Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lying has been Jimin’s way out of things for most of his life. In some ways, it has also gotten him into things. Like prison. Just like now, as he sits in front of the most boring man he’s ever met in New York city—which is really every other man. 

He doesn’t have time to be here, has some place else to be. Perhaps a party with his team for closing their biggest con yet at $530,000. He could’ve been drinking to his heart’s content in a high-profile club at TAO downtown, locking lips with strangers and never asking for their name, getting free drinks just because he's Jimin. He has a flight to catch back to Seoul in the morning too, but somehow he’s here anyway, sipping on expensive chardonnay, except this one is free.

Free for being beautiful as Myungwoo, his date, has told him.

It’s arguably the finest dinner date he’s been on since arriving in New York two weeks ago even if there's nothing specifically niche or spectacular about it. Nonetheless, good food, good wine. That’s high praise considering the countless men who’ve chanced a date or two with him. Admittedly, he isn’t looking for anything, not even a hookup, so any date proposed to him has to involve food and maybe wine, but nothing else. He finds it an alternative to creating connections too, still on the job even without a mission.

Myungwoo just so happens to have been a hotshot who seems to have a penchant for talking his ass off about how woe is his life being rich, and Jimin happens to be his arm candy for the night, a free therapist of sorts. And that's what makes it so convenient. Here’s the part where Jimin lies. 

First, it begins with an apology and sympathy, nimble fingers playing with cufflinks as he shares an intimate look that has gotten him everything he’s ever wanted. It’s the reason why he’s sitting in this velvet chair, right in front of a spread of meats and every age-old cheese in history. And then, when the opportunity presents itself, he gears up for a story. A new identity. A new persona. Jimin, who’s actually been a runaway child from a rich family. Jimin, who lives an equally desolate life being lonely as an independent artist who’s only hit his first million. Jimin, who knows what it’s like to feel the very pain points that are surefire ways to get his victims where he wants them.

Again, lying gets him into things.

“Why do I have to be fucking listening to this, Jimin?” He hears a muffled voice in his ear. 

That’s not Myungwoo.

He looks into Myungwoo’s eyes and he looks every bit as fooled as all the other men Jimin has used his run-of-the-mill stories on. He’s sympathetic, only it’s the kind that’s arrogant, as if he can help Jimin and pull him out of the gravel with an offer of money. But sympathetic nevertheless.

Where is he? Oh, right. He’s talking about how he understands Myungwoo, because he's also the odd one out in his family with different dreams. Well, at least there's one part that's not a lie. His parents had thrown him out. Either from coming out as gay or going to prison, he doesn't know which reason hurts to this day still.

“Fucking talk to me,” the muffled voice starts again and Jimin wants to roll his eyes, regretting having told his teammate to be on standby for the date. The moment Jimin had left the hotel, he knew he wanted to try something. Just, maybe they could add more to their total of $530,000. A gamble.

He fights off an eye twitch when he hears a loud sigh. Again, not from Myungwoo.

Fucking Jungkook.

He gets a long litany of curses in his earpiece, carefully hidden under a long fringe swept nicely to cover it. “It’s a damn date, not a mission.”

Just you wait, Jimin wants to say with an eye roll.

“It pisses me off, you know, they say it’s for cancer research but where has that gotten us with cancer? Not a single cure in sight. You get what I mean, Gigi?”

“Who the fuck? Really, Jimin? Gigi?” 

Jimin smiles.

“Well, I wouldn’t say it hasn’t been useful,” he starts. “You shouldn’t speak that way about Waxman. I could only dream of having affiliations with a foundation like that if it meant I could get us on the frontier of charities.”

“What are you doing?” Jungkook asks and Jimin wishes he could just snap his earpiece in half.

“Us?” Myungwoo raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, the art foundation I’m a part of. Haven’t I told you about it?”

Myungwoo looks at him with the same face from when they’d first met. And right there, Jimin knows he has his target locked. 

He doesn’t expect to be picked up so soon. 

After the date, he asks Myungwoo to drop him off at an address that’s most certainly not the address of the hotel he’s staying at with the team. After, he's supposed to be picked up by a cab to go to the hotel. The rest of the date went well, and now that he’s got his foot in the door on a new mission, he has to talk to their boss, Mr. Lee. Granted he would be open to anything as long as there’s at least a fifty-percent profit, but Jimin has to talk to him still, and then talk the rest of the team into agreeing.

It seems to him that Mr. Lee’s curiosity is piqued if the car pulling up in front of him as soon as Myungwoo turns the corner of the street is anything to go by. If it goes according to his plans, the meeting itself would take no more than thirty minutes.

It’s not a cab in front of him but he’s somehow sure it’s his ride since it’s right in front of him. The car horn resonates on the quiet street with two angry honks as if whoever the driver is is telling him to get in. 

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” He hears an impatient voice in his earpiece and Jimin’s back straightens up as he hurries for the passenger seat’s door.

He can’t believe it’s Jungkook picking him up.

“Didn’t I tell you to turn off the damn thing?” Jimin says as soon as he closes the door, rolling his eyes when Jungkook starts the car abruptly and he jumps. He buckles in his seatbelt. “Were you listening to us in the car?”

“Mission, my ass, I could’ve lived my whole life not knowing what you sound like moaning like a whore—”

“Wouldn’t be the first time you heard it,” Jimin says with a flick on Jungkook’s cheek.

As much of an innuendo as it sounds, there’s no space for shame and embarrassment where Jungkook’s involved. They’ve hated each other since the first day they were onboarded as new members of the team. So as far as Jimin’s concerned, anything that could possibly have a double meaning can be taken at surface level when it comes to Jungkook. Well, he does mean it literally, too. He doesn’t feel sorry for all the times Jungkook has had to listen to illicit conversations between him and the targets of their cons. If anything, it’s fuel to the fire.

It’s always him Jimin has on speed dial, the member of the team he contacts the most, and vice versa what with Jimin being the team’s main grifter and Jungkook being their hacker. It’s always a back and forth of information—and bickering—that allows Jimin to function on the floor seamlessly, Jungkook in his ear constantly, and yet they’re like cat and dog. Jimin can’t really attribute the hatred they feel for each other to anything significant that has happened in the past two years, but just like the old saying goes, if it isn’t broken, don’t fix it.  

He just needs Jungkook to get the job done. And to get him to the hotel in one piece. 

“Can you slow down?” He spits at the last turn before the main street, but Jungkook just snickers at him, pulling to a stop in front of the hotel.

“You can say thank you,” is all he gets.

Jimin slams the door closed on the way out.

“Jimin!” Someone calls him and he turns to see Chaerin, their other grifter. She looks a little tipsy, as she does most nights here in New York. “Was that Jungkook?”

“Yeah,” he says as they climb up the stairs to the hotel’s lobby together. “Did Mr. Lee ask him to pick me up?”

“Hell if I know, I didn’t have any idea you were going out tonight,” Chaerin giggles and they’re helped into the elevator by a kind—

“Yunju!”

Yunju, their one-woman finance department, smiles back at them after pressing the button for their floor. 

“Party in the elevator!” Chaerin laughs and Jimin figures she’s probably more drunk than he thinks. Yunju rolls her eyes but it’s an easy smile again when she faces them, leaning against the mirrored wall of the elevator.

“You have to get her sober for the meeting,” and then, “You didn’t tell me you had a new pitch.”

Jimin scratches his head, and she helps him with Chaerin as they get off at their floor.

“Well, it kind of just came over me when I was about to leave for my date. You’ll hear it from Jungkook the moment we're at the table,” he says with a chuckle.

“I was at the hotel bar when Mr. Lee called to say we’re meeting in fifteen minutes, something about you and Jungkook on the way back from somewhere,” she says the last part with a knowing look and Jimin fakes disgust.

“Ew, are you still on about that? He heard me in his fucking in-ears moaning another guy’s name, Yunju, please,” he groans.

Yunju opens the door to their suite and they dump Chaerin on the couch with a sigh of relief.

“I know, I know. Who was the date?”

“Min, you’re back!” Calls a voice from one of the three rooms and Hoseok walks out into the hallway promptly, in the midst of putting a mask pack on his face. “Mr. Lee said the meeting better be quick.”

“Yeah, it’s really nothing much,” Jimin starts. “We can just go over it in the morning with the details but Mr. Lee wanted to hear your opinions on it before bed.”

It’s not a complicated plan really , just a complicated execution as is always with auction deceits, except this time they’re doing it at the Hamptons. That’s how he begins his pitch, if he can call it that, once they’re all gathered in the suite’s living room. He’s glad Jungkook’s late, thinking he might have stayed in the basement parking for a smoke break as he goes on with his recount of his plan. He’s sure that if Jungkook’s here, he’d joke about Jimin’s flirting skills and then insult Myungwoo.

“So we need an expensive-looking piece of shit painting or sculpture, is that it?” Mr. Lee asks crudely but there’s no bite to his voice. It’s just the way he speaks, a little monotone and rough from years of chainsmoking.

“We’ve done auctions before but it’s always been jewelry,” Jina, their logistics specialist asks, tapping Beomseok, their strategist, who’s sitting beside her when she sees him yawn.

“Yeah, I’ll go over that in the morning,” he says.

Jungkook opens the door right at that moment and Jimin fights the instinct to look at him. He can smell the smoke.

“Maybe Jeon can cook up something for the art piece. Like AI. Or he can paint it himself—” Mr. Lee says upon seeing him.

“I told you, Mr. Lee. We need an artist on the team,” Hoseok tells Mr. Lee and the old man laughs.

“You want me to paint?” Jungkook starts and Jimin rolls his eyes. “Sure, but has genius over here even said exactly what the painting’s gonna be?”

They all turn to Jimin, even Mr. Lee.

He’s forgotten that part, he thinks with a scratch of his temple. It hasn’t been an hour since his date with Myungwoo and he recalls the anxious jitters of his fingers as he ran his mouth, Jungkook nagging at him through the earpiece about how reckless he was being, but the buzz of wine in his body had gotten the best of him. Ultimately, a recipe for disaster, but a good disaster that landed them an invite to the Waxman Foundation’s annual gala at the Hamptons. And a certain diamond necklace from Cartier.

He doesn’t speak, so Jungkook does it for him with a bit of spite.

“He said he specializes in contemporary art featuring how delicate and beautiful the human body is,” Jungkook says mockingly and Jimin stands up from his seat.

“You make it sound so bad but Mr. Lee, the important part of this is that Myungwoo offered a vintage piece from Cartier that will be sold at the auction too. The painting’s guaranteed to sell. We can fake a bidder to drive up the prices. It’ll work—”

“Jimin, I’m not saying it won’t but,” Mr. Lee sighs, “What is this Cartier necklace you’re talking about?”

Jungkook chuckles and before Jimin can explain, he answers, “Basically it’s him naked wearing the necklace.”

Most of their missions typically involve some sort of “grazing” as their team likes to call it, a free real estate of pickpocketing, if you will, where Jimin, Chaerin, and Hoseok relieve targets in an unsuspecting crowd of their belongings. If not, it’s embezzlement. Occasionally, auction frauds with jewelry and high-value vintage items. So it’s not a first for them to dabble into infiltrating an esteemed auction, at least to Jimin’s knowledge since joining the team two years ago. 

The Waxman Cancer Research Foundation, as Jimin has first heard of from Myungwoo, is a New York-based foundation founded back in the 1970s with a mission to eradicate cancer with cross-institutional research. It’s not their first time collaborating with the wealthy from the Hamptons. In fact, the upcoming auction and gala in two weeks is the 19th annual event.

The truth is, he only barely knows the name from Myungwoo. It’s all Ayoung’s work the following morning that briefs him on what they’re truly in the game for.

Mr. Lee’s been to a few events at the Hamptons, so it seems, and is somehow affiliated with the Journal Chair of the upcoming auction, some woman with a surname like Finberg. So that makes it a little easier, a little less stressful on becoming attuned to their environment on the day of the mission if they have connections with someone already. She’s not the only important person so Ayoung gives them a rundown of all the benefactors she can find information on with Jungkook's help, with the most important ones being the honorees, co-chairs, and the hosting estate of the auction. It’s a lot of names, all of which Ayoung has printed out in copies for all eight of them to study in the living room while Mr. Lee coordinates a luncheon with Mrs. Linberg.

Somehow, the topic of the naked painting is forgotten in the discussion and Jimin’s thankful. He knows once their briefing on the foundation is over, Beomseok will surely ask him how they can go about the painting but he chooses not to think about it until the last minute.

When it comes, the others have all retreated to their rooms for a break. There’s always a lot to do on the first day after planning a mission so they hardly find time to themselves. Beomseok meets him in the hallway after he’s just washed his face, hurrying to his shared room with Hoseok so he can put on his beloved toner before his skin dries up.

“Ah the muse and the painter,” Jungkook says by the doorway of the room after Beomseok enters and sits on Jimin’s bed.

“Jungkook, don’t be a distraction, please.”

“Yeah right, tell him, Beomie,” Jimin encourages while doing his skincare in front of the mirror on the vanity table. “So, the thing?”

“Right,” Beomseok starts, “I’ve gone over the options. We can commission someone to do it, though that’s not cost-effective. If we’re talking affordable, well, we have the best artist—kind of—in the team.”

Jimin waits for him to continue as he moves on to his moisturizer, but when he looks at Beomseok in the mirror, he sees him staring at the doorway. When he follows his line of sight, he sees Jungkook smirking.

“Oh, fuck no.”

“Mhm, Jimin,” Jungkook teases.

“He’s not painting you, for God’s sake,” Beomseok interjects before Jimin can lose it and that sends Jungkook into a fit of laughter. “He can create an AI generator and then we’ll have it 3D printed. It doesn’t have to be just a painting, does it? This will essentially be a sculpture on a canvas. So we’ll need a few things.”

Jimin sighs heavily. Jungkook’s still standing in the doorway.

“First, the necklace. We need it here. Jungkook has to do a 3D scan of it so the AI generator works seamlessly and can create copies of it to the exact detail. Second, photos of you,” Beomseok pauses, “And then photos of you wearing the necklace.”

Jimin knows exactly what that entails and it makes him glance at Jungkook but he’s not there anymore. It makes his stomach twist. It’s the same kind of feeling he got at the dinner with Myungwoo, that same kind of jitter that had him doing unthinkable things. 

“He agreed to that?” He asks after applying his sunscreen. 

“Who?” Beomseok asks, having spaced out while staring at Jimin’s array of skincare products on the vanity.

“Jungkook.”

Beomseok blinks at him, and then he smiles. “It doesn’t have to be him.”

“What?” It’s Jimin’s turn to ask.

“It doesn’t have to be him,” Beomseok repeats with a shrug.

That simple reply has Jimin thinking for the rest of the morning, even well into the afternoon as he prepares to see Myungwoo again. By God’s grace, the fool has taken enough of a liking to Jimin that he’s bent rules—his words, not Jimin’s—to acquire the diamond necklace way ahead of the auction. Through their back-and-forth messages, he finds out the necklace isn’t coming from Cartier but the benefactor that Myungwoo works for. There’s just a few steps needed to get it in his hands.

