Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Min Yoongi learned from an early age that people follow money.

Maybe it comes with the territory, as a descendent of the royal family. People have swarmed over their coin since the Joseon Dynasty. And now, in 2021, as a chaebol. Yoongi was admittedly born with a silver spoon in his mouth and, for as long as he can remember, he’s always had whatever he wished for. He’s never known how to want for something.

It's a good life, but with its own brand of struggles. Unlike most kids his age, Yoongi's fixation with self-actualization came very early: he grew up obsessed with carving out an identity beyond his parents' money, making a name for himself, creating wealth through his own efforts. He's rich, yeah, but not lazy. He hates that people are quick to assume the latter.

And so, just to shut them all up, he did it. Self-actualized the young age of 28. Or something like that.

He refused to inherit his father's business and instead founded MYG Enterprises, all on his own. It started with raw materials, then branched out to manufacturing and construction, and most recently, tech. He made it look so easy.

The public ate it up, too. Young, feisty chaebol breaking away from the family business to forge a path of his own and successfully amassing billions? The story sells itself! The press is even kind enough to throw in words like “self-made” and “courageous” as if decades of generational wealth and capitalism had nothing to do with it. Whatever the case, Min Yoongi lands on a Forbes 30 Under 30 list and subsequently, the Forbes Billionaires List, and everyone’s attention is on him.

He loves it and hates it, all at once.

People stick to him like flies to honey—boldly offering friendship, business opportunities, sex—all dumb enough to think Yoongi can’t see right through them. As if there was anything they could give that he couldn't get for himself.

Yoongi prefers his circle small, his money safe, and everyone else watching (preferably, green with envy) a good distance away. He consciously avoids anything that could lead to unwanted drama: he doesn’t sleep around, he doesn’t get piss drunk, he doesn’t make "friends." He doesn’t give anyone the chance to get close to him, because in his world, getting close means getting vulnerable and despite all the money he has, he can never afford that.

So none of that explains why he is letting this tall, attractive stranger pin him against the corridor and kiss him senseless.

Yoongi threads his hands through the stranger’s off-pink, almost blond hair, aware only of the man's soft lips. His steady grip. His intoxicating scent. He smells nice. Like pine, he thinks.

How did this even happen?

“Which door?” The stranger asks, breathing heavy against his ear.

Yoongi blinks, coming back to his senses, and flounders for his room key. He grabs it from his pocket and holds it up, too far gone to notice the way the stranger’s gaze lingers on his hand for a second too long.

He opens the door and leads them inside, bodies crashing desperately, fingers moving to get the other into a less modest state of undress.

When Yoongi had overheard a displeased comment about his party's subpar menu, the last thing on his mind was that it would lead to this.

“Terrible.” The stranger had said earlier in the night, to no one in particular, after biting into an hors d’oeuvre.

Yoongi had just so happened to be there, right next to him at the buffet table.

He wasn’t supposed to be. A man of his stature never usually mingled with the non-VIP guests, much less leave his post to grab some finger food.

But he was never one for parties, despite the many extravagant ones he throws, and tonight had felt particularly suffocating. So he had given Namjoon a look and weaved through the crowds on his own. Without the bodyguards drawing attention, he looked just like them in his simple suit and tie—common folk.

He had only intended to clear his mind, maybe get a breath of fresh air for a minute or two, but had gotten sidetracked by the particularly inviting buffet.

It's a small thing, but he could no longer remember the last time he had gotten anything for himself, too accustomed to having it served in front of him on a golden platter. 

The stranger had noticed Yoongi reach for an appetizer and immediately shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“It’s that bad?” Yoongi asked.

The stranger shrugged, the action emphasizing his broad shoulders and elegantly-tailored suit. Yoongi gave him a once-over, eyes scanning his crisp white outfit and landing on his dramatic, dazzling loafers. His shoes were bespeckled in what looked like real diamonds.

Maybe on anyone else it would have looked tacky, but there was no denying the man’s extremely good looks, and that alone was enough to carry the whole outfit. Yoongi wondered offhandedly if this man was an actor. Or a model, at the very least. It was odd that Yoongi couldn't place him; he usually made it a point to know everyone in the room, even if only by face.

“I give it a two out of ten.” The stranger replied. There was something candid about the way he spoke to Yoongi, almost like he didn’t care about who he was talking to. A refreshing contrast from the rest of the evening’s formal affair. “But honestly, what can you expect from these rich assholes, am I right?”

“Excuse me?”

“None of them know how to throw a good party.” Yoongi had not had anyone address him so informally in a while; he didn't know whether to find it amusing or downright rude. The clueless stranger continued oversharing as if he was talking to a friend. “They spend all this money on presentation, but hardly pay attention to quality. Like, look—yes, the champagne tower is divine, ” He gestured at the spectacle in question, “but at least put some seasoning on your bruschetta. Don’t attempt Italian if you’re not going to add flavor to it. I could whip up better-tasting pasta with a hangover.”

That was enough.

“Well.” Yoongi didn’t even try to hide his condescension. “I’m sorry if my party isn’t up to your standards.”

The guy raised a brow, as if only then putting two and two together. He didn't bother hiding the shock on his face, and Yoongi thought it was quite adorable. Genuine, even. Like he really didn’t know who Yoongi was. In any regular conversation, this would have been the part where people gathered their bearings. They would've showered him with compliments to overcompensate for their faux pas and give him the special treatment he was due.

But instead, the stranger had surprised him by putting on a playful smile. “Buy me a drink, maybe I’ll forgive you.”

One thing had led to another and now here he is, tasting the whiskey he bought on the beautiful stranger’s tongue. It might be the alcohol talking, but Yoongi’s never had anything that left such an addicting aftertaste. He’s shamelessly chasing the high—lips desperate, hands determined—but in the end, it’s the bold, broad stranger who pins him down the bed, every touch sparking fireworks inside him.

In the morning, Yoongi feels a weight in his stomach even before he opens his eyes.

Part of it is disbelief—did he really just hook up with someone last night and did it really feel as magical as it did, or was it all an exaggerated wet dream? Part of it is disappointment at the inevitable reality check—and so what if was? One (mind-blowing) night with a charming stranger changes nothing in the grand scheme of things.

