Work Text:
A second of distraction can ruin months of hard work.
The crushing weight of responsibility sits heavy on his shoulders every time Seokjin puts his hands on the computer keyboard. One wrong letter, one forgotten character and the whole code is rendered useless, all hell breaks loose. In this undercover business, a rookie mistake can easily cost a life, and that’s a price he hopes they’ll never have to pay.
So he doesn’t slip. Never has, never will, because nothing can distract him from being his team members’ eyes and ears, the disembodied voice telling them to turn left, or giving them the green light to move once the surveillance cameras have been programmed to loop the same empty frame, or telling them to wait for the security guards patrolling the corridors to leave so they can escape in safety.
There’s never been a single spot on their track record. Two years of heist after heist—museums, art galleries, philanthropic auctions, even private collections—and not a single bullet has ever grazed their skin, no one has ever cast them a suspicious glance. We are bulletproof, like Hoseok often exclaims in tipsy joy after each job, patting Seokjin’s back and clinking their beer bottles.
Namjoon always warns them against getting too comfortable with that success rate, but even he’ll smirk once the money bags are safely stacked up at their hideout. So does Yoongi, sipping on his whiskey, sitting back on the worn out leather couch while the others brag and throw themselves on the floor laughing at the people they’ve fooled—sometimes by accident, in Jimin’s case. Seokjin wonders how someone who slithers into ventilation ducts and slips under laser beams unnoticed can also be so clumsy as to fall off a harmless stool all by himself. Luckily, Jungkook’s tattooed arm is never far from his waist, steadies him in the nick of time so often that Jimin has quickly grown used to leaning into him during his laughing fits.
They work together well, perfect cogs slotting into place to assemble an unstoppable machine. Each has a unique talent they bring to the table, each knows their own worth and everyone else’s, but above all, they trust and respect whoever’s in charge of making decisions, hasty as they might be whenever an unforeseen variable comes into the picture. Though everyone is younger than him, Seokjin would never dare question Namjoon or Yoongi regarding their tactics once they’ve all offered input and a course of action has been outlined, for example. If Hoseok says he can slip in and out of a vault before the guards are back, Seokjin takes him there without a peep. Jungkook is a lethal pile of muscles, knocks out dozens of armed men before they know what hit them without breaking a sweat, so Seokjin unlocks the damn doors on his path when he’s told to, no matter who’s waiting on the other side.
Clean and quiet is their modus operandi, and tonight’s not different. They’ve already broken into the premises, a filthy rich chaebol’s mansion on top of a secret gold mine—jewelry, art pieces, even historical artifacts beg to be stolen in his basement turned bunker, protected by men armed to their teeth while he throws a birthday party for his young daughter upstairs. Of course, the last step of the intricate security system relies on scanning her pretty brown eyes—quite unoriginal in Seokjin’s opinion, but he’s not complaining. Less challenges to break in and out mean more chances of completing the mission unscathed.
Once Seokjin murmurs instructions into the headset microphone, Jimin nods to the camera and heads to the appointed exit route now that his part of the plan has been completed. Seokjin’s sharp eyes glance at every slot on the grid taking up his main screen, checking up on each team member to ensure everything goes according to plan, then shifts to the smaller screen to his right while his fingers glide through the keyboard, blinding yet another camera so that Hoseok, Namjoon and Jungkook can get their share of the work done. Just one more step, and another successful heist will be over.
At the top left corner of Seokjin’s surveillance screen, he spots the birthday girl sitting under one of the various tents set up at the garden, facing a cloaked figure across a small round table. Under the light of an antique lamp, a large hand lies upwards on the wooden surface, with the girl’s hand on top of it, and an index finger traces the lines on her palm. She’s leaning forward, entranced by the face before her, which the camera angle can’t capture.
Not a problem for Seokjin; he knows exactly what it looks like.
“V.” He whispers, careful to avoid startling him. “Your turn.”
Taehyung puts his other hand on top of hers and nods slightly. “Interesting.”
“What is interesting?” She stutters, eyes wide with curiosity. After a few seconds of suspense, Taehyung tilts his head towards the lamp.
“Let me show you.”
The girl scoots closer to the light to inspect her own palm, as if that would help her figure out what he means. Seokjin huffs at how gullible she is. Being rich and coddled all her life has had devastating effects on her ability to perceive an obvious scam even when it’s right under her nose. Always having the upper hand on everyone and everything has obviously made her too confident that no harm would ever reach her, especially with her daddy always making sure his only child gets what she wants no matter who must bust their ass to get it.
While Taehyung distracts her by spewing all kinds of mystical bullshit, Seokjin can finally get to work now that her face is close to the light and the nano 4K camera hidden among the golden beads of Taehyung’s hood can get a clear image of her irises.
