Chapter Text
If you’d asked Hoseok what he would be doing in ten years, he would have answered something simple. When Hoseok was fifteen, maybe he’d had said a florist, a veterinarian, perhaps even an engineer. If you’d asked his five-year-old self, he would have answered time-traveling superhero. All in all, Hoseok has had a variety of different interests concerning his career.
Now, if you asked him what he would be hoping he’d be doing in ten years, he’d give you a simple answer. “Alive.”
He’s not depressed by any means. Sure, he’d dealt with his share of depression during his teenage years and even into his early twenties, but he’s managed to quiet the voice in his head bringing him down. As well as take his prescribed antidepressants whenever his therapist and doctor remind him to. Other than that Hoseok is living his best life.
Living his best life, of course, includes coming home with big checks in his pocket to spend later, getting to travel all around the world in first-class , and probably the most exciting part, having an amazing and adventurous job. That being said, his source of income isn’t the most stable. In fact, any normal person thrust into Hoseok’s position would be fearing for their safety. Not Hoseok, however. (Although he did invest in life insurance ever since the stray bullet hit him and his mother had cried in the hospital for days while he recovered.)
Currently, Hoseok is stationed in L.A., living cluelessly in an apartment in the downtown area as he waits for further instruction from his superior. He’s been there for three days already. You see, Hoseok doesn’t have a normal job. Far from that, actually.
As he awaits the call he’s sure will come tonight, he lounges on his couch, Macbook balanced on his stomach as he languidly does a Google search for “What to do in LA at night”. Call him basic, but at least that’s better than staying in for another night when the twenty-something-year-old in him wants to enjoy his youth and go to a club or something.
He looks at the time in the corner of his screen and sighs as he sees it’s just a quarter past six and yet the sun seems to have begun to set. There’s no use staying in and being bored out of his mind if Seokjin is just going to stand him up again. He may as well get out for some fresh air before Seokjin works out the details of his next job with him. Besides, Hoseok hasn’t been out in a while, not since the last time he was in Seoul. But that was months ago, probably even a year if he’s remembering right.
He sets the laptop aside onto the coffee table and quickly stands up, makes his way to his temporary room where he has his suitcase set on the floor next to his bed, still intact just in case. He kneels and unzips it in search for a suitable outfit for tonight. Hoseok hums in delight when he spots a pair of tight leather pants and an over-sized, white button-up blouse he’s glad he owns.
They’re the type of pants that hug his body just right, especially making his ass look amazing according to countless of his friends and coworkers. As for the white button-up, Hoseok knows he looks good in just about anything, but he likes to go for something classy on top and something a little more risky for the bottom.
He gets dressed rather quickly, although he does spend a good ten minutes in front of the bathroom mirror, contemplating if he should bother with makeup and if so, should he go for heavy or natural. As he spends his time looking at his clear face, he also chances a glance at the expensive wristwatch he dons on his hand. It’s a quarter to seven, so he doesn’t need to hurry. He could even hit up a bar before he decides to strut into the club like some rich boy’s allowance spent on one thing.
He rummages through his little makeup bag and decides that he does want to opt for a natural look, considering he doesn’t feel like breaking out and perhaps costing him a job in the near future. He applies primer first, then carefully outlines his eye with black eyeliner, deciding a small wing will do for tonight. He also decides to apply just the least bit of concealer to cover up the natural dark bags under his eyes due to lack of sleep. Finally, Hoseok’s favorite part of any fit, clear lip gloss to make his lips pop.
He deems himself ready after a quick once over in the mirror and pulls his phone out of his pocket, making sure to pull over a coat just in case it gets windy and chilly later. He unlocks his phone quickly to pull up directions to the most high-end bar in the city, deciding he’ll spoil himself silly with an overpriced drink while someone else spoils him all night all over his body.
When he’d landed in the city, he’d decided to rent a car, nothing too expensive or lavish, something more discreet in contrast to his rash way of living, and especially his precarious job. He forgoes the vehicle in the garage and instead takes the elevator to the lobby where he’d told the Lyft driver to pick him up. If he’s getting wasted and hopefully laid, he for sure isn’t going to spend his hungover morning worrying over where he left the car.
