Work Text:
Kim Taehyung wasn’t a bad man.
Sure, the Seoul Metro Police had a different view of the situation, but there was legal and there was moral and there was ethical, and Taehyung felt confident that he was both morally and ethically right at all times.
Well, most of the time.
“I’m a man of commitment,” he’d once said to Seokjin, and he meant it. Everyone was always going on about eating the rich these days, right? Most of twitter was ready to walk Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk to the guillotine, but they never actually did anything about it. They just complained and complained and went back to work the next morning. Taehyung was the only one he knew willing to do take action, be the change he wanted to see in the world.
Taehyung wasn’t a fan of the guillotine, or of violence in general. He didn’t like seeing people get hurt. And really, what multi millionaire or billionaire was going to miss a few pieces of jewelry? Some clothes? A little cash or art now and then? Taehyung, by relieving them of a few possessions, just pissed them off at most. And wasn’t pissing off billionaires a moral win in this late-stage capitalistic world?
Unfortunately, the Seoul Metro Police took a much more narrow view of the situation. Not a visionary in the group.
“Name.”
“Vincent Van Gogh.”
The arresting officer, a Sergeant Cha, rubbed his forehead. He looked tired. Taehyung hoped he was tired enough to just forget the whole thing. “Very funny,” he muttered. “You want to try that again?”
Taehyung weighed his desire to answer “Renoir” against how pissed off Sergeant Cha was probably going to get, and sighed, slumping back in disappointment. He’d be out of here soon enough, no point in having people yell at him the whole time. “Kim Tae Hyung,” he enunciated in a tone that showed exactly how boring all of this was. “Date of birth, June 3rd, 1995.” If there was any satisfaction to be found in this situation, it was pretending to be a little older than Jimin.
“Do you have an ID card?”
“Several,” Taehyung said, mentally counting the ceiling tiles. God, he hoped Seokjin got here soon.
Sergeant Cha exhaled loudly. “A legal ID,” he gritted out, “issued to you by the Republic of South Korea. With your real, legal name and identification number.”
“Hmmmm,” Taehyung hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t think so.”
“Listen, kid, I don’t know what you think you’re going to gain by trying to piss me off, but I can tell you,” here, Sergeant Cha, sat back in his chair in one violent motion, causing it to squeak unpleasantly, “it’s not gonna go great for you. I can make your life hell.”
Confused, Taehyung sat up with a start. He was just being honest, his actual real legal ID had been lost to the sands of time (as well as actual literal sand and possibly some crabs) out in Busan last year. And he never used it anyway, so he never got it replaced. He was trying to be helpful.
“Sergeant,” another officer called across the room. “The kid’s lawyer is here.”
“I don’t need a lawyer.” Taehyung crossed his arms, feeling petulant. Seokjin needed to hurry up. “I’m innocent.”
“You have the right to an attorney, unfortunately,” Sergeant Cha said, yanking Taehyung up by the back of his collar. “And since you’re such a funny guy, I’m going to cuff you so you don’t try any tricks between here and the interview room, you got that?”
Taehyung sighed and held his wrists out.
They led him into a plain interview room, windowless, cameras in each corner of the ceiling. A beat-up table was in the middle of the room with a hard plastic chair on one side and a cushy office chair on the other. Taehyung guessed that cushy chair wasn’t for him, a suspicion that proved accurate as the officers pushed him down onto the orange molded monstrosity.
One of the officers left right away, but the other one stayed by the door, eyeing Taehyung. “Excuse me,” Taehyung said as politely as he could, injecting the slightest bit of pout into his tone. “Could I please have some water?” He put his cuffed hands on the table and twitched them pathetically, like they hurt.
“I can’t leave you alone,” the officer said, but he looked like he was starting to give around the edges.
“Ah,” Taehyung said. “I understand.” He dropped his eyes and licked his lips. Twitched his hands. Swallowed loudly, with just a slight catch in the back of his throat.
The officer shifted uncomfortably. “Just stay right here,” he warned. “There’s a sink around the corner, I can grab you a cup of water real quick, but you can’t move, okay? You wouldn’t make it out of here if you made a run for it and I don’t want you getting hurt.”
“Of course,” Taehyung said, smiling his very goodest boy smile. “Not a muscle.”
True to his word, the officer was very fast -- less than 30 seconds, by Taehyung’s estimation -- but that was long enough for Taehyung to do what he needed to do. The kind man had even brought a straw, in deference to Taehyung’s cuffed hands. What a champ.
“I’ll take it from here,” came a voice from the doorway. Taehyung looked up to see a man walking in with a laptop bag over one shoulder and a coffee in his other hand. “Thank you, Officer Lee.”
“Kim Taehyung? I’m Kim Namjoon, nice to meet you.”
Part of Taehyung’s brain registered that this was probably the lawyer he didn’t want and also that Kim Namjoon was currently struggling with his bag and his coffee and a pen that had fallen out of his pocket, and but an even bigger part of Taehyung’s brain had shorted out entirely because Kim Namjoon? Was hot. So hot. Tall and dimpled and wearing a criminally cheap suit and smiling bashfully at Taehyung like he needed to make a good impression, even though he wasn’t the one in handcuffs.
Namjoon made a frustrated little noise after the pen tumbled from his hand and the strap of his bag slid down to his elbow, unbalancing the cup in his other hand. Brown liquid sloshed from the cup, causing Namjoon to hiss as it hit his skin.
“Oh,” Taehyung said softly, shaking himself out of it. He was in love, but that crisis could wait. “Namjoon-ssi, let me--” he stood up and plucked the coffee out of Namjoon’s hand as the bag thunked down to the floor.
Namjoon smiled at him —oh, those dimples were deep— then frowned. “Taehyung-ssi, weren’t you handcuffed?”
They both looked down. The handcuffs in question were lying on the table, very clearly open.
“I was, yes.” It wasn’t good to lie to your lawyer or your future husband, so Taehyung stuck firmly to the truth.
