Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Kim Taehyung was born poor.

Not that he thought it was a bad thing, but if anyone asked him, he’d say this: he had been poor, and he had been something else entirely. And if given the choice, he wouldn’t go back.

People liked to think money changed who you are. But Taehyung knew better. 

Money just revealed what you were willing to become.

A lot of people wouldn’t agree with the choices he made in his life. He was aware of that. That doesn't mean he cared. 

Judgment didn’t pay bills. It didn’t keep you breathing and it sure as hell didn’t stop a gun from going off at the wrong time.

What mattered was staying alive.

And that, more than anything, was the real trick.

Because Taehyung had always thought that power was easy to build if you were desperate enough.

Keeping it — surviving it — was something else entirely.

In his world, lives didn’t last very long. And Taehyung had known for a while now that for his it wouldn’t be any different.

People had been trying to kill him for years. Ever since Daegu, back when everything had been smaller, simpler. When his life could still fit between a street corner and a dimly lit club, dealing just enough to get by.

And he had kept his nose clean.... sort of. Everyone had their own drug. His just happened to have a name.

Kang Eunwoo.

A Seoul-born who happened to pass by his neighborhood with his cousin Cheol-su and their best friend Bogum.

That summer night had been pretty uneventful for Taehyung, until he came across them. 

They were waiting like everyone else right in front of the club to get their dose. Eunwoo was out of his car, leaning against the front door with his arms crossed as he spoke to the two other guys through the open window.

Taehyung had noticed him as soon as Eunwoo had parked on the curb. Given how attractive he is, he was hard to miss.

The other thing that was hard to miss was the way he stared at Taehyung, clearly hoping that the pretty boy would be the one to sell him what he was here for.

And Taehyung had happily took the bait. 

“What do you want?” he asked, stepping closer, waving the bills he had just gotten from another customer. “Some change?”

Eunwoo’s mouth curved slightly as he pulled cash from his wallet “Honestly?” he said. “Watching you might be enough.”

Taehyung huffed a quiet laugh despite himself, something warm and stupid blooming in his chest before he could stop it.

“What the hell is taking you so long?” a voice suddenly cut in.

Bogum leaned halfway out of the window, impatience written all over his face, until his eyes landed on Taehyung.

“Oh–” His tone shifted instantly. “What are you doing here? You should be on the cover of a magazine or something. Cheol-su, come look at him.”

Cheol-su leaned over too, giving Taehyung a once-over before nodding, like he was assessing something. “He’s right,” he said simply.

“You’re way too pretty to be working here,” Bogum added.

Taehyung laughed again, softer this time, a little embarrassed despite himself. But the bitter taste in his mouth came back swiftly as he felt someone behind his back.

A hand came in front of him to take the money, “I’m paying you to sell stuff, not flirt,’ said his boss, putting the bills in the back pocket of Taehyung’s jeans, not missing the opportunity to grope him.

Once again, it was a regular night. That was nothing Taehyung wasn’t used to.

What Taehyung didn’t expect though, was to find himself in front of his boss getting his head repeatedly slammed into the hood of the nearest car by Eunwoo.

When he finally let go, the man crumpled, groaning, clutching his face.

Eunwoo rolled his shoulders slightly, like he’d just finished something minor, then pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with steady hands.

Taehyung stared. Somewhere, distantly, he registered that this should probably scare him.

It didn’t.

If anything, it felt like the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for him.

Eunwoo took a drag, then looked at him again, that same unreadable expression settling back into place. “So,” he said, exhaling slowly, “now that you’re out of a job…”

His eyes flicked over Taehyung, like he was already picturing the answer. “Are you coming with us?”

Taehyung had never really had friends, or a family for that matter, so when Eunwoo looked at him like that — like he had already decided Taehyung belonged somewhere— it almost felt like fate stepping in, like something in the universe had finally tilted in his direction for once.

They didn’t stay long where they were.

Eunwoo drove them to another club not far from there, but it might as well have been a different world entirely. Much bigger, louder and brighter, the kind of place Taehyung had only ever seen from the outside, never stepped into.

Inside, everything moved faster.

It didn’t take long for Cheol-su and Bogum to disappear into the crowd, pulled under by alcohol and bass and whatever else the night had to offer, leaving Taehyung with Eunwoo, caught in something quieter but no less consuming.

Not quite dancing, not quite anything that could be named properly— just drawn together, closer and closer, like the space between them had never really existed to begin with.

Taehyung had been used before. But Eunwoo made him feel like he was being chosen, instead of taken. And that alone was enough to ruin him. 

Because for the first time in his life, Taehyung didn’t feel like something disposable.

He felt safe. Which, in hindsight, was probably the most dangerous thing of all.

So what if Eunwoo was a drug runner? So what if none of this made sense? If anyone had lived Taehyung’s life up to that point, every empty night, every hand that took more than it gave, they would have reached for this too, would have held onto it just as tightly.

It was like heroin.

By the time Eunwoo pulled him outside, Taehyung wasn’t thinking anymore. Not about consequences, not about tomorrow, not about anything that existed beyond the way he was being looked at.

Taehyung let Eunwoo kiss him until they reached the back of his car. 

The air was thick, the world reduced to shared breath and wandering hands, to quiet sounds swallowed by the night and the distant pulse of music still leaking from the club.

Taehyung let it happen.

More than that, he wanted it. Every second of it.

Because for once, he wasn't forced. Nothing felt transactional. It felt like something he was allowed to have. Something he could keep.

And as Eunwoo pressed closer, grounding him there in the dark, Taehyung found himself holding onto that feeling with everything he had.

He wanted this to last forever.

Most people, when they heard the word ‘mafia’ thought of guns, drugs, and blood on pavement that never quite washed out, and Taehyung used to think the same. But being with Eunwoo had slowly rewritten that idea. Finally, being connected to someone wasn’t a fantasy. 

Five months later, on their first Christmas together right after they had celebrated Taehyung’s twenty-first birthday, Eunwoo brought him to meet his uncle.

Kang Jaehyuk.

The head of the Red Spades.

The house itself looked like it belonged in a different world — way too large and bright, too polished to feel lived in. Lights draped across high ceilings and marble corridors, turning everything into something almost unreal.

Taehyung was still half distracted by it all when he accidentally bumped into someone, even as Eunwoo’s hand was still loosely holding his.

“Oh, sorry,” he said quickly, stepping back.

The man he’d bumped into didn’t move. He just looked at Taehyung, long and steady, like he was trying to decide what category he belonged to. The stare alone was enough to make something uneasy twist in Taehyung’s stomach.

Before it could linger too long, another voice cut through the moment.

“Don’t cause a scene, Yoongi. Not now.”

A man stepped in between them, calm but firm, his tone carrying the kind of authority that didn’t need to be raised to be obeyed. His eyes flicked briefly over Taehyung before shifting back to the group.

“Mr. Kang and Batman are asking for you, Eunwoo,” he said, nodding toward the inner part of the house. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “And you too, idiot,” directed at Cheol-su.

Eunwoo exhaled softly, already half resigned, before turning back to Taehyung.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he said, brushing his thumb lightly against Taehyung’s hand before letting go. “Don’t get lost out here.”

Taehyung nodded, though it came out small, almost absent, as Eunwoo stepped away with Cheol-su and the two other men, disappearing deeper into the house and leaving him standing there with Bogum under the glow of Christmas lights that suddenly felt a little too bright.

⟡

Kang Jaehyuk moved slowly around his office, the room was dim compared to the rest of the house, the glow of Christmas lights barely slipping through the tall windows, leaving most of it wrapped in shadow.

He reached for a bottle of dark liquor, the kind that burned on the way down, and poured two small glasses without asking.

One for himself and one for the man across from him. The one people had nicknamed Batman.

“I wanted to talk to you about my political plans,” Jaehyuk said, his tone casual, almost conversational, as though they were discussing something far less consequential than power.

He handed over the glass before continuing, “It’s going to happen. This time next year, I will be running for governor."

Batman smiled, the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes as he accepted the drink. “Congratulations, Jaehyuk.”

Jaehyuk gave a faint nod, acknowledging it, but his expression didn’t soften. “I know you’re aware Seorin isn’t happy about this, but if you think she and I are still negotiating… we’re not.”

"During the next year, you're going to see our faces less and less. Campaigns are about impressions. I need to distance myself from the business. So we are making slow changes now. And you will begin to take over day-to-day operations." he continued.

His wife Seorin had tried to argue with him, suggesting she take control of everything while he stepped fully into politics as a clean, irreproachable man, expanding their reach beyond what the Red Spades already commanded.

But Kang Jaehyuk was many things, and gullible was definitely not one of them.

“I do have one concern,” he added, lowering himself into the deep red chair behind his desk, fingers loosely wrapped around his glass.

Batman tilted his head slightly. “What would that be?”