In a way, it’s more beneficial even if it automatically devalues the necklace by a few hundred thousands. It’s still vintage Cartier that has no other copy in the world so it’s still worth a little less than $1 million at the lowest. It could definitely still double given the auction, and that much money attached to the painting is highly regarded. They'd just have the make it good, or Jungkook has to make it good. That is if he's the one working on it, and with such a time crunch. The good thing is that if it’s coming from Myungwoo, he’s certain it can be in their possession until the auction itself. 

Unfortunately, tonight’s date is not that night. Since the morning, he hasn’t even taken into consideration how he could pull more strings with Myungwoo, not having paused to think he might have to get so much closer than he initially planned. But here he is in the foyer of the suite, looking for his copy of the keycard before leaving.

It’s just another date, maybe something lighter this time like coffee and a few shops in Manhattan. If he plays his cards right, he can have the necklace in a few days. Myungwoo’s messaged him so excitedly about checking in a suite for Jimin and his “colleagues” at the foundation a week ahead of the auction, so he feels like he has to go on this date. He checks his hair in the floor-length mirror before opening the door and almost screams when he sees Jungkook standing right in front of him.

“Fucking God, can’t you at least ring the doorbell?” He whisper-yells, taking a step back so Jungkook can walk inside. He smells like smoke again and Jimin wrinkles his nose, trying to cover it with his hand but Jungkook’s grabbing his mitten-covered hand before he can stop him, dragging him back inside. He takes him all the way to his room and Jimin starts cursing at him to stop.

In all the two years they’ve known each other, they’ve shared a few rooms but he refuses to let Jungkook see the havoc of his side of his shared room with Hoseok. It’s strewn with different silk shirts and pants in varying trims and cuts, the floor littered with his usual rotation of shoes for dates.

“What the—” He tries to say but Jungkook sits him down on his bed before rummaging the first drawer of the vanity table.

When he turns back around to Jimin—cheeks flushed from all the cursing and exertion as he sees himself in the mirror—Jungkook’s got that unreadable look on his face. They stare at each for that half moment until something lands in Jimin’s lap and he glances at it.

It’s the earpiece.

Jimin hates Jungkook. He really fucking does.

Because he doesn’t know why he ends up taking the earpiece. Jungkook doesn't even say anything before leaving his room. He shouldn’t have taken it with him, shouldn’t have put it in his little Chanel bag. Most definitely he shouldn’t have put it in his ear and hidden it under his growing tuft of blonde hair right before entering Myungwoo’s cafe of choice some ten or fifteen minutes later. It takes him aback to a point of awe, momentarily forgetting about Jungkook. It’s a lot quieter, a lot more quaint than the restaurant yesterday, with muted jazz music playing on the speakers. It’s a modest choice that has him blinking in surprise when he spots Myungwoo close to the far end of the cafe.

It’s such a stark difference that Jimin finds himself having to behave differently, like he has to adapt to this change in environment, feeling too dressed up in red lipstick and a dress shirt while other patrons come in cozy bundled up in merino wool and whatnot. Their conversations are quieter too, like Myungwoo doesn’t want to speak above the musicians and their jazz.

It’s a change of pace that’s disrupted by Jungkook’s voice when he first decides to shit on Jimin’s night with a comment on Myungwoo’s music taste.

“Fuckass Nat King Cole. How about J. Cole?”

Haha, funny, he wants to say but he sips on his decaffeinated latte instead. 

It’s times like these that help Jimin become a better… con artist. Or a grifter if he wants a better word for what he does. Sometimes he learns more about their targets than he would like, the knowledge either unhelpful or enlightening. In some cases, humanizing. It writes off the part of Myungwoo he’s branded as a braindead money-hungry rat, perhaps exchanging it with a more personal but still equally obnoxious rich guy who goes on and on about a niche interest. Myungwoo truly believes no one else loves coffee as much as he does, pointing out the notes and hints of orange in the espresso. Whatever that means.

“You have the lunch with the old lady from the auction tomorrow,” Jungkook tells him as if he’s just been notified of the fact right at the same time that Jimin’s phone vibrates screen-down on the table. Thankfully, that doesn’t alarm Myungwoo. Any other man would have raised an eyebrow at that and asked if it’s fine not to check the message. "Just letting you know in case you forgot to check your phone and get lost in his eyes."

Inwardly, Jimin rolls his eyes but he keeps his focus on the man in front of him, eyes on the prize. He doesn’t even know why he’s willingly keeping on the earpiece but oddly enough, Jungkook stops talking after informing him about the lunch, hearing nothing but the faint sounds of gameplay and Jungkook’s annoyingly loud mechanical keyboard. Mr. Lee might have been the one sending the message, because it’s only until the date is almost done, just a few minutes shy of ten in the evening when Myungwoo calls it a night, that Jungkook talks again like a personal assistant telling him about his schedule.

“It’s at the Cathédrale, noon sharp.”

It’s an instant sigh of relief when he gets back to his "hotel" with no mishap. He takes the same route as the day before, asking Myungwoo to drop him off at his fake address and then booking a cab from there. He even tries to joke with Jungkook that maybe he’s the driver of the cab that stops in front of him without even having to hail one, but the line is dead. 

Jungkook sleeps like the dead, is the first thing Jimin has learned about him since knowing him. There’s nothing on Earth that could wake him up. While Hoseok’s a light sleeper, the complete opposite, the rest of the team is somewhere in the middle. So when morning comes and he hears that Jungkook’s not at the hotel, it gains Hoseok and Chaerin an automatic raise of his eyebrow. 

He’s usually the last person to wake up almost like it’s customary so it’s even more shocking.

“He was the one who told me about the details of the lunch and I wouldn’t have thought he’d be up so early, but my God, the times are changing I guess,” he says with his mouth weirdly ajar while putting on mascara. 

He sees two pairs of eyes looking at him through his reflection in the mirror and he turns to face them.

“He’s not coming to the lunch,” Chaerin’s the one to say.

“Why not? Mr. Lee must have made up all of our positions in our fake art foundation, right?”

“Yeah, but I think Jungkook specifically asked not to have any part in it,” Chaerin continues, hand poised like she’s trying to remember what she’s supposed to say. “So it’s just the seven of us and Mr. Lee.”

Jimin doesn’t stop thinking about it even after they’ve left the hotel. He’s asked Beomseok about it but the only answer he gets is a shrug. That stupid shrug, Jimin thinks. When he asks the others where else he could possibly be, given that if he stays back at the hotel, he’d have to listen in on their lunch anyway through the earpiece, they don’t know either. In the end, he attributes it to Jungkook’s near antisocialist nature that’s the reason why he’s their hacker in the first place. 

“In any case, he’s still on,” Chaerin says once they arrive at the Cathédrale, almost as if she’s picked up on Jimin’s thoughts. She lifts her hair a bit when he looks at her, revealing that she’s wearing the earpiece. “You know he’s never missed anything important.”

Jimin rolls his eyes with a snicker.

“It records everything as long as it’s on, so if he’s not on the channel, he’ll have it for replay later then he can go over it with Ayoung,” Chaering continues like Jimin has to hear it, fiddling with his own earpiece just as they enter through the mahogany doors of the Cathédrale, ushered inside by a host. 

It’s strange to be at a fine dining restaurant at noon, even stranger without a man taking him to such a place on a date. It’s a different ambience but the Cathédrale proves itself worthy of patronage, especially for the likes of a Chairperson for a foundation. It’s every bit prim and proper, modern and sleek, with high walls and chandeliers. They’re led to a more secluded area with partitions toward the far end of the grand hall, a long table awaiting them with a surprise of more people than Jimin has expected. It’s not just Mrs. Linberg, whom Jimin can easily identify. From Mr. Lee’s description of the foundation’s party, he would’ve thought they’d be meeting three people at the most but what greets him is a group of ten.

“Oh, Lee!” Mrs. Linberg greets their boss with an outstretched hand and he takes it with the briefest touch of his lips to her knuckles. Like the gentleman that he never is. 

This is serious business, Jimin thinks with a glance at Hoseok, but something—or rather someone—catches his attention.

Jungkook.

He almost rubs his eyes, almost blinks them several times just to make sure he’s not seeing things. But it’s real. He’s there. It’s Jungkook, standing a few tables away from them, clad in a proper dress shirt. Jimin’s eyes lead him downward on autopilot and he sees it. An apron. Jungkook’s a fucking waiter. Their eyes meet before Jungkook turns to walk away, a hand on his back gesturing upward. Jimin’s eyes follow, finding the dimly lit balustrades on the second floor, what would have been a choir loft.

Cathédrale.

Beomseok taps him on the shoulder and it’s then that Jimin realizes he has to sit at the table. Some of the men from the foundation’s party are looking at him and he recognizes them, has heard Ayoung talk about them during her briefing on the benefactors. He takes his seat beside one, the other seat to his left taken by Jina and across from him sits Beomseok who gives him a knowing smile. Like clockwork, Jimin’s eyes scan the table. He sees Hoseok and Chaerin doing the same, and when he finds Jungkook again, this time leaning against one of the arches on the second floor, it’s a signal to start.

“You must be Gigi,” the man sitting next to him says in greeting. Jimin smiles. He’s the one that he saw looking at him before he took his seat. “I represent the TAO Group.”

EVP and Chief Culinary Officer.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Jimin says as he offers his hand. 

“Easy there,” Jungkook says in his ear.

In spite of Myungwoo’s high interest in him, Jimin has to establish connections with more than one potential bidder. Ideally, he should have five he can bet on to fight for those prices, and it’s events like this that become his playground. TAO’s EVP whose name he learns is Ethan Chung, exchanges a few words with him on the appetizer, seemingly interested in Jimin’s reactions and compliments to the chef. He’s not much of a talker about himself, his straight posture and aloof expression leaving only room for small talk but Jimin makes the most of it. He talks about the Cathédrale’s architecture, triple-high ceilings and screen prints of Filmore East between each column lining the walls.

It might not be much but it earns him a few smiles here and there. When the entree arrives, Mr. Chung even offers to cut the steak for him, talking about the particular method of searing that’s a specialty of the chef. It’s during this time that Mrs. Linberg comes up behind them, making small talk about how overjoyed she is at Mr. Lee’s affiliated foundation joining as a benefactor. Jimin can only smile.

“How exciting to see a collaboration between two of our beneficiaries. I would certainly love to see how an artwork of vintage Cartier turns out,” she muses as they talk and round the table, Jimin’s hand outstretched almost the entire time to shake a hand with the attendees. “A pity Myungwoo can’t come, but there’s a few more events until the auction, darling. Maybe I can see you put your hands to work with the necklace.”

She chuckles amiably as she says it, and Jimin almost anticipates the words coming next.

“Put your hands to work, huh,” Jungkook repeats the words in his ear and Jimin looks up briefly to see him standing there still. It’s how he finds him even after their meal finishes, walking the length of the loft’s hallway before he tells all of them to meet him by their hired limousine.

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” Ayoung is the first to talk when Jungkook gets there, while Jimin scrolls through all of the new contacts he’s added to his phone. 

He pins Mr. Chung to the top of the list before pocketing his phone.

“Well, I got access to the pre-gala schedule and this lunch was a part of it. It’s pretty packed but you’ll only have to come back here one more time. The second’s a dinner with the same woman and,” he looks at Jimin, taking a cigarette from his pocket, “your boy toy. I saw emails with the paperwork for the necklace signed this morning, so we’ll have it by then. That might be the reason for the dinner.”

True to Jungkook’s words, they do get another invite to the Cathédrale for a dinner in two days. Of course, it’s not that he doesn’t trust his skills, but it surprises him still every time he tells them about information he sought out via hacking. His work is most usually done when they’re not on the floor, maybe in the confines of his hotel room and in front of his two laptops that he always takes with him on their missions.

Jungkook doesn’t come with them this time again, and Jimin truly doesn’t see him disguised in the restaurant when they arrive. They’re a smaller party, just him, Mr. Lee, Beomseok who’s posed as the foundation’s spokesperson, Mrs. Linberg, and to his relief, Myungwoo. Four bodyguards stand on all corners of the table, though it’s really not needed as they’re dining in the private room. They share the space with a few tables full of businessmen, the secluded area dimly lit compared to the grand hall of the restaurant. 

“I have good news,” Myungwoo says with a start once Jimin sits next to him, taking his hand with a chaste kiss to the back of it. “You look beautiful.”

Beomseok glances at the two of them and Jimin is only slightly embarrassed, would have been worse if Mrs. Linberg saw the display of affection. It should be a little concerning how handsy Myungwoo has become with just a few dates but he rationalizes that it can only be the arrogance of a man who believes he’s offered Jimin something worth his weight in gold. Or diamonds.

Mrs. Linberg starts the dinner with a toast to the Waxman Gala, expressing her excitement for the start of the event on Saturday. Throughout the appetizer, she lets them in on the few activities leading up to the auction and gala, all of which Jimin notes mentally even though he knows Jungkook must have already accessed every detail and shared it with Ayoung for another briefing.

There’s a polo game for fundraising, Myungwoo humbly bragging his participation on behalf of their benefactor. Mrs. Linberg even plays at asking Beomseok to join, and it’s all good laughter when Mr. Lee says that would end in an accident. It isn’t until after the main course that Myungwoo stands up, snapping his fingers to call over one of the bodyguards. Jimin exchanges knowing glances with Beomseok and Mr. Lee while Mrs. Linberg begins a litany on the importance of tonight.

The security pulls a heavy-duty carry-on from under the table, holding it in his arms despite how heavy it looks as Myungwoo says, “I’m glad to have Gigi for a one million opportunity like this.”

Jimin smiles. It’s a bit of a show but he likes it anyway, knows his eyes must be shining because he knows it’s the necklace that’s inside the bulletproof metal. When the locks come undone, the security guard lifts the top half ever so carefully, revealing a red leather box with gold trim  and ‘Cartier’ embossed in the middle in loopy cursive. The leather case itself is plush, fresh, and polished as if it’s not a single vintage piece aged so well that it doesn’t exist anywhere else in the world.

Jimin is handed a glove, the box following as he slips the velvet on. He immediately feels the weight of the diamonds, eyes widening and earning the chuckles of both Myungwoo and Mrs. Linberg. His heart is pounding loudly in his chest at the twinkling sight of the necklace as soon as he opens the box, a mechanism in place that makes it give away with so much as a light pull, opening slowly to reveal encrusted diamonds.

During Ayoung’s briefing in the hotel living room, she’d informed them of the specific necklace that was being sold at the auction. Jungkook must have seen photos of it too, but Jimin’s own searches come up with nothing. Though if he’s being honest, any photo, no matter how well-lit and well-compositioned, wouldn’t hold a candle to the real thing. It sits in the middle of the box like a radiant testament of Cartier, every diamond set in an intricate array of platinum with meticulous precision, blinding Jimin like an object of his vanity. He doesn’t need a magnifying lens to know that every diamond is the best clarity and brilliance, showcasing craftsmanship that can only be from the mid-century, full of classic motifs and contemporary flair. Jimin can already see himself wearing it with a plunging neckline to draw attention to the mesmerizing focal point on his chest, the largest diamond in the whole piece. 

“This is a treasure, a sister of the La Peregrina,” Myungwoo says and Jimin realizes he hasn’t been listening. “One of a kind, isn’t it?”

