Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

2018

Soft breath against his face—dark eyes that meet his, unblinking, that hold him frozen on the spot as though two hands had reached out to grasp the sides of his face.

Rushing in his ears; louder, louder, like ocean waves or wind in the trees, then as turbulent as a car rushing through an underground tunnel in the middle of the night--

Then silence.

Jeongguk's eyes flutter open to meet the whispery outlines of his bedroom furniture in the dark. He rolls over to check the time on his phone; brightness assaults his eyes and he has to blink ten times before he can make out 3:43 AM.

He turns off his phone screen and rolls over, crushing his face into his pillow. It was a bad dream—a dream of being found, being held, being out of control--

But it wasn't entirely a nightmare, not really, because in his dream, Jeongguk hadn't been frightened.

And it wasn't entirely a dream, because part of it had really happened.

Jeongguk knows that face—he knows that man, and whether it's just paranoia or a strange kind of a premonition, he has a feeling that they're going to see each other again.

Go back to sleep, he tells himself. You have work in the morning.

He rolls over again, restless. Fidgets. Turns back over and twists himself in his blankets. Reminds himself that he's well-hidden, that it isn't as if people can just smell Vigil on his skin or see it tattooed across his forehead. He's safe.

Long minutes tick by in the silent emptiness of his apartment.

When Jeongguk finally drifts off, he dreams of running.

2004

In his seven years of being alive, the two accomplishments that Jeongguk is the most proud of are as follows: 1) the time when his art teacher put his fish painting up in the school's front display case and his mom took a picture of him in front of it, and 2) being better at hide and seek than anyone else in the neighborhood.

The second is Jeongguk's childish claim to fame. No one else is better at finding hiding places than he is. For one thing, he's small for his age, not to mention flexible—he can fit in odd nooks and crannies that other children can't. But he has an eye for it, too, a talent for hiding in plain sight. His older brother, Jeonghyun, might look for him in the bathroom and behind the shower curtain in the tub, but he won't remember to look in between the curtain and the liner—and that's where Jeongguk will be hiding, completely silent, still and flat so there's no bump in the curtain at all.

Once, during Jeonghyun's birthday party, Jeongguk hides in a hollow tree stump in the woods that make up part of their backyard. He hides so well that no one finds him for a long time. It's so long, ten minutes stretching into half an hour into an hour and a half, that by the time Jeongguk realizes that they've given up looking and emerges to find the other kids, they've already eaten all the birthday cake and have moved on to opening presents in Jeongguk's living room.

One person catches Jeongguk peering in the doorway at the party inside.

“Hey,” Seokjin says, patting the floor next to him. “C'mere.”

Jeongguk sits, torn up pieces of wrapping paper crinkling beneath him. He sees a purple ribbon strewn over the arm of a nearby chair and reaches for it, winding it around his wrist. “Tie it for me?” he asks Seokjin with wide eyes.

Seokjin is Jeongguk's closest friend, though he's several years older—older even than Jeonghyun. He lives next door and comes over for dinner nearly every night that Jeongguk and Jeonghyun aren't already at his house. Jeongguk likes Seokjin the most because he notices him. Seokjin never treats him like he's too little to be worthwhile.

Tying the ribbon around Jeongguk's wrist into a slightly-lopsided bow, Seokjin reaches into his back pocket. “I saved you candy,” he informs Jeongguk, dropping four slightly-smushed chocolate candies into his hand. “You weren't there for cake. Were you hiding the whole time?”

He was, but he's not going to admit it. “I was busy.”

“With what?”

“Stuff,” Jeongguk sniffs, like Seokjin isn't qualified to receive that information, and then lets his expression melt into something a little more honest—gratitude, maybe. “Thank you.” He unwraps a chocolate.

“Don't eat it all at once,” Seokjin chides, one eye fixed on Jeonghyun as he opens a new set of Legos, the other trained critically on Jeongguk.

Grinning at him, exposing the chocolate smeared across his front teeth, Jeongguk sticks out his tongue. “Watch me.”

2005

Even at age eight, Jeongguk can describe Adroits and Vigils down to the exact words of the textbook definition. He can recite word-for-word that Adroits are strong and Vigils are weak, that they serve the government in Pairs to protect the nation, that an Adroit looks to a Vigil for guidance but that a Vigil treats an Adroit with utter submission. Jeongguk remembers that after tuning 13, a Vigil or an Adroit is able to exercise their special skill—for Adroits, a superhuman physical gift; for Vigils, a power in the realm of the psychic. If asked, he could even remember the indicator: normal people like him, Austeres, bleed red, while an Adroit bleeds black and a Vigil bleeds blue. His second grade Societal Foundations teacher would be thrilled.

Jeongguk knows other things about Adroits and Vigils that he didn't learn in class, things that no one has ever told him but he learned all the same. He knows that Adroits are revered. They are the ones who hold influential positions in the government or preside over huge corporations. He knows that complete respect for an Adroit is always expected and always received.

On the other hand, Vigils are even lower than Austeres. Though powerful in their own right, they are dangerous without regulation—hence they must be kept in check by their Adroit Pair and never be offered opportunities to exercise their skills without express permission. There are more laws regulating what Vigils may do with their bodies than there are for women—and that's saying something.

These are the unspoken truths. Jeongguk has seen enough television and heard enough adult discussion to learn them well.

And yet, despite the fact that Jeongguk knows all about Vigils and Adroits, he's never met one. The two special ranks make up only a tiny fraction of a percent of the population—besides that, they are all required to serve the Agency of National Security in the capital city, Seoul. Since he's only a kid living in a small country town, Jeongguk has never come into contact with anything but Austeres. No one even uses the term Austere, except on government identification, because without the presence of special ranks, they're all just regular people.

To Jeongguk, Vigils and Adroits are near-mythical creatures. He wonders occasionally if he's met one and didn't know—sometimes he passes someone in the aisles of the grocery store and thinks, what if that lady is an Adroit? But it's fantasy, imagination, never reality.

“It's an Adroit's world,” Jeongguk's mother comments bitterly once, reading about investments in the newspaper. “It's as if we're constantly grasping at their leftovers.”

Jeongguk's father shushes her and tells her not to say such things in front of the children, but it sticks in Jeongguk's mind as he grows up. His mother's analysis, he finds, is fairly accurate. She's left one thing out, though.

It is an Adroit's world, yes, and the Austeres are the runner ups. But in the end, it's the Vigils who get only the leftovers.

2006

Stretched out in his backyard at the very cusp of the night, Jeongguk stares up at the sky, clear of everything besides darkness and stars. There's faint noise streaming in with the light from his kitchen window; the occasional rustle of small animals in the grass blends into the whisper of the night breeze, but otherwise it's quiet.

Looking up at the impossible expanse of the night sky, Jeongguk feels invisible, and it's a good thing.

He doesn't particularly want to be inside right now while his parents argue about power dynamics in society. His mother thinks that Adroits and Vigils are getting too much legal attention—“they should all be deported,” she says—and taking the focus away from the issues of “normal people.” Jeongguk's father believes that Vigils have too much freedom and Adroits have too much influence, but he's more concerned about Vigils masquerading as normal people than he is about the special ranks as a whole.

Jeonghyun and Seokjin had escaped from the table up to Jeonghyun's room as soon as possible, and Jeongguk had slipped out the back door, sick of the raised voices and tense atmosphere.

Why can't Vigils and Adroits just live the same as everyone else? Jeongguk wonders. He wishes his parents would stop talking about it.

Now, suddenly, the darkness feels lonely. Jeongguk sits up, glancing back at the house just in time to notice Seokjin descending the steps of the back porch.

“Jeongguk? Want to come watch a movie?”

Of course he does.

The laws of men and the stars in the sky are forgotten for the sake of Spiderman, and Jeongguk stops being invisible for a while.

During the quiet scenes, the sounds of his parents voices drift into the living room from the kitchen, and Jeongguk wishes that he could take himself and the movie a million miles away.

2010

When Jeongguk first enters middle school, he's smaller than the other boys, quieter. He's too good at sports for them to tease him about that, but there's a certain group that snickers when they pass him in the hallway, that will step on his backpack if he sets it on the floor next to his desk.

It's irritating, but not devastating, and Jeongguk ignores it until one day they simply stop paying attention to him.

“How come the teacher never calls on you?” Jeongguk's friend Yugyeom mumbles on their way to lunch. He's still nursing the emotional wound of being called on to demonstrate a problem that he couldn't solve. “That was fucking humiliating.”

Jeongguk shrugs, his mind more on what his mother had packed in his lunch. “It's fine, you'll recover.”

“I won't,” Yugyeom insists. “Yerin saw the whole thing! She probably thinks I'm a dumbass.”

“Don't worry,” Jeongguk supplies, adjusting his jacket. “She probably already thought you were a dumbass.”

“Jeongguk!” Yugyeom socks him in the arm, hard, and Jeongguk rubs at the spot, frowning. “I mean, like, I was gonna ask her for her number soon, but now she'll turn me down.”

“Maybe she thought it was cute?”

“As if.” Yugyeom's face is full of storm clouds. “This literally never happens to you. I don't get it. You're even worse at math than I am, but you never get in trouble for it. What's your magic?”

For the first time, Jeongguk considers the phenomenon. Yugyeom is right—teachers never call on him when he doesn't want to be called on. Why?

“I dunno,” Jeongguk says. “If I see them looking at me, I just sort of think don't look at me really hard and they look away. Maybe they can sense the irritation.”

Yugyeom throws him a blank look. “That's bullshit.”

Shrugging, Jeongguk purses his lips. “Or I'm just lucky.”

“Or your face is so boring that you blend right into the walls,” Yugyeom mumbles, obviously irritated. “Whatever. Let's just go eat lunch.”

Jeongguk couldn't have agreed more.

As spring arrives with warm weather in tow, Jeongguk and his friends are drawn from their houses to the outdoors like meerkats poking out of their tunnels after the stampede of winter has passed. They play basketball, race each other around the swing set, and climb trees in the park, soaking up the fresh spring sunlight.

Today, unlike usual, it's just Jeongguk and Yugyeom. The best climbing tree is free of other people, and Yugyeom suggests they see who can climb the highest.

Jeongguk is a good climber, but he's cautious too. He climbs up six branches before he feels he's gone far enough and decides to come back down, his feet tentative and steady on the heavy branches.

“I can beat that any day,” Yugyeom scoffs, scrambling up the trunk and moving higher, higher, higher, until he's so high that Jeongguk starts to worry.

“I'm not sure those branches are safe,” he calls out nervously.

“They're plenty safe,” Yugyeom assures him, stepping higher just to prove it. “Look!”

Jeongguk bites his lip, worried. “You've beat me now. You should come down.”

Rolling his eyes, Yugyeom starts to shimmy down the tree. “Don't be such a pansy. I'm fine.” His feet descend branch after branch, and Jeongguk remembers to breathe again. “I know exactly what I'm doing--”

Distracted by the conversation, Yugyeom's foot misses the second branch from the ground, and he loses his grip, crashing down as Jeongguk looks on in utter horror.

Yugyeom groans. “Fuck,” he says, clutching at his arm. It's been badly cut by one of the branches; blood seeps from underneath his fingers. “It hurts so much, what the fuck,”

Jeongguk doesn't know quite what to do. When he gets hurt at home, his mother takes him straight to the medicine cabinet and bandages him up. Right now, they're too far from home—and Jeongguk is afraid.

“What do I do?” he asks, eyes wide, knees shaking.

“Ice,” Yugyeom mumbles. “Disinfectant. Band-aid...”

There's a convenience store across the street from the park. “Wait here,” Jeongguk says, sprinting across the grass.

He enters the store, heading straight to the first-aid section and grabbing the biggest band-aids he can find, along with rubbing alcohol and some cotton swabs. Then he finds the freezers and picks out a popsicle---he'd seen the purplish bruise forming on Yugyeom's forehead.

