out in the backyard. He's taken Nia for a long ride in the morning, and he's more than content to laze against her flank as she basks in the afternoon sun. His hat's tipped over his eyes, and he's just short of falling asleep himself by the time his butler rolls up in the buggy and tells him Namjoon's been spotted coming up their driveway— The man's come for an update on his girl.

Patting Nia on the barrel of her stomach, Jungkook smiles and sluggishly gets to his feet. "Let's go, Nia," he murmurs, pleased when she gets up with nothing more than a lazy sigh.

"Would you like to return to the house on the buggy, sir?" His butler offers, carefully reversing on the green.

"No," Jungkook says softly, hand on Nia's croup. She whinnies at him, and he laughs with a shake of his head. "No, thank you. I'll take her back to the stables myself, make sure she's comfortable."

"But sir, Mr. Kim will be here shortly. Your clothes…"

Looking down at himself, Jungkook considers his attire. There are light grass stains on his shirt, and his riding pants are ripped at the knees. His boots are fairly hopeless, at this point; dirt is smeared along the outsoles, and the leather is speckled with mud.

Oddly, he doesn't feel like he even needs to change. Namjoon's invitation to Small Heath had plied him with nerves, but perhaps he's simply feeling more confident on his own turf, in his own skin. "It's fine. Have the staff bring him to my office," Jungkook tells his butler kindly, running his fingers along Nia's braided mane; he's quite proud of having done that himself, and the filly takes this as a cue for her to still. Taking hold of her reins, he mounts her with practiced ease. "Tell him I'll be there shortly, and that I apologize for the delay."

His butler leaves with the order in mind, and Nia takes Jungkook in the opposite direction.

With the good mood she's in, it doesn't take long to have Nia settled in at the stables. Sparing her one last affectionate glance before he returns to the house, Jungkook strides towards his office with purpose, only to find Namjoon scrutinizing a shelf of books beside his desk. The elder is dashing— At ease and open as he draws closer to a novel and reads the cover off the spine with half-lidded eyes.

When faced once again with her owner, it only takes a moment for the past 3 weeks Jungkook's spent falling for Nia to fall away.

It's extremely disconcerting.

For lack of anything else to say, Jungkook goes with the obvious choice. "They belonged to my mother," he starts quietly, prompting Namjoon to turn his head. "Those books— She loved to read."

(The past tense hurts more than Jungkook had thought it would.)

Perhaps out of kindness, Namjoon doesn't address his opening statement; he merely retreats from the shelves and approaches the younger. "I apologize for my tardiness yet again; I swear I'm not always like this," he offers by way of greeting. "Also, you have a beautiful home, Jungkook."

He does, actually. The Jeon estate is large, and the land the house sits on is coveted by the crown itself. Jungkook's family is rich, and he's no stranger to luxury. His home is filled with expensive furniture and beautiful paintings; he is the only master of the house now, and there are far too many bedrooms.

'It isn't mine,' Jungkook almost says, because it still doesn't feel like it is. "Thank you," he says instead, because honesty is not always the best policy. Swallowing thickly, he turns his back on Namjoon and approaches the chest to his left. "Would you like some whiskey?" He asks, glancing between the decanters. He's going to want a stiff drink for himself; no gin this time. "Scotch or Irish."

"Irish," Namjoon decides, looking out one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. "Thank you."

Jungkook concedes to the request, silently pouring them each a generous measure. Picking up the glasses, he takes one to Namjoon before passing him on the way to his desk. "I've just brought Nia back to the stables; she's had herself a good run this morning," he says conversationally, picking up a folder and striding back to the elder. "This is a report I've prepared on her progress— You can read it now, if you'd like, and then we can go and see her."

The elder takes the file, setting his glass – his already empty glass, good god – down on the coffee table. Clearing his throat, Namjoon opens the folder to peruse the report.

"Is there enough light?" Jungkook murmurs, glancing at the time. "For you to read, I mean. I can turn on a lamp if you'd like—"

"There's no need," the elder muses, glancing at him with a small smile. "I can see just fine, thank you."

"Just— It's getting quite late. Almost dusk, actually, so…" Shaking his head, Jungkook moves to sit on the sofa closest to the coffee table and sips his whiskey, resisting the urge to do something as ridiculous as squirm under the weight of Namjoon's presence in his office. "Nia has the lungs of an elephant," he blurts eventually, so discomfited by the silence that he feels the need to fill it. "She's nimble in the heavy going, but bounces a little on hard ground, and—"

Namjoon covers his mouth with his hand, coughing over a surreptitious chuckle at the younger's nervous babbling.

Jungkook cuts himself off, cheeks dusted with pink. "I'm sorry, I'll let you finish reading—"

"So you think Anias will favor good to soft ground, then?"

A little surprised, Jungkook nods. "She has stiff pasterns," he explains, frowning as he thinks about it. He's serious about his work, and he prides himself on being observant— He likes to think that while he may not be particularly good at much else, he's practically half horse himself. "I'm working it out with her, but Nia seems to like having a little more juice in the grass. Whenever we're out on the green, she tends to stray towards the slopes closer to the river… She likes the forests to the east as well, where there are plenty of streams running off from the canal."

"I see," Namjoon murmurs, closing the folder and laying it on the table. He seems pleased as he joins Jungkook on the couch. "That is good for Epsom."

"Well, Nia is only 2; she still needs a lot of work before I'd consider her ready for any race, let alone the Derby," the younger admits, holding his ground even as he notes the little distance that remains between himself and Namjoon. Studiously, he focuses on the depths of his glass, and swirls the remaining sip's worth of whiskey in it. "The board will definitely need convincing."

"I imagine you have some influence."

"I do," Jungkook says in agreement, polishing off the last of his drink without looking at Namjoon. He glances at the closed folder on the coffee table, enduring the pleasurable burn down his throat as he stands. "There's a suggested program in there, for the next two months," he tells the elder, who lifts an eyebrow at the report. "Your glass is empty; I'll bring the decanter over—"

"No," Namjoon murmurs immediately, hand curling around Jungkook's wrist to stop the younger in his tracks. His eyes are hooded as he looks up, shaded by his ever-present peaked cap. "It's fine. Please stay."

If this continues, Jungkook is quite confident he is going to burst into flames. "I— What about food?" He continues, hoping he doesn't look as much the fool as he feels when he almost drops his own glass. To avoid any accidents, he sets it down on the table with a loud thud— It's an audible representation as to how agitated he is with his own inability to keep it together in front of Namjoon. "It's almost 7; I'm sure that the chef hasn't gone, and I'm fairly confident I can put something together for you under his supervision—"

"Jungkook."

"It's quite a drive from Birmingham. You must be hungry—"

"Jungkook," Namjoon says again, lightly squeezing the younger's wrist. He refuses to let up on the pressure till Jungkook turns to stare at him, wide-eyed and unblinking. Even then, all he offers is a quirk of his lips and two gentle, unyielding words. "Sit, please."

And so, red-faced and prickling with nerves, Jungkook sits.

For some time, the elder refrains from speaking, though he doesn't withdraw his hand. In fact, Namjoon begins brushing the pad of his thumb over the bone of the younger's wrist, and Jungkook is quite literally hypnotized— So much so that when Namjoon asks a question, his mind goes blank.

"Pardon?"

"I asked if you have engine oil," Namjoon repeats himself patiently, turning in his seat to face Jungkook directly. "Before I set off for my trip back to Birmingham, the car needs oil."

Oh. "I'm quite sure we have some in the garage," Jungkook nods rather dumbly, torn between tearing his hand away from Namjoon's and possibly letting the man have at his hand forever. Both options sound dangerous in their own ways, and the he absently wonders if he's become touch starved in his reclusiveness. "I can probably fill the tank for you myself."

"This evening or tomorrow?"

Jungkook can't help the way his breath catches in his throat. "Pardon?" He says again, weakly.

"This evening," Namjoon parrots himself – which is becoming a bit of a trend, Jungkook admits – with his eyes crinkling at the corners with mirth, "or tomorrow?"

"I— We're—" What on earth is he supposed to say to that? It doesn't help that Namjoon's hand is no longer on his wrist, no; Jungkook feels the man's thumb brushing over his knuckles, and he swallows thickly. "P-People are accustomed to staying the night," he manages in a low murmur, finally averting his gaze from Namjoon's. This is entirely too mortifying; he should probably change his name, move somewhere far away. He hears Boston is nice this time of the year. "I mean, especially before automobiles and carriages and everything. The estate is so out of the way—"

"But," Namjoon stresses meaningfully, "I have a car."

Jungkook is surely losing his mind. "Yes."

"And you have engine oil."

"Probably," the younger whispers, face red enough to rival the tomatoes in his garden. Jungkook thinks he's feeling slightly nauseous, his head hurting itself over what all of this means. He's afraid to come to any sort of conclusion – afraid of getting his hopes up – and Namjoon's hardly been the most forthcoming men with his words, but still…

Against all of his better instincts, Jungkook wants.

Even if nothing occurs, even if all that were to happen consists of him having some extra time to know the man named Kim Namjoon, Jungkook cannot help but want. "But it would be very usual," he continues in a low mumble, closing his eyes and willing his heart to slow. He's a grown man, for god's sake, not a boy clumsily bumbling through his teenage years.

"What would?"

"For a guest to stay— If you were to stay," Jungkook breathes. He inhales sharply when he feels a light touch to his chin, eyes snapping open as he allows Namjoon to guide his head upwards so that their gazes might meet. "We have a whole wing," he chokes out quite stupidly, mouth dry as a desert. "For guests who stay—"

"Jungkook," Namjoon tells him quite gently, "listen to me."

Obediently – so damned obediently – the younger quietens.

"At midnight, I'm going to leave my… Wing," Namjoon says slowly, tugging his hat off by the brim. He leans in – close enough that they're sharing the same breath – and smiles. "And then, I'm going to come find you. I'm going to turn the handle of your bedroom door, without making a sound, and none of the maids will know."

Oh, hell. "You don't know maids," Jungkook whispers, feeling utterly numb as his world spins on its axis. There's absolutely no room for doubt about what they're talking about anymore, and this is all so much— Namjoon is too much to take in, and he feels completely exhausted just from having shared a conversation with the man for the better half of an hour.

"They hear a pin drop?"

"If there is a guest, surely." Jungkook's staff have never treated him poorly, but every household has its own gossip mill— As a child born into aristocracy, he's no stranger to the concept. His sexual… Proclivities, had been the subject of discussion before, back when he'd been a teenager. No one had ever been cruel to him about his preferences, but Jungkook's always been the sort to keep his affairs to himself anyway. "It'll have been a long time since they've seen an overnight guest."

(Not since the fire, at least.)

"So," Namjoon surmises over his thoughts, "you believe they'll listen."

"They'll take turns, if they have to."

"If that's the case, I don't see any other way around it," Namjoon observes, moving his hand to cup the younger's cheek. He draws even closer— Till their noses brush, till their lips meet. "Let them listen," he speaks, the words swallowed whole by Jungkook's mouth, and it's so, so good.

'Oh,' Jungkook reflects, eyes sliding shut as heat races through his veins.

Namjoon tastes a bit like fire, he thinks.

There's really not much preamble, unless you count the entire 5 hours between the time they'd kissed in Jungkook's office and the time Namjoon steps into his room at midnight on the dot.

Jungkook's nervous; understandably so, all things considered. He's known for a while now that he prefers men – for several years, in fact – so it really isn't that. It isn't the base idea of having sex either; he's no virgin. More than anything, it's the fact that it's been a long time, and that the person in his room is Namjoon— Someone he barely knows, someone he knows is far more trouble than he thinks, someone he's met only thrice, but wants a hundred times more than he's ever wanted before.

It makes no sense at all.

But maybe it doesn't have to, Jungkook thinks, as Namjoon closes the door behind him. Maybe this is just as it should be; two strangers, satiating needs of the flesh and sharing nothing but a horse to be trained outside of the bedroom. Perhaps that is what Namjoon thinks of all this, and perhaps that is what Jungkook needs, even if it isn't necessarily what he wants.

There's really no way of telling.

Granted, there's still a lot that the younger is sure he doesn't know about Namjoon, but he does know this; the elder's touch is gentle, his pace slow. He kisses Jungkook like no one ever has before, and peels his shirt from his body like he would petals from a rose. His eyes are half-lidded but never closed, and it is almost as though he can't bear to miss a second of this— Miss even a moment of Jungkook as he patiently takes him apart by the seams.

Kim Namjoon is as thorough a lover as he is a businessman, it seems.

The room is dimly lit, but there's enough light for Jungkook to take in the sight of Namjoon as he sheds his own clothes. He's muscled – though perhaps not quite as built as a boy born riding – and toned, his tawny skin glowing gold. There are scars, and most notably, there is a tattoo on the curve of the man's right pec— 'Non sum qualis eram' in bold, black script.

(It takes every last ounce of restraint in Jungkook not to run his fingers over the ink and ask.)

Though he's never thought very much about it, Jungkook supposes he's a shy lover. He gasps and moans and pants, but he muffles it all against the back of his fist, self-conscious even in the throes of pleasure. Eye contact is next to impossible; he colors easily, and in his exertion, his neck and chest flush as easily as his cheeks. He doesn't typically call for his lover by name, even, considering he rarely speaks.

He soon learns that Namjoon has no such reservations, and it brings him to the edge as much as anything else the man does. Jungkook knows that the elder is alluringly attractive – of course he does – but he's never looked quite as desperate as he does now; hovering over the younger with a haze in his eyes, his fingers curling hard enough in Jungkook to rip a pleasured cry from his throat.

"Yeah?" Namjoon grunts as his teeth graze the shell of Jungkook's ear. "Good?"

"Please," the younger rasps, head thrown back onto the sheets as he squeezes his eyes shut. His heart's about to break through his ribs, and Jungkook can't control the way his body arches, the way his hands fist in the sheets. His cock is leaking, the head of it dragging against his belly and streaking his skin with precum. "Enough, please—"

"You are so beautiful, Jungkook," Namjoon whispers, pressing his lips to the younger's temple right before he withdraws his fingers— Sinks into Jungkook with a low, guttural moan of bliss.

Jungkook cries out. His eyes shine with tears, but he imagines they might look like stars to Namjoon, and yes.

Yes, he feels quite beautiful.

30.07.1921
London, Hampstead, The Jeon Estate

With the way Namjoon had taken off in the morning after they had sex – primly dressed and freshly showered with a smile curled around a cigarette – Jungkook firmly dismisses their midnight tryst as a one off.

He's content to believe that, even— Their time together had been perfect and he's sure he'll be thinking about it the next time he pleasures himself, but Jungkook isn't about to harbor hopes he meant anything more to Namjoon than a willing bedpartner.

It's why he's surprised to find the elder on his doorstep, barely a week later.

"Sorry for the short notice," Namjoon greets him, lit cigarette hanging from his lips. "I was passing by; your butler was very surprised to see me."

"Understandably so," Jungkook balks, bewildered. "We're not quite on the Birmingham road."

"Just a small diversion."

"We're 120 miles out," the younger counters incredulously, because he's checked.

"That's a small diversion these days," Namjoon says dismissively on the step, looking up at Jungkook who's still standing in the doorway. "The Garrison is reopening today; I'm on my way back to Small Health with some champagne and a business partner from London."

"I see," Jungkook says, even though he really doesn't.

"I was wondering if you'd like to join us."

What? "Par—"

"Jungkook," Namjoon chuckles, bemused as smoke spills from his lips, "you use the word 'pardon' far too often."

"Only around you, and only when it's justified," the younger says defensively, stepping forward and closing the door behind him. Looking over Namjoon's shoulder, Jungkook notices a tall man leaning against the side of the car. Even at a distance, it's easy to tell that the elder's business partner belongs on the cover of magazines, and he shifts on his feet. "I'm not… I don't—"

"You have other plans?"

"The kitchen, they're already preparing dinner," Jungkook hazards a guess, even though the sun has only just begun to wane. "And Nia—"

"I'm sure your staff will find someone amongst them to eat their fill of a dinner well prepared," Namjoon cuts in softly, flicking his cigarette at the core of its filter. Tobacco and embers litter the step, swiftly caught and carried away on the late afternoon breeze. "And I trust our horse will understand if I steal you for the evening."

Mouth slightly gaped, Jungkook's head snaps up. "Our horse?"

The elder chuckles, crushing the butt of his cigarette in his hand instead of soiling the step of Jungkook's house. He closes the distance between them, lifting the brim of his cap. "I may have bought her," Namjoon murmurs lowly, "but I'm not the one who's been taking her out on the gallops every day— I'm not even the one watering and feeding her, or giving her pet names and braiding her mane."

Cursing how easily he flushes, the younger lowers his head and stares at his boots— Turns the invitation to Small Heath over in his head, weighs the pros – spending the evening with Namjoon, learning more about him – and cons – spending the evening with Namjoon, risking imminent heart failure – against each other.

He comes to a decision.

"I'll need to change."

Namjoon smiles, pleased. "I'll wait in the car."

Despite his initial reservations, Jungkook finds Kim Seokjin to be a relatively well-mannered man, though he does throw copious amounts of shade beneath the thin veneer of his professionalism.

The ride back to Small Heath is valuable, as Jungkook learns the following:

1. Namjoon and Seokjin have known each other since they were children, and they're still thick as thieves. They'd both been born in Birmingham, but were separated during their time of service. 
2. After the war, the former returned to Small Heath, but the latter moved to London and pursued a timely business in import and export. 
3. Also, it isn't typically Namjoon who engages Seokjin— Yoongi frontlines the family business where it comes to their alcohol. This means that despite their close relationship, the pair rarely spend more than a few hours in each other's company, often with months between each encounter.
4. Though this is no business of Jungkook's, there are no signs that either of them are sexually or romantically attracted to one another.

Point 4 brings Jungkook an irritating amount of relief, but he tries not to dwell on that.

(Tries, being the operative word.)

Much as he attempts to stay awake, he drifts off somewhere in the last leg of their journey. Before his mind begins to haze and his eyes close, he hears the low timber of Seokjin's voice, all work and no play in his tone as he speaks to Namjoon.

"The Sabini's have moved. I'm losing workers by the day, and barrels by the crate. Yoongi knows; he's just been waiting on tonight for us to come to some sort of solution."

"Leave it to me, Seokjin," Namjoon murmurs, when Jungkook's halfway into the black. "I'll take care of it."

Birmingham, Small Heath

The Garrison is packed with people in various states of inebriation, all of them with an encouraging word for Namjoon or his brothers.