Jaehyuk studied him for a moment. “You’re aggressive,” he said.  "Up until now, I’ve been able to cover for you. That won’t be the case if I’m not here.”  he explained, voice dripping with implications.

Batman didn’t flinch. If anything, his grip on the glass tightened just slightly before he lifted it.  “If I’m running things,” he said, steady and assured, “I’ll run them our way.”

For a second, Jaehyuk said nothing. Then, slowly, a sly smile spread across his face. A smile that suggested he already saw five steps ahead of everyone else in the house.

He raised his glass. “Merry Christmas.”

The door to Jaehyuk’s office opened before either man could say anything else, and the shift in atmosphere was immediate. The tension folding itself neatly away the moment something more familiar stepped in.

“Ah, there he is,” Jaehyuk smiled, straightening as he rose from his chair, his associate doing the same.

His tone warmed in a way it hadn’t before, something almost genuine threading through it as he opened his arms. “My little Eunwoo.”

“Sir,” Eunwoo greeted, offering Batman a respectful bow before stepping forward to return the embrace. “How are you, Uncle?”

“Good, kid. I'm good,” Jaehyuk replied, pulling him in briefly before draping an arm over his shoulders, guiding him further into the room.

He turned to the others, already amused.

“Did you hear about this?” he said, gesturing toward Eunwoo. “Last delivery up north, he decides to land on a strip of rock so small he nearly killed himself and the entire reception crew.”

Laughter rippled through the room.

Eunwoo only shrugged, a small, easy smile pulling at his lips. “Hey, at least I would’ve gone out with a story. We're all gonna die someday.”

“Speak for yourself,” Cheol-su cut in with a grin. “I’ve got my mother waiting for me at home.”

Yoongi didn’t even look up as he added, flat and effortless, “Your mother would thank us. Believe me.”

The room broke into laughter again, Cheol-su’s expression dropping instantly as the others leaned into it.

Jaehyuk waved a hand toward the glasses lined neatly along the table. “Go on, help yourselves.”

He poured another drink for himself, lifting the crystal glass as the others followed suit, the amber liquid catching the dim light.

“I want to thank all of you,” he said, his voice carrying easily across the room, steady and composed, “for your loyalty, your friendship, and your hard work. I'm looking forward to the good things that next year will bring. "

He raised his crystal glass, "To my family."

Glasses clinked and drinks were taken. Smiles passed between men who understood exactly what the word 'family' meant and what it didn’t.

Across the room, Eunwoo had drifted just slightly toward the window, his attention no longer on the conversation.

Jaehyuk moved closer,  as he followed Eunwoo’s line of sight, his gaze slipping past the glass and into the lit garden below, where guests moved in scattered clusters beneath strings of lights.

“Is that him?” Jaehyuk asked, voice lower now, more private. “The boy you mentioned.”

Eunwoo nodded once, something softer settling into his expression. “Taehyung.”

Jaehyuk’s eyes lingered for a moment longer, thoughtful, before the sharp buzz of his phone cut through the quiet.

He glanced at the screen and let out a short, amused breath.

“Sorry,” he muttered, already answering as he stepped aside. “When your wife has to call you from another room in your own house, it means the place is too big.”

A few chuckles followed, low and knowing. He lifted the phone to his ear. “Yes, yes, what do you want?”

“Come upstairs. Now.”

⟡

“Oh my God, look at this place. It looks like a castle.”

Bogum’s voice echoed slightly as they wandered deeper into the house, the noise of the party fading behind them with every step. The air felt different here, heavier somehow.

“Ugh… I want to live here,” he added, half in awe, half in disbelief.

Taehyung glanced around, his unease growing the further they went. The lights were softer here, the decorations more polished, less for show and more for people who were used to this kind of luxury.

It didn’t feel like a place meant for them.

“Maybe we should go back,” he said quietly. “I don’t like snooping around.”

Bogum waved him off without even looking back. “Rich people love it when others snoop around. Makes them feel interesting. Relax.”

Taehyung wasn’t convinced.

They turned a corner and stumbled upon a stack of boxes filled with neatly folded clothes — designer pieces, still wrapped, untouched.

Bogum stopped immediately. “Look at these,” he muttered, already crouching down to dig through them. “I can’t believe they’re just sitting here. If there’s my size, I’m taking it.”

“Stop it,” Taehyung warned, the uneasiness in his chest tightening.

“Nothing’s gonna happen,” Bogum said, brushing him off again as he shuffled through the fabrics. “Relax.”

“Bogum, don’t touch anything.”

“Geez…” Bogum rolled his eyes before straightening up. “I’ve gotta pee. Is that okay?” he added, joking, already heading toward the nearby bathroom.

The door shut behind him with a soft click.

Taehyung let out a small breath, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite himself. Bogum really was something else.

The quiet didn’t last. Voices broke through it, distant and unmistakably angry. They were coming from further down the hallway.

He should’ve ignored it. He knew he should’ve.

This wasn’t his house. These weren’t his people. And from what he had seen so far, this wasn’t the kind of place where curiosity was rewarded.

Still… his curiosity was going to get him killed one day.

He sighed under his breath then carefully moved closer to the door.

Each step slower than the last as the voices became clearer, the tension in them almost tangible.

“It is my business too!” The woman’s voice cut through the empty hallway, sharp and furious.

Taehyung stopped just short of the corner, pressing himself slightly against the wall, his heart beginning to beat faster without him fully understanding why.

“I told you already,” the man replied, his tone lower but no less firm, “you’re going to stand by my side on the road to governor, just like you have for the past twenty-five years. That’s what’s going to happen.”

“I’m not.”

There was no hesitation in her voice. Absolutely none.

“I’m going to become governor of Daegu,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “And you’re going to help me get there.”

“No.”

“Yes, you are.”

Taehyung swallowed, something cold settling in his stomach.

Governor?

The word didn’t sit right next to everything else he had seen tonight.

“I helped build this empire,” the woman shot back, her voice rising again. “And now you want to walk away from it? You want me to stand there and smile as nothing more than a governor’s wife?”

“You can’t run the business and be part of an election,” the man replied, his patience thinning. “I’m talking about legitimacy. People ask questions. The business will continue, but not with us at the front. Not for now. And when I’m in, we take it all back. With even more power.”

Taehyung felt something shift inside him. This wasn’t just about money, drugs or crimes.

This was something far bigger than anything he had ever been near.

“How long?” the woman asked.

“One year. Maybe two.”

A short, humorless laugh escaped her.

“The irony is insane,” she said. “You’re asking me to give up the only thing I became good at out of necessity. You’re the one who dragged us into this life. If it weren’t for me cleaning up your mess and building everything we have, you’d still be that dirt-poor farmer you used to be.”

“When you get like this,” the man said slowly, “you say things you shouldn’t.”

“Well, if the truth hurts, I’m sorry,” she replied, unapologetic. “But it doesn’t change anything. We’re expanding to Seoul.”

Taehyung’s breath caught slightly.

“Seoul?” the man repeated, surprised. “You’d take Seoul?”

“Yes,” she said simply. “Away from you and your election. And you’re going to provide me with what I need. Think of it as alimony. It’s not negotiable, Jaehyuk. Myung already has instructions to finish packing and send the rest of my things.”

Taehyung stilled completely.

Jaehyuk.

The name clicked instantly.

Eunwoo’s uncle.

The realization hit him all at once, sharp and disorienting.

“You’ll be back,” Jaehyuk said.

“You’re wrong.” Her voice was calmer now. “I’ll call you when I’m settled. Don’t come looking for me.”

Taehyung barely had time to process it before he heard footsteps moving toward the door.

Towards him.

Taehyung barely had time to steady his breathing before his back hit the bathroom door behind him, he leaned against it, shoulders loose, expression carefully blank, as if he had been there the entire time and not lurking at the edge of something far bigger than himself.

The woman swept past him first, her heels striking the floor with sharp, unforgiving precision, the kind of sound that didn’t ask for space but took it anyway. Taehyung instinctively bowed, a quiet reflex carved into him, but she didn’t even glance his way, her anger trailing behind her like perfume too strong to ignore.

A second later, Jaehyuk followed. Older, more composed, carrying himself with some kind of ease.

“It’s okay,” he said lightly, his tone almost amused. “It’s not your fault. It’s her fault. Let’s blame her.”

Taehyung let out a small, polite smile, unsure if he was meant to laugh, respond, or simply exist quietly in this man’s presence. His instincts told him one thing very clearly: talk less than you normally would.

A lot less.

“I’m Kang Jaehyuk,” the man continued, extending his hand.

The name alone landed heavier than it should have. Taehyung had heard it before of course. Still, he took the hand.

“Taehyung.”

Jaehyuk’s grip was firm, measured, his eyes lingering just a second longer than necessary, as if assessing something Taehyung himself didn’t know about.

“I know,” he said, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “I’ve heard a lot of good things about you from my Eunwoo. I’m sorry we met under such circumstances,” Jaehyuk added smoothly, releasing his hand. “But go ahead. Enjoy the party.”