Jimin closes the box, reigning in the itch under his fingernails that has him by the throat every time he sees something like it. Like opulence and money. So, so much money. 

“Yes,” he breathes, “I can only hope I’ll do it justice.”

“Of course, you will, darling,” Mrs. Linberg fawns, “I’m truly so excited to see what your auction piece will look like. Just based on what Mr. Lee here has sent me from your gallery, I have high hopes.”

Gallery?

Jimin looks at Beomseok’s reactions after taking a sip of his wine, trying to find the same surprise he’s feeling but there’s none. What gallery?

“Ask Jungkook later,” is what he gets as an answer when the dinner finishes, Beomseok’s voice a little hushed since Myungwoo’s on their tail with his four bodyguards. The moment dessert was served, he told Jimin that he’d like to take him out for coffee, if only to have a bit more of his time, and that he wanted to bid goodbye to Mr. Lee and Beomseok. Jimin would have declined but given that they now have the necklace thanks to him, he graciously says yes, much to Myungwoo’s delight.

Jimin’s mind is off Jungkook as soon as his team leaves. He doesn’t have any time to think of how the gallery Mrs. Linberg speaks of is Jungkook’s doing, but that’s a thought for later. 

First, he has to charm Myungwoo, perhaps take it up a notch. He’s dressed to the nines after all, a lovely cashmere sweater stopping just shy of his midriff, the boat neck accentuating his collar bones, and a dainty necklace he’s opted for if only to give himself some shine. His waist is cinched in by a form-fitting pair of wide-legged pants, maybe not the best choice after he’s had a full course meal but still better than the straight-cut jeans he’d mistakenly packed with him on the trip. The ugly thing. 

Myungwoo takes him to a speakeasy this time, a big difference from the quaint cafe days ago. The speakeasy’s located at the far end of the winding hallways of some building on First Avenue, the door opening to dim lights in shades of orange and purple. Jimin already knows where the night is leading to just from the vibe of the bar alone, every two-seater table occupied by couples. They sit at a booth near the back and Jimin welcomes the warmth of the alcohol that the bartender serves them at their table, winking at him.

“What’s this?” Jimin chuckles after a sip. “Did you pick my drink in advance?”

“Not really, just figured I’d surprise you with something that might be to your taste,” Myungwoo says, telling the bartender his drink of choice and the man leaves with a brief bow. “No waiting for you, gorgeous.”

Jimin shifts in his seat, looking around. He takes another sip, licking his lips at the taste of rye whiskey and maraschino while Myungwoo waits for his reaction.

“Not bad,” Jimin says with a smile.

It’s strong. If it’s up to him, he would choose a light cocktail, but the drink in his hand is strong. Having quite a high tolerance for alcohol, he’s used to long sips and finishing a glass without batting an eyelash. But witht this one, he has to drink slowly, maybe chat it up more if he doesn’t want to end up drunk. So he does; he talks a lot. Giggles a lot, puts his hand on Myungwoo’s arm, and exchanges long, lingering stares with him. Anything to take his mind off the alcohol. 

But it gets the best of him barely a third glass in, knowing fully well that he’s already tipsy.

“Maybe we should end the night,” he says with a hiccup, checking his phone for the time. It’s half past ten and he’d rather be in bed now, especially with the light buzz in his ears that always ends up going away when he’s under a soft duvet, head sinking into the softest pillow. 

“Maybe we should,” Myungwoo says. But instead of feeling relief, Jimin sees the slight danger in his eyes then, the pull towards him as they get up from the booth, leaving through the back door. Myungwoo takes him to the car and Jimin immediately looks for his four bodyguards.

“Where are they?” He asks a bit sleepily. His team has always said he gets like this when drunk, a little cute and unguarded, not a vixen feigning intoxication.

“They’ll be here in a bit,” is all Myungwoo says before pulling him in, and this time, Jimin can’t fight it. 

Myungwoo plants a soft kiss at first, taking it in full stride when he gasps, slipping a tongue inside his mouth. Jimin squirms, ultimately giving in. It’s not a smart fight. He’d do better pushing him away with a whine, looking into his eyes as if he’s been fucked already. He gasps and shivers as if he wants to, melting into the kiss with a single-minded focus. To make it last before Myungwoo decides to touch him anywhere else.

“Sir, the car,” says a voice from behind them and Jimin breaks away from the kiss, acting embarrassed. It works when he gets into the car from the other side rather than with Myungwoo, the necklace’s carry-on in between them blocking the other from trying anything in the car. Myungwoo tells his driver the address with a sigh, one that sounds satisfied, like a cat that got his milk.

Jimin bites his lip when he sees the route they're going.

“Swollen?” Myungwoo jokes, a hand settling on Jimin’s inner thigh even with the awkward gap in between.

“No, uhm,” Jimin starts, trying to clear his mind, “We moved hotels yesterday.”

Fuck it, he thinks. There’s no way Myungwoo would drop him off and leave him to bring the necklace up to the suite himself. He still has his bodyguards after all. They’re sure to come with him to make sure it’s safe. 

“The Marriott Marquis, please,” he tells the driver and the old man glances at Myungwoo through the rearview mirror for approval. 

Jimin feels like his throat is constricted, thinks he’s fucked, that he’s bringing danger uninvited to their suite. But there’s nothing he can do but make sure it doesn’t show on his face when they arrive at his hotel, the anxiety inside of him at war with relief now that Myungwoo’s hand has left his inner thigh. He’s been right to assume Myungwoo’s intentions the moment they stepped into the bar.

“Oh, Mr. Shin, what business do you have here?” One of the many receptionists asks when they pass the lobby. “No check-in?”

“No, uhh, Alex, is it? Your name tag,” Myungwoo chuckles at the guy. “I’m not checking in. Just dropping off a date.”

Alex, the receptionist, looks at Jimin. “Oh, my apologies for holding you here.”

His face is flushed when he bows. Jimin remembers him from the day they checked in and every single time he would leave the hotel, catching him staring.

“How does the receptionist know you?” He asks when they’re in the elevator. Myungwoo’s hands are free to hold him, one arm around his waist holding him close to his body as if Jimin is a fragile thing that will fall over. “Myungwoo—”

“My parents are stakeholders at this hotel,” is the answer. 

Jimin has been with countless men like him. And they always say these little things about their wealth as if it’s nothing, so much so that Jimin chooses to believe he’s likely richer than he’s letting on.

Once they reach his floor, he tries to put some space between him and Myungwoo but it’s to no avail. He knows exactly why when they reach the door of the suite and Myungwoo lets the bodyguards go ahead, greeted by Beomseok at the doorway. He looks puzzled by it all, probably not having expected an entourage of guards to come with him but Jimin couldn’t have been able to say anything even if he wanted to, swept off his feet by hands on his waist and lips on his.

For the second time that night, he puts on a show, clutching desperately at the lapel of Myungwoo’s jacket and looking into his eyes like he’s kiss-drunk, except not really. It’s a shorter kiss but it’s even more desperate, Jimin feels. Myungwoo looks like he wants to kick open a free suite and fuck Jimin right then and there, but before he can chance another kiss, his bodyguards are at his sides again.

“Sir, we left the carry-on on the coffee table,” the one that looks somewhat young says, though that much is a guess since Jimin can’t see his face, obstructed by a mask and black sunglasses to boot. The only thing that helps is that he has significantly more hair than the other three.

“Better go before I can help it,” Jimin says with a chuckle, and Myungwoo squeezes his ass before leaving. Jimin holds back a gasp, because he never would've thought Myungwoo would do that. The nerve. 

“What’s that about?” Beomseok asks after pulling him inside. “Since when was he kissing you?”

“It’s nothing,” Jimin tries to say, the drunkness comes back in full force now that he’s not on high alert. He falls onto the couch, staring up at the spinning ceiling. “I think he would’ve fucked me if I didn’t stop him.”

“Jesus,” Beomseok says, “Come on, Hoseok’s probably not asleep yet.”

The oncoming hangover in the morning is one that Jimin doesn’t expect. It renders him groggy, his temples beating the way they would to bass-boosted music in a club. It’s with little finesse that he sluggishly goes to the kitchenette, dragging his feet in desperation to drink water. 

“Fuck!” Jimin screams with a startle as he closes the refrigerator door and sees Jungkook leaning on the counter. “I didn’t even notice you coming in—”

“I saw the necklace,” Jungkook says without preamble and Jimin’s eyes immediately dart to the coffee table where he last saw the carry-on before heading to bed but it’s not there.

“Where is it?” Jimin stops.

“In my room,” Jungkook says as a matter of fact and when he walks off in the direction of his room, he looks back expectantly at Jimin, as if to ask, why aren’t you coming?

So Jimin walks into The Den as he calls it, rubbing at his temples. Jungkook’s shared room with Beomseok is half pristine, half messy, his side of the room so painfully obvious. It’s strewn with gadgets of all sorts, but even as Jimin glances every which way, he doesn’t see the carry-on.

“It’s under the desk. How could you just leave that shit so close by the door?” Jungkook asks from the ensuite bathroom.

“Why is it here?” Jimin asks instead.

“Well, for one,” Jungkook starts as he emerges from the bathroom half-naked, his bare torso on display as Jimin turns around so as not to see him, “I just 3D scanned it while you were sleeping your ass off. And second, the shoot. That's today”

Oh, right.

“You couldn’t have told me we’re doing that today?” Jimin slightly panics as he faces him again. He’s got a hoodie on now, black as always, ready to go. Meanwhile Jimin’s got a hangover on top of not having worked out a single time since arriving in New York. “Can’t we do it tomorrow? I need to go to a sauna and—”

“It doesn’t fucking matter, it has to be today. I still have to create the software for that shit to generate references and then that’s a few days to print. This isn’t doodles on some paper,” Jungkook scoffs at him, taking the carry-on from under the desk where it’s safely out of the eye. Jungkook’s right, Jimin could’ve been more careful about it last night.

“What are you standing there for?” Jungkook asks when he’s still in the doorway and Jimin blinks up at him. “We’re going to the studio.”

“What studio?”

“For God’s sake, let’s just go,” Jungkook groans, grabbing his forearm and not letting go even after Jimin realizes he’s dressed in nothing but a loose shirt and some shorts. It’s the most embarrassing thing, most of all to be seen with his bare face after a night of drinking, puffy and unattractive. 

Clearly, Jungkook doesn’t care, his tight grip on Jimin unrelenting even as they get in the elevator. Thankfully, it’s just the two of them but Jimin hides behind his bigger body just in case someone gets on because he’d rather not be seen like this.

“What are you doing?” Jungkook asks with an annoyed sigh. “We’re heading to the basement parking. You’re not walking out of the lobby like that.”

“Fuck off,” Jimin answers and that does him no good when Jungkook’s vice grip on his forearm gets tighter. 

He doesn’t let go until Jimin’s in the passenger’s seat of their rented car, buckled in and door locked. He’s more careful with the carry-on than he is with Jimin, unresponsive to every glare sent his way as he drives out of the basement. When Jimin gets tired of it, he faces outwards, glaring instead at the buildings they pass by.

A gallery, a studio. What next? 

“You’re not telling me something,” he says after a while when they stop at a red light. “Mrs. Linberg mentioned at the dinner that Mr. Lee sent her photos of our gallery. What gallery? Why don’t I know about that? Beomseok told me to ask you about it. And what’s this studio?” 

Jungkook sighs when the light turns green, starting the car with a jump as he glances at Jimin.

“We rented a space for the gallery. We have it until our flight back home, just so if any of them decide to drop by. And the studio is the gallery, I just call it that for the purpose of the photoshoot. It’s where we’re doing the printing too,” comes the answer a lot more composed and calm than Jimin expects. Usually, Jungkook is never level-headed when he's being insufferable and asking a lot of questions. He can't help it, he rarely knows how much Jungkook does behind the scene. “How do you not know this shit? You’re the one who came up with the plan and all you do is eye-fuck that—”

Jimin slaps his shoulder and yanks at his hair. 

“Shut up and keep driving.”

Jungkook all but raises his middle finger at him, and the rest of the drive is spent in silence. Or more like quiet humming as Jungkook listens to one song on repeat, singing along every once in a while. The studio comes in full view after ten minutes, an arguably short drive. Jimin figures this is where Jungkook spends most of his time when he’s not at the hotel, tending to tasks that no one else on the team can do.

“Nice,” he says once they’re in, his voice echoing. It’s pretty empty save for a few canvasses on the walls and a classic white backdrop in the middle with some studio lights on either side. It’s a modest setup and Jungkook’s the only photographer so maybe that should alleviate his nerves, but there’s something about it that makes him more nervous than anything.

For one, the fact that they’ve never been in close proximity where one of them is nearly stripped down to nothing. The thing about the two of them that doesn’t make sense to the others on the team is how often they bicker. Some other times, Jungkook is quiet and Jimin’s the one stirring up trouble, other times Jungkook will make it worse by answering back. They’ve never had any semblance of friendship the way Jimin does with the rest. They’re cordial at least, but that’s just an hour at best of being casual before they start fighting. It’s why they work better at a distance, where Jimin can’t see Jungkook and punch him if he says something stupid. 

It’s the first time they’re doing anything like this and with no one else to supervise so Jimin wants to believe that he’s within reason to be nervous. Being this close to Jungkook reminds him of two years ago when they were released from prison and taken to the team headquarters. He hadn’t known anything about Jungkook other than he’d been imprisoned for fraud, and Jimin had been attracted to him enough that he thought they could be friends if they were taking on a career of being swindlers. It’s one less person to be wary about, Jimin had thought, but Jungkook gave him other things to worry about that he couldn’t attribute to prison. Like how Jungkook hated him even though they’ve never talked to each other. 

And now here they are, and Jimin’s in nothing but his boyshorts, his underwear of choice.

Jungkook snickers at the sight of him.

“What? Because I’m not wearing boxers?” Jimin fights off the slight shyness by being defensive. 

“There’s a chair to your right for sitting poses,” Jimin says as a matter of fact, like he’s a professional and Jimin’s an amateur. There’s something elusive to him as he picks up his camera. Take the photos and leave, Jimin says in a mantra as he squirms where he’s standing, hoping he’s properly tucked his dick. 

He blinks out of his reverie when a bright light flashes in his face, and when he looks at Jungkook, he sees him standing close, holding an object close to his chest. He clicks something on it and the flash nearly blinds Jimin again.

“What the fuck—”

“It’s the light meter. It has to be exact,” Jungkook says without looking at him, and when he clicks on the light meter again, the next flash is a bit dimmer. He pockets the device and Jimin takes a step back. “Just pose, do your thing, whatever.”

This is the part that Jimin hasn’t thought to practice. Maybe he should’ve spared it a thought in the mornings during his shower, could’ve acted like he’s on an editorial shoot but it completely crossed his mind. It’s not to say he’s not confident in himself, hell, he might as well be conceited where his looks are concerned. But it’s Jungkook. Jungkook who’s standing just a few feet away from him, looking at him through the viewfinder of his camera. 

The sound of the shutter and a flash.

“Wait—” Jimin nearly stutters.

“That was good,” Jungkook says, again as a matter of fact as if he’s a professional. The usual edge in his voice isn’t there, like he’s detached from all this. Jimin looks at him quizzically because he's done nothing. “You don’t have to think too much about what you do. These are just body shots. The AI will do the bulk of the work. I just need flattering photos of you from every angle.”