“Are you going to attack me?” Namjoon sounded curious, rather than afraid, as he retrieved his coffee from Taehyung and took a sip. Taehyung couldn’t stop watching his long fingers as they curled around the cup. “Take me out and try to escape?”
Taehyung tried not to be offended; Namjoon didn’t know him yet, that was all. He lifted his hands as he sat back down in the chair. “I just don’t like the feel of them,” he said. “They hurt my wrists, that’s all.”
“Of course, how silly.” Namjoon laughed, shaking his head. “Well, let’s get down to it.” He bent down and took out his laptop, flipping it open. “Everything you say here is in complete confidence, and the more honest you are, the easier it will go for you, I promise that.”
He leaned across the table, still smiling that warm, sincere smile, and Taehyung’s breath caught in his throat. He felt like the only person in the universe right now, caught in Kim Namjoon’s orbit. “I’ll work hard for you, Taehyung-ssi.”
“Do you like art?” Taehyung blurted out. “Music? What’s your sign? Has to be some kind of earth sign, right? Do you think there should be billionaires in the world? Do you believe in taking public transportation or are you the kind of guy who has to have his own car? How do you feel about public displays of affection?”
Namjoon blinked and sat back. “That’s...unexpected, but okay, I’ll play.” He took a deep breath. “I love art, especially newer pop art, I collect a lot of KAWS stuff. I’m obsessed with music, specifically hip hop and indie hip hop. I’m not big on astrology, but I think I’m a Virgo. The existence of billionaires is immoral, I prefer to bike, and I’m not big on public displays of affection.” He raised his eyebrows. “Did I pass? And do I get to ask questions now?”
“Oh!” Taehyung nodded and pushed his hair back with one hand. He noticed how Namjoon tracked the motion with his eyes and went a little slack-jawed as more of his face was exposed. Taehyung wanted Namjoon to like him for more than just being pretty, but it was a little gratifying to know he wasn’t immune to Taehyung’s charms.
“I love art, especially impressionism and watercolors of any kind. I’m really into jazz and r&b and I like to sing when I can. I’m a Capricorn, I’ve built my life around anti-capitalist philosophy, I love the Metro, it’s great for people-watching, and I’ll kiss anyone, anywhere, anytime.”
“Oh. Um.” Namjoon loosened his tie and swallowed hard. He seemed to be trying not to look at Taehyung’s mouth. “I was actually going to talk to you about the missing jewelry. You know, the reason you’re here?”
“Hyung, focus,” Taehyung leaned forward, putting his hand on Namjoon’s laptop and gently pushing it closed. “I’m getting picked up soon, we don’t have much time to talk.”
“Picked up?” Namjoon was starting to look at Taehyung like he wasn’t making sense, which hurt a little. “ You can’t just get picked up from jail,” he said, a little too gently, like Taehyung was a child, “you’re under arrest.” He frowned. “And please, Taehyung-ssi, I don’t think it’s appropriate for us to speak informally.”
There was a noise outside the room, a rumbling of activity that grew steadily louder. Over the confused din, Taehyung heard a loud, piercing, “Yah! I have rights!”
“I really liked talking to you, Namjoon-ssi,” Taehyung said, getting up somewhat reluctantly. Namjoon looked alarmed, like he thought Taehyung was going to make a run for it, which was frankly just hurtful. “Believe it or not, I wish I could stay longer.”
The door opened to reveal a very harried-looking Sergeant Cha, who was frowning at a sheaf of papers in his hands. Just behind him was the officer who’d gotten Taehyung the glass of water. He looked dazed and a little flushed, possibly even aroused. Taehyung had seen that look a million times before on both men and women of all ages, and he knew exactly who’d caused it.
“Taehyungie, my darling dearest most beloved brother!” Seokjin swept in, his arms outstretched, a bright smile illuminating his face. Oh, he was pissed, no doubt about it. Taehyung winced. He hated upsetting his hyung.
Seokjin was wearing a slim-cut black suit with a crisp white shirt and black tie with subtle black on black patterns. He had his hair brushed back from his forehead and he wasn’t wearing any makeup except a rosy gloss on his lips. The young officer still holding the door open looked like he was going to pass out.
“There’s been a misunderstanding,” Seokjin was saying, leaning against the table and winking at an unimpressed-looking Namjoon. Taehyung’s heart grew three sizes bigger, he loved it when people didn’t fall for Seokjin’s bullshit, as entertaining as his bullshit might be. “I have the paperwork, everything’s in order, etcetera, etcetera, and now I’m bringing my brother home.”
“Hyung,” Taehyung said, smiling as he looked back and forth between them. “This is Kim Namjoon, he’s my lawyer. He’s a virgo and he loves art, mostly pop art and postmodern stuff, but I don’t hold that against him.”
Seokjin swung his head around and gave Taehyung a searing look. “Really?” he hissed. “Now is not the time.”
Taehyung sighed. He really didn’t want to stop talking to Namjoon, but he’d worried Seokjin enough for one day. “It was really nice meeting you, Namjoon-ssi,” he said, putting his hand over his heart.
“You too.” Namjoon smiled at him suddenly, his dimples carving deep lines in his face. “I won’t forget you, Taehyung-ssi.”
Once Seokjin had dragged him outside into the waiting car, Taehyung slumped against the seat and moaned, “Oh my god, I’m in love.”
“You’d better be,” Seokjin said, grimly putting the car into gear. “What the shit was that, Taehyung, honestly.”
“I’m sorry,” Taehyung said, because he was. He really was, all he and Seokjin had in this world were each other, and he didn’t want to mess with that. Under all his complaining, Taehyung could see the tight line between Seokjin’s eyes, and the way he was sweating into the collar of his shirt. He’d been genuinely worried, and Taehyung felt immediately awful. “Really, hyung, I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again.”
……
It happened again.
……
The first time was an accident, really. They were posing as interior designers, casing out the second home of a Chinese executive whose factories pumped toxic smog into the air 24/7 and who had 13 employees die in a building collapse last year. He was a putrid excuse for a human who didn't deserve anything, but he really, really didn't deserve the small collection of rare Vietnamese lacquer paintings he'd acquired over the past few years.