He waits outside the apartment building for the driver to pull up, meanwhile scrolling through his phone and connecting his headphones to it, considering it is quite a drive to the bar. As a part of the job, he isn’t exactly allowed to have a public social media account, seeing as it puts him and his loved ones, not to mention the agency, in danger. He can’t help himself though, as a modern-day millennial he gets off on the internet. He’d probably gouge his eyes out if he wasn’t able to keep up with current memes. He doesn’t want to end up like Seokjin, the newest song he knows being Hips Don’t Lie.
Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but it sure does feel like Seokjin was born a generation before Hoseok when in fact their age gap is just about two years.
He’s snapped out of his thoughts when he hears the sound of a car stopping in front of him and recognizes the familiar sound of the Lyft notification telling him his driver is here. He quickly makes sure the license plates match (It’s one of those customizable plates that reads: OMW2FYB which in a way is genius, but Hoseok cringes when he figures out what it means.) and he hops inside, mindful of his semi-long legs as he gets into the compact car.
“Hose…” The driver pauses before he butchers Hoseok’s name even further, but Hoseok can’t blame him. As much as people like to boast about the diversity in L.A., there are still people who aren’t exposed to this diversity, and even less who try their best not to butcher names such as his.
“That’s me,” he says in English and the driver nods before confirming the pickup. He has a hint of an accent, but he’s gotten better through the years seeing as it’s an international language and Hoseok is an international man. It comes in handy when he’s sent to places where Korean isn’t commonly spoken. That’s also where Namjoon comes in handy. The man has managed to learn four languages and is currently learning another one. He makes the job easier each time they’re paired up together, and Hoseok prays that Seokjin has gotten dicked down good enough to grant him this huge solid.
The drive to the bar takes around thirty minutes in which Hoseok decides to fuck around on his phone, scrolling through his finsta feed. He’s on the account Seokjin doesn’t know about, which is for the greater good. He also manages to catch up with Jackson, Namjoon’s friend more than his, who’s back in Seoul finishing up a month-long job before taking a brief, well deserved, vacation in the Bahamas.
Hoseok also loops him into what he’s doing now, headed to a bar and later a club for the night because Seokjin still hasn’t given him the call and he’s tired of being holed up in his temporary apartment. He understands the frustration and encourages Hoseok to get laid as if that wasn’t part of his plan already.
He’s grateful for Jackson, in a way, having been friends with him for as long as he’s known Namjoon and been in the agency. All three of them had been in the academy together. He’s close enough in age that Hoseok expects him to be at least the littlest bit mature, but sometimes he acts childish enough that Hoseok is sure their age gap should be at least five.
He continues chatting with Jackson, who offhandedly mentions Namjoon is also in L.A. until he can sense the night scene beginning to creep out. With the sun already gone, the streets glow in the neon lights of different buildings, whether they be shops, bars, or clubs, advertising the nightlife and even glorifying. On his way to the bar, he’s pretty sure he sees at least ten stores advertising electronic cigarettes and other sorts of unhealthy goods within a good few meters away from a few youth centers and general hangouts for teens. America really is something, he thinks to himself as the lyft driver continues on the road.
As time goes on and the streets start to change into something more refined, Hoseok checks his phone and sees that he’s almost at the bar. When the car pulls up outside the modest-looking bar, Hoseok steps out, thanking the driver, and telling Jackson he’d made it and would text him later. He enters the bar and is just a little bit surprised to see it’s quite full for it being early into the night. He shrugs it off though, finding an empty seat in front of the bartender.
“What can I get for you?” The bartender asks, balancing a cocktail shaker in his hands. He’s young, probably early twenties, and kind of hot if Hoseok is being unprofessional. His brown hair is styled so that his bangs are being held up with black bobby pins, and as Hoseok inspects him further, he realizes that the faded blue strands in his hair are not due to the lighting of the bar.
