Chapter Text
The sun was setting, sending brilliant rays of light sparkling over the lake, which glittered gently, rippling ever so slightly in the evening breeze. Pretty soon, it would be dark, and then he would have to rely on the golden glow that leaked out of every windowpane to see where he was going, to make sure that he didn’t put a foot wrong.
It was very important that he didn’t put a foot wrong.
If, by some twist of fate, he did put a foot wrong, if his hand slipped, if he grabbed hold of a crumbling, unstable stone too loose in the brickwork of the wall, then the last thing he would ever see would be the stars, twinkling above him, the constellations waving goodbye as he plummeted into the darkness.
But, he reassured himself, he was better than that. Hell, it was widely acknowledged that he was a lot better than that. Everyone knew he was the best out there.
Kim Namjoon was a name to be feared.
It was a name muttered in dimly lit bars, by people in long cloaks greeted with a volley of shushing noises, and someone changing the subject rather swiftly.
He was known widely as the best thief in the country. That was all anyone knew him as, and he made sure of it. They knew the name, not the person. No one knew quite what he looked like, but they knew that under the cloak, and the mask, was someone that you only messed with if you wanted all your valuables to disappear overnight.
That was why currently, he was clinging precariously to the palace wall, a hundred feet up, over a sheer cliff face that ended in sharp rocks and an icy lake, and it was slowly getting darker.
The palace was built right on the edge of the cliff, and therefore, instead of trying to trick his way in, or bluff it out, or even just sneak past the guards, Namjoon had decided that obviously the best option was to free climb the precarious mountain ascent.
The plus side was that there were no guards at the top, so he was guaranteed entrance to basically whichever window ledge he chose.
The reason that there were no guards at the top was because it was assumed that anyone who even attempted to gain entry to the palace this way would ultimately come to an unfortunate and sticky end.
However, there were a lot of extra valuables hanging about the place at the moment, because the eldest prince was getting married. All that jewellery was just too much to resist, and so Namjoon had decided that a few hours worth of tricky climbing was worth the final reward.
The reward was going to be as much gold as he could fit into the (large) bag that he had folded up in the inside of his shirt, and then he would be set for life.
His musings were interrupted by a large fat raindrop splashing onto his forehead. Groaning and glancing up, he noticed that the dazzling sunset tableau had been replaced by ominous looking storm clouds and, in the distance, a crash of thunder. As he watched, the darkened sky was lit up by a bolt of lightning, flashing through the still blackness like a knife.
Just his luck.
So, it would be the first window he could find. There was one about five feet above him, so he gritted his teeth, and reached for the next brick.
Five laborious minutes later, completely and utterly drenched, Namjoon landed silently on a large balcony swimming with water. It was made of an unidentifiable grey stone, and was huge and semicircular. The view would have been incredible from up here, had you been able to see anything other than a murky, foggy cloud and possibly, if you really squinted, a mere mention of a lake and a couple of trees.
The balcony led into another room, which had huge french windows with curtains hanging beside them. Light was spilling out, sending glittering sparkles dancing across the puddles running across the stone and over the edge. He stood for a moment, trying to even his breathing out, before stepping closer to the doors.
One of them was open just a crack, and from what he could hear, there was someone moving inside. It would be the work of a moment to knock them out, then proceed on inside the palace.
He was about to step forward, shivering slightly, and dripping from head to foot, when he hesitated.
The person was humming.
It was a lilting melody that he had never heard before, and it seemed to rise and fall and have a life all of its own.
For a moment, he stood still, letting the rain pour over him, and listened.
Shaking his head, and trying to dislodge the awed sensation that had come over him, he stepped forward, still slightly dazed and promptly slipped on the stone floor, slick with water.
He was a tall guy, but he was as quiet as a cat when he wanted to be, so he managed to break his fall well. It didn’t help that there was a large, sharp piece of rock jutting out from the wall of the balcony, which caught his arm as he fell over.
Hissing in pain and gritting his teeth in an effort not to scream out loud, Namjoon opened one eye and glanced down at his arm.
This complicated things.
Significantly.
He pressed his free hand against the cut, attempting to stem the blood that was dripping steadily down his arm and mixing with the rain. He had never liked blood at the best of times, and although he had a very high pain threshold, he really had to admit that this hurt.
It hurt so much that he didn’t realise that the humming had stopped.
Someone pushed the glass door open, spilling light onto the floor, running red with heavily diluted blood.
“Who are you?”
The figure knelt down, apparently not caring about the water that was pouring out of the sky, and held his hands out, as if to take Namjoon’s arm, but he jerked it away.
“Okay, please don’t be a murderer, please don’t be a murderer, why am I like this,” the person muttered and then said louder, “come in before you drown.”
He pulled Namjoon upright, and pushed him inside.
In the (thankfully) dry, and warm, and well lit room, he was able to make slightly more sense of his surroundings. The pain was messing with his head. He looked up and found himself face to face with the most good looking man that he had ever seen.
His hair, which was purple, and fell over his face as he bent forward to examine Namjoon’s wrist, still dripping blood onto the pristine white rug, caught his eye first, but everything about him was beautiful. Again, the boy held his hands out, but didn’t move them to take Namjoon’s hand until he nodded dumbly.
His hands were gentle, and his long fingers turned his wrist over, and Namjoon could have stared at all the different shades and hues in his hair forever, it felt like, and--
“Oh mY GOD THAT HURTS.” he had to grit his teeth again to stop himself from yelling anymore as he was wrenched out of his reverie.
The boy had pushed his sleeves up and pressed a dripping wet towel onto the cut. He could smell the alcohol, and tried to wriggle out of his grip, but the boy didn’t let go.
“Hold still, or you’ll get an infection.” he said, pulling Namjoon over and pushing him onto a stool. “Don’t take it off.”
He disappeared into another room, and came back, trailing one long bandage, which he wrapped inexpertly around the cut. He eyed it critically for a moment. “Yeah, I’m definitely better at cooking, but the sentiment remains. Now, tell me who you are, and take that ridiculous thing off your face, or I’ll call the guards. Got it?”
Namjoon gaped. He had completely forgotten why he was here, what he was doing, and especially about the mask that he was wearing. His eyes darted from exit to exit. The boy had planted himself between himself and the french windows, and he didn’t fancy his chances out there again, so that was out. The door was--
“Locked, and bolted from the outside.” said the boy in a bored voice. “I’m Jin by the way, and you can forget escaping or whatever, because I've tried it and it doesn’t work. My parents don’t want me wandering around at night apparently. So I’ll ask you again, who are you?”
“I’m Namjoon,” said Namjoon dumbly, giving up. His head was spinning still, and his arm hurt, and it was warm in here, so who even cared anymore, right?
“Nice to meet you.”
“You too.” said Namjoon, still confused. “Who are you?”
“I already said, I’m Jin, and for now, that’s all you need to know.”
The boy - Jin, sat down on the bed and crossed his legs. He glanced around for about thirty seconds, before launching into another conversation.
“Are you a murderer?” he asked, straight to the point.
“No.” said Namjoon, deciding to be honest.
“Are you lying? I feel like you’re lying.”
“I’m not!”
“Alright then.” Jin stuck out his hand. “And so we move forward. Nice to meet you Namjoon.”