From the moment Seokjin shared the party details he found by hacking her father’s email account, the fortune teller on the list sent to the party planners was the obvious choice to be their inside man, conveniently disguised in plain sight. Taehyung had been ecstatic about it, rehearsing his mysterious character to perfection, and it seems to be paying off.
“Iris scanning in ten seconds,” Seokjin says as the empty progress bar on his side screen fills up with green. “Keep her eyes on you.”
Taehyung goes on saying all sorts of ludicrous crap in his low, husky tone, and of course, she’s hypnotized. The high quality footage reaches the tablet Hoseok smuggled inside and Seokjin watches with bated breath as he places it in front of the scanner. They’ve done this a few times, iris recognition is surprisingly easy to fool, but every new instance has potential for failure and they must be ready to run in case it goes wrong and sets off any alarms.
A beep comes in through Hoseok’s earpiece. He lowers the tablet and tries again a few times, to no avail.
“He needs to get closer,” Namjoon declares.
“V, can you get closer?” Seokjin relays, even though they can all hear each other, glancing between both screens.
Taehyung promptly leans in further, face inches apart from hers now. She doesn’t mind the uncomfortable proximity, pupils dilating in response to their mingling breaths, lips parting on their own. To make matters worse (or better), Taehyung tilts her face up a bit with his index under her chin, probably so that the light can better reach her eyes. His voice remains calm yet elusive, pouring into Seokjin’s ear like Taehyung is right there, massaging his stiff shoulders and acting way too friendly for a conman like he usually does.
He’s really fucking good at his job, Seokjin can’t deny, having watched him in action night after night. A little too good, perhaps, given how he can’t help sweeping everyone off their feet with his boxy grin and big eyes even behind the scenes.
Out of all the team members, Seokjin finds him the hardest to read. None of them are friends, he wouldn’t go that far, but some level of honesty is due if they’re going to risk their lives together. The fact that Taehyung tricks people for a living feels like swimming in murky waters, and Seokjin isn’t much of a swimmer to begin with. He keeps to himself as much as possible, which, of course, comes across as a challenge to Taehyung’s spoiled ego, puts a target on his back, an itch Seokjin can’t seem to get rid of. Taehyung lavishes him with attention, praises him for every simple thing Seokjin does like it’s the most amazing feat in the world, tries his best to crack Seokjin’s shell, get under his skin. It doesn’t help that Hoseok and Jimin have begun exchanging smirks and glances whenever it happens, like they’re in on some kind of secret he’s not supposed to know.
In short, Taehyung is… Distracting.
“We’re in!”
Hoseok’s thrilled whisper brings Seokjin’s attention back to the screen. He looks away from Taehyung’s corner to find Jungkook giving the camera a thumbs up and walking through the open door after the others.
With a relieved sigh, Seokjin slouches back on his swivel chair, makes sure no alarms have been triggered and that there’s no unexpected movement from the guards. Once that’s out of the way, he allows himself to check Taehyung’s camera again, parts his lips to tell him his part of the plan is over, but what he sees rips a crude gasp out of him instead.
The girl’s arms are wrapped around Taehyung’s neck, their faces are smashed together, and weird wet noises suddenly flood Seokjin’s headset.
In a disgusted reaction, he takes them off and shudders, eyes fixed on the small corner where Taehyung proceeds to swallow the girl’s soul through her mouth. A wave of odious heat surges through him, his stomach lurches, sends bubbling lava up his esophagus and he swallows thickly, chest heaving and blood rushing in his ears.
How dare that moron compromise himself so much? Doesn’t he know he’s supposed to come in and out without a trace, and that kissing his target is the complete opposite of that? Has he just potentially compromised the entire operation just because he couldn’t keep it in his pants, couldn’t resist her lovely doe eyes, her pink lips puckered up near his, her expensive perfume invading his lungs?
“Damn it!” He grunts, slams his hand on the edge of the desk to let out some of his rage. Taehyung is so screwed when he gets back—if any of them manages to get back after this stunt he pulled. What a selfish asshole.
“What’s wrong?” Yoongi asks from behind him, stumbling out of the bedroom, still groggy from his rudely interrupted sleep before night watch. Seokjin’s too furious to reply, but he doesn’t need an explanation, finds the issue on his own. “Oh.”
“That was not what we’d planned!” Seokjin mutters through gritted teeth.
“Well, if she initiated it, he had no choice but to play along.”
Yoongi’s tranquility only riles him up further.
“I don’t know who initiated it, I was busy doing actual work and when I looked up again he was making out with her like our lives aren’t on the line here!”