Seokjin was talking to this asshole about the spiritual benefits of bamboo flooring while Taehyung slipped small motion sensors around the apartment, ending in the massive walk in closet. Taehyung couldn't control his gasp when he walked inside, reverently touching the beautiful clothes as Seokjin handed a drink to Mr. Xu (made from Mr Xu’s own liquor, of course) and started talking about this vision for the space.
There were rows on rows of ties; Hermes and Gucci and Tom Ford and hand-painted watercolor ties, all laid out neatly. Taehyung thought briefly of Namjoon, his cheap suit and navy striped tie. He wanted to dress him in something slim-fitting, all one color to show off his height. Maybe a splash of purple in the tie...Taehyung realized he'd pulled out a Gucci tie with a field of purple and blue flowers on it, and a snake writhing its way down the center. It was incredible, and Taehyung thought, with a flash of anger, that Mr. Xu would never wear this tie. He had it just to have it. Just to rot in this wardrobe that was bigger than Taehyung's bedroom.
Taehyung hummed to himself as he undid the front of his own loose pants and dropped the tie down the front, tucking one end into the top of his briefs. Seokjin spotted him, startled, and dragged Mr. Xu over to the wall of windows facing over the city, talking about natural vs ambient light.
Wiggling happily to his own beat, Taehyung slipped tie after tie in his pants, relishing the way the silk felt against his skin. Seokjin may have rolled his eyes, but he'd be fighting Tae for the last Thom Browne by the end of the day tomorrow. Tae made sure to include a few that Seokjin would like, to make up for his arrest the other day.
The image of Namjoon flashed in Taehyung's head again. He couldn't say why he'd stuck in his mind, but he had. He just treated Taehyung so kindly and gently. He was hot and amusing and he liked so many of the things Taehyung liked. If they'd been at a bar, they might have gone home together, but as far as Namjoon knew, Tae was just some criminal. And Taehyung was probably never going to see him again anywa--
"Hey!" Mr Xu yelled. "Hey! He's stealing my clothes, I'm calling the police!"
Taehyung shook himself out of his daydream and realized that he was standing there, one hand down his pants and a fistful of silk in the other. He blinked at Mr Xu, who was angrily dialing his phone, and Seokjin, who was just rubbing his forehead.
It looked like he was going to see Kim Namjoon sooner than he thought.
…..
“Stealing ties seems like a step down from jewels,” Namjoon said, flipping through the pictures on his tablet. “Nice ones, though. Is that Ferragamo?”
Today, the ill-fitting suit was gone and Namjoon was just wearing slim-cut grey pants and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms. It was utterly devastating. “You know fashion, hyung?”
Namjoon raised his eyebrows at the informality, but didn’t correct him. “I dabble. My salary doesn’t really allow for spending too much.”
“Don’t you think that’s unfair, though?” Taehyung asked, and Namjoon’s gaze sharpened. Not in an angry way, but the full force of his attention was on Taehyung, which was frankly very erotic. “That difference, the fact that you-- you help people, hyung. People who don’t have anyone else to stand up for them. And this asshole thinks he can treat people like, like, dirt or, or animals, or-- no, that’s unfair to animals--”
“Taehyung,” Namjoon interrupted softly. “I get it.”
“Do you?” Taehyung asked, suddenly feeling petulant and sorry for himself as his anger drained away. Seokjin was right, letting your real feelings out was bullshit and led to bad skin. “Or are you just patronizing me?”
“I wouldn’t do that.” Namjoon held his gaze, then dropped it. He sighed, rubbing his face under his glasses. “I really don’t know what to think about you,” he muttered, almost to himself.
“So get to know me,” Taehyung offered. “Outside of this place. Go for a drink with me, maybe dinner.” He tried to hold his hands up, but they were still cuffed. “No crime, I promise.”
“Are you-- are you asking me on a date? That’s so inappropriate, I’m your lawyer.” He smiled, and Tae knew, he knew that it was a little regretful. “We have to keep our relationship professional and confined to this building.” He sighed. “I assume your brother is coming to get you?”
Taehyung nodded.
“Okay, well, I’ll give you 20 minutes to chat. And if your brother isn’t here by then, we’ll talk about your case, okay? God knows this is the most interesting thing to happen to me this week.” He leaned back, steepling his hands together. “Now tell me what you have against pop art. And I know it’s not some classist crap, having talked to you.”
Taehyung opened his mouth, and Namjoon held up a finger. “Twenty minutes. And we can’t see each other outside of this, I’m serious.”
Taehyung nodded, his mind whirling. “I promise.”
……..
“Name.”
“Paul Cezanne.”
“You’re a riot.” Sergeant Cha slapped the handcuffs on Taehyung. “Come on, your lawyer is waiting.”
Taehyung grinned.
…..
“I don’t even know how to spell ‘Edouard Manet,’’” Sergeant Cha complained, as he wrote “Kim Taehyung” on the intake form.
“I believe in you,” Taehyung said. “And you should check out his portraits sometime, they’re just--” Taehyung gestured in the air, trying to find the words, “--haunting.”
“Yeah, okay, okay, come on, Namjoon’s in Interview Room C.”
….
“Do you speak English, Namjoon-ssi?”
“I do.” Namjoon looked at Taehyung over his glasses, which had fallen down his nose slightly. Taehyung was wildly aroused. “Why, are you running off to America? Australia? Need a tutor?”
“Why would I go anywhere?” Taehyung spread his hands as far as he could with the cuffs on. Namjoon seemed to feel better when he played by the rules, so he tried to do that, even if his wrists hurt.
Namjoon pushed his glasses up and leaned back, crossing his arms. “One of these times you’re not going to get away. You’ll end up in prison.” His gaze softened. “I’d hate to see you there.”
“See? You do care.” Taehyung smiled, satisfied. He stretched his lower back and wiggled his fingers to increase the circulation. “I knew it.”
“It’s literally my job to care if you get put in prison,” Namjoon said sternly, but the smile hadn’t left his eyes. “Even if nobody else in this godforsaken system does.”