It occurs to him in a sudden, terrible moment that he doesn't have any money on him, just his phone. Fuck.

How is he going to pay for this? He can't wait any longer; Yugyeom really needs these band-aids. His hands shake.

He's going to have to shoplift.

Carefully, Jeongguk moves around the corner of one of the aisles. There's no one in the store except him and the cashier. He looks around for the nearest security camera, locates it, and dodges out of its line of vision. Then he slips the items into his hoodie.

Now all he has to do is get out without being noticed.

Jeongguk takes a deep breath, turns around, and nearly runs straight into the cashier, who has wandered from his place behind the counter to restock one of the shelves.

Oh, God. He's seen Jeongguk stuffing his sweatshirt—or even if he somehow missed that, there's no way he'll miss the bulge around Jeongguk's waist from this close up. Jeongguk holds his breath, and waits for the confrontation.

It doesn't happen. He blinks, surprised, then nearly falls over as the cashier moves around him, looking right at him but not focusing on him, and continues on down the aisle.

Did that really just happen? There's no way he didn't notice that. It's as if he saw straight through Jeongguk, as if he weren't even aware he were there.

Not stopping any longer to dwell on the strange event, Jeongguk takes the opportunity to exit the store, his heart beating in overdrive. He rushes across the street to bring the supplies to Yugyeom, but he's more shaken by the events in the convenience store even than Yugyeom's injury itself.

“Are you okay?” Yugyeom asks once they've patched up his arm. “You seem spooked. I'm fine, really, Jeongguk.” He holds the packaged popsicle against his bruise. “The bleeding is stopped. You can calm down.”

Jeongguk doesn't know how to tell him about what had happened—it doesn't make sense to him, either—so instead he says, “I know. Let's go home.”

Instead of coming down to dinner that evening, Jeongguk locks his door to keep out Jeonghyun and his parents, claiming a stomachache, and stares up at his ceiling.

What is happening to him?

An acute awareness of his pseudo-invisibility buzzes around Jeongguk's head incessantly after the events at the convenience store. It's irritating, inescapable, like a fly that has stumbled into a car and just won't find its way out the window.

Now that he's paying attention, he realizes with no small degree of shock that it happens far too often and far too conveniently to be a coincidence. Whenever someone looks at him and he wishes for them not to notice him, their eyes slide right off like he's an extra in a movie, just outside their realm of perception.

A few experiments with Yugyeom and his Korean teacher confirm it for Jeongguk—there's something different about him, some ability that he has which sets him apart from the average person. It's exciting for about a day—Jeongguk feels like the next Superman—until he starts to wonder why he's so unique. Too soon, the fact of his own power begins to scare him.

Why him?

It's a question he can't answer on his own, so he goes to the one person he trusts the most in the world—Kim Seokjin.

Of course Seokjin—older, mature, calm and confident Seokjin—knows exactly how to respond when Jeongguk knocks on his door after school on a Tuesday afternoon, distraught. Seokjin takes him up to his bedroom, locks the door, and makes Jeongguk accept a glass of water before he'll even hear him out.

“I'm all ears,” Seokjin says, lounging on his bed. “Tell me about it.”

Jeongguk explains nervously, making little sense. He stops himself, bites his lip, and starts again, clearer this time. His fingers tremble around his glass—will Seokjin believe him?

Of course he does. Seokjin considers him seriously through his dark-rimmed glasses, takes them off to clean the lenses with the hem of his shirt, and perches them back on the bridge of his nose. “Show me.”

“Okay,” Jeongguk says hesitantly. “Just… try concentrating on me, and don't look away.”

Seokjin nods and fixes his eyes attentively on Jeongguk's face, squinting in focus.

Don't look at me, Jeongguk thinks, and sure enough, Seokjin's attention shifts immediately to the furniture beside him, his face bearing the telltale expression of a person staring into space. It's as if he doesn't know Jeongguk is in the room.

“Hey,” Jeongguk says, and Seokjin's eyes snap back to him, startled.

“Whoa,” he whispers, obviously rattled. “That was… weird. My attention just left you. Like, I didn't realize you were there anymore until you talked again.”

Jeongguk is 100% right about his ability. He swallows. “What do you think is wrong with me?”

“Wrong?” Seokjin laughs. “Not a goddamn thing, Jeongguk. Want to know what I think? You're practically the next Avenger.”

Despite himself, Jeongguk snorts with laughter. “No way. But that's not what I mean—I mean—I dunno what I mean, I guess. Where do you think it comes from?”

Seokjin shrugs. “No clue. What does it matter? It's a superpower, and it's a cool one, too. No one has to know you've got it unless you tell them.”

When Seokjin explains it, everything sounds simple. The assurance that everything will work out floods Jeongguk's tense shoulders, and they droop in relief. “You think?”

“Of course.” Seokjin nudges his shoulder, grinning. “No need to get worked up about it. Want to play Mario Kart?”

Jeongguk is on his feet in a second. “Ready to be fuckin' ended?”

Seokjin purses his lips. “Not in my house, I'm not.”

Jeongguk forgets all his worries about his power, all the stresses over his abnormality when he's around Seokjin. When he's with Seokjin, life seems simple—easy.

It's why he loves him most in the world.

2013

“A rogue Vigil,” Jeongguk's mother says, staring at the newspaper in a state of grotesque fascination, “just twenty miles away in the next town. Could you have even imagined?”

“Darling,” Jeongguk's father warns, glancing anxiously at Jeongguk, who is filling out a science worksheet on the other end of the dining table.

“Oh, hush, he's old enough that he should know about this kind of thing,” she says, which peaks Jeongguk's interest.

“What kind of thing?”

Setting down the paper and settling back in her chair, Jeongguk's mother gets the same glint in her eye that she always gets when she tells a story—but this time, there's something uncomfortable there, too, lacing itself into her expression. Jeongguk is curious.

“You know by now that Vigils are dangerous, don't you, Jeongguk?” his mother says, and his father agrees quietly in the background. “They have all sorts of powers that you can't even imagine. A few years before you were born there was a story in all the newspapers about a Vigil who could read minds and used that power to infiltrate one of the country's biggest corporations.”

Jeongguk nods, intrigued.

“That's why all Vigils are required to register with the government and receive an Adroit as a Pair. The Adroit helps to keeps the Vigil in check and makes sure that they serve our country instead of destroying it.”

“What do they do once they've Paired?” Jeongguk asks, curious.

“Just… taking care of government business,” Jeongguk's mother wrinkles her nose. “Confidential, likely. Regardless, that's how we stay safe.”

Frowning, Jeongguk considers this. “But what if the Vigil wants to have a different job? Like be a painter, or an athlete? Or what if they don't want a Pair?”

Jeongguk's mother laughs. “Don't be ridiculous. Who ever heard of a Vigil who was good at sports? That's Adroit territory.”

“Jeongguk, honey, it's necessary to keep us safe,” his father tells him gently. “Vigils have to be Paired so they don't run wild and take advantage of regular people.”

“Rogue Vigils are taking all the jobs away from us, too,” his mother adds. “It ruins the economy.”

“There could be nice Vigils,” Jeongguk suggests, but his parents shake their heads.

“That's not how things work.” His mother picks up the newspaper again, sliding it across the table for Jeongguk to look at. “See? There's a department of the Agency of National Security specifically for organizing Vigils and Adroits. They send out people to round up Vigils who don't register—we call those rogue Vigils—and bring them back to headquarters. The woman who was arrested can make people fall asleep just by looking them in the eye. These aren't just innocent people, Jeongguk. They're dangerous, and when dangerous people are left unchecked, they become criminals.”

Jeongguk still doesn't see how this all fits together quite right, but his parents' faces are so concerned and serious that he bites back his other questions.

Still, he thinks about the Vigil who was arrested as he falls asleep that night. Obviously, she didn't want to work for the government—she was just minding her own business, really. Why shouldn't she just be let be? She didn't choose to have that power.

Like many things in life, as Jeongguk is learning, it just isn't fair.

The school year bleeds out at an achingly, painfully slow rate until it finally scars over into summertime. Seokjin graduates from high school and prepares to move to Seoul to study medicine in the fall.

Summer hasn't yet lost its appeal for Jeongguk, who can happily spend whole days tramping through the woods surrounding his backyard without a care in the world. Jeonghyun rarely joins him--"I'm allergic to sunlight," he had told Jeongguk once, only half-joking--but on occasion Seokjin will come to watch him climb trees and build lean-tos with the broken branches they find on the forest floor.

It is on one such afternoon in late July that the impossible comes true.

There's a brook deep in the woods, perhaps ten minutes' walk from Seokjin's house. It isn't wide or deep enough to swim in but it is the perfect depth for wading on a hot day.

"There could be leeches," Seokjin says skeptically as Jeongguk peels off his socks. "It's probably a bad idea to go in with bare feet."

"I'll be fine." Tucking his socks into his shoes, Jeongguk laughs him off. He arranges his shoes carefully at the base of a nearby tree. "If I find leeches, you can just peel them off for me and kiss it better."

Seokjin shrugs. "Your feet, your mistake."

Rolling up the long hems of his basketball shorts, Jeongguk ignores him and wades in. It's ice cold, and he shouts as he enters the water--a clear, happy sound. "See! It's fine! The creek bed is too sandy for leeches, anyway."

Skeptically, Seokjin wanders closer and examines the edge of the water. He doesn't look convinced.

"Oh my god, you nervous old man," Jeongguk chortles, kicking a little water in Seokjin's general direction. "Watch--I'll go all the way in! Nothing is going to happen." Wading to the center of the stream, up to the tops of his calves, Jeongguk spins around to stick his tongue out at his friend, and then his foot catches on the smooth, slippery surface of a moss-covered rock embedded in the ground underwater, sending his foot flying from underneath him and his whole body crashing down--

"Jeongguk!" Seokjin yells at the same time as Jeongguk screams, "Fuck!"

There's a moment of pained hissing before Jeongguk drags himself back to his feet, limping. "Damnit, I skinned my knee on a rock and it hurts, fuck fuck fuck--" He winces as he approaches the shore. "I think there's sand in the cut too."

"Jeongguk," Seokjin breathes, staring, wide-eyed.

Finally safely on the bank, Jeongguk collapses to the ground and stares up at him, teeth clenched. "Are you going to help or just watch me suffer?"

"Yes--of course--but--your knee!"

"I know, it's fucking bleeding--oh." Jeongguk looks down at the wound and suddenly realizes exactly what Seokjin is talking about.

The blood seeping from his skinned knee, running messily down his leg mixed in with water and mud and sand, is not the dirty iron-red it should be.

Instead, it's bright, royal blue.

"Oh." The word falls from Jeongguk's lips in a shocked whimper. He looks to Seokjin for confirmation, maybe to tell him that he's just seeing things, but Seokjin's flabbergasted expression is proof enough that he's not mistaken.

He, Jeon Jeongguk, is a Vigil.

"Don't tell anyone," is the next thing Jeongguk says, a plea, begging Seokjin now to prove that he's trustworthy. "Please, Seokjin."

The words seem to shake Seokjin from his stupor and spring him into action. He tugs off the flannel he's got tied around his waist and helps Jeongguk rinse and wrap the cut. "I won't say a word, not unless you want me to," he promises, tying the shirt securely.

Jeongguk sags against him, partly from relief and partly from the lingering shock of being injured. "Mom and dad can never know. Please."

Seokjin helps him to his feet, serious. “They won't, not on my watch.”

The walk back to Jeongguk's house is considerably quieter than the walk there, deadened by the gravity of the situation.

Jeongguk can hardly believe it. He's a Vigil. Him! His talent of hiding in plain sight—it's not a super power, just a Vigil's gift.