Why is he the only one pissed off? Taehyung might have just fucked everything up for good, but instead of worrying about that, Yoongi is staring at him like he’s grown another limb.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?” He puts a hand on Seokjin’s shoulder, then nods at the screen after a moment of puzzled eye contact. “Look, they’ve already filled the bags. Just go ahead like we planned and Taehyung will follow.”
Ignoring the hot ache in his hand from hitting the desk and taking deep breaths to stop himself from shaking, Seokjin does as he’s told, blocks the left side of the screen from his mind altogether. He cuts the power and triggers the fire alarm once the other team members have carried the bags to the kitchen in food trolleys stolen by infiltrating the catering service. The surveillance cameras switch to infrared mode and Seokjin monitors their stealth exit among the chaos to the unlabeled van parked outside, where Jimin is already waiting to drive them off. Taehyung follows suit, just like Yoongi predicted, and they quickly load the vehicle before leaving.
The whole ordeal lasts about thirty seconds, then Seokjin turns the power back on and keeps tabs on the cameras just in case. The guests are clueless as usual, shrug it off as instability in the power grid; the host, however, knows better, gathers some of his security team to check his assets downstairs. For now, that’s none of their concern, the team is already speeding away from the crime scene and no one has even noticed they were there anyway.
Except for Taehyung.
“If he gets us in trouble, we’re kicking him out,” Seokjin threatens, hand balled into a fist next to his keyboard. His middle finger feels stiffer than the rest after colliding with the desk, another reason to make him seethe and strangle Taehyung as soon as he arrives. He’s useless without his hands, especially now that he’ll need to do twice as much monitoring as usual to make sure all their tracks are covered.
“Taehyung knows what he’s doing,” Yoongi replies, taking a seat on the empty swivel chair beside him. “Everything went well, they’ll be here in no time and you made sure there won’t be a trace of them on the surveillance footage.”
“Yes, but what if the girl mentions him to the police and they get a sketch of him?”
Yoongi chuckles. “All he did was read her palm. What could she possibly accuse him of? Besides, her father is very strict and overprotective. She’ll never want to tell anyone about it and risk her dad going after the footage only to find her kissing the potentially criminal fortune teller. That might be enough to make him revoke her vacation overseas… Yeah, you bet she’s staying quiet.”
Seokjin rolls his eyes, head thrown back in frustration. “Why are you defending him?”
“Why are you burning him at the stake for doing his job?” Yoongi snaps back in the same annoyed tone. “You know he’s in charge of creating diversions and that often involves getting his smolder on to pick some pockets or get us fingerprints. What’s so different about tonight?”
A groan precedes his reply. “Did he really have to kiss her?”
“I’m telling you, she must have kissed him! It’s not his fault, he’s just too good-looking.” Yoongi squints at him, a playful grin forming on his lips. “You’d be a menace out there too, by the way.”
“Ugh, as if I’d enjoy waltzing into these high profile events just to kiss some girls!” His eyes widen at the implications of his own words. Seokjin clears his throat. “I mean… Not that I don’t… Kiss girls.”
Yoongi hums. “Good for you. I don’t.”
His eyes grow even bigger. “You don’t?”
“Nope.”
It’s Yoongi who seems to have grown another limb now, with the way Seokjin is staring at him. Despite having worked together all this time, they’ve never even tiptoed around past relationships or sexuality matters until now. It’s always been strictly business, with some harmless fun here and there whenever all-nighters were necessary.
A question climbs up his throat, makes it painful to swallow, hard to breathe the longer he avoids asking it. A full minute of mental tug of war goes by until he gets the courage to speak, but Yoongi turns around before he can make a sound and pads to the kitchen, muttering something about coffee like he didn’t just share something personal out of the blue.
Yoongi kisses boys, Seokjin repeats to himself mentally, swiveling his chair around to stare at the computer screen. His eyes land on the pretty girl now twirling on the dancefloor among her equally pretty girl friends, oblivious to what just took place around her. An unwelcome thought breaches the firewall of his brain.
Taehyung probably doesn’t kiss boys.
It’s always been girls. Young, old, tall, short, thin, chubby. He’s never remarked on their attractiveness or the softness of their lips, just laughed it off when the others tease him about it: I don’t know why I bother rehearsing my lines, all I have to do is smile and they drop their panties on the spot! And everyone gobbles it up like it’s the funniest shit in the world. Like that quirk might not just be their downfall someday.
If no one’s willing to teach that conceited jerk a lesson, he’ll gladly take matters into his own hands. Perhaps that will finally get Taehyung off his back as well, since ignoring him only seems to make it worse.
Fuck him for kissing girls, Seokjin scoffs to himself. No more distractions.
Namjoon is the first to arrive, around forty minutes later.