Jimin hopes he’s not red in the face. “Yeah, I get it.”

He gets in character, or tries to at least. Once his frontal shots are done, Jungkook makes him do both of his side profiles and lastly his back. It’s a bit complicated because of his moon tattoos but Jungkook placates him by saying it’ll be edited in post.

“What the heck is post?”

“Just fucking sit down on the stool.”

Sitting poses are next, or rather the last before he has to do it all again but with the necklace this time. 

“You’re so stiff,” Jungkook comments with a sigh after a while, and then he’s setting his camera down on the table and walking over to Jimin. “Spread your legs.”

“What?” Jimin asks, a normal reaction.

“I said spread your legs,” Jungkook repeats, and before Jimin can ask again, he’s wedging a boot-clad foot in between Jimin’s legs. “You’re sitting like a Victorian virgin. I need you to relax.”

Jimin’s pretty sure he’s blushing. “Easy for you to say when your dick’s not at risk of being exposed.”

“Eh, I’ve done worse,” Jungkook tries to joke and Jimin kicks him when he turns around to go back to his position.

Jimin tries not to think of his dick when he spreads his legs on his own this time, tries not to be conscious of how tight his underwear is on his skin. Jungkook doesn’t really look bothered and Jimin can’t tell if that should offend him or not. He can't possibly be unattractive, both in the face and body department. The fact that Jungkook's simply standing there like he's a specimen on display makes him want to get up and put on his clothes, but alas. Dwelling on that makes the shoot go by faster somehow and the next thing he knows, Jungkook’s putting the necklace on him, cold on his skin.

Goosebumps rise down his neck for more reasons than just the air conditioning in the studio. Jimin doesn’t know what it looks like on himself since there’s no mirror. Jungkook seems eager to take a photo of him, clicking the shutter before Jimin can even think about posing just like he had before.

“Can’t you wait a damn second?”

Jungkook turns the camera to him. “Look.”

Jimin’s mouth is ajar as soon as his eyes take in the image. More importantly, the necklace on himself. It makes him shine the way he’s pictured it would. When Jungkook had put it on, he’d thought it might be clunky on him, too heavy and too much, but the photo reaffirms a part of him that loved it at first sight at the Cathédrale. The diamonds taper around his neck, fuller in the middle past his collarbones where it seems to attract light. 

It’s gorgeous, is the only thing he can say. He doesn't say it out loud. He doesn't know why he's waiting for Jungkook to say something about it as they keep looking at the photo zoomed in. Jimin squirms, a little uneasy, not like himself in skin and diamonds when Jungkook won't say what any other man would have.

You're gorgeous.

He doesn’t realize how close he is to Jungkook until the latter clears his throat. One look up at him and that alone makes Jimin straighten back up, sitting down again on the stool. 

The rest of the photoshoot resumes as normal or at least as normal as Jimin can try without thinking whether or not his eyes are playing tricks on him. Since they'd looked at the photo together, Jungkook has been quiet, the most he’s said a series of turn, next, look here. Sometimes when he thinks Jimin isn’t looking, his gaze lingers, and the blonde can’t tell if his stare is directed at the necklace or himself. 

“All good,” Jungkook says once they’re done, clearing his throat. He's been doing that an awful lot.

It's gone by a lot quicker than Jimin’s anticipated and he can’t help but want to put clothes back on. Weirdly enough, he feels more conscious now that Jungkook isn’t looking at him zoomed in through a viewfinder, as if his attention makes him more nervous than a camera that can magnify every pore and imperfection. He goes behind the white backdrop where he’d gotten undressed, about to put his clothes back on when Jungkook startles him by standing right beside him.

“Can you not—”

“The necklace, I have to take it off.”

“Ugh,” Jimin groans, “Let me put my shorts on first.”

He doesn’t know how to do it without bending over but he tries his best, as awkward as that might have looked from behind him where Jungkook stands. Finally, now that he’s got his dick covered, he doesn’t feel too conscious. But then it twitches against his will when a cold hand touches his nape, fiddling with the clasp of the necklace that’s so intricately locked that Jungkook has to use a screw to take it off.

“It’s cold,” Jimin says but his cheeks are burning, “Your hands are cold. Can you hurry up?”

He feels Jungkook's breath on the back of his neck when he scoffs. “Be careful with it.”

“With what? You’re the one taking it off.”

“It’s entrusted to you, and…” Jungkook drifts off and the necklace is gone. “I meant that you’ve been careless.”

It’s Jimin’s turn to scoff. “Careless how?”

Careless with what?

“With that Myungwoo guy,” Jungkook answers with a shrug as he goes back around the backdrop and Jimin follows while putting on his shirt. “He’s definitely a lot more demanding than every other dude that’s wanted you in their bed all while you’re deceiving them.”

“And again, demanding how ?”

“You think I didn’t see you in the hallway?” Jungkook’s voice is flat.

Jimin furrows his eyebrows, anger rising. Then, he realizes what Jungkook’s referring to.

“How—what, how did you even see us?” 

“None of your business. I’m a hacker, remember? I see things, Jimin. Even the shit I don’t want to see.”

“None of my business? Do you just,” Jimin laughs, “Do you just watch me like that? Do you like seeing it? Watching it?”

Jungkook doesn't say anything and that just riles up Jimin more.

"If you're going to say all that and then keep watching anyway when a man gropes my ass, you might as well say nothing and just enjoy the show," he adds, tone a little sarcastic.

Jungkook chuckles. “You get carried away so easily, it’s funny.”

He sets the necklace down in its box, obscuring it from Jimin’s view as he locks the carry-on shut. He can’t even find it in himself to say anything because he doesn’t even know how their conversation got there, but the truth is that it happens all too often. Every mission, there has to be something that Jungkook says he’s doing wrong. Or that he’s not being careful. Or he could be doing it so much better. He derails every minor interaction into an argument, and Jimin can’t tell if he’s feeling insecure or it’s just Jungkook. With him, Jimin feels like he's on surveillance, as if he'll get a point added or deducted for the things he does without him knowing.

Either way, he’s ready to go back to the hotel.

“I’m not your chauffeur,” Jungkook says when Jimin gets in the car, sitting in the back of the passenger’s seat.

“You might as well be,” is all he says in return.

Well, it could’ve gone a lot worse.

Once he tells Myungwoo about how he’s started with the auction piece, it all begins to feel like it’s coming at him a hundred miles per hour, not just for Jimin but Myungwoo as well. Over the past few days that they haven’t talked much, Jimin has been busy with things, most importantly ensuring everything goes smoothly with their check-in at the Hamptons. They've closed their last mission after all, and they need no trace of it anywhere, not even a single stolen earring lost. Yunju's been busy auditing everything while Jimin tends to... well, Myungwoo. The guy’s chosen to involve himself in more than just acquiring the necklace for Jimin, updating him on the status of the suite at the hotel they’re moving to. He takes on a new level of responsibility that’s self-appointed, because Jimin doesn’t even try to ask him about the auction and the gala, and yet he’s doing it as if on autopilot.

It’s a nice change of pace not to have to use his brain too much with these kinds of missions. Myungwoo’s the first to extend himself so much to the point that he’s making the job easier for Jimin. All he has to do is go on another date with him, check in at the hotel on the weekend, and let another week roll by before the auction.

He hasn’t been stressed, only having to do refreshers with Ayoung and the rest of the team on details about the auction and the benefactors, even giving them maps to memorize that she says are acquired by Jungkook.

Jimin hasn’t seen him since the photoshoot, which hasn’t been a long time but it’s long enough to go without bickering It's been a lot quieter at their suite and he's not sure he's ready for that same silence at the Hamptons. He supposes Jungkook’s at the studio, which should make Jimin feel as if he has to ask about progress on the auction piece, but alas, he’s the more prideful one between the two of them.

Thankfully though, his date with Myungwoo takes his mind off of it, and all he has to worry about as the night inches closer is not ending up in the backseat getting fucked. For that reason, he dresses much more modestly, as if he’s been running errands and wanted to keep warm in the early December cold. It’s about as comfortable as it can get with a warm yellow long-sleeve of merino wool and blue jeans. He has half a mind to throw on a coat because it’s getting colder at night but he ends up not doing so.

“Adorable,” is the word that Myungwoo says when he picks up Jimin from the hotel lobby.

“I hope adorable is as good as beautiful,” Jimin says with a chuckle.

Tonight, it seems like it’s another restaurant by the TAO Group. LAVO, as Ayoung has briefed them on given that Jimin has considered Ethan Chung as a prospective bidder. It’s an Italian restaurant with a nightclub in the basement, except nothing about Myungwoo gives away any hint that he might want to go down for a drink. 

They take their seats at a booth, the ambiance so much more reminiscent of a dinner he’d have with friends. 

“Thank you,” he tells the waiter without so much as a glance when he hands them two menus and Jimin goes straight for the entrees.

“The risotto’s a bestseller.”

“Did you—” Jimin turns to his left, about to ask Myungwoo what he wants but the voice makes him stop.

It’s not Myungwoo.

It’s Jungkook.

Jimin looks up abruptly, and he thanks the Heavens that Myungwoo excuses himself for the restroom right at that moment, mumbling about how he’d like a Penne Arrabbiata. He’s in such a rush that he doesn’t even spare Jungkook a glance, the lingering “waiter” going unnoticed.

“What are you doing here?” Jimin spits.

“I should be the one asking you that, actually,” Jungkook says as he pretends to write something on his notepad. "How about the Chicken Piccata?"

“Right, because what? I can’t be on a date? How about you? Does the team hacker just go around pretending to be a waiter for fun?” Jimin rolls his eyes as he peruses the menu. He can't help but flip through the pages as if wanting to rip them apart.

He thinks Jungkook’s about to come up with a snarky comment but when he looks back up, he’s gone. Instead, he sees Ethan Chung of all people, walking over to his table.

“Ah, what a surprise to see you here,” he greets with a smile, looking fine and proper with a three-piece suit and his hair slicked back.

Jimin recomposes himself, “Yes, I-I’m with a friend. You know, Mr. Shin, another benefactor for the auction.”

Ethan Chung pauses for a while as if trying to remember something he’s forgotten but Jimin can see on his face that he genuinely doesn’t know—or cares to know—who Myungwoo is.

“I see, where is this friend? Surely he must have been at the luncheon at the Cathédrale.”

“He’s not the benefactor per se. Mr. Shin only comes on behalf of the estate,” Jimin explains, and Myungwoo chooses that moment to arrive. Mr. Chung looks at him almost immediately, and Jimin hopes he’s only imagining the weird atmosphere when they stare at each other like it’s a challenge.

Mr. Chung is the first to break it off. “Well, I must leave you to your dinner.”

“See you at the Hamptons, Mr. Chung,” Jimin says as a follow-up. He can’t ruin a good trusting acquaintance, especially when it could end in Mr. Chung bidding for the auction. 

“How is he here?” Myungwoo asks once they sit back down again. “Last time I heard him making rounds at his restaurants, at least five people were fired.”

Jungkook.

“How do you know this?” Jimin asks as he pretends to look at the menu for the fifth time. He's read the words Chicken Piccata so many times that it might just haunt him in his dreams.

“It’s not my first rodeo at the gala. Not his first either. He’s there every year. You come to know him the more you see him,” Myungwoo says. “Say, I think I should get the risotto—”

“I have to go the restroom,” Jimin excuses himself all too abruptly, but he might never find a better opportunity than now. 

“Be quick,” Myungwoo calls after him.

Jimin tries to find Jungkook as soon as he's left their booth. He doesn't see him serving any tables, the other waiters definitely legitimate and unknowing that some guy is pretending to be one of them. He rounds the corner into the bathroom hallway, nearly startled out of his wits when he’s pulled into the restroom. He almost screams until he realizes who it is, and his shoulders sag in relief at the sight of a lip piercing. It's like his eyes zero in on it, before they go up and he sees familiar doe eyes. His breathing evens out. He’s thankful it’s a single cubicle.

“You have to leave,” he says.

“Or maybe not.”

“You have to,” Jimin says, recalling the look on Mr. Chung’s face as he lied about not recognizing Myungwoo. “Jungkook, please, please listen.” 

“Okay, give me one good reason why I can’t be here but you’re allowed to talk to whoever the fuck you want when you know damn well this is not within the bounds of what you have to do. It’s going to be me cleaning up after you, just so you know that, Jimin.”

Jimin closes his eyes, breathing through his nose.

“Do you always have to bring up that one fucking time? It was our second mission—” 

“No, let me ask a better question, Gigi,” Jungkook teases him with the name he’s used with Myungwoo, “Why aren’t you talking about the auction with him? Don’t tell me you’re on this date just for the heck of it?”

“Jungkook, are you being for real? Are we having this fucking conversation right now?”

“I have all his shit on the dot so I knew you’d be coming here even before he told you. I know the stakes of being here. It’s probably you who doesn’t.”

Jimin scoffs, “You know these dates are important to build rapport.”

“Rapport, my ass—”

“You have to go,” Jimin says again, with more emphasis this time.

“Give me a good reason—”

“Did you know Ethan Chung would be here?" Jimin interrupts him. Jungkook's mouth hangs ajar and then he's licking his teeth, poking his tongue on his cheek as if thinking. "You didn’t, huh?”

Jungkook looks at him as if he’s gotten his cover busted and like a kicked puppy that doesn’t want to go all at the same time. It sends Jimin reeling as he holds Jungkook by his sleeve to push him onto the toilet to leave by the window but the latter doesn’t budge. He stays rooted to where he stands and Jimin always wants to scream. 

Then Jungkook’s turning around to face him one last time, putting something in Jimin’s hand. He’s quick with maneuvering himself out of the window within a moment and Jimin can’t find it in himself to even question it anymore as he looks at what Jungkook’s left him instead.

The earpiece.

“Oh God,” Jimin breathes and it comes out as a laugh.

A knock on the door.

“Gigi! Is that you in there?”

Jimin’s heart begins to thunder in his chest. “Yes, just, hold on a minute! I’ll join you at the table in a bit. I'm just-just reapplying lipstick!”

“Okay then?” Myungwoo says before leaving, possibly confused by how that's taking so long, and Jimin takes one deep breath.

He goes to the sink to look at himself in the mirror. He looks slightly disheveled, but he fixes himself with a new composure as he runs a hand through his hair and slips the earpiece snug into his ear. 

“Jimin—”

“I’m on, God, fuck,” he starts. His heart is still beating loudly in his chest. “Don’t make me regret wearing this damn thing, Jungkook.”

“Can’t be sure about that,” comes the easy laughter from the other line.

Quite frankly, he doesn’t have to deal with Jungkook more than he already does, more than he has to for this mission if it goes the way Beomseok has plotted out for him. It might always be him for every single important thing, but Jimin can have this date for himself. 

If he’s being honest with himself, these dates, not just with Myungwoo, but every single one he’s ever been on since becoming a part of the team reminds him a little of what life used to be like for him before all this—and before prison, before his life took a turn that might have been a jump off a cliff. Mr. Lee used to say it’s exactly why he wanted Jimin on the team, because of his natural talent for being likeable. A mirroball of sorts. He was opposed to it two years ago, sitting in a cold office chair while Mr. Lee offered him forever in his team of con artists, but since then, he’s been liked, he’s been loved. He’s been adored, not just in words but showered in material things to show for it. He likes being the one at the forefront, the one that everyone looks at.

