Chapter Text
Sometimes the words come easy. Fingers flying across his keyboard, images, fragmented conversations, and sharp thoughts solidifying into words, then sentences, then complex stories on the page--Jongin has a special talent for taking the blur of the world and distilling it to the greatest clarity--a clarity that had won him a career crowning job as one of the star investigative reporters for the Korea Times all at odd defying age of 23.
We have a new assignment for you. Song Daehwa, the editor in chief of the Times had crowed at him last month. This is your thing, you’re the only one who can really dig down and unwrap these assholes for what they really are.
Sitting stiffly in Daehwa’s chronically sweltering office with beads of sweat collecting on the back of his neck, Jongin tried to find a way out of his boss’s suggestion.There had been talk circulating around the department for the past few months about infiltrating the Korean branch of the yakuza, a gang and crime syndicate so large, so old, and so dangerous that they spanned multiple nations and were a household name half world over.
There’ve been a few nasty murders in Itaewon , Daehwa had continued, and the police have been hitting dead ends. They don’t know where to turn and they called asking if they could borrow you.
He'd leaned forward placing his two massive hands on the desk top. A big, hefty man with a booming voice, Daehwa fit his job title perfectly. Known for his habit of speaking with his hands, Daehwa was flailing around,making everything around him shrink in comparison, and even larger than he actually was,. Most of the other reporters in the department were intimidated by Daehwa. Jongin never had been. He’d faced much worse.
But this time, Jongin looked at him incredulously. Borrow me? He had responded, eyebrows shooting up why me?!
Jongin was known throughout the Times and the Korean publishing world for seemingly effortless ability to get to the heart of any and all stories dealing with crime and corruption. Writing under the pen name Kim Kai, he had become a bit of a legend in the world of journalism. He had exposed a generations-long prostitution ring lead by many of the top chaebol CEOs and led to multiple arrests had uncovered a huge corruption money laundering scandal in one of the provincial governments and forced many officials to resign. He had a reputation for digging up the whole, hard nasty truth and sparing no one. Jongin was proud of his reputation. He was proud of his work. In some ways, he felt like it was his way of atoning for his past.
Because you have a knack for getting the good stuff , Daehwa had said with a smug look on his face. You’re the best of the best. Hell, you’re better than they are. You know how to get into a community, get down to the dirty and figure out exactly what’s going on in a way that they haven’t even figured out. They want you to crack this for them. And in return, you get complete access to the case with full license to write it all up and publish it with us when it all over.
Daehwa had been grinning then, a big sleazy smile that showed off all of his too large teeth in his too small mouth.
This could be your biggest story ever! You could win the Pulitzer! Hell, WE could win the Pulitzer.You could break into the international scene! You find something good and the New York Times could even run the series in translation. This could. Be. It. Daehwa had punctuated each word with a loud bang of his fist on the desk.
Jongin couldn’t bother to remind him that the Pulitzer was only a prize for American journalists. Starting to feel a migraine coming on and feeling the sweat begin to pool at the collar of his shirt, Jongin had felt his resolve break. He’d been in Daehwa’s office for the better part of 2 hours, listening to him go on and on about this case. Jongin didn’t want to do it. But even he had known that this would be the opportunity of a lifetime. Fine he had said, his voice tired and heavy with defeat. Fine. I’ll do it.
Daehwa had grinned his mismatched smile and sat back in his chair, folding his arms across his immense barrel chest.That’s exactly what I knew you would say. He picked up the phone and started to dial a number. I’ll call Jinki over at the police headquarters now and let him know that you’re on board.
Jongin had wiped off the sweat that was pooling on his upper lip and sighed in resignation. What’s the name of this branch of the yakuza again? He’d asked.
Mugunghwa, Daehwa had responded, phone up to his ear.
Jongin had felt his blood run cold. Daehwa, he’d started, Daehwa, I don’t think I can--
What--? Daehwa had said, making eye contact with him, Hello? Oh hey Jinki! I have great news!
Jongin had sat there and listened to Daehwa confirm his commitment with the police force and felt a burning wave of nausea overtake him.
Fuck.
So here Jongin was. Sitting at his tiny kitchen table in his disorganized apartment at two in the morning, staring at his glowing laptop screen and trying to figure out how the hell he was going to work on this story. Bleary eyed, Jongin tugged the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and closed his eyes. It wasn’t really a question of how Jongin would tell the story--he knew that once he had the material, it would be easy to weave the words together into something fit to print. No, the looming sense of anxiety that had been circulating around Jongin since that conversation in Daehwa’s office was because Jongin would have to dive back into a world he had so carefully tried to excise himself from.