“Whiskey on the rocks, please,” Hoseok replies after his minute of admiring, receiving a nod of acknowledgment from the bartender before he serves the concoction in the shaker to a person a few stools away. Upon further inspection of the bar, Hoseok notices it’s quite modest for the prices listed in front of him.
The bartender startles him out of his thoughts when he places Hoseok’s drink in front of him. “Thanks, he says,” taking a sip from the whiskey and humming. It isn’t all that pleasant, but it’s still giving him a kick. The bartender’s gaze lingers on him for a few seconds longer before his attention is given to another patron who’s demanding for him. Hoseok brushes it off and takes another sip of the alcohol in front of him, enjoying the familiar burn in his throat.
He usually doesn’t drink alone, preferring to have someone with him so he doesn’t feel like a sad drunk. He’ll have to take Namjoon, one of his usual drinking buddies, to a bar once they’re both back in Seoul, reminiscing their younger days of glory when at most the agency would make them stay local. Now Hoseok is shipped off to places he can’t even pronounce the name of.
Peering over his glass, he notices the bartender continuing to look his way, albeit with a sort of arrogance. In his line of work, Hoseok knows this isn’t always a good sign. He makes sure not to let his guard down as he chugs the rest of his whiskey. He pulls out his phone to check the time, noticing he’s been at the bar for almost half an hour now. He sees he has messages from a few people, a couple from some of the high school friends he still keeps in touch with, his mother, his sister, and then notices a message from an unknown number.
He decides to answer his mother first, fearing for his future self if he accidentally ignores her messages. It’s just a daily check-in, asking him how he’s been, if he’s eaten, what he’s been up to. He replies that he’s doing well, currently in L.A., and going out to eat dinner later. The last thing is obviously a lie. He’s not going to break it to his mom that her adult and fully capable of taking care of himself son goes out clubbing and drinking once in a while. He’d sooner die than break the news to her.
He leaves his high school friends on read, not bothering to waste his energy on replying to their texts consisting of explicit stories and overall dumbass vibe checks. If he’s honest, he wouldn’t want to answer them in public either way.
“Can I interest you in another drink?” The bartender asks, pointing to the empty glass discarded in front of Hoseok.
“Oh, yeah, sure,” Hoseok replies. “Same drink please,” he says, dismissing the bartender with a wave of his hand as he scrolls through his social media feed, deciding that after this drink he’ll make his way over to the club. It’s not a long drive away surprisingly, but he can’t account for the traffic he’s sure to encounter.
He opens up the Lyft app on his phone and types in the location for where he’s going as he continues to sip from his whiskey. “Anything interesting in store for the night?” The bartender asks him, coming closer, elbows on the table as he holds his head. In retrospect, he looks rather young to be a bartender, but Hoseok dismisses it, deciding to entertain the young man.
“I do, in fact. I’m going to meet a few old friends later, so I decided to stop by for some liquid courage before heading over.” It’s a lie. Hoseok has no intention of meeting up with anyone, unless they’re interested in taking him home, but even then he’ll be wary about the person he’s decided to bed.
The bartender buys the fib and hums, commenting, “That seems real interesting. It’s, like, real valid to down some alcohol before meeting up with friends, especially old friends like you mentioned. I’d imagine it’d be hard for me if I had to face my highschool buds without liquor in my system.”
Hoseok awkwardly nods, finishing up his drink before pushing it away from him and towards the bartender. “Thanks, how much do I owe you?” Hoseok asks as he takes out his wallet, yet he finds a hand covering his own and pushing his wallet back into the pocket of his coat.
“It’s on the house,” the bartender says, winking him as he let’s go of Hoseok’s hand but not before giving it a flirtatious squeeze. Hoseok understands what the looks earlier had meant. “Don’t hesitate coming back, your accent’s hot,” he says. Hoseok gives him a smile and acknowledges him with a nod. He’s not one to go after guys such as the bartender; young and lanky. Hoseok oftentimes sleeps with people he knows could knock him out during sex. He likes being on the receiving end, not looking after some twink.