Maybe that’s why he can’t fathom the fact of what he has with Jungkook, because he’s the only one who seems to hate him, who likes to remind him of it too. But in the end, they're still a team, and he can't deny how good they can have it. It just means he has to look past the part of him that hopes they would have something else.

In some way, he thinks he's foolish for even expecting that. He met Jungkook under circumstances that one would not normally meet someone and then expect to be friends with them or something more. He doesn't want to admit it to himself but the way they started should've been enough of a sign that maybe this, whatever they've come to be, is all they will be. Every mission is a reminder of it and this one is no different.

When the days keep passing them by and their arrival at the Hamptons has finally come, it's met with some problems. First, the fact that Jungkook's nowhere to be found right when they're about to leave, and second, they'll miss an important welcoming banquet if he doesn't get here soon. In the past, Jimin had been the one who would always run late. Yet now, it seems it's the other way around. The team doesn't seem to care, just sitting in the hotel lobby waiting for Jungkook while Jimin fumes at his irresponsibility. After all, he's consistently been on Jimin's ass ever since the start of the mission over the smallest of things.

Jimin feels well within his right to be annoyed when Jungkook does arrive, about to nag and scold him over being late. Mr. Lee, however, seems to welcome him just fine. If anything, he looks ecstatic as he walks over to the car that Jungkook had so casually stolen for his little outing. From that reaction, Jimin can guess what's inside the trunk.

And surely enough, when he looks inside, he can determine what the rectangle-shaped thing is wrapped in heaps of bubble wrap.

He looks at Jungkook.

"Sorry for being late, I just finished the son of a bi—"

"Just get in the car," Jimin says with an eyeroll.

He knows for sure that he's not ready to see it. That's all he thinks of as he sits behind the driver's seat in the car, together with Hoseok and Ayoung while Jungkook's behind the wheel. The rest take a van, what with all the extra luggage that they have as a team. And of course, the painting has to be alone in the trunk. They can't risk a single scratch on it despite it being worth nothing, really. In any case, Jimin decides he should ignore until he has to see it at the auction, because of the thought of the painting, an immortalization of those images Jungkook had taken of him, sends a weird feeling to his gut. It's even weirder when a fact dawns on him. The fact that Jungkook had most likely spent no less than a day combined just looking at that thing. Much less working on it. The thought of him having touched it makes Jimin wish he could've somehow made it himself.

He masks the feeling well, partly because he's used to it after two years, but mostly because the drive to the Hamptons is a mere two hours. He barely realizes the sun is about to set until they do arrive and it decides to set against the most beautiful scenery Jimin has ever seen in New York. Where the city is an endless hustle from one place to the next, here everything looks almost slow, like it could capture life. The sun dips low on the horizon as they drive past estates, rolling greenery, and the lushest of trees lining every mansion and street. Here, the sea is closer and Jimin can feel it in the air as Jungkook rolls down all of the windows, the cold December breeze brushing through his skin and weaving a path through his hair.

"We're here," Jungkook says after a few turns, and Jimin looks up front to see a hotel that looks like it's a repurposed estate, the passion project of a billionaire. Butlers escort guests to the entrance while bellboys push carts of suitcases after them, their cars left behind for valet. Their car glides to a stop right in front of the entrance and Jungkooks rolls up all of the windows, letting the three of them get off, and Jimin's momentary awe is broken by the sight of Myungwoo waiting for him at the lobby.

"Where's—" He tries to ask, only realizing Jungkook hasn't come with them when they get to the reception area.

"No need to check in, you're all set to go upstairs," Myungwoo tells Jimin with a kiss to his cheek as he hugs him in greeting, shaking the hands of all of Jimin's team members that are present. Except Jungkook.

"What are you looking for, sweetheart?" Myungwoo asks him as the others go on ahead, and Jimin turns to him with a smile that he can never doubt.

"Just admiring the place," he sighs as if content with it.

"You can do that later," Myungwoo says, holding him by the waist as they walk. He can't even get away. "You have the whole week here after all. There are other things that need to be done first, don't you think?"

The banquet.

"Right," Jimin nods with a tight-lipped smile.

It's the first on the week's schedule. Nothing special if Jimin considers it just like any other banquet he's been to for an event. He just has to make sure not to eat a lot, and eat what little amount he can with as much graceful etiquette as he can muster. The others usually opt out of banquets save for Chaerin, Hoseok, and Beomseok, of course with Mr. Lee, but they can't miss this one as it's the first held at the Fische estate, the hosts of the auction and gala. It's how Jimin finds himself that dinner without having rested at all, with barely any makeup, outfit not planned at all. It's kind of on theme though, as most of the attendees at the banquet are wearing more casual clothes what with it being indoors so no one has to worry about getting cold. Well, as casual as can be for the richest of the richest.

So picture this: a hoard of symbols of wealth on auction to celebrate charity, and among them, some AI-generated shit posed as the work of an acclaimed artist. It’s what they call hiding in plain sight, effective most especially when advertised as the artwork of the elusive Gigi. Or so Jimin is called.

“Breathe,” Chaerin tells him via the earpiece.

“I just had to lie through my teeth about contemporary art and my burgeoning influence in the indie art world,” Jimin says in one full breath, looking around, and patting down the front of his silk blouse as it all sinks in. “For the tenth time since we got here.”

Chaerin laughs. 

It’s finally the day of the auction.

It’s all begun to feel real on the day Jungkook brought the painting with him and then they moved to the Hamptons and now it's game day. Their first night is sponsored by Myungwoo’s benefactor as a token of appreciation for their collaboration, but the rest is paid for by the team, or however Jungkook does it whenever they stay at a high-profile hotel. It’s one of the most expensive suites too, overlooking the garden where the first banquet in celebration of the event’s commencement is held every year.

Over the past few days, they’ve had to mingle with an endless list of VIPs. They would always start the day with Ayoung briefing them on newly arrived attendees, such as their contributions to the Waxman Gala over the years if they’ve attended before, what they do and their affiliations, among other things. Jimin’s the one who’s had to interact with them the most, with Beomseok, Chaerin, and Hoseok close by for questions about the “gallery” and the “foundation” when asked.

It’s not only the luncheons and dinners that have become their playground though. The Fische estate, the hosts of this year’s Waxman auction and gala, have a hand in the golf course and polo club at the Hamptons. It’s been another way to socialize with all the guests, though Jimin can only watch and pretend to understand whatever’s on the playing field. It’s gotten him on the good side of Mr. Chung, who seems more laidback compared to the handful of times Jimin’s seen him before the commencement of the event.

It’s pushed him to consider him another of his high-stakes bidders, not only because he’s among the richest attendees, but also because he hopes the looks Mr. Chung has been giving him are enough to attest.

He’s the first to kiss Jimin’s hand at breakfast, greeting him good morning like it’s the best day he’s going to have. He’s also sat down next to Jimin, though that doesn’t matter much right now as he’s by the French doors leading to the garden, talking to an obnoxious-looking woman. When their eyes meet, Jimin looks away, and his gaze inevitably falls on Myungwoo.

“Why are you sitting at the table?” Jungkook asks, his voice slightly muffled on the line. “There’s another dude worth a billion by the grazing table. Lance Howard—”

“Gigi,” Jimin groans inwardly, turning around to see Myungwoo. “It’s the most beautiful morning today, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t think you’d come to greet me,” is what Jimin says, playing it up. He needs to be more careful about being seen with Mr. Chung where Myungwoo can see him and vice versa. 

“Why don’t we take a walk? I feel like this busy room isn’t so great for listening to you,” Myungwoo says, snaking an arm around Jimin’s waist, trying to take the lead. Jimin stirs him in the other direction as subtly as he can, if only to obscure them from Mr. Chung’s field of view. 

They exit the dining hall into the hallway while Myungwoo talks about the food they’ve just had, and Jimin thinks, well, so much for listening to me. The right turn at the first corner leads them to a quieter part of the estate, a decorated hallway full of artifacts on the wall, the other side barely lit as thick curtains cover the windows. 

If Jimin remembers correctly from staring at the map of the estate as procured by Jungkook, the Fische estate is a great choice for this event given that it has everything a venue would need. And it’s not only good on paper, but in actuality too, a vision of beauty that transcends wealth. It’s the kind of home that Jimin imagines making his own, a palatial mansion with ivy-covered walls and overlooking manicured greenery. 

As they walk and walk and Myungwoo keeps talking most of the time, Jimin’s answers are far and few in between. If anything, Jungkook speaks in his ear more than Jimin responds. 

“The auction’s in three hours,” Myungwoo mentions it at last and Jimin’s interest is piqued again. 

They’ve come back to the dining hall, the remaining guests now enjoying a performance by a quartet. 

“I’m excited to see that painting.” Jimin smiles as Myungwoo says it. “But I’ll be more excited to see you.”

“Gross creep,” Jungkook boos on the line and Jimin hears Hoseok’s chuckles. 

“Until then, lovely,” Myungwoo says lastly before turning around. 

There’s a habit Jimin has whenever men walk away from him, one where he just stands and lets his eyes follow them until they’ve left the area. It lets him know more about them than he does when they’re talking to him, always on their best behavior and keeping eye contact with him. When they turn around and they think Jimin’s no longer looking, they become the men they are. It’s not different with Myungwoo. It’s almost funny how his shoulders relax, how there’s a dead look in his eyes again as if there’s no one to impress, and the best part, the snort. 

“He’s probably gonna snort some lines until the auction,” Jungkook says and Jimin can barely contain his laughter.

“Before we begin the auction, I’d like to thank each and every one of you for being here. Most especially, I’d like to thank Dr. Friedmann and Ms. Koff, our Chairpersons, and Mrs. Linberg, our Journal Chair,” Mrs. Fische says as she stands on the stage. “Now, I’d like to welcome our auctioneer, Mr. Hans-Johansson.”

Everyone claps in a genteel elegant manner, as if being in this hall at all requires it. Jimin himself makes a toast with the attendees at his table, four women they haven’t met properly yet, all seated together on the other half of the circular table while he sits next to Beomseok, Chaerin, Hoseok, and Mr. Lee. He’s on the far end, his view obstructed by the tall vase of flowers in the middle of the table, so he has to move slightly to the right to see the auctioneer go on stage.

Mr. Hans-Johansson, a man in black, steps onto the platform with a wave of his hands at the crowd. Everyone hushes in anticipation once the microphone is in his hand.

"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed patrons of the arts and philanthropy, welcome to this evening's extraordinary auction and gala in the heart of the illustrious and beautiful estate of the Fische family," His voice, smooth and commanding, resonates with a hint of excitement, mirroring that of the crowd. A ripple of applause sweeps through the room.

He continues, "Tonight, we have curated a collection of exquisite items and experiences, each a testament to the epitome of luxury and the arts. But remember, the true value lies not just in the rarity of these treasures, but in the impact your generosity will have on the community we strive to uplift. In true Waxman spirit, we aim to help foundations for the greater good."

As he speaks the rest of his introductory speech, a couple of men in tuxedos bring on stage a box the size of a hand. 

“It’s a brooch from Tiffany & Co., not in production anymore, ‘80s vintage,” Jungkook says through the earpiece.

The auctioneer steps forward to reveal what’s inside.

"Our journey begins with this breathtaking brooch, a true Tiffany classic. Bidding starts at $90,000. Do I have an opening bid?"

Jimin looks around to see a woman from a nearby table raise her paddle, calling, “One hundred thousand.”

The auctioneer acknowledges her bid with a nod and a smile. "A gracious start! One hundred thousand dollars. Who will raise the stakes? Do I hear one hundred and ten thousand?" 

The room buzzes with anticipation as another woman raises her paddle. A middle-aged businesswoman in a shimmering gown.

“One hundred twenty.”

Bids and gestures crisscross like a tennis relay, each woman raising their hand eager to win. In the end, the winning bid closes at $210,000 by the same woman who first raised the stakes. And so, the auction unfolds and Jimin counts each piece in nervous excitement until it's theirs.

There are a few watches, a lot of jewelry, paintings, and fine artifacts. Jimin knows from Jungkook that their piece will come after the Cartier necklace, and once he recognizes the carry-on box being brought on stage, he realizes an hour has passed by. They’ve reached the point of the auction where the items are closing at high bids of half a million, and it’s like the crowd anticipates what’s in the carry-on, knowing it’s another thing that must be starting at a higher opening bid than the last.

Myungwoo’s walking on stage too, as does some benefactors present do. Some don’t, but he’d be right to guess that someone like Myungwoo would love a bit of spotlight on him. Well, Jimin would have to stand on stage with his supposed piece of art too, so he can’t judge.

As the spotlight focuses on the opening box, it reveals the diamond-encrusted necklace, laid out in the middle like it hadn’t just been worn a few days ago, seemingly untouched. The anticipation in the air heightens suffocatingly at the unveiling of the pièce de résistance of the evening, the vintage Cartier necklace. Jimin can see in the crowd who’s going to raise their paddles. Mostly women, some men, some absentee bids.

The auctioneer, with a gleam of reverence in his eyes, approaches the necklace, shaking his hand with Myungwoo.

"Ladies and gentlemen, connoisseurs of true magnificence, I present to you vintage Cartier, the sister of La Peregrina, most sought after in the 50s after Elizabeth Taylor, its last wearer, a symbol of refinement and sophistication," his voice resonates through the hall, each word carrying the weight of the necklace's storied history. 

"Crafted by the masterful hands of Cartier's artisans, this necklace, with its intricate design and exquisite diamonds, tells a story of opulence," he continues, gesturing towards the necklace.

“An awful lot of nothing,” Jungkook says, yawning.

The auctioneer initiates the bidding, "We begin with an opening bid of $900,000. Who will seize the opportunity to own this piece? Do I have an opening bid?"

A hushed moment passes before a bidding paddle shoots up, held by a woman whose eyes sparkle with determination. 

"Nine hundred fifty thousand," she declares, her voice carrying the quiet confidence of one familiar with that much money.

The auctioneer acknowledges her bid with a nod, "We have $950,000. Do I hear $975,000? Perhaps, $1 million?"

The room, filled with the soft murmurs of deliberation, soon erupts with competing bids. A bidding war ensues, each raise met with an increment, as the vintage Cartier necklace becomes the focal point of the night.

As the price soars, the room seems to hold its breath, culminating in a high stakes bid. The auctioneer, with a sense of ceremony, declares, "Sold, for $1,500,000! May this exquisite Cartier necklace bring its new owner a lifetime of elegance!"

Applause fills the room, the vintage Cartier necklace finding a new home. Jimin watches Myungwoo’s face and he somehow manages to find him in the crowd right at that moment. They look at each other as the auctioneer speaks. Jimin’s heart begins to soar, and then it drops.

“Now, let’s take it easy for the next one, shall we? Let’s have a look at the arts, the lovely piece made to honor our highest bid of the night yet,” the auctioneer says, and the spotlight’s on Jimin as he ascends the stage and the patrons of the night cheer in applause.

“It’s your night, Gigi,” Myungwoo tells him with a bow as he leaves the stage, sitting at the nearest table he shares with a few other businessmen and Mr. Chung.

