Chapter Text
Six feet beneath the ground, Choi continues to be the gift that keeps on giving.
"Fuck this shit!" Seongje smacks the wastebasket. Crumpled balls of paper spill all over the floor. "We should've cut loose the second we heard about Choi's death. That's what everyone else did. Now we have to be the ones to do his dirty laundry."
He jumps up from the chair and starts pacing around. Though Baekjin's room is too small to do it comfortably.
"Whoever Choi pissed off is hell-bent on taking down anyone who was even remotely involved with him. The police started questioning the guys, you know. They're building a case. Trying to, at least. I made sure none of them would even dream of squealing." Seongje flops onto the bed next to Baekjin, rubbing his eyes from under his glasses. "It's only a matter of time until they cave."
He feels the urge to do something. Anything to release all this tension coiled inside him, ready to spring into action, like a stupid wind-up toy.
"Seongje-yah," Baekjin says. It's the first word he's spoken since he got here.
"Yeah?"
Baekjin rests his hand on his knee, a buoy gently bobbing in the rough seas. Seongje's leg stops bouncing.
"I have an exam tomorrow morning."
He looks terrible. Bloodshot eyes and dark circles enhancing the effect.
Seongje tilts his head, blinking impishly at him. "So?"
"So." Baekjin gets up and straightens the mess Seongje made. Neon letters flicker from the corner of the wall. Shit, is it that late already? "I'll speak to you after I'm done."
Seongje stares at him for a long while, long enough that Baekjin's the one to tear his gaze away. He flicks the lamp off, bathing them in sheer darkness. Crooked shadows peek through the curtains and soften the sharp edges of his face.
Baekjin likes to act all tough, but Seongje knows. Out of everyone who was involved with Choi, Baekjin's the only one to truly measure the butterfly effect of knowing the man.
He stands up slowly, lingering to see if Baekjin has anything more to say. When he doesn't, Seongje smiles, a sharp tilt of his lips that falls just as quickly as it appeared.
"Stop thinking so much. He can't get to you anymore."
The door shuts behind him, granting Baekjin the privacy of reaction.
See, he can be nice sometimes.
***
A couple of hours later, Baekjin's phone call disturbs him from his sleep.
"What?" he mumbles into the speaker, too lazy to even open his eyes.
"Open the door."
Seongje lets him in. Baekjin doesn't even bother with a greeting, pushing past him to head to his bedroom.
"Hey—"
He grabs Seongje's phone and switches it off, throwing it thoughtlessly in his drawer.
"What's your deal, man? This isn't the fucking CIA."
"The police haven't contacted you yet, have they?"
Seongje's attention sharpens. "No."
Seongje trails after him into the living room, even though it's his apartment. Still, Baekjin's weird energy stops him from making another quip about it.
Baekjin settles down on the couch, props his elbow on the armrest. Listen up, sucker. This is serious business. "Choi used to do favours for a few government officials. It's as you said, one of them is bound to get nervous. They'll push for a thorough investigation, which will end in a trial. Just so they can publicly wipe their hands of their involvement with Choi." Baekjin glances at him. "Are you following so far?"
"Fuck you," Seongje says. He feels between his cushions for a lighter and grabs his cigarette box from the coffee table. The first hit of nicotine rushes to his head—he finally feels qualified for human interaction.
Interestingly, Baekjin's fingers curl into a fist just then, eyes fixed on some faraway corner.
"Since there will be a trial," he goes. "They'll make us testify against each other."
"Right, sure." Seongje doesn't feel the words leave his lips. He's too focused on the minuscule tick in Baekjin's jaw, comparing the expression against the catalogue of other idiosyncrasies he's stored in his mind.
"I've been thinking about this for the past few days, even before you showed up last night. The best outcome I can think of"—Baekjin clears his throat— "is if we go through with a legally-binding vow."
"Legally binding…"
Baekjin averts his gaze from his, releasing the tension from his hand, and it clicks for him then.