But maybe if Hoseok doesn’t find someone at the club, he’ll come back and take his chances.
He gets an alert on his phone and thanks the bartender, excusing himself and making it outside of the bar, on the lookout for the car.
When the car drops him off outside the club, it’s half-past nine and the line to get inside is a decent length. He walks towards the end of the line, attracting the attention of many good looking people. He hears the chatter of some girls and even the grunts of approval of a group of guys towards the front of the line. What he doesn’t expect, however, is for a hand from within the line to grab at his arm and drag him towards the owner of said hand.
“Hoseok!” His first impressions are that the person who’s just called his name didn’t butcher it, thankfully, and that first and foremost, this person definitely knows Hoseok. He doesn’t go around sharing his real name to random people. He always has to be cautious about who he lets into his life. He also recognizes the voice, and once his vision focuses and he regains his posture and balance, Hoseok recognizes the voice to belong to none other than Kim Namjoon.
Hoseok has known Namjoon doesn’t stray too far from Seoul nowadays. Although he isn’t out in the field as much as Hoseok, he is pretty resourceful and useful to have as a partner at his side. What Hoseok doesn’t garner however is why Namjoon is out on a night like this, assuming he’s on the same side of the coin as Seokjin.
“What are you doing here?” Hoseok asks in Korean, chuckling as Namjoon brings him into a tight hug.
“I could ask you the same thing,” he replies, clapping Hoseok on the back and letting him go. He looks rather enthusiastic to have encountered Hoseok, especially at a club. It’s a known fact within the agency that Hoseok is the best person to go clubbing with, his superior dancing skills and flexibility always brightening the mood.
“Seokjin-hyung sent me here,” he says, wrapping an arm around Namjoon’s shoulders and letting it rest there. “I’ve been here for three days but he hasn’t contacted me since the call he gave me to let me know where I was going. What about you?”
“Same thing here. I got a call from him about a week ago, telling me he needed me here. I usually don’t leave Seoul, so I thought it was a little weird for him to call me up and tell me he was shipping me off here without sparing any other details. Now that I think about it, he also did seem kind of weird on the phone.”
Hoseok seems to mull over Namjoon’s words, noticing that some key points in his story also correlate with his own. It is true, Namjoon hardly ever leaves Seoul unless it’s for a high-risk job requiring someone with a heavy central intelligence background like him. Something in Hoseok’s body starts to sink, filling him with a sense of fear. He hasn’t heard from Seokjin in days, and now he’s happened upon Namjoon. Something doesn’t seem right.
“Well, whatever I guess. It’s been a long while since I’ve been out of Seoul, so I decided to go out clubbing. People say this is a club that is well known for its nostalgic vibes. Once the clock strikes midnight, they start playing vaporwave remixes of songs from the 70s.”
Hoseok chuckles, replying with, “As if I didn’t know American mainstream music now, what makes you think I’d know songs from the 70s? What even is vaporware?” Namjoon laughs and fixes Hoseok with a look, something nostalgic in his eyes as he sees the humor, yet confusion, in Hoseok’s own.
“Well, you see, vaporwave is a genre of electronic music that slows down and distorts the original song. It’s like normal songs, but on LSD,” Namjoon explains. “I’d know. I’ve written various reports on the effects of LSD not only on the user, but also the short and long term effects it has in our society,” he says.
“Only you would,” Hoseok jokes. As the line slowly advances, he sighs, leaning his body weight against Namjoon, albeit how heavy Hoseok may be he still manages to support his weight. “How realistic do you think it is for us to get into this club?” Hoseok inquires, lazily scrolling through his phone to pass the time.
“Not too realistic. Clubs here are almost impossible to get into unless you’re famous,” Namjoon explains to him. “But some bouncers are also shallow enough to be bought. It just depends on what this one wants. Namjoon cranes his neck out to get a good look at the bouncer in front of the club. “We could either bribe him with money, which isn’t really a problem, or distract him with pretty women, which is a problem because one, we aren’t women, and two, we don’t have female companions with us.”