“We’ve ditched the van and walked the rest of the way as planned,” he announces, placing his black backpack on the dining table where Yoongi’s been quietly looking out the window from behind the blinds. “My route was pretty empty so I didn’t take many turns. The others should be here soon as well.”
Indeed, it doesn’t take long for the rest of the team to join them. To Seokjin’s frustration, Taehyung is the last to walk in: his fortune teller cloak is gone, he’s just wearing the white button-up and black slacks now. Looking at the curly hair sticking to his forehead and his flushed cheeks after taking the longest way back, Seokjin can hardly believe he’s the same man who spends his nights seducing (and, on occasion, smooching) rich women while he’s forced to watch—and worst of all, listen. He looks almost… Harmless. Innocent. Just a guy who could use a hot shower and a nice dinner, someone worthy of tucking into bed and—
Seokjin locks his jaw, forces himself to look away. Everyone’s patting Taehyung’s back and congratulating him for another successful performance, but they don’t understand. They haven’t had to sit through Taehyung’s flirting sessions over and over again, while everyone else worked hard to stick to the plan and make it out of heavily secured buildings alive. What’s so amazing about him, after all? So what that no woman is able to resist his charms?
So fucking what that Taehyung kisses girls?
“What were you thinking?” He hears himself hiss, eyes fixed on the floor.
Everybody turns around to stare at him in confused silence. Without sparing anyone a glance, Seokjin gets up from his chair and walks to Taehyung with long strides, grabs his shirt with one hand and drags him along until his back hits the wall.
“Hey! What the—”
“Don’t you realize you’ve put us all in danger with that kiss?” Seokjin snarls close to his face, pins Taehyung with a forearm on his chest and a furious glare. “You go out there every night and play with fire thinking you’ll never get burned, but I’m tired of cleaning up your mess!”
“Let him go!” Jimin yells, grabbing Seokjin’s free arm, but Seokjin shoves him aside and Taehyung gasps, tears welling up in his wide eyes.
“If one of these women you insist on kissing ends up getting the police on your trail, do not count on me to stop them. I’m done with your petty games!”
“Enough!”
Namjoon’s thunderous voice forces some of the anger burning in Seokjin’s chest to subside. Only their heavy breaths can be heard in the room for a few excruciating seconds, until Seokjin finally checks himself and takes a step back, lets go of Taehyung’s shirt. Uncurling his fingers sends a jolt of pain up his arm; he fails to hold back a whimper, looks down at his hand and notices his middle finger is swollen and slightly darker than the rest.
“You’re hurt,” Taehyung mumbles in a small voice, still panting from having the breath squeezed out of him. Without another thought, he reaches out to Seokjin’s hand, but Seokjin pulls back before Taehyung can even dream of touching him.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not,” Namjoon retorts right away. “You should get some ice on it.”
“Yeah, maybe choke on it too, asshole,” Jimin adds, walking over to Taehyung and placing a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?” He murmurs in a concerned tone, and Taehyung nods.
“Come on, I’ll help you.” Yoongi volunteers, materializing next to Seokjin and coaxing him into the kitchen. Despite the adrenaline in his veins, the pain is getting stronger, so much that his hand trembles and his breaths get ragged.
The ice pack Yoongi puts on the back of his hand is a much welcome relief, enough to ease his heartbeat back into a regular rhythm. Though Seokjin can feel the judgment oozing from his pores, Yoongi doesn’t say a word, focused on soothing his pain first.
“We’re going to the hospital,” he declares at last.
“It’s nothing,” Seokjin grumbles, tries to withhold his arm but Yoongi’s grip on his wrist tightens.
“We can’t risk it getting worse and you know it.”
After shooting Yoongi a stubborn look, Seokjin’s shoulders hunch. “Fine.”
“You can’t drive like this. I’ll ask someone to stay on watch until I get back.”
Yoongi leaves the kitchen, and Seokjin can’t bring himself to look over his shoulder, ashamed of how he attacked Taehyung out of nowhere. He closes his eyes, and the look on Taehyung’s face after being hauled across the room resurfaces in his mind, panic and fear etched on every line of his expression. Seokjin’s brows furrow, not just because of the pain in his hand.
He can’t blame the others if they end up kicking him out after this. They can easily find another hacker who won’t be bothered by Taehyung’s unorthodox techniques, but Seokjin knows deep down he won’t be as lucky to find another skilled group like theirs anytime soon, if ever.
“Let’s go.” Yoongi beckons to him from the living room, and Seokjin follows, without looking up at anyone on his way out.
Humiliated.
That’s how he feels staring down at the bandaged hand on his lap, fingers doomed to stick together for at least two weeks.
“We have nothing planned for the next month anyway,” Yoongi mentions, eyes on the road, both hands on the wheel.