The piece is escorted on stage by Hoseok and Beomseok, Mr. Lee standing on the other side as they pull off the cloth covering the painting, and once it comes off, Myungwoo has his paddle raised.

“Mr. Shin, our opening bid is $100,000,” the auctioneer says with a smile. “Do we have it?”

When Myungwoo says yes, the crowd cheers.

Up front, it’s so much more intimidating. Jimin can’t see much of the crowd because of the spotlight, so he’s at least thankful that his two most important bidders are seated close to the stage. 

“One hundred fifty,” calls Mr. Chung, and Jimin’s eyes widen a fraction.

“Wow, you’ve really got them, huh?” Jungkook asks. “Who do you want to win?”

“Two hundred,” Myungwoo says with a raise of his paddle.

Jimin’s eyes keep looking at one and the other. 

“Three hundred,” Mr. Chung follows.

Jimin's palms are beginning to sweat. His gaze keeps flitting in between Myungwoo and Mr. Chung, especially the latter as it has never occurred to Jimin that he would raise the stakes not only once but twice. It makes Jimin think back to every conversation he's shared with Mr. Chung, every smile and greeting, every laugh and stare. He's wondered if it had meant anything at all, and now he has the answer.

“Three hundred fifty,” some other man calls with a raise of his paddle and Jimin looks around for whoever it is. 

“Well, would you look at that?” Jungkook chuckles.

Jimin barely knows the guy.

Everyone in the crowd turns to look for the voice too as the auctioneer applauds the impressive back and forth. When everyone looks to the front again, Jimin’s eyes naturally find Myungwoo’s but it’s Mr. Chung’s voice that has the rest of the crowd looking at him instead.

“Five hundred.”

Jimin’s palms are sweating now. He wants to laugh, kind of wants to cry, the adrenaline running in his veins like fire. He can taste the money on his tongue, but more than that, he tastes the power of it. The power of being an object of affection. As crazy as it is, he hasn’t thought Mr. Chung to be his winning bid. All he’s thought is that he can drive up the stakes for Myungwoo to win, but it seems as if he genuinely wants to win himself.

It’s a while until Myungwoo speaks, to the point that the auctioneer almost calls a winning bid.

“Five hundred fifty,” Myungwoo challenges and the crowd applauds again.

A woman representing absentee bidders raises her paddle. “Six hundred fifty!”

Jimin’s heart pounds in his chest.

“I can do that again,” Jungkook says.

“Do what—” Jimin asks in a hushed voice, turning slightly and covering his mouth. He realizes what Jungkook means only when Myungwoo raises his paddle again and says, “Seven hundred.”

He looks crazed almost, like he’s already brought this upon himself and he’s refusing to lose.

“How about eight hundred?” Jungkook asks.

The auctioneer chuckles.

"An extraordinary work deserves an extraordinary finale," he declares, a glint in his eyes. "We stand at $700,000. Do I hear an offer beyond this?"

“Who do you want to win?”

Mr. Chung raises his paddle with a smile. “Eight hundred.”

And the highest bid is won.

When the auction comes to a close, it’s been a little past three hours. Jimin finds himself at the dining hall again with the rest of the team except Jungkook, together this time as Mr. Chung walks over to their table.

“Mr. Chung!” Jimin calls excitedly like he’s about to kneel in gratitude. “What a bidding that was! I-I’d like you to meet Mr. Lee—”

“Can I have a private word with you?” Mr. Chung says instead and everyone at the table stops. Jimin exchanges a glance with Mr. Lee before he turns back to the front.

The piece must be in his care already. It must be tucked away in the trunk of his expensive car already, ready to take home to his estate that must be just as big as this place if not more grand. Jimin is flattered to say the least, thinking of the fact that they’ve barely shared some words through a couple of dinners and yet Mr. Chung seems smitten with him. Before the auction, he wouldn’t have guessed it, or at least he wouldn’t have known the magnitude of it. Now though, he looks at him a little differently.

This is a man who can buy me.

He doesn’t notice the hand on his until he’s looking at him in the eyes again and saying, “Yes, of course,” as if there's anything else he can say.

The back of his hand receives a chaste kiss in response before Mr. Chung bows to his team and guides him by the hand to the garden for a moment. As they walk, they gain the attention of a few onlookers, especially those seated at tables near the aisle. Though Jimin is used to the attention, marvels and basks in it in a way, he wishes he could disappear the moment his eyes briefly meet Myungwoo’s. 

And then they’re out of the dining hall and he can breathe again.

Outside, the sun is setting. It’s getting cold this December and there’s no one else walking the length of the garden except for him and Mr. Chung. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if he should speak first. As many missions as he’s done as a swindler, he’s never had any "victim" spend this much money to show off how much they could throw away just on him. They’ve fooled billionaires into betting on football, business tycoons into insuring their companies to them, among others. But never like this. Jimin has never had a man look at him and name an amount of money he’d never see in this lifetime if not for this job.

That’s what makes it so hard to speak, but Mr. Chung finds his words for him. 

“Congratulations,” he starts, “The auction for your piece was a success.”

Jimin, still slightly dazed from how much money he’s offered for the winning bid, shakes his hand when Mr. Chung reaches out. With a chuckle, he says, “Thank you so much. I’m honored.”

“That painting, it’s of you, isn’t it?” 

Jimin stops. That information has never been mentioned anywhere, not at the dinner at the Cathédrale, not even at the auction.

“I apologize if that makes me sound intrusive,” Mr. Chung laughs lightheartedly. “I only figured it must have been you because of…”

“Of?” Jimin echoes. They’re facing each other now. He’s regarding what Mr. Chung would say next.

“Because of your lips,” he says easily.

Jimin stands still staring at him, thinking what to do next. But then again, is that really up to him?

Goosebumps rise on the back of his neck where Mr. Chung holds him gently. It’s barely anything but when Jimin opens his eyes again, he knows he’s been kissed. And it’s the softest, lightest kiss. As if he’s porcelain and fragile. 

“Would it be too much to ask you to be my date to the gala?” Mr. Chung asks then, after they’ve parted and he’s standing a safe distance again. “We can celebrate a good moment. I would love to have the honor of having you as my date.”

Jimin knows he should say yes. It would be the right thing to do. Never in a million years would he find another opportunity like this. What holds him back is the thought that this might cross some lines, when the bet isn’t on games or cards but himself. Mr. Chung looks every bit as serious as the question he’s just asked, looking fervently into Jimin’s eyes like his answer would matter the most in the world. And yet Jimin can’t help but feel like he should say no. 

He closes his eyes for a moment. I have to say yes, he thinks to himself although it makes him anxious in a way he can’t explain.

“Say yes,” he hears from the earpiece. His chest caves in from the deep breath he’s just taken. 

“Say yes, Jimin,” Jungkook repeats, and it’s…

What is he expecting?

He wonders for a moment that if anyone else had been the one to ask, would it be so easy for him to say yes? 

“Yes,” Jimin says, and the smile Mr. Chung gives him in return is a million dollar smile.

He doesn’t know how he finds his way back to their table again after that, only knows his date has excused himself for a business call. He’s walking the steps back inside absentmindedly, heart pounding in his chest as he tells himself to fucking focus. 

“Gigi.”

He turns around.

“Oh, Myungwoo,” he tries his best to smile, the kind that he’s always given him, the one full of flirting and seduction and hidden intentions. 

But Myungwoo doesn’t speak. His hands are in his pockets as if he’s thinking deeply, his lips pressed in a line and his eyebrows furrowed. He looks like there’s something he badly wants to say that he’s holding himself back from.

Jimin tries, “Is there something the matter—”

“Be my date to the gala.”

Jimin pauses.

Maybe he should’ve expected Myungwoo to ask this of him. With how well they’ve had it, or with how much Jimin has led him on, it’s a no-brainer. If he were him, he would’ve asked sooner. But then maybe he’d thought he didn’t have competition, that he was certain to win the auction, and by extension, Jimin. He sounds desperate for it, a man with hope rather than a man with conviction. 

He doesn’t sound so sure of himself when he says again, “Gigi, be my date to the gala.”

“Babe, just say no,” it’s Hoseok in his ear this time. “It doesn’t have to be so hard. Do you like him?”

“What? No—” Jimin doesn’t realize he’s said it out loud until he sees the crestfallen look on Myungwoo’s face. “I’m sorry, I’m—I’m thinking—”

“Say no, Jimin,” it’s Jungkook this time.

Jimin’s lungs feel like they need more space in his chest.

“Unfortunately, I have to say no, Myungwoo,” he tries to say through his teeth. 

“Now, not so hard to say, was it?” Jungkook comments.

Jimin ignores him.

“I hope you don’t hate me for this, but,” Jimin sighs and he walks closer to Myungwoo, holding his hand and squeezing it lightly. “Mr. Chung asked me too. I don’t want to be hurtful and dishonest so I’m telling you this. I’m going as his date to show my gratitude. I hope you don’t take this the wrong way.”

The chuckle that leaves Myungwoo is one that takes Jimin by surprise.

“So is that it?” He starts.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Jimin walks out again, past the French doors and the bushes, down the cobblestones as Myungwoo follows him.

“Is that all there was to us? After dates and after I’ve kissed you and told you I like you—”

“When did you say you like me?” Jimin asks. He's trying not to raise his voice but it's getting difficult.

“I may have never said it in words, but I held you, didn’t I? We could’ve been more that night. A-and the necklace,” Myungwoo says all in a rush, and then he’s trying to reach out to Jimin, “You know I wouldn’t have done that for anyone else. You know I never would’ve put that much trust and-and money in the hands of someone else. Only you, Gigi—”

“Don’t hold that over my head, Myungwoo, please,” Jimin almost sounds like he’s begging. He’s desperate to get out of this situation, really. It has nothing to do with redeeming his image in Myungwoo’s eyes. He knows how dangerous a man like this can get.

“Gigi—” Myungwoo says with another step forward and Jimin finally raises a hand, stepping backward. He’s even trembling down to his fingertips, and he keeps his eyes open just so they get teary from the cold December breeze.

“Don’t,” Jimin says again. 

Myungwoo’s outstretched hand falls to his side and for a moment, Jimin tries to decide whether or not he’s done the right thing. Because Myungwoo looks at him differently, like he’s somebody else. As if Jimin has humiliated him and not given him his bidding. His eyes are cold, his face blank. And he doesn’t say a word again before he turns around and walks back inside. 

Jimin doesn't follow him, turning in the direction of the garden instead.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” He says in a mantra as he runs a hand through his hair, sitting on a bench obscured from the vision of anyone in the dining hall, hidden by trees and flowers.

“You just dodged a bullet,” a voice says after a while and Jimin almost thinks it’s from his earpiece but he’s looking at Jungkook in the flesh.

He can’t help the pained laughter that escapes him.

“Was that fun for you?” He asks.

Jungkook stands tall in front of him, hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry, what?”

“And how’d you get in here? Where the fuck did you come from?”

“I have my ways. I’ve studied the map of this place more than you ever have. Did you know they have a servants’ hallway? In between the walls—”

“Was that fun for you?” Jimin asks again.

“I don’t know, do you think I just sit there waiting for you to fuck things up?” Jungkook asks in return and Jimin’s blood boils. The anger he feels now comes back up from earlier. From standing rooted to his spot listening to Jungkook tell him to say yes, say no, do this, do that. 

“I know what I’m doing,” Jimin fights back, getting up from the bench. “Don’t meddle where it’s not needed.”

“Not needed?” Jungkook laughs. “That could’ve escalated. He could’ve put his hands on you. He was walking you here, right where I’m standing where no one from inside could have seen you if he hurt you.”

Jimin swallows all the words in his throat.

“Why do you think I’m here?” Jungkook asks and there’s a hint of laughter in his voice now too, except this time it’s out of disbelief. 

“Are you trying to make me feel bad?” Jimin asks instead.

They’ve always been like this. Or more like, he’s always been like this. He refuses to let Jungkook be right. 

“Are you fucking serious, Jimin?” Deadpan.

If there would have been spectators, they’d surely all have their arrows in Jimin’s direction, their pies and tomatoes thrown at him. Because Jungkook is right. But Jimin is honest. And he’s hurt in a way that makes him feel lower than a con artist, lower than a criminal arrested for shoplifting, lower than what he is right now. 

“You’ve got this shit in my ear just because you want me to do your bidding. Say yes to this, say no to that, don’t fucking do that Jimin, you’re so goddamn stupid, isn’t it?” He feels like his face is red.

Jungkook holds his wrist when he comes forward trembling.

“I told you I always clean up after you. Have I ever held that against you?” Jungkook says after a beat when Jimin’s heart is at pace again, when he’s placated by the look in Jungkook’s eyes that he realizes is not of anger.

I’m not mad at you. I’m not mad at you.

And one thing he doesn’t want to even think about.

I’m worried about you. I’m worried about you.

“Enough,” Jimin hears in his earpiece and there's a sharp intake of breath as he and Jungkook look at each other at the realization of who it is on the line. It’s Mr. Lee. He looks away from Jungkook, knows he’s heard it too. “Enough, you two.”

Jungkook’s grip on his wrist is ever strong, but the more they look into each other eyes, the looser it gets until he drops Jimin’s hand. It’s no longer trembling when he does, burning instead with guilt and something else he can’t name.

“And then what happened?” 

“Yeah, what after that?” 

“He turned off his earpiece and yours too, I think,” Chaerin says and the other two nod, “Damn him, where does he even control that shit? His phone?”

“Can we please,” Jimin sighs, “Can we please not talk about this?”

“We’re just curious, Jiminie,” Hoseok says. “You guys always bicker and tease each other but not like this.”

“It got serious,” Yunju nods along. “But he’s concerned about you. I think that’s what makes it different this time.”

Chaerin claps her hands. Jimin groans.

“Yeah, he sounded worried!” She even snaps her fingers.

“Guys, please,” Jimin sighs again. “It’s over! We’ve said our grievances already, just like always. And the mission’s done, right? Well, technically, at least, it’s done—”

“We have to do a debrief right on the day itself, Jimin, you know that,” Chaerin says as if scolding a child, “We never sleep on this stuff. Never let the sun set on a lovers’ quarrel—”

“On an argument,” Jimin corrects, eyes narrowed.

“Same thing,” Hoseok laughs, and the inevitable teasing ensues. Like clockwork.

Jimin dreads it. He hopes he had turned off the earpiece himself right before he decided to let his mouth run in that garden. Or he could’ve told Jungkook to turn it off for both of them. That would’ve been embarrassing but at least Mr. Lee wouldn’t have heard it and the others wouldn’t be here in his and Hoseok’s shared room teasing him about it. 

He and Jungkook, they’re somewhat of a source of entertainment for the rest of the team whenever in the same area. It’s why it’s better if Jungkook works at a distance, where Jimin can’t fight him to his face and say all sorts of words he doesn’t mean. He doesn’t even know when it started, just that it may have been growing to the size of Texas in his mind, like an itch he can’t ignore. 

Jimin and Jungkook, day 0 at the headquarters, Seoul, 8th of November, year 2021. Jungkook, released from jail, arrest warrant indicates embezzlement, fraud, hacking, cyber libel. Jimin, released from jail, arrest warrant indicates shoplifting.