A startled laugh leaves his throat. "What? Like a marriage certificate?"
When Baekjin remains silent, Seongje's heart stutters in his chest like a broken engine. "Fuck. You're actually serious."
"It's only until the duration of the trial," Baekjin says evenly, but his twitchy fingers give away the anxiety behind his demeanour. "Trust me. I thought of every possible—"
"I know that, smart ass. I know you."
Seongje exhales smoke. They stew in a thick silence for a moment.
"Okay, genius," Seongje says—because fuck it. Why not, why the hell not? "How do you propose we go about forging a certificate?"
***
Apparently, all it takes is two passports, two sets of tickets and nothing but pure adrenaline. Common sense be damned.
He doesn't help Baekjin with the luggage, which is just a carry-on with enough clothes to last them a day. They hail a taxi downstairs. Baekjin makes a grab for the handle, but Seongje beats him to it, pressing his shoulder against the door.
"Just to make sure we're on the same page," he says, baring his teeth. "I'm the one doing you a favour. Got it?"
Baekjin glares at him; there's real anger behind his gaze, hot and fizzling. Then it freezes over, like Baekjin can't be bothered to deal with the emotion.
"We're getting late." His tone is clipped.
Seongje sniggers, climbing inside the car. "Whatever."
The rest of the ride is a silent affair. Seongje wastes his time playing a mobile game, just so he can avoid the need to even acknowledge him. Baekjin, ever the broody protagonist, stares out the window for the full forty-five minutes it takes to get there.
When they finally reach the airport, the sun has already begun to set, dipping beneath the skyline. Orange rays reflect off the glass panes like a filter from a movie. Distant specks of the runway lighting glitter from afar. If he were a different person, he might even describe it as beautiful.
Baekjin, on the other hand, seems blind to the scenery in front of them. His face is blank as a sheet.
"Are you sure about this?"
“Of course I am.” Why wouldn’t I be?
"Couldn’t we just, I don't know. Fuckin', flee the country. Fake our deaths. Change our identities. Etcetera." Seongje scratches his head. "All of that sounds so much easier than the shit you're trying to pull off."
The taxi whisks away, disappearing down the massive road, just another dot among the roar of traffic.
Baekjin goes on the defensive, old instincts kicking in. "I didn't spend four years building a life for myself, just to throw it all away for a worthless man like Choi Changhee." He spits his name out, like venom in his mouth.
Seongje shrugs. Figured as much.
This might just be the most desperate idea Baekjin has come up with, he thinks, as he drags their suitcase forward. But this will be fun, ridiculously so. And Baekjin will be indebted to him for a lifetime. Which might be even better than the trip itself.
Gosh, it’s been years since he got on an aeroplane. He feels like a giddy kid again.
"C'mon." Seongje grins over his shoulder. "I'll show you the ropes."
Baekjin rolls his eyes, keeping pace with him. "Like you're some connoisseur."
"Compared to you, yeah."
***
They pass through airport security easily enough. Which means it wasn’t easy, not in the slightest. But damn if he was going to start complaining now. Not when he gets to see the look on Baekjin’s face as the plane takes off, eyes wide open and mouth slightly agape, tasting the luxury of childlike wonder. Perhaps for the first time in his life.
“Couldn’t you have picked a better seat for us? I know you have the money for it.”
Baekjin doesn't remove his gaze from the window. “We need to save up for our lawyer.”
Seongje bites down a grin. Our lawyer, huh?
Later, he jostles awake to a cabin that is nearly pitch-black, save for the dim glow of the bathroom sign. Outside, the city below looks like fallen stars in an inkwell. The engine thrums beneath his feet, a wild, slumbering beast ensnared. He lifts his head up from its awkward angle, cracking his neck. Turbulence causes the plane to throttle once more, and his elbow slips and lands on Baekjin's arm. A quick glance. Baekjin's eyes remain closed. His back is flush against the backrest, arms folded over his chest. Though his breathing is too shallow to tell if he's truly asleep or not.