Seokjin doesn’t react. Job or no job, he feels like dead weight, unable to type or even move the mouse with that huge cast on his dominant hand. Anger rises from the ashes in his chest, but now aimed at himself for the temper tantrum that caused the injury.
What the hell is wrong with him?
Yoongi lets him sulk in silence until they get back to the dorm, lets out a tired sigh as soon as he kills the engine. “I don’t think I need to say you fucked up, do I?”
Seokjin shakes his head, ears heating up in shame. Just when he thought he couldn’t feel more like a child…
“Sort this out with Taehyung and the others will come around. Let’s not lose sleep over a meaningless fight, okay?”
He gets out of the car without waiting for a reply. Seokjin had no intentions of giving him one, anyway.
Everyone’s waiting up in the living room when they walk in. Yoongi shares the doctor’s orders for the following days and they agree to take turns helping Seokjin with routine tasks. He’s too embarrassed to speak, keeps his eyes on the floor, just nodding whenever someone addresses him to wish him well or express relief that it’s nothing serious. Even Jimin greets him, though the usual smile on his face is gone.
Taehyung is the only one who doesn’t get up from his seat. From his peripheral vision, Seokjin spots Namjoon walking to him; they exchange a few words and nods, then Namjoon gives Taehyung’s shoulder a quick squeeze and joins the others.
They should be pissed after the fit he threw, laughing scornfully at his misery… But they’re not. No one’s shitting rainbows, of course, but they’re not giving him shit either. Now that they know he’ll be okay soon, everyone can head to bed after an eventful evening.
Hoseok helps him out of his clothes and into pajamas. Namjoon offers his bunk bed so Seokjin won’t have to climb up to the top one. Jungkook brings a glass of water to his bedside table.
“Thank you,” he says to each one of them, still avoiding their eyes. His jaw only unclenches once he’s in bed, facing the wall, covers pulled all the way over his head.
The painkillers he took at the hospital have left him groggy, so drifting off is no problem despite the guilt gnawing at his heart. His sleep is unpleasant, though, locks him up in a gruesome nightmare where he’s sitting on his desk by himself in the dark. Each of his team members shows on his main screen, caught by swarms of cops and security guards coming out of nowhere. Seokjin screams at them to run, but they can’t hear him, slams his hands on the keyboard but both have casts wrapped around them and nothing but keyboard smashing comes out.
The dream ends with Taehyung bursting through the front door, white shirt splattered with crimson that drips from the corner of his mouth, telling Seokjin to leave and save himself. Before Seokjin can do anything except get up and go to him, a gunshot echoes and Taehyung plunges into his arms, lifeless.
His own blood-curdling scream jolts him awake. Seokjin sits up, panting, his pajama shirt sticking to his skin. In a relieved haze, he squints in the dark, trying to make sure none of it is real, and frowns upon finding Yoongi sleeping on the bed next to his. Wasn’t he supposed to stay on watch?
Too agitated and confused to get back to sleep, he gets on his feet and tiptoes his way out, closing the door as quietly as possible with his shitty left hand coordination. As soon as he turns around, a pair of wary eyes meets his.
Taehyung is sitting by the window, in baggy pants and a sweatshirt, hair sticking out every which way like he’s been compulsively running his fingers through it. Mortified, Seokjin hesitates for an eternity before clearing his throat.
“Why are you on watch?”
With a shrug, Taehyung turns his head back to the window. “Couldn’t sleep, asked to take over.”
Despite the darkness and the considerable distance between them, Seokjin can tell he’s just as tired as everyone else. Why, then, would he offer to cover for Yoongi, who’s gotten some decent hours of sleep during the day?
Yoongi’s words come back to mind like a punch to the stomach.
Let’s not lose sleep over a meaningless fight, okay?
The same guilt corroding his own guts, though of different origin, must have insidiously gotten into Taehyung’s mind through Seokjin’s spiteful accusations.
He feels sick. Taehyung is probably overexerting himself, on the off chance that something might go wrong because of him. He is punishing himself because of what Seokjin said.
“Taehyung,” he mumbles on impulse. Taehyung doesn’t move, and Seokjin reckons he deserves the cold shoulder. “I owe you an apology.”
“No.” His brows furrow and he shakes his head. “It’s fine. You were worried about the team, that’s all.”
It sucks to be wrong, he hates to have to grovel and take accountability for his mistakes, but Taehyung can’t just let him off the hook so easily. He fucked up, and even if his intentions were good to an extent, he knows deep down that there was more to it than simply looking out for the team. Seokjin takes a deep breath and forces the words out.
“Still, there’s no excuse for the way I reacted. It was horrible, and I’m truly sorry.”