It’s all as clear as yesterday.

And somehow, in that office, Jungkook had decided that he hated Jimin before Jimin could even decide if he was hot.

He closes his eyes at the memory. 

“Is he back yet, though?” Chaerin asks after a while. 

Jimin gets up from his bed, playfully pushing her on the way to the bathroom. “Who?”

“Jungkook,” she answers.

Jimin reaches for his toothbrush with an eye roll.

“He didn’t come back after the dinner,” Yunju talks as if she’s tracing back the events. 

Jimin thinks he knows where Jungkook might be but he doesn’t want to say it.

“Next thing you know he’s coming in from the vents,” Hoseok jokes, and the girls laugh. “We just never know where the fuck he is. He’s barely even here at the hotel.”

“When are we checking out?” Jimin chooses to ask.

“Day after tomorrow. We have to leave for our flight back a little early,” Hoseok sighs. 

“I begged Mr. Lee not to take the red-eye flight and you know what flight he booked? The one at 4 a.m.” Yunju thrashes like a child on Jimin’s bed.

He’s about to wash his face when he decides not to do that. Instead, he closes the door to the bathroom and checks himself in the mirror shortly before going out. He doesn’t even look at the others, hoping they’re not looking at him either, but before he can get to the door, Hoseok asks, “Where are you going?”

“It’s like, nine,” Chaerin says with a glance at her phone.

“Uhm, a walk?” Jimin tries to say. No matter how much he thinks he can do it, he could never lie to them. It just doesn’t work. It just looks awkward.

They all look at each other before smiling at him.

“Tell Jungkook to come back. Beomseok’s hogging his bed too.”

Jimin leaves the room with a raised middle finger, not even bothering to close the door as he beelines the way out.

“Where are you going?” It’s Mr. Lee who asks this time at the foyer.

“A walk,” Jimin says with more certainty.

He laughs too.

“Not you too,” Jimin groans.

“Tell Jungkook he better get back here or he’s not getting his share of that $800,000.”

Jimin closes the door loudly this time, though that doesn’t really work given the soft-closing mechanism. He pats down his clothes, a habit he does when embarrassed, as he heads for the elevators, and it’s as if the world hates him when the elevator doors open to reveal Mr. Chung inside. Of course, they’d have to see each other when Jimin is dressed in a white tee and some shorts.

Then he thinks back on how it had been the outfit he wore to the studio with Jungkook and his stomach feels funny.

“That’s quite different from your usual… attire,” Mr. Chung says when he gets in and Jimin chuckles, trying to have the same flare as he does in silk and fine cotton but it doesn’t work. “No worries, I don’t judge.”

“Thank you,” Jimin laughs, “It’s just that I had the last-minute thought to walk around the garden.”

The elevator doors open right at that moment on the second floor and Jimin almost screams when he sees Jungkook standing there in the hallway waiting to get on, probably already on the way back up to their suite.

He’s been at the fucking bar all this time?

“Uhm, unfortunately, I thought I’d have this moment to think on the success of—” Jimin tries to say as the elevator closes and makes a quick trip to the lobby as if the last few floors haven’t taking forever, almost bumping into Jungkook on the way out, “t-the success of the auction. See you tomorrow!”

“Oh, fuck,” Jimin says once he’s all alone in the garden.

In the end, he’s not able to talk to Jungkook, and before he knows it, it’s the following morning. Another day, another post-mission Cold War. 

Admittedly, he knows he’s in the wrong as well. He does think about it throughout the day, even through his bath before the gala where he should’ve been listening to a nice playlist and sipping on wine in the middle of a bath of roses. He thinks about it throughout curling his eyelashes too, even as he dresses in yet another one of his silk blouses, except this one has an open back to show off the phases of the moon inked down his spine.

When the doorbell rings, which happens rarely, only when they get room service in the morning, Jimin goes to open the door. Mr. Lee has already left and the others aren’t attending. That makes him a little nervous, and though he doesn’t want to admit it, the fact that he’s going to an official event without some sort of communication channel with the others makes it worse. At most, he has a clutch full of what he’s taken with him to dinner the day prior, just that he’s switched out his mauve lipstick for something red. 

The gala is right at his doorstep when he opens it, greeted by a number of bodyguards that he certainly isn’t expecting.

“Uhm, good evening?” He starts, but rather than a hello, they only bow to him.

“We’ve been sent by Mr. Chung to pick you up on his behalf,” they tell him.

“Well, okay then,” he laughs to lighten up the mood. He’s never been around Mr. Chung when he has bodyguards so he chokes it all up to him prioritizing his safety on the way to the gala.

They escort him from the door to the elevator, blockading him from anyone as they reach the lobby and leave through the front entrance. Some guests there who might be on their way to the gala as well steal glances, but Jimin feels queasy more than proud of the attention. He’s never had this many men guard him after all. 

“Please get in,” one of them says when a Rolls Royce stops in front of them, and Jimin raises an inquisitive eyebrow as he allows them to open the door for him, getting in with a quiet thank you.

What happens after that, well, maybe Jimin should’ve guessed it. In hindsight, maybe he’s been a little bit of a fool. But he’s just been blindsided and he hasn’t expected what could go wrong. What might go wrong.

In front of him sits Myungwoo, in all his glory with a glass of whiskey in one hand and a gun in the other. 

Jimin wakes up not long after. He doesn’t even know why he’s fallen asleep or how it happened, granted they hadn’t even given him anything to drink. As far as he remembers, Myungwoo only had whiskey. Just one glass. He couldn’t have handed it to Jimin or he would’ve lost a finger. Jimin doesn’t talk about it often but he’s well-versed in martial arts. So again, how?

“Oh, you’re awake, sweetheart,” Myungwoo says after noticing that Jimin's been fixing him with a death glare.

Jimin attempts to look around and that’s when he realizes what has been done to him to make him fall asleep because he tastes blood on his lips. Wrinkling his nose, he feels that it’s sore, so fucking painful he might want a rhinoplasty. That’s when he starts to tremble and writhe, once again trying to look around and realizing how far they’ve gotten. How long has it even been? It almost sends him reeling when he sees a bridge in the distance, and a realization comes to him. They’ve just passed Long Island.

“Where are you taking me?” He asks.

If he doesn’t want to be punched in the nose again until he’s unconscious, he has to take it easy. Well, if he doesn’t want to go crazy. This far away from the Hamptons where his team is, he has no way out. If Mr. Chung had even known of this, it would take a while for him to send a party to save Jimin, that is if he cares about him to that extent. In any case, Jimin's on his own in this, and almost hates the way that his mind automatically goes back to Jungkook.

“Where do you think so, darling?” Myungwoo says in rebuttal. “Far away from that gala, first of all. A better date than that.”

I told you I always clean up after you.

Jimin keeps his gaze on the bridge outside. 

What are his options? 

He almost wants to laugh, because the more the car speeds up, the less he can think. He only has a single-minded focus on the fact that Jungkook had been right. He asks himself where could have been his misstep, where he had been wrong, but he comes up empty. He couldn’t have known that Mr. Chung would bid higher than Myungwoo. He couldn’t have seen that happening. And yet, Jungkook did. It’s like his brain has been working on Jimin’s behalf. 

“What else could be better than a date to the gala?” Jimin tries. It might be a stupid approach but maybe Myungwoo’s even more stupid to tell him where they’re going. “You know, the one where my date spent $900,000 to get me—”

“Shut up. Right now,” Myungwoo says with eyes dimming.

“Okay,” Jimin shrugs. “I’m just saying. Because where would be better than that—”

Myungwoo laughs. It’s a bit sinister and it makes Jimin look at him.

“I like you, sweetheart. And I advise that you shut up if you want those lovely lips of yours intact. Not bleeding. Maybe wide open around something else,” he says with a smile.

Jimin grits his teeth at the implication of it and the lack of subtlety. “Fuck you—”

As fun as Myungwoo has been up to this point, Jimin would have never wanted to be in his bed. He might be a tad bit better than every other man Jimin has attracted like a siren, but he's not the kind of guy Jimin can make himself like, let alone fuck.

“Be careful what you say. I might just make that happen,” Myungwoo says. 

Forcing his eyes away, Jimin looks out of the window again. They’re back in Manhattan, is the thought that comes to him.

And then.

They’re back in Manhattan.

“Oh my God,” Jimin can’t stop himself from saying. “Oh my fucking God.”

“What is it, darling? You just realized you’re not going back to the Hamptons?” Myungwoo teases with a smile but all Jimin can do is try his hardest to shut his mouth.

They’re in fucking Manhattan and he hopes his instincts are right.

“Are we going to that damn hotel?” Jimin asks.

The silence that falls upon them is one for the memories. Jimin wishes he’d had someone filming them right now as if it’s a reality TV show because he realizes it could not get funnier than this. In all the ways his plans could’ve been fucked up, it might just end up going right in the end anyway. He simply hopes Jungkook’s thinking the same too.

I told you I always clean up after you.

“Alex!” Myungwoo calls once they’re in the lobby. “My good boy, Alex!”

“Oh, hello Mr. Shin,” the boy says before looking in Jimin’s direction. Jimin guesses it's kind of impossible not to. He's surrounded by four big men all dressed in black with Myungwoo in front in black as well. He must stick out like a sore thumb, blonde hair and red silk. In all the times Alex has ever looked at him, all the stolen glances from a week ago included, this would be the one time he looks slightly concerned.

Jimin would be waving hi, but now that he’s got somewhat of a clue what to do, he decides to keep it casual. He’d just told them in the car after all that he won’t run away, that he’d walk to that fucking suite if they want him to, that he’d have not just his mouth but—crudely enough—his hole wide open around something else. The way Myungwoo lets him walk with no inhibitions after that just proves he’s stupid, but he’s still got four bodyguards that Jimin can’t take in a fight. So, malicious compliance it is.

“Did you receive that email I sent you?” Myungwoo asks Alex.

“Yes, Mr. Shin, we already prepared the suite—”

“Excuse me, what suite?” Jimin asks and Myungwoo walks over to him to put an arm around his waist.

“Don’t worry, dear, it won’t be too unfamiliar to you. Just a little better, you know. Presidential,” Myungwoo tells him, rubbing his waist in gentle circles and Jimin knows Alex can see it because he’s red in the face. 

“Well, shall we get going then?” Jimin asks. There’s no point in slowing it down.

His heart beats heavily in his chest once they’re in the elevator because he knows that from here on out, there’s no backing out. If he presses any number on the elevator and tries to get it open on any of the floors, it’s all just rooms and quiet hallways where no one would be able to save him in time even if he screams. If he waits until the floor of the presidential suite, there’s nowhere for him to run. Right now, it’s just him and his hopes that Jungkook is watching him.

You think I didn’t see you in the hallway? He remembers Jungkook asking him. 

He looks up at the camera in the elevator.

Please. Please. Please.

The doors open on the 30th floor.

Jimin feels like he’s walking to his own death as he walks to the only door on this floor, the Presidential Suite. He’s remembered right that Myungwoo’s a major stakeholder at this hotel, but that’s a double-edged sword when it could mean a few things. First, that any crime he commits here will be swept under the rug. Second, that he knows the ins and outs of this hotel more than Jimin does—hopefully not more than Jungkook. And third, the chances that he might already be aware of Jungkook.

Myungwoo taps the keycard on the sensor and the door opens, every light inside turning bright and then warm now that the suite has patrons. Goosebumps rise on Jimin’s arms, and he looks behind himself to see the bodyguards still standing there. He can’t run now.

“Well?” Myungwoo says.

Jimin walks inside slowly while looking at the only CCTV camera on the floor, the one that’s right outside the door. He closes his eyes when he feels the carpet beneath his feet, hearing the door click closed behind him.

I hope you saw me. You better have fucking seen me, Jungkook.

“Do you like it?” Myungwoo asks. 

Jimin doesn’t even have the guts to play pretend right now, but he does look around. The sight that greets him would’ve made him drool any other day. The city skyline is bright and picturesque even from the hallway, the full windows spanning from one end to the other. It’s the kind of view that only the real wealthy can get, where Jimin would’ve never been able to afford it if he hadn’t been a part of a team of con artists. Even now, he’s only here because he got kidnapped. 

“On second thought, can I go to the bathroom first?” Jimin asks. This is his only chance. Once Myungwoo leads him to the bedroom, it’s over.

Myungwoo looks at him as if he’s truly thinking about it. And then carefully, with his jaws set as if he’s trying his best to be patient, “Okay.”

Jimin breathes a sigh of relief. He points to what he assumes is the bathroom door, walking ever so slowly to it like he’s afraid Myungwoo will shoot him with the gun in his pocket if he moves wrong.

“Oh, and Gigi?”

Jimin’s spine is pulled taut.

He looks at Myungwoo through his reflection in the mirror.

“Stretch yourself nicely for me.”

He swallows the lump in his throat.

“Of course,” he tries to laugh. “I will.”

The moment he closes the door behind him, locking it and hoping to God no one would guard it to listen in on what he’s doing, he reaches for his clutch. It’s small to the point that the entire thing fits in his hand, which he thinks is maybe why Myungwoo hasn’t tried to take it away from him. What could possibly be in here that Jimin would try to use against him? Certainly, it can’t fit a gun.

Jimin opens it fully, cursing himself for all the wrappers of gum that he’s never decluttered before. Just like he guessed, it’s full of the same things he’d taken with him to the dinner. He goes through them slowly, almost like he’s afraid to be wrong, but then he’s counting everything one by one and his stomach is sinking. Lipstick, blotting powder, a few more unopened pieces of gum, a travel-sized perfume.

He stops.

That’s it. That’s all he fucking has. As he looks at his mess of belongings in front of him, the bathroom almost seems to warp and blur, like the full magnitude of what's happening is sinking in. He grasps desperately at the edges of the vanity.

Where’s the earpiece? He asks inwardly. He wants to cry. Where the fuck is it?

He can’t even scream out loud.

He looks up from the sink, cursing all the gum, and he tries to pat himself down nervously. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, his brain repeats over and over again.

He’s about to give up when he hits something in his back pocket, feeling around one more time as he digs inside of it only to pull out the object of his dreams. It’s only then that he realizes these are the same pants he’s worn yesterday too, that he’d failed to wash this morning. The only pair that truly made his hips flare like they’re made to be held. The one that he got at the great price of $50. He could jump for joy right now but he's shaking.

He holds the earpiece tightly in his hand, and with trembling fingers, he turns it on, fitting it into his ear.

The great thing about this one in particular is that he doesn’t have to wait long for it to connect to their communication system, something he has to thank Jungkook for. He has to pray to the gods as he watches his sweaty face in the mirror. He waits and waits for some sort of sound on the channel but there’s just static. He presses his eyes closed.

“Gigi, how long are you going to take?”

Jimin wants to cry. “I’m taking a fucking shit!”

“There’s no way around this baby, unfortunately. You can take all night in there if you want—”

“Leave me alone for like five minutes I swear to God. I promise you’ll get to fuck me,” Jimin groans, on the verge of losing it.

And then he hears it.

“Jimin?”

God is real, he almost wants to say. In the two years he's known Jungkook, he doesn't think he's ever been so thankful to hear his voice.

There’s only one thing he whispers at the same time that Myungwoo yells at him to get out, banging on the bathroom door.