Thirty thousand feet above the air, the absurdity of the situation finally sinks in to him.
Why? Is the only tangible thought he really feels the urgency to vocalise. Why this plan? If you can even call it that. They go all the way to Thailand, get fake-married, and proceed with the trial. Then what? Do they just burn the certificate? Do they have to return and get fake-divorced, too? But if they have to go through the extreme length of leaving the country, would such a marriage even hold up in their legal system? It doesn't make sense. There are too many holes he can poke in Baekjin's strategy. But this is Na Baekjin we're talking about; Seongje made it this far following him. He has some semblance of a job, thanks to that bastard. Without even having to slave away at university like his parents would've made him. And hey, he gets paid a hell of a lot more for just a fraction of the effort—not that he's in it for the money. All of this to say, Baekjin's not an infallible creature of bountiful knowledge, but one thing's for sure: he will always play the long game. Even at the cost of his own self. So maybe, indulging Baekjin wouldn't be so bad.
"Hey, Baekjin-ah." Seongje prods his shoulder. "I know you're awake."
Baekjin's eyes flutter open. He wasn't expecting him to drop the pretence so quickly.
“I never asked you,” Seongje begins, lowering his voice. It feels like the appropriate thing to do when Baekjin's knee is nudging the underside of his thigh. Thank whoever invented economy class for that. “How did it feel? When you first heard about Choi.”
The dark cabin, the freezing temperature. Baekjin's floppy hair resting on his face. An inch of distance that feels both insurmountable and insignificant. Somehow, Baekjin retains the sharpness of his eyes, even in this setting.
It feels unexpectedly intimate.
“Relief, as short-lived as it was," Baekjin says. "That was before the police interrogations began. Soon it will be the trial, then the press. It’s all just…irritating." Baekjin sighs. His breath tickles the side of Seongje's face, making his skin warm. "Why now? Why didn't this happen when we were still in school?”
“Right. Would've been easier to play the good old victim card.”
Baekjin's eyes crinkle minutely. “We’re not kids anymore.”
"No," Seongje says, his head dizzy with the overlapping visage of a teenage Baekjin. He blinks, and the image vanishes. "No, we're not."
***
Their hotel room is small but modern-looking, furnished with oak accents. And, Seongje draws the thick curtains, offers a sweet view of the skyline, too. He calls dips on the bed closest to the door, lying face flat on the mattress. An unusual lamp sits on the nightstand that separates their twin beds. Too try-hardy for an otherwise decent place.
He wonders what Baekjin's qualifications for choosing this hotel were. Baekjin is selectively tight with his money. He invests in good clothing: tailored shirts, real leather shoes and expensive watches, some real top-of-the-shelf middle-aged taste he has. Yet he has to think twice before splurging on a halfway decent meal at a restaurant. It cracks him up, just picturing it. Baekjin bent over his laptop in his bed, navigating a minefield of phishy ads while scrolling through a booking website, before finding the best two-for-one deal that fits his budget.
Seongje fluffs a pillow and makes himself comfortable. "So where do we go from here?"
Baekjin is already done unpacking their measly belongings. He pushes aside their empty suitcase into the corner, eyeing Seongje's bed with disdain. "I'm taking a shower."
"Sure, you do that," Seongje mumbles into his sheets.
***
Seongje stirs awake to the sound of someone tinkering around the room. The whirring of the blow dryer. Light tapping against the sink. The closet door swinging open.
He sits up and leans against the headrest. It's bright daylight already. There goes his plan of venturing out.
Baekjin is in front of the full-length mirror. He looks freshly showered, gelled hair combed back, fussing with the knot of his tie. Did the guy even sleep last night? His bedsheets are spotless.
"You can't expect me to wear a three-piece suit."
Baekjin smooths over an invisible wrinkle in his collar. "Did I ask you to wear one?"
Seongje puts on his glasses, grinning. "Touché."