Moreover, he's considered dangerous—which, all in all, is a great joke, seeing as Jeongguk can't even kill a spider for fear of hurting it. The moment his parents find out about this they'll have him sent straight to the Agency of National Security to be Paired, and the last thing Jeongguk wants is to have an Adroit constantly by his side coercing him into doing god-knows-what for the government.

In the span of five minutes, Jeongguk's life has gone from safe stability to a teetering, dangerous balance. The thought chills him to the bone.

He, too, is now a rogue Vigil.

2014

Jeongguk hides his ability as much as he possibly can. As he discovers quickly, the nature of his gift helps, too—no one can raise a suspicion against him if they don't notice him at all.

If a situation seems dangerous, Jeongguk simply exits—fights in the bathroom, gym class gone a little too crazy—he diverts attention from himself and slips away.

But Jeongguk is careful nonetheless. He avoids fights, stops playing basketball with the other boys on weekends. He wears long pants when he goes walking through the woods and keeps careful account of whatever goes on around him so as not to display even the tiniest scratch.

“How come you never hang out with us anymore?” Yugyeom asks, but Jeongguk can't give him a good answer. They drift apart.

He used to like playing soccer, but since a rough outdoor sport is far too big of a risk, Jeongguk joins the swim team instead. He needs to be active somehow or he'll go crazy; school isn't necessarily his forte and a life of sitting at desks and studying will slowly and surely crush his soul. Swimming is a good compromise. It's a non-contact sport, and he runs a very low risk of abrasions.

Still, sometimes he misses the sun and dirt and sweat of playing outdoors.

High school passes at what seems like a sluggish pace; he struggles through literature and science and math and history without particularly enjoying any of them. He thinks occasionally about what he wants to do after high school, but nothing really appeals to him. He wants to go to college since that's what everyone else does, but he's not sure what he wants to study.

Upon examination, Jeongguk finds that his only aspiration is to hide that he's a Vigil—the stress of keeping that secret has checked his other ambitions. As long as he doesn't get caught, Jeongguk doesn't care what he ends up doing.

He feels bitter about it at times, the fact that being a Vigil has not only stolen his dreams, but also taken away his capacity to have dreams. Yet what can he do?

As promised, Seokjin keeps Jeongguk's secret. He delayed going off to school until the second term, just to make sure Jeongguk settled in safely to his new life. He'd changed his mind about what he wanted to do, too.

“I'm just going to study enough to pass the government certification test,” Seokjin had declared. “Then I'll work my way up.”

“What happened to being a doctor?” Seokjin's parents asked anxiously, but Seokjin was firm in his decision. He'd gone away to the city, passed the certification exam, and that was that.

Seokjin is like a steel I-beam in Jeongguk's life; without him, his walls would surely cave in. They become closer than ever, despite the fact that Seokjin can only come home to visit every few months. And, as Jeonghyun leaves for college, Jeongguk passes into his last year of high school, and something else changes too.

When Seokjin walks in the door that winter after being away for four months, Jeongguk feels his breath fall away. Suddenly Jeongguk is so aware of how tall and handsome Seokjin is, how his eyes twinkle when he smiles and the steadiness of his embrace when he exclaims, “I missed you!”

Pulling away, red-cheeked, mumbling, “missed you too,” into the collar of Seokjin's coat, Jeongguk realizes that he might actually have some More-Than-Slightly-Romantic-Feelings for his best friend.

Jeongguk wonders how long he's had a crush on Seokjin before he'd realized it. Their age difference is large, at least considering their current ages, but even more concerning is that Jeongguk is a Vigil, and Seokjin is an Austere—it's socially taboo for them to ever be in a relationship.

Perhaps, though, Seokjin thinks differently. Jeongguk resolves to wait patiently and hope.

Seokjin has news.

“I got a job in the government,” he tells Jeongguk, lounging in his desk chair, his long legs stretched out to rest on Jeongguk's desk. If it was anyone but Seokjin, Jeongguk would complain about it.

“Congratulations,” Jeongguk says sincerely, resting his chin on his knees. His eyes sparkle. “What department?”

“The Agency of National Security,” Seokjin says, hesitating when Jeongguk's expression falters.

“You mean...” Jeongguk searches for the words. “The part of the government in charge of… um… Pairing?”

“Technically, yes, but here's other areas of the Agency besides the Bureau of Rank Affairs, you know.” Pursing his lips, Seokjin looks over at him. “I still hold to the promises I've made to you, Jeongguk.”

Jeongguk believes him, but… “What about the other Vigils?”

“The other Vigils?”

“The other people that the ANS… hunts. The Vigils who don't want to work for them but are tracked down and forced to Pair.” Jeongguk can't hide his concern. “You're not going to help them do that, are you?”

Shaking his head, Seokjin smiles down at him. He reaches over to ruffle Jeongguk's hair, dark, silky strands slipping through his long fingers, and Jeongguk's heart skips a beat. “I'm not going to help them do that. Trust me, Jeongguk, please.”

Jeongguk meets Seokjin's eyes and finds that, underneath the glamor of new clothing and handsome features and important careers, there is still the same warmth that feels so intrinsically like home. Seokjin is still, essentially, his Seokjin. “I trust you.”

“Good.” Seokjin withdraws his hand, but not before chucking Jeongguk gently under his chin. “I won't let you down.”

2016

Jeongguk graduates from high school and he still has no idea what he wants to do with his life. He's on track to go to school at their local community college without any clue what his major will be (his parents are praying for business). The only thing he's really looking forward to about it is the dance elective he's taking.

Due to his new job Seokjin can't come home the way used to. Jeonghyun has his own apartment and they rarely cross paths—not that they were admittedly very close in the first place. All in all, Jeongguk has little to bring him away from home.

On a rainy summer evening in August, Jeongguk's mother ropes him into helping her cook dinner, so he's standing at the counter cutting slices of cucumber and hiding the League tournament he's watching on mute behind the salad bowl, trying to look like he's still listening to her lecture about learning to cook for himself.

“Even if there's a cafeteria, you need to know how to do something for yourself, Jeongguk; besides, girls like a man who knows how to cook--”

“Mhm,” Jeongguk nods, glancing at the game on his phone. Wait—triple kill—that was a turnaround—OW

“Fuck!” Jeongguk grunts, sticking his cut finger in his mouth. He catches the look on his mother's face and prepares an immediate apology for cursing two seconds before he realizes the real reason for her shock.

Oh. Oh no. Jeongguk tries to hide the blue-stained knife, but it's too late. His mother reaches over the counter and wrenches it from his hand, staring in barely-concealed disgust. “What is this?”

“I t-think the cucumber is going bad,” Jeongguk scrambles, trembling furiously.

She isn't convinced. Rounding the counter, she pulls Jeongguks finger from his mouth, examining the cut. Blood beads along the wound, unmistakably blue.

“How long have you known?”

Jeongguk stays silent, fearful of the consequences if he responds. His lips wobbles. It's hard to move; this is the realization of all his worst fears and more.

Frustrated with his lack of response, Jeongguk's mother calls his father down from upstairs. Confusion and disappointment melt together in his eyes; Jeongguk's knees quake.

“We've got to get you registered right away,” his mother says, mouth set in a hard line. “We'll leave for Seoul in the morning.”

“Darling,” his father says, worried, a hand on her arm. “So quickly? Jeongguk… is so young.” He casts Jeongguk the tender look of a parent remembering his youngest child as a baby, sentimentality eating away at resolve.

“Immediately.” Jeongguk's mother frowns. “Knowingly harboring a rogue Vigil is punishable by law.”

Jeongguk can see in this moment that he is no longer this woman's son. In the eyes of his mother, he is his rank alone: dangerous, distant, and property of the government. His father is close behind.

He's not safe here.

In that split second, he knows that he has to run.

Wrenching himself out of his mother's hold, Jeongguk dashes out of the kitchen, grabbing his jacket from where he'd left it handing over the railing in the entryway. He rushes out the door, as fast as his legs can carry him, ignoring his mother's indignant shouts behind him until they fade away.

Jeonguk runs and runs until he reaches the train station, where he buys a ticket to the capital city with the last of the money he has in his wallet and wanders to the platform to wait for the train.

Hands shaking, he calls Seokjin.

“Jeongguk! How are you?”

“Seokjin,” Jeongguk manages before his voice cracks. “I—I'm coming to Seoul.”

2018

Kim Seokjin loves his job.

He's an administrative assistant to Lee Yeongsu, the department head of the Bureau of Rank Affairs within the Agency for National Security. However, as Seokjin learned soon after he'd been hired, Agent Lee is often busy with his various other confidential responsibilities, so the bulk of the department logistics falls to Seokjin.

“Morning, Namjoon,” he says, passing the Vigil where he's hard at work at his and Hoseok's shared desk. “Did you get your assignment yet?”

“Ten minutes ago,” Namjoon confirms, eyes not leaving the screen in front of him. “I'm doing a little preparatory research.”

Seokjin nods, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Good luck. If anyone can catch this one, it's you and Hoseok.”

Namjoon frowns at the screen. “This Vigil really doesn't want to be found, does he?”

As if any of them do. Seokjin shrugs, turning to continue to his office. “I'm sure you'll do fine.”

Slipping behind his own desk in the department's head office, Seokjin opens the cardboard box waiting beside his computer keyboard. He lifts out two electronic detectors, little black boxes with clips to hook to a belt, and examines them. He pulls out two more, checks the numbered labels on the bottom, then selects two and sets them back in the box.

“Good morning,” Agent Lee says, striding into his office. “Did you--”

“Coffee is on your desk,” Seokjin says with a blinding smile. “Should still be piping hot.”

“Ah. Thank you.” He walks into his office, then pops his head back out. “Would you mind taking over the briefing for today's morning mission? The one with Hoseok? I have a call to make.”

“Of course not.” Another smile. “I'll do it promptly.”

Seokjin opens his email, sends several responses, reads a long statement from another department, forwards it to his boss with a quick summary, then closes the window. He stands, stretches, and picks up the two detectors that he left out of the box.

When he returns to the general office area and finds Namjoon, Hoseok is also there, scrolling on his phone. “Hey, Jin. Are you here to brief us?”

“Yes, Agent Lee is busy.”

Namjoon looks up now, too, eyebrows furrowed. “Hoseok, this isn't a particularly clean case.”

“Agreed,” Seokjin says, nodding. “Which is why I've brought the latest technology for you to try. It's still in its last testing phase, but it should be helpful regardless.”

“Oh?” Namjoon's eyes brighten, scooting his chair closer, Hoseok only seconds behind. “What is it?”

Privately, Seokjin thinks that Namjoon and Hoseok are the perfect example of what a Pair should look like. They compliment each other—Hoseok's superhuman speed and Namjoon's ability to compute calculations in his head faster and more accurately than any computer are a lethal combination. Namjoon can figure out the trajectory and timing of a maneuver in seconds, and Hoseok can execute it quick as a flash. Besides that, they're good friends, and respect each other greatly.

“They're calling it a portable ability detector,” Seokjin says. “It senses the presence of abnormal psychic activity in the area.”

Namjoon's lips part in understanding. “It detects Vigils.”

“Put simply, yes.” Seokjin hands Namjoon one of the detectors. “We've had the technology, but only in large installations in public places. This one will be more accurate. If you turn it on and register your fingerprint on the panel, it will ignore your own ability and scan for other activity in the area. Any questions about the detector?”

“I don't think so?” Hoseok says, accepting his own detector with wide eyes. “Dang. That's impressive.”

“How does it work?” Namjoon asks, eyeing the device like he wants to have it's mechanical guts apart and all over the desk for examination right that second.

Seokjin shrugs. “No idea. I'm just the delivery boy.” He shifts, leaning against the cabinet. “I don't know what else to tell you that you don't already know. It's pretty simple—find the rogue Vigil and bring him back here safely.”