Come find me. 

“Now, can we please go to the bed?” Myungwoo asks.

“No,” Jimin says. “I’m not done yet.”

They’re at the dining table still, after they’d just finished their dinner.

After his fiasco in the bathroom, Jimin had asked if they could at least eat. He says he’s been anticipating the food at the gala, musing aloud the suite is definitely not better than a date at the gala if there's not a full table spread of good food—a full course meal. And so, Myungwoo, as if pained by the mere mention of anything being better than him, decides to appease Jimin one last time.

He’s been waiting. It’s been twenty minutes now and there’s still nothing from Jungkook.

He’d decided to take out the earpiece just in case Myungwoo grabs him by his hair or something and ends up discovering it, simply leaving it on as he puts it back in his pocket.

He doesn’t know how much longer he has to wait. Truly, the one time he’s ever fucked up on a mission was the second one where he’d almost gotten their cover blown. They were posing as property developers, trying to sell a few expensive condominiums. Jimin had a slip of the tongue, using the wrong name as they were finalizing the papers. The official signature couldn’t be corrected so he’d have to get a new document, and Jungkook had been the one to redo it all for him instead of appealing for another copy at the Commission’s office.

It wasn’t a royal fuck up, but Jungkook had hated him as early as those days and so it seemed bigger than it was. Now, when he looks back on it, it sounds like an easy mistake he can correct in minutes, at least in comparison to what’s happening to him now.

He doesn’t know what he’s waiting for, really. He has no idea exactly how Jungkook will come to his rescue.

Sighing, he goes for his dessert, taking a spoonful of it and immediately spitting it out. He doesn't even have the manners to try and act pretty while eating anymore.

“What the hell is this?” He asks. 

Myungwoo’s rolling his eyes. “Do you have more complaints?”

“Yes, the fuck I do,” Jimin says and he’s standing up, reaching for the phone on the counter.

“Hey—”

He dials 0. Room service.

“What are you—” Myungwoo tries to ask.

Someone answers on the other line. 

“Hey, I’d just like to ask about this eclair. Why is the inside empty?” Jimin asks.

“Thank fucking god, Jimin, why don’t you have your ear monitor on? Are you fucking crazy? I have no idea what’s fucking happening to you. I’m at the suite right across from our old one. Your door’s open now. The door to this suite is open too. Make a beeline for the fire exit. Floor 27, 212.”

“Rude,” Jimin says with his heart beating so loudly in his chest that he thinks it’s in his ears as he puts down the phone abruptly. His hand is trembling as he holds the phone. “It’s just the hotel jingle on the line.”

“What is it now?” Myungwoo asks, standing up and walking over to Jimin.

Now or never, he thinks, and he hits Myungwoo right on the side of his head with the telephone. 

Fuck! Jimin's brain echoes and he makes a run for it as he grabs a vase. He throws an apple from the display of fruits, not caring to look back, thanking the Heavens that the suite layout has the kitchen right next to the hallway to the door. The door looks almost like a finish line and each step he takes feels as if it's on an incline, one hard stride after the other to victory. Once he has a hold on the handle, he opens it, and to his surprise, and true to Jungkook’s words, it really is open. He laughs like a maniac, overtaken by emotion. The bodyguards aren’t there either, and he almost gets so excited for his freedom that he forgets about Myungwoo.

“You fucking bitch—” Comes the voice from behind him and then Jimin’s hurtling the vase at him, hoping it hits him and then screaming when it does.

The fire exit is conveniently to the right of the suite and he practically flies past the door to it, heartbeat in his ears as he runs down the steps. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t even spare a glance even when he can hear Myungwoo trying to run after him. 

It’s just two floors, he can make it. He runs and runs down the stairs, feeling his heartbeat pick up when he hears frantic footsteps after him.

Before he knows it, he’s made it to the 27th floor. His only problem is that he has a ways away to run to the suite still as it isn’t near the elevators, which can only mean it’s far from the fire exit. Nevertheless, he sprints the moment he’s past the door, hoping he's way ahead of Myungwoo as he looks back for the first time.

Myungwoo’s made it past the door of the fire exit.

“Jungkook!” Jimin yells, throat closing up from fear as he bangs on the door of their old suite. It doesn’t even come to him that it’s the wrong fucking door, because all he can feel is the adrenaline from running and the fear that he might not make it.

The sound of his heartbeat in his ears turns into a flat ringing sound when he hears a gunshot. Or what he thinks might be a gunshot. And then he’s turning around. His mind is an endless prayer of Jungkook's name. Over and over like he can manifest him into existence. 

Then he sees him.

He’s standing right in front of the door while Myungwoo’s lying on the floor. He looks unconscious, but there’s no blood. He's simply lying there, immobile.

“W-what was,” Jimin doesn’t realize how badly he’s shaking until Jungkook bends down to take him into his arms. “What was that—”

“A tranquilizer, that’s all it is, it’s okay, you’re okay,” says the voice that soothes him, and for the first time in Jungkook’s presence, Jimin feels like he can come undone, like he can fall apart and still be fine. Here, with the weight of what’s just happened to him, he feels the first fall of tears. 

“You’re here, you’re actually here—”

“Yes, I am,” Jungkook says, holding him close. Jimin doesn’t feel any shame when he hugs him the tightest that he can. “I’m here, Jimin, I’m here.”

And Jimin surrenders.

When he wakes up, it almost triggers a fight or flight response in him because he’s laying in bed. It might be the bed in a cheaper suite but it’s a suite all the same and it makes his heart beat so fast he might as well be back in the Presidential Suite with Myungwoo. He tries to sit up, just to confirm he’s right where he hopes he is when he feels his head spin, dropping back down to bed. His body feels like lead. He's exhausted down to his bones even though all he's done is run. Maybe it's the worrying that's gotten to him, having wormed its way into him so that at the first sign that he's okay, it renders him unconscious. And now he's awake.

“What—”

Jungkook walks into the bedroom and Jimin’s hands reach out for him.

“He probably spiked your wine so you’d fall asleep. It still has effects on you,” Jungkook says in answer even though Jimin hasn’t asked.

“What happened?” He asks once more, this time audible even if his mouth weirdly feels like it’s full of cotton.

“He’s up there in the Presidential Suite. It’s past 3 a.m. right now,” Jungkook says, giving Jimin a glass of water. They share a moment of silence as they both realize that Jimin can't drink it, still unable to get up properly. Jungkook moves close to him with a sigh as he props Jimin upright for bit, arm behind him to assist him up and back down.

Jimin can't believe the first thank you he says to Jungkook, coming out so foreign and meek. Jungkook smiles at him anyway. Raw and true. That's a first, too.

“I cleared all the CCTV footage from earlier, and his bodyguards don’t know what happened because they’re at the lobby after I faked a message that they should guard the front entrance. And if you’re wondering about the gunshot, it wasn’t a gunshot. It was just to make him unable to move for a bit. And to make him fall asleep for a bit. ”

Jimin looks up at him, watching his face as Jungkook treats him like a patient, running a hand through his hair and checking for his temperature with the back of his hand to Jimin’s forehead.

They’re quiet for a bit.

“You’re safe, I promise,” Jungkook says after a while. “I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.”

Jimin’s throat feels like it’s closing up again. If he’d felt fragile before when he thought Myungwoo would hurt him, he feels it even more now, like he can be fragile with Jungkook and still be safe.

He wants to ask why.

“I don’t hate you, you know, even if you think I do,” Jungkook says. “Why did you think I said yes to being a part of the team?”

Jimin learns with a deep breath that his tears have fallen.

“Why?” He asks finally.

It’s the only thing he can say without his voice trembling more. He hopes it’s enough of a question even though it’s just one word. He feels overwhelmed in a way he’s never been before. Even as he tries to get up to sit, he thinks he’s still running for his life on the stairs, in the hallways. He’s shaking until Jungkook reaches out and holds his hand. He doesn't think he's considered himself invincible, that he can't be caught or hurt. It's foolish to think there's no chance of it knowing the nature of what he does, but nothing could have prepared him for it anyway. He then wonders if any of the team had been through something like it, if they've also fucked up like he has.

And then his mind focuses on the fact of Jungkook instead, how he's saved Jimin. Would he have done the same if it was anyone else? What would have happened if Jimin hadn't fucked up? Where would they be?

Why are you here? How did you find me? How far would you have gone to save me?

He closes his eyes when Jungkook wipes away his tears.

Are you still just cleaning up after me?

“Mr. Lee and the others are on the way back. It’s barely a two-hour drive so they’ll be here pretty soon. I rebooked our flights to the one at noon so you can rest. If you’re gonna ask how all of that happened, don’t worry, and don’t even ask.”

Jungkook’s chuckling. He’s laughing and it’s light and airy. 

“I know I’ve been hard on you these past few days but I think with your nose a little swollen and you groggy as fuck, I owe it to you to be nicer, I promise not to be a dick,” Jungkook even jokes, lifting Jimin’s chin and wiping away the last of his tears. “You okay?”

Jimin tries to say, “Thank you,” but it comes out as a whisper. He’s ashamed, really. 

I don’t need you. I’m not supposed to need you. 

He’s an impostor, in a way. He’s not like Chaerin and everyone else. Why did he fuck this up? Why is Jungkook here? If only he could’ve listened, if he’d just left Myungwoo alone, maybe it wouldn’t have gotten to this situation. He presses his eyes together, feeling a heat on the backs of his eyelids. He doesn’t want to think about it anymore but it feels inevitable.

“Don’t think,” Jungkook tells him, his voice a whisper now too. “You can think about it when we’re back in Seoul.”

“I can’t—”

“You’re okay. I promise. He’s up there sleeping his ass off. No one’s coming for you.”

“Maybe I’m not—” Jimin fails to breathe.

“Hmm?” And Jungkook is so kind.

“Maybe I’m not cut out for this,” Jimin finally manages in one go and he chokes on tears. “I fucked up.”

“What do you mean?” Jungkook’s eyebrows are furrowed. “You didn’t say yes to his date, didn’t you? It’s his fault he didn’t take your word—”

“No, I—” Jimin tries to breathe again. “What happens now? With Mr. Chung? What if Myungwoo decides to dig shit up, and-and he tries to—”

“He won’t,” Jungkook says. And he says with a smile, “I promise. He won’t.”

Jimin just can’t wrap his head around it. The fact that Jungkook has done something so unsafe to save him and yet he’s so certain.

“He won’t know. He won’t ever think someone came for you. He’ll think you just ran out on your own. He won’t remember that someone shot him with a tranquilizer. He’ll just think you escaped. He would never think there was anyone else. That it was me.”

Jimin’s eyes widen. And then the realization comes to him like an epiphany. 

In all the time they’ve spent in New York, Jungkook never went out with him or the team, not even on their outings before the Hamptons. He wasn’t even there for the auction. He’d booked his return flight tickets separately, with no indication that Jimin might have flown with someone other than the team he’d introduced at all the luncheons and dinners he ever went to. The only time he'd ever spent outside with anyone was with Jimin when they'd gone to the studio, just the two of them. Anywhere else, there’s no mark of Jungkook, at least in association with him. No one would trace it all back to him. No one would ever know.

Something surges in Jimin and he comes to himself only when Jungkook is holding his hand.

“You’re trembling again.”

“You—” Jimin tries to say but he can’t. Or shouldn’t.

He breathes in. 

“Yes, what about me?” Jungkook smiles, holding Jimin’s hand tightly.

“Kiss me.”

Jungkook stops.

“What?” He asks almost incredulously.

“Kiss me,” Jimin asks again. His tears are gathered in his eyes like they’re waiting to fall. “If you don’t kiss me now, I won’t know what to believe in—”

“Jimin, don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Jimin blinks and his tears do fall. “Don’t think about it?”

The laughter that leaves him is pained.

“I have been trying to get you to look at me, to un-hate me if that was even possible, for two years, for two fucking—” Jimin pauses. “I-I want you to kiss me. Plain and simple. I’m tired, Jungkook. P-please, don’t play this game with me anymore.”

He sounds like he’s begging, and maybe he is. He’s looking down at his hands then, like he’s just humiliated himself by even asking. He plays with his fingers, vision blurry as his tears drop on his hands. It’s what makes everything blurry at the seams when he feels a hand tipping his chin up, when he feels lips press onto his own.

His heart seizes up like it’s a shot of espresso and it’s running through his veins, how everything feels right now that Jungkook’s lips are on his. They're soft, softer than he could've imagined. And he's so gentle with his lips and his hand as he hold Jimin close. All he gives him is a press of their lips, Jimin's mouth slightly ajar to invite him in but he discovers Jungkook maybe too gentle, too chivalrous that he has to do it himself. So he does.

His arms lift up to hug Jungkook even closer as if to say kiss me with all you've got. Jungkook freezes momentarily before he's parting with Jimin, his eyes ever attentive as he looks all over Jimin's face like there would be any sign he doesn't want it.

Finally, Jimin wants to say when Jungkook surges forward to kiss him again and it's like every nerve in his body is a live wire. 

He thinks back on that time in the car when they were just on their way to Mr. Lee’s office for the first time.

“Hi, my name’s Park Jimin,” he remembers saying.

“Jeon,” The Jungkook in his memories says, “Jeon Jungkook.”

When they part, all he can think about is how long he's held onto that version of Jungkook, the one who hadn't yet showed him any vitriol, who Jimin had smiled at the first time they met, hoping his first breath of fresh air outside of prison would make him less afraid. And then he thinks of how different it all is now. How there’s no going back now. With the past days behind them and all the bickering and teasing suspended in the air, Jimin feels anew. That Jungkook doesn't exist anymore. He stands with an older version of him now, with his hair a little longer, his lips with piercings, and his tattoo sleeve fuller and with more color. This is who Jungkook is, not the guy from two years ago, and the thought that he hasn't hated him all along makes Jimin's heart soar.

If he’s being honest, he’s afraid even now. Because what can it change? To what extent would things change? When they come back to Seoul, what will happen? He wants to ask. There's so many more things they should sort out first. Like Myungwoo and the gala he's left unattended with Mr. Chung, and maybe they should've done that before getting tangled up in bed, but Jimin finds that more than anything, what he wants is for Jungkook to hold him tighter and to kiss him until tomorrow comes.

Maybe he's done well in all these two years watching from a distance as Jungkook walks in the dark with his eyes on them throughout missions but from now on, nothing will compare to this proximity, where he can feel the heat of his skin and how nervous he is too as they kiss up a storm that will never end.

“What do you think?” Jungkook says when their lips part again. He pecks Jimin once, and then again when he doesn’t immediately answer. “Have you had enough of it yet?”

“No,” Jimin sighs happily, and he’s the one who maneuvers Jungkook on the bed to lie under him, straddling his thighs. He’s on top of the world.

“How about,” Jungkook smiles, “Had enough of pretending to hate me?”

Jimin smiles too. “Yes.”

He leans down, kissing Jungkook’s nose. “How about you? Had enough of actually hating me?”

Jungkook laughs. A full-bodied laugh with mirth. One that tells Jimin they’ll be okay. 

“Well, I’ve got a $100,000 share from the mission to spend on a date. I might be able to prove that I don’t actually hate you.”

Now, It’s Jimin’s turn to laugh.