Seokjin is quickly stolen aside by Hoseok, who greets him with enthusiasm and a half done bottle of rum. Jungkook spots Yoongi, who's off in a quieter corner— He has his arm around Jimin, Namjoon's personal assistant. Taehyung, the man who'd cared for Nia while she'd been in Small Heath, is surrounded by men as he recounts a tale involving him, the police and a bucket of day-old horse piss.

All of this is happening simultaneously. Jungkook is aptly overwhelmed, but there's little more he can do than pick up a glass of gin and follow Namjoon as he makes his rounds.

The elder accepts what seems like a million pats on the back – and a million more handshakes than that – with his customary grace and patience. He smiles when told the Garrison looks amazing, and accepts toasts in his name. Namjoon skirts his brothers – presumably because he'll speak to them more extensively in private – and plays the perfect host, asking if people are enjoying themselves while cajoling drunkards out the door with a murmur that there'll be better liquor on the morrow.

After half an hour of this madness, Jungkook curls his fingers into the hem of Namjoon's sleeve. "I can't hear myself think," he tells the elder, having to shout a little for his message to carry over the din. "I need some air, please."

Apologetically, Namjoon nods. He draws closer, putting an arm around Jungkook's shoulders and pulling him towards Taehyung, who's finished his storytelling and is waiting for his drink at the tail end of the counter.

"Hey, if it isn't the horse trainer!" Is how Taehyung chooses to greet them, eyes bright and enthused. Lifting his head, he grins at Namjoon. "Been a while since you've had a date to one of these parties, boss man."

Jungkook palms his face tiredly, his cheeks heated.

"Taehyung, please," Namjoon sighs, sounding as weary as Jungkook feels.

"Hey, I did say you knew how to pick 'em."

"Be that as it may, this is all a little much. Could you take him and a few bottles to the snug?" Namjoon says, clearly changing the subject; Jungkook is eternally grateful. "I'll finish up my rounds alone, and send Yoongi and Hoseok over once they're done with theirs."

"Bet money Yoongi hasn't moved since he got here," Taehyung tells on the eldest brother gleefully, with little regard for his life as he twines his arm through Jungkook's. The younger stares down at the sight of it, bewildered by the familiar contact coming from an essential stranger. "He's probably with Jimin, making faces at half the people in here."

Ignoring Taehyung, Namjoon leans in. "I'll see you later," the elder says in Jungkook's ear, breath hot and words coming slow. "Don't have too much fun without me."

Rooted to the spot, Jungkook nods mutely.

"Good." Satisfied, the elder steps back and lifts an eyebrow at Taehyung. "Don't let anyone into the snug except family," he warns quite severely, glancing at Jungkook before he turns on his heel to leave.

He and Taehyung are left alone for a solid minute before the brunette cackles at the look on Jungkook's face, sidling up to him with a gleam in his eyes. "Oh fuck," the man snickers, "you've got it bad, huh?"

Jungkook does; if he hadn't been certain before, he's sure of it now. It speaks volumes that he can't find it within himself to even rebut Taehyung, already resigned to how foolish he must appear. "I'm not very smart," he tells the brunette, equal parts sad and honest. He prays every day for sanity.

"Maybe not," Taehyung allows pityingly, shaking his head. He brightens up as the bartender returns with a bottle of whiskey, slamming it down on the table in front of Taehyung alongside a stack of glasses. "But you know what you can be, horse boy?"

Eyeing the bottled golden-brown promise of a good time, Jungkook swallows thickly. "Drunk?" He guesses, wincing at Taehyung's newest pet name for him— Absently, he really hopes it doesn't stick.

"As a fucking lord," Taehyung beams in agreement, picking up his – their – supplies. "Let's get ourselves good and wasted, Jungkook."

'Well,' the younger thinks to himself, snatching a bottle of gin that's been left unattended off the counter and hoping no one will mind.

If he's come up to Birmingham all the way from London, he supposes he may as well get a good hangover to show for it.

For all that Jungkook clings to the idea that their midnight tryst was a one off, Namjoon seems fairly eager to prove him wrong.

Namjoon's not only brought him to the Garrison, he's also made it a point to introduce Jungkook to everyone that's mattered in the grand reopening of it. They've all been in the snug for the past couple of hours as the celebrations rage on beyond the doors, and the younger can't deny he's happier for being a part of the private party.

Jimin and Taehyung, Jungkook soon comes to find, have made it their life's mission for him to enjoy the night. They've both got a couple of years on him, and they're attached at the hip. While the former is paid to run herd on Namjoon's life, Yoongi's temper and Hoseok's hyperactivity, the latter makes it his job to pick up the slack on everything and anything that needs to be done around Small Heath.

Seokjin, though not in Birmingham for the better part of the year, has a good working relationship with everyone— This is quickly evidenced by the way Jimin, Taehyung and Hoseok affectionately shortens his name to 'Jin,' and the way the eldest accepts this without complaint or rebuke. He's a library of jokes and anecdotes, easily amused and difficult to offend; all of this quickly endears Jungkook to him in a big way.

And then there are the brothers.

Yoongi is acerbic on his best days, but beneath the growls and the steely glare in his eyes, he's a good man at his core. Jungkook learns that he's particularly fond of Jimin, but takes badly to anyone insinuating he's anything less than the meanest person in town despite being fairly pistol-whipped for the blonde. Allegedly, this lie is enforced as it's good for the family business – intimidation is a tried and tested means to an end – and due to his own personal preferences.

Hoseok, on the other hand, seems to be comfortably on the other end of the temperament spectrum. Where Yoongi loses his cool, the second brother plays the fool— Typically with good, if not better, results. He's shrewd but cheerful, and apparently wants for naught so long as his brothers and family are happy. As far as company goes, Jungkook can only conclude that Hoseok isn't the worst person to be around; particularly not at a party, too.

Most intriguingly, Namjoon seems to hang within the group as its balance. He lacks Yoongi's irritable character and Hoseok's excitable nature, but retains his eldest brother's morality and his second brother's kindness. He's missing Seokjin's unique brand of humor, but possesses his innate sense for good business. He doesn't present the fragility Jimin portrays on the surface, but holds the blonde's fiery strength within. He doesn't adopt Taehyung's straightforward approach towards others, but houses the same spontaneity and eloquence.

They're all Peaky fucking Blinders, their family name a plague upon Small Heath that's spreading downwards of Birmingham into London.

Jungkook knows he should feel out of place.

(He doesn't.)

"Having a good time?" Namjoon asks him quietly, sometime between Jimin playfully sprawling himself across Hoseok's and Seokjin's laps and Yoongi chiding Taehyung for drinking too quickly. The elder gazes around the table, his lips quirked in a barely perceptible smile. "This must be a lot to take in."

"I'm doing alright," Jungkook says, cheeks flushed with the gin and not shyness for once. He's relaxed and open and happy— Belly warm and full of crisp snacks made by the hands of Birmingham women. "I like them; they've been very kind."

"They're a proper handful, especially together like this."

"You speak as though you aren't a handful yourself," Jungkook retorts immediately, surprising both Namjoon and himself with his cheek. He bites back an apology, instead meeting the man's eyes and holding his metaphorical ground. "Last I checked, you're capable of being as rowdy as the rest of them."

Against all odds, Namjoon actually seems pleased, if his chuckle is anything to go by. "Last I checked," the elder counters calmly in the same beat, without a single trace of hesitation, "you were the louder of us both."

And the red hot embarrassment makes its glorious return. Jungkook's face burns crimson, suddenly assaulted by memories of their night spent together. "Shut up," he mumbles under his breath sullenly, but it comes out sounding more like a mortified plea than anything resembling an order. "We're in— You can't just talk about that here…"

"I can talk about what I want, whenever I please," Namjoon corrects him, but he sounds vaguely chastised. He preemptively shifts on the cushion of the booth, just a little closer to Jungkook as Yoongi slams a fist on the table to his left and yells for Seokjin to shut his trap about something or another. "But if you'd prefer we talk about it someplace else, I wouldn't be opposed."

The insinuated invitation is clear. Jungkook feels heat scorching beneath his skin, the smoke in the snug making his mind hazy. Somehow, the burn of liquor in his stomach lights a fire in him— Builds him up and makes him believe he's bolder than he is. It's the only conceivable way he can rationalize the next words out of his mouth.

"Am I just a body to you, Namjoon?"

(Because apparently, for all that Jungkook clings to the idea that their midnight tryst was a one off, there is a miniscule part of him that hopes he is wrong.)

This, he can tell, takes the elder entirely by surprise. Shocks him, even.

"No," Namjoon says eventually, eyes dark as he withdraws slightly. "Not at all, Jungkook."

His tone is firm— Sure enough that Jungkook can't help the relief that wells up in his bones. Still, he can't help the insecurity that seeps in – can't help the fear of once again investing himself in something or someone that won't hold up – and he's loose-lipped and lacking judgement with gin. "How would I know?" He presses, needing certainty as he looks deep into Namjoon's eyes, searching for cues that the man is lying to him. "How could I possibly know that?"

There is a long stretch of silence that passes between them, loaded with meaning as the others in the snug fill the air with meaningless background chatter and noise.

"You must know that though I don't make a habit of stating this out loud, sex is a commodity readily available to someone like me," Namjoon says eventually, sounding a strangely bitter and a little discomfited as he leans back in his seat. He lifts a hand, cupping Jungkook's cheek and stroking the pad of his thumb across the swell of the younger's lip. "If all I had wanted had been a lay, I had no need to overcomplicate matters by bedding someone whom I've employed."

The logic is sound. "But you bedded me, nonetheless," Jungkook murmurs, voice somehow carrying over everyone else's ruckus. "Chose me."

"Yes, Jungkook," Namjoon tells him, eyes warm as he leans in.

They kiss, and it's as delicious as it'd been the first time. Jungkook doesn't have it within him to care that the elder's brothers are in the room— That the man's business partner is across the table from them, that Jimin and Taehyung are likely to tease him endlessly for this, should Namjoon ever have cause to leave the snug before he's due to return to London for the night.

(In fact, now that they've spoken quite clearly about the feelings that lie between them, Jungkook doesn't even know if he's making it back to his estate till the morning.)

"Of all the men and women in Birmingham, straight up through the Gypsies' land and down to London," Namjoon whispers, lips soft and gliding against Jungkook's with so much tenderness the younger feels like crying, "I chose you."

When they finally break apart for air, Jungkook hides his face against the column of Namjoon's neck, hoping the others will excuse his behavior since he's drank his weight in gin. He listens to the elder's mildly labored breathing against the shell of his ear, swallowing thickly and holding back tears, wishing he were a better drinker as opposed to an overtly emotional lightweight. "Why?"

"I want you," Namjoon says simply, but with resolution, "in a way I have wanted no one else before."

Well, it's not like Jungkook doesn't understand that feeling.

There's really nothing more he can say to a declaration like that.

04.08.1921
London, Hampstead, The Jeon Estate

It feels a little bit like he's a teenager again, Jungkook thinks.

He and Namjoon are laying down on his bed, legs tangled over the sheets in the middle of the day. He's moved past the stage of being self-conscious – at least where preserving an image for his staff is considered – and no one had seemed surprised when the elder had rocked up to the house earlier in his car, just shy of noon.

Briefly, Jungkook wonders if they're all secretly rooting for something to blossom between him and Namjoon. All the staff in service to the Jeon family are good and loyal, and he knows they've been extra protective of him since his parents have left him alone in the world. Not that he minds very much, but it wouldn't be the first time they've allowed their affection for him as a fair employer to blur the lines of professionalism.

"You're thinking too hard," Namjoon says, gently tapping the tip of his finger against the furrow of Jungkook's brows. "What's on your mind?"

"I think the butlers and the maids may be conspiring for us."

"Not against us?" The elder muses, chuckling with mirth.

Turning on his side, Jungkook lifts an eyebrow— Tries not to flush at their proximity, even as he knows he'll fail. "Are you going to give them any reasons to conspire against us?"

"There hardly needs to be a reason for anyone to be wary of a Peaky Blinder," Namjoon points out softly, laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. A smile quirks his mouth, and his hand strokes alone the curve of Jungkook's back as the younger lays his head on his bicep. "Let alone the leader of the lot."

"You're not the leader of the Peaky Blinders when you're with me."

There's a long pause, after which Namjoon turns his head with a bittersweet look in his eyes. "Jungkook," he says softly, brushing his lips against the younger's forehead, "even if I hadn't known it before the war, I was born the leader of the Peaky Blinders."

Waiting – hoping – Jungkook stills.

"But perhaps," Namjoon allows, after a silence that is entirely too long, "that is not all of who I am, when you are by my side."

Jungkook closes his eyes and hums.

(For now, it's enough.)

10.08.1921
London, The British Horseracing Authority Office

It's taken him a while to get any facetime with the committee, but Jungkook's a man of his word. He'd made a promise to Namjoon, and come hell or high waters, he intends to uphold his end of the deal.

"The Anias French 75?"

"Yes," he says stiffly, producing two folders. He's more nervous than he looks— This is the first horse he's presenting without his father or mother at his side. Still, his misgivings don't lie with the confidence he has in Nia, and it's not something he'll let the board latch onto with their claws. "These are her papers— I've had her medical records drawn up and officiated by a veterinary surgeon."

"She's only 2," someone points out, frowning with disapproval. "The other horses at the Epsom will put her in the ground."

"Anias is a pureblooded Gypsy Vanner; she's spent her entire life on the best green there is, and she's strong despite her gentle nature," Jungkook argues firmly, standing his ground as he steps forward. He opens his folders, sliding them across the table in a bid to make the board read Nia's papers on the spot. "I have every reason to believe she'll put up an excellent fight."

"Who is your employer, Mr. Jeon?"

His hands curl into fists at his sides. "A man from Birmingham by the name of Kim Namjoon," Jungkook says, stoic and unflinching as the board members glance at each other with hooded eyes. There's recognition there— He sees someone mouthing 'the Peaky Blinders' under his watchful gaze. "Mr. Kim holds the Epsom Derby in high regard, and has hired me to train Anias for the upcoming race."

There's no response this time; only hushed murmuring that permeates the room. Jungkook refrains from fidgeting; Namjoon's reputation reaches further into the echelons of high society than he'd thought, if even the HRA are wary of his interest in the Derby.

"We will inform you of our decision shortly," the committee leader pronounces after an extended lull in their conversation, drawing Nia's papers towards himself. He shuffles them into a neat pile, before standing and holding out a hand to Jungkook with kind eyes. "Our people will be in touch, Mr. Jeon."

Jungkook senses good news on the horizon, and he takes the man's hand with a tight smile. "I look forward to it, sir," he says, tamping down the itch he has in his bones to drive to Birmingham right now— To tell Namjoon in person that their horse is a shoe in at Epsom. "Thank you very much."

At the very least, he possesses the sense to wait till he's outside the building before he pumps his fist in the air, lightheaded with victory. It means more than he can say, that he wholeheartedly believes the first horse he presents to the HRA without his parents is fully capable of winning the Derby— Namjoon's given him that opportunity, tasking him with Nia and entrusting him with her inclusion as a competitor at Epsom.

He may not be very good at many things, but Jungkook is damn sure he's good with horses— Good at breeding them, training them, nurturing them and just… Being, with them. He's been raised watching his father tame ascot winners with kindness and not a crop, watching his mother browbeat the HRA into submission despite being a woman of sight frame. It makes him feel warm and happy, knowing he's done right by them; that he's inherited the best traits from both his parents, whom he'd loved more than anyone else in the whole world.

He tugs on the brim of his cap, walking back to his car with an uncontrollable grin on his face. Jungkook's not far gone enough to make the drive up to Small Heath, but he happens to know there's a working phone in the gambling den run by the Peaky Blinders— One that Jimin mans from opening hours till they close their doors on the public.

For the first time in a long time, Jungkook feels nothing but pride. No nerves, no anxiety, no bitterness or insecurities, just— Pride.

It's a good feeling to have.

14.08.1921
London, Hampstead, The Jeon Estate

Jungkook doesn't often bring his U. Stern Parlor out onto the green, but he's been feeling particularly cheerful over the past couple of days.

Nia's doing well— Extremely well, in fact. She's taken to the closest approximation he has on his grounds of Epsom dirt like a fish to water, and Jungkook's been pleased with her progress. He's giving her a lax afternoon today; they're out on the edge of the forest, and he's lazing against her flank as usual.

Only this time, he has a guitar in his lap as he strums lazy notes into the air, music gliding against Nia's soft sighs and his own muted humming.

Namjoon's due for another visit in the evening, mostly to celebrate Nia's confirmed entry in the Epsom. The man's voice over the phone had been serene as usual – Jimin had candidly provided Jungkook with the elder's personal number, even without having been asked for it – but there had been an underlying tone of promise to his visit, and Jungkook is, well.

He's happy.

The circumstances of the discussion regarding their relationship hadn't been ideal, Jungkook readily admits, but he'd been glad to have cleared the air nonetheless. He's still not expecting much more out of Namjoon than the occasional visit for now, but he can't deny the burn of pleasure that coils in his chest every time he thinks about the elder— About the fact that his feelings, no matter how undefined and malformed, are somewhat returned.

It's a miracle, pretty much. Jungkook's still not quite sure what Namjoon sees in him, and while he's mentioned his tendency to question everything, he's not about to question this particular good thing till he absolutely has to.

He's caught up in the coolness of the grass beneath the shade, entranced by the gentle breeze against his skin and the steady rise and fall of Nia's barrel. It's easy to get lost in nature, Jungkook reflects, when the Jeon estate is this far out of the city's center. There's nothing for miles and miles; just green, and the occasional body of blue. He likes it very much – has since he'd been a child – but it does tend to be very quiet.

Whenever he feels a little stir-crazy, he likes to stray from the house with his guitar, typically on the back of a horse. For all of his sentimentality, he's an introvert at heart; once in a while, Jungkook simply needs to remind himself that being alone does not necessarily equate to being lonely.

At times like this, he defaults to doing what he wants to ease his heart and tamp down his nerves. He likes to ride, so he rides. He likes the sound of music, so he makes it. He likes to sing, so he sings. Nia nickers at him, her ears drooping as she listens to him play his guitar and put words to a tune.

He's doing alright.

So alright, in fact, that he doesn't notice Namjoon standing a few feet behind him and Nia till the elder speaks up.

"You have an incredible voice."

Jungkook stops short, blinking at the sky. Daylight's still going strong; there's absolutely no way he's lost that much time out on the green. Sitting up, he peers over the swell of Nia's flank at Namjoon, who's leaning against a tree with a soft smile that clings around an unlit cigarette— There's a bottle of gin in the elder's hand. "You're very early," he observes shyly, setting his guitar aside. Abruptly, he has no idea what to do with his hands, and he makes to get up.