“Can we stop pretending I need a lawyer and just talk?”
“That’s not how it works, Taehyung-ssi,” Namjoon sighed. “But if you want to finish telling me about your trip to Prague, we can do that while we fill out paperwork.” He frowned at the intake paper he was holding. “Does this say-- is this ‘Camille Pissarro’ spelled out in Hangul?”
“Sergeant Cha is trying his best,” Taehyung said. “I’m really proud of him.”
…..
“Let me guess,” Sergeant Cha said, “Berthe Moirisot.”
“Awww, hyung,” Taehyung said, putting his hand to his heart. “You’ve been studying. I’m touched.”
“Don’t call me that,” Sergeant Cha said, but Taehyung thought he still looked pleased, anyway. “Okay, up you go, Namjoon has your usual room.”
….
“Here’s the thing,” Seokjin said, spreading his hands out on the table in front of him. “I’m going to literally kill you.”
“Hyung,” Taehyung said, but stopped, because he knew Seokjin was right. He really didn’t mean to be causing them problems.
“It’s terrible that it has to end this way, but I am going to be minus one brother if you don’t stop getting arrested, do you understand?” He sounded angry, really angry, and a little scared. Taehyung hated that, hated that he’d stepped on Seokjin’s usual easygoing ways. “I mean it, Tae, knock it the fuck off.”
“I’m sorry--” Taehyung started to say, but Seokjin cut him off.
“No, I’ve heard sorry before, I’m serious this time. I’m not bailing you out, you’re not wiggling your way out, you get caught, you’re spending time in jail, you got that?” Seokjin looked as upset as Taehyung felt.
“I got it,” Taehyung said quietly. “It won’t happen again, hyung.”
Seokjin looked at him, studying his face. “We can stop,” he said softly. “We have enough money, we can just-- stop. Do something else.” He looked a little sad, and Taehyung wondered if he was thinking about Yoongi.
Yoongi, who had left when they refused to back down on that Son Hunsik job last year. He and Seokjin had fought, like Taehyung hadn’t seen them fight before, and he’d left. Seokjin was heartbroken, that much was obvious, but he never talked about it.
Taehyung caught him looking at pictures, sometimes. Of Yoongi, of the little house in Daegu.
“It’s not just the money,” Taehyung said, because it wasn’t, and he needed to remind himself of that. “But hyung, if you want to go back to Daegu, be done-”
“No,” Seokjin sighed, his face going carefully blank. “You’re right, we at least need to take down that fucker, what’s his name, Lee. Lee Youngho.”
“The gala next month,” Taehyung said, focusing his thoughts on the present. “I’m ready, hyung, and I think I have a plan.”
………
Two weeks before the Lee Youngho job, Jimin messaged Taehyung saying that it had been too long since he’d seen him, and oh by the way he needed someone to fill in teaching the toddler art class on Saturday, thanks for volunteering. It was his way of keeping Taehyung in sight for a few hours because he worried about him, and also he knew how much Taehyung loved the toddlers.
The performing arts center was out in Suwon, away from Seoul proper, a place with nice working families with Samsung salaryman fathers and perfectly put together mothers who sent their children to Australian English camps on school breaks and always made brown rice instead of white, for the nutrition. It was a pleasant, clean, well-maintained place, and Taehyung had absolutely no idea why Jimin loved it.
Suwon was a city, but it always felt like a pale imitation of the cities Taehyung had loved. But if Jimin wasn’t going to stay in Seoul with his best friend, it was better that he was a metro ride away in Suwon rather than going back to Busan or, god forbid, to Gwangju where Hoseok was from.
Hoseok and Jimin had been together a few years now, having met when they were both in the hospital recovering from surgery. Jimin’s was on his knee, Hoseok, on his ankle. They were both dancers, they were both at their lowest points, and they both desperately needed someone else to take care of. Taehyung was so grateful to Hoseok for being there in that time, even though he’d privately wondered if they’d be as attached after their recovery.
They were the most solid, grounded couple Taehyung knew. He wanted to cry when he looked at them, they were so beautiful. Jimin was his very best and most favorite person in the world, and he completely adored Hoseok. Adored him. He loved seeing them and he was so proud of their performing arts center, a place where children could come and learn the arts in a more humane, lower-pressure environment than Hoseok or Jimin had been subjected to in their early years.
Sometimes, Taehyung came in to paint with the toddlers. Sometimes, he stole paintings headed for the black market, sold them, and anonymously donated the proceeds to the school. Sometimes. Like any good friend would do.
Jimin never asked Taehyung about it, but he wasn’t stupid.
“You’ve been getting in trouble,” Jimin said, pulling him into a tight hug as soon as he walked in. “Taehyungie, don’t be stupid.”
Taehyung felt everything in him relax as he melted into Jimin’s hug. “Who’s been telling on me?” he asked lightly. “It’s not Jin-hyung.”
“Yoongi,” Jimin said, stepping back and raising an eyebrow. “Do you think he doesn’t still keep an eye on you guys?”
“You still talk to-- you know, never mind,” Taehyung said, shaking his head. “I’m here to paint and to see my best friend, let’s not do this.”
“Be careful,” Jimin said, stroking his hair. “That’s all I ask.”
“Always,” Taehyung promised.
At the end of the first class, Taehyung was wiping the face of a girl who’d decided to become her own art (via multicolored handprints on her own cheeks) when, to his utter shock, Kim Namjoon walked into the classroom looking confused, then wandered out again.
For a second, Taehyung though he’d imagined him. And then he realized his imagination absolutely did not have the capacity to invent the glory of what Kim Namjoon’s thighs looked like in shorts. He booped the girl’s nose and ran into the hallway, shouting, “Namjoon! Hyung!” at Namjoon’s retreating back.
He stopped, turned around, and visibly startled, his mouth open in surprise.
“What are you doing here?” Taehyung was absolutely thrown by Namjoon’s presence. He could see Jimin glance over from the doorway, where he was talking to a parent, clearly puzzled.
