Chapter Text
the kim mansion is enormous, grand, and every bit as extravagant and unnecessary as expected of the ancestral seat of a family of such opulence. smothering the derisive laugh that threatens to escape from the back of his throat, namjoon smirks at the doorman with just the slightest gleam of danger in his eyes instead as he steps through the spacious arch of the doorway.
adjusting his tie with a careless hand, he maneuvers the stifling crowd gathered in the living hall. the expanse of the room is filled with men and women milling about; fingers clasping slender-necked wine glasses and the artificial sound of laughter rising in bouts. the swirl of silk dresses and blend of flamboyant colors distract namjoon momentarily, and he wanders about aimlessly until he hears the whispered reminder from behind him.
'boss, I really don't think that our host would be bothering to preside over the airheads here.'
namjoon turns in time to see the last traces of yoongi's sardonic smile before it slides off the shorter man's face. the grey strands of hair falling down onto the pale face always give off a misleading air of fragility, until namjoon catches sight of the dark ink of his marking tattoo, coiling slyly across his collarbones and disappearing down into his dress shirt.
this is namjoon's second-in-command, the pale man whose quick, slender fingers could choke the life out of a man as well as they managed their group's finances. from their erstwhile childhood days of running through alleyways with loot in their hands and the law hot on their heels, namjoon has seen countless men and women underestimate him and end up paying for that mistake with their lives.
suga, they whisper in the shadows. suga, the man with skin as pale as moonlight and lips as sweet as sugar, who silently stalks the streets and can carve money out of you with a knife.
namjoon raises an eyebrow when hoseok laughs from his place beside the second-in-command, drawing surprised or scandalized looks from the surrounding crowd. 'come on, we might as well have fun while we're here. old mr kim isn't going to be running away anytime soon in that wheelchair.'
that careless laugh is j-hope's trademark, the scorn of the solemn old brass and the terror of his victims. namjoon doesn't care, because he remembers the mama's boy next door who wore a genuine smile when he snuck still-warm leftovers to yoongi and namjoon sometimes, until one day he'd came home alone with empty condolences from relatives who hadn't cared enough to adopt their newly bereaved nephew.
namjoon didn't see hoseok for two years after that, until one day yoongi found his target for the day bleeding out on the alley floor with his pants still down in front of a shivering teenager with dollar bills clutched tightly in his trembling fingers. yoongi had plucked the wallet from the man's pocket, gingerly avoiding the handle of the bloody knife that protruded from his back, and, upon finding nothing much, shrugged and said, 'tough luck.'
and then the teenager had raised his head, and yoongi had recognized hoseok, even thin and with that familiar despair that looked so foreign on the younger's face, even with the angry hand-shaped marks around his neck and the cum still drying on his cheek and swollen red lips.
later, yoongi swore that he would never forget that look on hoseok's face, the broken sobs and tears that had streamed down those cheeks, marring the cheap makeup there in rivulets, and the unexpected surge of protectiveness that he had felt.
yoongi had taken hoseok back to base, of course, to the abandoned car park that namjoon and yoongi and a few early followers had called home back when they were only just starting out.
after they had gotten a semi-decent meal of cup noodles into the emotional boy, hoseok had surprised them both. 'i want to join you,' he had said softly, but there was a steel in his eyes that had both saddened and made namjoon proud.
'you'll never have to cry again,' the leader had promised, still young and fearing too little, back then.
and then two had become three, and word of j-hope's particularly brutal hits on johns and his careless laughter haunted a world of men and women who had long forgotten how to.
and now they're here, the scum from the slums, wearing tailor-fit fancy suits that never stick to their skins.
namjoon winces, reminded of the unsavory task ahead. mr kim, a wily old tycoon who specialized in deals with both the law and the underground, is holding a truce conference between a sister company under the kim conglomerate and namjoon's own group on the uneasy neutral ground of the kim estate, under the guise of a fancy party for his elite associates.
unfortunately, while he knows that mr kim isn't likely to risk compromising his connections by organizing an ambush of some sort, the fact remains that the conflicting party is helmed by another kim. it treads the line of being at a disadvantage, and namjoon hates being vulnerable.
he can't afford ceding ground, not when the lives and futures of thousands of men and women under him rest on his shoulders, on his every move.
that means submitting to this farce of a negotiation, knowing that the settlement is likely to be unsatisfactory to at least one party and spark further conflict later.