"Please," Namjoon insists, holding up a hand to stop him from rising. Instead, he rounds Nia with a gentle look in his eyes, and she whinnies at him in recognition. Lowering himself to the ground, the elder rests a hand on the curve of her cheek and presses his forehead to the filly's. "Anias," he greets quietly, eyes closed as his lips quirk. "You look like you've been well."

Watching him, Jungkook can feel his mouth wobbling with a smile.

The horse sighs, lowering her head like she's as shy towards the elder as Jungkook often tends to be. Chuckling, Namjoon lets her be and shuffles over to sit. "I didn't mean to make you stop," he murmurs, prompting the younger to make some space for him so that they might both rest their backs against Nia's flank. "You sing like a siren."

"That's reaching, I think." Cheeks pink, Jungkook laughs and lowers his head, eyeing his guitar as love swells in his chest. Somehow, he feels as though it's no consequence to tell Namjoon of how he came to enjoy music as much as he has. "My mother taught me how to play, back when I'd been angry and troubled by growing pains," he explains softly, running his fingers along the polished edge of the instrument. "Apparently, she wooed my father with song."

"Really?"

Nodding, Jungkook's eyes soften. He's reached a point in his life where his good memories aren't clouded with the bad— Where he can think of his parents and feel love, though he suspects there'll always be a pang of sadness that lines his nostalgia. "He used to joke that she tricked him into marrying her," he admits to the elder, shaking his head fondly before he lifts it to meet Namjoon's gaze. "My mother— She was the feistier of the two of them, though people would never have thought it by looking at her."

Namjoon smiles, turning on his side with his hooded eyes. "You sound like you love them."

'Don't all children love their parents,' Jungkook almost says, before remembering exactly who he's talking to.

All of the Peaky Blinders have different last names – even the brothers – and he hadn't seen so much as a single parent present at the grand reopening of the Garrison. They must have each had their reasons for that, and out of the same courtesy Namjoon's extended him, he doesn't want to broach the topic lest the elder does, first.

"I do," he says instead, his voice a little more fragile than he'd like it to be. "Very, very much."

"It must have been hard," Namjoon murmurs quietly, picking at a flower by his hand. He twirls it by the stem, staring at the petals instead of meeting Jungkook's eyes. "… Losing them."

If Jungkook closes his eyes, he can still remember the scent of the air, the smoke that poured from every window of the main wing. The fire had started from the kitchen, spreading quickly through the house in the hottest, driest spell of June. His parents had tried to save everyone, and lost themselves in the process— Left him alone, in the process.

"It was," he says softly, knowing that Namjoon wouldn't push him. Jungkook doesn't want to talk about what had happened— It's been a long time, but he's still raw around the edges when he thinks of the fire. He can do this instead, though; talk about how much he loves them, how he misses them every single day. "My parents— They were good people."

"I can tell," Namjoon murmurs under his breath, drawing closer and letting go of his flower. Much like the way he'd greeted Nia, he meets Jungkook's forehead with his own— The moment feels intimate and precious, and the younger can't help but wonder how many people have been privy to this side of the fearsome leader of the Peaky Blinders. "They've lovingly raised a filial son, who's grown up to be a good man."

It feels as though Jungkook's skin is too tight for his body; he's bursting at the seams with warmth and appreciation. Namjoon has no idea how much he's needed to hear those words— How starved he is for someone to speak to him of his parents without feeling like they're treading on thin ice. "I think they would have liked you," he says, even though there's no way of knowing for sure. "Because you are kind to me."

"I am not kind to so many people."

"But they have one son, whom they love and treasure as their own," Jungkook says, wanting Namjoon to believe him as he brushes his lips against the elder's, counting the man's lashes before his eyes close. "And you are kind to him," he breathes.

Namjoon kisses him slow and languid, tongue sweeping against the swell of his lower lip. He's as gentle as he'd been the first time, tentative and considerate even as Jungkook hums with pleasure.

"You think too highly of me," the elder tells him later, after they've pulled apart and Jungkook's cheeks are flushed with heat. Namjoon's head is tossed back, and he's smiling even as he delivers this prediction with his customary serenity and grace. "Your disappointment will only be greater once you know the truth of who I am."

"Are you worried?" Jungkook asks quietly, his temple resting on the curve of Namjoon's shoulder. "That I will leave you."

"I am accustomed to people leaving."

"That isn't an answer."

Pausing, Namjoon takes in a long breath and stares up at the sky. The sun flickers through the crown of the tree they're laying beneath, casting freckles of light over the planes of his face. "I am afraid," he admits eventually, solemn and true.

Jungkook doesn't respond to the heaviness of that confession.

He doesn't trust his words, and he's always been more of the type to speak through his actions, anyway.

23.08.1921
Birmingham, Small Heath

Allegedly, Namjoon is acerbic whenever taken ill.

Save for Jimin – and only for the sake of preserving his business – the elder forbids anyone from seeing him. No one else gets in the door; not even his beloved brothers, as he's wary of passing the cough that's tearing at his throat, or the fever that flushes his body. Stubborn to a fault, Namjoon insists on staying cooped up in his apartment to ride out his sickness alone— He dislikes medicine, whether produced by the hand of a Gypsy or a man of science, and refuses to take it.

This carries on for 4 days before someone – Taehyung, bless him and his meddling – thinks to call Jungkook behind Namjoon's back.

He is – quite understandably, he thinks – annoyed when he's spent an hour driving up to Birmingham only to have Namjoon groan and close the door in his face. "I'm not leaving," he sighs, crossing his arms. "So if you're not going to let me in, I hope you remember that it's August."

"I know which month it is, Jungkook; I'm ill, not senile," Namjoon replies sourly from the other side of the door. "Please, just go home."

"I'll be freezing out here in the corridor," Jungkook continues, ignoring Namjoon as he wraps his arms around himself. "We've even had to proof the stables early this year... You know, against the breeze."

"Jungkook..."

"It's the earliest and coldest autumn we've had in London for some time," the younger adds quickly, having heard the crack in Namjoon's resolve around the sound of his name. "You lot must have it worse, up here in Birmingham. I can already feel my fingers getting numb—"

The door swings open, and Namjoon's hand reaches out to grab onto the hem of Jungkook's sleeve.

He tugs the younger into the apartment, brows furrowed and eyes bloodshot. He appears exhausted; his movements are sluggish, and he's lacking his typical immaculate posture. Collapsing into the nearest armchair more than he sits in it, Namjoon leaves Jungkook to join him on the adjacent couch.

Whatever the elder's been doing to combat his illness, it's clear to see that it hasn't been working very well for him at all.

"You," Namjoon mumbles eventually, low and quite irritable, "are a menace."

"Maybe," Jungkook allows cheerfully, setting the canteen he's brought with him on the coffee table, "but I am a menace with very good soup, and you are going to drink it."

Namjoon groans pitifully, deflating against a cushion with a rare, muffled curse.

Jungkook just laughs, knowing he's won and gotten his way.

Somehow – Taehyung, god damn him and his meddling – word of his arrival in Small Heath had gotten out. This is evidenced by the steady stream of visitors Namjoon receives over the course of the day, all of them unsurprised when Jungkook comes to the door in the elder's place.

Jimin stops by first, arms laden with folders from the den that he hands off to Jungkook in the doorway. "How is he?" He asks without blinking an eye, breezing past the younger and into the house sans any sort of hesitation. Namjoon is still sleeping, which gives the blonde pause. "How long has he been out like this?"

"2 hours?" Jungkook mumbles, frowning as he tries to balance everything in his arms. He attempts closing the front door gently enough so that he doesn't wake Namjoon, wincing when there's still a light thud that echoes through the small apartment. "After he finished the soup, he just passed out, sort of—"

Turning to face him, Jimin smiles. "He hasn't slept this well since he came down with the bug," he tells Jungkook gently, who doesn't know what to do with this information, or the pride that swells in his chest. "I knew it was a good idea to call you. We've tried to beat some sense into him, but he's such a fool where it comes to his own health."

"I'm not sure beating a sick person is the best way to convince them to do anything at all."

"Namjoon is a special brand of idiot when he's ill; special measures have to be taken if we're to endure his nonsense," Jimin scoffs teasingly, flapping a hand dismissively as Jungkook muffles a chuckle into a fist. "Well, you seem to be working just fine as his personal panacea; I'll leave you to it, and come back when he wakes."

Jungkook sputters with embarrassment at Jimin's parting statement, and the blonde goes with a pleased spring in his step.

Next is Taehyung, who brings – oddly enough – a ham. The man stays for a while and proves to be good company, which is a relief; Jungkook has little else to do while Namjoon's dreaming, considering how he's wary of invading the else's privacy by looking through his things or anything quite so gauche. The brunette is friendly and warm and seems to think Jungkook's presence in Namjoon's life is a good one, which makes warmth bloom in the younger's chest and on his cheeks.

(He wishes fervently – not for the first or last time, he thinks – that his skin colored less easily.)

Hoseok ambles by whilst Taehyung's still in the house, and nicks the man for a job that needs doing. He stops in briefly to see his younger brother, though, and the relief on his face is so prominent that Jungkook can feel it from across the room. "He looks much better," the redhead tells him, gratitude pouring off of him in waves. "Thank you for coming— I'm sure that he'll appreciate it once he's better."

"He's giving me hell for it now," Jungkook chuckles, shaking his head. "Rather, he was giving me hell for it while he'd been awake."

"That sounds like our Namjoon," Hoseok grins, bright and sunny as he shoots off a salute with his fingers. "Take care of my little brother; he's too stubborn to let any of us have a go at it."

And so, Jungkook does.

The apartment has little air circulation with the windows and doors closed, and it helps create a conducive environment for someone to sweat out a fever. Jungkook checks in on Namjoon regularly, placing the back of his hand against the elder's forehead and gauging his temperature each time he enters the room. His worries are eased when the man's fever begins to wane, but he continues busying himself with toweling away the sweat that beads on the Namjoon's face and neck.

When the hour grows late, he makes himself some sandwiches with mildly stale bread and the ham Taehyung had randomly brought by during his visit. Jungkook's just musing over the brunette's eccentricities when he hears a knock at the door, and he gets up.

Yoongi's on the other side, and he wordlessly holds up a bottle of gin.

Jungkook just steps aside at this point, sighing with resignation. If he hadn't known any better, he'd have imagined Seokjin would stop by— The eldest of the group he'd met at the Garrison is still down in London, though.

They drink quietly on opposite ends of the coffee table. Surprisingly, silences with Yoongi aren't uncomfortable the way they are with most people. Jungkook had initially been wary of the man's temper, but he seems fine when unprovoked— The younger wonders if he's going a little bit mad, because just a couple of months ago, being in a room alone with a man like Min Yoongi would probably have made him break out in a cold sweat.

"Hoseok told me Nams has been sleeping through the day since you arrived."

"He's woken up a few times— Very briefly, and mostly just to relieve himself," Jungkook hums around a mouthful of his sandwich, lifting a brow. "But for the most part, yes. His fever's gone down as well."

"Good," Yoongi nods.

More silence. Jungkook focuses on finishing his dinner, wondering if he should ask whether Yoongi wants a sandwich, too. The bread and sliced ham are both on the center of the table, though, so he quickly disregards the idea in favor of the quiet between them— If the elder wants to eat, he's welcome to help himself.

They're a couple more glasses of gin in before Yoongi speaks again, completely apropos of nothing. "He's a fucking idiot," the elder scoffs, glancing in the direction of Namjoon's bedroom.

Blinking, Jungkook's mouth gapes. "Pardon?" He blurts out, immediately wondering if Namjoon's accusation of him defaulting to the word holds some weight. "I mean—"

"Nams," Yoongi shrugs, like it explains anything at all. Who knows; it may, to him at least. "He's a fucking idiot." Pausing to take a sip, the elder makes a face at his drink, like he's wishing it were whiskey— He probably is, actually. "But," he adds meaningfully, looking at Jungkook over the rim of his glass, "he's a good idiot."

Ah. Jungkook thinks he can see where this is going; there's been a pattern today, carried through by everyone who's come by to visit the apartment, and Yoongi's just following step. In a weird, offhanded, endearing way, Namjoon's family are all making sure he knows he's got their stamp of approval, and that it's a precious thing to have— That it isn't something to be callously squandered.

(He knows that, though; even without being told.)

"I know," he says to Yoongi, calm and unfazed.

"He's also our idiot."

"I know."

Yoongi looks at him for a long time before he grunts, throwing back the rest of the gin in his glass. He licks his lips, placing the empty cup on the table and getting up. "Be good to our idiot," he tells Jungkook simply, tugging on the lapels of his overcoat. His eyes are hooded by the flat of his peaked cap, and unlike Namjoon's, the razors sewn into the leather brim are more prominent in their presence and gleam. "He takes too fucking much on his own shoulders, and he's got shit for brains where it comes to anything other than the family business, but he's not a bad guy."

"I know," Jungkook says, for the third time. He's smiling now, though. "Thank you, Yoongi. I'll tell him you stopped by when he wakes up."

"No, fuck that," Yoongi grumbles, waving off the idea as he turns to leave. "Slave-driving asshole that he is, I hope he turns on his front and fucking suffocates in his sleep."

Jungkook is still laughing, even after the eldest of the brothers is long gone.

27.08.1921
London, Hampstead, The Jeon Estate

As it happens, they're both busy men— Jungkook with his horses and Namjoon with his… Whatever it is that the man does. Though they meet often these days, they don't typically make a habit of spending the night at each other's house.

However, there are rare occasions where it happens, and it's how Jungkook comes to learn this; Namjoon's dreams are heavily plagued by the war.

It makes sense. While Jungkook had been drafted into the tail end of the war as a transmissions officer due to his qualifications, Namjoon had been a tunneller alongside Yoongi and Hoseok. The elder's job had involved covertly digging treacherous tunnels beneath enemy lines— A guerilla warfare tactic that had proved to be devastating on numerous occasions.

Even long after the war had ended, the stories of the sheer hell tunnellers had gone through on a day-to-day basis persist. Long, unending hours spent underground with little light and even less food, bodies caked with dirt and grime— They had the least envied jobs of all, and though Jungkook is sure Namjoon would never admit it – would never speak it into his truth – he knows that the elder suffers some form of post-traumatic stress disorder.

Despite the nature of his posting, Namjoon had been singled out to receive numerous commendations for his service at Mons as a Sergeant Major of the Small Heath Rifles. These included the Military Medal and the Distinguished Conduct Medal; both achievements were made even more significant due to the man's young age at the time.

Still, nothing compensates for the damage war deals to the heart of man.

The panic had been instinctive, the first time Namjoon had roughly jerked to wakefulness in the middle of the night. They'd been at his apartment in Small Heath, and Jungkook had been startled from sleep by the rocking of the bed.

"What's going on, what happened?" He'd asked, groggily at first, before he'd registered the sight of the Namjoon's hand raised, the safety trigger of his pistol flipped off. Eyes wide, Jungkook had reached out before stopping just an inch shy of touching the elder, terrified and unsure. "Please, Namjoon, put that down. You're scaring me—"

Namjoon had taken one look at him, dropped his gun on the sheets and buried his face in his hands. He'd been pallid – almost bloodless – and his hair had been plastered against his skin with cold sweat.

"Oh, hell," he'd gasped, voice hoarse and eyes heavily dilated. "I'm in Birmingham."

The, 'not at Verdun,' or, 'not at Somme,' had gone unsaid, but Jungkook had heard either – both – plain as day.

And Jungkook had never asked again.

Instead, whenever they sleep together now, he makes sure Namjoon is facing him. Whenever the elder wakes, Jungkook makes sure he's the first person his lover sees, tries to snatch the gun out from beneath the elder's pillow if he can. He doesn't ask questions or pry, because he's sure that Namjoon has more than enough questions of his own left unanswered; more than enough people prying and assuming they have the faintest idea of what the war has done to him the elder.

He just stays to hold Namjoon, or let himself be held. He hopes it's enough.

On this particular night, Jungkook knows that neither of them are going to get anymore sleep. They're too alert – too tired to rest, if that makes any sense at all – and the hour is late enough that it's approaching dawn anyway. Namjoon's leaning back against his headboard, lightly tapping his cigarette against an ashtray on Jungkook's beside table as the younger reclines against him.

It's strangely peaceful, considering how violently Namjoon had woken them just half an hour ago.

Jungkook's not sleepy anymore. He listens to the steady beat of the elder's heart, tracing the edges of Namjoon's scripted tattoo. If he just squints, he can see faint, raised scarring beneath the letters— It span across his lover's chest, down his torso and creeping around the curve of his waist. It's a brand the war had left on the elder, reminding him of its severity. "What does it mean?" He asks softly, words a little slurred as his lips drag against Namjoon's tawny skin. "Your tattoo."

Namjoon takes one last heavy drag on his cigarette, and stubs it out once it's down to the filter. "'Non sum qualis eram,'" he recites quietly, and it sounds so beautiful on his tongue in the early hours of the morning. "I am not such as I was."

Shifting a little, Jungkook pulls back so that his head is no longer against the elder's chest. He instead rests it on the curve of his shoulder, so that he can look up at Namjoon through half-lidded eyes. "That doesn't explain its meaning," he says, because it doesn't— He hadn't been asking for a translation; if he'd wanted one, he could have just gone to the nearest library and found a linguistics scholar.

Humming, Namjoon takes a moment to think of what to say. "At the battle of Verdun," he tells the younger quietly, "there had been a raid."

'Oh,' Jungkook thinks, because this is probably the first time Namjoon's ever spoken about the war following one of his night terrors. It may not specifically be about what he'd dreamt of, but it's surprising nonetheless— He doesn't let on that he's thrown off, though. The last thing he wants is for Namjoon to feel uncomfortable, and so he turns on his side, remains silent and listens.

"Yoongi, Hoseok and I were underground, along with 4 more men in the Small Heath Rifles," the elder continues. His arm is around Jungkook, and he drags the tips of his fingers up and down the swell of the younger's bicep. "We'd just finished reinforcing the walls with scaffolding, and the structural integrity of the tunnel we'd been digging was sound. I remember informing the men that we were in the clear— That we could surface back at base for a couple of days off before we were off to our next location."

Absently, Jungkook hooks his thigh over the curve of Namjoon's hip. He imagines it as best as he can— How relieved everyone must have been at the news, how much they must have anticipated a reprieve from their work.

"But somehow, the enemy found a point in the tunnel, whether by accident or by purposefully seeking us out," Namjoon murmurs, eyes closed. His head is tipped back over Jungkook's pillows, and his eyes are cast up towards the ceiling. "From there, it didn't take them long to formulate a plan of attack."

Chewing on his lower lip, Jungkook feels anxiety grip him, and his hand tightens into a fist.