It's oddly satisfying to watch Baekjin go through his rituals. First the tie, then the blazer. Or vest. Or whatever you call it. He runs his fingers through his combed hair. Loops his belt through his trousers. Then he buttons his cuffs, tugging at them. Finally, his watch, one of his few earthly indulgences. Even Baekjin seems absorbed in the motions, not noticing Seongje's attention on him until their eyes lock in the mirror.
Baekjin whips around. Impatience wearing down his voice, "Get up already."
Seongje stretches his arm out, angling his thumb as he would to check the proportions for a portrait. In a way, Baekjin is better than a portrait; he's real, he's alive, not frozen in a single frame. Baekjin is a vessel of permutations, a thousand facets to his mind. You have to really be here to feel the full force of it, his wrath, his anger, his sadness and self-flagellation. A portrait cannot do justice to its intensity.
"Nice view, huh?" Seongje says. A hint of a smile, honey smooth. Not so outrageous, but something small. Something contained. Yet it betrays much more emotion.
Baekjin's expression stutters. Those eyes, those goddamn eyes…
How can anyone in their right mind see this beauty and have the wits to walk away?
Seongje drops his arm, schooling his face into a bland expression. "Okay. I'll be done before you know it. Call room service for me, will you?"
He heads to the bathroom without another glance. Seongje locks the door and lets out a heavy exhale. The walls are still damp with condensation. It smells faintly of the soap Baekjin used, but there must be something else in the air, because he feels flushed, almost dizzy. The countertop is occupied with Baekjin's belongings. Baekjin's electric razor. His facewash, sunscreen, and toothbrush, next to Seongje's mangled one. And his cologne. All neatly arranged in a single file. Every inch of this space is screaming his presence.
Seongje knocks everything over with a swipe of his hand, and they topple into the sink. A small, petty victory. Completely pointless. Because what the fuck is he feeling so antsy about, anyway?
After an inordinate amount of stalling in the shower, he leaves the bathroom with his towel around his waist.
The room ends up being empty. Seongje's outfit is hanging in the closet: a pressed white shirt and trousers. His phone pings with a text message.
I'm waiting at the lobby. Get breakfast at the buffet.
Well, that's just fucking rude.
Seongje finds him near the elevator, hunched behind a decorative tree. This guy likes brooding too much.
Baekjin appraises him first, an opaque expression.
"I didn't know you could use a comb."
"Are you impressed? I watched a tutorial and everything."
Just for you. I'm entertaining this stupid idea, just for you.
"Good." Baekjin's eyes sweep over his body. Then he amends, "It's acceptable."
Seongje grins his Cheshire smile. "I heard you the first time."
***
He hadn't given Baekjin enough credit for orchestrating this to a tee.
The courthouse is within walking distance of their hotel. Still, he forgot to account for how awfully humid this place is. By the time they reach, their shirts stick to their backs, their hair damp with sweat.
Baekjin walks up to two bystanders. They look like tourists, matching in floral shirts, khaki pants and brimmed sun hats.
"Excuse me," he says in English. He pulls out his phone and types something.
It translates out loud for him: "Do you want to make easy money?"
The couple share a cautious look.
"Just stand in as witnesses to our ceremony. It will only take five minutes."
He pulls out his wallet, showing them a large wad of cash. Their eyebrows shoot all the way up their foreheads.
Seongje watches the exchange and falls into a fit of laughter. He clutches the side of his stomach, having to lean against the wall to keep himself from falling. Is he alive? Is this a dream? No one he knows would believe this, even if they tortured it out of him.
"Sure, Baekjin-ah. Bribe the American tourists while we're at it."
Baekjin levels him with a bland look. "Are you done?"
"Give me a sec." Seongje wipes a stray tear from his eye.
***
Imposing, everything about the building screams order and prestige. A long, red carpet leads them up a marble staircase. Delicate-looking light fixtures, and a heavy silence that feels like a cloak.