It’s logical, Hoseok thinks. They can either go one of two ways, one may be safer and the other one may get them kicked out of the club before they even step foot inside. “I have money on me,” Hoseok offers. “But I don’t know if it’ll sway him.”
He turns to Namjoon, only to find him deep in thought, scouting around through the line of people waiting to get in line. “The smart thing would be to be prepared with both,” he mutters more to himself than Hoseok. He snaps out of his trance and turns to look at him with a bright, yet sort of mischievous smile on his face before he says, “Wait here. I’ll be back soon.” He doesn’t wait for a reply before dashing off towards the end of the line, which had gotten longer since Hoseok had gotten out of the car.
He does as Namjoon tells him. He waits in line for what must be ten minutes, distracting himself on his phone, when Namjoon returns. He clears his throat and Hoseok looks up, eyes met with two young women who appear to be around their age or younger.
“I explained to them our situation,” Namjoon tells him in English, and it sounds a little foreign to hear Namjoon speak it when he’s accustomed to hearing their mother tongue come out of him when they’re together.
“We’d be happy to help,” one of the girls says. She has a cocktail dress on and her brown hair cascading around her shoulders. Her dress perfectly shows her figure, putting her breasts on display, and the same goes for her friend. Namjoon really is intelligent. “It’s a win-win situation, we help each other get inside the club.”
Hoseok nods and his attention returns to his phone. He manages to hear snippets of Namjoon’s conversation with the two girls, nothing too inappropriate, just basic and formal questions. As the night progresses, they get closer to the front of the line. Hoseok even has hope that they’ll be allowed inside.
When he’s face to face with the bouncer, he bites his tongue, feeling a little jittery. He doesn’t want to be turned away because then waiting in line for about an hour would have been worthless. Luckily, with some sweet talking from Namjoon and some mindless flirting from their companions, the bouncer lets them in. Once they’re inside, Namjoon thanks the girls and they’re off on their own.
“They seemed nice,” Hoseok comments, making a beeline towards the bar.
“They were. One of them is in medical school,” Namjoon tells him, having to raise his voice over the loud music playing inside. Hoseok flags down the bartender and orders his third drink of the night.
“Want anything?” Hoseok asks as Namjoon settles in on the stool beside him.
“No thanks, and no offense, but I don’t think you should either. I think you’ve had enough alcohol for tonight,” Namjoon says, glaring at the drink that’s presented to Hoseok.
“How do you know how much I’ve had?” Hoseok asks, a little defensive.
“You sort of reek of alcohol.”
Hoseok chuckles and tips the glass to his lips, muttering, “I might have had a bit to drink before coming here.” Namjoon rolls his eyes but manages to chuckle at the way Hoseok suddenly chokes on his drink.
“Don’t chug it down too fast,” the younger warns as he flags down the bartender for a few napkins and a glass of water.
“Wasn’t planning on it,” Hoseok replies, getting the coughing out of his system and in the process gaining looks from those surrounding them.
“Hey, can you like, not cough in my direction?” One of the guys sitting next to Hoseok looks at him, irks him in the way he glares at him with disgust in his eyes. “I don’t have health insurance and I would appreciate it if you didn’t put me in the hospital tonight.”
Namjoon rolls his eyes, much to the guy’s dismay, and decides to defend Hoseok. “First of all,” he says, his tone a little colder than necessary, “he wasn’t even coughing in your direction. He was facing me the whole time, so if anyone is getting sick it may as well be me, and thank God I at least have health insurance.” The guy scoffs and stands up from the barstool, putting distance between both Namjoon and Hoseok.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Hoseok wheezes, his throat feeling scratchy but other than that he seems to have recovered from his choking/coughing fit. “Dicks like him aren’t worth the effort to even open our mouths and speak,” he assures Namjoon. “I appreciate you telling him off though.”
Namjoon pushes the glass of water towards him, expecting him to take a sip. “He was being a dick,” he casually says, shrugging his shoulders. “Now drink some water, I think alcohol should be out of the question for the rest of the night.”
