Work Text:
good lies are always grounded in truth, but the best lies are formed by omission.
it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the technicalities behind all of this, behind lying, behind deceit. it’s enough for jeonghan to be an angelic-looking pretty boy with too much time on his hands, too smart for his own good. being a little bit smarter, a little bit prettier than the other sheep in the flock just goes to show how he’s, unfortunately, favored by the gods and all other non-earthly beings, whoever or whatever bears the title of shepherd.
it’s the perfect recipe for a swindler. and a swindler jeonghan is.
like most of his kind, he doesn't really move with rhyme or reason. he goes where his feet take him, does what the twitch of his fingers command him to do. he deals with consequences as they come.
it's how jeonghan finds himself out and about half past two in the morning, dressed to the nines despite his urge to yawn every three seconds. it's an ungodly time, but the narrow streets are still bustling with life, and jeonghan remembers why some people consider friday nights in itaewon to be a special kind of hell. he gets it. hell is people , etc., etc., but to jeonghan, this is the garden of eden. every bulky pocket hides its own forbidden fruit ripe for the picking, and he just happens to be a starving, innocent eve—a fake one, but still.
it’s early october and the weather outside is far from cold, but thankfully, it’s not warm enough for sweat to build beneath jeonghan's clothes as he slinks through the crowd of people, face obscured with a white mask. he's no longer blonde, one impulse decision amongst many others, and black bangs impede his vision, unbrushed and frizzy. it’s a bit laughable how the unkempt sight of his hair contrasts with the elegance of his loose, satin button-up, the top three buttons undone, revealing the smooth and pale expanse of his sternum. the rest of the outfit is just as put together. regardless of the bird’s nest atop his head, it’s not new nor unexpected for unsuspecting eyes in the crowd to gravitate towards him. as a thief, it only adds to his repertoire to take and take and take in plain sight with everyone none the wiser, to have everyone so infatuated they simply do not, can not, care.
the steady stream of people seems endless. he’s walked past person after person after person—nothing. he’s more than ten minutes from home by now, but oddly enough, his sticky fingers haven’t stuck to a single thing, his pockets no fuller than they were when he left. but that’s okay. the streets of itaewon are not meant to be his hunting grounds tonight. jeonghan has bigger and better things planned.
and the spoils of war at crybaby’s are always bigger and better.
$
the breath on his neck is warm and the stench of alcohol is so strong, jeonghan wonders if this is worth it. he’s eventually left alone, jeonghan's unwanted companion drunkenly sauntering off to the bathroom after mumbling the sourest of nothings into his ear. jeonghan thinks he deserves an oscar for his performance, acting flirty and smitten when he'd really prefer to commit homocide. he sneers inwardly and waits for the man to disappear in the moving throng of people. he knows the guy is way too drunk to remember to come back, to even remember a beauty like jeonghan, and that’s exactly what jeonghan had hoped for when he was first approached.
jeonghan turns and bends over to lean his elbows on the bar counter. he pulls something out of his back pocket, something that was definitely not there half an hour ago before the inebriated fool decided to chat him up—a fly to a spider’s web. in jeonghan's hands is a black, leather wallet with a beyond-expensive brand’s logo gilded on the side. he lets out a low whistle and flips it open to check the contents.
oh, it was definitely worth it.
he’s over the moon with this score. it shows on his face, everything and more. it’s fine. he doesn’t care about looking collected like usual, doesn’t need to put his acting shoes on. everyone’s too busy with themselves to notice him anyway. besides, he deserves to let loose. what he’s holding is probably the best thing he’s gotten in a while. lady luck has nothing on jeonghan.
jeonghan’s about to pull out one of the heavy credit cards when he hears someone snort in laughter one stool away from him. he freezes, fingertips pressing hesitantly against the thick edge of plastic. he slowly turns his head and feels like he’s been punched in the gut—for several reasons, not all of them due to being caught.