"Yoongi, Hoseok and I – just us brothers – had been completing a final round of checks on the tunnel; it's standard operating procedure, and the last thing we needed to do before our unit could pack up our camp to leave," Namjoon recounts, voice low and toneless as he speaks. He closes his eyes. "They got us in the weakest part of the tunnels we'd dug— at a 3-way intersection. There must have been more than 10 of them."

Jungkook's breath catches in his throat. "10," he repeats after Namjoon hoarsely, wondering how the man – and his brothers – had made it out alive.

Nodding, Namjoon takes in a deep breath. "Yoongi took the brunt of it, protecting Hoseok and I; an enemy shoulder broke his leg in two places," he says first, a pained expression crossing his features at the memory. Lifting his free hand, he taps at the junction between his shoulder and his chest, above his heart. "A bullet was lodged in the back of his scapula, close to his spine— If you watch him closely, he's always slouching because it still aches."

Just the extensive list of injuries makes Jungkook wince, and he swallows thickly. "And Hoseok?" He asks, even though he feels sick to his stomach at the thought of the redhead being hurt— At any of them being hurt, really. "What… Was he okay? Is he okay now?"

"We're all more or less okay now, physically," Namjoon says gently, shifting so that he can look into Jungkook's eyes— Reassure the younger that he's telling the truth. "Hoseok sustained many fractures. Most of them were concentrated in his hands – because of how hard he fought the enemy back – but they were all minor… There's been no long-lasting effect."

"And you?" Jungkook breathes, dragging his lips against the slope of Namjoon's collarbone in a brief, soft kiss. "What happened to you?"

"A freak accident— Equipment malfunction, maybe," Namjoon explains calmly, lifting his hand and curling a stray lock of Jungkook's fringe behind his ear. He can't quite smile just yet, but he manages a blink-and-you'll-miss-it quirk of his lips. "One of the electric fuses went off during the fight, triggering a countdown on one of the smaller explosives in the tunnel."

Jungkook feels like he's going to throw up.

"I had less than 30 seconds to decide what to do. There were a handful of enemy soldiers remaining, so I knew Yoongi and Hoseok would be kept occupied," Namjoon murmurs, solemn. Even now – even with the night terrors, even with the PTSD and the way the war has irrevocably damaged him – Jungkook can see how certain the elder is that he'd made the right choice; how his conviction holds strong. "I took the explosive with me and ran as far as I could from them— Found a small crevice away from the intersection. I remember ripping my gloves off to widen it with my bare hands."

"You tried to bury it," Jungkook realizes, nauseous as he imagines it— Namjoon scratching at the dirt with his fingers, tearing at the ground and shoving a bomb into it. "So that the explosion wouldn't reach them, but it— You—"

"Yes," Namjoon simply agrees, because he's never been the type to skirt around the truth, and sugarcoating anything just isn't his way.

With only 30 seconds, there would have been no way for the elder to evade the immediate blast. Jungkook realizes this, and he chokes on the thought.

(Namjoon had probably been prepared to welcome death like an old friend.)

"I had a broken wrist and a bad leg from the fight with the enemy, but I tried to pack as much dirt as I could on the explosive— I'd fractured 4 of my fingers, doing that," Namjoon continues over the younger's silence, eyes drifting towards the window. The sun is rising, and the sky is streaked with soft blues and pinks. "I'd been in the immediate blast radius of the explosive— That's how I suffered third-degree burns, and why I was discharged from active duty."

That explains the scarring the elder now has on his body; the way the worst of it spans across Namjoon's chest and wraps itself around his sides, the way some of it has healed in the form of raised, white patches and lines and bumps. Jungkook feels emotional, somehow— Sad in a way he's never been before. He doesn't say he's sorry, though; not because he isn't, but because he's certain that it's the one thing Namjoon never wants to hear.

"After we were all discharged and back in Small Heath, Yoongi, Hoseok and I talked while recovering from the worst of our wounds," Namjoon concludes his reminiscing of the war, voice subdued. "We had every reason to believe that we were supposed to die that night, down in the tunnels behind enemy lines."

Closing his eyes, Jungkook resists the urge he has to cry.

"We drank ourselves stupid, and made a pact between brothers— That from that point onwards, we'd live life remembering that we'd already died once." Reaching for his pack on the nightstand, Namjoon manages to get it open single-handedly to retrieve a new cigarette. "We'd live life knowing that everything following the Battle of Verdun was extra."

'Extra time,' the younger understands immediately.

"Hence, 'non sum qualis eram'— I am not such as I was," Namjoon recites once more, eyes drawn to the black lettering that arcs over his pec. His gaze soon rests upon Jungkook – the wavering of his eyes, the bone-deep sadness he exudes – and the elder smiles. "Don't make such a face. It's history," he says gently, "and the tattoo is just a reminder."

"Of the pact you made?" Jungkook asks, tentative and careful as he speaks. "With Yoongi and Hoseok?"

Nodding, Namjoon lights his cigarette— Shifts so that he's tipping his head back over the younger's pillows again. "Yes," he muses, smoke pluming from his lips and curling up towards the ceiling, "and maybe also of the fact that I've looked death in the eye once, now— I've even managed to evade it."

Not really knowing what to say to that, Jungkook shifts so that he's lying on his front. He blinks when Namjoon captures his lips in a tender but firm kiss, taken by surprise. Still, he melts into it quickly enough, and is left slightly dazed when it's deepened— Not with heat or intent, but with emotion and meaning.

"I'm not an easy man to kill," Namjoon adds when he pulls back eventually, his voice low and reassuring and sanguine. The sun has begun to rise, and light streams in through a crack in the curtains to play on the curves of his face— He's beautiful, and kind and tender and sweet. "The war itself tried to claim me, and it failed. So please, don't worry for me."

Jungkook's not sure he could ever stop worrying for Namjoon. 'Well,' he reckons, neglecting to reply the elder in favor of capturing his lips again. 'This is fine, for now.'

(Namjoon's a man worth worrying for, anyway.)

29.08.1921
London, The Eden Club

Of course, even with their unique relationship, Jungkook hasn't forgotten that Namjoon does 'bad things' for a living— A term coined by the man himself, the very first day they'd met at the Horse & Hound.

Still, knowing something in theory is quite different from having it thrown right in your face.

The night starts out fairly well. Jungkook's received an invitation to The Eden Club for the evening, courtesy of a circle of high society Derby regulars. He's not typically a fan of schmoozing or making his presence known – or even clubbing, per se – but building and maintaining contacts had been an art form his mother had made her own. Over the years, both Jungkook and his father had been privy to how something like that went a long way in establishing a long and fruitful career as a trainer and breeder.

So he puts on a damn tux and goes.

All in all, it's been a fairly endurable night. The drinks live up to their price, the piano's hot, and the band is in full swing. Jungkook doesn't dance, but he doesn't mind the way there's a sort of organized chaos on the floor— He does think there were better ways he could have spent his evening, but it's quite hard to be hateful of others when they're clearly having so much fun.

He doesn't expect to turn around from the bar, two hours into the night and stone cold sober, to see Namjoon, Yoongi and Hoseok at a table that mainlines the ballroom.

They're waiting on a bottle, it seems— None of their coats are off, so it's fair to assume that they've just arrived. Jungkook spots Yoongi rolling his eyes at Hoseok, who's grinning at a woman who enticingly brushes the swell of her ass against his shoulder as she passes him by. Namjoon's facial expression is glacial, but his eyes are attentive and sharp as they sweep the room— Jungkook almost chokes on his drinks, nerves set aflame as he recognizes the hard set of the elder's jaw.

They're not here to drink or fuck or dance.

They're here as the Peaky fucking Blinders.

'Damn it,' Jungkook thinks to himself, numb and scared as his mouth runs dry. It was bound to happen at some point, Namjoon's business seeping into the edges of his own life. Naïve and blinded by the novelty of their relationship, he'd thought they had time yet, but they should have discussed this sooner— Come up with some kind of contingency plan to ensure that no matter what transpired, Jungkook would remain safe.

There had been no such talk, though.

His hands shake as he swiftly turns back to the bar, setting his glass down without ordering another drink. Jungkook needs to get out – he knows he does, preferably without being spotted by Namjoon or his brothers – and he tries, but there's a throng of people in his way – some of them calling out to him even as he pushes by in the vague approximation of a drunkard needing to find a canteen to hurl in, and it doesn't take long before he hears it—

"Peaky scum!"

A glass smashes against the lampshade on Namjoon's table. The leader himself sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as Hoseok shoves his chair back with his fists on the table, and Yoongi demonstrates how possible it is for someone to go from 0 to 100 in losing their complete shit.

It's madness of the highest order, and while he'd been trying to leave the premises merely a second ago, Jungkook's paralyzed as he watches— Transfixed, even.

Yoongi takes to murderous brutality like he was born for it. He's not even at full height before he's swinging, getting people right in the nose and slamming his elbow up against throats. He takes no prisoners, going for the kill each time— Jungkook sees him arming himself with an ice bucket he snatches off the table, savagely braining someone with the gilded rim of the damn thing and kicking someone already on the ground in the sternum.

The eldest brother throws his head back, his laugh tormented and psychotic. "Who the fuck's next!?" He roars, and is immediately rushed by a man who quickly gets exactly what's coming to him.

Hoseok's a little less raw in his violence, preferring to sidestep injuries while Yoongi's content to take a few hits on the sly. He protects himself and his brothers more than he does incite any sort of fighting, smiling quite eerily the entire time. "Excuse me," he says at some point, moving around a woman who's cowering on the ground, and, "pardon me," as he lifts a tray from a table to protect his face against a punch intended for his face.

And everything's a mess and the band – for some reason – is still playing over the barbarity that takes over everyone on the dance floor. Save for a select few who are enthusiasts of the drama behind everything, people are kicking and screaming and fighting each other at the doors to leave, but Namjoon, oh.

Jungkook can't tear his eyes away from Namjoon, perhaps for the sheer fact that the man across the room isn't the Namjoon he knows.

The elder moves as though he's carried on wind. He's not fussed with people who back away, but attacks anyone in his immediate radius. Jungkook watches numbly as Namjoon tears his peaked cap from the crown of his head by the band, slashing his arm downwards when an enemy draws just a step too close for comfort. The razors sewn into the brim slice cleanly over the assailant's right eye, and he screams through the pain as he clutches at his face.

'The Peaky Blinders,' Jungkook thinks, rooted to the spot even as people rush around him – shove past him, bruising him against the banister – to go.

(This tragedy is their namesake.)

Then, almost as suddenly as it had begun, the circus act ends on the loud shot of a gun pointed at the ceiling. The patrons of the club gasp with shock, and the band falls silent at last.

The floor manager who'd let the bullet loose seethes at Namjoon and his brothers, jaw set and fury in his eyes. "Get out," he snarls from the stage, aiming the shotgun right at the youngest of the three. "Now."

The entire club is silent. Namjoon allows the lull to drag for a moment before he moves, his long, relaxed strides carrying him to the floor manager in a matter of seconds. Lifting a hand, he grabs onto the barrel of the gun and cocks his head, planting the muzzle right between his eyes and staring down the length of the weapon.

Jungkook's breath catches in his throat.

"Yeah?" Namjoon asks the man quietly, the cockiness of his tone carrying across the floor. "Are you going to kill me?"

Livid but scared, the floor manager takes in a sharp breath as his hand shakes. His finger is far off the trigger in his fear, and his gaze wavers.

After a long time with nothing to break the stillness in the room, Namjoon lets go of the gun. "I didn't think so," he tells the floor manager, before he descends the platform and joins Yoongi and Hoseok again. Picking up the bottle of liquor on the table they'd been sitting at, he looks around the club, into the eyes of every patron that remains.

He sees Jungkook, and he pauses.

The younger wants to scream, a little bit, but he tamps down the urge, takes in a deep breath and meets Namjoon's eyes.

After a beat, the elder looks away without a trace of recognition on his face.

"They say that our being south of the line is a statement— That our very presence in this establishment is an act of provocation," Namjoon speaks loudly, running his fingers through his hair with his cap under his arm. Taking it, he tugs it on so that his eyes are shaded by the brim, ignoring the way there's blood darkening the fabric. "However, it is the man who owns this club – Darby Sabini – who has acted against us."

Yoongi scoffs derisively, lazily plucking a freshly lit cigar off a tray as he passes a table. Hoseok smiles, ridiculously serene considering the damage they've done, and both older brothers amble after their youngest as he addresses the crowd.

"He torched our pubs, and he's killed good, able men under the employment of someone I know here in London; a dear friend, and a valued business partner," Namjoon continues, and it's at this moment that it clicks— Jungkook remembers the conversation the elder had with Seokjin in the car on their way up to Birmingham on the night of the Garrison's reopening, right before he'd drifted off to sleep.

He lowers his head, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. Jungkook hadn't even bothered to find out whose club he'd been invited to, thinking this was going to be a night of socializing with little consequence.

Apparently, everything in his life, post-Namjoon, comes with consequence.

"We did not come to make enemies," the man adds candidly, spreading his arms as Yoongi kicks one of Sabini's lieutenants in the gut, sending the man crashing to the ground. The entire club's attention is on Namjoon, and him alone; every last person room is looking at him, as transfixed as Jungkook often is by the elder. "No— We came here to make friends."

Pin drop silence greets his words of challenge. Everyone knows exactly what Namjoon is saying— Where the Peaky Blinders stand, and what their message to Sabini is through this little visit to the man's club.

('We're coming for your people, and we're coming for you.')

"Those of you who are last, will soon be first, and those of you who are downtrodden will rise up," Namjoon concludes, having the audacity to tip his cap to the nearest member of Sabini's staff. Hoseok rests a hand on Yoongi's shoulder, nodding towards the exit, and the eldest brother rolls his eyes— Like he's annoyed, like his fun's been cut short. Namjoon spares a moment for one last sweeping look over the patrons of the club, smiling calmly. "You know where to find us."

And with that said, they exit— No one thinks to stop them, and Namjoon doesn't even glance at Jungkook as he passes him by.

The younger takes in a deep breath, taking some time to find his center and will his head to stop spinning.

Then he's out the doors too, heart in his throat and pounding hard.

"Some fucking holiday this is," Yoongi is complaining – yelling, actually – when Jungkook catches up to them, two streets away. "I think I lost a tooth— I'll have none left at this rate!"

"Here's some medication," Namjoon plies the elder, holding out the bottle of whiskey they'd purchased at The Eden Club, chuckling even as he looks to their left and right. He appears restless and uneasy.

Hoseok picks up on his youngest brother's mood fairly quickly as they approach their car. "What's wrong, Joon?"

"No, I—" Shaking his head, Namjoon frowns and lowers his gaze. Jungkook's right behind them now, and even he can tell that something is wrong; the elder is rarely this listless. He's not wrong to think it has something to do with him, because the next words out of Namjoon's mouth are, "back there, I thought I saw Jungkook, but..."

"That kid?" Yoongi scoffs, flapping a hand. "Are we talking about the same person? Because I remember how constipated he looked at the Garrison, on the night of the reopening. He's not exactly the type to paint the fucking town—"

"Well," Jungkook deadpans from behind them, making Hoseok flail hard enough that he almost slaps Yoongi in the face, "I'm sorry I'm not the life of the party or anything, but I do have to keep up a semblance of a social life if I want to continue having a career."

Namjoon, for once, is speechless as he stares at Jungkook, facial expression unreadable.

"Are we going to have to put a bell on your god damned neck?" Yoongi scowls at Jungkook, shooting him a poisonous glare. "Fucking warn a guy, you little shit—"

"Jungkook," Namjoon calls out to him, so abruptly that Yoongi cuts himself off. Opening the car door, his face is stern and he gestures towards the interior of the vehicle without more than a simple but sufficient, "please."

Knowing that there's little else he can do, Jungkook complies, and climbs into the car with a pressed sigh. So much had happened in the span of the last 15 minutes; he's not even sure where to begin. "You know," he mumbles tentatively, scooting over, "I have no idea what happened back there, but I hadn't even known you were in London—"

The door slams shut, and his back is pulled flush against the elder's chest in the next second.

"Are you alright?" Namjoon whispers, his arms tight around the younger's waist as he breathes shakily in his ear. There's an edge to his voice; like he can't quite believe this is happening, like the violence and mayhem had all just been a sideshow, like it's Jungkook's presence in this entire debacle that has him well and truly shaken. "Did anyone touch you? Hurt you?"

Each hushed word hits Jungkook like a freight train. He allows the façade to slip, turns around so that Namjoon can see for himself— How shocked he'd been, how worried and unsure and scared. "I'm fine," he promises desperately, even as he doesn't feel fine at all. He's already too sure he's going to dream of the floor manager back at The Eden Club having a happier trigger finger tonight; the 'what if's' are going to torture him will the morning comes. "I wasn't— no one touched me, I'm fine—"

"God," Namjoon says, sotto voce, pressing his forehead against the slope of the younger's collarbone. "God," he murmurs again, disbelieving and fragile and so filled with fear, and then, just— "Jungkook."

(On the elder's lips, his name sounds like a prayer.)

"I'm here," Jungkook breathes, heartbroken with realization as he cradles Namjoon's head against his chest, eyes closed as the elder's frame begins to shake. "I'm here, I'm fine. We're both— I'm fine."

He can't believe it's only just hit him now, but this is how it's going to be. For as long as they care about each other, Jungkook is going to live in fear for both his and Namjoon's safety. He's going to have to look over his shoulder, around every corner, and steer clear of every alley— For the first time in his entire life, he's going to have to consciously try and protect himself.

"It's not worth it," Namjoon replies, sorrowful and ridden with guilt when Jungkook tells him this. Leaning back on the seat, the elder looks worn and weary— Every bit a man of his years. "I can't ask you to do that for me."

"No one said I was doing it for you," Jungkook mumbles, head tipping back over the head rest. He stares up at the ceiling of the vehicle, suddenly aware of every ache and pain in his body— The way it's still thrumming with adrenaline, the way his blood is still racing in his veins. "If you want me gone, you're going to have to leave me."

Namjoon inhales sharply. His mouth gapes around words that won't come, and eventually he seals his lips together in a thin, unhappy line. He appears conflicted, but he eventually twines their fingers on the seat between them and sighs, leaning forward and palming his face with his free hand. "You're a menace," he pronounces, not for the first time.

Honestly, Jungkook wants to smash his head against the nearest brick wall and blame Namjoon for the way his life is turning out, but he can't do that in good faith— Not when he'd walked into having feelings for the man with his eyes wide open. "And I don't even have soup this time," he says instead, trying to lighten the mood.

Lifting his head, the elder forces a smile at the terrible joke; it's brittle and hesitant, but it's something. He gives Jungkook's hand a tight squeeze, trying to be every bit the man he shows the rest of the world— Strong and unwavering, steadfast and mature. "You don't have to have soup every time you want to see me, Jungkook."