Hoseok pouts but nonetheless follows Namjoon’s advice, switching out his tequila shots for glasses of cold water.
They continue to talk, mostly Namjoon telling him stories of his life back in Seoul. He tells him about how he went out to the beach about a month ago and managed to touch a crab without getting pinched or clawed. It may not seem all that interesting, but Hoseok loves the way Namjoon gets excited easily when he tells his little stories.
“So, enough about my life,” Namjoon says, chuckling as Hoseok visibly deflates. “We both know I’m not the most interesting out of the two of us. Tell me what you’ve been up to since I last saw you.”
“Well, where do I even begin,” Hoseok chuckles, leaning his body against the tabletop. “The last mission I was on took me to Japan. It wasn’t all that, just sneak into some millionaire’s hotel room and steal some files. Other than that, it’s been pretty laid back.”
“Oh! Is it that same guy that had like those codes or something like that? I remember Seokjin gave me some documents and asked me to decode some parts and translate the others to Korean. It was a bit of a hassle if I’m being honest,” Namjjon contemplates.
“I don’t know exactly what they were, they looked like doodles. But whatever. You know what they say, I’m just the overpriced delivery-man, and you’re just an overpriced Google Translator.” His joke manages to rip a few giggles out of Namjoon, who even when drunk doesn’t giggle. He must be in a very good mood.
They switch topics, growing bored talking about work and instead are now talking about the most recent movies they’ve seen.
“I can’t believe you wasted your first weekend off in months to watch the entire Twilight saga. I was expecting better, Namjoon. Now I have to call you ‘vampire-fucker’ whenever I see you. Imagine, what would Jin-hyung say?”
“Well, I don’t think you have to call me ‘vampire-fucker’ every time you see me, right? Especially at work. That would be extremely inappropriate,” Namjoon complains.
“No. It must be done. Next mandatory meeting I’m introducing you like that. ‘Good morning, thank you for joining us for this morning briefing. As you all know, I am Agent Jung Hoseok, and right over there, that nerd in the glasses, is Agent Kim Vampire-Fucker Namjoon. Please refrain from mentioning the name Edward Cullen in front of him or he will cry.’”
“Oh, fuck off,” Namjoon wheezes, shoving at Hoseok’s shoulder and making him lose his balance just a bit, causing him to teeter off the stool and into a giggling mess on the floor of the club.
“So this is where you’ve been.” Hoseok freezes, still a pile of clumsiness on the floor, but even through his tipsy mindset, he can tell exactly who stands behind him. He slowly looks up at Namjoon and sees the shock, and maybe fear, in his eyes.
“You know, I’ve been calling you both for, oh I don’t know, the last hour.” Hoseok finally manages to turn to look at the source of the voice, and he gulps.
Seokjin is dressed like his usual, extravagant self; a navy blue blazer over a white dress shirt, and matching navy blue pants. He can see the golden embroidery on the collar of his blazer. Hoseok and a few others at the agency love the way every piece of Seokjin’s wardrobe seems to be embroidered with expensive threads, and all the designs look amazing. Tonight, the gold thread comes together to form flowers, a good combination thanks to the dark blue fabric of the blazer.
Seokjin is an intimidating man, not to mention his superior. He’s also incredibly handsome; a triple threat.
“No response?” Seokjin’s words snap Hoseok back to the reality that he is pretty much afraid of him at that moment. “Oh well.” He crosses his arms over his chest in annoyance and takes a seat in the empty stool next to Hoseok. He pats the empty stool beside him, the one Hoseok had fallen from, and crosses one leg over the other, his back straight as he stares intensely at Namjoon and himself. “How dare you both completely disregard my orders?” Seokjin hisses, reaching over to smack Hoseok and Namjoon upside their heads.
“Do you not realize how dangerous that was? I should dock your pay, suspend the both of you, but I’m not that stupid.” He closes his eyes, rubs the bridge of his nose, and sighs deeply. “Saying I’m disappointed doesn’t suffice,” he expresses. “The stupidity the two of you encompassed…” Seokjin groans. “I need a drink.”