“Simple,” Hoseok laughs. “Right, because a mission failed by eleven other teams is going to be a piece of cake.”

“Those eleven teams weren't you two.” Seokjin raises his eyebrows. “You're top agents.”

Hoseok quirks up his lips into a smile. “True. Any parting words?”

Seokjin shakes his head. “Knock it out of the park, dream team. The Bureau is counting on you.”

As he walks away, Seokjin hears Namjoon whisper, “maybe we wouldn't have to spend so much goddamn time chasing Vigils down if the policies didn't fucking suc--”

“Shh, he can still hear you.”

Frankly, Seokjin could care less if he overheard. He returns to his desk, squirts some of his expensive hand lotion on his palm, and applies it to his hands thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair.

Agent Lee emerges from his office, distracted. “Did you talk to them?”

“To Namjoon and Hoseok? Yes. I gave them the detectors, too.”

“Fantastic.” Seokjin's boss rushes toward the door, then pauses. “You made sure to give them the functioning ones, right, not the ones that were having issues the other day?”

“Of course,” Seokjin says, mildly offended. “I'm a professional.”

Despite the fact that all Vigils and Adroits are required to register at with the ANS as soon as their abilities are discovered, the number of known Adroits is far higher than registered Vigils. The difference could be attributed to a fluctuation in population, perhaps, and yet a connection between births the number of people with special abilities is shaky at best.

Seeing as the presence of Vigils and Adroits was only officially accepted a few decades prior, the study of special ranks is a newer field of science, but according to most research, the abilities don't appear to be linked to genetics. What they actually are linked to, nobody is certain.

Regardless, as Adroits began to outnumber potential Vigil Pairs by 2 and then 3 to 1, the real reason for such a stark difference became obvious: Vigils simply aren't presenting themselves to the ANS to be Paired.

That's why this particular bureau of the ANS exists: to identify rogue Vigils, track them down, and Pair them.

Hoseok and Namjoon are the department's top recapture team—they complete over half of their missions on the first attempt, which is practically unheard of. It's no surprise that a case that's stumped nearly a dozen lower Pairs would be handed up to them.

“Don't you think this case is strange, though?” Hoseok asks his Pair as they head down the hallway to the building's exit. “I mean, even if they assigned bad teams like they have before, twelve attempts on the same Vigil in an identified area seems excessive.”

“Agreed.” Namjoon says, his voice low and distant the way it gets when he's thinking hard. “The detectors should help, though.” He looks over at Hoseok. “What kind of ability do you think this one has?”

Before Hoseok can respond, the door to one of the computer rooms on the right opens to reveal Kim Taehyung, one of the tech support team members, carrying two laptops stacked in his arms. Once he sets eyes on them, his face melts into a smile. “Oh, hi Namjoon! Hi Hoseok!”

Namjoon nods in greeting. Hoseok smiles back. “Busy fixing our computer system?” he asks.

“Uh, not really? I'm just delivering some extra laptops to a meeting upstairs,” Taehyung says, a little too enthusiastically. “Oh—are those—you got the detectors? Are you going on a mission?” He moves closer, obviously fascinated by the technology.

“We are,” Namjoon confirms. “Actually, we should be heading out now. I'll show you the detector when we come back, yeah? I'm curious about it too.”

“Good luck!” Taehyung exclaims. He glances at Hoseok, then back at the laptops in his arms. “Bye, Hoseok!” He rushes off toward the nearest elevator.

Watching him go, Namjoon chuckles. “That kid has the biggest fucking crush on you, you know that, right?”

“No way,” Hoseok shakes his head. “Not possible.”

“I wouldn't have taken you for the type that opposes relationships between Adroits and Austeres,” Namjoon comments, motioning for Hoseok to continue on down the hall. “It's not like Adroits and Vigils can only date each other. That's so archaic.”

“It's not that.” Hoseok rolls his eyes, elbowing Namjoon in the side. “You know I wouldn't think like that. But I really don't believe that Taehyung feels that way; he's just excitable in general.”

It's Namjoon's turn to be skeptical. “You should see how he looks when you're not around.” Reaching the elevator leading to the first floor lobby, Namjoon pats his pockets, checking for his cell phone, the detector, his wallet. “You set?”

Hoseok fastens the tiny communication device that links him to headquarters—and to Namjoon—properly to the shell of his ear. “Yes, sir. Let's go.”

Namjoon and Hoseok enter the cafe as casually as possible. Theoretically, it should be a simple mission--two of them just to catch one Vigil. There's no reason why they shouldn't be able to find this one as easily as they would find any other, and yet both of them are wordlessly intimidated by the reality that eleven others have tried and failed.

Regardless, they both head to the counter and discuss drinks as though they're friends on a coffee date, two young people without a care in the world debating the merits of a chai latte versus a salted caramel mocha. (Hoseok is trying to go off of caffeine, so he opts for the tea.)

"Do you think the location is right?" Hoseok asks as they sit down, looking around. They have less clues to go off than usual--despite being tracked for months, there's relatively little in this Vigil's case file. No picture, no description, nothing. "I mean, we can't be entirely sure that he'll show up here, can we?"

"We can't be certain," Namjoon agrees, "but the chances are high. If the technology teams have been getting regular readings from this spot from the detector outside, he's probably coming every day at the very least, perhaps even multiple times a day."

It's a good point. Hoseok sips at his earl gray latte ("it's more sugar and milk than tea," Namjoon scoffs, adding extra cream to his coffee) and fingers the indicator on his belt. "I wonder how he's evaded us so well. I've never heard of a Vigil this good at hiding from our teams."

"That's been bothering me, too." Namjoon scans the cafe with a critical eye. "Hey. Do you see that kid at the counter?"

Hoseok leans back in his chair and takes out his phone to scroll, but the he looks over to the counter out of the corner of his eye as Namjoon had instructed. "Black shirt, gray jeans? Why? You getting a reading?"

"No," Namjoon admits. He drinks from his cardboard cup. "Not at all. But still--he noticed me looking around and shot me a nervous glance. He's hyper-conscious of being watched."

"Mhm." Hoseok observes him carefully, still looking through his instagram feed. "Yeah, I think you're onto something. Should we try and get closer?"

Eyes glazed over with the same distant look he gets whenever he's hard at work calculating something, Namjoon shakes his head. "No, he'll be here in just a minute, see, he's winding around the counter for lids now, and then he'll be coming this wa--"

That second, Namjoon and Hoseok's indicators start to buzz uncontrollably. They look at each other, excited and curious, but confused. Why now--

Then Hoseok's shuts off, and Namjoon's continues to buzz. Namjoon blinks, and his stops as well. He glances back toward the boy in black, who is walking toward them, and this time only Hoseok's vibrates.

This makes no sense. Hoseok unclips it from his belt, setting it on the table, and the closer it gets to Namjoon, the more aggressively it buzzes, until suddenly it gives a weak tremble and dies out. The battery light goes dark.

"What the fuck," Namjoon says, narrowing his eyes. "This equipment is useless."

Hoseok's eyebrows go up. "Did you calibrate it to ignore you? Maybe you forgot--"

"Of course I remembered! What kind of Vigil do you take me for?"

Even Hoseok has to admit it would be unlikely of Namjoon to forget. "Well, at least yours works. And it's not buzzing when you're near."

As if to contradict him, Namjoon's detector goes off that second in his palm. Namjoon rubs his forehead in frustration. "Newly developed technology, my ass," he groans. "This is fucking useless if it's going off every time I try and do a calculation--"

"Namjoon," Hoseok says suddenly. "Look."

"At what? The detector is vibration only, don't you know that? Nothing on the actual device is going to help us--"

"No, you over-educated dumbass, look," Hoseok urges, pointing out the glass windows of the cafe to the mall outside. "The kid you were pointing at--" Hoseok gestures to the black-shirted boy disappearing around a massage stand, "it went off when he passed by."

It hits them both suddenly. They stand, and bolt out of the entrance of the cafe.

The boy is still visible, thankfully, and Namjoon measures out his path. "He's looking left, and I think he'll turn in about thirty seconds. Go--but tone it down enough not to cause a ruckus."

Hoseok runs.

Or rather, he walks extremely fast, twice as fast as the average person, as if he's rushing to catch up to someone who left him behind. Namjoon follows. They haven't lost the kid yet, thankfully, and at this rate they'll reach him in no time.

And then, all of a sudden, he turns around, catches sight of them behind him, and disappears.

Well, not disappears, exactly; it isn't as though he dissolved into thin air, but in the span of a second, they suddenly can't locate him in the crowd.

Hoseok stops short, and Namjoon does, too.

"What happened?" Namjoon says, confused, but Hoseok has no more answers than he does.

"I can't find him anymore." Hoseok frowns. "That makes no sense. I was just looking at him."

They crane their necks, moving again, quicker, but he's gone. There's no trace of him at all. Namjoon takes off his detector to check if it's working and the battery dies almost immediately. He curses, frustrated.

They check all the nearby stores--a men's clothing shop, a candle store, a cute stationary shop, even a perfume boutique, but there's no sign of him anywhere.

"Maybe he was the wrong one, anyway," Hoseok says when they have to give up, but they're both feeling discouraged and stupid. They don't have to voice it to know that the same thought is traveling through both of their heads--how could they be stupid enough to lose sight of someone they were both simultaneously looking at?

Heading back to headquarters empty-handed, reflecting on what had happened, Namjoon gradually gets the sense that they really have no idea who they're dealing with.

Perhaps, for once, the department has bitten off more than it can chew.

Back in the office, they show their useless detectors to Agent Lee, explaining that they were less than helpful on the mission. He calls Seokjin into the room, furious.

"I told you to make sure that they didn't get the malfunctioning devices!" he grits out, waving the dad detector at Seokjin.

"Oh." Seokjin bows. "My utmost apologies. I must have written down the wrong inventory numbers. Mistakes happen." He shoots Hoseok and Namjoon a charming smile and exits before his boss can say anything else.

Agent Lee lets out an irritated sigh. "Well. If you two aren't capable, I suppose we'll have to pull out the big guns on this one."

"The big guns?" Hoseok asks. He blinks at Namjoon, lips pursing curiously, as if to say, are you thinking what I'm thinking? "You mean, like..."

Namjoon looks from Hoseok to his boss. "You're going to give the case to Min Yoongi?

“That was a long coffee run,” Jeongguk's manager says, glancing sidelong at him as he brushes past the cash register on his way to the break room.

It wasn't really—granted, he took longer than normal, but he has four minutes left before his break is over, so she has no right to complain. He ignores her in favor of plopping down at the table in the break room to check his texts and sip at his coffee.

Since Jeongguk started working here two years ago, he's settled in well.

After he ran away from home, he slept on the couch at Seokjin's tiny apartment for a month and a half. He cut off communication with his family completely—he'd even changed his phone number.

Slowly but surely, he'd learned to understand his power. He wasn't unlimited by any means; diverting anyone's attention for a sustained period of time exhausted him, and the more people around, the quicker he ran out of steam. There were different levels of strength, too. With very little effort, he could push someone's gaze away for mere moments, long enough for him to escape. But to force someone's mind away from him completely, to make them forget they were even thinking about him in the first place—that took far more effort and energy.

It would have been easier to figure out with a mentor, or anyone that knew about Vigils, really, but Jeongguk had to make do with some covert internet searches and Seokjin's best guesses. Through trial and failure, he'd become far better at using his ability.

By pulling some (illegal) strings, Seokjin had managed to forge him a fake blood test and issue him identification as an Austere. Once that was processed, Jeongguk had gone job searching.

He tried food service for a while, but found quickly that the wear and tear of constantly dealing with the public was overwhelming. After that he'd taken a position as a mall janitor, which he liked, but it was only a temporary opening while a regular employee was on leave.