When he shifts his head to look at the other side of the bed, it hits him harder than he anticipated.

It’s empty.

It feels like someone punched a hole through his stomach. Why’d he leave, just like that?

Yoongi sits up, taking in the hotel room. Acting on instinct, he checks his valuables: the bags on his couch are untouched, the safe is unopened, and his Rolex and phone are on the side table beside him. He grabs his slacks, discarded on the floor, and checks the pockets. Wait—where’s his wallet?

There's an initial panic, but he pats down the carpet and eventually finds it all the way underneath the bed. He opens the black leather wallet and finds all his IDs, his cards, and even his spare change intact. So the guy wasn’t a thief. (Not that he looked like it, but Yoongi could ever be too sure.)

He tries to rub the sleep from his eyes and inwardly hopes the disappointment will go away, too, when something glittery catches his attention, hidden even further under the bed. Is that…a shoe?

As he’s reaching for it, his phone buzzes. Yoongi’s not all too eager to answer, already knowing that couldn’t possibly be the stranger calling. They didn’t even exchange numbers.

Yoongi holds the shoe in his hand, watching the light refract against the sparkling crystals, and glances around the room for the pair.

His other hand grabs the phone on the side table.

“Hyung.” Namjoon speaks, voice too panicked for eight o’clock in the morning. “Code Red.”

Yoongi sighs. “It’s too early to talk in codes, Namjoon. Just spit it out.”

“The Kim Group released a prototype that looks too close to our Hybe Project.” He says. “International investors are already buying it. Their stocks are skyrocketing. We ran some projections, it’s not looking good for us.”

Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose, anticipating the worst. “How much?”

“Approximately 100 billion won.”

He curses under his breath. The Kim Group was never a threat because they were fairly new to the corporate scene; their technology and development arm was only in its initial stage at best, and no one expected much out of the newly-appointed CEO—he was too whimsical and childish to compete with the big dogs. Maybe in a few years' time, Yoongi had thought before. But apparently they all underestimated him.

Yoongi laughs dryly.

“What if we buy them out?” Namjoon thinks out loud.

“Throwing money at a problem won’t make it go away.” Yoongi counters. “Let’s not make things worse with a premature move. Give me everything you have on their new program, I want it on my desk as soon as I get to the office.”

“You got it.”

Yoongi drops the call and sits on the bed, absorbing the news.

To be honest, 100 billion won is not much where Min Yoongi's finances are concerned. After all, he’s a multi-billionaire: with his wealth, money was more an abstract concept than something anyone could really grasp. If you accounted for all the won he had to his name, you wouldn’t be able to finish counting it in this lifetime, even with all the billions he just lost.

If Namjoon hadn’t informed him, he probably wouldn’t even have felt it. But it’s more the principle that bothers him: he doesn’t like being blindsided. The Hybe Project, although a mere side venture for his company, was something they had been brewing for a few years. They even hired that tech hotshot Jeon Jungkook to help them develop the system. The fact was that, more than financially, it was Min Yoongi’s ego that was slighted and that was what left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He’s never been one for losing.

Yoongi’s about to get up from the bed, calculating his possible action plans, when the worst realization of the morning hits him.

He didn’t even catch the stranger’s name.

✧

The Kim Group's youngest CEO might be unassuming at only 25 years old with a knack for pranks, sweet strawberry desserts, and playing on his phone during board meetings. But what people don't know about him is that he can be serious when he wants to, and that his normally cheery disposition can just as easily shift to threatening—like a tiger about to pounce. He's capable of so much more than he lets on, and is not above an unlawful scheme or two if it means proving people wrong.

At this moment, though, he's not that. Quite the opposite, in fact: he's like a child throwing a tantrum.

“Hyuuung,” Kim Taehyung whines. “I didn’t tell you to sleep with him!”

Seokjin glares at Hoseok. He had very clearly instructed the other to keep his mouth shut.

“What?” Hoseok looks at him innocently. “You lost the two million dollar diamond-encrusted shoe that I custom-made just for you. With my bare hands, hyung. Honestly, I’m offended.”

Jung Hoseok is one of the most sought-after designers in Korea. There aren't a lot of people who could get on the exclusive list to enter his shop, and even fewer could afford a private consultation with him. But as the childhood best friend, Seokjin enjoyed (and took for granted) a lot of perks. One of which was commissioning his pair of diamond loafers—Hoseok’s favorite work to date (and coincidentally, the most expensive).

So imagine Hoseok's disdain—nay, his outrage—when he’s seated at the hotel lobby, waiting for Seokjin who is uncharacteristically 30 minutes late, and sees him emerge looking like a disheveled mess, and not in a cute way. And missing a shoe. That one shoe alone had approximately 12,000 full-cut round white diamonds, and Hoseok wasn’t exaggerating when he said bare hands, because something of that quality couldn’t be handled appropriately by big, burly machines. Hoseok had considered it a work of art, and Seokjin had left it behind without so much as a proper apology.

“Yeah, well, you could have just said that and not mentioned the other part.” Seokjin rolls his eyes.

“Ah, but where’s the fun in that?” Hoseok grins.

Seokjin turns to the CEO seated behind his desk, and explains coolly. “Taehyung-ah, you know I don’t work with a plan. It just happened.”

“I still can’t believe you, hyung. My first-ever high-stakes orchestrated crime and my conman sleeps with the enemy!” Taehyung grumbles, crossing his arms. “Didn’t you consider evidence? What if they find your DNA in the room? Trace you back to me?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that.” Seokjin sounds so certain that the two can't help but look at him in question. “You could say it was his DNA that was all over—”

“Or you could just not say it.” Hoseok cuts him off, scowling.

“Ah, but where’s the fun in that?” Seokjin echoes his words with an equally teasing grin. “Fine. Anyway, I don’t get what the big deal is. I got the key, didn’t I?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“And you got your billions, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“So just wire me my cut and we’re good to go.” Seokjin wraps up smoothly, ever the professional.