He could remember the late July night when he and Taemin sat on the roof of the impounded apartment building they were squatting in with 15 other teenagers when they had come up with the name. The local branch of the Kkang-Pae had seized the building about a month ago and was using it as a storage space for the cocaine and guns they were distributing and as a kind of dormitory for their younger members and distributors. Jongin and Taemin both knew that it was only a matter of time before the police discovered the place and they would be forced to move. But until then, it was as close to home as they were gonna get.
It had been the hottest July on record and despite the fact that it was closer to early morning than night, all of Seoul seemed to be awake, thrumming with the nervous energy of the heat waves. They had fled to the roof to escape the heat and noise of the other bodies crammed into the rooms beneath them. The roof seemed like the only place that the long fingers of the heat and chaos of below couldn’t quite reach them and they revealed in their relative freedom.
The two of them were shirtless sitting shoulder to shoulder despite the heat; Taemin only in his underwear, drinking their way through a 12 pack of beer and sharing joint after joint. Jongin remembers tilting his head to the side and resting it on Taemin’s slightly sweaty shoulder. The world around them had dulled to a quiet hum, the sound of the cars racing on the street below them blurring into a soft trill and the bright lights of the buildings around them a soft blur. The sky was the velvety ink gold of the night’s end. Jongin remembers wishing the sky would fall and blanket them in its beauty.
“Jonginnie?” Jongin remembers the exact tenor of Taemin’s voice, rough from the hours of drinking and smoking. He had reached over to card his fingers through Jongin’s sweat damp hair. “Let’s not live like this anymore?”
Jongin remembers the uncertain certainty in Taemin’s half question, the tremor in the anymore and the pleading in his voice.
“What do you mean?” Jongin remembers looking up to see Taemin’s face, even more beautiful in the backdrop of the sky, his hair (too long and dyed too brown) falling around his face and his teeth chewing on his bottom lip.
“I mean let’s take control.” Taemin had responded “Let’s not have to live at their mercy. Let’s set our own terms. Let’s do it all on our own.”
“Like take over?” Jongin remembers playing along, convinced that being crossed was making Tae talk funny.
“Nah. I mean like start out on our own. Like start our own branch. Give these motherfuckers a run for their money. Do it bigger and better.” Jongin remembers being shocked out of his dreamy daze by the sheer conviction in Taemin’s voice. He locked eyes with his older friend.
“You serious?”
“Dead serious.” Taemin ran his hand down the side of Jongin’s neck and down his spine, sending chilling tingles through his body. “I’m tired of living like this. We can do better. We’re smarter than these idiots. We can have control.” Jongin remembers the feel of Taemin’s fingers against the small of his back. Jongin remembers the feel of the alcohol, weed, and determination in Taemin’s voice leaving him completely enthralled.
“Yeah,” Jongin remembers saying, almost in a whisper. “Yeah, you’re right.”
Jongin remembers the feel of Taemin’s lips against his, somehow hotter than the night air and softer than the velvet of the sky. Jongin remembers losing himself in the minute touch.
“What’ll we call it?” Taemin had asked as he pulled away.
“Mugunghwa,” Jongin remembers the word slipping out of his mouth. He had been reading old Korean history books that he’d snatched from a library’s dumpster a few weeks ago. “Let’s name it after something beautiful. Something Korean. Something no one will ever be able to ignore.”
Jongin remembers the loud bell peal of Taemin’s laughter.
“You’re fucking ridiculous and a raging romantic, you know that? You and your words.” Jongin remembers Taemin’s beat of silence. “But I like it. Mugunghwa.” Jongin remembers watching Taemin turn the word over in his head. “Hell yeah. Let’s do it.”
Jongin remembers Taemin draping his mostly naked body over his after that, soft and beautiful like the night. He remembers the heat that filled both their bodies, hot and thrumming like the air.
Jongin opened his eyes and stared back at the pulsating glow of his laptop. Tomorrow was his first day working with the investigative branch of the police force. He glanced at the time in the bottom corner of the screen and groaned. 3 am now. He was due to report to this Lee Jinki person at 7 am. With a resigned sigh, he shutdown his computer and got up to go to bed. He was afraid for tomorrow. He was afraid for what would happen. He was afraid to go back. He was afraid to go back into the orbit of someone he had tried his damnedest to forget.