Jeongguk found that he liked working at the mall, though—there were lots of people to watch and places to see on his breaks. And best of all, a mall is the perfect place to be invisible—who can pick one person out from a crowd?

He applied at a clothing store on the eastern wing, right across from his favorite coffee shop, and got the job.

Rather than working the cash register, Jeongguk is in charge of stock—keeping track of the displays, putting away rejected clothing from the fitting rooms, organizing the back room, following up on new shipments. He's attentive and hard-working, and doesn't have to sit in one place. The job suits him.

Now, though, Jeongguk wonders if he's stayed in the same place for too long. Today wasn't the first time that he's sensed that Adroits are searching the mall. He's not terribly anxious yet—considering his power, it's highly unlikely that they've identified him specifically—but it's becoming obvious that they know there's a Vigil here. Today, they may even have been following him. He's not entirely sure.

Regardless, he's exhausted. Using his ability in a crowd means that he's affecting a great many people at once, and such a big use of his power is draining.

“Enjoying your break on company time?” Jeongguk's boss asks, sticking her head into the break room. “It's been 31 minutes.”

Jeongguk groans internally and drags his ass back up to the computer to clock in. “I'm coming.”

He's got five more hours to go, and then he's going to go home and have a James Bond marathon, because life is getting a little too complacent. Thank God he got coffee, at least.

“How long have you been working here now? Two years?”

“Almost,” Jeongguk says respectfully, scratching at a persistent itch behind his left shoulder blade.

His manager leans against the counter. Jeongguk wishes for a customer to distract her, but it's the dead part of the day at 3PM on a Tuesday.

“What are you going to do with your life, then? You're not in school.”

Jeongguk really does not want to have this discussion. “I'm going to re-fold the shirts up front. It looks like someone's been through the display.” He walks off before she can say anything else about his non-career.

It's okay for him to live like this, isn't it? He doesn't really have friends outside of Seokjin and his circles, but he's content with that. He has enough income to rent a little apartment and buy groceries and pay the electricity bill. He sees Seokjin sometimes, daydreams about marrying him someday, perhaps. That's more than enough.

And yet his manager's words stick in his head, stark, like wine spilt on a white tablecloth. They hold more weight than they should because they feed off of a discontent that Jeongguk is trying to sweep underneath the rug and pretend doesn't exist.

He isn't satisfied with his life—not really—but he can't decide if it's his own disappointment in himself or the sense that everyone else is watching his non-progress through adulthood with judgmental eyes.

Mechanically, Jeongguk picks up a shirt, folds it, stacks it, moves on to the next.

James Bond marathon, he thinks. Snacks. Anything but existential disappointment.

The thing he likes least about his job, if he's honest, is the amount of time it leaves him to simply think. If only he could divert his own attention from himself as well as he could divert others.

Yoongi starts every day exactly the same way: a cup of strong coffee, five minutes of scrolling through the morning news on his phone, and picking up breakfast on his way to work.

Today dragging himself out of bed is especially hard. He's got no assignments at the moment, and he hasn't been sent out of the office for nearly a week. It's a blatant waste of his talent, and if that's all he's going to do, there's really not much point to going in. It isn't as if they can fire him, not when he's this indispensable.

He rolls over, ready to go back to sleep, when his phone buzzes with a text.

From: Lee Yeongsu Received: 8:01 AM

New assignment, be in my office by 9

Well, he'd needed motivation to go in today, and here it is. Intrigued, Yoongi hauls himself up and into a clean change of clothing, splashing his face with cold water. He takes the elevator straight down to the parking lot, not bothering to make coffee. He can stop by a coffee shop on the way.

Yoongi's boss doesn't usually give him assignments personally, which means that Yoongi might finally get something to peak his interest. His fingers tap anxiously at the steering wheel as he waits to turn out of the apartment lot on to the street. It's been too long. He's itching to get back out into the field and put his abilities to work.

Min Yoongi is the highest ranked Adroit in the entire Agency of National Security. He's caught more rogue Vigils than the next two best agents combined. Moreover, he does everything alone—any other Adroit of his talent and ability would long since have been Paired, but oddly enough, Yoongi refuses.

He gets away with it, everyone knows, because he's too damn good on his own. Twenty successful missions in four months—no one else can reach his level, so what Min Yoongi wants, Min Yoongi gets without question.

It's been a while since he's had something to work on, however. The conundrum is almost comical; he's so good at what he does that he's getting less and less assignments. Most of their cases lately are small—single Vigils to track down, insurrection rumors that need light investigation, meetings to attend. Those kind of issues are handled by the lower-ranked agents and rarely work their way up the ladder to Yoongi.

It's true that Yoongi's last assignment was only last week, but even that was unsatisfactory. A series of robberies that the police remained unable to solve had been transferred to their department, and since he had nothing to do, the case had been handed to Yoongi. It was insultingly easy—Yoongi dug around a bit, found the next location, and sniped. Case finished and closed in one day.

It's hurting his image, really, as though he's losing his touch.

All the more reason for him to look forward to a new mission. Yoongi needs something fresh in his life, something to chase away the ennui haunting his endless afternoons.

Turning onto the freeway, he hits the gas pedal. The sooner he gets there the better.

“Agent Lee.”

The man in question looks up from his computer. “Yoongi. Hello.”

“You wanted to see me?” Yoongi leans against the doorframe, not terribly concerned with getting closer. He has no bad blood between him and his boss, but he doesn't like him terribly, either. It's hard to put his finger on it, exactly; the tone of his voice, perhaps, or the way his eyebrows are always furrowed. He makes Yoongi's skin crawl in irritation.

“Yes.” There's an uncomfortable moment as Agent Lee waits for Yoongi to enter the room properly and sit down across from him. He doesn't. “I have a task for you.”

“One that needs to be explained in person?” Yoongi raises an eyebrow. He's desperate for a case, of course, but he's looking for information, trying to draw out more than meets the eye. He scans his Lee Yeongsu from head to toe. Extra perspiration around his hairline: something is stressing him out. A tiny coffee stain near his wrist, meaning he hasn't been properly dry-cleaning his suits. All this is apparent to Yoongi with a simple glance, because his Adroit ability is extremely powerful vision, and he's not dumb, either.

His boss stares him down. “You of all people should understand precautions.” Whatever is bothering Agent Lee, it's not this case. This is a side concern.

Regardless, he has a point. Yoongi shifts, expectant, and Agent Lee clears his throat. “There's a Vigil that's been on our radar for some time who is particularly good at hiding.”

“The one you sent a team after last week?”

“Yes.” Agent Lee clears his throat. “That was the tenth attempt to catch it.”

“Tenth?” Yoongi blinks in surprise. “Weren't Namjoon and Hoseok on that team? With new equipment?”

“Indeed.” The pause is slightly tense. “It seems that this case calls for an expert.”

Yoongi catches on. “You're giving a the task of arresting a single Vigil to me?”

“It's escaped the eyes of all our other top agents. My last hope of catching it is you, Yoongi.”

Yoongi is half amused and half insulted. “And here I was, thinking you finally had a real case for me.”

Sighing, Agent Lee, leans forward, holding out a slim folder. “There's more to this than you think, Yoongi. Here's the case file.”

Yoongi takes it. Opens it. There are two sheets inside—one is a list of data from ability detectors at the mall close to Loco Latte Cafe (the name doesn't particularly impress him). The other is a short description, dated from the day before: black hair, medium-tall, well built but with a slender frame. Couldn't see his face well but from what we glimpsed, he has delicate features. This suspect is completely unconfirmed.

He's starting to understand what his boss means. “This isn't a case file. This is two pieces of flimsy-ass evidence.”

“Mhm.” Yoongi's boss blinks at him. “There's a reason why no one else can catch him. The problem is, we don't know what that reason is. It's like trying to grasp at a handful of water.”

This is sounding more and more interesting by the second. “You said that no one has spotted him so far?”

“A suspect, yes. Anyone we've confirmed to be the Vigil? No.”

Yoongi glances over the two sheets inside the folder again. The corner of his lip turns up. “I'll catch this one. Give me seven days. No, four.”

Agent Lee's eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “So confident?”

“Mark my words,” Yoongi says. “I'll have them in this building by Friday evening.”

“Sorry again about the detectors,” Seokjin comments, craning his neck to see over Hoseok's shoulder as he writes up the mission. “I take it you didn't catch him?”

“Nope.” Hoseok's shoulders tense. “We're off that case now.”

“Ah.” Seokjin's expression remains perfectly calm. “Sorry to hear that. Guess our department simply can't devote the time to catch every single Vigil.”

Hoseok glances behind him, brows creased. “The case hasn't been dropped, though.”

“It hasn't?” Seokjin blinks. He'd written a note to his boss recommending just that. “We've run out of teams to try, though, and at this point isn't it simply a waste of employee time to keep beating on such a badly documented occurrence--”

“The teams aren't dealing with it,” Hoseok cuts in. “Didn't Agent Lee tell you? He gave the case to Yoongi.”

Seokjin stares. Opens his mouth. Closes it agains. Straightens up.

“I have business to take care of,” he says, turning abruptly and walking off.

Hoseok watches him go before turning back to the report he's editing—Namjoon gave him a frame, he's just filling in. It's not the first time that it's occurred to him that the rules for Pairs suck. There's no reason that Namjoon shouldn't be able to submit their write-ups when it's far more his forte in the first place; he's already asked several times for Namjoon's account on the server to be given the same administrative permissions as his, but so far, nothing.

It's bullshit, and perhaps his occupation with that is why he hardly notices that Seokjin is acting so strangely.

Yoongi is at his desk, the two sheets from the case file spread out in front of his open laptop, when Seokjin knocks on the door and walks in without waiting for a response. Typical, is his first thought.

“If you're not here to bring me more coffee then I don't want to talk,” Yoongi mutters. “I'm busy.”

“No coffee, sorry,” Seokjin says, and the slight waver in his voice gives Yoongi pause. He looks over at the secretary, curious. “Just wanted to say congratulations on the new mission!”

“Thanks,” Yoongi replies slowly, voice measured.

“I mean,” Seokjin continues quickly, “It's a big job! Really big. Hugely difficult, you might say. I guess there might be a big risk involved, you know?”

Yoongi narrows his eyes. “What are you getting at, Seokjin?”

“Nothing at all! I just know that, you know, Hoseok and Namjoon couldn't do it. It's really a tough case. No one would mind if you gave it up or couldn't do it. We all can recognize that it's literally impossible to find this one.” He flashes a brilliant smile that catches Yoongi off-guard with its stark incongruity.

For a minute Yoongi simply studies him, then chuckles. "You're trying to talk me out of this, aren't you? Come clean. What are you really after? Are you still hoping that I'll get demoted to a cubicle so you can have your own office?"

Seokjin's face goes slightly red as he insists that "I'm worried about you trying to accomplish such a big case--"

"I'd say you're worried about me succeeding," Yoongi observes. "Thanks. That's a vote of confidence coming from you." He crosses his arms, an amused smile playing across his lips.

"It's not that!" The briefest odd look flashes over Seokjin's face before he suddenly schools himself back to complete calm. "Fine, all right, you're right, I wish you didn't have this case, but it isn't because I want you to get a bad reputation. It's that... this Vigil obviously wants to live a peaceful life..."

Rolling his eyes, Yoongi waves a dismissive hand at Seokjin. "Oh, please, don't try and pretend you've become a Vigil sympathizer overnight. It's law that everyone has to register and serve their time; no one is exempt."

"But--"

"I'm not sure about you, but I, for one, have a lot of work to do," Yoongi says, turning back to his computer. "This conversation is over."

Seokjin pauses for a moment, as if he's trying to decide whether to say something else or not. A moment passes before he nods politely and exits the room, closing the door carefully behind him.