"I've heard that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach," the younger points out.

"Oh," Namjoon chuckles, regaining some of his typical wits about him as he lifts an eyebrow. "So you want my heart now?"

Jungkook's cheeks pink, and he sputters. "I didn't mean— You can't just—"

"That's very sweet. I'm moved."

"Don't even start—"

"Stay with us tonight," Namjoon suggests suddenly, glancing over Jungkook's shoulder as he cuts the younger off. Yoongi and Hoseok are on either sides of the vehicle, each with a cigarette in hand as they pass the bottle of whiskey from The Eden Club between them. "I have a hundred quid and nowhere to be…" Eyes softening, the elder returns his gaze to Jungkook. "I'd like to spend some time with people who are important to me."

Warmth blooms in Jungkook's chest. It's not even a question worth answering, at this point, but he does anyway. "Okay," he nods, a little shy and a little relieved. There's a part of him that's against going back to his estate now, where there's too much space for one person to fill— Where it's dark, where he'll be alone till the morning. "Okay, Namjoon."

The elder's face gentles. His hands are no longer shaking; his shoulders are less relaxed than they usually are, but they'll get there— It's probably nothing a stiff drink won't fix. "Thank you," he whispers, soft and low.

Knowing better, Jungkook doesn't ask Namjoon what he's grateful for.

04.09.1921
Birmingham, Small Heath

Aside from the intense talk he'd had with Namjoon, there isn't a lot Jungkook remembers of the time he'd spent in the Garrison on the night of its grand reopening, but he does remember this; the grand, decorated stage in the Garrison had been built into the building by Yoongi's own hand, and for the express purpose of giving Jimin a platform to perform.

They're out of the snug today, all gathered at the best table in the house. Seokjin's come up from London with some papers for Namjoon to sign, and he's taken the excuse to spend some time with his childhood friends over a few glasses of wine. Hoseok's across the table from Jungkook, his arm around Taehyung as the pair sway in time to the melodic lilt of Jimin's voice. And Yoongi—

The eldest brother of the Peaky fucking Blinders – the most notorious of the three for his alleged violence, sharp tongue and tyranny – is looking at Jimin like he's the axis of his world.

If Jungkook ever had any doubts about the pair and who their hearts belonged to before, he doesn't have any remaining.

"He's good, isn't he?" Namjoon says quietly, smiling. He leans back in his seat, draping an arm along the back of Jungkook's chair as he lifts his cigarette to his lips. His eyes are firmly trained on Jimin even as he speaks, the visage of the blonde working through a soulful ballad on stage too haunting to ignore. "At singing."

"Very," the younger murmurs in agreement, because Jimin is very gifted; there's absolutely no denying that.

This makes Namjoon turn his head, and his gaze is warm as it rests on Jungkook's profile. "Your voice is beautiful too," he adds in a murmur, making the younger shift in his seat. "You should be up there."

"I couldn't—"

"What's this, what's this?" Taehyung trills, excitable even as Yoongi glowers at him for leaning over and blocking his line of sight. "Jungkook, you sing too? Namjoon never told us!"

"I never told you because I knew you'd put him on the spot," Namjoon points out, even as his lips quirk in an amused smile. Beside him, Jungkook covers his face and groans into the curves of his palms. "Just like how you're doing now."

"But Jimin's almost done!" The brunette whines, nudging Hoseok in the side with his elbow and making the elder squawk with indignation. "Did you hear that? Namjoon says Jungkook can sing! Can't he sing after Jimin?"

"If you don't shut the fuck up, I'll make sure you can never talk after Jimin is done, let alone sing," Yoongi threatens in the same beat without tearing his eyes from the stage. He smacks a hand over Taehyung's mouth, stubbornly ignoring the younger's whining and whinging. "Someone's on stage, you shithead; I can't believe it's come down to me giving someone else a lecture on being disrespectful."

"You'd lecture a rock if Jimin tripped over it in the street," Seokjin smiles, serene even as he dodges an empty glass Yoongi throws at him. He catches it instead, safely setting it down by his own. "Oh, you missed."

"And I won't the next time, you fucking turd. Piss off."

"How rude—"

Keeping his voice down, Hoseok shoots Jungkook a brilliant grin. "It's not a bad idea, though," he says quietly, glancing sideways at Namjoon to gauge his youngest brother's reaction. "You going up to sing, I mean. We don't get many people who do, so…"

Hesitant, Jungkook turns to Namjoon.

"Hoseok's right, and I have every confidence in your voice," the elder says softly, giving Jungkook's shoulder a discreet squeeze. "Only if you're up for it, of course."

He isn't, not really, but between the encouragement in Namjoon's eyes and the hopeful twist of Taehyung's bright grin, Jungkook soon finds himself with an old guitar in his lap as he scrambles internally for something to play. He busies himself tuning the instrument, working his lower lip till Jimin finishes the last verse of his pretty, delicate number.

The blonde immediately returns to their table, plucking his drink from Yoongi's hands and draining it with a glow to his face. "Up next, Jungkook?" Jimin beams, sweet on the high of the applause that had greeted his performance and flushed with happiness. "And you even play the guitar, too— I'm excited to hear you!"

"I don't know what to sing," Jungkook mumbles, nervous as he plucks at the strings. The ruckus that reverberates through any watering hole this side of Birmingham starts up again; everyone is returning to their business and gathering in groups. All it does is make him more likely to chicken out, and he continues to stall by lowering his head and reaching for his drink. "I don't know many songs, and they're all ones my mother used to sing for my father or me. No one will know them here, and I—"

"Jungkook," Namjoon calls out, prompting everyone else at the table to look away and busy themselves with something or another. "Look at me."

Stilling, the younger takes in a shuddering breath and tries to bolt back his panic, lifting his head. "Yes?"

The noise that's ebbing and flowing around them suddenly seems to dull in the face of Namjoon's gentle smile. "Your mother sang those songs out of love," the elder murmurs, hand curving over the bone of Jungkook's knee, "and music born of love – no matter how obscure – is never without its meaning."

Jungkook's never performed for anyone before, save for the occasional horse.

He closes his eyes as the patrons start taking notice of him on the stage, start to quiet down and hush their friends. Though he's sure that Jimin lives for it, the anticipation in the air makes him anxious; the only thing that's calming him down is the gin already sitting warm in his belly, and the fact that he hasn't once lifted his head to look at the people he's sure to find staring at him the second he does.

Briefly, Jungkook considers introducing himself. Everyone knows Jimin— Knows of the lungs blonde has on him, knows of his kindness. Everyone in Birmingham knows who he is to Namjoon – to Yoongi, probably, and to the Peaky Blinders – but no one knows him.

He wonders if he should remedy that, before deciding that no, he won't. Jungkook just starts to strum – his fingers moving on muscle memory alone, the lyrics coming back to him on a wave of nostalgia – and the acoustics in the Garrison carry the sound enough to silence anyone who hasn't noticed they're in for another song.

"Please, don't see… Just a boy caught up in dreams and fantasies," Jungkook starts, keeping his eyes on the strings and his head bowed. Light filters through the longer strands of his fringe, and he smiles at the way his voice doesn't tremor; doesn't betray him, even now. "Please, see me… reaching out for someone I can't see—"

The Garrison is silent, all of the patrons turning towards the stage with surprise. It almost makes Jungkook's fingers falter on the strings, but he takes in a breath between the lines and soldiers on.

"Take my hand, let's see where we wake up tomorrow," he quavers, all honey dulcet tones as he slurs around the words, thinking of Namjoon— Thinking of the game they're playing; the way they've begun to let the lines blur between them, the way Nia's name hasn't left either of their lips once in the course of the evening. "Best laid plans sometimes are just a one-night stand—"

Slowly, Jungkook lifts his head, shyly meeting the eyes of the people at his own table.

Seokjin, in accordance with the song's general theme, appears mildly solemn even as he's appreciative of the musicality of it. Jimin is leaning against Yoongi, his eyes closed as he listens with a gentle smile on his face, and the elder is watching Jungkook with half-lidded, hooded eyes. Hoseok has his mouth slightly gaped, clearly not having expected such a ballad, even as Taehyung's eyes glow and glimmer with awe.

And Jungkook doesn't know what he'd expected from Namjoon, but the man's eyes are soft as they rest on him, his head lilted back and his fingers interlaced tightly in his lap.

"I'd be damned; Cupid's demanding back his arrow," he continues, steadily losing his nerves as he focuses on Namjoon's gaze, the affectionate curve of his lips. With care and caution, he builds up to the chorus with a small and shy smile. "So let's get drunk on our tears—"

The atmosphere is hushed and somber as his voice fills the room, every last person with their eyes on him. Standing up, Jungkook is greeted by the beautiful sight of wives shifting closer to their husbands, of lovers tangling their hands together— Even the surliest of teenagers lurking towards the back of the pub have their heads tipped back, eyes heavy-lidded and dull as they listen.

Approaching the edge of the stage, Jungkook sings, more for himself than for the crowd. "God," he pleads, lifting his eyes to the ceiling, tracing the particles of dust that dance in the air with his gaze, "tell us the reason youth is wasted on the young—"

("It's amazing," his mother had told him a long time ago, her small mouth parted around a bubbling laugh as she runs her fingers through his hair, "what comfort music can bring to those in their time of anguish… What magic it may stir, in the hearts of broken men.")

"It's hunting season," he rasps, suddenly breathless and emotional as he's assaulted with the memory of the woman who had raised him; nurtured him, loved him with all she had to give. Jungkook lowers his head, looking down at his fingers as tears prick at the corners of his eyes. "And the lambs are on the run—"

("You should never underestimate music, Jungkook. You have a gift—")

"Searching for meaning—"

In the midst of the rambunctious crowd, there is Namjoon; the calm eye of the storm, a still and unmoving point amidst the madness. He's at ease, eyes on Jungkook – eyes always on Jungkook, it seems – as he drinks and smokes and breathes. He doesn't stand, doesn't know the words to echo them back.

Then again, he doesn't have to— He's listening, and that's more than enough.

("— And one day," she had smiled, so lovely and wise and kind, "you will find someone worth sharing the gift of your song with.")

Jungkook looks at Namjoon, and understands.

His hands stilling on his guitar, Jungkook stops his strumming and takes in a deep breath— Looks directly into Namjoon's eyes. "But are we all lost stars," he sighs quietly in acapella with eyes that shine, "trying to light up the dark?"

Everyone in the Garrison stares between them. The air is heavy with something— Not with tension, though. Jungkook thinks the atmosphere is too kind; that there's something to be said for the way the women are all rosy cheeks and soft sighs, the way the men have mouths that are tipped in neutral, well-meaning smiles.

In response to the end of Jungkook's brief but impactful performance, Namjoon slowly gets to his feet. He reaches for his glass; lifts it into the air.

"I believe that when we reach for the stars, we are reaching for the farthest thing we know," he tells the people of Small Heath, the low timber of his voice carrying through the Garrison. "And that when we reach deep within ourselves, it is the same thing— Simply in the opposite direction."

As though on cue, everyone lifts their glasses in a communal toast. Jungkook swallows thickly, suddenly parched, and is grateful when Taehyung discreetly hands him his drink from their table.

"If we reach in both directions at the same time, we will have spanned the universe," Namjoon adds, unfazed as both Hoseok and Yoongi push back their chairs to stand on either side of him. "Hence, we and the galaxies we know of are two sides of the same coin; we know nothing of either."

Quietly, Jungkook steps down from the stage so that the elder may command the crowd without him being at the center of attention. He's immediately pulled between Jimin and Taehyung, and both of them throw their arms around him— The latter makes no effort to hide his appreciation for the performance, nuzzling his forehead against Jungkook's temple with a pleased beam.

"That was amazing," he hisses in the younger's ear, and Jungkook's chest swells with pride.

"So," Namjoon smiles, stepping towards the stage. "Are we lost? Perhaps," he chuckles, obviously amused by the regard his thoughts are commanding within the Garrison. "And perhaps we will always be lost. It is, without a doubt, impossible for man to ever know everything there is to know about both himself and the universe."

Jungkook looks up at him with rapt attention, eyes wide and unblinking.

"However," the elder continues, tipping his drink in the air, "I, for one, think it is infinitely better to be a lost and wandering star than one that is stationery."

"Is he seriously making this speech over a damn love song? Am I going to be able to finish my fucking drink before I die of old age?" Yoongi mumbles in Hoseok's ear, scowling when the redhead elbows him in the side. "Okay, fuck you? I'm only saying what we're all thinking—"

Sensing his elder brother's impatience – read; seeing it from the stage – Namjoon smiles. "If it allows us to understand what lays within our reach— If it allows us to be kinder, both to ourselves and to others, then let us always be lost," he concludes with a shake of his head, raising his glass as high as he can. "And may we never find our way."

"And may we never find our way," Jungkook echoes the elder alongside everyone in the bar, their collective chant loud enough that the entire street must have heard them. Dazed, he fixed his lips to the rim of his glass as he thinks on Namjoon's words— Namjoon's thinly-veiled answer to the question in his song.

(He doesn't stop thinking about it for a long, long time.)

06.09.1921
London, Hampstead, The Jeon Estate

The afternoon visit had started on the premise of discussing Nia's progress in her training, but – as Jungkook's come to expect these days – it ends with both him and Namjoon in his bed.

The elder treats Jungkook like he's precious – like he's made of glass – and it leaves him feeling breathless. He doesn't know if Namjoon's characteristic clumsiness in his day to day life plays a part in his bedside manner, but the man had always been nothing but gentle with him— Careful and meticulous. Courteous, even.

He's soon naked and being taken apart piece by piece with practiced hands and open-mouthed kisses, lips parted around heavy breaths as the elder dips takes him into his mouth. "Namjoon," Jungkook rasps, needy and desperate as his fingers tangle in his lover's hair. "Please—"

The answer to that is the man's tongue dragging against the hard length of him, right before he expertly swallows him whole. Jungkook throws his head back, crying out as he's tipped over the edge, every nerve in his body on fire. He spills down Namjoon's throat without warning, too far gone for coherence as he chokes on a sob of pure, pleasured relief.

There's something unbelievably hot about the way Namjoon takes this in stride; the way he hollows out his cheeks and takes everything Jungkook has to give without choking or even batting an eye.

"Namjoon," he whines brokenly when the elder doesn't stop licking the head of his cock, thoroughly cleaning him up with nothing more than his mouth. Jungkook's oversensitive and on the verge of tears, and he writhes weakly as he cups Namjoon's cheek with a trembling hand. "Please, please, enough."

Looking up at him with dark, hooded eyes, Namjoon lets up. Stands up, actually, and he crossed the room to grab a fresh pack of cigarettes from Jungkook's dresser.

Blinking at him, the younger drags at his sheets over the lower half of his body, confused and slightly dizzy. His head feels like it's full of cotton, but he knows Namjoon only smokes after they're done, and the elder hadn't… "What about—"

"I'm fine, Jungkook," Namjoon tells him, shrugging off his shirt to combat the heat. Returning to the side of the bed with an ashtray in hand, he lifts an eyebrow with a stick hanging from his lips. "Really."

"But—"

Chuckling, Namjoon turns to look at him meaningfully, cocking his head. His slacks are dark, but there's no mistaking the wetness that darkens a patch of fabric just beside his right pocket and Jungkook's breath catches. "I said," the man murmurs, completely unabashed as he lights his cigarette, "I'm fine."

Oh.

"Alright," the younger mumbles, numb with disbelief. Namjoon had orgasmed, completely untouched and still clothed, just by giving him head— The thought alone makes his cock twitch with renewed interest. "Okay, then."

(Jungkook's quite sure he must have done something truly noteworthy in his previous life to have found this man.)

Reaching to the bedside table, Namjoon picks up a mason jar and tips water into a glass. "Here," he tells Jungkook with a gentle smile, offering him the drink with a careful hand. "Slowly, please."

Taking it, Jungkook obediently quenches his thirst. There's always something about how sated and calm Namjoon is after sex – like he's reached an equilibrium of sorts, like he's filled with nothing but peace – that makes his own shyness seem infantile in comparison. He flushes a little at the thought, and finds himself unable to meet the elder's eyes as he sets the empty glass back on his bedside table.

There's a short lull of silence between them, during which Namjoon polishes off half of his cigarette. Eventually, the elder reaches out to him, knuckle brushing a line from Jungkook's Adam's apple to the tip of his chin. "You look troubled," he observes vaguely, leaning in without making any assumptions. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing, I just—" Embarrassed, Jungkook averts his eyes, even as the elder kisses him on the temple. Just that brief contact makes him smile down at his lap, and he toys absently with the hem of his comforter. "… I just admire you."

Smoke plumes towards the ceiling. "What for?"

"You're very— It's just the way you carry yourself, I suppose," Jungkook murmurs, frowning as he tries to reach for the words. He's never been very good at expressing his thoughts. "You're typically composed, and you're always seem to be in control of your emotions."

For a time, Namjoon is quiet, and the only sound that echoes in the younger's bedroom is the sound of his breathy exhale before he takes a drag of his cigarette.

"Jungkook," he says with tender eyes and a bittersweet smile, "if I had any more control of my emotions, I wouldn't be here at all."

13.09.1921
London, Hampstead, The Jeon Estate

They've known each other for almost 3 months now, Jungkook is stunned to realize one day as he's brushing out the knots in Nia's mane. He can't count the number of times Namjoon has dropped by on a whim, or the number of trips he's personally made up to Birmingham whenever he had the chance.

For all that they've been seeing each other, they haven't exactly been generous with their relationship. In fact, Jungkook is fairly confident that no one knows of their mutual affection, aside from several members of his staff and the rest of the Peaky Blinders.

When in public, they keep their hands and eyes to themselves. It hadn't even been discussed, really— Not that it bothers Jungkook much at all. For every glance or touch they don't share in front of other people, there are the long hours they spend alone to compensate, and they do a fairly good job of it; Namjoon seems to be the type to keep his affairs firmly under wraps, and Jungkook is fairly shy about these sorts of things anyway.

It explains his surprise when the elder calls in the middle of the day to invite him to an exclusive dinner party, hosted at Seokjin's manor for the business elites of London.

"It's in 3 days," Namjoon tells him over the phone, Jungkook blinking at the receiver with bewilderment. "Will you be available?"

"I will," Jungkook mumbles, confused. He would free his schedule for the elder any day, but that's hardly the pinnacle of his concerns at the moment. "Namjoon, I would gladly accompany you, but isn't this a working affair?"

"There will be wine, music and canapes. It's a dinner party."

"For business to be discussed."

"Well," Namjoon muses on the other end of the line, "I suppose, once everyone has been fed."