“Don’t let him fool you, Tete,” Hoseok gives him a knowing look. “Hyung secured Min Yoongi-ssi’s fingerprint way before they even got into the room. He just wanted to get laid.”

Seokjin shrugs, unapologetic as ever. “Do you know how hard it is to get a decent lay given my line of work? I take what I can get.”

✧

It's not looking to be a good morning for MYG Enterprises.

The hallways are eerily quiet—no one dares to make a sound—and everyone is glancing nervously at Kim Namjoon, Executive Assistant and basically Min Yoongi's right hand, waiting for him to signal that the CEO was on his way up.

Their latest project had been compromised; yesterday, it had an estimated value of at least a hundred billion won, and just like that, it's worth zero now. No one really knows how Min Yoongi will react, and it's the not knowing that makes things feel ominous.

Finally, he arrives, moving through the corridors without so much as a glance at anyone's direction.

Somehow, that's worse.

When he finally gets to his office, away from curious eyes, the first words he speaks are: “Kim Seokjin.”

Namjoon looks at his boss, confused. With a finger pointed towards himself, he says, “No. Kim Namjoon.”

“Not you, idiot.” Yoongi shoots him an annoyed look. “Do we know a Kim Seokjin?”

He's impressed at how casually it rolls off his tongue, as if he didn’t spend a good hour talking to numerous staff members trying to land that name. Thankfully, the stranger was a stunner; if it wasn’t the light pink hair and the gorgeous face that made people do a double take, the shining shoes he wore definitely did the trick.

It took about five minutes to describe the guy to his events planner and another 30 minutes to talk to a waiter who talked to security who pulled up footage from the cameras and caught a screenshot of Seokjin walking down the hallway (thankfully they had chosen a frame that was right before the moment he had pinned Yoongi to the wall and rendered him useless with his mouth). Even in 720p, the guy looked straight off a high-fashion runway.

Security had then forwarded it to the events planner, who sent it to a group chat or two, and voila—a name.

“Doesn’t ring a bell.” Namjoon replies, fingers clacking away at the keyboard. “Want me to run a background check?”

Yoongi considers this for a moment. “Yes.”

“On it. Who is this guy, anyway?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where’d you meet him?”

“At the party.”

“…and you don’t know anything about him?”

“We didn’t get to that part.” Nothing besides the fact that he had given Yoongi one of his most memorable orgasms to date. A shame, really. “Any news on the Kim kid’s prototype?”

“All on your desk.” Namjoon says without looking up.

Yoongi flips through a flimsy-looking folder. Most of them were just news articles dated the night before. Disappointing. “How did none of you see this coming?”

“There was literally no trace of them developing anything before yesterday. Whoever does their backend must be paid quite a lot.” The secretary explains. “Word is, they’re throwing a gala soon. Probably to rub elbows with all the investors. Do you think it’s worth a visit?”

“Hm. Why not.” Yoongi mutters noncommittally. There was nothing helpful in the file. Might as well see what he was dealing with firsthand.

His thoughts are interrupted when Namjoon opens a new document on his computer. “Hyung, here’s what we have on Kim Seokjin.”

"That was fast." Yoongi raises a brow, looking at a white screen. “It’s empty.”

“His records are scrubbed clean.” Namjoon chuckles, almost impressed. “All we have is a birth certificate. Born fourth of December 1992, in Gwacheon. Whoever this guy is, he doesn’t want to be found.”

If that was supposed to discourage him, then it backfired. Tremendously. Because now, Yoongi’s interest is dangerously piqued.

Just who was this mysterious stranger?

✧

Is he about to get arrested?

For a second, Seokjin imagines the headlines: Conman Steals 100 Billion Won from MYG Enterprises

Well, maybe more like: Worldwide Handsome Conman Behind Bars; Photocards For Sale

He wasn’t supposed to cross paths with Min Yoongi ever again. But as luck would have it, there he is, right in the middle of the banquet hall at Taehyung’s company event. That kid was playing with fire.

“Do you think he knows?” Seokjin asks, though he’s doing a good job at concealing his nerves. The Kims may not be one of the founding families, but they were still well-known on their own accord. Anyone looking from the outside could see that the Mins were not too far from their circle, so his presence wasn't too much of a surprise.

“No. Of course not. I wouldn’t invite him here if they did.” Taehyung responds, and Seokjin can't tell if he's right to sound so assured, or just plain naïve. “Trust me. They don’t even suspect a thing.”

“Who do they think it is, then?” Hoseok asks, more for his hyung's sake than his own. He wasn't really involved here, outside of the designer shoes Seokjin had worn (and lost) for the night.

“Park Jimin.” Taehyung snickers.

Hoseok cocks a brow. “You’re kidding. How’d you manage that?”

“My friend Jungkook took care of it.” He says nonchalantly. “Hacked into some systems here, planted false evidence there, IP theft allegations on queue. Maybe they’ll publish it on Monday.”

Hoseok shakes his head bitterly. “There’s something about Park Jimin that just screams guilty, even when he isn’t. Such an easy target. Poor guy.”

“Who knows? Maybe after prison, he’ll finally notice you.” Seokjin elbows Taehyung, who frowns.

“Hyung, he’s not going to prison.” Taehyung gives him an offended look, as if Seokjin was the one who went overboard. “Besides, it’s not exactly incriminating evidence. Just…enough to throw them off our tracks.”

“You think it’ll work?” Seokjin asks, looking up to where Yoongi had been. Except he's gone. His eyes quickly scan through the crowd. Where'd he run off to?

“Yes, hyung, when has my plan ever—”

“Excuse me.” A fourth voice interrupts.

The three shift their attention to the most powerful chaebol of their generation, making heads turn as he walks up to them. Min Yoongi. Despite his average stature, he exudes unparalleled confidence that makes him seem larger-than-life. He doesn't bother greeting the other two, cat-like eyes fixed on Seokjin.

“Min Yoongi-ssi.” Taehyung bows automatically, a perfect 90 degrees. “Thank you again for gracing us with your presence. In behalf of the Kim Group, I’d like to extend—”

“I’m not much for formalities.” Yoongi says, his gaze on Seokjin unmoving. “Can we talk?”