He flags the bartender and asks for two shots of vodka, still rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration.
“I would advise you to be against drinking on the job, Seokjin-ssi.” A man, shorter than the rest of them, suddenly appears. He wears an outfit similar to Seokjin’s, the only difference is the color of his blazer and slacks are black. “It is your job to protect and reintegrate me into the agency, not drink your frustrations for your subordinates away.” There’s something about the polite, monotone way in which he speaks that upsets Hoseok.
He stands beside Seokjin, back straight and arms unmoving at his sides, glancing over at Hoseok and Namjoon. He sneers at them, raises his nose up in the air and leers at them when he says, “Although I too would waste my time away if my subordinates were in contradiction of my direct orders. Although they do say lackeys take after their supervisors.”
“Wow. You don’t have to be such a dick dude,” Hoseok says, eyes narrowing at the way the man doesn’t so much as flinch at his words. “Besides, I’d watch your tone if I were you. I’m pretty sure I could take your short ass in a second—”
“Hoseok. Stop it.” Seokjin glares at him, nonverbally communicating to let it go.
“Hyung, he’s being disrespectful though,” Hoseok counters, feeling agitated at the way Seokjin is reacting to the situation. The Seokjin he knows wouldn’t take shit from anyone, including his own superiors. However, the Seokjin present in front of him is far from that, choosing to ignore the way the man is rudely speaking about him.
Hoseok rolls his eyes and scoffs, his attention moving over to the shorter man, taking his appearance in. He’s definitely shorter than the other three men present. He wears his hair brown, parted in the middle as his hair cascades in waves in order to encompass his face in a halo of beauty. His lips, full and plump and oh so enticing, shine with the strobe lights illuminating the club. His nose is just the perfect shape and form, and as Hoseok slowly rakes in the man’s features, he happens to meet his brown, chocolatey eyes behind the orange-tinted glasses. They make eye contact for what must feel like a century, Hoseok sees things in his eyes the same way a psychic might look into her crystal ball and see the future, only Hoseok swears he can see a future in the man’s eyes.
He’s the first one to break eye contact in favor of rolling his eyes at Hoseok staring at him like an idiot. Oh. Right. Hoseok was busy hating him, looking over his appearance to see what else he could make fun of.
“You won’t even introduce me to them, Seokjin-ssi?” The man’s voice, his tone, is enough to irritate Hoseok once again. The clear disrespect he shows Seokjin, who is not only his superior but definitely older than him, is enough to make his blood boil. “You really are slacking. I’ll make sure to include this interaction in my report later this week.”
“This is Park Jimin,” Seokjin exasperates, rolling his eyes as he downs his first shot of Vodka. “I’ll explain his role later tonight, but for now it should suffice to know that his first priority is integrating into society after six years of being undercover.”
Hoseok’s ears perk up at this. He’d been at the agency for quite a while, ever since he was eighteen and had graduated high school. Now, he was nearing his thirties, and here Park Jimin was, being definitely younger than him and already returning from a six-year-long undercover mission. He wouldn’t like to admit it, but he is a little jealous.
“No way. You’re the Park Jimin? Min Yoongi’s ex-fiance?” Namjoon all but exclaims, earning some looks from the rest of the people at the bar. “No fucking way. Dude, you’re like famous. I think you technically count as a celebrity.”
“And that’s why he was relieved of his position,” Seokjin sighs. “It was harder to keep him out of the media as the wedding date was discussed and neared, and one thing led to another, and now we’re here.” Seokjin looks over at Jimin with a grimace at the way the younger preens at Namjoon’s acknowledgment of his temporary status.
“And what a good way to go. I had my following of people, ironically,” he giggles, muffling the pleasant sound with his hand.
“But look where it got you,” Seokjin mutters under his breath, more to himself than to allow Namjoon and Hoseok in on his jab. Seokjin claps his hands together in order to regroup the other’s attention and focus. “Now! Let’s get back to where I had originally wanted us to meet before I got sidetracked and had to track two of my most, unfortunately, best agents.” He stands up and the others are about to follow suit when they hear a crash and people screaming.