Yoongi watches him from the corner of his eye. "He's definitely after my office, that motherfucker," he mutters. He glanced around the room, his eyes falling on his armchair in the corner. "Guess I better start chaining furniture to the floor."

Then he sobers up and returns to the case file, more determined than ever to find this Vigil, if only to rub it in Seokjin's face when he gets a bonus from their boss.

When Jeongguk's break rolls around at 2PM, he checks his phone to find three missed calls from Seokjin.

"What's up, hyung?" he asks anxiously the moment his friend picks up."Is something wrong?"

"No, not at all" Seokjin rushes to say. "It's just been a while since we talked. I've missed you! How are things going?"

"You called me on Saturday," Jeongguk points out, laughing. "Things are the same as they always are, of course."

"Good. Good," Seokjin says, half to himself. "We should get together again soon, don't you think? Dinner, perhaps?"

Two years ago, maybe even one year ago, Jeongguk's heart would have leapt at the invitation, clinging to the smallest hope that dinner might mean date, but he's known Seokjin for long enough now that he knows better. "Sure. I'd be happy to see you whenever you're free."

"Next Tuesday, maybe?"

"Sounds good."

"Great." Seokjin hesitates. "Jeongguk, can I ask a favor of you?"

"Of course, hyung. What can I do for you?"

"I want you to be extra careful for a while. You can do that, right?"

"Careful? What do you mean."

"You know what I mean. Don't get noticed," Seokjin says meaningfully.

"I'm always careful. I'm not stupid." Jeongguk shifts uncomfortably. "Is something going on? Should I be worried?"

"No! Not at all!" Seokjin grits his teeth silently. "Things are just… turbulent over here. If you can take extra precautions, it can't hurt."

"I'll take care of myself," Jeongguk promises. "Is that all? Anything else?"

"Nope. I'll let you get back to work now, okay? Have a good day."

"You too, hyung."

Jeongguk hangs up and leans against the wall of the break room, thinking. Something is definitely up if Seokjin is acting that way. What could it be? Premonition of a conflict? It's hard for Jeongguk to wrap his head around; he doesn't know exactly what area of the ANS Seokjin works for and for that reason, he can't guess at what kind of thing is worrying his friend.

All he can do is follow Seokjin's directions and be extra careful.

It only takes about an hour of analyzing the sparse information he's been given for Yoongi to realize that he needs to start from scratch and get his ass on the scene if he's going to make any actual progress.

First, he heads to the main offices, hoping to catch Hoseok or Namjoon. He bumps into Taehyung, the IT guy, in the hallway just outside.

"Oh, hi, Yoongi," Taehyung says, looking jumpier than usual.

"Is Hoseok in there?" Yoongi asks.

"Hoseok? Uh, I don't know. Why would I notice that? No idea." Taehyung shuffles his feet.

Well, that was no help at all. Yoongi brushes past him, then pauses. "Oh, Taehyung? Can you get me one of the detectors? One that actually works?"

"Of course!" Taehyung perks up. "I'll bring it right to your office. And they all work, I swear, there were just two that had issues with the wiring and somehow Seokjin got them mixed up when he was outfitting Namjoon and Hoseok."

"I'll take your word for it," Yoongi says, opening the door to the main offices.

No one is at Namjoon and Hoseok's desk when Yoongi makes his way to their cubicle. He turns, getting his phone out to call them, and then spots them both exiting Agent Lee's office across the room.

"Hey, Yoongi," Namjoon says, approaching him and clapping him on the back. "Congrats on getting the mission from hell."

Namjoon and Yoongi go way back; they'd entered the office around the same time. Yoongi has a deep respect for the younger man--with or without his ability, Namjoon is one of the most brilliant minds he's ever met.

"That's what I'm here about, actually," Yoongi explains. "I'm going to scope it out myself and I was wondering if you could tell me more about what you two found. The case file is kind of shit."

Hoseok looks at Namjoon and sighs. "Unfortunately, that's mostly because our information on this Vigil is pretty much shit."

"What about that description, though?"

Namjoon shrugs. "That's all we have, and we have no idea whatsoever if he was actually linked to the case."

"No idea?" Yoongi raises his eyebrows. "So why were you following him in the first place?"

"He seemed paranoid; we were investigating." Namjoon purses his lips. "It was strange, though, how he managed to lose us when we were both locked right on him."

Finally, something interesting. "You lost him in the crowd?"

"Not exactly. We were gaining on him, looking right at him, and then suddenly we both just... lost sight of him."

"Hmm." Yoongi files that information away. "Okay. I'll head over. Thank you."

"No problem." Hoseok turns to his desk, his attention fixing on a chocolate bar sitting next to his keyboard. "Oh, Yoongi, did you bring chocolate?"

"Why would I do that?" Yoongi gives him a skeptical look.

"Right. Of course. This is so nice! I wonder who could have done it?"

"Yeah, big mystery," Namjoon deadpans, sitting at his own computer. "It's not as though it's completely obvious."

His tone is lost on Hoseok, who's busy reading the little post-it note stuck onto the candy. "It says, you're sweeter than chocolate."

Yoongi gags. Time to make an exit. "See you guys later."

He heads back to his office and finds an ability detector on his desk. Yoongi clips it on, double checks his notes for any last-minute leads, and then strides out into the hallway.

One of the benefits of working as a top agent for the government is that Yoongi can essentially do whatever the hell he wants if it's related to his job. The problem with other agents, in his opinion, is that they don't think outside the box. We haven't pulled out all the stops yet, Yoongi thinks with a tinge of grim humor.

"Good morning," he says to the cashier, bypassing the line. "I'm here from the corporate office. Is your manager in?"

"O-oh," the teenage girl says, fumbling with her earpiece. "One second." She presses a button. "There's someone at the counter asking for a manager. I think he's from the company."

It seems to Yoongi that if activity is recorded so regularly in this exact spot that it must be one of the employees, not a customer. A mall coffee shop is far less likely to have regulars, especially not regulars who are that consistent.

A minute passes, and then a thin, reedy man emerges from the back kitchen. "Can I help you?"

Smiling, Yoongi pulls out the badge he'd swiped from the public health administration on his away over. "I'm Min Yoongi and I'm a restaurant quality inspector. I'm here for a random check-in. Mind if I take a look at your kitchens?"

"Not at all," the man says, beckoning him behind the counter. "By all means, take your time."

Perfect.

Yoongi starts behind the counter, pretending to be focused on cleanliness of the machines and the cleaning schedules. He sidles close to each employee, asking them questions like, "how often are the pots changed? When was the last time you washed your hands?" and paying attention to the still-silent detector concealed beneath his shirt.

When he finds nothing up front, he passes through the kitchen doors and examines the back too. He leans over the shoulder of a teenage boy wrapping up freshly-baked muffins--"All the bins are labeled with the baking time and expiration date, correct?"

"Yes," the boy says, uncomfortable. There's no sign of life from Yoongi's detector, so he lets him be.

In half an hour, Yoongi has talked to every employee, and he's run out of excuses to keep poking around. It's frrustrating; he'd really thought he was onto something with the employee idea.

"Did you find everything up to standard?" The manager asks him when he emerges.

"Yes, thank you." Yoongi glances around the shop, eyes scanning over the customers, lightning-fast. Couples holding hands across the table, teenagers with shopping bags piled underneath their seats. Nothing of interest. "How many employees do you have that weren't working today?"

"Oh, probably about three times our current staff. I can assure you that all our employees are trained to company standards in healthy and safety--"

"Thank you. It was nice to meet you," Yoongi says, not bothering to listen any longer. This was pointless--a waste of a precious half hour. He strides around the counter and out the door of the coffee shop. There's no point in looking around any more since nothing in the shop was setting off his detector and he hadn't noticed anything suspicious. He'll have to come back another day.

Yoongi is moving so quickly that he barrels around a corner, straight into another person. He would have bowled them over if he hadn't reached out to steady the kid. "My bad," Yoongi says, letting go of his arm and looking into the boy's face and--

Fuck, he's so cute.

The boy--probably only around twenty--is taller than Yoongi and looks like he could do chin-ups right then and there on one of the doorframes, but he's looking at him in shock, a little bit of fear. He's got huge, pretty eyes, and there's a hot blush rising in his cheeks.

"Sorry," he mumbles, and Yoongi is about to tell him not to worry at all, maybe even ask him his name, before he suddenly finds himself studying the shop window. Jesus, those shoes are ugly. Who is even buying those? Yoongi wouldn't be caught dead in them.

Wait--why is he even looking in the first place? Wasn't he going back to the office?

Oh--there was a boy--no, he was just looking at him. Yoongi spins 360 degrees, completely confused, but there's no sign of the kid. He's gone.

Belatedly, Yoongi realizes that his detector is buzzing wildly on his belt.

There's more on Jeongguk's mind than usual on the bus home.

The memory of Seokjin's call swirls through his head, disconcerting. What does he really mean by “be careful?” He wasn't terribly worried earlier, but now, after the events of the afternoon, he's starting to feel nervous.

And then there's the man he'd bumped into outside the coffee shop.

Perhaps it was his usual paranoia, or paralyzing shyness, but when that man had grabbed his arm and looked him in the eye, Jeongguk had felt his blood run cold. He'd been shorter than Jeongguk, even, skinnier, no bulk to his arms or legs, but there was a razor-sharp confidence to the set of his jaw and a critical slant to his brows that made Jeongguk feel like that man could see all his secrets written across the blush on his cheeks.

It had made his knees quake, and he'd been so intimidated by him that he'd used his ability without even really meaning to.

He'd skipped the coffee shop that day, after all, retreating back to the break room at his work, afraid of bumping into that man again.

Jeongguk doesn't know exactly why, but he has a bad feeling about it all.

It follows him like a shadow, seeps into the edges of his consciousness during commercial breaks when all he wants to do is watch TV before bed.

He stays up too late playing video games in hopes of forgetting, but in the end, he's left staring at his ceiling at 2AM, full of doubt.

He isn't going to be able to hide forever, is he? Seokjin is never really going to see him romantically. There's nothing ahead of him.

He's been walking on an eggshell path of optimism until now, but one crack leads to another, and it's all beginning to collapse.

At one in the morning, Yoongi is still awake, not because he wants to be but because he can't sleep.

Perhaps it's because the situation was so odd, but the face of the boy—the Vigil, Yoongi now knows—that he had bumped into is frozen into his head better even than if he had managed a photograph.

Of all things, Yoongi hadn't expected his target to be cute. It's thrown him off a little.

He turns over, deliberating. What had really happened there? Now that he considers it, it's almost certain that the boy had used his ability on Yoongi to get away. But what kind of power? Invisibility? Distraction? Mind manipulation?

Yoongi has never met a Vigil with any of those powers before. Frankly, it's disconcerting, because whatever it is that he's capable of, he's extremely powerful. He'd be an impressive asset to the department, no doubt.

But Yoongi cares less about that and more about seeing this mission come out successful. His reputation is riding on it.

He pushes the memory of the boy's large, frightened eyes away and tries to get some sleep. He's going to need to be well-rested if he wants to get this done within the time he promised.

Not long after Yoongi arrives at work, the door to his office creaks open unannounced and Jimin's head pops in, to his utter irritation.

Jimin is another Adroit working for the department at the moment; he's wicked strong and ridiculously flexible. He's good, though he tends to get tasks that focus on his brawn rather than his brain.

Yoongi doesn't mind Jimin, necessarily, but he's also too nosy for his own good at times. This is one of those times.

“How's the search going?”

“Better when I'm not being bothered about it,” Yoongi says, irritated, snapping the case file closed. His failed search and lack of sleep have him in a foul mood.

“That bad, eh?” The rest of Jimin's body enters the room, shutting the door behind him. “Can I help?”

“Probably not,” Yoongi shrugs. He gestures vaguely to the folders, papers, and post-its strewn across the desk. “It makes no sense. How can twelve different missions return without so much as a clue as to who it is?”