“I’m just waiting for my friend,” Taehyung replied, gesturing lightly toward the bathroom door behind him, his voice steady despite the quiet tension coiling in his chest. “I’ll be down soon.”

For a brief moment, Jaehyuk simply looked at him, and Taehyung felt that strange, unsettling twist in his stomach again.

Jaehyuk smiled, gave a small nod, and walked past him down the hallway, following the same path his wife had taken, leaving behind nothing but silence and the faint echo of something Taehyung knew, deep down, he shouldn't have heard.

⟡

Eunwoo climbed fast.

In a world where most people spent years clawing their way up only to be buried just as quickly, he moved like he had been born for it, slipping through ranks, earning trust, becoming someone people respected. And somehow, in the middle of all that, he still came home to Taehyung like none of it touched him.

For a while, that was enough. More than enough.

They had built something that looked almost normal from the outside, a sleek house perched above Daegu, glass walls catching sunsets, quiet mornings tangled in sheets, nights that blurred into laughter and music and the kind of affection Taehyung had never known growing up.

It felt peaceful.

Which, in hindsight, should have been the first warning.

The beginning of the end started subtly.

Taehyung had spent the day out with Bogum, drifting through the city, pretending for a few hours that he was just another guy with too much time and nowhere urgent to be. He came home earlier than usual, the faint echo of laughter still sitting in his chest.

It vanished the second he stepped inside.

Eunwoo was on the couch.

Bruised, blood dried in uneven streaks along his jaw and collarbone, one sleeve torn, his posture stiff in a way that screamed pain even if he tried to hide it. He hadn’t even bothered to turn on most of the lights, the room dim except for the city bleeding in through the windows.

Taehyung dropped everything.

“What happened?”

Eunwoo exhaled slowly, like even breathing had weight now. “We were ambushed. We got to the landing strip, and everyone was dead. Federals were already there.” His jaw tightened. “They didn’t even hesitate. They just opened up and fired.”

Later that night, after Taehyung had cleaned the wounds as best as he could, they stepped out onto the balcony. The city stretched endlessly beneath them, glittering and indifferent.

Eunwoo had insisted on talking. That alone was enough to put Taehyung on edge.

He noticed the bag immediately, black, unremarkable, the kind that wouldn’t draw attention unless you already knew what was in it. Eunwoo set it down between them and unzipped it, hands slower than usual, like each movement had to be thought through.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he admitted, voice low, eyes fixed on what he was doing instead of Taehyung. “I don’t know where this is gonna end.”

That was new… Eunwoo always knew. Or at least, he acted like he did.

“I want you to be prepared.”

He pulled out a small disposable phone and held it out.

“Okay… if this ever rings,” he said, finally meeting Taehyung’s eyes, something unspoken flickering there, “it’s because I’m dead.”

The words didn’t hit all at once, like Taehyung’s mind refused to let them fully land.

“You’ll have to run,” Eunwoo continued, pushing through before Taehyung could react. “There’s a safe house. Money, product, everything you need to trade if it comes to that. There’s a passport in there too. You don’t wait, you don’t think. You just go. Alright?”

“Okay,” Taehyung answered, even if every part of him wanted to say something else, anything else.

Eunwoo nodded, like that was enough, then reached back into the bag and pulled out a notebook. Leather-bound. Worn, but not old. 

“But if you’re ever really in deep shit,” Eunwoo said, his voice tightening just slightly, “you take this. You go to my uncle and you trade it for your life.”

Taehyung frowned faintly.

“Not Batman. Don’t trust him,” Eunwoo added, sharper now. “You go to Jaehyuk.”

Taehyung turned the notebook slightly in his hands, curiosity creeping in despite everything. “What’s in it?”

Eunwoo didn’t hesitate. “You don’t want to know.”

That, more than anything else, made Taehyung want to open it.

“I mean it,” Eunwoo insisted, stepping closer, his gaze locking onto his. “Don’t read it.”

Taehyung nodded, “Okay”. 

“He’ll help you,” Eunwoo said, softer now.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was loaded, stretched tight between them, filled with everything neither of them was saying. Strangely, a part of Taehyung felt something dangerously close to… excitement.

It twisted in his chest, unfamiliar but not unwelcome. This wasn’t normal, none of it was, but to him it meant something else entirely. It meant Eunwoo was thinking about him. Planning for him. Protecting him. 

Loving him.

His gaze dropped back to the bag, landing on the last thing inside.

A gun.

Taehyung reached in, fingers wrapping around it with a quiet fascination. He turned it slightly in his hand, then looked back at Eunwoo.

“Teach me how to use this.”

⟡

It had been exactly one year since Taehyung met Eunwoo, a quiet kind of anniversary marked only in Taehyung’s mind.

That morning had started deceptively ordinary.

Taehyung had been in the bath, half-lost in the warmth of the water and the ridiculous comfort of a soap opera playing on the TV in front of him, the kind of thing he would have mocked himself for watching if anyone else had been in the room. 

Then he heard it.

A phone rang. Not the one beside him. Not his.

It was coming from downstairs.

The disposable phone.

For a second, he didn’t move, his mind trying to assign logic to the sound, as if it could be anything other than what it clearly was. But the ring continued, steady and insistent, cutting through the quiet.

He climbed out of the bath in a rush, water dripping onto the floor as he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around himself, the softness of the moment collapsing into something sharp and immediate. His bare feet hit the stairs faster than he thought possible, the house suddenly felt too big.

The drawer was already slightly open when he reached it.

The phone was still ringing.

Taehyung stared at it for a fraction of a second longer than he should have. Then he picked it up and answered.

“Hello?” His voice came out quieter than he intended, thin in a way that didn’t match the urgency tightening in his chest.

There was a pause on the other end, brief but heavy, like whoever was speaking had already decided how little time they were willing to waste.

“You don’t know me, Taehyung,” the voice said. “Eunwoo is dead. You need to leave that house now.”

The line cut, and everything snapped into place at once.

He found himself running out of the house less than a minute later.

The bag came with him without thought, the money, the notebook, the gun, all the things Eunwoo had given him for a future he had never wanted to imagine using.

The streets of Daegu blurred into motion around him, lights stretching, sound flattening, his breath coming in uneven pulls that barely kept up with his pace. His hand was already dialing Bogum before he even fully registered it, fingers moving on instinct more than intention.

It rang a couple of times before Bogum picked up.

“Listen to me,” Taehyung said immediately, his voice breaking through the noise of running, his lungs burning as he forced the words out. “You and Minjae need to leave the house right now.”

There was confusion on the other end, hesitation, the kind that came from not understanding the weight behind the request.

“Taehyung, slow down,” Bogum replied, his tone distracted, like he was still halfway in a normal moment. “What are you talking about?”

“You need to get out,” Taehyung repeated, sharper now, urgency cutting through every syllable. “Right now.”

“Why?”

The question almost broke him, because there was no right way to say it.

“They killed Eunwoo,” he said finally, the words tasting wrong as soon as they left him. “And they might be coming for Cheol-su.”

A silence followed that felt heavier than the running itself.

Then Bogum, barely audible, “Oh… shit.”

“What?” Taehyung stopped for half a breath, panic spiking. “What is it?”

“They’re here.”

Bogum was inside the house now, in the kitchen, Minjae upstairs, Cheol-su somewhere else in this uselessly big house, music probably still too loud to hear what was about to happen.

And outside, in the courtyard, Bogum had seen them.

Min Yoongi and Jung Baekhyeon.

Holding guns like they belonged in their hands more than anything else ever could.

At that moment, Bogum didn’t think. He moved.

He dropped what he was holding and ran up the stairs, shouting for his brother, the sound tight with panic. “Minjae!”

He momentarily forgot about Cheol-su. Still downstairs, music drowning out everything, headphones too loud, oblivious in the worst possible way.

“Cheol-su!” Bogum called again, louder, urgency breaking through.

He saw the two men again, passing by the big window behind Cheol-su’s back.

“Oh my God…”

The words left him without permission.

He grabbed Minjae immediately, pulling him by the arm and dragging him into the nearest closet, shutting the door behind them with a carefulness that didn’t match the chaos outside. The darkness swallowed them whole, the space too small for how fast everything was collapsing.

Bogum’s breathing came in sharp, uneven pulls, his hand tightening instinctively around his younger brother as if that alone could hold reality together.

“Oh my God… oh my God…” he whispered, barely able to keep himself steady.

And then–

“Bogum.” Taehyung’s voice through the phone.

Close enough to anchor him, distant enough to remind him the world outside the closet was already breaking apart.

“Where are you?” Taehyung asked.

“In Minjae’s room,” Bogum answered quickly, forcing the words out in a whisper. “In the closet.”

“Okay,” Taehyung said immediately, no hesitation, no doubt. “I’m coming. Don’t make a sound.”