Taehyung just nods, keeping his eyes on the street, one leg propped up on his seat, an outstretched arm leaning on his knee. The frown remains on his face, and though he doesn’t exactly seem angry, his locked jaw does nothing to quell the uneasiness in Seokjin’s gut.
“You did well tonight.” He takes tentative steps towards the dining table and sits on the chair next to Taehyung’s. That’s the first time Seokjin has ever initiated a conversation with him, and the part of his brain that’s still functional mutters you’ve said your piece, now go back to bed before things get out of control, idiot. His heart beats furiously in retaliation when Taehyung looks at him, drowns out the voice of reason at least for a while.
“I did well? You were about to give me a black eye when I arrived,” he scoffs, though the bewilderment in his eyes isn’t entirely negative.
“I already apologized, okay?” Seokjin grumbles, throwing his hands up in frustration. “Can’t you just like, take the damn compliment?”
Still unused to his injury, Seokjin’s hand hits his lap with a little too much force and he curls in on himself. With eyes squeezed shut, he feels Taehyung move closer and a careful hand on his cast, keeping it steady. His head finds Taehyung’s shoulder and Seokjin buries his scrunched face into his neck, breathing sharply.
“Are you okay?”
Taehyung’s voice sounds so different with Seokjin’s ear near his throat, even more than the one he’s used to hearing through the headset. It’s low and husky, but above all, undeniably caring. Seokjin hums an affirmative reply, latches onto Taehyung’s soapy scent to distract himself from the lingering pain like it’s medicine.
His other hand finds Seokjin’s back, pats it gently a few times before resting between his shoulder blades. They sit huddled together for a moment, and not once does Taehyung become tense, or clear his throat in awkwardness, or show any signs of discomfort while Seokjin leans on him. He doesn’t let go of his hand either, even after Seokjin places it carefully on his own thigh.
As much as his head hurts from the shitty sleep and pent-up stress, this feels… Nice. Cozy. Seokjin can’t recall the last time he let someone come this close to him, much less reciprocated it. Taehyung’s soft breathing into his hair eases the tension in his muscles, his arm around Seokjin’s shoulders makes him feel cared for. Safe. Not alone.
Maybe—just maybe, his fuzzy consciousness tells him—some distractions are worth the risk.
A dopey grin appears on his face, and he’s thankful that Taehyung can’t see it, because he wouldn’t know how to explain it. His own slurred voice surprises him as it comes out.
“Did you like it?”
Taehyung hums in confusion, and the vibration in his chest widens Seokjin’s smile. It’s surprisingly pleasant to acknowledge Taehyung is real, warm and alive in such vivid ways.
“The kiss. Was it good?”
He remembers the bad dream, how he woke up heartbroken thinking Taehyung had died in his arms, his weight still fresh in his memory. His chest hurts again; the pain is strong, though dull, like his heart has sunk deep underwater. Taehyung holds his breath for a second, takes so long to reply that Seokjin almost gives up expecting it.
“No.”
“Why not?” Seokjin pries, not exactly because he cares. He doesn’t know why they’re doing this right now, but he’s not about to stop it either. “She wasn’t a good kisser?”
Taehyung chuckles, slides the hand on Seokjin’s cast to his forearm. “I wouldn’t like it even if she was the best kisser in the world.”
Curiosity quickens Seokjin’s pulse. He looks down at the thumb sliding back and forth on his arm, figures he should pull back, yet doesn’t move a single muscle.
“Well, then that makes you the most stupidest person in the world,” he teases, pursing his lips to stifle a silly laugh, but gives in when Taehyung snorts, high-pitched giggles coming out of his nose.
“Or just the gayest.”
Seokjin chokes on his laughter, eyes doubling in size. Taehyung goes still beside him, the hand on Seokjin’s arm freezes momentarily. The silence that follows is thick and unbearable; Seokjin breaks it as soon as he regains the ability to speak.
“You… You’re gay?”
The surprise in his words comes across as judgment. With a sigh, Taehyung withdraws his hand.
“You really had no clue, did you?”
Seokjin’s skin protests the absence of Taehyung’s warmth, but he soldiers on, too shocked to act on it.
Taehyung kisses boys. Taehyung kisses boys. Taehyung kisses boys.
And Seokjin…
“I should have known. After all this time, and you never spared me a single glance…” Taehyung rambles on, letting out a dry laugh. “Guess I was in denial.”
Seokjin’s mind is too sluggish to process everything that’s happening at once. All he knows is that Taehyung is gay, Taehyung doesn’t like girls, Taehyung could maybe like him if Seokjin tried hard enough, and he hasn’t tried in forever, for anyone, but now his heart is tripping on itself, beating in his throat, threatening to jump out the moment he opens his mouth—
“Me too,” he blurts out, a little too loud given their proximity, but it’s long overdue and he doesn’t want to take it back. Hadn’t realized it until now.