Namjoon looked just as shocked as he was. “Checking up on a friend, actually. Jungkookie has been teaching some dance classes for kids.”
Taehyung knew Jungkook. He was a little younger than Taehyung, a former idol trainee who’d been left with debt and injuries after he left his company. He’d found Hobi and Jimin somehow, and they’d almost immediately adopted him.
Looking at Namjoon, Taehyung was starting to suspect how Jungkook had gotten back on his feet. “You helped him,” Taehyung said.
“He helped himself.” Namjoon shrugged. “I just offered him some resources.”
He meant it, Taehyung realized. It wasn’t false modesty or performative humility, he just meant it. Taehyung couldn’t believe that there was someone like Kim Namjoon out there in the world being so hot and tall and nice.
...and there was Jimin, done talking to the parent and heading this way, and Taehyung absolutely didn’t want to have the “this is my lawyer who I’m crushing on and got arrested five times to talk to” conversation right now, so they needed to get out of here.
“Walk?” Taehyung blurted out. “Take a walk? With me?” He grabbed Namjoon’s hand and dragged him out of the classroom, just as Jimin got waylaid by another parent.
They got outside and Namjoon asked, curiously, “We’re not doing crime right now, are we?”
“Why,” Taehyung said, walking backwards in front of him and batting his eyelashes, “are you going to arrest me? Put me away?”
“No, Taehyung--” Namjoon reached out and took his hand. Taehyung stopped short, shocked at the contact. It was a warm day, and the point where their hands connected was even warmer. Namjoon’s hand was soft and smooth. Taehyung loved a man who moisturized.
Namjoon gently led him over to the park next to the school and sat him down on one of the benches. “Taehyung,” he said again, looking him directly in the eyes. “I don’t want you to go to jail.”
Feeling a little lost, Taehyung said, “I was just joking.” Some push toward honesty, compelled by Namjoon’s steady gaze, compelled him to add, “Flirting, a little.”
“I know.” Namjoon closed his eyes and huffed out a breath. “You’re always flirting, and joking, and I just-- I like our talks, okay? And I really, really don’t want to see you go to prison. I’ve seen what it does to people, and I don’t want that for you. I don’t understand why you do what you do, why you steal--”
“What? No.” Taehyung stopped short. “Hyung, is that all you think of me? That I’m a common thief?” It was stupid that it was a little hurtful -- he couldn’t expect Namjoon to appreciate the finer points of his job -- but it was.
“I’m sorry,” Namjoon said, not sounding as sorry as Taehyung wanted him to sound. “But to be fair, I’m your lawyer. Also, I’ve only ever seen you at the police station after you’ve been arrested.”
“Well to be fair,” Taehyung snapped. “I only kept getting arrested to talk to you.” He sighed. “I just want to spend some time with you not in that interrogation room--”
“Interview room,” Namjoon corrected, sounding a little dazed, then shut his mouth when Taehyung glared at him.
“Why are you even here talking to me if you think I’m just some thief,” Taehyung asked. A terrible thought occurred to him. “Do you think I’m someone you have to save? Like Jungkookie?”
“Taehyung, you’re wearing a twelve million won watch,” Namjoon said drily. “I’m guessing you’re doing okay for yourself.” Namjoon rubbed his forehead. “Right. Okay. I’m fucking this up. Can we start again? And maybe get back to the part where you were getting arrested to talk to me? Hi,” he said, offering both his hand and a smile that could flatten a small city with its force. “I’m Kim Namjoon.”
“Hi,” Taehyung said, trying to stay irritated and failing, as he shook his hand. He felt bad for snapping, and he supposed he couldn’t blame Namjoon for his assumptions. Untangling yourself from the beliefs of the capitalist paramilitary police state took time and work. “I’m Kim Taehyung. It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? Do you want to get ice cream with me?”
“Ice cream sounds great.” Namjoon pointed down the street. “There’s a place down here that has incredible honeycomb soft serve, I’m obsessed.”
They headed out, walking together in silence. It really was beautiful, the sun shining bright and warm for the first time after a cold, damp spring. They both kept turning their faces upward, like flowers blooming. It was nice, such an unexpectedly nice moment, that Taehyung couldn’t stop himself from blurting out, “I like you, you know.”
“Um,” Namjoon said, and stumbled on a crack in the sidewalk. “I uh, kind of got that from the um, multiple arrests.” He looked at Taehyung, then looked away. “I’m not really sure what to say.”
Oh. Okay. “If I’m annoying you--” Taehyung started to say.
“No! No, no, you’re just--” Namjoon blew out a breath. “You’re one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met and to be completely honest, I can’t get my mind off you,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets and grimacing. “And I’m your lawyer, and you keep getting arrested, and it’s horribly unethical, so I’m not really sure what to say.”
“What if I stop getting arrested?” Taehyung asked, walking backwards in front of Namjoon. “I’m getting out of the biz soon anyway, thinking about alternate careers.”
“Like teaching art to toddlers?” Namjoon asked.
“Maybe. Or just traveling for a bit, working on my own art before I settle down.” Taehyung said, shrugging. “Things are getting a little tight for me in Seoul right now.”
Namjoon looked like he was going to say something about getting arrested, or maybe scold him again, but he shook his head instead and said, “Why don’t you tell me about your art.”
…….
The gala was an event to raise money for an arts foundation; the foundation itself was a breeding ground of spoiled young chaebols using their art history degrees as another form of gatekeeping, but that wasn’t important right now. What was important was Lee Youngho, his recently acquired sapphires, and the fact the Taehyung and Seokjin had somehow scored invites.
They were posing as designers again, having smoothed things over with Mr. Xu, explaining that the theft was part of Taehyung’s artistic process and that he wouldn’t be sorry with the results of their work. Things really were getting tight for them in Seoul, they knew it. Korea was a small country, the wealthy elite of Seoul were an insular group, and they wouldn’t go unnoticed for long. This was their last job at home, if not forever, then for a good long time. They hadn’t talked about it in so many words, but they knew it. Seokjin kept making noises about not getting any younger, wanting to settle down.