Hoseok's eyebrows shoot up. This man was brave. That was no way to address the CEO whose event you were invited to. Then again, if you had an unfathomable amount of money and power to your name, that probably wouldn't stop you.

Taehyung flashes him his signature boxy smile, too kind to be offended, and takes Hoseok by the arm. Seokjin hears them giggling as they go.

“That wasn’t very nice of you.” Seokjin tsks when the two are out of earshot.

Yoongi looks unfazed. “I like to cut to the chase.”

“So do it, then. What do we have to talk about?” Seokjin asks, intending to keep the conversation short before he draws any more attention. He really didn't want to be linked with this chaebol personality right before lawsuits and headlines placed a target on his back.

“I don’t know, lots of things.” Yoongi exhales, loosening up a bit. He’s not particularly in a rush. His voice is low, meant only for Seokjin to hear. “The weather. Breakfast. How good I was in bed. You left before we could cover any of that.”

Seokjin laughs. Was this guy serious? “Didn’t know you were into pillow talk, Yoongi-ssi.”

“If it’s with you, I don’t mind,” He punctuates the next four syllables carefully, “Kim Seokjin-ssi.”

Seokjin stills, conscious about not letting his features betray him. That was definitely unexpected. Seokjin has never been one to let his guard down during assignments, no matter how good a kisser the target is, and he's positive he didn't slip up and give out his real name last time. He’s not that careless.

Yoongi seems aware of the reaction he pulls even though Seokjin remains unreadable. He keeps going, “I have something of yours.”

“Oh?”

“An expensive-looking shoe.” He says. “Swarovski crystals, size 9.5. Sound familiar?”

“Are you blackmailing me or something?” Seokjin jokes, trying to lighten the mood. The only thing the shoe could plead him guilty of was an amazing one-night stand with Min Yoongi, nothing more. There was nothing incriminating about it in the court of law.

“Well. That’s one way to phrase it.” Yoongi fidgets with his tie a bit. Seokjin doesn’t know where he’s going with this. “I was just going to ask you to dinner.”

Seokjin lets that sink in for a moment. “What? Like a date?”

“Sure. Whatever you want to call it.”

Apparently, jail was nowhere near the conversation. A rush of relief runs through Seokjin, and then something else entirely at the thought of Min Yoongi asking him out on a date. “I’m sorry, Yoongi-ssi, I’m more of a one and done kind of guy.”

A genuine look that’s a cross between surprise and offense flashes across Yoongi’s face. Clearly, he’s not used to being denied what he wants. He hopes he didn’t misread their chemistry, the night they spent together. Surely that passionate tryst wasn’t one-sided? With his brows furrowed, he holds on to his last bit of leverage: “And your shoe?”

“That’s nothing. You can keep it.” Seokjin says, and decides at the last second to keep the handsome billionaire on his toes. “Besides, I took something of yours, too.” He holds Yoongi’s gaze for a moment longer and winks before disappearing back into the crowd, leaving Yoongi stupefied. (Worth it.)

Yoongi doesn’t know what to think. Was that just banter, or…?

He was so sure he didn’t lose anything.

So what did Seokjin get?

Unless…

✧

A few weeks later, a tip is leaked to the local newsrooms.

Something about suspicious activities going on behind the MYG network: a hacker, most probably, had reportedly "sold" parts of the Hybe Project data in some shady under-the-table deal. The IP address had been traced to someone who worked for Park Jimin. Which was weird, considering the Parks have made their bank as tycoons in the hotel industry for generations, and not once did they ever express any interest in tech. It didn’t make sense.

(In a video of Park Jimin being ambushed by news reporters outside his hotel, he can be heard saying, “I don’t know anything about technology! I own a chain of 5-star hotels and, most recently, a new nightclub! Which, by the way, is opening next week. Everyone, I invite all of you to visit Magic Shop, located at—” The clip ends there.)

“I can’t believe this idiot is using his allegations to plug a new club!” Hoseok bursts out laughing, reviewing the footage on his phone.

Seokjin nods in approval. “Bad PR is good PR. He knows his stuff. I respect that.”

“We’re going to laugh about it someday.” Taehyung sounds determined as he spritzes his signature cologne on his wrists.

Park Jimin said to come visit his Magic Shop, so Taehyung reeled in his two hyungs and got them all ready to party.

They don’t usually do this. Seokjin prefers to stay below the radar given his lawless profession, and if he's not going, Hoseok usually opts out, too. But Taehyung had successfully convinced them with an effective three-pronged argument: one, they get to dress up, which is Hoseok's weakness; two, Seokjin still owed him for sleeping with the enemy (which he knows will get old soon, so he wanted to milk it for all it's worth); and three, he needed their moral support since he was finally going to man up and talk to his "soulmate."

Taehyung hopes the Magic Shop will spare him some of its spells tonight. He already knows what to do: give a quick but heartfelt apology to Park Jimin—it was just business, nothing personal—then offer to help him deal with the legalities, and proceed to charm the blond off his socks. And then they’ll live happily ever after. Or so he imagines.

“Sure.” Seokjin humors him. “It’ll be a funny story to tell at your wedding. Not your typical love story—the groom planted false evidence in the other groom's hotel business, so Seoul’s wealthiest chaebol doesn’t know who stole his precious tech.”

“Right?” Taehyung sounds earnest. “Someone call Netflix!”

“Now, if only you’d maintain this kind of confidence when you're actually in the same room as him.” Hoseok sighs. Taehyung has the tendency to be all talk and no follow through, and he's been pining over Park Jimin for years.

“I will! Tonight!” The younger smiles. “I practiced it and everything. How do I look?” He poses in front of the two, his bespoke suit making him look every inch like an eligible bachelor.

“Perfect.” Seokjin’s not really looking at him; instead, he grabs his coat and heads to the door. “Let’s go. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave.”

“Hyung, at least try to have fun!” Taehyung’s voice bounces from the hallway. “For me and my future husband?”

Hoseok’s bubbling laughter trills through the room as he links an arm with his hyung.

Magic Shop looks like a promising little spot. It's dramatically lit, with pops of neon purple and pink giving the place a dreamy kind of glow, and a slew of magical-sounding drinks that come in dainty goblets, very much in theme.