“They're called the Ghost Vigil for a reason,” Jimin points out. He leans over Yoongi's desk, scrutinizing the notes. “The fact that it's in a shopping mall does complicate things, though, doesn't it?”

Yoongi grunts in agreement. “Fucking nonsense.” His mind flits to the Vigil he'd bumped into. He had fit Hoseok and Namjoon's description exactly. Whatever power this Vigil has got, he's undeniably strong. “It's a he, actually. I've identified the subject.” Yoongi picks up the rough sketch he'd made and hands it to Jimin.

Accepting the paper and glancing over it, Jimin laughs. “You're really invested in this, aren't you?”

Blinking, Yoongi gives Jimin a controlled look. “It's my job.”

“True.” Jimin raises his eyebrows. “But there's glory in this one, too. You want the satisfaction of catching the Ghost Vigil, don't you?”

Yoongi frowns ever-so-slightly, irritated that Jimin can catch even a hint of that. “Oh, fuck off. I'm just following orders. If anyone is unusually invested in this, it's you, considering you're not even assigned to his case.”

Jimin shrugs. “Fair enough. But I have reason to be.”

Intrigued, Yoongi leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Oh?”

“It's confidential,” Jimin warns. “But yeah, Agent Lee promised me that if the Ghost Vigil gets caught, he'll guarantee them—him—as my Pair. That is, unless you've changed your policy on Pairing since last time I checked. You get first dibs.”

Yoongi grimaces—partly at the idea of Pairing, but also at the idea of treating the Vigil like a trophy. He's the target of his mission, sure, but not ANS propaganda.

“I'll take that as a no from you.” Jimin grins. “Anyway, that's why I'm so interested.”

“Good for you,” Yoongi mumbles. “But if you ever want to meet him, you need to leave me fucking be so I can get down to catching him in the first place.”

“Right you are,” Jimin agrees, moving toward the door. “Good luck, not that I think you need it.”

Yoongi waves him off, waits for the door to click shut after him, and looks back at the notes. The answer is no clearer than before.

Jimin might be wrong this time. For once, Min Yoongi may need some luck.

Stumped, Yoongi visits the shop again at midday. Then he tries once more in the evening, wondering if he can catch the Vigil at an odd time. Both attempts come up dry—his detector shows nothing, and there's no sign of the pretty boy anywhere.

He's getting more and more frustrated with this case—and, if he's honest, more and more worried.

The difficulty is that there's nothing else for him to work with. There are no other leads to pursue, no other channels for information. Yoongi feels as though he's been backed into a corner. Unless he somehow manages to bump into the boy again, he's got no way to find him.

Another day passes. Yoongi hangs around the back corner of the coffee shop, pretending to work but really playing solitaire on his laptop and scanning each and every person who walks through the door. He goes through three cups of coffee, which he sort of regrets, because it's overpriced and mediocre. The location probably only survives because it's got no competition.

There's still no sign of the boy. At the end of the day, Yoongi has to pack up and go back to his office empty-handed.

He's got one day left to make good on his promise, and it seems like he's knocked on every possible door. Not a single one has opened.

Whomever this Vigil is, he's extremely good at hiding.

Yoongi bumps into Seokjin at the coffee machine in the main office later that day.

“How's the search going?” Seokjin asks casually, pouring cream into his cup.

Yoongi makes himself a hot cup of tea from the hot water dispenser. He probably shouldn't have any more coffee today. “It's going well,” he says. It's not, but he's not going to give Seokjin the pleasure of knowing that he might really get to move into Yoongi's office.

“Really?” Seokjin's eyebrows shoot up. “You're actually getting close to arresting the Vigil?”

“Mhm,” Yoongi says. “I've even seen him face-to-face.”

There's a tense pause. “Oh,” Seokjin says. He sounds nervous, more emotional than Yoongi would have expected.

“Don't get your hopes up about inheriting my staplers or anything,” Yoongi says, trying to lighten the mood. “The office is staying mine.”

“Yeah,” Seokjin says distantly. He reaches for a lid. “Have a good evening, Yoongi.”

Yoongi watches the secretary wander down the hall and wonders, briefly, if there's more to this than meets the eye. Then he shakes his head.

Maybe Seokjin's got relationship trouble, or debt, perhaps. Who knows? It's not Yoongi's business.

Jeongguk is in a strange mood. He's sitting at his kitchen counter watching TV on his phone and eating nutella out of the jar with a spoon.

He's aware on some level that he's in caffeine withdrawl—he's been skipping his two daily coffee runs lately, because he can tell that something's going on there, something that smells of Adroits and danger.

On his way home he'd nearly fainted on the stairs of his apartment building at a shadow—he'd thought, I've been followed home. They've caught me. Turns out that it was just a new fake decorative plant someone had put in the stairwell.

He's jumpier than usual, that he knows. It's been a strange day.

Jeongguk is completely startled when someone opens his door and strides into his kitchen—Seokjin—while he's got a spoonful of nutella in his mouth.

They stare at each other for a moment. Jeongguk takes a brief, confused moment to remember that Seokjin has a spare key to his apartment; he never uses it and Jeongguk had completely forgotten he'd given it to him.

“Are you okay?” Seokjin asks, and Jeongguk realizes how flustered and worried he looks.

“I'm fine,” he mumbles, removing the spoon from his mouth. “Why are you here? I thought I wouldn't see you until Tuesday.”

“I just wanted to see you,” Seokjin says, and oh, that has Jeongguk reddening. “What are you doing, though? Are you eating nutella for dinner? Why aren't you taking proper care of yourself?”

“I do take care of myself,” Jeongguk insists, embarrassed that Seokjin had to catch him like this. “It's been a bad day, okay?”

“Yes, but eating so much sugar isn't going to make you feel any better,” Seokjin chides, reaching for the jar and screwing the cap on in the industrious manner he always assumes when he's worried about something. “It's just going to keep you awake and night and upset your stomach, you know that!”

Jeongguk stares as he rushes the jar into the cupboard and opens up the fridge. “Hey, hyung?”

“Mhm?”

“W-what's really going on?” Jeongguk's lower lip juts out nervously. “You're frightening me.”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Seokjin is such a bad liar, at least when it comes to him. “Speaking of nothing, there's nothing in your fridge besides eggs, chicken, and cheap kimchi. What have you been eating?”

“Uh,” Jeongguk says. “Eggs, chicken, and cheap kimchi, mostly?” He sits back, lets Seokjin fuss, because he knows that being overbearing is how he shows that he cares.

“Unacceptable.” Seokjin shuts the fridge. “When was the last time you ate a vegetable? I'm calling delivery and buying you something nutritious, and then we're going to watch a movie and I'm going to stay over.”

Whatever happened to Seokjin today, it must have been really bad. Jeongguk knows not to push it. “Okay, hyung. Let's do that.”

He lets Seokjin buy dinner and complain that Jeongguk is going to catch cold in his apartment and wrap him up in blankets in front of the television, and tries to pretend that it means that Seokjin likes him, too.

It's nice, though. Jeongguk forgets all about stairwell shadows and government agents and Adroits in general in favor of falling asleep against Seokjin's broad shoulders.

Yoongi rubs at his temples, frustrated. He's got a map of the mall spread in front of him, with all of the sightings marked on the floor plan with red pen.

It's been a bad morning. He'd come in early only to find that all of his case file was missing. All his sketches, notes, sheets of data, even the previous map he'd made were nowhere to be found—not even in the trash in the hallways or the bathrooms. No one had spoken up when he'd stormed into the main offices and thrown a fit, and he hasn't got time to go complain to the cleaning staff (though he'll certainly be having a few words with his boss about it when this case is closed.)

For now, he'd just printed off another map and drawn new notes. It's irritating to lose his work, but not devastating; he's got most of it in his head, anyway. By now, he's over it, his mind focused completely on his work.

He's got to be missing something. This case can't be impossible, not when he's already been able to get so close to the boy.

He looks at the coffee shop, traces out a path with the capped end of the pen. He stops, shakes his head, and tries a different path.

Why would he come the same way every day? Is it a coincidence? There's parking on all sides of the mall, so there's no reason that he would come in the exact same way for coffee every day. But then again, why would he come there for coffee every day, anyway? It's not even good coffee.

He narrows his eyes. Across the hall is a pretzel store, and there's an ice cream store next to that. Around the corner on the left is a clothing store, followed by a nail salon--

Wait a minute.

He could be an employee at a different store.

Oh, Yoongi is so fucking dumb.

He'd been on the right track from the start—just in the wrong place. Of course, the boy must work at the mall, why else would he come to the same crappy cafe every day?

But where?

He came around that same corner to the left every day. The nail salon and clothing store make the most sense. Yoongi thinks back, but he doesn't remember any nail polish on his hands. It's a lot less likely that he works there than at the clothing store.

Yoongi perks up. He's got a lead, finally.

Yoongi arrives at the store at 9PM, just before closing. It's a Friday night, which is good, since they'll likely have a full staff crew on hand.

He strides in just to poke around at first, sneaking glances at the employees manning the cash registers. None of them look like the boy he had seen.

However, this isn't Yoongi's first rodeo—he's come prepared. “May I speak with your manager?” he asks the woman at the register, who gives him a flat stare.

“I am the manager,” she informs him primly. Her name tag reads KIM SUJIN.

Yoongi wonders how much it sucks to work for this woman. “I'm Min Yoongi and I'm here from HR,” he says, flashing her a business card. He adjusts his fake glasses, eyes darting across her face, looking for anything suspicion. “Do you mind gathering all of your employees for a few minutes once you close? I'd like to say something to them.”

She eyes him, eyebrows raised. “What happened to Sunggyu? Did he switch positions?”

“Not at all.” He's hit a tough one, he can tell. “I came to talk about a new project that they're spearheading in the corporate office.”

“Hmm.” She still looks suspicious, but she agrees, telling the boy at the other cash register to go lower the gate over the store's entrance.

Yoongi leans against the counter, still scanning the store. “Make sure you call all of your employees, please.”

“Sure,” she mutters, pressing the button for the intercom. “All employees please safely finish your tasks and report directly to the break room.”

This is all a bit high-handed, perhaps, and inefficient, considering Yoongi could walk in an require a search if he wanted to. Most other agents probably would have. But Yoongi isn't looking to make an arrest, he's looking to catch the Vigil. This method is a lot cleaner than using force.

Sujin leads Yoongi behind the counter and into a tiny back room with a few scattered chairs, two bulletin boards, a white board, and some scattered clothing hangers in the corner. The walls are painted white, as though they're covered only in primer; the carpet is a dreary gray. A subtle smell of plastic packaging hangs in the air.

Gradually people file into the room; first the three teenagers Yoongi had spotted working out front, then another young woman.

“Is that everyone?” Yoongi asks the manager, frustrated. He'd thought—he'd really believed that he'd had it with this idea. And yet here he is, all this effort for nothing.

“All except for Jeongguk,” she says. She glances around, then slips out of the room. Yoongi can her her shouting. “Jeon Jeongguk! There's a meeting, where are you?”

Distantly, in reply: “Coming!”

Yoongi reflects on how much time he's wasting having to give this presentation. He's trying to figure how short he can feasibly make it while still appearing legitimate when Sujin returns to the room, closely followed by a tall, dark-haired boy--

Yoongi blinks. It's the boy—the one he had bumped into.

Yoongi's detector buzzes. He's found him.

They make eye contact for the shortest second, and then Yoongi's mind is back on his presentation. He's got to keep it short. He's looking for the Vigil, after all, it's a shame he's not here--

He is here. Yoongi just saw him. His detector is still vibrating, for fuck's sake! Confused, Yoongi scans the room and sets eyes on him again. The boy—Jeon Jeongguk--is leaning against the wall in the corner, eyes wide and nervous. His left ear is twitching, and he's shifting his weight awkwardly between his legs.