Bogum nodded even though no one could see him. Outside the closet door, the house was no longer theirs.

Cheol-su was downstairs, half-leaning over the table, headphones sealed over his ears, the music loud enough to swallow the world whole. In front of him, neat rows of small packets were lined up with careless precision, his fingers moving automatically as he sorted, weighed and tested. The routine was so familiar it barely required thought.

He didn’t hear them come in. He only felt a hand on his shoulder.

Cheol-su flinched hard, ripping one side of his headphones off as his body jolted in surprise. “Jesus–” he let out a breathy laugh, hand pressed briefly to his chest. “You scared the shit out of me, Baekhyeon.”

His eyes flicked past him, catching the second figure.

“Hey, Yoongi,” he added, trying to sound casual, like nothing about this was out of place, like two armed men appearing behind him in the middle of the day was just another inconvenience.

Neither of them smiled.

Yoongi’s gaze dropped to the table, slow, deliberate, taking in every packet, every tool, every careless sign of something that wasn’t supposed to be there.

“So, Cheol-su…” Yoongi said, voice flat, almost bored, as he tilted his chin toward the display in front of him. “What’s all this?”

Baekhyeon didn’t wait for an answer. He stepped closer, pulling a knife from his pocket with an ease that suggested it was more an extension than an object, dipping the tip into one of the packets before bringing it to his nose. He inhaled lightly, then let out a soft, almost pleased sound as the effect hit.

“Oh,” he murmured, eyes lighting up just slightly. “Now we’re talking.”

Cheol-su forced a smile, nodding along like this was still a conversation he could steer, but something in his chest had already begun to tighten, his instincts catching up to the reality his mind was still trying to deny.

“So tell me,” Baekhyeon continued, turning his attention back to him as he wiped the blade clean, “how long exactly have you and Eunwoo been running your own coke on the boss’s dime?”

The question landed heavier than anything else in the room.

“What?” Cheol-su let out a short, disbelieving laugh, though his heartbeat had already begun to spike, loud enough to drown out the music still echoing faintly from his headphones. “What are you talking about, man? I would never steal from him.”

The lie barely had time to settle before Yoongi moved.

He grabbed Cheol-su’s wrist and forced his hand flat against the table in one swift, controlled motion, his other hand already reaching for the machete resting nearby, like it had been waiting for this exact moment.

“Hey– hey, Yoongi, what are you doing?” Cheol-su’s voice cracked, panic bleeding through as he tried to pull back, but Yoongi’s grip didn’t shift even an inch.

“You can die slow,” Yoongi said calmly, as he adjusted his hold, “or you can die fast.”

The blade hovered just above his fingers.

“You keep lying to us,” he added, eyes lifting to meet Cheol-su’s, cold and unwavering, “we’ll go slow. You tell the truth, we’ll go fast.”

“But I didn’t do anything,” Cheol-su insisted, even as his voice betrayed him, even as something deep inside him already knew there was no version of this where he walked away.

The house still held its breath, as outside Taehyung was watching them.

The moment he saw through the wide living room windows, the scene unfolding inside, something in him snapped into pure instinct. He didn’t think or hesitate, just moved, slipping beneath the line of sight of the glass, pressing himself against the outer wall beneath the balcony, heart hammering as he positioned himself where Bogum could see him.

They needed to get the fuck out of here.

Inside, Cheol-su was still talking. “Look, I’m- I’m in debt, alright?” he rushed out, words stumbling over each other as desperation set in. “My mom still needs help, I just– I needed money.”

Baekhyeon tilted his head slightly, studying him like something mildly interesting. “You want us in?” he asked, almost amused. “You want to cut us in?”

“I can,” Cheol-su nodded quickly, latching onto the idea like it might save him. “We can make this work– ”

“Your roommate,” Baekhyeon interrupted, sitting down across from him as if settling in for a longer conversation. “Tell me about him. Is he here?”

Cheol-su hesitated for a fraction too long.

“No,” he said quickly. "We had a big fight and he fucked off, he took his brother as well and I hope the fucker stays wherever he is."

Baekhyeon watched him, silent for a beat, then nodded slowly, like he was accepting the answer. “Alright,” he said. “But tell me something…”

He leaned forward just slightly.

“If your boy is gone, then why is his car still outside?”

The question hollowed the air out of the room.

Cheol-su blinked, dread flashing across his face before panic swallowed it whole. “…what?”

Yoongi didn’t wait. The machete came down in one clean, brutal motion.

The sound was wet, immediate, followed by Cheol-su’s scream as two of his fingers separated from his hand and hit the table, the pain sharp, blinding, a cruel prelude to what was already decided.

Outside, Taehyung had Minjae in his arms before the boy even fully understood what was happening, his grip tight, protective, as he moved toward the car with urgency. 

Bogum followed close behind, breath uneven, his body already halfway into motion when he made the mistake of looking back. Just for a second.

Long enough to see Baekhyeon lift the gun. 

The sound cracked through the glass as Cheol-su’s body dropped, the moment final, irreversible.

“Bogum!” Taehyung shouted, the name tearing out of him as everything sped up at once.

Both Yoongi and Baekhyeon snapped toward the sound without hesitation.

Bogum threw himself into the car, hands shaking, face drained of all color as Taehyung slid into the driver’s seat and turned the engine over in one sharp motion.

“Minjae, get down,” Taehyung ordered immediately, his voice firm despite the chaos, pushing the boy lower as he already knew what was coming.

The car screeched as he reversed hard, tires protesting against the pavement as the gunshots sounds started.

Bullets tore through the air behind them, striking metal with violent precision, but the car held, Eunwoo’s car, built for exactly this kind of exit, absorbing the impact as Taehyung forced it into motion, turning fast, faster than felt safe.

The moment the car shot out onto the main road, the streets stretching into frantic, distorted streaks around them, something inside Bogum finally snapped. His breath hitched once, twice, before it broke entirely, his hands trembling as he dragged them through his hair.

“Oh my God… he promised me,” he choked out, voice cracking under the weight of it. “He said he’d never drag us into this. He said Minjae would be safe.”

Taehyung tightened his grip on the wheel, knuckles paling as he forced himself to stay focused on the road ahead, even though his pulse was thundering so loudly it nearly drowned out everything else.

“Listen to me,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, grounded, something solid to hold onto. “The safe house isn’t far. We just need to get there and– ”

“What safe house?” Bogum let out a hollow, disbelieving laugh that scraped against the tension in the car. He turned to Taehyung, eyes wide, almost wild.

“You really think they don’t know about it? You think we’re the only ones who know anything? They’re everywhere, Taehyung. Everywhere!”

Before Taehyung could respond, Bogum was already digging into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a small, familiar packet with shaking fingers. The movement alone made Taehyung’s stomach twist.

“Bogum…” he warned, a quiet edge slipping into his voice, his gaze flickering briefly to the backseat where Minjae sat curled in on himself, small and silent.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Bogum snapped, though there was no real bite behind it, just desperation unraveling at the seams. “I’m not losing it. I just– I need this right now.”

Taehyung exhaled sharply through his nose but said nothing more, because there were bigger things closing in on them.

From the backseat, Minjae’s small voice cut through the chaos, hesitant and fragile. “What about Cheol-su?”

For a split second, Taehyung’s chest tightened, but he forced himself to answer anyway.

“Don’t worry about that right now, okay?” he said, glancing at the rearview mirror just long enough to meet the boy’s eyes. “We just need to find Kang Jaehyuk, you remember him right ? Eunwoo told me to go to him if anything ever happened.”

Bogum let out another sharp, humorless scoff, shaking his head as if Taehyung had just said something completely absurd. 

“That’s not gonna happen,” he muttered. “He’s not even in the game anymore. You really think a guy like that is gonna stick his neck out for us?”

Taehyung didn’t answer, because deep down, the same doubt had already started creeping in, quiet and insidious. Still, it was the only direction he had left, and he trusted Eunwoo.

He turned sharply into a wide industrial street lined with looming warehouses, their blank facades swallowing the light, and that was when everything went wrong.

At the far end of the road, two black cars slid into place like closing jaws, cutting off any path forward. Almost immediately, doors swung open and four armed men spilled out. At the same time, a third vehicle roared in behind them, sealing the exit they had just come through.

“Minjae, get down,” Taehyung ordered instantly, his voice no longer steady but sharp, urgent, leaving no room for hesitation.

Gunfire erupted before the echo of his words had even settled.

Taehyung didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. He slammed the car into reverse, tires screeching against the asphalt as bullets cracked through the air, striking metal with deafening force.

The windshield spiderwebbed at the edges, the sound of impact rattling through his bones, but he kept going, pressing harder on the accelerator until the car lurched backward and crashed into the vehicle behind them.

The collision exploded into a cloud of smoke and ringing noise, disorienting and violent. For a moment, everything blurred. Taehyung’s head snapped forward, pain bursting behind his eyes as if someone had taken a bat to his skull. Sound dulled, warped, distant.