As soon as they get there, Taehyung leaves Seokjin and Hoseok's side the moment he spots Park Jimin (Seokjin slides Hoseok a bill; they had made a bet and he had foolishly wagered on Taehyung chickening out last minute). Seokjin hates crowds, so Hoseok has an iron grip on his arm, knowing full well that if left alone, his hyung wouldn’t hesitate to go straight home.

They exchange niceties with a few friends, and even spot Jeon Jungkook in a corner. The young tech mogul looks at them with wide eyes, recognition crystal clear, then looks away. His wholesome expressions often give away whatever emotion he's processing—in this case, guilt, maybe—and they had previously agreed not to interact in public just in case people might notice. After all, he was the common link between MYG Enterprises and the Kim Group, though his friendship with Taehyung was a well-kept secret.

At around midnight, the dance floor lights up and a special performer takes the stage. Some up-and-coming idol group that's opening with an addicting pop song that gets everyone hyped up. Hoseok’s feet are itching to be right in the middle and Seokjin knows it. He can even feel him bopping by his side.

“Hyung, what if we—”

“Hobi, you don’t need my permission to dance.” Seokjin smiles and tilts his head towards the stage. “Go.”

“But you—”

Seokjin brushes him off reassuringly. “I won’t leave. Promise. I’ll grab a drink and wait for you by the bar.”

Hoseok looks skeptical (and he’s right to be). “The last time I left you alone at a party, you lost a—”

“—2 million dollar shoe, I know.” Seokjin finishes for him with a roll of his eyes. “How many times are you going to use that card on me? I won’t leave without you. Now, go. I can see Jackson Wang calling you with his eyes.”

Hoseok glances behind him and giggles before running off to the dance floor.

Clubs have never been Seokjin’s scene. The sweat, the noise, incoherent pick-up lines from drunk people. None of that ever really appealed to him.

He’s thankful for a deserted bar—everyone had flocked to the dance floor right when the performance started—and orders a simple martini. He doesn’t mind being alone, really.

But all of a sudden, Seokjin feels someone's eyes on him. He doesn't bother looking up, knowing full well that whoever it is will end up disrupting his solitude anyway. 

"Fancy seeing you here." 

Seokjin knows straight away who that deep, honey voice belongs to. At this point, he could recognize it anywhere. 

"One more and I'm convinced you're following me." Seokjin responds easily, finally meeting his eyes.

Min Yoongi, pale skin glowing like the brightest light in this dim club. He's wearing a sleek, all-black suit with the lapels decked out in glittering crystals, and his black hair falls softly across his eyes. 

Seokjin wasn't supposed to see him again. After Taehyung's party, he had made a personal promise to stay away, just to be on the side of caution. It's not like they were in the same scene, anyway; Park Jimin's Magic Shop was the last place he'd think to bump into him. He didn't know Yoongi as the type to frequent clubs, either.

“Was that your boyfriend?”

Apparently, Yoongi had been eyeing him for quite some time, long enough to note that he had spent the entire night with Hoseok in his arm.

“You have your men, I have mine.” Seokjin replies, quirking a brow at Yoongi’s shadow: Kim Namjoon, standing a safe distance away with his arms crossed, trying his hardest to blend in. His gaze is set somewhere else in the room, but Seokjin knows he’s watching them closely from his peripheral. Though he's wearing a simple get-up of a black tee tucked into a pair of black slacks, his broad build proved it difficult to remain inconspicuous. 

Yoongi spares a glance at Hoseok, who’s lighting up the dance floor. He's engaging the crowd effortlessly, every move of his body hitting the beat in perfect timing while his spectators whoop in delight. He hardly seemed like a capable bodyguard. “Yours doesn’t look like he’d do a good job protecting you, though.”

“And why on earth would he need to do that?” Seokjin laughs, taking a sip from his martini. He looks up at Yoongi, eyes dancing. He offers both a question and a challenge: “Are you going to hurt me, Min Yoongi?”

If Yoongi looks like he's weighing his options, it's only because he's trying to decide whether or not it would be a good idea to kiss Seokjin right now.

He hasn't really been able to stop thinking about his lips.

Not even waiting for an answer, Seokjin finishes his drink and stands up to leave.

The crowds part to let the man pass, his presence large enough to command even the tipsiest of partygoers, and Namjoon looks at his boss in question, waiting for a word or a signal.

Yoongi’s eyes follow Seokjin until he’s just a tiny figure across the room. He walks free and disappears into the night. Yoongi doesn’t even lift a finger.

There goes his gorgeous, 100 billion won liability.

Chapter Text

Kang Seulgi is a visionary.

At least, that’s what the headlines say. She’s the darling of Seoul’s contemporary art scene, her distinct portraiture selling for at least a million dollars a piece. Every stroke of her brush is a statement; every line of her pencil somehow a subdued act of resistance.

There isn’t a curator or a museum director in the world who doesn’t want something of hers—and unfortunately for the artist, this was both a blessing and a curse. The commodification of her craft was a double-edged sword and, at its worst, Kang Seulgi was forced to reclaim her identity by declaring a year-long sabbatical. A whole year where she accepted no commissions, entertained no interviews, fired her manager—disappeared to the virgin islands of Samui and painted only for herself.

And now, here she is, in what is quite possibly the biggest power move of all: her anti-capitalist art is selling ten times more than her previous work ever did. She deserves a standing ovation, just for that.

The exhibit is intimate, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d mistakenly assume this meant it was a small one. But on the contrary, it’s so exclusive that only a handful survived. Only those with the highest of bribes and the strongest of connections could make it.

So, naturally, Min Yoongi is there. He’s probably one of, if not the only guest who received a handwritten invitation from Kang Seulgi herself, and he didn’t even have to ask for it.

He’s known the artist for a while and particularly admired her low tolerance for bullshit and high tolerance for alcohol; the only time he ever recalls being friendly with her was when they were throwing back soju together at one of those snobby society parties. But apart from that, he has no interest holding a conversation with her tonight—or with anyone, for that matter.