His thoughts shift back to the presentation. He's got to give it now, despite the fact that he hasn't located his target. Yoongi clears his throat, picking up a marker and tapping the plastic cap on the whiteboard. “Thank you all for coming. My name is Min Yoongi and I'm here to discuss plans for budget cuts made at the executive level--”

“Hold on,” Sujin cuts in, frowning. “Why haven't we heard anything about budget cuts? It's company policy not to instigate anything until communication has been established.”

The detector is buzzing beneath Yoongi's shirt. It's distracting—wait, doesn't that mean the Vigil is here? Yoongi scans the faces again, alighting on Jeongguk's face. There he is. That's him—wait, no, not at all. There's no reason it would be him.

He realizes that the manager is waiting for an answer. “Ah, yes,” Yoongi says, smiling. “You're right. That's why we're not instigating anything. This is simply a discussion.”

The frown doesn't leave Sujin's brow, but she shuts up, so he continues. “In light of that, I'll list off a few of our proposals.” He uncaps the marker. Something fishy is going on here—his mind feels rubbery, like it's being stretched oddly, pushed around. 1) Reduced pay for all employees, he writes. 2) Increased mandatory hours. 3) Required sales quotas for each employee.

It has the exact effect that Yoongi had hoped for.

“No way,” the teenage boy he'd met at the register say. “This is ridiculous. We're only paid minimum wage anyway!”

“And 'increased' mandatory work hours?” another girl adds, in disbelief. “There aren't any mandatory work hours in the first place!”

Another woman joins in. It affords Yoongi the chance to look around and survey the faces. Someone here is a Vigil. Someone in the room. He's so close. His eyes pass over each person, looking for clues—the girl in the corner, whose eyes dart around the room? Is she practicing something? Or what about Sujin? Is that why she looks so concentrated?

His attention falls once again to Jeongguk. It's him! Of course it is!

But it's not. He's looking at the girl with the wandering expression again. Tiredness or mind-reading? Boredom or telekinesis?

The employees are getting angrier now. “Who do you think you are, anyway, coming here all high and mighty from the company and trying to impose violations of our contracts?”

“This is such crap,” someone else adds.

Yoongi has spent long enough on this; it's time to wrap up the meeting. This isn't getting him anywhere. “Well,” he hurries out, erasing the board, “My apologies. I'll report back and say that employees have expressed dissatisfaction with the proposals.”

“Dissatisfaction?” Sujin huffs. “It's bullshit, if you'll excuse my language.”

“Yes. Well. I see.” Yoongi adjusts his fake glasses. He knows the Vigil is here; why can't he seem to narrow himself down to any potential suspect? “Meeting adjourned.”

Yoongi watches every person but Jeongguk and Sujin file out of the room. He looks over the break room again and finds only Sujin. “Where is the boy?”

“The boy?”

“Tall with puppy eyes,” Yoongi says impatiently. How had he not noticed him properly? Jeongguk is the Vigil and Yoongi has brushed up against his capture at least three times by now. He should have been able to apprehend him the very first time.

“He just left,” the manager says, shaking her head. “There's something very strange about you, Min Yoongi. It makes no sense. Why would you be from HR with a proposal like that? Why would the company make those proposals in the first place?”

“Trust me, I don't know any more than you do,” Yoongi says, raising his hands in a gesture of helplessness. He steps toward the door, poking his head out and scanning the area. He can see Jeongguk across the store at one of the displays, organizing clothing.

He's got him this time.

“Truth be told, sir, I'm not sure you're from the company at all,” Sujin starts, but Yoongi is distracted.

“That's an issue to take up with the company, ma'am. It's been nice meeting you, but I've got everything I need.”

“Sir--”

Yoongi stalks out of the store through the employee entrance before she can say anything. He darts around a corner and leans up against a tree where he knows he's far enough away that he won't be seen.

Yoongi can still see the entrance, though—his night vision is as precise as a cat's. He pulls off the stupid fake glasses, tossing them to the side, and settles in to wait.

Finally he's found Jeongguk, and this time he's not going to let him go.

When he finishes his tasks for the night, Jeongguk makes his way to the front desk, hands shaking. “I have bad news,” he tells his manager.

Upon seeing the look on his face, she dials back the normal snark. “You certainly look like you do. What's going on?”

“M-my dad had a stroke,” Jeongguk stammers. “I, um, need to take emergency vacation for several days so I can go and meet him.”

He must be really convincing, because she agrees without any questions. “Keep in touch with us and let me know when you're able to return,” she says reassuringly. “My best wishes for your father.”

Like any other day, Jeongguk walks from work to the bus stop, his jacket zipped up against the chilly fall weather and his beanie pulled down to keep his ears warm. He passes people on the street—teenagers with shopping bags in their hands, stony faced men with suits and phones pressed to their ears, young girls with their eyes glued to their phone screens hardly looking where they're going, couples hand-in-hand. Yet the cheerful clatter of restaurants and evening outings is lost on Jeongguk, whose mind is spinning with a thousand fears.

He knows he can't return to work. He can't have anyone asking after him, though, either; the lie that he's on vacation should buy him some time.

Today was such a close call. That Adroit—the same man who had bumped into him in the mall a few days prior, who had shaken him all the way to his core, whom Jeongguk realized now must have been searching for him all this time—had eyes like lasers. He could almost imagine himself burning through whenever the man's gaze roamed over his skin.

He'd been stuck in that room for a long time, nearly twenty minutes of constant concealment. He'd slipped a few times, and felt the Adroit's gaze drawn back to him almost immediately. To hold off attention for that long was exhausting, and now he's worn himself out to the point where he can barely use his ability anymore.

He'd gotten away, thank God, but he's not safe yet. He's got to run, and fast. But where?

Jeongguk doesn't know anyone outside of his hometown and the city. He's got no one else to go to, no other contacts. And yet he's got to leave, fast. To where? Who knows. He's too anxious to think. He'll just run to his apartment, grab a suitcase full of stuff, and get on the next train leaving the city.

Halfway to the bus station, chills break out over Jeongguk's spine. Something feels off—he isn't sure how he knows, isn't sure it isn't a figment of his fright, but all the same Jeongguk walks ever-so-slightly faster, pulls his jacket around himself just a fraction tighter.

He turns the corner, just a few blocks from the bus stop. As he crosses the street, his eyes skim over the crowd on the sidewalk he'd just left behind. And then his heart pounds in his chest, so hard his whole body shakes, blood rushing dizzingly through his veins, because right there, following only ten meters behind, is Min Yoongi.

Jeongguk forces himself not to pause, just to keep walking like nothing is happening, but his palms are cold and sweaty in his pockets. Oh, god, he's here, just behind him. Jeongguk knows exactly what's going on. Min Yoongi isn't having a quiet trip home on the bus. He's here for him.

Yoongi isn't chasing him—not yet, anyway. For now he's just strolling along, eyes drifting lazily over the shops that he passes. Anyone who saw him would think he was simply taking a walk, or window shopping on his way home from work.

Think, Jeongguk. Going home isn't an option anymore—it's too far, and regardless, he can't have Yoongi knowing where his apartment is. No, he's going to have to lose him somehow and get the hell out of here before anyone realizes he's left the city.

How can he lose him? Think. Think!

Yoongi is closer now—five meters behind him. Somehow he's gaining on him even while keeping up the appearance of a casual stroller. Afraid to lock eyes with him, Jeongguk forces himself not to look back. Perspiration is beading on his forehead, cold and dreadful, and he's feeling slightly faint with terror.

Now, he realizes. There's no more time to waste.

Sucking in a nervous breath, Jeongguk makes a sudden turn into an alley and breaks into a sprint.

He rounds the next corner, into a tiny parking lot behind one of the stores, as fast as his legs can carry him. The sound of footsteps behind him tell him that Yoongi has followed, matching his pace.

Yoongi is built small and slender, whereas Jeongguk has the muscle and strength of a lifetime of sports. Jeongguk must be able to outrun him given enough time. He ducks around a van and hurdles down a second alley, heading away from the busy part of the city so that he can run unobstructed.

Reaching a side street, Jeongguk's throat constricts when he still hears Yoongi behind him. How? He should be further behind him than that. Jeongguk should be faster. He pushes himself harder, moves his feet even quicker, dashing across the street into another alley. Turn. Dash. Straight, then left, then straight. To Jeongguk's relief, the sound of footsteps behind him are fading. He's gaining on Yoongi.

After another minute, Jeongguk can't hear him at all, so he takes a risk, dashing quickly into an unlit alley and squatting in the shadow of a dumpster. Yoongi is far enough behind that he won't have seen it.

Jeongguk flattens himself against a wall, trying to catch his breath without making noise. His throat is hot and dry from running, his blood is rushing like thundering rapids in his ears. Nausea rises in his stomach, sick with exhaustion and fear. He can't be found. He can't.

Seconds pass.

He swallows, hardly breathing within the shadows. It's dark enough that he's invisible; there's no need to use his gift now, which, thank God. He's practically exhausted his ability by now. Luckily, it's ink-dark in the shadow of the dumpster he's beside; Yoongi might be able to keep up with him, but he'll never spot him in the pitch-black of the alley.

Footsteps approach the entrance to the alley, and Jeongguk watches noiselessly. Yoongi will move on, search more streets, and when he does, Jeongguk will slip out behind him and make his way to the station. He watches his pursuer glance into the alleyway, blink twice, and keep walking.

Silence.

Jeongguk lets out a long, shuddery breath of relief.

And then, quick as a flash, Yoongi whirls, darts into the alley, and is on Jeongguk before he can think to run.

Jeongguk struggles in Yoongi's arms, prying at his grip with all of his strength, but Yoongi is far stronger than he looks. It's like trying to wrestle out of metal restraints.

“It's no use struggling, kid,” Yoongi spits, manhandling him up against the wall and clipping a pair of handcuffs around his wrists. They pinch painfully at his skin. “The chase is over.” Yoongi's arm reaches around him, slipping into the pocket of his jeans and tugging out his cell phone.

“I'm not a Vigil,” Jeongguk pleads, still grasping at freedom. “You've got the wrong one, let me go!” He tries to clear his mind enough to use his power, but it's like trying to do a push up when he's weak with exhaustion. He struggles, shaking with the exertion, and nothing happens.

“Don't wear yourself out,” Yoongi says, snorting. “I've become an expert on your specific brand of bullshit, Jeon Jeongguk. Do you know how many times we've gone after you and come back empty-handed? If you think I'm letting this opportunity go, you're insane. You're coming with me.” Yoongi gets ahold of Jeongguk's arm and rips the packaging off of something with his teeth. “Bite your sleeve or something, this is going to hurt.” Something wet wipes across his arm.

“W-what--” Jeongguk's words cut out in a grunt of pain as Yoongi pushes the needle of a syringe into his arm. The puncture doesn't hurt much, but the substance burns. “Ow! What are you doing?” His mind feels weird--dizzy, weak. He tries again to use his diversion, but he can't access it all of a sudden, like the channel to that area of his mind has been blocked off.

“I'm taking away your abilities,” Yoongi says matter-of-factly, tossing the empty syringe into the dumpster. “The serum will sedate your power for 24 hours.”

His invisibility was his last hope of escape. Defeated, Jeongguk's shoulders sag. “Where are we going?” The handcuffs indicate jail, which terrifies Jeongguk—he's never so much as entertained the thought of going to prison.

“Straight to the ANS to get you registered like you should have been all along.”

“And then?” Jeongguk's lip trembles.

“Stop asking so many questions. You'll find out everything once I get your sorry ass hauled into headquarters.” Yoongi's face is stony, entirely unapologetic.

Jeongguk turns his head, meets Yoongi's eyes, and the world rushes in his ears.

He shuts up.