inwardly sighing, namjoon starts towards the carpet-adorned spiral staircase abruptly, prompting hoseok to tear reluctantly away from the tier of delicate cupcakes on a nearby table and yoongi - yoongi from whatever had attracted his attention.
namjoon's reputation precedes him enough that the footsmen positioned at each side of the elaborate stairwell let him and his two shadows through without comment, a fact that makes pride swell in his chest. all his life, as far as he can recall, he has been reaching for power - power to survive, power to protect. the recognition is proof that he has climbed up the hierarchy; become someone that can protect his brothers and sisters in the group, someone that can command and expect to be fulfilled.
well. power is heady, and namjoon has never claimed himself a good man.
lost in his thoughts, namjoon keeps his head down and only looks up when the steps end and even floor begin.
then he looks up, and the world is never the same again.
at first, all he sees is the back profile of a tall, broad-shouldered man at the edge of the stairs. a crowd of people, mostly more solemnly dressed than the mass below, are fixing their eyes on him. a few flick their gazes over to measure namjoon and his friends, but quickly turn their attention back to the man. some are whispering amongst themselves, but they're captivated by their speaker - namjoon can see it in their faces, and it sends shivers of unease down his gut, the charisma this tall man must possess.
behind him, yoongi tenses, sensing his friend's unease. hoseok clears his throat, ready to clear a pathway for their leader, but before he can say or do anything, the tall speaker turns, and namjoon's breath catches in his throat.
oh.
the man is beautiful - that is a universal fact that all who laid their eyes on him would agree on, namjoon is sure. in a room full of men and women with too much or too little concealment, the man's features are highlighted with a soft touch of foundation and nothing else. his face is handsome in a way that is universally pleasing to the eye, to all kinds of judgement; not strikingly chiseled nor plumply adorable, but with a gentle, natural balance between masculinity and femininity.
the golden blonde of his locks accentuate the startling red of his lips under the glow of chandeliers hanging above, and namjoon has the irrational urge to find out if the color is natural or gloss. he's not sure which he would prefer.
his attire is a simple two-piece suit with a classic monochrome color scheme - immaculate, but not showy. but standing confidently, he commands the full attention of his audience.
one look at him, and namjoon knows that the man before him had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. it is in the way that he holds himself - it hints at the affluence in his blood and the entitlement in his bones; that makes unpleasant memories of rich brats in namjoon's childhood resurface.
then the man's eyes meet namjoon's, head tilting backwards, and namjoon realizes with a rush of adrenaline that he's a little taller than the man before him. the man stretches out a hand in greeting, a smile spreads across his beautiful face-
-and namjoon forgets how to breath.
because the man has a smile so bright that it lights up the entire room, cliche as it sounds. it is a smile that no rich man's son should have, namjoon thinks; because it somehow conveys a genuine wish and capability to understand and listen to the recipient. as if sheltered and proud boys and girls like him could ever truly understand what men and women like namjoon had been through. worse, there's the barest hint of boyishness in that smile, an innocence that namjoon is wont to believe of someone who can command the attention of mr kim's guests.
staring at the extended hand, all long and slender fingers, namjoon doesn't know if he wants to throw this perfect facade of a man down those perfect stairs or whisper his entire life story into his ear in a lazy post-coital haze.
he settles for shaking his hand instead, rough calluses brushing against smooth skin. the blonde man's hand is warm.
the smile softens and something almost like cunning flashes in his eyes. 'oh, pardon me for holding you up. i'm kim seokjin,' he says, voice melodious and charming.
namjoon can see how he had captured the crowd before him; seokjin has a soothing tenor that gently compels attention. it is a kind voice, full of compassion, assuring that he can and will empathize with anything you say. namjoon wants to hear it break in desperation, wants to see that perfect face twist in anguish.
and enamored, foolish, namjoon doesn't think anything of the name. after all, kim is a rather common surname here. he himself shares the family name, and his background is probably the hell to this kim's heaven.
the pleasantries have been exchanged and hands shook, and it would only be proper for namjoon to step away and continue on his way. but everything about this kim seokjin alarms and compels him, and from the way the blonde-haired man is still holding his gaze evenly, the interest seems mutual.
'kim namjoon,' he replies, then adds quickly, 'you seem to know your way around.' boldly, he allows his gaze to slide down to seokjin's delicious red lips, making his intentions obvious.
hoseok lets out an impatient huff, clearly wanting to advise his leader against causing a scene before the conference, but yoongi holds him back with a restraining hand on his arm.
frowns and murmurs of disapproval spread through the crowd, but no one moves to rescue the blonde man or to stop namjoon. they've all heard his name, they all know the group he helms, and no one is willing to risk his wrath.
the corners of seokjin's gorgeous mouth turn up, the innuendo clearly not lost on him. he glances up, looks namjoon right in the eye, and fucking licks his lips. the red petals glisten invitingly under the chandelier's light.