Something about it nags at his brain, enough that he hisses in Baekjin's ear, "What's the deal with this place?"
"What do you mean?"
"It's giving me the creeps. Feels a bit too legit."
Baekjin blinks. Slowly, deliberately. Seongje can see the cogwheels turn in his head in real time.
Another thing Baekjin is good at: pulling the rug from right beneath his nose.
But Seongje pieces it together before he can concoct a lie.
"You son of a bitch. You sick, twisted bastard." Seongje grins. "This was always going to be a real deal."
He actually has the gall to goad him. "What are you going to do about it?"
"I should knee you in the groin for that."
Baekjin presses on. "A fake or real marriage, what difference does it make?"
"You keep repeating that, but…"
"But what?"
Baekjin's gaze isn't cold so much as a desperation bleeding from the corners, melting the sharp edges Seongje is well acquainted with. It's like balm to the anger boiling inside his head.
Desperation. He can work with that.
The room is much smaller than it looks on the outside. There are rows of wooden chairs on either side, leaving space for a walkway in the middle. Though the garish lighting ought to be a legal offence, in his opinion. The officiant is a bespectacled man with a deep frown etched on his forehead, briefly studying Seongje and Baekjin. From the sidelines, the tourist couple gives them an encouraging smile, and the guy even throws them a thumbs-up.
Five years…
The figure flashes in his mind, unbidden. He stares at Baekjin. The coward doesn't even have the decency to look at him.
Five years of dealing with Na Baekjin and his bullshit. His hard-headed steadiness that anchors the turbulent waters of Seongje's inner workings. The vulnerability in him that seeks loyalty like a vice, trying desperately to sink his talons in it, to capture it wholly. Predator eyeing prey. A morbid fixation. And the unforgiving, selfish nature that blindsides Seongje, equally as it excites him.
The officiant begins speaking. Seongje doesn't understand a lick of what he's saying. He focuses on the mission in front of him: staring down at Baekjin until he cracks.
Five years, huh.
Baekjin as a fledgling high schooler, a scrawny kid with a vivacious fire in his eyes, Seongje couldn't look away from. Even if he tried.
Baekjin as Choi's subordinate. His gaze grew cold, shrinking into himself. He grew distant from Seongje, too. A calculated distance.
Baekjin right before the Union fight. This time, his desperation was so raw and aching that Seongje caved within seconds.
Baekjin after graduation. Seongje had never seen him smile so genuinely when he showed up to take his pictures.
Baekjin at university, clinging to Seongje for the first time. Seongje reciprocates in return. Who else do they both have?
It seems like the asshole has finally gathered the courage to look at him. Owe him the due diligence.
Baekjin doesn't look so put-together as he did back at the hotel. His slicked-back hair has come loose, and his face is slightly flushed from walking outdoors. Somehow, he feels even more endeared to this less-than-perfect version of Baekjin, the one who's standing right in front of him.
A warmth in his eyes. That's new. He has only ever seen him reserve that expression for one other person—
"I do," Baekjin says softly.
Seongje's heartbeat roars inside his eardrum.
He can barely hear himself saying it back.
"I do."
The couple applauds them, their faces beaming with bright smiles. The officiant raises an eyebrow at them. He nods encouragingly, a hint of humour in his gaze.
Oh shit. This is it, this is it—
Seongje yanks him by the collar and crashes their lips together. Baekjin freezes at first, then his mind catches up to his body: he kisses him back. His fingers slide through his hair and pull him closer, commanding the scene. Biting passion and unbridled eagerness. A ferocity only Seongje is mad enough to keep up with. It's enough to fuel his sleepless nights for ages to come.
"Not bad for our second kiss," Seongje mumbles into his lips.
Baekjin pulls back and says, "Don't ever do that again." He drags his fingers from his hair to hold him by the chin. It makes warmth flutter in his chest, like fireworks being set off. But Seongje meets his eyes with a level-headed gaze, exuding confidence.
"I don't make promises I can't keep."