Taehyung...Taehyung couldn’t stop thinking about Namjoon. For the first time, he thought about what might be outside this life. Dinners with Jimin and Hoseok where they didn’t have to look at him with worry. Taking Namjoon to his favorite places in the city, walking together. Maybe vacationing in the mountains somewhere, trading kisses while Taehyung painted the view. It was distracting, and Taehyung couldn’t afford to be distracted. It was another sign that he was really done with all this, but he needed to worry about that tomorrow, not while he was trying to work.
He dressed carefully tonight. It was black tie, but tuxedos were the absolute worst for concealing anything. A pocketful of spare change could ruin the line of a suit, never mind smuggling a decent set of tools. Honestly he wasn’t about to inconvenience himself for the sake of some limited ideas about formal style.
Instead, he went for a modern version of a hanbok, all in black and silver silks. He’d dyed his hair icy, pale lavender and styled it up in a way he knew would make him look intimidating. Relying on his looks made him feel uncomfortable a lot of the time, like he was buying into something harmful. Seokjin was the one who did that, he didn’t see it in the same way that Taehyung did. “Other people are buying into it, not me,” he’d said once. “They’re the suckers, Tae.”
Once inside, they paid their respects to the host and his wife, a short, elegant woman who looked like she wanted to eat Taehyung alive. When he bowed to her, she took his hand and delicately scraped her nails along the underside of his wrist, raising her eyebrow.
Taehyung liked her spirit, but Lee Youngho shot him a suspicious look, which was the opposite of what he wanted. He made a quick escape from them both and casually wandered the perimeter of the room, observing the flow of people coming and going, the faces of the hired waitstaff, the spots where various exits were obscured from most of the main hall.
He’d circled the room seven times, asked two women to dance, and eaten an entire plate of shrimp when he spotted Namjoon.
At first, Taehyung thought it was his imagination. He’d been so distracted and trying so hard not to be that when he saw Namjoon, drinking a glass of champagne near the indoor koi pond, it just felt like another trick of his mind. But no, there he was, making conversation with a small group of people, smiling, looking comfortable and casual and gorgeous.
While Taehyung was trying to decide whether or not to approach him, Seokjin appeared out of thin air, right behind Taehyung’s ear. “What is he doing here?”
“No idea,” Taehyung said. “I swear, I have no clue.”
“Well, he’s coming this way.” Seokjin grimaced and clapped Taehyung on the shoulder. “We can call it off, okay? I don’t want you distracted.”
“I can do this,” Taehyung hissed. “I’ll meet you in the study in an hour. It’s fine, I can handle it.”
Seokjin shot him another worried look and left, snagging an appetizer off a tray and stuffing it in his mouth whole.
“Dare I ask what you’re doing here?” Namjoon said, looking around. “Are you...casing the place?”
“Hyung, how many times do i have to tell you that I’m not some kind of common thief, it’s hurtful and insulting when you say that.”
Namjoon raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t say that, did I?”
“So what are you doing here?” Taehyung asked, snagging a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. He wasn’t going to drink it, he didn’t have much of a head for alcohol and he avoided it when he was working, but he wanted something to do with his hands.
“I had a date, believe it or not,” Namjoon said, looking slightly embarrassed. “He bailed. I don’t know why I even agreed--” he grimaced. “Why do I feel like I should apologize to you? We’re not even--” He sighed, covering his face in his hands. “Forget it. This is embarrassing.”
Taehyung set his champagne down. He was hurt, and had no right to be, as well as charmed, utterly, by Namjoon’s honesty. “His loss,” he said, taking Namjoon’s hand. “May I have this dance?”
“People are going to stare,” Namjoon said, but followed his lead into a slow waltz.
They were staring, some confused, some disgusted, but they weren’t looking at Seokjin, who was making his way up the stairs to the second floor. Taehyung saw him and quickly twirled Namjoon in the opposite direction, drawing everyone’s gaze to the other side of the room.
“So,” Taehyung said, “a date.”
“Not the date I wanted,” Namjoon said, smiling at him, devastating. “But you’re a little complicated right now, aren’t you?”
“I’m thinking of giving it all up.” Taehyung was surprised at how earnest he sounded to himself. “Laying low, settling down.”
“How do I know you’re not just saying that?” Namjoon’s hand tightened on his waist.
Taehyung shrugged. “You don’t, I guess.” He leaned in, next to Namjoon’s ear. “But if I did, would you go on a date with me?”
“I guess you’ll have to ask me,” Namjoon said, “when that happens.”
“Plan on it.”
The stares got a little intense as the music went on, and Youngho’s wife was starting to glare at him, so Taehyung regretfully let Namjoon go near the end of the song, promising to be back later.
“I’m leaving soon, I think,” Namjoon said. “But I’ll come find you.”
Taehyung danced with Youngho’s wife next, complimenting her until she blushed. She made a not-so-oblique reference to a threesome as they danced and Taehyung felt his smile freeze on his face. His relationship with Namjoon wasn’t hers, she didn’t get to talk about it like that. He wanted to snatch his hand away, but instead he bowed politely and said, “Excuse me, I think I see my brother.”
“Are we good?” he asked Seokjin, who was emerging from the bathroom, his hair perfectly in place.
“We’re good,” Seokjin said, giving him a thumbs-up. “What an asshole, he’s just got them in the desk, like we thought.”
“Arrogant,” Taehyung sighed. “When will they learn?”
The thing about Lee Youngho was, he was an old fashioned man. He had all the most modern security for his building, of course, but once you were inside, the only thing between you and, say, a collection of sapphires was a desk drawer lock that one of Jimin’s preschoolers could have opened. In theory, it was almost laughably easy to walk in, pick some locks, and walk out, all before Youngho had a chance to make the deal with his buyer, who was at the gala.
The jewels were there, unsecured, for the one night there would be hundreds of strangers walking around Youngho’s house. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up, a perfect last job, and then they’d be done.
“During dessert,” Seokjin said. “In and out.”