'i've been here a while. if you so wish, i can take you for a ride.' there's a mischievous gleam in those eyes now, and namjoon could never turn a challenge down.
'let's go, then.'
-
the crowd gradually starts to disperse at seokjin's apologetic dismissal, wishing them a good time for the rest of the night. 'come on, you can let your friends have their fun.' seokjin says pleasantly, offering up his smile to the two men behind namjoon.
it's little things like this that unnerve namjoon; when others would have dismissed his friends as worthless minions, seokjin makes eye contact and smiling requests instead.
it makes namjoon hunger to rip the perfect facade out; thirst to see the blond man vicious and real, fighting tooth and nail as namjoon makes him scream.
nevertheless, he's confident that he could overpower seokjin should the other man try anything. the blond-haired man is young, but he's shorter and less compact, and probably never learnt to fight the best way like namjoon had; nothing like the constant terrifying threat of death to make a fighter.
so the leader turns and dismisses his friends accommodatingly with a reassuring nod. hoseok still looks slightly dazed, probably from having seokjin's smile directed at him, but yoongi promises to keep firm eyes on them both. namjoon doesn't know how his old friend plans to track him in this labyrinth of an estate that they've only just stepped into half an hour ago, but yoongi has always had his methods. with yoongi's calm, quick fingers and hoseok's almost innocent natural charm, the duo make a deadly combination.
turning his attention back to namjoon, seokjin tilts his head towards a set of heavy oaken doors with carvings so intricate that they probably would've cost hoseok's dead parents their entire life savings to manufacture. once again, namjoon is reminded of the vast difference of worlds between him and seokjin. it sets a gritting displeasure deep in his bones, so namjoon blocks out his unease and follows the blond man through the heavy doors.
curious eyes linger on the two men's figures as leave together, some even moving as if to follow, but a quick glare from yoongi stills their steps. it is only after the oaken doors have closed again with an ominous thud that yoongi turns on his heels, with hoseok following right behind as the duo disappear down the swirling maze of the spiral staircase.
-
the oaken doors open to a botanist's paradise. lush greenery and fauna greets namjoon everywhere as he scans the greenhouse instinctively for any signs of threat. he even spots a few brightly colored tropical birds and butterflies of every shade imaginable. he supposes that this isn't very surprising for a man with an entire conglomerate grasped in his fist, but his heart still pulses with indignation, remembering the days he and yoongi had spent sleeping on the streets.
there's a narrow path through the fantastical foliage. seokjin leads the way. namjoon follows.
true to his word, the blond man introduces the occupants in the greenhouse as they walk in his gentle, firm tone. filtering out most of what he says, namjoon thinks distractedly that he could listen to his voice all day. he stays a few paces behind the shorter man's steps.
the man by the yellow carnations is so motionless that namjoon doesn't even notice his presence until he's in seokjin's face, leering and confrontational. 'so, it's the old boss' eldest son,' he sneers, and namjoon resists the urge to kick that smirk off his face. the man is drunk, that much is clear; namjoon can smell the alcohol in his breath. for now, he holds back; he wants to see what this drunkard is on about, what he could overhear that could be used for the group's advantage.
most importantly, he wants to see if this drunkard will finally shatter the perfect illusion of kim seokjin.
to his credit, the blonde man only stiffens, displeasure clear in the set of his brows. 'please move aside, sir. some fresh air would do you good.'
as if emboldened by seokjin's lack of action, the drunkard steps even closer, and spits, 'too bad you're only the foster substitute. don't worry, you're pretty enough; i'm sure the old man will keep you around even after he's gotten rid of that traitorous mongrel you've been fornicating with.'
he stretches a hand out towards the taller man, and that's his final mistake. with a well-aimed roundhouse kick, the leader lays the drunkard flat on the ground.
the drunkard coughs, a wet sound, namjoon notes with no little satisfaction. his fingers, clutched tightly against the bottom half of his face, come away wet with blood. the leader turns to see how the blonde man has reacted to this change in events, but seokjin is already walking up to where the drunkard still lies, too drunk or too hurt to get up.