It’s a rare evening because Yoongi is alone. He had instructed his bodyguards to wait in the car and be out front in two hours, against Namjoon’s recommendations.

“I don’t need them,” Yoongi had said. “It’s the most anticipated art exhibit of the year with the most expensive art hanging on the walls. What could possibly go wrong?”

He moves through the gallery quietly, admiring the pieces on his own. An abstract one called “The Most Beautiful Moment in Life” catches his eye, something reminiscent of butterflies and pastel colors, and he imagines how it would look like hanging opposite his office table.

He doesn’t mean to, really, but a conversation between two journalists makes its way over to him.

“…how are we supposed to write this article if we can’t even talk to her?”

Yoongi stops himself from snickering. Kang Seulgi has a reputation for being difficult to be around. It’s the only down side to her genius; she is fearless and eccentric in the way brilliant minds are, and not everyone could keep up with her in regular conversations.

“That guy beside her isn’t helping at all, either.” A second voice complains. “He hasn’t left her side all night!”

“Who is he anyway? Her boyfriend?”

“No, I think he’s an actor.” The journalist muses. “Or at least, he looks good enough to be.”

A giggle. “With a face like that, he should be part of the exhibit.”

It takes Yoongi a second to gather the facts, and the moment he does, his whole body goes cold. A handsome, unnamed stranger sticking to the guest of honor at a prestigious event, where high-value assets are all out in the open? There’s no way.

He weaves swiftly through the maze-like panels sectioning the event space until he finds the woman of the hour, dressed in an all-red number with an equally dramatic floral headpiece. And beside her—a position that might have been too daunting for any ordinary person—was the beautiful man who apparently had not left her side all evening, holding his own in a simple black coat and a silk button down.

Yoongi wants to laugh.

The universe truly has a twisted sense of humor.

But of course, the ice cold Kang Seulgi melts into a puddle under the gaze of one Kim Seokjin.

It’s been months. Yoongi looked for Seokjin—of course he did. He told himself and his team that it was purely for legal reasons, that he was sure this man was involved somehow. But when it seemed like he had vanished into thin air and they had no real evidence of his crimes, there wasn’t much else he could do.

For the longest time, Yoongi secretly held out for another run-in at Magic Shop. Or a company banquet. Or anywhere, really. And the result was always disappointing. Until now.

Yoongi’s eyes drink him up like it’s the first time.

Instead of the light pink hair he remembers, Seokjin’s locks are jet black, handsomely coifed so one side falls over his forehead. He looks like a completely different person. That’s probably the only reason why Yoongi’s breath hitches in his throat at the sight—or so he lets himself believe.

Yoongi should be angry at him. No matter how he looks at it, anger seems to be the most reasonable reaction. He lost billions. Never mind the fact that he’d long since earned back that amount (and more) through his other lucrative businesses; this man deserved to get his ass handed to him. And if not for the bit with the theft, then at the very least, for rejecting him. No one rejects Min Yoongi and takes off unscathed.

And yet.

Any negative emotion Yoongi harbors slips through like water between his fingers. Instead, bubbling beneath the surface is excitement, like a wave of electric current under his veins.

Seokjin is here.

It feels like a challenge.

Yoongi grabs a champagne flute from a passing server and approaches the pair slowly, careful not to be noticed. He finds a spot close enough so he can hear whatever their riveting conversation must be about, and tries to appear occupied with his champagne, sipping every now and then to seem natural.

“Not everyone understands my art the way you do, Jin-ssi. You have quite a unique perspective.” He hears Seulgi say, and that is perhaps the longest Yoongi’s ever heard her talk. “You know what…I’d like to reward you. If there’s any piece at all that’s captured your eye tonight, just let me know.”

Seokjin lays it on thick, all subtlety thrown out the window. His eyes are sparkling, his tone shamelessly seductive. “Well, there is…one.”

Yoongi snorts mid-sip.

Two pairs of eyes snap up to look at him. He catches a glint of annoyance from Seokjin at the intrusion, but it softens right away when he realizes who he's looking at.

“Min Yoongi-ssi.” Seulgi says curtly.

He bows his head and turns and does the same to Seokjin.

She watches them warily. “You two know each other?”

Yoongi says, “Yes” the same time Seokjin says “No.”

“We’ve met briefly,” Seokjin supplies, “but I wouldn’t go so far as to say we know each other.” Yoongi raises a brow at the excuse. So that’s how it was.

“I didn’t know you had any interest in art, Seokjin-ssi.” Yoongi’s tone is almost mocking. “You must have good taste if you managed to get an invite to Seulgi-ssi’s exhibit.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Seokjin gives him a polite smile and then turns to Seulgi in a weak attempt to bring her back into the conversation, but it’s useless.

There’s an odd tension in the air that she’s quick to notice, and frankly, she doesn’t care enough about either of these two to find out what's going on. Just like that, she’s lost interest.

“Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me.” She says, and grabs a glass of champagne before finding a different corner to hide in.

Yoongi isn’t very forgiving. Seokjin knows this, and at the moment, he’s wondering what the odds are that Min Yoongi is out for blood. Seokjin narrows his eyes at him, contemplating his motive.

As if reading his thoughts, Yoongi flashes him a smug expression and walks away.

✧ 

“What the hell was that?” Seokjin winces as Sungdeuk yells into his earpiece.

“Hyung! I’m sorry!” Jungkook is equally loud, though his emotions are the complete opposite. His panic is bouncing through the walls of whatever room he decided to hide in (from the sound of it, perhaps the bathroom). “I was going to warn you! I saw him coming and—”

“JK, calm down.” Seokjin speaks slowly.

“What the fuck did he want?” Sungdeuk grumbles, typing away. He’s in charge of being their eyes tonight, and a certain billionaire turning up and sidetracking their dashing distraction was nowhere in their foresight.

This was supposed to be a simple job: locate the painting, cut the power, swap it with a dupe and go. Small fish, really, where their expertise is concerned. Security was minimal here. Except now, there’s a billionaire luring like a shark in the water, meaning their plans could possibly go south very quickly.

“Jungkook,” Sungdeuk snaps, “We need to secure the piece now. Before Min Yoongi does something stupid like buy out the whole damn gallery.”