Somewhere through the haze, he heard a door slam open. Then another.

“Bogum!” he tried to shout, but it came out rough, barely more than a strained breath as he forced his eyes open just enough to see.

Bogum was already running.

He had Minjae in his arms, clutching him tightly as he bolted down the street without looking back, fear driving every step.

Taehyung grabbed his precious bag without thinking and shoved the door open, stumbling out onto unsteady legs. For a second, his body threatened to give out completely, the ground tilting beneath him, but adrenaline forced him upright again.

Then he ran.

Not towards Bogum, but in the opposite direction.

He didn’t stop. Not when his lungs burned, not when his vision blurred at the edges, not when every shadow felt like it might be closing in on him. By the time he finally slowed, the city had swallowed him whole, just another nameless figure slipping through its cracks.

Still, he didn’t let his guard down. Not once.

That night, he ended up in a motel that looked like it had given up on itself years ago, the kind of place where no one asked questions as long as you paid in cash. The flickering neon sign outside buzzed like a dying insect, casting weak light through the thin curtains.

As soon as Taehyung stepped inside the room and slammed the door shut behind him, the last fragments of adrenaline keeping him upright finally began to fade.

The room smelled stale, thick with old cigarette smoke soaked into the walls and the sour scent of humidity that never truly left places like this. A flickering lamp buzzed faintly in the corner, throwing weak yellow light across stained wallpaper and cheap furniture that looked as though it had survived several crimes already. 

Somewhere outside, muffled through thin walls and cracked windows, he could hear distant traffic and the occasional shout drifting through the night, but it all sounded strangely far away, as though he had already detached from the world outside.

He barely made it to the bathroom before gripping the edges of the sink hard enough for his knuckles to pale.

Cold water splashed against his face once, twice, dripping down his neck and soaking the collar of his shirt as he stared at himself in the spotted mirror above the sink. 

His reflection looked wrong. Blurry around the edges. His pupils too wide, a dark bruise had already started forming near his temple from the crash, and every pulse behind his eyes sent another dull ache through his skull.

He stayed there for a long moment, breathing hard through parted lips, trying to steady himself, but the panic still crawled beneath his skin like something alive.

One thing Taehyung had learned very early in life was that cheap motels had their advantages.

People left things behind all the time.

Sometimes by accident. Sometimes because they needed to disappear quickly enough to leave pieces of themselves behind.

He slowly opened the drawers near the bed, digging through abandoned clothes and scattered belongings with numb fingers. Most of it was useless. Shirts stained with sweat, broken chargers, empty pill bottles. One hoodie had dark brown patches crusted into the sleeves that looked far too much like dried blood for him to think about too long.

Eventually, he found clothes that looked clean enough.

A pair of black jeans. A wrinkled white tanktop. A pale blue button-up that smelled faintly of cheap cologne and detergent.

He changed slowly, movements sluggish now that exhaustion had started settling into his bones. He left the blue shirt open as he felt like he was suffocating still.

When he finally looked toward the bed, his gaze landed on the black bag resting near the edge of the mattress.

For a while, he only stared at it.

Then he walked over and crouched beside it, unzipping it with trembling fingers to look for the one tightly packed bag of coke.

Taehyung reached for one almost automatically, opening it with the familiarity of habit rather than thought. He dipped his finger inside and brought the powder to his nose.

The effect hit him fast, but not enough to calm him down. His breath caught violently in his throat.

Suddenly, he couldn’t hold himself together anymore.

The bag slipped from his hands and hit the floor, spilling its contents everywhere as Taehyung folded in on himself beside the bed. Sobs tore out of him before he could stop them, rough and broken, his entire body shaking with the force of it as he pressed one hand against his chest like he could physically hold his heart together.

Eunwoo was dead.

The thought kept repeating itself over and over until it no longer sounded real.

Dead.

Maybe lying in some ditch already growing cold. Maybe dumped somewhere no one would ever find him. Maybe worse.

Taehyung squeezed his eyes shut so tightly it hurt, but every images only got uglier the harder he tried not to imagine them. Eventually, the sobbing slowed into uneven breaths. His vision remained blurred as he looked down at the mess scattered across the floor around him.

The notebook.

For a moment, he just stared at the worn leather cover resting beside the spilled coke.

Then he grabbed it. His fingers moved frantically as he opened it, flipping through page after page filled with cramped handwriting, numbers, names, coded initials, locations, percentages, delivery routes, account records, dates. Some pages looked almost incomprehensible at first glance, but the more he stared at them, the more horrifyingly clear it became.

It was the entire skeleton of the Kang empire laid bare.

Every secret. Every transaction. Every connection powerful enough to bury politicians and destroy entire organizations.

Taehyung’s breathing slowed as realization crept over him like ice water.

In the deepest part of his mind, where panic had started giving way to instinct, he already understood the truth.

Eunwoo had known too much.

And if someone found out this notebook still existed, Taehyung wouldn’t just be hunted because he had belonged to Eunwoo. He would be hunted because he was now carrying enough information to make an empire collapse.

A sudden crash exploded through the silence.

Taehyung shot up from the bed the second the motel room door burst open, his entire body locking up as Baekhyeon and Yoongi stepped inside with their guns already raised toward him. 

For one horrifying instant, Taehyung genuinely thought this was it. That all the running, the panic, the blood, the fear clawing at his chest since the phone call had only led him here, into this filthy room that smelled like mold and cigarettes, where he was about to die alone.

But then both men noticed the gun still lying on the floor near the bed. The only weapon Taehyung ever had..

Baekhyeon slowly lowered his own gun first, the corner of his mouth twitching upward with something cruelly entertained, while Yoongi followed a second later, though unlike Baekhyeon, he looked tense rather than amused. His jaw tightened as his eyes moved across the room, taking in the open bag, the spilled coke, the notebook in Taehyung’s hands, and finally the tears still staining his face.

Baekhyeon stepped further inside like he owned the place, his gaze dragging over Taehyung in a way that made his skin crawl before settling on the notebook.

“Well, what are you reading there?” he asked casually as he snatched it straight out of Taehyung’s hands.

Taehyung didn’t even try to resist.

Baekhyeon flipped through several pages, his eyebrows slowly rising the further he got into the notebook. “Wow,” he muttered under his breath with a low whistle. “This is a lot.”

Then he looked back at Taehyung.

“Sit down,” he said, still flipping the pages of the notebook. “You look exhausted. All that running around the city must’ve been tiring as shit.”

Taehyung stared at him helplessly for a moment before slowly sitting back down on the edge of the mattress because his legs barely felt stable anymore anyway. His pulse was still hammering violently beneath his skin, and every instinct in his body screamed at him to run, but there was nowhere left to go.

“I don’t know anything, Baekhyeon,” he said quietly, his voice rough and pleading despite how badly he hated sounding weak in front of them.

Baekhyeon scoffed immediately.

“Clearly,” he replied while showing the notebook with mock amusement. 

Taehyung swallowed hard before forcing himself to ask the only question that mattered. “Where is he?”

The question made Baekhyeon laugh under his breath as he turned slightly toward Yoongi.

“You hear that?” he chuckled. “He’s asking about Eunwoo.”

Yoongi stayed silent near the door.

Baekhyeon tossed the notebook carelessly onto the bed before sitting down on the small cabinet across from Taehyung, leaning forward with his elbows resting against his knees as if they were old friends having a late-night conversation.

“Ah, Eunwoo,” he sighed dramatically. “Your boyfriend really thought he was smart, huh? Him and Cheol-su skimming product from Batman behind everyone’s backs like two little businessmen.”

Taehyung frowned instantly. Eunwoo was reckless sometimes, sure, but he wasn’t stupid enough to steal from people like Batman.

Baekhyeon suddenly stood up again and closed the distance between them until he was right in Taehyung’s face.

“But honestly,” he continued quietly, “you shouldn’t worry too much about where he is now.” His eyes hardened. “He’s already dead.”

The words still managed to hit Taehyung like a blade straight through the chest.

“You motherfuckers,” he muttered before he could stop himself.

Baekhyeon’s hand immediately came up to cup Taehyung’s cheek almost tenderly, which somehow felt worse than if he had just punched him outright.

“Hm?” he asked softly. “What did you just say?”

Taehyung’s eyes burned with rage. “You motherfu– ”

The punch came so fast Taehyung barely registered it before pain exploded across his face, throwing him backward onto the bed hard enough to rattle the entire frame against the wall. His vision flashed white as agony shot through his skull, making his headache feel ten times worse.

Then he heard it— the metallic sound of a belt being unbuckled.

Every muscle in Taehyung’s body instantly went cold.

He pushed himself up slightly just in time to see Baekhyeon climbing onto the bed after him while Yoongi suddenly stepped forward.

“What are you doing, Baekhyeon?” he snapped sharply.