All four of them are now alert, instinct going for the guns they’re always sure to carry on them just in case of an emergency. Except Hoseok doesn’t have his gun on him. Like the fucking idiot he is he decided there wouldn’t need to be a reason for him to bring his gun while going clubbing.
As much as he hates it, he decides to jump the bar as he hears the sounds of guns going off and bullets grazing the shoulders of young, drunk adults. He hears Seokjin yell for him and the unmistakable snarky remark of Park Jimin, only over the commotion he can’t quite seem to catch exactly what he says.
“Jung! What the fuck are you doing?” Seokjin hisses, risking a look over his shoulder to peer down at Hoseok who has taken refuge behind the bar.
“He doesn’t have his gun,” Namjoon supplies, hand on the trigger as he manages to shoot down one of the hostiles at the front of the club.
Hoseok’s vision focuses and he sees that, throughout the stampede of drunk college kids, there’s a group of tall men in suits, guns poised, but they’re not shooting sporadically. In fact, they’re not shooting at all. If Hoseok was Namjoon, he’d feel like a dick.
“What the fuck are they doing?” Seokjin asks, his hand on the trigger and posture stiff as he examines the distance between them and the group of men at the entrance of the club.
“Oh shit,” says Jimin, immediately lowering his gun and jumping the bar in order to crouch down behind it.
“What the fuck was that?” Seokjin once again hisses, his heartbeat in sync with the fast-paced beats of the music still playing. “Park, you have a gun, stand your ground while we assess the situation. I don’t care what kind of elite status has gone to your head, but on the field, we’re all equal.”
“Those or Min’s men!” Jimin hisses, crouching down next to Hoseok, slightly peering over the tabletop as the rest of the patrons of the club scream in utter chaos. “Do you understand, idiot? They can’t see me here. I don’t know how they even managed to track me here!” Jimin exclaims, eyes wide as he panics.
“Hoseok, take Park’s gun and go out the back door,” Namjoon tells him as some of the men finally spot them.
“You don’t have the authority to order him around,” Seokjin barks. He turns to Hoseok and offers a grim smile. “But yeah, what he said. Just remember. Keep Park safe. Meet me at the address I sent you a few days ago.” He gives him a small smile before registering the commotion once again and holding up his gun.
Hoseok doesn’t complain, although let the record show that he does hate this very much. He snatches the gun out of Jimin’s hand and grasps his wrist, pulling him up from his crouching position and sliding over the tabletop of the bar, Jimin in tow. He hears some of the men shout as they see him and Jimin together, and the faint sound of Jin’s order to “shoot with the intent to kill” as gunshots echo through the club and he hears the familiar cry of a fallen ally.
He continues to run, identifying the emergency exits that leads into the alley behind the club. Jimin slows down just a little, but Hoseok only has one goal in mind: Follow Jin’s orders. He hears Jimin let out a few whimpers, but the adrenaline running through him keeps him going. As long as he’s going, as long as he’s standing, he’s willing to carry Jimin to the address Seokjin had mentioned.
As he directs them through the back streets of the neighborhood, passing by a few startled homeless people, Hoseok instructs Jimin to take his phone out of his back pocket, seeing as both of his hands are occupied.
“I-I don’t know if I can,” Jimin gasps, out of breath.
“What do you mean you can’t? Just try to shimmy it out—”
“I can’t!” Jimin cries out, pulling his arm back towards himself and bringing Hoseok to an abrupt stop. They’re a few streets away from the club, but they’ll need to hurry up if they want to make it to a safe location.
“What do you mean you can’t?” Hoseok screams at him, anger clouding his mind as he turns around on his heel to stare down Jimin, only to find the shorter man clutching his arm close to his chest, a few tears in his eyes. And that’s when Hoseok sees the stain on his suit, how it’s rapidly growing.
“A-Are you bleeding?”
“Well, I’m not made out of fucking Kool-Aid, genius.”