The younger ignores the command and rattles on. “Seokjin-hyung, do you think he saw me? I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be seen or not, so I just—”

“Take a deep breath, Jungkook.” Seokjin’s voice sounds much steadier.

This was their first job together.

Jungkook counts Project Hybe as the first “official” one, when Taehyung had enlisted his help with planting the false evidence, but Seokjin argues that they hardly even spoke then. The most interaction they had was a group chat where Jungkook replied exclusively in emojis.

Tonight, all Jungkook had to do was put the security cameras on loop to keep Sungdeuk’s men covered, and then turn the power off for sixty seconds to give them a window to replace the artwork.

He could have accomplished all that remotely, like from the comforts of his lofty mansion, a world away from the scene of the crime. Tech guys were hardly needed on ground. But Jungkook had been so enamored by Seokjin and the way he could make puppets out of the most powerful people out there, and Jungkook wanted to see what it was like up close.

Seokjin had hyped him up then, telling him anyone could do it, so Jungkook decided he wanted to master it too, and joined them out in the field. This was his first time.

Things were going along smoothly until Jungkook felt Min Yoongi’s commanding presence in the gallery. He still hadn’t gotten over how he’d acted as an accomplice in the infamous 100 billion won thievery—not to mention, Jungkook had spent a good year working under MYG Enterprises. It was a weight he carried on his shoulders, and seeing Min Yoongi in the flesh—in the small space of an art gallery, with Seokjin right around the corner gearing up for another heist—was all too much.

Jungkook short-circuited.

“Here’s what we’re going to do.” Seokjin’s lips are barely moving as he paces across the room. To the eyes of unsuspecting museum goers, he was simply looking at the display. “I’m going to try again with Seulgi. I’ll take off my in-ear this time, in case anyone gets suspicious. JK, are the cameras all good?”

“Yes. It’s replaying old footage, that’s why I didn’t spot Yoongi-ssi until it was too late.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Seokjin says reassuringly. “That was nothing.”

“And you’re sure he’s not going to be a problem?” Sungdeuk’s gruff voice interjects.

“Min Yoongi? Yes. Jeon Jungkook? No.” Seokjin likes to joke around mid-assignment, finds that the people he worked with often took these things too seriously. True enough, Jungkook is chuckling on the other end. “How long until we switch off the lights?”

“Thirty minutes.” Sungdeuk replies, unamused. “Can you keep Seulgi occupied ’til then?”

“Of course.” Seokjin answers confidently, and once again Jungkook is in awe of his hyung. “JK, how long will the lights be out again?”

“Sixty seconds.”

That wasn’t enough time to slip away. “Can you do me a favor and make it two minutes?”

“But Seokjin-hyung, we’ve simulated it dozens of times. Anything longer than sixty is just inefficient.”

Seokjin shushes him, as if to say that was besides the point. “I know. But can you do this one thing? For hyung?”

Jungkook mumbles to himself, probably weighing his options, and concedes. “Okay.”

“What are you planning?” Sungdeuk asks. It didn’t really matter how long the lights were out, as long as it was at least sixty seconds like they had rehearsed. The more important concern was whether or not Seokjin had any tricks up his sleeve—by the looks of it, he already did.

“Not planning anything.” He responds, though there’s a hint of playfulness to his voice. “Oh, and one last thing. Don’t wait for me. I’ll meet you at the airport.”

“What? Are you sure?” As it turns out, Jungkook is not faring well with all these last-minute changes. After they acquired the painting, the plan was to go straight to the airport to catch a red-eye to Paris, where they’d secure the deal with their client and get their cut. Cash. It’s Jungkook’s first time working this closely with Seokjin, and now he understands why people found his tendency to go rogue agitating. “Where are you going, hyung?”

“There’s something I need to take care of.” He answers vaguely, and before anyone can start protesting, he says, “Are we clear?”

The last thing Seokjin hears is Jungkook’s chirpy, “Don’t be late!” before he rips off his in-ear.

Now, all he has to do is find Kang Seulgi and keep her busy for 30 minutes. Simple enough.

Seokjin was never involved in any of the actual stealing. He’s not the type to get his hands dirty and honestly, it doesn’t suit him. He knows he makes for a pretty distraction, so he leans into it. Besides, what are they going to do—arrest him for simply being his charming, flirtatious self?

Except, it’s hard to revert to his charming, flirtatious self when Min Yoongi is watching him intently from across the hall.

It’s pointless to deny the thrill that runs down Seokjin’s spine when he feels Yoongi’s attention on him, like he’s an art piece to be contemplated; expression dark and taunting like they’re the only two people in the room.

Seokjin’s feigning interest over a particular sculpture, trying to make his way to Seulgi, when Yoongi slides next to him easily. Yoongi follows his lead, pretending to eye the same piece, though to be honest, he finds nothing remarkable about it.

“What game are you playing, Min Yoongi?” Seokjin mutters under his breath.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I’m just here to admire the art.”

Yoongi follows the intricate detailing on the sculpture until his gaze lands back on Seokjin. “So am I.”

Seokjin spins on his heel, choosing a different work to focus on, and Yoongi follows wordlessly, always a step behind.

“So let me get this straight.” Yoongi whispers, one hand in his pocket, his chin lifted upwards at a monstrous-sized painting. “Your modus operandi is: you sleep with all your targets?”

Seokjin holds back a laugh. Was that a hint of jealousy he detected? “Only the cute ones.”

Ever so slightly, he allows his eyes to roam over Yoongi’s lithe frame, and Yoongi hates the immediate effect it has on him, like sparks shooting through his veins.

Yoongi shifts awkwardly. “No boyfriend tonight?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” He says simply, and looks behind them. “No bodyguards?”

“None.”

Yoongi wants to stop himself from thinking about what happened the last time they were alone together—but the unspoken implication already hangs between them. Seokjin clears his throat.

“So, which one is it?” Yoongi asks innocently, scanning the different paintings on the walls.

“You should know better by now, Yoongi-ssi.” Seokjin’s tone is deceiving, sweet as honey. “If I tell you, then I’d have to kill you.”