In a blink of an eye, everything falls into place: the unexplainable irritability, the unfounded distrust, how the rest of the team seems to always find something else to do and leave them alone at random times. The way he blew that kiss out of proportion. His physical injury was merely outward evidence of all the months he spent hurting himself on the inside.
Taehyung returns his gaze with a dumbfounded one, lips slightly parted, breath getting more labored by the second. Seokjin’s body buzzes with anticipation, along with the fear of hesitating for a second too long and missing his chance. His heart is too heavily guarded, won’t allow another moment of vulnerability any time soon. Besides, if he wastes this precious opportunity, it’s Taehyung who might never give him another shot.
So Seokjin takes it before fear kicks back in. He cranes his neck and captures Taehyung’s bottom lip between his, gentle and slow, looking into Taehyung’s shocked eyes with all the honesty he’s bottled up for so long now simmering in his pupils.
The faint taste Taehyung leaves in his mouth as Seokjin pulls back only makes him want to dive in for more, but he waits, heart on his sleeve, bare and helpless, for Taehyung to make the next move. Want me, he begs feverishly in his mind. Please, want me.
With fluttering lashes, Taehyung’s gaze falls to Seokjin’s mouth, his raised brows meet above the bridge of his nose. Just like Seokjin, he doesn’t give his mind time to stop him, inhales sharply and leans in to bring their lips together again.
It’s sloppy and messy, the angle’s weird, the hunger on both sides too strong, and all it ever does is get stronger. Taehyung’s hand slides up Seokjin’s arm to cup his face, the arm around Seokjin’s shoulders pulls him in with an iron-like grip. Seokjin offers no resistance, threads his fingers on the hair at Taehyung’s nape and pulls, forcing him to tilt his head back. Taehyung’s jaw hangs open as he lets out the prettiest moan Seokjin’s ever heard, airy and strained and sinful, and he’s gone, gone, opens his mouth wide so their slick lips just brush against one another.
“Hyung…” He sighs as the pad of Seokjin’s thumb glides over his reddened lips. “I can call you hyung now, right?”
Seokjin lifts his gaze to meet Taehyung’s hazy, hooded eyes. Biting his own lip, he nods slowly, takes a deep breath as a surging wave of desire takes over him.
“Say it again.”
“Hyung… Seokjin-hyu—”
He kisses Taehyung again, wild, untamed, making sure to erase every trace of that spoiled girl from his mouth, and of anyone who’s ever kissed him before. Even after this night ends, regardless of what tomorrow brings, Seokjin wants Taehyung to taste him on his tongue forever, ruin everyone else for him, past and future, leaving him no choice but to come back running to hyung’s arms begging for more.
He reaches out to hold Taehyung’s waist, forgetting his injury, applies too much pressure and flinches in pain. Lost in lust, Taehyung takes a second too long to process what happened, then holds Seokjin’s cast again, hissing along with him.
“Please, be careful,” he half whines, half laughs, and Seokjin can’t help chuckling at his own misery as well. Taehyung kisses his temple and rubs his shoulder for a while until Seokjin can sit up straight. “I’ll get you an ice pack.”
He watches Taehyung hurry to the kitchen and come back to his side like it’s a mirage, ears burning with a mix of exhilaration, arousal and a pinch of incredulity.
“Thank you,” he breathes when Taehyung places the ice pack on the back of his hand. They stare at each other in the dark; the smile on Taehyung’s face is infectious, Seokjin grins back at him before he knows it.
“You should get some rest,” Taehyung murmurs, indicating the bedroom with a head tilt. “I gotta keep watch.”
There’s nothing Seokjin wants to do less right now than leave Taehyung’s side. He narrows his eyes for a moment before nodding, a mischievous smirk taking shape on his face.
“Okay,” he says, adjusting on the chair so he can rest his head on Taehyung’s shoulder. “Good night.”
“I—” Taehyung starts, but the words get caught in his throat. With a bashful chuckle, he nuzzles Seokjin’s hair and settles down as well. “Good night, hyung.”
“V, your turn.”
Taehyung nods curtly on the screen, buttons up his all-black suit and smoothes the hair on his temples with both hands before walking towards his target—a museum curator’s young mistress, sitting by herself at a fancy nightclub VIP lounge, while the fifty-something-year-old man is forced to go to the restroom to wipe the drink Jimin not so accidentally poured all over his shirt at the bar.
“It feels nice to have you inside me, hyung,” he replies, allowing himself to smirk for a second. “I mean, in my ear.”
“We can hear you, dumbass.” Hoseok sighs, heading to the restroom to play his drunk playboy part and keep the old dude busy until Taehyung clones the keycard in the inner pocket of his jacket, currently draped over the back of the girl’s chair.