Seokjin got louder and louder as the night went on, doing a perfect imitation of someone getting progressively drunker, if you didn’t pay attention to how little he was actually drinking. When dessert was served, Seokjin stumbled off in the direction of the bathrooms. Taehyung made an apologetic face to the man he was talking to, and took off after him.
As he stepped through the doorway, he thought he saw Namjoon glance at him from across the room, but he couldn’t tell.
Past the bathrooms, there were a set of discreet service elevators. Seokjin pulled a key card out of his pocket and waved it over the sensor. He’d stolen it last week from one of the kitchen staff. They couldn’t use the main stairs to get up to Youngho’s office, they were in view of the entire first floor. This was the best way to get in and out.
The office itself was typical boring rich guy, lots of shiny surfaces, some tasteful but boring Japanese watercolors. If you’d seen one, you’d seen them all. “The desk,” Seokjin said, pointing. “Middle drawer.”
In the dark, they crept closer to the desk, kneeling behind it.
This was it. One more job, and they were done. Taehyung felt surprisingly good about it. Ready. He took a breath and slipped on a pair of gloves. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Suddenly, there was a noise behind them, a soft click, and a band of light fell across the desk. Taehyung froze, his heart pounding, as he stared as Seokjin, who looked like he was going to start screaming.
“I knew it.” Oh. Shit.
Taehyung turned around slowly, his hands up, to see the unsmiling face of Kim Namjoon looking back at him.
“How is this laying low?” Namjoon said, his voice getting louder and louder with each word, which was a terrible idea.
“Ssshhhh!” Taehyung hissed and pulled Namjoon inside, shuttling the door behind them.
“This?” Seokjin squeaked. “This is what we’re doing? Really?” He gestured to Namjoon. “This is a disaster.”
“Hey,” Namjoon said, sounding hurt. “I’m not the criminal here.”
“That’s a very narrow view--” Taehyung started to say, as Seokjin chimed in with, “I mean technically, I guess--”
Namjoon sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not here to debate ethics with you guys, okay? Let’s just--”
“He’s funding a war,” Taehyung said softly, and Namjoon stopped to look at him. “These diamonds, they’re being sent off tonight to buy weapons. The police are in his pocket, they’re not going to stop him.”
“And you’re what— a vigilante?”
“No, we’re criminals,” Seokjin said, winking. “If you want to get technical.” He shrugged. “But we only steal from real shitheads, because guess what, they’re usually the ones with the money.”
“In this case, though, we can really do some good. Mess up a few awful people for a long time.”
Namjoon looked at Taehyung. His face was serious, like he was turning things over in his mind, giving their words genuine consideration. Taehyung sent up a silent prayer. If Namjoon called the police, this was very bad for them.
“There are laws,” Namjoon said, almost to himself.
Taehyung touched his hand. “And how often do they protect the right people? We’ve talked about this, hyung.”
“You said you were going to give this up!” Namjoon was starting to get worryingly loud again.
“Wait,” Seokjin said, looking at Taehyung, his brows furrowed. “You said you were going to give this up? For real this time?”
“Yes, but not right this second--”
There was another noise from the hallway, several voices together. Taehyung threw Namjoon a panicked look, begging with his eyes as he dropped down behind the desk. Seokjin had already worked the drawer open and pulled out the lockbox. Taehyung snapped on rubber gloves and grabbed it, fiddling with the lock as his hands shook.
“Guys?’” Namjoon hissed, backing into the desk as the voices grew louder. Seokjin grabbed him by the back of the jacket and yanked him down just as Taehyung popped the box open. The sapphires were all there, spilling a river of blue across the velvet-lined interior.
Not looking at Namjoon, Taehyung slipped the jewels in the pouch sewn into the lining of his coat, closed the box, and quickly locked the drawer.
“In here--” Shit, it was Youngho. “Delivery as promised.” There was another moment of quiet, then a fumbling scrape against the door. Unthinking, Taehyung reached out to grab Namjoon’s hand. Namjoon looked terrified, turning wide eyed first toward Taehyung, then Seokjin, who was frozen in a crouch near the floor-length curtains.
They were on the third floor of the building. Windows weren’t an option, and they were probably alarmed anyway. Staying still to just get caught -- so, so not an option. Taehyung was starting to panic.
“Can we just-- run?” Namjoon whispered. “Just take them by surprise?”
Taehyung and Seokjin both turned to look at him, incredulous.
Namjoon gripped Taehyung’s hand tighter. “I’m not a criminal, I don’t know! Sorry!”
“No, that. That might work.” Seokjin looked at Taehyung, who nodded. This was their last job. They were going out in a blaze of glory.
All three of them slowly stood up as the door opened. For a second, nobody moved. And then, in a rush, Taehyung picked up the ugly lamp off the desk and threw it into a mirror, shattering it just as Seokjin let out an unearthly screech and barreled toward the door, waving his arms.
“Oh god,” Namjoon groaned, covering his face with one hand as Taehyung pulled him along, whooping and laughing.
Seokjin, who was screeching and flailing like a muppet, but secretly built like a brick wall, took out Youngho, and Namjoon, in a surprising display of force, shoved Youngho’s friend on their way out the door as the three of them dashed for the fire stairs on the other end of the hall.
“Out, Seokjin gasped, “before the alarm.” They clattered down the stairs, Taehyung’s lungs burning, the sound of their breath, labored and gasping, echoing across the painted concrete walls. There was an emergency fire door in sight, right as they rounded the last landing, and then--
An alarm started blaring. Red emergency lights flashed on and spun, dizzying them. Next to him, Namjoon whispered, “Oh fuck.”
“Got it,” Taehyung said, sprinting the last set of stairs, two at a time, as he drew a mini EMP device from his hidden toolkit, smacked it on the door, and slammed the button to activate it. There was a pulse, a spark, and Taehyung shoved his shoulder against the door, pushing it open.
They fell out into the street, gasping. “This way!” Seokjin pointed, then took off, Taehyung and Namjoon following behind him.