there’s a man laughing under his breath next to him, and he is, if anything, out of place. he’s so out of place it’s a little stupid. but no one, not even the best liar in the world, the best deceiver, can deny how attractive this man is, even in his stupid fucking beige sweater that is anything but crybaby’s appropriate.
jeonghan’s train of thought should be along the lines of “oh shit, i’ve been caught for, like, the first time in my life,” but instead they drift more towards “his nose is so nice, and that jaw? wait, i think i can see his chest even through that dumbass sweater. what the fuck?” he doesn’t even realize he’s still frozen in place, mouth agape, until the stranger tilts his head to the side in question and gives him a small, lopsided smile. his oversized, black glasses slip off his nose a bit and maybe jeonghan wants to fuck or get fucked about it. he’s willing to negotiate.
“how’d you do that without him noticing?” the stranger asks. it's not accusatory at all, just curious.
it takes jeonghan a moment to register the timbre of the man’s voice as it rattles up his insides, pleasantly surprised at the sound of it. he’d rather die than compare the thick, deep sweetness of it to honey, but he considers how it would taste against his mouth, considers how many syllables would do it justice. it’s almost hypnotic the way the man’s voice hooks into him like a fishing line. he doesn’t get a chance to wonder if it’s a good idea to expose himself to a person he doesn’t know until he’s already exposing himself to said person he doesn't know.
“he’s drunk as fuck,” jeonghan says, shrugging his shoulders and adopting a nonchalant attitude. he regains enough composure, convinces himself of it at least, to close the wallet and slip it in his back pocket, trying not to drag any more attention to it. he drops onto his barstool and hums in thought. “he probably doesn’t even know his own name right now.”
the man nods. his lips are slightly pursed in thought. jeonghan forces himself to look at anything and everything but that.
“but what if he just seemed that drunk, like, what if he was still pretty, y'know," he gestures clumsily with his hands, trying to explain the word on the tip of his tongue. "would you've still been able to pull it off”
jeonghan raises a brow. the incredulous laugh he lets out is more offended than he’d care to admit. for a stranger, a complete stranger, to question his abilities. it’s almost blasphemous.
“is this an interrogation?” jeonghan quips, the edge of his voice bordering playful and serious.
“do you feel like you’re being interrogated?” the man raises his own brow, and it feels like a challenge.
jeonghan wants to be annoyed by it, but the way the man's lips slightly quirk up is a little too bewitching, a little too inviting. the man is a seat away from him, hands timid in his lap, but jeonghan swears he can feel the man's palms, warm and wide, reaching underneath the thin, flowing fabric of his shirt, grip firm against his waist, pulling him in closer, closer, closer. jeonghan shudders at the thought.
“fine.” he says and clears his throat. "it’s in the fingers. doesn't matter if they're drunk or not."
he wiggles the fingers of his right hand in the air. he doesn’t miss how the other man watches them a little too intently. he drinks it in.
the stranger hums and contemplates this and looks at his own hand, inspecting it as if it’s the first time he’s ever seen it. jeonghan barks out a laugh that has the guy smiling back sheepishly in no time, embarrassed.
“i think i’d be too clumsy for something like that. i’d get caught right away,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck.
“most people are too clumsy for it. good people are too clumsy for it, really,” jeonghan consoles him without thinking, he himself not understanding why, “it’s not exactly a skill you should want to have, y’know. ”
the stranger smiles at him, a full smile with teeth this time, and jeonghan feels warmth rush through him. it’s a warmth different from the radiating heat of dancing bodies pressed up against one another, a different warmth from being underneath a thick duvet in winter. jeonghan’s heart races and he doesn't know what to make of it.
“doing bad things doesn’t make a bad person,” he replies. “doing good things doesn’t make a good person, either.” he lets out a small laugh before suddenly widening his eyes as if remembering something important. “i didn’t introduce myself. i’m wonwoo, by the way.”
he extends his hand and jeonghan almost feels vulnerable in the way the man reaches for him. he doesn’t even know why he’s hesitating, it’s just a handshake, after all.
one second, two seconds—holding his breath, jeonghan finally brings his hand forward. he's a moment away from gripping wonwoo’s own when a voice stops him mid-reach. wonwoo turns to face the source of the sound at the same time, dropping his arm.