Baekhyeon ignored him completely as he grabbed Taehyung by the waist and shoved him back down harder.

“I always wanted a piece of this one,” he sneered. “You know that.”

“Baekhyeon, what the fuck are you doing?” Yoongi barked louder this time as he pulled his gun out again and aimed it directly at Taehyung’s forehead instead. “Eunwoo was one of ours.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Baekhyeon hissed as he slapped Yoongi’s gun aside impatiently. “He’s gonna die anyway.”

Taehyung looked toward Yoongi desperately for one brief second.

But Yoongi just closed his eyes. Then he stepped away from them, further into the room, toward the window.

Like he’d rather stare outside into the parking lot than watch what was about to happen.

Fucking coward.

Taehyung’s head was spinning violently now, his body half-sliding off the mattress as Baekhyeon straddled him and struggled impatiently with his jeans. The entire room looked upside down from where Taehyung hung over the edge of the bed, his pulse roaring in his ears so loudly he could barely hear anything else anymore.

“It’d be such a waste otherwise,” Baekhyeon chuckled darkly while gripping his waist harder. “Don’t you think, pretty?”

People always talked about seeing their lives flash before their eyes before they died.

Taehyung didn’t.

All he saw was himself and all he heard was his own voice somewhere deep inside his head.

Go on, you know what to do.

Without thinking anymore, Taehyung let one arm hang lower until his fingertips brushed against cold metal on the floor. His fingers wrapped around it instantly.

The gunshot exploded through the motel room at point-blank range, deafening in the confined space, and Baekhyeon’s body jerked violently as the bullet tore straight through his neck. 

Blood sprayed hot across the bed and wall as Baekhyeon collapsed sideways onto the mattress with a wet choking sound, both hands flying uselessly toward the wound while his eyes widened in complete shock.

Yoongi ran back toward the bed the second Baekhyeon collapsed, but Taehyung already had the gun in his trembling hands, the barrel aimed directly at his chest despite the way his fingers shook so badly he could barely keep it steady. His lungs burned, every breath scraping through him raw and uneven, adrenaline making the motel room tilt strangely around the edges.

“Don’t fucking move,” he seethed, his voice cracking halfway through the sentence.

Yoongi stopped immediately.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The room smelled like blood, sweat, cheap detergent, and gunpowder, all mixing together into something nauseating. 

Behind them, Baekhyeon was choking on his own blood, one hand desperately clawing at his throat while dark red spread across the ugly floral motel sheets beneath him.

Yoongi slowly raised both hands in surrender, his expression unreadable. What struck Taehyung most was the complete absence of rage on the man’s face. There was no outrage over Baekhyeon getting shot, no threats, no promise of revenge.

If anything, Yoongi looked exhausted. Annoyed, maybe. Like this entire night had finally crossed a line even he hadn’t wanted to step over.

Taehyung swallowed hard, trying not to look at the body twitching on the bed behind him.

“Easy,” Yoongi said quietly. “I’m not gonna stop you.”

Taehyung almost laughed at that. The sound nearly came out hysterical.

His eyes darted around the room before he hurriedly crouched down, snatching the notebook off the bed alongside the black bag Eunwoo had prepared for him. His movements were frantic and clumsy, hands slick with sweat as he shoved everything together while keeping the gun aimed at Yoongi the entire time.

He still didn’t move.

Baekhyeon let out another wet choking noise behind them, and Taehyung physically flinched at the sound before turning away from it completely. He could not look at him. Not after what had almost happened. Not after the feeling of Baekhyeon’s hands on him, the weight of him forcing him down into that mattress while Yoongi stared out the fucking window pretending not to see it.

Cowards. Every single one of them.

Taehyung backed toward the door, the gun still raised between them like the last fragile thing holding him together.

Then he ran.

He bolted out of the motel room so fast he nearly slipped on the metal walkway outside, his shoulder slamming painfully into the railing before he stumbled down the stairs two at a time. Cold night air hit him like a wave, but it did nothing to clear his head. His heartbeat thundered so violently in his ears it drowned out almost everything else.

He ran until his legs threatened to collapse underneath him, until the city around him started thinning into emptier streets lined with flickering signs and dark convenience stores that looked half abandoned at this hour. 

Eventually he spotted a small isolated gas station sitting near the side of the road, the fluorescent lights buzzing weakly against the black sky like dying stars.

Taehyung staggered behind the building, nearly dropping the bag as he crouched beside the wall, trying to breathe through the crushing pressure in his chest.

His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

There was blood on them.

Baekhyeon’s blood.

He stared at it for a second too long before violently wiping his palms against his jeans like he could somehow erase what had happened.

Then, with trembling fingers, he reached into the bag and pulled out the disposable phone. Taehyung squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before dialing the only number he could think of.

It rang twice before someone picked up.

“Hello?”

Jaehyuk’s voice came through the speaker smooth and calm, so absurdly normal that Taehyung almost forgot how to speak altogether.

His throat tightened painfully.

Everything suddenly felt horribly real again. Eunwoo was dead. Cheol-su was dead. Bogum and Minjae were somewhere out there running for their lives. And he had just shot a man in the throat.

Silence stretched long enough that Jaehyuk spoke again, slower this time. “…Taehyung?”

About fifteen minutes later, headlights swept across the empty gas station before a sleek black car slowly pulled in beside the pumps, its engine humming softly in the silence of the night.

Taehyung stayed hidden behind the building at first, his entire body tense as he listened carefully for footsteps, for unfamiliar voices, for the sound of guns being loaded. By now paranoia had rooted itself so deeply into his system that every shadow felt dangerous.

Then he heard Jaehyuk’s voice call out calmly into the darkness.

“Taehyung.”

Only then did he finally step out.

He looked like hell and he knew it. His borrowed clothes were wrinkled and stained, his hair a complete mess, his eyes swollen and red from crying and exhaustion, and there was still dried blood smeared faintly near his sleeve that he hadn’t even noticed before. 

Standing there in front of a man like Kang Jaehyuk, who somehow still looked perfectly composed in the middle of all this chaos, Taehyung had never felt smaller or more pathetic in his life.

⟡

Jaehyuk brought Taehyung to one of the properties he kept off the books, a narrow bar tucked between two old buildings on a quiet street where the neon signs had already gone dark for the night. The place smelled faintly of stale alcohol, cigarette smoke soaked into the wood, and expensive cologne lingering from customers long gone. Only a few lights were left on behind the counter, casting a dull amber glow across the empty room, and the silence pressing down over it somehow felt heavier than the gunfire Taehyung had escaped earlier.

The moment the door shut behind them, Taehyung felt exhaustion crash into him with full force. His clothes were dirty, his hands still trembling from adrenaline. He looked like a ghost dragged in from the street, and judging by the brief look Jaehyuk gave him, the older man knew it too.

“Is he really dead?” Taehyung asked finally, his voice rough enough to scrape against his throat.

Jaehyuk stood near the counter with the notebook in his hands, turning it over slowly before answering.

“Yes,” he said simply. “He was caught playing both sides, and eventually somebody blew the whistle on him.”

The words settled into Taehyung’s chest like broken glass. Until now, some irrational part of him had still hoped Eunwoo would walk through the door alive somehow, grinning like this had all been some elaborate nightmare. Hearing Jaehyuk confirm it so calmly made the truth impossible to run from anymore.

Jaehyuk lifted the notebook slightly.

“Have you read what’s in here?”

Taehyung lied without hesitating. “No. I just brought it to you like Eunwoo told me to. I don’t know anything.”

For a moment, Jaehyuk only studied him, as though weighing every twitch of his face against years of experience dealing with liars. Then he sighed quietly and rested the notebook on the counter.

“You’re lucky,” he said at last. “For now, you’re alive.” His tone remained calm, but there was something cold beneath it that made Taehyung’s stomach tighten. “You know how these people are. When somebody steals from them, they don’t just punish the person responsible. They make an example out of them.”

Taehyung swallowed hard before taking a hesitant step closer.

“You could talk to them,” he said quickly, desperation bleeding into every word. “Tell them I don’t know anything.”

Jaehyuk shook his head. “They already know you don’t know anything,” he replied. “That’s not the issue.”

Taehyung stared at him, confused enough that Jaehyuk lowered his voice slightly, almost like he was explaining something to a child standing too close to a fire.

“If they can’t let the man involved walk away,” he murmured, “then imagine what it looks like if they let his partner disappear.”

The realization hit Taehyung all at once.

This had never been about information. It had never mattered whether he knew anything or not. 

Eunwoo had loved him publicly, openly, recklessly, and in this world that alone was enough to get him killed.

Jaehyuk shook his head slowly before stepping away from the counter with the notebook in hand.

“Taehyung,” he said quietly, “I can’t get involved.”

The words hollowed him out instantly.

“No,” Taehyung breathed, moving after him before panic fully took over. He grabbed Jaehyuk’s arm as the older man tried to walk away. “No, no, please.”