"I'd just thought—" Breaking off, Jungkook wrinkles his nose and wonders how to word this without possibly offending Namjoon. Eventually, he gives up and just says what's on his mind, figuring it's what the elder prefers anyway. "I was under the impression you'd want less people to know about... Us."

"And why is that?"

"Why— We don't exactly live in a progressive society, Namjoon," Jungkook laughs, shaking his head as he sits at his desk. It's probably odd that the man's career in racketeering – and the imminent dangers that presents to their safety – comes after the sheer homophobia they might face, but Jungkook has long since been resigned to the fact that nothing in his life makes sense anymore. "People will talk."

"Funny," Namjoon says, and Jungkook can practically hear the smile that's sure to be spreading on his face. "Considering what you've told me, I've been laboring under the misconception that your entire household has been doing nothing but talking about us."

"That's different," Jungkook argues with a huff, slightly defensive even as he takes the elder's words in good humor. He has good staff, and while they gossip in spades, they'd never mean him any harm. "Them – and the rest of your Peaky Blinders, might I remind you – knowing about us is quite different from the high society of London catching wind of our relationship."

There's a bit of a pause on the other end of the line before Namjoon speaks again. "Jungkook," he murmurs, "do you trust me?"

What kind of question was that? "Of course I—"

"Jungkook," Namjoon says again, severe and solemn. Again, the younger can just imagine the stiff set of his jaw— The frown on his face, and the intensity of his gaze. "You're right to have questioned my judgement on this," the man admits readily, surprising Jungkook and making him blink. "So I'm going to need you to think very carefully about what you're going to say in response to my question."

"This isn't a regular dinner party," Jungkook mutters under his breath, an ache forming between his temples as he sinks into the plush leather of his desk chair.

"No," the elder allows after a beat of silence, "it isn't."

And so Jungkook does as he's told, turning what this could mean over in his mind. He suspects – is certain, really – that this move is linked with how shaken Namjoon had been by his presence at Sabini's club a week or so ago. In every variation of every possibility, the elder's decision to take him to this function can only mean one thing; he's staking a claim, ensuring that every man and woman that matters in London knows that Jungkook isn't unprotected or vulnerable.

He realizes that he does have faith in Namjoon; almost to an alarming degree. If the leader and strategist of the Peaky Blinders believes that the best way for the both of them to come through the war that's been waged against the Sabini's is for them to appear in public together, then Jungkook believes him.

"I trust you," he tells him simply.

(It's still one of the biggest admissions in his life, though. Jungkook doesn't trust easily, and despite how their relationship had started – despite how quickly it's progressing and where it may be going in the future – he's sure that Namjoon knows this to be true.)

The elder lets out a long, slow breath up in Birmingham, the sound of it crackling through the phone. "Good," he says, a small note of insecurity he had regarding Jungkook's answer bleeding through with a tremor in his characteristic slur of the word. "That's good. I'm… Glad."

"I want to see Nia win, Namjoon," Jungkook adds, closing his eyes and tipping his head over the back of his chair. "I want to live to see the Derby."

Namjoon's answer is immediate this time, and he's firm and sure. "She's going to win the whole damn thing," he tells Jungkook, "and anyone who touches you will have to answer to me."

And just like that, Jungkook's pretty sure he's been drawn into the ranks of the Peaky fucking Blinders.

14.09.1921
London, Hampstead, The Jeon Estate

"Sir," his butler calls out to him, presenting a jacket that's been freshly laundered and pressed, "this is what the maids have chosen for you to wear tomorrow."

"Thank you," Jungkook sighs, relieved. He's never been the sort to fuss over his clothing – save for the few occasions he absolutely has to dress himself to the nines – but that's what he figures the women of the staff are for. He's never gone wrong with trusting their tastes, and he figures it isn't about to start happening now. "That looks fine; you can just toss it over the chair in my room."

"I will have it hung in your day wardrobe alongside the rest of your ensemble, where it will be in pristine condition for your dinner party," the butler tells him drily, making Jungkook chuckle as he returns his focus to the papers on his desk. Trying to reform him into a fitting member of higher society has been an uphill task for the household for years, and they never let him forget it— He likes to think of it as an endearing struggle that strengthens the bonds between himself and his staff. "I'll also have several neckties prepared for your choosing after dinner."

Ugh. "What do the ladies suggest?" Jungkook tries, stubbornly keeping his eyes on his work. Property taxes and business utilities are a hassle and a half, but somebody has to sign off on the appropriate documents— Besides, there's nothing he thinks he'd like doing less than stress himself out over which strip of fabric will adorn his collar tomorrow.

"Sir, you must at least choose your own necktie—"

Jungkook gives his butler a look.

The man carefully drapes the jacket in his hands over his forearm, clearly trying to distract Jungkook from the fact that he's exasperated. "The ladies suggest cobalt blue, ostentatious though it may be," he says, sounding weary. "Personally, I believe a black necktie would suffice for the affair… Of course, it would need to be of the finest silk."

Well, he can't exactly just come right out and dismiss his butler's suggestion; he wouldn't want to hurt the old man's feelings. "Have one of each color set out," Jungkook decides, shaking his head. There's altogether too much emphasis based on the dress code in London during formal events, and he's already exhausted thinking about how people will be judging him by the quality of his clothing the following night. "I'll think about which I prefer when I dress myself for the party."

"Yes, sir."

Lifting his gaze, Jungkook watches the man retreat from the room. Perhaps it's the phone call he and Namjoon had the afternoon prior to this one, or the way he's masking his nerves about tomorrow by burying himself in a truly stupid amount of paperwork, but he finally puts out the query that's been niggling at him for the past couple of months. "Do the maids talk?" He asks, prompting his butler to turn on his heel. "Does everyone, in this household?"

"I'm sorry, sir?"

"About—" Feeling quite embarrassed, Jungkook lowers his voice and wishes he can physically fight the flush he's sure is blooming on his cheeks. "… About Namjoon and I."

Shifting slightly, the elder averts his gaze. "On occasion, sir."

'All the time,' Jungkook translates in his mind, sighing internally. "What do they say?" It's a meaningful question, and he's well aware that he's asking the right person. This is the man who presently runs his household, who'd been in his family's service since even before he'd been born— The man who had seen him through the journey of becoming an adult, and the man who is now the most protective elder he knows in his life. "And what do you?"

"What any of us say is of no consequence to your choice, Jungkook," the aged man replies, surprising the younger with the use of his first name. For once – and this truly is a rare thing to happen – the butler seems to be fully at ease. "You are the head of this household, and we have all vowed to serve the Jeon name— That includes respecting your decisions."

"Be that as it may," Jungkook mumbles, filled with gratefulness at how lucky he's been by way of the people he has around him, "I am still… Young."

"In comparison to me, certainly."

"I cannot speak to my parents anymore, whether about matters of the heart or otherwise," Jungkook says quietly, the words giving him pause and a bittersweet feeling. After a beat, he clears his throat and lifts his head, meeting his butler's gaze with as much conviction as he can muster. "But I can speak to you."

"Sir," the man frowns, "I cannot possibly—"

"You are my family now— The only family I have left in the world," Jungkook continues firmly, rendering his butler mute with wide eyes across the room, "and so is everyone in this household. Make no mistake about it; I am speaking to you not in the capacity of an employer, but as a man in need of guidance, or reassurance. So please," he swallows thickly, frowning as he leans over his desk, "give it to me."

There's a silence that stretches between them for a while, and it's long and uncomfortable enough for Jungkook to lift his head. He doesn't know what he'd been expecting, but his butler is smiling.

"He makes you happy, sir," the man says, quiet and honest and affectionate as he lowers his head. "You have a light in your eyes that hasn't been present for a long time now, not since—"

(Not since he'd been made hair apparent at the tender age of 22.)

"Well, we can ask for no more," his butler sums up kindly without finishing his former sentence, mindful of Jungkook's feelings as usual. "If you were to ask any one member of the staff, I am certain you would find nothing but well wishes."

Relief washes over Jungkook like a tidal wave, and he closes his eyes— Folds his arms on the table, and hides his face by resting his forehead on the swell of his muscle. "Even though Namjoon is who he is?" He points out hesitantly, voice muffled as his lips drag on the mahogany surface of his desk. "Even though he does… Bad things?"

"Everyone does bad things, sir."

"Perhaps," Jungkook agrees under his breath, "but you were wary of him the first time we met at the auction. He is the leader of the Peaky Blinders."

"For all anyone in this house cares, he could be the devil," his butler answers primly, turning on his heel to leave the office. "If he were to keep you smiling the way he has, and if it were to make you happy, we would happily help you cross the River Styx ourselves."

15.09.1921
London, Mayfair, Seokjin's Manor

The house is beautiful yet simple in the same breath, but Jungkook honestly hadn't expected anything less from Seokjin. The eldest of the group had displayed a tasteful penchant for luxury the last time they'd met, and his home aptly reflects the sizable value of his business.

Jungkook hadn't known that Namjoon would be bringing the whole entourage, but it happens— Yoongi, most notably, makes it a point to let everyone know he'd rather be back in Birmingham, doing 'actual work.' Jimin, on the other hand, is starry-eyed with anticipation, and Hoseok passes through the doors before anyone else with a bottle of gin in hand. Even Taehyung, whose job Jungkook still can't quite suss out in the Peaky Blinders, is in attendance.

(The brunette appears to have been lured mostly by the promise of food, though.)

"I hate these things," Yoongi had complained to Namjoon earlier, irritated with a practiced scowl. "Everyone here's a fucking face."

"Just the lieutenants," Namjoon had placated his elder brother, at ease with a perennial smile. He'd placed a hand at the small of Jungkook's back to guide him into the room— They hadn't been quite as ostentatious about the fact that he was the elder's date, and he most certainly hadn't arrived on the man's arm the way Jimin had on Yoongi's. "Not an officer in sight."

"That's Sabini's fucking cousin, Nams—"

"Yoongi," Namjoon had murmured, and that had been the last of that conversation in Jungkook's presence.

Still, it's not a bad thing at all, having everyone tag along; it at least means he isn't alone when Namjoon and his brothers inevitably have to leave the table to shake hands and take names. Jungkook chats with Jimin and Taehyung to occupy himself, taken by the seamless way they seem to fill in each other's blanks.

"There'll be dancing after business is finished, I hope," Jimin sighs dreamily at one point, looking around the dining hall they're presently in with a clear appreciation for its grandeur. "Jin mentioned that he had his ballroom renovated— Even the floorboards have been replaced."

Humming, Jungkook considers Seokjin's house, unable to help comparing it to his own. "You're staying with Yoongi, aren't you?" He asks the blonde, all the while watching Taehyung choke down yet another few canapes with morbid fascination. "Or, at least, that's what I've assumed… I'm sorry if that was presumptuous of me—"

"No, not at all." Jimin laughs, shaking his head before he pauses, looking contemplative. "Well, I do actually have my own apartment in Small Heath," he admits, looking slightly sheepish as he stares across the room at Yoongi. The eldest of the brothers is presently engaged; there are two women on either side of him, both playing him with sultry gazes. "But perhaps you're right, in a way… I do stay with him more often than not."

"Do you wish you lived in a house just like this?"

"Mmm… Sometimes?" Jimin chirps, looking up at the chandeliers. The crystals shower the room with glittering light, and the blonde seems to enjoy the way they turn and twist in the air for a long moment. "I used to stay in a place almost as grand as this house, if not more— I suppose that's why I'm always filled with nostalgia when I visit Jin."

Huh. "But?" Jungkook prompts, sensing there's one somewhere.

"But no matter how much Jimin likes pretty things and uppity places, Yoongi's house is a fucking shithole," Taehyung shrugs, answering on behalf of his friend and ignoring the lady beside him who blanches at his crude language. He leans back in his seat, a dark smear of daube smudged at the corner of his lips. "And Yoongi himself is an ass, but everything about the guy is Jimin's home."

"Tae, you can't just say things like that at dinner," the blonde bemoans, even as he flushes pink and doesn't deny Taehyung's words. Reaching for his own napkin, he leans across Jungkook's lap and roughly swipes at brunette's mouth. "And why are you such a mess?"

"Aww, give over! Are you my mother?"

"I may as well be, what with you being like this half the time—"

Jungkook just takes what Taehyung had said about Jimin's feelings for Yoongi as the truth, ignoring the pair as they bicker. He looks around the room for Namjoon, finding the man in a corner with Seokjin and an elderly gentleman with shrewd eyes— Their heads are lowered, hands curled around glasses of whiskey; each has a cigarette either hanging from their lips or dangling between their fingers.

(He wonders if Namjoon is becoming his home, too.)

For over an hour, Jungkook sips wine and learns more about Taehyung and Jimin. The former talks about the odd jobs he's had – and there are so many – and the children of Small Heath, eyes bright and grin blinding. The latter talks about how difficult it is to take care of Yoongi, let alone while working for Namjoon and keeping up with Hoseok's infinite energy.

Jungkook empathizes deeply.

All in all, he's having a good time, and feeling less nervous than he'd thought he would. It's largely due to the company he has, and he's thankful for it, making sure both Jimin and Taehyung know this by being the one to refill their glasses. He laughs at their jokes and stories – because they're genuinely quite funny; Jungkook hadn't thought Birmingham was as ridiculous as it is infamous for being the turf of the Peaky Blinders – and he feels genuinely endeared to the pair.

His focus wanders when Taehyung begins talking about a bartender he doesn't know, though, and he checks out of the conversation briefly— Jimin's listening, anyway, and he actually knows who the brunette is talking about. Now that he's got a moment to spare, Jungkook notices that there are bottles being passed around, each with identical labels.

His curiosity takes, and the next time Namjoon's back at the table with one in hand, he turns his back on Jimin and Taehyung, jumping on the opportunity to ask. "What is that?" He asks the elder, pointing at the bottle as he gets to his feet. Without even needing to speak, they move to an empty table a few steps away for some privacy. "I've been looking around, and there sure is a lot of it for one dinner party."

Namjoon looks pleased at the question, and he presents the half done bottle to Jungkook with pride in the curve of his smile. "Gin," he declares succinctly, thumb brushing over the top of the label.

'PEAKY BLINDERS LIMITED,' it reads, and beneath the declaration that the alcohol contained within the bottle is indeed, 'GIN,' there are three lines of fine print stating, 'DISTILLED FOR THE ERADICATION OF SEEMINGLY INCURABLE SADNESS.'

More than a little surprised, Jungkook blinks. "You patented your own alcohol?" He asks Namjoon, eyes wide as he lifts his gaze to the elder.

"Yes."

"And it isn't whiskey?"

"You prefer gin," Namjoon hums, as though it's that simple. Jungkook lowers his head, smiling at his lap— Perhaps to the elder, it truly is. "And this liquor," he adds with a self-satisfied chuckle, holding the bottle up by its neck and lifting an eyebrow at the clear alcohol that sloshes within, "has just been approved for export and distribution."

"Ah," Jungkook nods, finally understanding the true agenda of Seokjin's dinner party. It had been an announcement of sorts— A statement for investors and power players in the chain of supply to come forward. "I see."

"In the peak of the prohibition, it's going to make us a lot of money."

"I'm sure it is," the younger readily agrees, eyeing the label. The tagline intrigues him. "'Distilled for the eradication of seemingly incurable sadness?'" He reads it out, glancing expectantly at Namjoon.

The elder smiles, resting a casual hand on Jungkook's thigh as he sets the bottle on the table. "The war," he says under his breath, neglecting to elucidate in favor of changing the subject— It's also entirely possible that he thinks his explanation requires no further elaboration, and in a way, Jungkook supposes he's right. "We're looking to set up two distilleries; one towards the south of Birmingham, and another in Canterbury. It's going to create many employment opportunities, which I'm glad for."

"Are you telling me you're a man for the people?" Jungkook teases, even though he knows the man is being genuine. "How noble."

"Well, I'm hardly noble," Namjoon says humbly with a chuckle, "but I am a man of my people."

"And am I?" Jungkook asks, glancing around the room. Once he's positive no one is looking their way, he rests his hand on Namjoon's with a small smile. "Your people."

Immediately and without a single trace of hesitation, Namjoon interlaces their fingers. Lifting his hand, he turns it so that Jungkook's is facing up— Presses a kiss to the younger's knuckles without worry for his reputation, or the image they must present to anyone who so much as glances in their direction.

"Jungkook," he says, fond and true, "you are my person."

('And that,' the younger reflects, 'is much, much better.')

21.09.1921
London, Hampstead, The Jeon Estate

This is technically the day it all begins, though Jungkook doesn't know it at the time.

"Sir," his butler calls out, a tray balanced in his hands, "breakfast."

Humming, the younger doesn't look up from his papers. With the Derby drawing closer, there's been more and more work to do on Nia; almost all of his time is spent out on the green with her – as insisted upon by himself – and her supplies are of the highest quality – as insisted upon by Namjoon. Caring for the pretty filly costs dearly, and spoiling her buries him in enough paperwork to make him cry.

A minute goes by.

Sighing with exasperation, his butler lifts an eyebrow. "Sir," the elderly man says drily, "please. Busy as you are, you really must eat."

"I'm so sorry— Thank you," Jungkook mumbles guiltily, realizing he's being rude. He puts his work aside and lifts his gaze, before cocking his head at the tray; his eggs look a little runnier than they usually do, and his toast isn't quite as charred as the chef typically makes it. He's not too fussed about food in general, but he'll be the first to admit he's not crazy about any changes in his day-to-day routine. "By any chance, did someone else prepare my breakfast this morning?"

"We've hired a new chef, sir— He started this morning," his butler reminds him, picking up a half-filled jug of chilled water. He turns the glass on the tray over, and tips some into it for Jungkook to have alongside his coffee. "The last one had to leave; his wife is with child, and he's returned to Swansea to be with her through the last trimester."

"Ah," Jungkook says, shrugging it off. "I hope I gave him decent severance."

"You were more than generous, sir."

The eggs have a slightly thicker dash of pepper in them, but Jungkook finds that they taste just fine.

24.09.1921
London, Hampstead, The Jeon Estate

The Derby is in less than a fortnight.

Jungkook counts down to the 9th day of October like he's never counted down to anything before. He's confident in Nia; she's handling ground amazingly now, and after working out the kinks in her pasterns, she's on par with some of his stallions where speed is concerned. Though he knows she's jittery in new environments, he has every reason to believe she'll shake off any anxiety by the time she's unpenned at Epsom and led to the track.

He's rewarding her for a good run with crisp apples when Namjoon rocks up to the stables; the man has his hands in his pockets and a lit cigarette between his lips. "Anias," he greets the horse first, though his smile is for the both of them.