“detective jeon! that asshole went this way! the owner saw him go towards one of the private rooms,” a man, red-faced and sweaty, a mole right at his cheekbone, runs up to the two of them and breathlessly grumbles his explanation. he leans onto wonwoo for support, a firm grip on his bicep. jeonghan eyes the casual touch with only a hint of envy before he realizes what’s just been said.
it takes a while for the sounds to process into words, for the words to process into meaning. jeonghan didn’t drink at all, but he might as well have been. all he hears in the fuzz of his head are his own words played back at him amongst static.
the best lies are formed by omission.
jeonghan pulls his hand back, bringing it to his stomach as if a mere touch is all it would have taken to ignite him. it’s ridiculous, how quickly things can crumble down, how a finely built building can be destroyed by the unpredictable whims of mother nature. yet here he is, speechless, unmoving and mouth agape, eyes scanning wonwoo’s profile in question.
wonwoo feels the shift in the air behind him and lets out a long sigh. he pinches the bridge of his nose and gives the officer in front of him a glare that sends him off running with his tail between his legs. wonwoo’s cover is blown and he’s a little irked about it. he had an inkling of who the pockethief was as he watched the theft happen in front of him, but he wasn’t anything like the yoon jeonghan he was warned about. this guy was way too nervous and cute to be that yoon jeonghan.
wonwoo resigns himself to his fate and cranes his neck to take a look at jeonghan, curious as to what he might see now that the cat’s out of the bag. he finds that he likes what he sees a little bit too much.
jeonghan is looking up at him wide-eyed and flushed. he startles when their eyes meet and the wires in his brain malfunction. he feels cornered, but there’s an uneasiness that worms it’s way into the pit of his stomach when he realizes he’s eons away from hating the feeling, when he realizes he’d be okay with wonwoo leaving him with no escape route, with nowhere to run.
wonwoo opens his mouth to say something, but once more, the officer from earlier is calling for him, this time waving his arm in the air with urgency. jeonghan watches wonwoo turn his head, sees the way his jaw clenches as he clicks his teeth. the action makes jeonghan twitch, in more places than one.
wonwoo waves his hand back, gesturing that he’s on his way, andwith a sigh wonwoo turns back to jeonghan, head slightly tilted.
“well,” wonwoo starts. and then it's quiet between the two of them, even with music blaring loud enough to shake the ground.
wonwoo holds jeonghan's gaze and jeonghan can feel the hairs on his arm rise. everything screams danger, but he can't move, doesn't want to. so it's wonwoo who moves instead. he leans in close, little by little, until he's a little too close for jeonghan’s comfort. or maybe not close enough. jeonghan can’t decide. his lips are a press away from wonwoo's pulse point and he anticipates both the best and the worst.
when wonwoo pulls away, cheeky grin and all, lifting his half-drunk glass, jeonghan is only a little disappointed. a little. truly.
“next time we meet, i hope it’s not because i’m looking for you.”
jeonghan scowls at that, reading between the lines.
wonwoo moves to join the wave of people in an attempt to get to the private rooms where the club owner and the other officer are waiting, but he stops after a few steps and turns to face jeonghan once more. wonwoo gives him the same lopsided smile from earlier and twirls something in his hands, waving it at him with a flourish.
“oh. but it was nice to finally meet you, yoon jeonghan.”
jeonghan doesn’t have to feel his back pocket to know it’s empty.
the rest of the night goes by in a blur, drowned in pity liqueur and consolation warmth—nothing worth remembering. he comes back home with everything he left with and nothing more, and flops onto his bed in a drowsy stupor without even changing or removing his shoes. as he stares at his ceiling, eyelids heavy. the events of the night would have kept him up under certain circumstances, but yoon jeonghan is great at lying, even to himself. he falls into a deep sleep convinced that's he's definitely, absolutely, positively, without-a-doubt, not interested in this detective named jeon wonwoo.