Jaehyuk stopped, but he did not turn around immediately.

“Eunwoo said you’d help me,” Taehyung continued, his voice beginning to crack apart under the weight of everything that had happened in a single day. “He told me to bring you the book. He said I could trade it for my life. He said that.”

That finally made Jaehyuk look at him properly.

For the first time since they had reunited, the powerful, untouchable head of the Red Spades looked tired. 

He stepped closer and placed both hands firmly on Taehyung’s shoulders.

"I’m sorry, Taehyung,” he said softly.

Taehyung remained standing in the middle of the empty bar long after Jaehyuk walked away from him, unable to move, unable to even properly breathe, as though the older man’s apology had drained whatever strength he still had left in him. The silence around him felt unbearable now, thick and suffocating, broken only when he finally heard the low roar of a car engine starting outside.

That sound snapped something inside him.

By the time Jaehyuk’s car began slowly pulling away from the curb, Taehyung had already stumbled out of the bar and into the cold night air, his expression hollow and unfocused as he walked directly into the vehicle’s path.

The chauffeur slammed on the brakes immediately.

The back door opened and Jaehyuk stepped out onto the street once more, his expensive coat shifting slightly in the wind as he approached him with controlled patience. He looked at Taehyung standing there in the headlights like some desperate stray dragged to the edge of a highway and briefly lifted his arms outward before letting them fall again, silently asking what the hell he was doing now.

Taehyung could barely feel his own heartbeat anymore.

“I don’t have anybody else,” he said, his voice uneven and breathless. “You have to help me.”

Jaehyuk’s face hardened slightly. “Taehyung…”

“Say no,” Taehyung cut in before he could finish.

With trembling hands, he pulled the gun from his waistband and pressed it against the side of his own head.

The movement was so sudden that even the chauffeur took a sharp step forward.

“I’ll do it right here,” Taehyung whispered, tears already slipping down his face despite the strange smile pulling at his mouth. “If I’m already dead anyway, I’d rather do the fucking job myself.”

“Put the gun down,” Jaehyuk said immediately, his voice lower now, firmer.

But Taehyung shook his head.

“No,” he breathed. “Because if you leave me here, then this becomes your fault too. And trust me… one way or another, I’ll haunt the living shit out of you.”

Another tear slid down his cheek as he laughed softly through the breakdown clawing its way out of him.

“How would that look for a governor?”

For the first time that night, Jaehyuk said nothing.

He simply stared at him beneath the harsh white headlights, watching the boy his nephew had dragged into this life unravel completely in front of him.

Then, after a long silence, Jaehyuk exhaled quietly and stepped closer. 

“You’ve got a passport?” he asked at last.

Taehyung blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Yes.”

“Money?”

“Yes,” he answered again, barely above a whisper now.

Jaehyuk nodded once. “All right then.”

He held his hand out calmly toward the gun.

Taehyung hesitated for only a second before surrendering it. The moment Jaehyuk took it from him, he turned and handed it to his chauffeur without even looking.

Then he looked back at Taehyung. 

“Let’s go,” he said finally.

The chauffeur opened the back door for Taehyung and practically guided him inside the car, but neither he nor Jaehyuk got in with him right away.

Instead, both men remained outside beneath the pale streetlights, speaking low enough that Taehyung could not hear a single word through the tinted windows.

For about two minutes, relief had settled inside him so intensely it almost hurt. Relief so overwhelming that his body had started to loosen for the first time since that disposable phone rang earlier that day.

Then Jaehyuk turned slightly while making a phone call.

And the feeling vanished instantly.

Taehyung had seen powerful men angry before. He had seen dealers scream, bosses threaten, men beat each other bloody over money or territory. 

But the expression crossing Kang Jaehyuk’s face outside that car was something colder than anger. There was no grief in it. No heartbreak over the death of the nephew he had called ‘my Eunwoo’ barely days earlier.

He looked furious.

No, worse.

He looked inconvenienced.

Taehyung slowly leaned back against the seat, his pulse beginning to rise again as unease crept through him like poison.

He had absolutely no idea where they were taking him.

And suddenly Bogum’s voice echoed back inside his head with terrifying clarity.

“He’s not even in the game anymore. You really think a guy like that is gonna stick his neck out for us?”

The more Taehyung replayed everything that had happened since Jaehyuk picked him up, the less it made sense. The older man had been calm the entire time. 

Eunwoo was dead, yet Jaehyuk barely looked affected by it at all. There had been no rage. 

Taehyung’s stomach twisted.

His gaze shifted discreetly toward the front seat where the chauffeur had tossed both weapons earlier beneath his jacket.

Without making a sound, Taehyung carefully reached forward and slid the guns back toward himself, hiding them beneath the black bag resting between his thighs just seconds before the doors opened again.

Jaehyuk and the chauffeur climbed into the car.

Then they started driving.

The exhaustion sitting deep in Taehyung’s bones was almost unbearable now, but he forced himself to stay alert, quietly studying the road through the windows while pretending not to. The city disappeared behind them little by little until all that remained were long empty roads cutting through endless dark fields beneath the fading night sky.

The chauffeur kept glancing at him through the rearview mirror.

Jaehyuk kept watching him too.

Subtle enough that another person might not have noticed.

But Taehyung noticed everything now.

He had overestimated Kang Jaehyuk. Somewhere in his mind, he had imagined that a man with this much power, this much experience, would know how to hide his intentions better than this. But suspicion clung to the air inside the car so thickly now that Taehyung could practically choke on it.

The sun had begun slowly bleeding into the horizon by the time he realized they had probably been driving for nearly three hours.

And the further they went, the emptier the road became.

That was enough.

Very slowly, Taehyung slid one of the guns out from beneath the bag and pressed the barrel against Jaehyuk’s temple.

At the same time, he raised the second weapon toward the front seat, aiming it just behind the chauffeur’s headrest.

“Stop the car,” he said softly.

The silence inside the vehicle became instant and suffocating. Jaehyuk turned his head slightly, not enough to move away from the gun.

“Taehyung,” he said carefully, “what are you doing?”

The false warmth from earlier was completely gone now.

“Let me out.”

“Taehyung, you don’t understand,” Jaehyuk replied, his voice tightening. “You are safe here.”

Taehyung almost laughed at that. “Stop the car,” he repeated more firmly.

The driver kept both hands gripping the wheel.

“I said stop the fucking car!” Taehyung suddenly shouted, panic finally breaking through his control.

Everything happened at once after that.

Jaehyuk lunged toward him abruptly, trying to knock the gun away from his hand.

A shot exploded inside the car.

The chauffeur jerked violently forward as blood splattered across the windshield. The vehicle swerved hard off the road.

Taehyung barely had time to brace himself before the car rolled violently down the field, metal screaming against dirt and rock as the world turned completely upside down.

⟡

When Taehyung finally opened his eyes again, the sun was already high enough in the sky to burn against his face through the shattered windows of the overturned car.

For several long seconds, he had no idea where he was.

His entire body hurt.

Not normal pain either, but the deep nauseating kind that settled into bone and muscle after trauma, making every breath feel delayed and distant. His ears rang violently, his vision blurred in and out of focus, and the metallic taste of blood still coated the inside of his mouth.

Then he heard someone groan nearby.

Reality slammed back into him all at once.

Taehyung forced himself upright with a strangled gasp, immediately regretting it when sharp pain shot through his leg hard enough to nearly drop him back onto the ground. He hissed through his teeth and pushed the car door open anyway, stumbling out into the field beneath the glaring morning light.

The car looked completely destroyed.

One side had caved inward, the windshield shattered beyond recognition, smoke still lazily escaping from beneath the bent hood. Somewhere nearby, birds chirped like this was just another peaceful morning, which somehow made the entire scene feel even more unreal.

Taehyung limped around the wreckage, dragging his injured leg behind him until he spotted the black bag a few meters away in the grass where it had been thrown during the crash.

Relief hit him immediately.

The notebook was still inside. So was the money.

And not far from the bag, partially hidden beneath flattened weeds, he found one of the guns. He picked it up instantly.

“Help me.”

Jaehyuk’s voice sounded rougher now, stripped of its usual control.

Slowly, Taehyung turned back toward the wrecked vehicle.

Jaehyuk was still trapped inside the car, one leg pinned awkwardly beneath twisted metal while a jagged piece of glass had lodged itself deep into his thigh. Blood soaked through his expensive trousers in thick dark patches, and for the first time since Taehyung had met him, Kang Jaehyuk looked genuinely vulnerable.

“If I stay,” Taehyung said quietly, gripping the gun tighter at his side, “you’ll kill me.”

Jaehyuk stared at him for a long moment before letting out a low painful breath.

“If you leave me now,” he growled, “you die. That is a promise.”

Even half crushed inside a wrecked car, the threat still carried weight.

Then Jaehyuk’s expression shifted slightly, something colder and more calculating slipping back into place behind his eyes.