This was the worst kind of neighborhood to try to get lost in: swanky, clean, not a lot of crowds, but Seokjin led them deeper into a commercial neighborhood, where there were some more clubs and restaurants. If they had a minute to think, they could have probably talked their way in, but they didn’t have time for that.
A siren sounded nearby, maybe a street or two away, and the three of them startled. Lights flashed as a police car turned down the other end of the street.
“We should split up,” Seokjin said, pulling them deeper into the crowd. “It’ll be harder for them to catch us. Where do you want to meet?” He looked almost completely calm, a dead giveaway for how upset he was.
Taehyung felt a surge of love for Seokjin, who had cared for him so well for so long. “Hey hyung,” he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he had a chance to think about it. “I love you. Be safe.” He darted forward, hugging Seokjin. “Go to Daegu,” he whispered.
“Are you sure--” Seokjin said, but he was already looking distant. “He might not even. Well.”
“Of course he will,” Taehyung said, rolling his eyes. “With a face like yours? Come on.”
He could see the second it worked. Seokjin snapped upright, running his hand through his hair. “You’re right, he’d have to be a fool, what was I thinking.” He hugged Taehyung one more time. “You know how to contact me when you’re safe. Be careful. I love you.”
The police car at the end of the street, clearly sick of being stuck behind two slow-moving delivery trucks, blared its siren again.
“Gotta go,” Taehyung said, yanking Namjoon along with him as he waved one more time to Seokjin, who had melted into the crowd.
Between two storefronts there was a small opening, where a couple of steps led down to a cafe tucked in behind the larger buildings. It looked like there might be a tiny garden and a few trees there, the kind of place where you could feel like you were slipping away from the city for a little bit.
It was also the kind of place that was only open in the morning, because it was completely dark. Taehyung pulled Namjoon down the steps but stopped at the bottom, ducking just out of view. “Cafe probably has a security system,” he whispered, nodding at the darkened windows. “CCTV, motion detectors. We can’t stay long.”
Namjoon nodded, pressing himself flush against the shadowed part of the wall, Taehyung squeezed in next to him. For a few moments, the only sound echoing in the air was the sound of their breath, shaky and still edged with a slight note of panic, an underlying whine that neither of them were even trying to control.
Lights pulsed out on the street, a whoop of a siren. Taehyung closed his eyes and swallowed hard and froze, barely even breathing until the lights were long gone.
“I hope he made it,” Taehyung whispered. But if he believed in anything, it was Seokjin’s ability to slip away from trouble. He’d get away, and he’d get himself back to Daegu. Taehyung had faith.
Squeezing his hand, Namjoon said, “Of course he did,” like it wasn’t even in question.
Namjoon looked strangely unafraid, considering their circumstances. He looked thoughtful, like he was puzzling something out, as his eyes swept over Taehyung’s face. “Hey,” he said, urgent and quiet. “I--” and then he grabbed Taehyung by the shoulder, angled their bodies together, and swept in for a deep, wet, desperate, messy kiss.
Taehyung wouldn’t have been more shocked if he’d hit him. He figured this would be the last he’d see of Namjoon after nearly getting him arrested, and instead, he was being held tight, like he was something precious, cradled against a wall as Namjoon nipped at his mouth, running his fingers through Taehyung’s hair.
“What,” Taehyung said when they pulled apart. “Um, why? I think I just ruined your career?” Taehyung froze, stricken with the implications. “Oh god, I just ruined your career,” he whispered. “I didn’t want this, I’m so sorry. You can’t-- there’s no way you can be a lawyer anymore, I’m so sorry, I--”
Namjoon just pulled Taehyung closer, tucking him against his chest. “Can I tell you a secret?” he asked.
Taehyung nodded.
“I. Hate. My. Job.” Namjoon stage-whispered, tightening his arms around Taehyung. “The system is broken, and I’m breaking along with it. I wasn’t going to quit, and I didn’t want...well, any of this, but I’m sure not going to lose sleep about it. Assuming we make it out.”
Something like hope flared in Taehyung’s chest, warring with guilt. He’d just upended Namjoon’s whole life, they were going to have to talk about that eventually. But they couldn’t talk about it if they were both in jail.
“We’re making it out,” Taehyung promised. He’d had an escape plan in place the second they left that gala. He had funds, the flat in Paris. There was always a Plan B. “We’re making it out and-- I’m done. This is it. I was already going to be done, but really, I can’t keep doing this.”
“Don’t do this just for me,” Namjoon said, pulling away slightly.
Taehyung shook his head. “No, I’m doing this for me, and for hyung. It’s time. Besides,” he said, smiling, “even if I’m not doing it for you, spending some time with you is a bonus.”
“We can take the chance to get to know each other,” Namjoon said. He kissed Taehyung again, softly. “I’d like that.”
“What if I ask you out on a date? Start there?” Taehyung asked, cocking his head flirtatiously. “A romantic night in Paris? We can go to the Rodin Museum, walk in the rose gardens, drink some wine by the Seine…?” He trailed his finger down Namjoon’s chest, delicately tugging on the buttons of his shirt.
Namjoon covered his hand, stopping the motion. “Is this your way of telling me that we need to leave the country?”
“...yes?” Taehyung smiled his best, most winning smile. “I mean, if you want to get--”
“Technical, right, I got it,” Namjoon said drily, but his dimples were starting to pop out.
“I’m just saying, if we have to flee Korea to avoid the long arm of the oligarchy, why not do it together? In the City of Love?”
“I’ve always wanted to see the Centre Pompidou,” Namjoon mused. “And I’ve never wanted to go to jail.”
“I’ve accepted dates for worse reasons,” Taehyung said hopefully, his heart pounding. He wanted this, he was shocked by the force of how badly he wanted this. He wasn’t in love, not yet, but oh god, he wanted to be.
“What the hell,” Namjoon said, cupping Taehyung’s face in his hands. “I’ve never been a fan of the oligarchy anyway.”
And they kissed again, under the glittering lights of Gangnam, the wail of police sirens growing more and more distant into the night.