Nia blows at him, her tail swishing behind her. She has flowers in the braid of her mane— An impulse Jungkook had indulged in the morning, while they'd been out by the clearing.

"She's been doing very well," Jungkook laughs, very pleased. Nia's eating out of his hand, and he turns fond eyes on the way she gets through her treat. He thinks of feeding her a couple more, but she's already had a bunch— Much as she loves apples, he'd hate to ruin her diet at this stage of her training. "On par with my Irish Thoroughbred, even."

"On the green?"

"And off of it," Jungkook grins happily, holding out the core. Nia takes her last bite carefully from between his fingers, and he gently runs his hand over the slope of her muzzle. "She's a speedy one."

Plucking his cigarette from his lips, Namjoon chuckles. "I knew she had it in her from the moment I laid eyes on her, back at the auction."

"I'll confess that I hadn't been sure," Jungkook admits, eyes soft. Nia allows him to stroke her cheek twice more before she turns away, whinnying and heading for her water trough. "Nia is very young; when you'd mentioned wanting to race her, I'd been doubtful she would produce good results."

"She might not have, had I employed a different trainer."

"Now you're just flattering me."

Smirking, Namjoon wraps an arm around Jungkook's waist, drawing him closer. "I have it on very good authority," he mumbles teasingly, brushing his lips against the curve of the younger's jawline, "that flattery gets people everywhere."

Turning his head, Jungkook closes his eyes. He feels Namjoon's breath on the column of his neck, feels the elder's lips drag against the fluttering vein of his pulse. It always feels so good, being close to Namjoon like this— With the newfound knowledge of the depth of his feelings for his lover, it makes him feel like he's walking on air. "Not here," he manages somehow, sighing low and long when he's reluctantly released.

The look Namjoon gives him is hungry, but still filled with glowing affection.

It's in the little things, Jungkook knows, as he's watching Namjoon shed his overcoat in the bedroom. There's far more to be said about the elder in the way he treats others rather than himself— The way he treats his surroundings, even. It's almost as though Namjoon is careful with the universe, even as he trips and stumbles through it; he's careful to skirt every fragile, budding flower, leaving in his wake the potential for it to bloom.

Jungkook has no ruler to measure his feelings by; there has been no one else, no other time he's felt as much for someone as he has for the elder. He learns that he falls in love the same way he does everything else; fast, with the single-mindedness he'd inherited from his mother, and the passion his father had taught him to foster in his heart.

Namjoon is Jungkook's first love, and he wants Namjoon to be his only love.

Feeling the urge to share this – no matter how insane it sounds, no matter how quickly he's fallen down the rabbit hole – Jungkook gets up from the bed and walks over to the elder with his heart in his throat.

Still in the process of undoing his tie, Namjoon's hands still, and he turns an inquisitive look onto Jungkook. "Are you alright?" He asks, tenderly pinching the curve of the younger's chin and lifting his head. "We don't have to do anything but sleep, if you're tired—"

"I think I might be falling in love with you," Jungkook mumbles in a rush, desperate to get the words out before he loses his nerve. He thinks he's been falling in love with Namjoon for a while now— It's just been building and building and building; a natural process that's allowed Jungkook to grow into his feelings, slow and long and drawn out to accommodate his shyness. "I mean, I am. I'm falling in love— With you."

Namjoon's eyes widen a fraction. He's obviously surprised, but soon enough, he composes himself enough to gather Jungkook into his arms— Press an unbelievably sweet and chaste kiss to the younger's lips. "Good," he says, plain and simple.

Not exactly the response he'd expected to an essential confession of love. "Good?" Jungkook repeats after Namjoon, frowning.

"Good," Namjoon reconfirms, gently bumping their foreheads together as he smiles, "because I'm already in love with you, Jeon Jungkook."

30.09.1921
Birmingham, Small Heath

It's been almost a week following Namjoon's last visit to his estate, and there's been no contact other than a scattering of phone calls. It's fair to assume the elder's neck deep in work – what with the Derby around the corner and his newly christened gin business – so Jungkook decides it's his turn to make time and pay the elder a visit.

He brings a gift up with him, only to find that Namjoon's not in Small Heath for the day— He's out at a meeting up further north with Yoongi. It's disappointing, but Jungkook's kept entertained by Jimin and Taehyung at the betting den for most of the afternoon.

"Hoseok's at the Garrison with a bunch of other Blinders— Yoongi and Namjoon are meeting us there once they're back," the latter tells him, neatly sidestepping Jimin as the blonde heads towards Namjoon's office to drop off some papers. "We'll be done for the day soon; you can go first, if you want."

Smiling, Jungkook shakes his head. "I'll wait for you, since you won't be long."

Jimin pops his head out of Namjoon's office, lifting an eyebrow. "You can wait in here, then," he offers, beckoning the younger over with a wave of his hand. "Or at Namjoon's place, if he's given you a key?"

"Oh, I— No." Coloring, Jungkook ducks his head. The key to Namjoon's apartment hangs on a cord around his neck, the cold silver of it suddenly hot against his skin beneath his shirt. "That's alright. I'll just— I'll be in his office, then."

Namjoon's office is fairly ostentatious, the younger finds. Jimin's shut the doors to ensure he won't be bothered for the duration of his wait, and it leaves Jungkook free to look around. He doesn't pry – doesn't open any drawers or read any documents on the broad expanse of the elder's desk – but as it stands, the décor already says much of how Namjoon wants people to view him when he's on the job.

Rich, dark wood lends itself to an air of luxury, and tasteful glass lamps elegantly light the room. His couches are beautiful— A smooth, deep green with divots patterned across the leather. Jungkook places his gift for Namjoon on the coffee table – a lapel pin with a silk, butterfly-printed blossom – and occupies some time by pouring himself a drink.

The day is warm, and the sunlight that streams into the room through the curtains rouses an odd curl of lethargy in Jungkook's bones. Yawning, he plucks one of Namjoon's many books from the elder's shelves to keep himself awake – at least long enough for Taehyung or Jimin to drag him off to the Garrison with them – but reading through half-lidded eyes is a tall order for anyone, even though the betting den is busy and noise filters mutedly through the doors.

He ends up dozing off on the elder's sofa, eyes shielded from disturbance by the pages of Namjoon's book parted in the middle.

"Jungkook."

"Mmn."

There's a gentle, familiar sigh. Through the thick haze of sleep, Jungkook feels someone sitting beside him, and then a soft press of lips to his temple. "It's me," Namjoon murmurs, as though the younger could have possibly thought he were anyone else. "I'm sorry I wasn't here— I hadn't known you'd be coming up today."

"We've been seeing each other without notice for months now— This was bound to happen sooner or later, whether to you or me…" Grunting, Jungkook sluggishly blinks. At some point during his nap, Namjoon's book had fallen off of his face, and he's greeted by the sight of the elder on the couch, still in his overcoat.

Namjoon looks fucking exhausted.

It's enough for Jungkook to sober up, a cold chill running up his spine as he shifts. "What happened?" He asks in a hushed whisper, forcing himself to sit up against the arm of the sofa. It's night; there's no more sunlight filtering into the room, and they're illuminated just by the dim glow of a single lamp on the elder's table. "Namjoon, what's wrong?"

Shaking his head, Namjoon brushes the pad of his thumb over the curve of the younger's cheekbone. "No," he says, eyes dull and shoulders slumped. "No, Jungkook, it's nothing—"

Normally, Jungkook would let the matter die— Wouldn't press, wouldn't pry. But Namjoon just looks too stressed, and he can't ignore the discontentment the elder's countenance presents. "Don't give me that," he insists, though it sounds like more of a plea than an order. Cupping his lover's face between his hands, he chews on his lower lip and gentles his voice. "Please, Namjoon— You look like you've been to hell and back, and that hurts me."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Namjoon bows his head. "Jungkook—"

"Please," he says again, because he's been patient and unobtrusive and considerate of Namjoon's desire to keep his business out of their relationship, but the elder has never looked quite this weary and worn before. It frightens Jungkook. "Talk to me."

For a time, Namjoon stares at him. "I haven't been sleeping well," he confesses eventually, leaning back with his lips set in a hard line. "I've tried everything— Tiring myself out during the day, having a night cap or reading before I lay in bed; nothing's worked."

It's as though it hurts him to admit this, and Jungkook understands— Kim Namjoon is nothing if not a man who takes pride in his independence, and he hates not having control; hates the way his mind or his body can sometimes betray him in the worst ways.

"And then there are the nightmares," Namjoon mumbles under his breath, pulling Jungkook closer by tugging on his arm. There's a short silence wherein he rearranges them on the couch— He ends up burying his face against the column of the younger's neck, lashes tickling the spot just beneath Jungkook's ear. "They've… Changed."

"How so?"

Turning his head, Namjoon frowns. "They aren't about the war," he says, voice subdued. There's a mildly frantic edge to his eyes; it's as though he's trying to hold back panic— Trying to repress a very specific, tragic fear. "I've been having dreams of you, being… Taken, from me."

'Oh,' Jungkook thinks, mouth running dry as he swallows thickly. His hands fist into the fabric of Namjoon's overcoat. "I'm not going anywhere," he says, voice quieter than he'd like it to be— Less firm than he'd like it to be. "I'm not leaving you alone."

Tiredly, Namjoon sighs, breath warm against the divot of Jungkook's collarbones. "I don't know why I've been having these dreams, but I've been wondering if I've put you on the radar by taking you to Seokjin's dinner party," he mumbles, words muffled against the younger's jacket. Shaking his head, he sounds defeated and small; two things Jungkook had never wanted to hear in Namjoon. " Even though I thought it would have been a good move – that Sabini would know you were under my protection, that you were mine and not to be touched – these dreams, they're just so vivid, and I—"

It's at this point that Jungkook has an epiphany. He's been depending on Namjoon to be the strong one; the sure one, the confident one. He'd never thought about the elder having his own demons— Not about him, at least. It makes his heart ache, knowing that it had taken him this long to realize this:

Namjoon is not just the man he'd been in the war, or just the man he is on the streets, or just the man he is when he's with Jungkook. Namjoon is greater than the sum of his parts, and a living contradiction; a man who lives knowing he's died once, a man protecting his people through criminal activity, a man who is as gentle with Jungkook as he is capable of being violent.

Namjoon is only human, and sometimes he's weak and downtrodden and hopelessly insecure. Sometimes, the elder needs liquor to dull his pain, needs smoke to carry the stress that builds in his chest up his throat and out of his body. Sometimes, Namjoon falls ill – or down, or out – and he makes his mistakes; he covers them up better than most, but he does make them nonetheless.

Sometimes, Namjoon needs someone.

Seeing as Jungkook's the only one he's talking to right now, it isn't a stretch for him to believe Namjoon needs that someone to be him.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says again, forcing resolution into it— Making it a promise, making it a contract as he clasps Namjoon's hands between his own. Jungkook holds on tight; enough that his knuckles go a little white, enough that the veins on his wrist bulge, enough that the elder lifts his head of his own accord to stare at him. "I'm not going to leave you alone; not when it's taken me this long to find you."

"Find me?"

"Find you," Jungkook insists, lowering his head and closing his eyes. He can feel the light tremor of Namjoon's hands— Hear the mild hitch in his lover's breath as he presses a tender kiss to the man's ring finger. "I've been searching for you all my life, even if I hadn't known it."

When he next lifts his head, it's with a subtle inhale of appreciation. Namjoon's mouth is slightly gaped, an unprecedented pink flush high on his cheeks. It's a beautiful color on him.

(Jungkook is hopelessly, desperately in love with this man.)

"I've been so lonely without you, Namjoon," he breathes, the truth far less bitter on his tongue now that he's found his heart; albeit in the most unlikely of places, in the most unlikely of men. "And now that I've found you, I'm never going to let you go."

02.10.1921
London, The Stafford Hotel

The days leading up to the Derby are stressful, but Jungkook recognizes the burn of crunch time— Welcomes it, even.

He loves spending the extra time with Nia – loves taking care of her and making sure she's in her best condition – and there's a healthy glow to him that can only come from proper, hard labor in the sun. Jungkook remembers having the same exuberance in the past from having trained ascot winners with his father, from being out on the green for the better half of his day. It feels good to be busy, and he cheerfully collapses into his bed night after night, bone weary and limp.

(Of course, the fact that things seem to be going well between him and Namjoon also contributes significantly to his cheer.)

Still, as with any major sporting event in the country, there are formalities. There are some events he can afford to miss, but not even Jungkook – reclusive and disdainful as he is of high society in general – gets to disregard an invitation to one of the most exclusive parties hosted for sponsors, participants, partners and investors for the Epsom Derby.

It's a career thing, so he accepts his fate and drives himself down to the Stafford.

The only silver lining to the evening is how Namjoon is in attendance; how they're allowed to be attached at the hip, courtesy of the fact that they still share an employer-employee relationship. For most of the time they spend in the ballroom of the hotel, all talk of business is addressed by the elder, and all talk of Nia is directed at Jungkook. It's awkward at first, but they manage to figure it out and build some momentum in making their rounds.

"I don't know what you were worried about to begin with," Namjoon tells him, a couple of hours into the night. "I know you aren't fond of these affairs, but you seem to be managing just fine."

"Only for the fact that I've been doing nothing but talk about Nia," Jungkook mumbles, nursing a glass of champagne. He sets it aside, and is immediately accosted by an overtly eager waiter who offers him another— Timidly, he pinches the stem of the flute between his fingers and nods in reluctant gratitude. "Everyone here is competing in some way or another— Who has more diamonds or land or money. I don't like it."

Chuckling, Namjoon plucks the glass from Jungkook's hands, attuned to his distaste. He switches it with the glass of gin he's procured, and the younger gives him a grateful smile. "You do enjoy a relatively quiet life."

"All I need are horses," Jungkook agrees, lifting his new drink to his lips, "and some green to run them around."

The elder is busy giving him a contemplative look when they're approached by an elderly gentleman. He's holding a letter, and he extends it to Namjoon. "Mr. Sabini would like a word with you, sir," he murmurs under his breath.

Instantly, Namjoon adopts a neutral look on his face, and he sets his untouched champagne on a tray as a waitress passes them by. Accepting the letter politely, he glances at the old man with a shrewd look in his eyes. "Where might I find him?"

"The lounge, sir— It is on the fourth floor of the hotel."

"Tell him I will be there," Namjoon agrees, tearing the envelope around the wax; Sabini's family crest is pressed into the red seal. He protectively steps between Jungkook and the elderly messenger, cocking his head and diplomatically keeping his voice down. "However, it will be at my own time. There are still many people I have yet to speak to before I am available to speak with him."

"But—"

"Mr. Sabini should know that the north and the south are currently under a ceasefire; he has no power over me, nor any right to summon me," Namjoon continues, no longer giving the stranger his attention. He pulls Sabini's letter from its envelope instead, his eyes running over the lines of it. "I have received his invitation— I have even accepted it. I trust that he will be fully capable of keeping himself entertained in one of the finest lounges in London whilst I finish attending to business here."

The messenger looks worried. Still, there's little else he can do but heed Namjoon's dismissal, and he retreats.

"You can't possibly be serious about meeting Sabini alone," Jungkook blurts the second he feels it's safe to speak. This entire situation reeks of danger, and he's not about to let Namjoon waltz into the lion's den without saying his piece. "Do you really believe he's going to respect whatever… Truce, you were talking about? Neither Yoongi nor Hoseok are even in London, and I—"

The elder doesn't even hesitate to cut him off, pulling him a few steps over to a secluded corner of the ballroom without making eye contact. "You," Namjoon mumbles calmly, folding the letter into quarters and slotting it back into the envelope, "felt slightly ill, decided to call it a night, and left the building for home 5 minutes ago."

Gaping at him, the younger shakes his head, disbelieving. "Namjoon—"

"Jungkook," the elder whispers, lifting his head as he slips the envelope into the inner pocket of his overcoat. "I've planned for this to happen— Wanted it, even."

"You—" Mute with shock, Jungkook backs away from Namjoon unsteadily. "What?"

"It's high time Sabini and I sat down— Talked our way through a ceasefire with a reasonable compromise," Namjoon tells him lowly, eyes half-lidded. "The truce, as you've mentioned, is hardly doing a thing for either side. People are dying by the day – innocent civilians – and no one ever wins in a dispute like this."

Hell, Jungkook just wants to shake him. "You are alone here," he glowers, angry. For someone who'd come through the war, Namjoon had a stunning lack of self-preservation skills. "You are armed with a single pistol, and you are sending me – the one person who could help you, try to protect you – away."

"I am not sending you away, I am sending you to safety." Stepping to his side, Namjoon crowds Jungkook against the wall, caging him in with his arms. The length of his coat affords them a degree of privacy, especially considering how dimly lit their corner of the ballroom has grown over the course of the evening. "You are the one person," the elder breathes, "that I will not have standing between Sabini and I."

"Because I cannot take care of myself?" Jungkook challenges, lifting his head defiantly. "I've hunted game with my father; I know how to shoot. Setting that aside, I'm strong; I've grown up on the green, and—"

"I cannot lose you, Jungkook."

The younger falls silent, wanting to scream as he buries his face in his hands. "And am I supposed to be alright with it?" Jungkook argues weakly. He's tired of feeling frightened like this; sick of the anxiety that builds in his chest whenever Namjoon decides to protect him by telling him nothing— At least, till it's too late for him to do anything at all but let the elder have his way. "Losing you?"

"Jungkook, please—" Breaking off, Namjoon's face twists, and he leans forward till he's resting his forehead on the youngers shoulder. "Please," he murmurs again, desperate— Begging. "Go, for tonight. It won't be like this forever."

"That is what they always say."

"I am a man of my word, Jungkook."

He can't help the bitterness that wells up inside of him. It's like it's been building, and building, and building— Just like the love he has for Namjoon, it's boiled to the brim of Jungkook's capabilities to contain, and spilt over. "That is what they always say, too."

Taking in a deep breath, Namjoon leans back— Just enough so that he can brush his lips over the skin that's exposed by the parting of Jungkook's fringe. "Everything will be alright, I promise," he mumbles, low and filled with sincerity even as the younger blinks with shock. "I promise, Jungkook."

("I don't make promises. A man is only as good as his word— As a rule, I make every effort to avoid binding myself to someone else in that manner.")

"Okay," Jungkook whispers, helplessly curling his fingers into the lapels of Namjoon's jacket. There's nothing left to say, in the face of the elder's resolve. "Okay."

"I'm going to be fine," Namjoon reassures him, quiet and low as he puts his hands on Jungkook's shoulders. "I'll call you tonight, and I'll come over tomorrow. Everything is going to be fine; Sabini can't do anything to me."