“You help me,” he continued, “and I’ll protect you.”

Taehyung almost laughed.

The irony of it made him feel sick.

Protect him.

As if Jaehyuk had not already decided months ago that Taehyung’s life was expendable the second Eunwoo introduced him to his dear uncle.

“Help me, Taehyung,” Jaehyuk repeated.

But Taehyung knew better than to owe men like Kang Jaehyuk anything. Men like him never offered protection freely. Every favor became a leash eventually, and every promise came with blood attached to it.

Maybe Jaehyuk had intended to spare him at some point. Maybe not.

It didn’t matter anymore.

Taehyung slowly zipped the bag shut, slung it over his shoulder, and without another word, turned his back on the wreckage.

At first adrenaline carried him.

It pushed him through the pain in his leg, through the dizziness and exhaustion clawing at his body after over a day without real sleep, food, or water. The sun climbed higher while endless empty roads stretched out ahead of him, cutting through fields that all looked exactly the same no matter how far he went.

Eventually the adrenaline faded. And all that remained was pain.

His throat burned from thirst. His injured leg grew heavier with every step until it felt like dragging dead weight behind him. More than once he stumbled hard enough to nearly collapse entirely, but somehow he kept moving anyway, driven by pure survival instinct and the terrifying certainty that stopping meant dying.

He had no idea how long he lasted.

He saw what thought was a service-station in front of him but by the time his legs finally gave out underneath him, Taehyung barely even felt himself hit the ground.

What he did not notice was the large road sign standing roughly fifty meters behind where he collapsed.

SEOUL

⟡

When Taehyung opened his eyes again, the world around him swayed in and out of focus beneath the weight of a pounding headache. For a moment, he genuinely thought he might already be dead, because nothing about what he was seeing made any sense. 

He was slung over someone’s shoulder like a sack of laundry, every step of the man carrying him sending sharp pain through his bruised ribs and injured leg. The air smelled thick and humid, heavy with chemicals and damp concrete, and somewhere nearby metal clanged against metal in uneven rhythms.

Above him, rows of white industrial lights flickered violently, buzzing like dying insects.

The man finally stopped walking and dumped him onto a chair hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs. Taehyung groaned quietly, his vision swimming again as the figure moved away without a single word. A second later, something slammed shut behind him.

Not a door.

The realization came slowly as he forced himself upright.

It was a gate.

Taehyung blinked several times before finally understanding what he was looking at. The entire place was enclosed with towering metal fences instead of walls, turning the massive warehouse into a maze of cages and compartments. 

He could see nearly everything around him through the gaps in the wire fencing, and what he saw only made his stomach tighten harder.

People.

Dozens of them.

Some sat on the floor eating silently from plastic containers, others worked around large tables wearing gloves and masks, moving with mechanical efficiency while surrounded by stacks of chemical products. The smell alone made his nose sting.

Taehyung’s breathing slowed as survival instinct pushed through the exhaustion clawing at his body. Whoever had found him had not dragged him here to help him. 

Nobody involved in this world ever helped for free.

As he shifted again, pain lanced through his wrists, and only then did he realize his hands had been tied behind his back.

“Fuck...” he muttered under his breath.

He forced himself onto his feet despite the violent protest from his injured leg and awkwardly maneuvered toward the nearest metal table.

Every movement felt unstable, like his body was seconds away from collapsing entirely, but panic kept him upright. Turning around carefully, he pressed the bindings against the sharp rusted edge of the metal and began sawing back and forth as fast as he could.

The rough material bit into his skin immediately.

Still, he kept going.

While he worked at the restraints, his eyes wandered across the warehouse again, trying desperately to understand where the hell he had ended up. Nobody paid much attention to him. A few glanced over briefly before returning to work, which somehow unsettled him even more. Places like this only ignored strangers when violence was already expected.

The rope finally snapped.

Taehyung nearly stumbled backward from relief as he yanked his hands free, rubbing at the angry red marks left behind on his wrists. His fingers trembled from exhaustion and adrenaline alike.

Then his eyes landed on a sink nearby on one of the only two walls he could see.

A mirror hung above it.

The second he saw his reflection, an idea formed instantly in the fog of his battered mind.

Taehyung barely had time to register the cracked reflection staring back at him before instinct took over. Grabbing the sleeve of his light blue shirt he had thrown over the white tanktop earlier, he wrapped the fabric tightly around his fist and punched straight through the mirror above the sink. 

Luckily the sound of shattering glass didn’t ring too sharply through the warehouse, only drawing a few distracted glances from nearby workers, but nobody moved to stop him.

Pain immediately split across his knuckles, hot and vicious, yet he ignored it long enough to crouch down and gather one of the larger shards from the floor before anyone could come investigate properly.

Blood slid down between his fingers almost instantly.

Swearing under his breath, Taehyung wrapped the shard inside the fabric of his shirt and limped back toward the chair, forcing himself to sit exactly where they had left him. 

He kept his hands behind his back as though nothing had happened, though his grip around the broken piece of glass was so tight it continued cutting deeper into his palm.

By then exhaustion was pressing down on him heavily enough that he could feel his eyelids beginning to droop despite the adrenaline still flooding his veins.

The sound of the gate opening again snapped him back to attention.

This time, the person stepping into the enclosure was not another nameless guard or warehouse worker.

It was a woman.

Taehyung recognized her immediately, even after only seeing her once before during Christmas at the Kang estate. Some people simply carried too much presence to be forgotten. 

She looked elegant in a way that almost felt cruel considering where they were, dressed in a fitted red dress that contrasted sharply against the gray steel fencing around them. Her short black hair was perfectly styled, her posture calm and composed, and with everything Taehyung had just survived, the sight of her didn’t even manage to make him sit up straighter.

She could not have been much older than her late forties, but there was something about her that made age irrelevant. 

The very first thing Mrs. Kang Seorin noticed was the thin puddle of blood gathering beneath his chair.

Fuck.

Taehyung immediately realized he had held onto the shard too tightly. Blood was practically dripping from between his fingers now.

Still, he made no move toward the hidden weapon when she approached him. Something told him it would be pointless. Calmly, almost casually, Seorin reached behind the chair and removed the bloodied piece of mirror from his hand before walking it back toward the sink. 

When she sat down in front of him again, she extended her hand toward him patiently, holding a strip of white cloth.

“Give me your hand.”

Taehyung hesitated for a brief moment before finally obeying. The second she wrapped the cloth around his palm, the sting of the cuts made him hiss quietly through his teeth.

“The gas station where you collapsed happens to be on one of my mule routes,” Seorin explained while tying the bandage neatly around his hand.

“My people report anything unusual they come across, and apparently finding a half-dead boy wandering around in your state qualified as unusual.”

Her voice remained smooth and composed, though Taehyung could sense something calculating underneath every word.

“My husband has been leaving me messages,” she continued. “He says he was involved in an accident.”

At that, Taehyung finally lifted his eyes toward her.

“He’s looking for a young man,” she said, studying his face carefully. “That young man is you, isn’t it?”

Taehyung didn’t answer. He simply looked down again, exhaustion weighing on every part of him too heavily to even attempt lying.

“I know you,” Seorin murmured after a moment, tilting her head slightly. “Where have I seen you before?”

“I met you at your house last Christmas,” Taehyung replied quietly. “I was Eunwoo’s boyfriend.”

A small pause settled between them.

“Was?” she repeated.

Taehyung swallowed hard before answering. “He’s dead.”

Seorin leaned back slowly in her chair, crossing one leg over the other as she absorbed the information without much visible surprise.

“What exactly were you doing all the way out there?” she asked eventually. “Running, obviously, but still...” A faint scoff escaped her lips. “Did my husband really chase you all the way to here?”

Taehyung remained silent.

“Why would he go to such lengths?” she pressed.

Still nothing.

The noises from the warehouse beyond the fencing suddenly felt louder, harsher, filling the silence Taehyung stubbornly refused to break.

“Why?” Seorin repeated again, this time with enough sharpness in her tone to make it clear she was no longer asking politely.

But Taehyung still said nothing.

Whatever war existed between Kang Jaehyuk and his wife was clearly far bigger than him, and after everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, he no longer trusted himself enough to say the wrong thing to the wrong person.

Seorin watched him for another long moment before finally standing from her chair.

“Take him downstairs,” she ordered calmly toward the men outside the enclosure.

The command immediately made Taehyung tense.

“Where am I?” he asked before they could touch him.

Seorin paused at the gate and looked back over her shoulder. This time, when she smiled, it looked almost genuine.

“Of course,” she said softly. “Where are my manners?”

Her gaze lingered on him for a second longer.

“You’re in Seoul, honey. Welcome to the capital.”

With the ache in his body, the blood drying on his hands, and the fact that nearly everyone connected to the Kang empire seemed to want him dead, Taehyung had the feeling he was going to love it there.