“I’ll take my chances.” Yoongi remarks, then promptly decides it's time to cut the pleasantries. “How long do you need?”

Seokjin checks his wrist for the time and glances at something across the room. “About 30 minutes.”

“Fine.” Yoongi dismisses him tersely, as if they had just agreed on business negotiations. Just like that, he walks away.

✧

Seokjin is very good at disappearing.

A moment ago, he had been the most dazzling sight in the whole exhibit (giving the art a run for its money, in Yoongi’s unbiased opinion), and now he’s nowhere to be seen.

Yoongi’s starting to get impatient—30 minutes have never felt so agonizing—and he’s circled the gallery at least five times. He could only pretend to be interested in art for so long.

He’s momentarily distracted by the phone vibrating in his short pocket. Namjoon, it says.

“What?”

“You said to get the car out front in two hours. Ready to leave?”

“Oh. Change of plans. They can go.” Yoongi speaks firmly. “Leave the keys with the valet. I’ll drive.”

Namjoon hesitates. He knows for a fact that Yoongi doesn’t like to drive late at night. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing that concerns you, Namjoon-ah.”

“Hyung, you can’t just—”

The lights turn off and there’s a collective gasp in the room. Someone's glass shatters on the floor and the sound is intensified by the way it echoes across the hall. Namjoon is effectively freaking out on the other end.

Yoongi accidentally drops the call the moment he feels someone cover his mouth and shove him backwards. He’s being dragged outside the main gallery, a strong hand pushing against his chest, until his back is against a hard surface somewhere—he can’t make sense of his surroundings. It’s pitch black. There’s no one else out here.

For a moment he thinks this might be it.

This is how he dies.

Until the hand over his mouth moves, fingers brushing against his lips too delicately to be dangerous. The familiar woodsy scent registers in his mind, and once again Yoongi finds himself in a rather recurring compromising position—up against the wall with Seokjin towering over him.

Yoongi’s eyes adjust to the darkness, finally able to distinguish Seokjin’s features. He’s standing so close. Yoongi’s heart rate picks up, the adrenalin catching up with him, and he wonders if Seokjin can feel it with the way they’re pressed against each other, chest to chest.

“Scared you?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, hands settling on the taller man’s waist. “Took you long enough.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make it up to you.” Seokjin whispers, inching his face towards Yoongi’s. So close, but not quite. Yoongi’s lips are already parting for him, but Seokjin resists, clearly doing this on purpose.

“You’re such a tease.” Yoongi tugs him forward, impatience getting the better of him. He’s had enough of this stupid, calculated baiting. He leans up and doesn’t hesitate as he claims Seokjin’s lips as his.

Seokjin gasps, and Yoongi easily slips his tongue into his mouth—hot, wet, fervent. Yoongi kisses him fiercely, as if making up for the months lost, as if punishment for making him wait. He feels Seokjin stumble forward, legs a little slack, his hand tensing against the wall.

Good, Yoongi thinks. He refuses to be the only one painting a picture of a lovesick fool at this exhibit.

Yoongi doesn’t relent, biting down just a little, swallowing Seokjin’s moans and deepening the kiss until he’s absolutely lightheaded, lungs practically begging for air. Finally, it’s Seokjin who pulls back, one hand anchored on Yoongi’s nape to hold himself steady.

The room falls silent apart from their labored breathing.

In the darkness, he can feel Seokjin smirk against his lips. “Shall we?”

Yoongi looks up at him incredulously, not quite believing the insinuation. There has to be a catch.

“Make it fast, Yoongi-ssi.” Seokjin whispers, breath hot against Yoongi’s neck. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re my only ticket out of here.”

✧

Yoongi doesn’t know what it is about him. The taste of his lips. The sinful way he kisses. His large hands; the way they hold him. There is just so much of him that Yoongi wants for himself—his broad shoulders, the wide expanse of his back, his neck, his arms, his chest—Yoongi marks every inch of skin with his fingers, his tongue, his kisses. It's the way Seokjin's eyelashes flutter as he throws his head back in pleasure. The sound of his moans. The way he takes him so well. 

It’s everything, all at once.

Seokjin is spread out like a dream on his bed, sheets pooled across his waist, barely covering his modesty. He’s glowing under the moonlight, cheeks dusted a soft pink.

From outside the hallway, the clock strikes midnight. The sound seems to spur Seokjin back to reality.

“Yoongi,” Even as he says the words, Seokjin knows he doesn't mean it. Yoongi leaves a trail of kisses down his neck, each one a silent plea to stay. “I need to go.”

“Don’t,” Yoongi counters softly and nips at a particular spot, teasing. He feels Seokjin’s shoulders shake in laughter.

Seokjin inhales sharply, like he's grounding himself, and places a hand against Yoongi’s bare chest. “I’m supposed to be in Paris in 12 hours.”

“Forget that,” Yoongi idly brushes his nose against Seokjin’s shoulder. “I’ll take you.”

Seokjin makes an amused sound. “Will you?”

“Yeah.” Yoongi agrees instantly. “I have a jet waiting. Any time you want. Just say the word, we’ll go.”

“I have business to attend to.” Seokjin reminds him, and his hands trail up until they land squarely on Yoongi’s shoulders, putting a little distance between them.

“If you leave, I’ll tell the police it was you.”

Seokjin laughs at the empty threat, his eyes crinkling. “Are you pouting right now?”

“Is it working?”

His laughter melts into a smile that tugs at Yoongi’s chest. “Goodbye, Min Yoongi.” Seokjin’s delicate fingers caress his cheek and draw him into one last kiss. Soft and tender.

Seokjin pulls away before Yoongi can make a move to deepen it.

Watching Seokjin get dressed was another art form altogether—the way the flimsy fabric draped loosely against his taut figure until he tucked them into place, each item of clothing with its own precision.

In a manner that feels almost familiar, Yoongi braces himself as the distance between Seokjin and the bed seems to stretch for much longer.

“Goodbye” sounds so certain, like a definite end to things. Yoongi doesn’t like that.

Seokjin steals one last glance, as if waiting.

Yoongi never says it back.