'you don't get to say that about taehyung,' seokjin says, his voice so, so calm that even namjoon flinches when a kick knocks the drunkard's head back with a painful snap. droplets of blood fling themselves into the air, landing on the surrounding petals like insidious dewdrops. the drunkard moans, eyes lolling into the back of his head, and stills. namjoon thinks that he might be dead.
a heavy sigh leaves parted lips as the blonde man glances back at namjoon. 'sorry that you had to be dragged into this, mr kim.' he looks genuinely sorry, like he hasn't just potentially murdered a man in a publicly accessible greenhouse. yet no hint of regret taints the earnestness in those expressive eyes. interesting.
but this isn't just anyone's publicly accessible greenhouse, is it.
'kim seokjin,' namjoon repeats, a hint of a shark's smile appearing on his face as he watches seokjin register the change in emphasis on that surname. 'what a good host your father has been.'
at those words, the blond man's expression slides back into one of professional politeness. namjoon watches the transition closely, marveling at the seamlessness of it all - maybe a little envious.
the eldest kim sibling, the drunkard had said. namjoon remembers now, yoongi having said something about how fucked up the current kim family tree is.
a foster eldest son, hastily adopted after the original child, years younger than the adoptee, had mysteriously disappeared with his mother.
an illegitimate second son, going by the name taehyung, raised together with the elder since childhood in the kim estate. he runs a upscale nightclub establishment as a secondary career to living off his father's pension, which also happens to be the point of conflict between namjoon's group and the kim business. from what yoongi and hoseok have gathered about this enigmatic second son, the leader really isn't looking forward to their upcoming settlement conference.
and finally, the prodigal first child, jeon jungkook. the youngest and only full-blooded son of mr kim, a recent addition to the estate. no one knew exactly how and why he had returned. even hoseok's sources had been unable to extract more information about this last member of the kim family, other than his firm refusal to adopt his father's surname.
but seokjin is not what namjoon expected. as a bloodless relative of the notoriously wealthy mr kim with a blood relative in line for the inheritance, namjoon had expected more ruthlessness, and insecurity oozing from the pores of a man held in political stasis by the paralyzing fear of losing it all.
instead, here is kim seokjin, whose impeccable smile is still directed at namjoon despite having possibly just made the leader his partner-in-crime for killing a man who he knows nothing about.
the betrayal stings more than it should, seeing as namjoon has met the blonde man for all but an hour. but he knows how this works now,
'what do you want from me?' the leader asks directly, his voice a little too rough to be unaffected.
for a fraction of a minute, something in the blonde man's eyes seems to dim. but then he continues on, smile never faltering. 'i'll be straight with you, then.'
looking directly into namjoon's eyes, seokjin's expression turns serious.
'i don't know how to put this nicely, but i want you to help me kill my father.'
seeing the shock flicker across namjoon's face, the blonde man smiles wearily. 'let me explain,' he continues.
'mr kim has gone mad with age and suspicion from his business advisors. not long ago, i found jungkook and brought him back into the family, and that was the start of it all.
his associates are convinced that jungkook is under orders from his mother - whose whereabouts are unknown - to hijack the business, and with taehyung's and my backgrounds... the estate has been divided into factions supporting different successors.'
'and you want me to support yours?' namjoon raises an eyebrow. he knows that seokjin definitely knows that kim taehyung and his group are in conflict, so making him an ally would be a logical step.
to his surprise, seokjin shakes his head and frowns in disapproval. 'no. at this rate, we're all going to die in the power struggle. the situation will only end if my father dies and we seize control together.'
now namjoon is honestly thinking that this is all an elaborate trap. 'together?' he echoes. 'and killing your own father is a little extreme, doesn't it?'
hearing the leader's words, seokjin's eyes narrow. 'there's nothing i won't do for my brothers,' he says, and namjoon believes him. there's fire and steel in his voice that warns him that this man will move mountains and level plains to protect his siblings.
then the blonde man lets out a sigh, his expression softening. 'taehyung and jungkook are strong, but they can't help me with this. i need an outsider, someone no one here will expect. i need you, namjoon.'
in the gentle light of the greenhouse, seokjin looks as delectable as he did under the chandeliers, the soft glow accentuating the defined contours of his face. he still looks perfect and beautiful, but there's an unmoving body beside them and a ruffledness to his clothes from the earlier action.
namjoon wants him more than anything else in the world.
so he smiles, a chershire grin with just a hint of sharp teeth tucked behind red lips, a dark glint in his eyes. 'you already know what i want, seokjin.'