“Left side,” is all Seokjin says, rubbing a hand over his face while Yoongi snickers beside him. Taehyung takes the seat on her left as he’s been told, smooth as always, like he’s known her all his life, and the poor girl freezes, staring back at his charming grin with wide eyes.
“I know you’re with someone, so I’ll make it quick.” He gives her some time to react, but her gaze is fixed on his face—the same dumbstruck look everyone else gets when seeing him for the first time, unable to grasp how someone can be so beautiful. Taehyung promptly takes advantage of her stunned senses and leans in to whisper in her ear, so she won’t notice the small scan device hidden on his sleeve. “Can I have your number?”
He offers her an unlocked smartphone with one hand, while the other roams the upper left side of the jacket, where Seokjin saw the curator placing his keycard on his way out of the museum through hacked cameras. It’s risky, there’s a slim chance he’s left it in the car, which Namjoon is already watching at the parking lot in case they need to resort to plan B, but Seokjin hopes the old man’s dumb enough to have brought it into the club.
After a visible shiver, the girl casts a quick glance over her shoulder in the direction of the restroom. Upon confirming the coast is clear, she doesn’t think twice, takes the phone and types down her number with a coy smile. As soon as she’s done, Seokjin’s side monitor beeps, confirming the keycard has been successfully cloned.
“Good job, V,” he says after unlocking his jaw, blinking a few times to erase the unsettling sight of Taehyung getting cozy with someone else from his memory. “We’re done, guys.”
All that’s left for the others to do now is leave as unnoticed as they walked in, making sure no one’s following them. Seokjin lets out a relieved breath and swivels in his chair to face Yoongi, whose shoulders are shaking, gummy smile on full display.
“What’s so funny?”
“You,” Yoongi replies, laughing harder at Seokjin’s frown. “Always so obviously jealous of Taehyung.”
“Me? Jealous?” Seokjin guffaws, eyes rolling back. “As if.”
Yoongi lets him have the last word, even though both know he’s right. It’s more of an involuntary reaction, actually, a pet peeve Seokjin can’t get used to enduring with a straight face. He’s got nothing to fear and he knows it. No matter how many girls fall for Taehyung, none of them will change the fact that, at the end of the day, it’s Seokjin who owns his heart.
Jungkook wakes up shortly after, ready to spend the night on the lookout, and is the first to rush to the front hall when the rest of the team arrives. Jimin almost tramples on Hoseok to reach Jungkook and fall into his open arms. Ever since Seokjin and Taehyung were caught sleeping side by side by the whole team a few months prior, they’ve grown more comfortable with displaying their affection as well, so much that no one bats an eyelash at their antics anymore.
Taehyung’s eyes are trained on Seokjin before he’s even set foot inside, smiling in anticipation. His arms are soon wrapped tight around Seokjin’s neck; the impact of their bodies makes Seokjin stumble back a little, face buried in the curve of Taehyung’s neck, breathing him in like he was gone for months, not just hours.
“Welcome back,” Seokjin whispers in his ear, kisses his jaw and relishes the pleased hum Taehyung lets out.
They break the hug right on time to see Namjoon and Hoseok gather around Yoongi, holding him while he scowls and yells at them to let go. Everyone bursts out laughing, and the rest of the group heads to the couch to relax and celebrate another triumph.
“You were amazing out there,” Seokjin says, pulling Taehyung back into his arms before they join the others.
“Thank you.” Taehyung beams, and it takes Seokjin’s breath away as always. “How’s your hand? Any pain?”
Seokjin shakes his head. “I’m as good as new.”
Looking into Taehyung’s eyes, almost disappearing behind the radiant smile puffing up his cheeks, there’s no better choice of words to describe the feeling in Seokjin’s chest. Every day he wakes up beside Taehyung is a new adventure: he’s never felt so good in his own skin, confident and happy, never thought caring about someone could be so rewarding, though his insecurities still insist on lurking in the shadows every now and then. Of course, kissing Taehyung goodbye before he leaves for another heist is torture, he hates it more than anything, but the fear of something bad happening to Taehyung only urges Seokjin to focus even more behind his computer desk, reflexes sharp like never before.
Ironically, the one person he thought was a distraction is now his ultimate reason to work hard. As long as he breathes, no harm will ever find Taehyung, nor any of his team members—whom he’s happy to consider his friends now.
“Get in here, losers!” Jimin screeches from the living room, startling them both. They share a giggle and walk inside with intertwined fingers.
Surrounded by their warmth and easy laughter, Seokjin glances over at Hoseok, sitting beside him, and clinks their beer bottles, realizing that he’s been right from the beginning.
They are bulletproof.