That's probably a lie, but Jungkook's too far removed from the situation to do anything but nod. He's desperate to believe it's true, so he just takes a step back, letting Namjoon go. "Okay," he parrots himself, putting his hands into his pockets. His thumb loops into the ring of his car keys, and he tries to steady himself with a deep breath. "I'll— I'll wait, tonight. For your call."

Namjoon nods, moving aside without another word.

They walk towards the elevator together, Jungkook pushing the button. It arrives soon enough, and he steps in.

Alone.

"And Jungkook," Namjoon calls out gently, prompting the younger to turn on his heel one last time before the doors close between them.

The razors sewn into the brim of the elder's peaked cap gleam, and light from the nearest chandelier catches the metallic edges perfectly. In that moment, Jungkook's mind offers him the memory of Namjoon back at The Eden Club; the way he'd moved through the crowd, the way he'd come out of every altercation with every last one of Sabini's men unscathed— Alive, and well.

They say seeing is believing, and Jungkook has seen his Namjoon fight. He just needs to believe that the elder will be alright, and it will be so. It has to be.

"I am not only armed with a pistol," Namjoon corrects him gently, tapping the tip of his index finger against his cap.

And with that, the elder turns on his heel and is gone.

That night, Jungkook waits by the phone and prays to a god he doesn't believe.

It rings at an ungodly hour, and when he picks it up, he damn near sobs into the receiver with relief.

"I need to speak with your butler," Namjoon says at some point after Jungkook has stopped crying, has regained a fraction of his composure. The elder sounds apologetic but severe, and his tone brooks no argument. "Please, don't ask me any questions."

"Namjoon, it's coming to 4 in the morning—"

"I know, but it's important, and very urgent."

"Why on earth would you want to talk to my butler?" Shaking his head, Jungkook rolls his shoulders. They're sore— His whole body is sore from being wound up with tension for the last few hours. "You said you were coming tomorrow. Can't it wait till then?"

The elder is quiet for a while. "I want to know how safe you are in your own home," he says eventually, and Jungkook can just picture him in his own home, tousling his hair with a weary hand. "Much as rousing someone from their sleep irks me, I want— I need, to know about how secure the Jeon Estate is, Jungkook. I'm sure that your butler would be the best person to speak to regarding this matter, and that he'd understand my concerns regardless of the hour."

There's a very bad feeling Jungkook has about all of this, but he does as Namjoon asks of him anyway.

(That's par for course, though; at this point, he's fairly sure that he'd walk through the gates of hell if he were led by the elder's hand.)

His butler is understanding enough that he wakes without complaint, especially once he learns of what Namjoon wants to speak with him about. Jungkook still apologizes profusely to the elderly man on the way back to his office, and upon their arrival, he helplessly gestures towards the phone.

The resulting conversation between Namjoon and his butler is conducted with Jungkook on the other end of the room, and he hears nothing of it.

03.10.1921
London, Hampstead, The Jeon Estate

Murphy's law; an adage or epigram that is typically stated as, "anything that can go wrong will go wrong." It strikes when one least expects it, but hindsight is 20/20.

Jungkook is out on the green with Nia when it happens.

It's too early in the day for Namjoon to come calling; the man had specifically said he'd be dropping by in the afternoon. Jungkook had spent all of his time leading up to the elder's visit with their filly, giving her an opportunity to stretch her legs and taking her farther into the forest than he'd ever done before.

Horses are incredibly sensitive creatures—Animals generally tend to be more attuned to their surroundings. Nia comes to an abrupt stop near the clearing, and she turns in the direction of the Jeon Estate.

It's unusual enough that Jungkook tightens his grip on her reins. "Woah," he frowns, leaning forward and resting a calming hand on her shoulder. "Take it easy— What's wrong?"

Nia snorts, loud and angry as she kicks at the ground, and she rears back with her ears pricked forward. It's how Jungkook knows that something is incredibly wrong; while the filly is excitable around him, she's never behaved in such a manner. "Alright," he murmurs, tugging sharply on her reins and steering her towards the house. "Let's go home, girl. You've got some juice in you yet, right?"

She does, and they make it back in record time. When they do, Jungkook slows Nia to a gradual canter and tries to come to terms with what he sees.

The front doors to his manor are swung right open, and even without checking, he knows there are no people in the house. The air feels colder, somehow— Dead. There's no activity within the halls of his family home; no bustle or business. When he draws closer to the great looming household, he finds that all of his automobiles are gone from the driveway; even the one his father had bought for his mother on their anniversary.

He doesn't understand.

"Stay here, Nia," Jungkook tells the filly, voice shaky as he dismounts her. She seems to understand how he's struggling to comprehend the situation— How confused and lost he is. Obediently, she stays close to the steps, and Jungkook takes them two at a time into his home.

It's chaos.

Every single room has been ransacked. His office – where he spends the most time – reflects the worst of it; his books are scattered across the floor, and he can't seem to find the ones handpicked and preserved by his mother's love for reading. Oil paintings have been snatched off the nails holding them up, even the ones his father had done by hand. All of his money is gone from the safes he has hidden around the house, and his family jewels have been taken from his bedroom— Every last article of clothing he has is gone from his wardrobe.

His staff are nowhere to be found.

"The horses," he breathes, heart clenching as he turns on his heel. Jungkook nearly trips down the stairs, running through the staff quarters – deserted – and taking a shortcut to the stables through the herb garden.

The doors to his stables are wide open, and the gate to each pen is unlocked. The stallions, mares, fillies and studs are all gone. Every last custom-made saddle, every set of reins, every crop— Gone.

Everything he has is gone.

Jungkook feels panic grip him – feels his skin grow too tight for his body, feels cold and alone and afraid – and he's just about to scream when he hears a voice right behind him.

It's a policeman, and he has his badge raised. "Mr. Jeon Jungkook," he says, a sympathetic look in his eyes as the younger sags against the nearest bale of hay. "You're under arrest for racketeering, conspiring to fix the Epsom Derby and colluding with the Peaky Blinders in crimes against the crown."

He thinks of his parents while he's sitting in the cell, head tipped back as he stares up at the stone ceiling.

His mother had been an amazing, beautiful woman. Enterprising and brave, too— It'd been how she'd nabbed his father, Jungkook knows. They'd met at the turn of the century, swiftly falling in love and in life together; they'd had him very shortly after their marriage, and moved from their respective hometowns – Basildon and Chelmsford – to London.

They'd bought the Jeon Estate with old money, investing in having new stables erected for their business. It's probably somewhat biased of him to say this, but Jungkook firmly believes that his parents were the best horse breeders and trainers in England. They created a name for themselves by turning out ascot winner after ascot winner, and though he'd only been a child during his parents' heyday, he remembers looking up to them and wanting to just… Be, them.

Instead, he'd lost everything they'd given him.

It's been hours and hours, Jungkook imagines, though he can't be sure. He's just about to start thinking about Namjoon when the man himself rounds the corner, his face stormy. He's up on his feet in seconds, hands wrapped around the bars as tears fill his eyes. "Nam—"

"Jungkook, we don't have much time—"

Bowing his head, Jungkook chokes on a sob. "Namjoon," he cries, shoulders shaking as his fingers tighten around the bars. "The estate, the horses and— Nia, I left her out front and I don't know— Everything was gone—"

Namjoon inhales sharply. He puts his hands through the bars, cupping Jungkook's face and brushing his thumb over the swell of his cheeks. "Shh," he says, eyes filled with pain as he watches the younger fall apart. "It's okay, Jungkook. I told you, everything is going to be okay—"

"Y-You can't be here," Jungkook realizes suddenly, filled with horror. Lifting his gaze, he puts his hands over Namjoon's and shakes his head furiously, his vision blurry and his head full of cotton. "You— They must be looking for you. I was arrested because— One of the crimes, it had to do with the Peaky Blinders—"

"Jungkook—"

"You need to go, now—"

Gripping the younger by the shoulders, Namjoon gives him a good hard shake— It's almost violent enough to make Jungkook slam his forehead against the bars; he just barely manages to retain his balance, though, and he stares at the elder with wide, stunned eyes. "Listen to me carefully; I'll be fine here," he declares sternly, fingers digging into Jungkook's biceps. He doesn't sound anxious, or even just worried— He sounds livid. "Sabini can't touch me, but he can touch you."

His blood runs cold, and Jungkook weakly staggers back. "What?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, the elder's eyes are dark with malice. "I had it on good authority that he was going to act today," Namjoon deadpans tonelessly, "before I visited your estate— Before the sun went down."

'God,' Jungkook thinks to himself. He's breaking out in a cold sweat; his hands feel clammy, and he wants to break something. "But you said that we would be fine," he insists feebly, looking through the bars at Namjoon, whose jaw is tense. "That appearing in public together would be the safest way—"

"I know what I said," Namjoon whispers harshly, glancing over his shoulder. A guard – who has obviously been paid off – is watching him with narrowed eyes, and the elder turns his attention back to Jungkook. "But the meeting I had with Sabini yesterday, after you left the Stafford— It changed things."

"I told you not to go alone—"

"It wouldn't have mattered whether I'd went with an entire army, Jungkook— Matter of fact, it wouldn't have even mattered if I turned up at all; not where it came to this." Wearily, Namjoon palms his face. "Sabini has lost his mind in this war for territory between us and his family; he has no code of honor remaining. He was always going to do this; always going to use you against me."

The situation seems hopeless; Jungkook finds it hard to breathe, and he clutches the thin fabric of his shirt over his heart. "What am I going to do?" He whispers, more to himself than Namjoon as he stares down at his riding boots. They're caked with dirt and stained with mud— The mud of his green, his family's land. "I've lost it all; I have no place to go—"

"You're going to Wales."

Blinking in surprise, Jungkook gapes at Namjoon. "Wales?"

"Wales," Namjoon murmurs without missing a beat, reaching through the bars again. He holds the younger's hand, tugging him closer and speaking low enough that the guard on duty won't hear him. "I've bought you a house, Jungkook— One far, far away from here. Your staff and all of your things are well on their way. Your horses are there, and there's green for you to run them on."

What the fuck.

Jungkook doesn't even know what to say to that – or rather, where to even begin – but he feels anger spark in him. It's hot; his blood is boiling, and the only thing stopping him from wrenching his fists into Namjoon's collar is the fact that he loves him. "You planned all of this?" He snarls, eyes hard as he disentangles their fingers. "I thought I'd lost everything that I had left of my parents— You let me believe that?"

"I had no choice in the matter, Jungkook." Namjoon pleads, and there's something broken in his facial expression. "There was no time, and I didn't know when Sabini's men were going to strike, only that they intended to do it today. They planted someone in your household – a chef, or a kitchen hand – and he was going to let all of them in."

'The new cook,' Jungkook remembers, numb and disbelieving as he stares at the elder through the bars. "What happened to him?" He asks, unsure of why he really cares at this point. "The man that Sabini had put in my home."

Namjoon's eyes harden. "Yoongi happened to him," he says, succinct and simple. "He was already in London, conducting business with Seokjin at his manor."

"Jesus."

"When I spoke to your butler yesterday, I told him to be prepared to move at any given moment," Namjoon explains, subdued and hesitant. "I called just shy of noon, right after Yoongi had done his job. He told me you'd been out on the green for the entire morning— I said I'd send someone for you, and that he needed to leave with the rest of your staff and things."

"And you sent a policeman?" Jungkook growls, infuriated. "You couldn't think of a better way to protect me than by having me arrested?"

"We— The Peaky Blinders own the cops in London, Jungkook. I knew you'd be safe here—"

"I would have been safer with you— I would have at least felt safer with you!" Jungkook shouts, slamming his fists on the bars. Namjoon recoils, a beaten look in his eyes as he straightens up, and at any other moment, Jungkook would have felt ashamed to have put that expression on the face of the man he loved. But he's too angry – too bitter, too betrayed – to feel anything other than a prick of satisfaction. "You called my house yesterday and asked to talk to my butler, which means you could have told me— Could have warned me that at some point, this could have happened!"

"Please, Jungkook, I was going to talk to you about everything today, but there was no time. You were out of the house, and I knew I might not have been able to reach you in time myself—"

"No, Namjoon. Just— Don't." God, Jungkook feels twice his age. Abruptly, he loses all the energy he has, and he sags against the nearest wall of his cell. The elder approaches him, an apology on the tip of his tongue, but he preemptively holds up a hand. "I don't want to fucking hear it, alright? You crossed a line— You've crossed every line there is to cross, and I'm sick of letting you do that to me."

Namjoon's eyes grow dull, and he takes in a deep breath.

Silence passes between them for a long time, and it's loaded with tension. Jungkook wants to cry and shout and throw a fit – wants to strangle Namjoon and kiss him and fight him and fuck him in the same breath – but he doesn't. He's behind bars because of the man he loves, and his staff and all of his worldly possessions have been moved— No matter the elder's intentions, he doesn't know how to feel anything but furious.

"I've brokered safe passage for you," Namjoon mumbles under his breath eventually, breaking the silence. His words make Jungkook glance sideways at him with a tired sag of his shoulders, unsure of what choice he has in the matter. "A Gypsy in my allegiance will come for you once the sky turns dark— He'll take you to Wales."

"And if I don't want to go?" Jungkook asks bitterly, already sure of the answer as he scoffs. "If I want to stay here, with you?"

Namjoon averts his eyes, a bitter, humorless laugh spilling from his lips. "I thought you'd rather wring my neck yourself."

"I would if I could, just a little," Jungkook tells him honestly, reaching out and grabbing onto Namjoon's tie. He drags him closer, ignoring the way the elder's cheek accidentally knocks against one of the bars between them. "But anger is not the absence of love," he murmurs, sincere and true. He stares into Namjoon's eyes, willing him to understand the depth of his words— The commitment he has to their relationship. "And even with all that's happened – all that you've done, and will do – I am still in love with you."

(It's the first time he's said it out loud, exactly like that. The words don't catch in his throat; they spill forth like a dam's been broken, and it feels like he's been waiting to say them all his life.)

Breath heavy, Namjoon shakes his head. "I am a dangerous man to want in your life," he says quietly, voice wavering. "Let alone have."

"I'm the one in a jail cell," Jungkook says drily, letting go of the elder's tie. "Believe me, I am more than fully aware of that."

"You deserve better than this— Than me."

"I don't care."

"You should."

"Well, I don't."

It's like something snaps in the elder at this declaration. "Well, lucky for you, I do," Namjoon says, eyes colder than Jungkook's ever seen them. He backs away from the bars, swallowing thickly and averting his gaze. "Once you arrive in Wales, you'll be grounded there and under probationary house arrest by the law— You won't be able to leave your property for a year."

Jungkook's heart damn near stops. "What?" He rasps, panic clogging his throat as he reaches for the elder through the bars. He knows what's happening, what Namjoon's trying to do— Separate them by force, cutting him away from the danger that getting involved with the Peaky Blinders has afforded him. "No, you can't—"

"Security by the crown will be placed at your gates— They'll be instructed on who can pass," Namjoon continues, monotonous and dull. "Jimin and Taehyung are on the list."

"Please—"

"They'll be up to visit you once the Derby is over, when the dust has settled between us and the Sabini family," the elder speaks over him, tugging on the lapels of his overcoat. The pin Jungkook had given him glints almost mockingly at him, resting squarely above the crest of Namjoon's collarbone. "Yoongi, Hoseok and Seokjin… They're on the list too."

Tears well up in Jungkook's eyes, and they spill over his cheeks. "And you?" He asks, even though he already knows the answer. He knows Namjoon— Knows what he's done. "Are you on the list?"

Lowering his head, Namjoon keep silent. He turns on his heel to leave without dignifying Jungkook's question with a response.

Looking at the elder's retreating back has never been more painful for Jungkook. "Namjoon, please," he begs brokenly, fists clenched around the bars as he sobs like a child. He hadn't meant for this to happen, hadn't meant to love so fiercely, but it's happened and he doesn't know how to cope with this— With losing the only man he's ever given himself to in every sense of the word. He feels like he's dying. "Namjoon, don't leave me, not like this—"

Namjoon pauses at the bottom of the steps— He doesn't look back. "I love you," He says, one last time before he's gone. "So much. I'm sorry."

It sounds an awful lot like goodbye.

Jungkook certainly cries like it is.

11.09.1921
Wales, The Jeon Estate

Life is terribly anti-climactic, and it doesn't often dole out happy endings. Jungkook has been in Wales for 8 days when the Epsom Derby comes to pass, and all he can do is read its outcome in the papers.

Nia takes the whole damn race in stride.

They call her a miracle; say that her hooves have been blessed by the Gypsies up north. He feels pride blossom in his chest, till he sees Namjoon's severe face in the papers. The elder is standing in front of Nia, and his eyes are hollow even as he receives a royal ascot for Nia's grand win.

He looks empty, somehow, like the light's gone out in him.

If he thinks about it, Namjoon has to be fucking miserable. The war had taken a sizable chunk out of him— Emotionally, mentally, physically. Being the leader of the Peaky Blinders isn't all it's cracked up to be, and when the elder had finally allowed himself to love, he'd lost. The problem with Namjoon is that he gives of himself too freely, and he holds nothing sacred. He's handed out parts of himself to his country – to his brothers, to Jungkook – till there's nothing left, till he only has enough of him for him to torture himself with the lack of it.

Jungkook wonders sometimes, if Namjoon thinks he's been forsaken by god.

Still, even with all these things considered, there's absolutely no doubt about it; Jungkook is angry. He's fucking livid, and there's so much he wants to do and say, but he's a bird in a cage. Namjoon hadn't been joking about the restrictions he has placed on him— For the next year, just leaving the boundaries of his own estate could very well result in him being hanged. In turn, he'll be pardoned and exonerated of all his charges if he serves out the full term of his house arrest.

He has to admit that no matter how mad he is, Namjoon had really thought this one through. A year isn't long, but it's an eternity nonetheless. Many things can happen in a year, and Jungkook knows that the elder is hoping he'll move on; that he'll find someone else to occupy his time. Someone less dangerous, or perhaps someone who loves horses and gin even more than he does—

Anyone but Namjoon, basically.

Looking out of the window, Jungkook is pensive and calm. It's a beautiful afternoon, and he's been in Wales for 8 days.

"357 to go," he mumbles absently, eyes dull even as the sun streaks through the blinds, generously painting its warm light over the curves of his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. Folding the papers, he tips his head over the back of his sofa and smiles bitterly. The stretch of his neck pulls at the raw and tender skin beneath his new tattoo – his first one, actually – and he lifts a hand to touch the edges of the bold, black lettering that arches across his chest.

'Non est absque amore non vita,' he thinks, closing his eyes and clinging to the words.

('There is no life without love.')

Already, Jungkook knows where he's going – who he's seeing – the day he tastes freedom again.